Stephanie and the Wicked Deceiver (Wild Marchmonts #2)

13. A Tale of Love and Fear

Chapter 13

A Tale of Love and Fear

H edley waited beneath their tree with only a semblance of patience. As he saw Stephanie come towards him, his heart was beating so fast in his chest that he realised that she was not quite safe with him anymore, even with her murderous Neapolitan shadow. Something of the soldier in Maximilian Chance was already planning how to deal with that threat quickly.

He breathed more deeply to calm himself. She was wearing the plain dress once more – it was almost shabby now – and her hair was blowing wildly behind her for she had let it down, only securing it at the front with a thick band of black ribbon. She had taken off the dreadful bonnet and was swinging it from its ribbons as she walked; she did not wear it when fencing but used the canopy of the huge tree to protect her from the sun.

As he watched her lithe, natural stride, watched her figure in the awful dress, watched her wonderful hair blow about her and watched her freckled face glow with joy at seeing him, his heart stopped.

Their eyes locked when she halted a few feet from him and smiled. His face was grave; if he gave way to joy, he would take her in his arms without thinking — and no doubt have a knife stuck into him a half second later. Without moving his eyes from her, Hedley saw the little man hit his knife sheaf and then lean against a neighbouring tree, his warning achieved.

Stephanie said, as though a little dazed, ‘You look handsome today!’

His hair must be blowing in the gentle breeze, too. He had removed his coat and waistcoat and stood in only his shirt, the fine linen fluttering and perhaps, he thought, showing his figure beneath.

Her eyes dropped for a second and she looked conscious, but then laughed at herself. ‘You do not wear one of your dreadful coats!’

‘I do not.’ He had found that he could not. Even if he couldn’t confess yet due to Lady Eleanor’s punishment, he would not lie anymore. Pettigrew’s coats were a lie. ‘You look…’ He could not say pretty because it was not enough, nor beautiful, nor wonderful, nor marvellous, because it was the beginning of a confession, so he said, ‘As you came towards me, I saw that you are indeed a wild thing and wished very much to meet those other Wilds.’

‘You will when we all go back to London. I think your arm is almost recovered. I suppose you gentlemen will leave first.’

She was a little sad, he thought, and relished it, but then she added, ‘I will be so bored without you all.’

‘Oh, I think my arm not fully recovered,’ but this was said in such an arch manner that it made Stephanie laugh, so it did not qualify as a lie.

‘And when might it be?’ she asked.

‘Around the time that you go back to London.’ He smiled down at her.

She returned his smile at this and said, taking her fencing stance, ‘Come on, Pietro has taught me a new trick. I’ll teach it to you.’

Hedley was glad of the distraction; perhaps if he could fight her, it would stop his overwhelming urge to have her in his arms. This love that he had doubted at first seemed to double each day. His feelings were so strong that he could frighten away this wild thing, perhaps forever. He was suddenly glad of the Italian’s presence.

He knew, in his soul that Stephanie liked him but she did not know or understand the rest, and perhaps she did not feel as he did. He was certain that it was she, and only she, who would do for him.

‘I love you, Stephanie Marchmont,’ he screamed in his head as he sparred on. ‘I want you, Stephanie Marchmont!’ But these words he would not say out loud; he respected her too much for that.

Suddenly she dropped low, getting under his blade and swiping sideways with the foil. Hedley quickly lifted his foot in a mad jump that looked like a dance, and the Neapolitan made a sound that might have been a laugh.

‘My new boots, Stephanie! You might have ruined them,’ the earl protested. ‘And my ankles, as well.’

‘No, I stopped the blade,’ she said triumphantly. ‘I have excellent control! You did look silly trying to avoid it.’

‘You were beneath my blade. It is too dangerous a move to make in real life!’

‘No!’ she said excitedly. ‘For there is the element of surprise and you would be crippled!’

‘In battle, soldiers continue fighting at first when they are wounded. Men with broken legs run. You do notice the pain until sometime later. I tell you, that move was too dangerous in a real situation.’

‘Nonsense! There is a second part. I should just tumble away like so.’ She dropped again, moved the blade then rolled away, using the shoulder-tuck trick she had utilised to jump from the carriage on their first day. She jumped to her feet energetically and faced him in triumph.

‘You truly are a hoyden, Stephanie Marchmont!’ He moved to give her the buffet on her posterior that she had previously meted out to Pettigrew, but she was faster and she ran behind the tree.

He chased her. She suddenly leapt to catch a branch she ought not to have been able to reach and swung from it. Now she was behind him and her legs captured his waist, her feet locked in front of him. She dropped heavily onto his back so that he staggered and grasped at her knees to steady them both.

Her arms were round his neck, her face close to his, when she said, wonderingly, ‘You have nice ears, too.’

Her breath in his ear was almost too much to bear and he stood holding her piggyback style, unable to move for a full minute, her breath on his cheek coming faster and faster.

‘Miss Stephanie! My Lord Hedley!’ Morag McLeod’s voice rang out. As she ran forward, she picked up her skirts and kicked the Neapolitan, who had his hand on his knife sheath, out of her way. ‘Useless lump!’ she said at her most Scottish.

Stephanie kicked free of Hedley and stood.

‘We… It was just play…!’ Hedley began.

‘I ken jist what it was! More shenanigans from yon family of circus animals!’ Morag was shaking Stephanie and turning her about to look for injury. ‘Why are you wearing that old thing…? Swords! What did I tell you about that? First Sir Francis, then that nonsense with footpads… I told you, Miss, no more swords.’

‘But even Mama did not forbid them!’

‘That is because she did not know, what with you practising at the Dower House with that Sir Francis.’

‘But Morag….!’ Stephanie protested.

‘ Do not “but Morag” me. Your mother shall hear of this. And you…!’ The maid turned to Hedley, truly enraged. ‘What were you thinking?’

Maximilian Chance, Earl of Hedley, was not used to being addressed so by a servant, but he hung his head.

‘I am giving him lessons!’ Stephanie informed her.

‘Lessons, eh?’ said the Highlander. ‘Like the riding lessons?’ She gave an audible sniff. ‘We’ll see about that. Meeting here alone every afternoon,’ here she cast a bitter look at Hedley, ‘that is not the act of a gentleman.’

Hedley gestured to the Italian.

‘Him! I saw enough today to see how useless he is.’ Morag was clearly genuinely enraged. ‘Shocking behaviour and you know it, my lord! Come away with you, lassie!’

Only old retainers ever spoke so to their betters, and only to those whom they had worked for all their lives, but Morag was upset and Hedley knew she was not wrong to scold him.

Taking Stephanie by the wrist, the old maid walked her to the gig whose horse was being held by a groom on the carriage path. She thrust her charge into it, squeezed in beside her and began her harangue as they drove off.

Buttoning his waistcoat, Hedley strode into the house and headed for the room where Miss Galloway was usually to be found at this hour sewing. She was, and he also found Sir Rupert Armitage in a chair opposite, legs crossed, stroking the grey cat.

‘We got caught by the maid!’ Hedley declared, pouring a glass from a side table and throwing himself down on the nearest seat. He drank. His head was on the scrolled end of the sofa, one leg sprawled, one on the floor.

‘Oh dear!’ said Gertrude with her customary calm.

‘You are not usually so dramatic, Max!’ drawled Armitage. ‘Your attitude with the glass in hand would make a fine study for a painting entitled Death of a Rake .’

‘That is what the Scottish maid almost called me,’ Hedley groaned. ‘And it is unjust – it is you who are the rake!’

‘ Are you, Sir Rupert? I wouldn’t have guessed,’ said Gertrude, delighted.

‘No, no!’ replied Armitage sardonically ‘Maximilian is in a dramatic mood and overstates the matter.’

‘What a pity!’ sighed Gertrude ‘I should dearly have liked to meet a rake.’

‘You, Rupert, are more of a flirt than I. I never flirt.’ Hedley gulped his brandy. ‘At least, not much.’

‘If Morag guessed that, she would be even more worried,’ opined Miss Galloway, sewing on.

‘I think so! She suspects more evil intentions than dalliance,’ Armitage laughed.

‘Stop it! She does not. But it might be enough for her to forbid our little friend the Court!’ Miss Galloway said, without much pity for Hedley.

‘Well, Stephanie is supposed to come for dinner so we shall know soon!’ drawled Armitage.

Hedley sat up. ‘No! We must go to Reddingate, explain and invite then them positively this evening.’

‘We hardly have to invite her. It is true that she comes on her own,’ remarked Gertrude Galloway with a smile.

‘Only because one of us mentions it to her when riding. She has excellent manners,’ Hedley said defensively. Then he heard himself and cast himself back down onto the sofa.

Armitage smiled and caressed the fluffy grey fur. ‘Miss Marchmont is a pattern card of all the virtues.’ he agreed ironically.

Hedley gave him a look; his dignity had deserted him and the sardonic expression from his closest friend was a further annoyance. ‘You look like the damn cat!’ he said, noticing the resemblance for the first time.

Armitage covered Misty’s ears. ‘Do not refer to her as such. She will be wounded.’

Hedley sat up again and looked at Miss Galloway. ‘I pray you come to Reddingate with me, Gertrude. You can better explain.’

Gertrude snipped a thread. ‘But I am not sure I wish to explain, Maximilian. You brought me here as chaperone, then you meet Stephanie on her own in the afternoons anyway. I have been lax. She is young and has no notion or interest in catching her man like Lady Cressida, but she may not be immune to you! I will not have you hurt her.’

‘It is Hedley who might get hurt,’ Armitage countered. ‘He is in love with a girl who has no notion of romance.’

Gertrude finally looked moved and stopped stitching. ‘In love?’

‘He has visited her mama,’ Sir Rupert informed her.

‘Ah! London! But you do not show your affection. I mean, I am aware that you like Stephanie – who could not? And you admire her skills … but visiting her mama, and so soon?’

‘I felt impelled to inform her of my deceit and accept my punishment,’ Hedley confessed.

‘Which was?’

‘Not to inform Stephanie of my feelings. And I suddenly realised that, apart from the guilt that had driven me there, I was also telling the woman that I did indeed have feelings for Stephanie. More than those you describe. That is why I drove to London.’

‘I could have told him before we set off,’ said Armitage smugly.

‘Not to speak your feelings for Stephanie?’ Gertrude mused. ‘What a wise woman Lady Eleanor is. That is punishment indeed.’

‘She wants to be here before I speak in case Stephanie is upset by it. I don’t think she holds out much hope for my success as a suitor.’

‘No, Stephanie is not someone entranced by the notion of romance,’ said Gertrude. ‘But you, Max … in love?’

‘Completely. I cannot bear the thought of seeing her less. Please come with me to Reddingate now, so that she might still arrive for dinner. If she doesn’t come tonight, I feel she may never come again.’

‘You underestimate her!’ laughed Armitage.

‘But the frequency! I could not bear to see her less!’ Hedley protested.

‘Things,’ remarked Armitage, ‘have got more serious quickly.’

‘The suave Earl of Hedley is ruining his hairstyle over a young girl.’ Gertrude smiled as she watched Hedley push his fingers through his locks.

‘Don’t mention her age again,’ the earl said, almost shamefaced. ‘I never thought to pursue someone so young.’

‘She seems older, it is true,’ Gertude conceded. ‘In some ways, at least. Very well, we shall go to Reddingate, but let us set off in a half hour to give Morag time to vent her spleen somewhat. She should be more rational by then.’

‘As expected, Miss Galloway. Clever as well as enchanting,’ said Armitage with a flourish.

Gertrude looked at Hedley. ‘I can see what you mean about the flirting.’ She sounded unimpressed.

Pettigrew and Fortescue came in as the other three left the room.

‘Do you feel, Ben, that there are things going on that the others are not telling us?’ Horace asked.

‘Yes,’ answered Fortescue, taking up a journal to read.

‘And it does not bother you?’

‘No,’ the baron answered at his most phlegmatic.

At Reddingate, oils were being poured on troubled waters.

Morag knew, she admitted, that the horseplay would have been instigated by her naughty charge, but nevertheless it was dangerous. Gertrude said sympathetic and consoling words to the maid, who had been invited to sit with the three visitors from Hedley; however, it was Armitage who had a quiet word in Morag’s ear that made her look at Hedley, whom she had mostly ignored since his entrance, in amazement.

Armitage spoke again in a low voice to the Highland maid and she frowned, but when he continued she nodded. ‘Miss Stephanie is in her room at present, but she will come to dinner at the Court this evening, I suppose. Really, the cook here is left with nothing to do, for you feed Miss too often.’

Hedley gave her a stare. He recognised her concern but not her authority; she was being impertinent.

Morag rouged. ‘For which I should thank you, my lord.’

Hedley, tired of being penitent before a servant, got up abruptly and took his leave. The earl gazed up the staircase where Stephanie might be standing. Armitage arrived and slapped his shoulder hard. ‘Come on!’