The Wild Baron

by Catherine Coulter

  “Mrs. Heron.” The boy choked. Then he grinned, that blazing grin that showed a mouthful of straight white teeth, a grin that quite simply lit up the dim entryway. He said to Rohan, “She can outwager Papa. She always wins. And she gloats. I feel sorry for him.”

  “Perhaps she can make him change his ways,” Rohan said. “A good woman, and all that rot.”

  “Oh, no,” Susannah said as she walked out the front door, Marianne now hiccuping, her head on Susannah’s shoulder, “I imagine that she will fleece him and he will owe her more money that he can ever pay her.”

  Rohan stared at the curricle. There were four of them. The curricle held two comfortably. “All right,” he said slowly. “Toby, you will be my tiger, all right?”

  “A tiger? What’s that, sir?”

  “You will ride standing on the back and shoot any bandits that attack us. If we are on any toll roads, you will jump off and pay the toll.”

  Toby was so excited, he stammered his gratitude.

  “He’ll lose most of his enthusiasm by the time he’s been standing there for two hours,” Rohan said. “It’s safe enough. Don’t fret. Now, you hold tightly to Marianne.”

  Jamie suddenly appeared around the side of Mulberry House, riding a swaybacked mare that looked to be on her last hocks.

  “Yes, Jamie’s now in my employ. He said that only Hera here was in the stable and she’s your horse. He’ll ride her, then take turns with Toby as my tiger.”

  She said slowly even as she settled herself on the rather narrow padded bench beside him in the curricle, “You have quite taken over my life.”

  Actually, he thought, she and all the denizens of Mulberry House had quite taken over his. He said, giving her a crooked grin, “Well, someone had to. If I hadn’t come along, your father would have landed all of you in debtor’s prison. That wretched roof would have fallen in on your heads. Marianne would have become a gambler. No, no, don’t say it again. I know. The poor man is merely suffering some small, insignificant reverses.”

  “More or less,” she said and pulled her shawl over Marianne.

  “We will take our time. It will take us three days to reach Mountvale House. When we get to Oxford, I will hire a carriage. It won’t be long.”

  “I know” was all she said. She took only one long look back at Mulberry House. She didn’t see anyone. Then she settled back and enjoyed the wind pulling at the ribbons on her bonnet. He drove well.

  Rohan slowed Gulliver an hour later on a sharp turn in the road. She was leaning on his arm, sound asleep, Marianne equally asleep in her arms.

  He could only shake his head at himself.

  Yesterday he had been a man without any ties, no particular burdens piling up in front of him. Of course, a man in his position had responsibilities, duties, but he’d been bred to them all his life. And they were duties a man could get his teeth into, duties a man could understand. Surely no man could be bred to understand this.

  Jamie was whistling in the wind beside them. Toby was yelling at the top of his lungs from his tiger position, “I don’t see any bandits, sir!”

  No, Rohan didn’t see any either. What he saw was a multitude of dark clouds suddenly appear on the horizon.

  When a raindrop hit Marianne’s nose, she jerked awake, jumped when another raindrop hit her cheek, turned to Ro-han, and howled.

  “Oh, dear,” Susannah said, coming awake with the bouncing little girl on her lap. She stared blankly up at the sky, then said, “I hadn’t planned on this. It’s raining. Oh, dear.”

  Rohan sighed. What was he to do now?

  A raindrop hit him square in the eye. It did not, he thought, portend good things for his future.

  5

  BARON MOUNTVALE’S PARTY OF FIVE ARRIVED SODDEN IN Oxford some thirty minutes later. As Rohan pulled Gulliver to a halt in the inn yard of the Purple Goose, just off High Street, the rain suddenly stopped and a brilliant sun appeared overhead. From one instant to the next, the pesky storm was over.

  Rohan was an Englishman. He should be used to the weather, but this storm had taken him by surprise. He looked up, cursed, and shook his fist at that wretched sun.

  To his surprise, when Susannah came out from beneath his coat, her bonnet feather straggling over her cheek and ropes of wet hair hanging down her back, she looked at him and laughed. “Wouldn’t you just know it,” she said, patting Marianne’s damp cheek. “Just look, lovey, it’s a glorious day again.” Marianne nodded slowly, looked over at Rohan, who appeared to be more drowned than not, and laughed along with Susannah. Soon Toby joined them, then Jamie. Gulliver, the bugger, whinnied, with Hera quick to answer.

  Rohan didn’t laugh. His bones felt sodden. He could practically feel the exquisite Spanish leather boots crumbling at his abuse. The ostler came out of the inn at a dead run, having quickly recognized the baron’s curricle. If he wondered what his lordship was doing with a woman, two children, and a stable lad, he had the good sense to keep it behind his tongue.

  Within ten minutes, Susannah had stripped both herself and Marianne. She prayed that Rohan would do the same for Toby.

  Surely he would.

  And he was, at least he was trying. The boy was modest. He didn’t want to take off his wet clothes in front of Rohan nor did he want any help. Rohan stood there perplexed for a moment, then suddenly remembered his own modesty when he’d been a boy of Toby’s age. And George’s. Oddly enough, Tibolt, the vicar, hadn’t had a modest bone in his body, ever.

  He said easily, “I’ll have tubs of hot water fetched for us, Toby. When you get those wet clothes off, you wrap yourself in my dressing gown, the blue one over there on the bed. I’ll be back in five minutes. Keep yourself warm.”

  That should give the boy enough time.

  He also ordered hot water for Susannah and Marianne.

  Since Toby wasn’t about to bathe with him in there, Rohan took himself off to see to Jamie and the horses. Jamie was in the stable, already in dry clothes, singing to Gulliver while he brushed him. Even Hera looked interested as she chewed on a carrot.

  “When her daughter got married in Whister

  Her mother remarked as she kissed her,

  ‘That fellow you’ve won

  Is sure to be fun—

  Since tea he’s kissed me and your sisters.’ ”

  Jamie was singing in a high falsetto. Over and over he sang the limerick until Rohan imagined that Gulliver would begin at any moment to tap his huge hooves against the straw. As for Hera, she nickered, but Rohan didn’t know if it was a nicker for Gulliver or for the limerick.

  “I must write these down,” Rohan said as he clapped Jamie on his shoulder.

  “I’ll give ’em ye, milord,” Jamie said easily, descending immediately into that god-awful English that was nonetheless very charming to the ear.

  “In about an hour, you will come to the parlor in the inn for your dinner.”

  This Jamie took exception to, being just a stable lad, but Rohan had no intention of letting the boy out of his sight. If Jamie became ill from that blasted rain, they would all be in dire straits.

  Thank the good Lord, no one became ill. As for Jamie, Rohan finally gave in and let him eat in the kitchen. Dinner was more peaceful than not because Marianne fell asleep in the middle of her soup. Toby was so fascinated with the barmaid who served them, all he could talk about was the expanse of her that showed.

  “A gentleman,” Susannah said finally, after frowning at him for several minutes—a ploy that didn’t work—“does not speak of matters of that nature.”

  Rohan choked on the turtle soup. The barmaid’s breasts were beyond big, they were vast. If he were Toby’s age again, he would also be staring until his eyes fell into the soup.

  “But, Susannah, how does she keep all that stuff inside her gown?”

  “Gowns are designed to keep everything where it belongs. Believe me on this. Now, you will eat your soup, Toby, and when she returns with the beef, you will keep your head down or, if
you must look at her in order to tell her what you want, you can look at her left ear.”

  Toby didn’t ever give the barmaid’s left ear a glance, but on the other hand, he wasn’t so stupid as to remark out loud on her endowments again.

  “You contained yourself well,” Rohan told Toby when they were once again in their chamber.

  “I just didn’t know anything like that existed,” Toby said in awe.

  Rohan didn’t say a word. Later, he turned his back until Toby was tucked into the truckle bed beside his bed. He was damned if he’d share a bed with a boy who probably flailed his way through the night.

  “Oh, yes,” Rohan said as he blew out the single candle. “There’s a lot that you will learn exists. We will ease you into it gradually. Then when we’re in London, I’ll show you marvels that will leave you blank-brained. Why, we’ll even go to Astley’s.”

  He couldn’t believe he’d made that offer. He scorned people who went to that vulgar place. But children adored the animal performances, and there were oranges to eat and candied almonds, and scantily clad girls who rode on the backs of horses. Ah, so much.

  He could always send Pulver with the children. Yes, that was an excellent idea. That would serve gaunt-faced Pulver right for trying to stick his nose in the baron’s business.

  “Sleep well, my lord,” Toby said.

  Rohan grunted.

  Thank the gods, no one sickened during the night, and they were on their way the following morning.

  The weather held until they reached the Pilsney Hills, the highest of which overlooked Mountvale House. Rohan jumped down from the carriage seat and opened the door. “Everyone out. I want you to see my home. It’s really quite lovely, what with the Channel beyond and the smell of the sea in the air.”

  It was lovely, Susannah thought, easing Marianne to the ground so she could walk with Toby to the peak of the hill.

  Mountvale House sat atop a gentle flat-topped hill a mile in the distance. It was surrounded by maple and oak trees. Only one road wound its way to the house from the west, and it was thickly lined with trees and bushes. She knew that in the summer the trees would meet over the road to make a canopy. It would be incredibly beautiful. As for the house itself, it wasn’t a vast mansion, tall and imposing, standing in the middle of nothing in a huge, grassy park. No, it was old, perhaps three hundred years or so, and its worn peach bricks were covered with thick green ivy. There was only a narrow front lawn lined with yew bushes. On all other sides there were gardens filled with more flowers than Susannah had ever seen in one place in her life. The gardens weren’t flat and separated by hedges either. No, each of them was terraced until it nearly reached the edge of the forest. There were fences there, to keep out deer and other animals who would consume many of the plants in an instant. On the fences was jasmine that draped over and around, with small white and pink flowers. There were roses aplenty, blooming wildly, yellow daffodils, tulips as red as a stormy sunset, lilacs from the lightest lavender to the darkest purple, and so many other flowers and shrubs that it took Susannah’s breath away.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she said, ignoring the house, gazing fixedly at the terraced gardens. “In the middle of summer, it must be breathtaking.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Rohan said, completely indifferent. “Actually, there are few flowers at my house in London. Here, though, I have an army of gardeners. My mother wishes to have the house surrounded by greenery and color.” He added as he flicked a nonexistent piece of lint from his jacket, “If you like you can give them advice, since my mother is abroad. You can direct them. If you want, you can even grovel in the dirt alongside them. I had the gardens terraced some four years ago. My mother wished it so.”

  “Do you ever grovel alongside the gardeners?”

  He arched an elegant brow at her. “Hardly. I am not a gardener.”

  “Even though you did it for your mother, your selection of plants, the building of the gardens—it’s all superb. I imagine that in July and August the house disappears. All the eye can see is bright and vivid color.” She turned to look up at him, a quite lovely smile on her mouth. “Someday perhaps your mother will design a garden for me.”

  “You can ask that of my mother when you meet her,” he said slowly. He looked down again at his sleeve, saying, “Old Cupability Brown gave her a good deal of fodder for designs. As I said, I did her bidding and carried everything out.”

  “His name is Capability, isn’t it?”

  He just grinned down at her.

  Her face was radiant. She clutched at his sleeve. “Oh, thank you. To work in those beautiful gardens—I should like that above all things. But isn’t that a rather tame sort of activity for a man of your nature?”

  Actually, he thought, cursing himself, he didn’t know any gentleman of his reputed nature to be even remotely interested in gardens, regardless of whether or not his mama had inspired the idea. He said easily, “A man should have many parts, I’ve always believed. Now what do you mean, ‘my nature’?”

  She had the grace to flush just a bit and shrugged, “It’s nothing, really.”

  “Ah, you were being impertinent?”

  “Well, you are well known for wildness, aren’t you? Just as were your parents?”

  “You told me that George said this.”

  “Yes, and—Marianne! No! Toby, catch her!”

  She was off at a dead run, Jamie chasing behind her. Gulliver, curse the bugger, was running after Jamie.

  Rohan raised his face to the sky. “My life was perfect just four days ago. Why, Lord?”

  Then he sprinted after his horse.

  He heard Hera neigh behind him and knew she’d be passing him any minute. Jamie had been riding Gulliver and leading old Hera. Now there she was, her mane streaming, dashing after Gulliver like a colt. Or was it Jamie? Even the two nags pulling the carriage were prancing about; he wondered if they too would be on the run any minute.

  Marianne didn’t tumble off the peak of the hill, but it was close. Toby was stuttering with fear and wanted to throttle her for scaring him so badly.

  Rohan watched Susannah pick up the little girl, give her a good shake, then hug her so tightly that she yelled.

  Blessed silence. It was satisfying to be able to actually hear his spoon move through the thick lobster soup. He tapped the spoon against the side of the exquisite golden bowl. It made a fine, tinny sound.

  He looked down the expanse of the dining table to see Susannah gazing around her, not with awe but with a critical eye. He frowned. What the devil did she have to be critical about? Mulberry House was a slum compared to Mountvale.

  “You don’t care for Mrs. Horsely’s lobster soup?”

  “It’s quite good, as I can see by your empty bowl. No, I was just thinking about how I’d forgotten how silence didn’t make any noise at all.”

  He didn’t like that observation. He didn’t want to be echoing her thoughts or hearing her echo his. It was unnerving.

  He said abruptly, “I must find you a chaperon. Mrs. Beete, while a maiden lady of a goodly number of years, is the housekeeper, not a companion. Let me think. There must be some unattached lady hereabouts who could still any tongues that exhalt in wagging.”

  “It seems rather silly, doesn’t it? I’m a grown woman, a widow, and yet Society still deems it improper for me to stay in the same house with a gentleman. Not, of course, that you are necessarily a gentleman in all circumstances.”

  “Are you being impertinent again, ma’am?”

  “Oh, no. It’s just that I was nourished for five years on tales about you. George never tired of recounting your adventures.”

  Adventures? What bloody adventures?

  She was smiling at him—no, it was closer to a smirk. He said easily, “Truth be told, I have only begun my adventures. I am not yet turned twenty-six. Surely I shall fill a dozen weighty tomes with scores of adventures by the time I finally shuck off my mortal coil. Ah . . . what sorts of adventures did Ge
orge recount?”

  She said nothing more until a footman in bright crimson and white had removed the soup. The butler, Mr. Fitz, directed two other footmen to bring another half-dozen silver dishes, all covered with silver domes.

  “There seems to be quite a lot of food here,” she said, her voice just a bit awed, finally. He didn’t tell her that he’d asked Mrs. Horsely to outdo herself for his guest. Why he’d done that, he had no idea. As Fitz lifted off the silver domes, abundant rich odors rose, mingled, and wafted. Rohan’s stomach growled.

  Susannah was indeed awed now. There were lamb cutlets and asparagus peas, veal, curried lobster, and even a plate filled with oyster patties. There were bowls of peas, potatoes, stewed mushrooms, and more plates that she couldn’t see because they’d been set too close to the baron.

  He remarked in a bland voice, “Ah, yes, I specifically requested Charlotte à la Parisienne. Don’t you think it looks delicious?”

  Susannah had no idea what this Charlotte done in the Parisian way even was. Ah, but that look he was giving her. “No,” she said as she spooned a bit of boiled tongue and broccoli onto her plate. “I don’t think it looks all that tasty. Perhaps it has been cooked a bit too long? Perhaps the Charlotte was a bit long in the tooth before she went into the pot?”

  He laughed, then stopped abruptly. He had to stop doing this. It wasn’t what he, Rohan Carrington, Baron Mountvale, was supposed to do. He was supposed to sneer and seduce. He had a reputation to maintain. He had countless more adventures to launch, and laughing immoderately at a silly something a lady said simply wasn’t appropriate. Not for him.

  His fond mama would be aghast.

  “The ratafia ice pudding is very good,” she said after he hadn’t opened his mouth for a good ten minutes, except to shovel in food. He’d laughed at her jest about the Charlotte, yet he’d instantly shut it off, just like a spigot. It was odd. Didn’t he like to laugh? Did he not laugh until after a certain hour? She was coming to like him, but she didn’t understand him.