To her horror, tears prickled the backs of her eyelids. Why did she have to cry when she became incensed? It made her look weak, as if she couldn’t fight her own battles, but such had been her lot since she was a young girl. Willing the moisture away, she let a bit of her ire fly. “You’re wrong in this.” He knew nothing about her, of course, but it was maddening to think she appeared like everyone else to his eyes, that he’d sized her up and found her somehow lacking. And to this man who’d arrived in such a manner, dropped at her feet as if he were an offering from the universe.
“Am I?” He sneered, which only made his hawkish nose seem more prominent. Water dripped off the end of that appendage, but his eyes. Good heavens his eyes were more stormy and dark than ever, so intense if she stared too long she’d become sucked into their vortex. “How, pray tell? Do you not wish to find a husband?”
With twin groans, her sisters left her side, presumably to take refuge in the carriage. Isabella was alone with this horrid excuse for a male of the species. Certainly not a gentleman.
“I…” Heat slapped at her cheeks, an odd contrast to the cool rain. How dare he inquire into personal matters. Then, not wishing to look like all the other ladies of his acquaintance—for he must have known some if his earlier comment was any indication—she said, “I thought I did at one time.”
“Ha! I have never met a lady who didn’t wish to wed and wreak havoc in her man’s life.” He threw up a hand, scattering wetness in the process. “My assessment is correct.”
“It is not!” Annoyed more than she’d admit, Isabella took a step toward him. “True, a few years ago, my only goal in life was to marry well and settle into that life.” When his eyes flashed in preemptive victory, she rushed on. “But now I don’t,” she asserted in a louder voice to make certain her heard her over the rain. It was important he knew this, but why, she had no idea. He was nothing to her.
Once more he sent his gaze over her body, this time in a slow, lingering perusal that had tiny fires igniting through her blood, and she was all too aware that the rain had dampened her gown enough that it clung to her person in a rather scandalous fashion. When he met her eyes, he smiled, but it was a chilly—rather icy—affair. “I somehow doubt that. Women like you never willingly submit to being put on a shelf.”
“Women like me?” What the devil did that mean?
“Yes, women with looks, and apparently means, if the cut of your clothing and the fabric is any indication.” He bent and retrieved his dislodged top hat from the mud and slapped it against his thigh, which only pulled her focus to that portion of him and how muscled those thighs were. His wet breeches clung to him as if painted on and left almost nothing to the imagination, and hers sailed into naughty scenarios wherein she was coaxing him out of the ruined clothing merely to see if he was at all impressive in the nude.
The heat in her cheeks intensified and she snapped her focus back to his face. Too bad the dratted man had a knowing light in his eyes. “So, ugly women who are destitute are not capable of breaking a man’s heart or wishing to find themselves married?”
He uttered a sound like a growl. Chills ran down her spine. Then he jammed his hat upon his head. A thin trickle of mud slid down one temple. “All women, regardless of the social standing or looks, are the same. Grasping climbers who use men for position and wealth until someone better comes along. They think nothing of smashing hearts beneath their heels. Callous, the lot of you.”
“How utterly… beastly of you to think so.” It was the only insult that sprang to mind.
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” He shrugged. “It’s been my experience as well as that of my mates, and quite frankly, I’ve washed my hands of anyone like you.”
His manner was so off-putting and offensive that she gasped. “And you, sir, are the absolute worst of what men can be. It’s no wonder I wish to remain on the shelf if you and your kind are in my future.”
“No worries there, for after this unfortunate interlude, I would rather die than find myself in your company again.”
“Oh, you, you…” In her ire, she stamped a foot. Mud sprayed over the hem of her dress.
One of his bold, black eyebrows inched upward. “Is that the best you can do? Why don’t you curse? It will make you feel loads better, then you’ll be free to practice your wiles upon an unsuspecting male.” He snickered. “He’ll never know how devious you truly are.”
“You… You…” Isabella wracked her brain for a response appropriate to the occasion, words she’d heard from the grooms and stable boys over the years. “You swag bellied, maggot pie, boat-licker!” Dear Lord, Father will lock me in my room if this ever becomes known. “You contemptible twat.” She was fairly shaking now in her rage, uncaring that both of his eyebrows had raised and his eyes widened. As hot anger surged through her veins, Isabella advanced upon him regardless of the squelching mud that sucked at her slippers. “I wouldn’t give you the time if you were the last deuced male in existence and I the last female.”
Well, if he’d considered her a lady, she’d all but disabused him of that notion.
The thought made her want to cry, this time out of shame.
“Then I believe it’s time for us to part ways.” His lips twitched.
So help her, if he laughed at her, she’d burst into tears right now. Fighting off the urge to breakdown in front of this horrible man, Isabella drilled a gloved forefinger into his chest—his hard, warm chest. “You could have gone on your way after spilling from your saddle, but you lingered here, intent to bedevil me. Where are your manners? For if you think I’m lax on mine, I can say the same of you.”
“Lost to the four winds,” he muttered. Turning slightly away, he scanned the immediate area, and when spying his wayward steed, he whistled. The dappled gray ambled over, apparently unconcerned with the heavy rain. When he looked at her once more, his eyes were no less stormy. “I should never have retired from the navy, for this exact reason.” He gestured at her with a muddy glove as he caught up the reins with his other. “The land is much too populated with impossible women.”
“Only because we must constantly defend against aggravating men,” she couldn’t help responding. But he’d given her a clue as to who he was. A navy man. How very interesting. In a different time and setting, she’d attempt to cajole him into telling her stories of the places he’d been.
“Bah. I am sorry I ever happened into your path, madam.” He stuck a foot into the stirrup and that foot slipped right out again to the muck and the wet.
She tamped down on the urge to laugh. “Not as sorry as I, for you have quite ruined my birthday.”
“All the more unfortunate, for every time you pass another one, you’ll remember me and this moment, and that is something I regret, for I’d rather you not remember me at all.” Finally, he found purchase on the wet leather. Seconds later he’d swung a leg over and settled himself damply in the saddle.
Not for worlds would she allow herself to admit that he looked manly and impressive on the horse, even as drenched as he was. “Perhaps you should go back to sea if you cannot stand it here,” Isabella said before she could recall it. “Mayhap you’ll do us all a favor and drown or choke on your rampant bitterness, but in all likelihood, even the sea would spit you back since you’re so unsavory.”
For the space of a heartbeat, one side of his mouth tipped upward in a barely-there grin. Then he touched the brim of his bedraggled hat and gathered the reins. “Now that you’ve spoiled my enjoyment of riding through the countryside, I’ll bid you adieu. Have a nice life, and woe to the man you finally bring up to scratch. His life sentence will be long.”
She gasped again, but before she could offer a counter-insult, the man had trotted away, leaving her standing in the rain and mud, alone and seething.
Oddly enough, though he was quite rude and thoroughly horrid, she wouldn’t mind arguing with him again. Perhaps it was a good thing she’d never see him again.
Chapter Four
&nbs
p; Later that night
Peregrine labored beneath his ire most of the afternoon and into the evening. The cheek of that woman!
Upon arriving home, he’d been obliged to take a bath, for he looked a fright and was wet to the skin. His valet had fussed over the state of his clothing but took them away without too much comment. After that, Perry settled in front of a fire in his study with a hot cup of bracing tea laced with brandy, but even that restorative didn’t chase away the chill from his bones gained while he’d argued in the horrid rain.
The effrontery of that female!
As his thoughts rolled once more to her, his ire flared anew. Never had he been treated to such a spectacular display of idiocrasy or found himself so disregarded. He was a retired navy man, after all, of some acclaim in certain circles, if the accolades from the Crown were any indication, damn it.
Then he burned with embarrassment. Some of the things he’d said to the lady were beyond the pale and he’d never apologized for nearly running her down, or for his words.
Bah! Women were all horrible, and he’d do well to remind himself of that fact instead of letting his mind linger on how the wet fabric of her gown had clung to enough curves that would tempt a saint. Bad luck that her spencer had hid her bosom from the damp. No doubt seeing the swell of her breasts would have made a spectacular picture as her chest had heaved with rage.
The clearing of a male throat at the study door yanked Peregrine from his ruminations. “What is it now, Jensen?” The man who served as his butler and valet eyed him with askance, his back ramrod straight, his sandy-blond hair combed and tamed with pomade at a side part.
“You realize that you cannot rusticate here in the study all evening, correct?”
Not only did the man fancy himself the butler and valet, and was quite happy to fill in both of those roles, Phillip Jensen had fought in the wars with him on his ship, and had, until recently, served as his first mate. When Peregrine had retired, so had Jensen, for reasons only known to him.
“Why not?” He crossed his legs at their stocking-covered ankles and burrowed deeper into the comfortable chair facing the fire. “I’m not beholden to anyone, and the only thing to do here in the country is to rusticate.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. Amusement and frustration shadowed those brown depths. “You are abominably lax in maintaining your social calendar.”
“Meaning?” Why couldn’t the man just come out with it?
“Meaning, that shortly after we moved to Buckinghamshire, you accepted an invitation to a musical evening tonight.”
“That doesn’t sound like me.” Peregrine scrambled into a full sitting position. The old wound in his thigh ached, for the rain was still in the area, though it had slacked off considerably. He drained the remainder of his brandy. “Why would I do that?” He didn’t wish to go anywhere now any more than he probably had a month ago.
“I’m sure I don’t know, Captain. Perhaps you’d hoped to stave off the boredom that would invariably come.” Jenson shrugged, the perfect picture of negligence except for the tenseness of his muscles. The man missed the sea as much as he did. “Perhaps you were feeling adventurous?”
His lips twitched. “Again, completely out of character for me.”
Jensen snorted, sharing the mirth. “Well, not now it doesn’t. I quite agree.”
“You think I’ve changed since I retired?”
“Indubitably so. And not for the better, I might add.”
Peregrine frowned. Had it been that obvious? “How so?”
“Do you wish me to point it out to you?” When Perry quirked up an eyebrow, the valet heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Very well.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Since the day after you arrived here, you have acted the cantankerous fool simply due to measures beyond your control.” When Perry would have interrupted, Jensen narrowed his eyes. “I agree that there was a certain familiarity to life on board the ship. It was simple, scheduled, ordered, no surprises unless a squall blew up or pirates lurked. However, that time in our lives is over.”
“I am aware of that.” Peregrine set his cup onto a small ivory-inlaid table at his elbow. A stack of books and slim volumes of poetry rested there. Unfortunately, in the last month, he’d read them all and as in desperate need of visiting the bookseller in the village. He shifted his gaze to his friend. “I am also aware we have ended up here for no other reason than my injury.”
“That is not the issue. You needed a change.”
“Ah, so having another twenty years in the navy wasn’t for me?”
“In all honesty? No.” Jensen allowed a small grin. “You had become jaded in the last two years at sea. It was providential your injury came when it did.”
Annoyance flashed through his chest. “How so?”
“The news of your wife broke you. It tainted everything you did.” The man moved closer to the fire and reached out his hands toward the grate. “Now here, away from the sea, away from London, away from everything you’d known before, you have the unique opportunity to find out who you really are.”
Peregrine snorted. “And that would be?”
“Who can say? Only you know the answer to that question.”
“Such gammon you speak.” But a damnable grin curved his lips. “However, I will concede that you are probably right.”
Jensen nodded. “I usually am, Captain.”
“I didn’t particularly like the man I’d become, thanks to her.” He couldn’t bring himself to utter her name. “And I’m too young to contemplate the life of a curmudgeon.”
“Indeed you are.” The valet turned to face him. “You are sorely in need of a new adventure.”
Peregrine rolled his eyes. If today was any indication, he’d had enough “adventuring” for some days. “What time am I due at this musicale?”
“In an hour.” Jensen’s lips twitched.
Damnation. “Where?” He climbed out of the chair and grabbed his cane in the same movement.
“Your nearest neighbors. The Fortescue family. It’s the Earl of Monthaven’s country estate. The only house to the south.”
“Ah.” He stared at the flames, standing shoulder to shoulder with his friend as they had in times of old. For long moments, silence reigned in the room, broken only by the snap and pop of the burning wood. Finally, he sighed. “What the deuce does a musicale entail?”
A loud guffaw emanated from the valet. “I believe it’s a recital of sorts. If you’re fortunate, the musically-inclined guests will have talent.”
“And if I’m not?”
Jensen shrugged. “You’ll sit through a long couple of hours before you’re required to indulge in small talk during refreshments.”
“The horror,” Peregrine whispered.
“Indeed.”
“And you’re quite certain I need to go?”
“Oh yes. It’s time for you to circulate through the community. This is where you’ve landed. Make the best of it.”
“Splendid.” A fair amount of sarcasm hung on the word. He focused a quelling glare at the flames.
From beside him, Jensen snorted. “Then shall I select a jacket more fitting for an evening’s entertainment?
“Damn you, Jenson.” Perry shoved a hand through his hair. “That’s not your duty,” he said in a soft voice.
“Consider it a hobby, Captain, a new roster of duties.” He turned to Peregrine with a faint grin. “I owe you for saving my life.”
“Enough.” He sent his gaze heavenward. “I cannot listen to this story again.”
Six months prior, during a sea battle with a particularly nasty pirate ship, Jenson shot the man who’d shot him. After being receiving a ball in the thigh, Peregrine had fallen hard to the decking, bleeding profusely and unable to stand. The pirate had drawn a dagger, ready to deliver the final and quite fatal blow to his heart when Jenson had shot the man in the back. The pirate had collapsed and then the damned valet had dragged Peregrine to safety until the battle turned and his c
rew had won the upper hand, but not without heavy casualties.
However, when the valet had turned back to captain their ship and steer it away from the remains of the pirate vessel, a wounded pirate launched himself at Jensen. Bleeding, nearly unconscious and in loads of pain, Peregrine had struggled to his feet. Using his last ball, he’d shot the pirate in the head, seconds before his blade touched Jensen’s back.
Ever since that time, the valet had been his constant companion.
“You save my life; I returned the favor. The debt is paid,” Peregrine said in a soft voice.
“You know it’s not.” Jensen dropped a hand on his shoulder.
“Perhaps.” It had taken months after that event for Peregrine to heal. He’d lost copious amounts of blood, caught a raging infection. When even the ship’s surgeon had given him up for lost, it had been Jensen who’d remained to care for him, nurse him back to health. His staunch belief that he hadn’t given his all to the world kept Perry rooted in the living. And when he’d been given the boon of an estate from the Crown along with two medals for bravery and daring, Jensen, with his own accolades, had packed his bags and come with him.
No questions asked.
Jensen’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Go to this musical evening and enjoy yourself. Perhaps you’ll finally find happiness. Then I’ll consider the debt paid.”
“Bastard.” Peregrine tapped the floor with his cane, but he moved toward the door.
“I rather like to think of myself as a fearless first mate, willing to do anything for my captain.” He trailed after Peregrine. “For tonight, let’s go with the light blue waistcoat…”
Peregrine arrived at the Fortescue home, and within seconds of exiting his carriage, he wished he’d not come.
For a small country social event, there was a fair crush in attendance. He threaded his way through the throng in the entry hall—easily avoiding a clog where a couple he assumed were his hosts waited—and as he wound through the corridors in search of the conservatory where the music portion of the evening would take place, he talked to no one. None of the people assembled appeared interesting enough, so he shuffled along through the crowd and into a room lined on three sides by gold velvet draperies.
Lady Isabella's Splendid Folly: a Fortune's of Fate story (Fortunes of Fate Book 7) Page 4
