Time's Fool

by Patricia Veryan

  The words hissing through a set smile, Falcon answered, “Come to cuffs with him, Trina? Why ever should I be so restrained? ’Tis my firm intention to run him through. Sixty-nine times!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Katrina Falcon had never been one to lie abed in the mornings, and although she had retired very late the previous night, she was up and dressed by ten o’clock. She went straight to Naomi’s bedchamber. Her friend was sitting at the dressing table wearing a most fetching wrapper of pale orange satin trimmed with ecru lace. She presented a charming picture, but she was scowling at her reflection, and meeting Katrina’s eyes in the mirror, said gloomily, “He is ready for Bedlam, is what it is!”

  Stifling a smile, Katrina sat on the bed. “Captain Rossiter? From what you told me last night, I would have to agree. I still can scarce believe you had such a narrow escape. You are so brave, dearest. It purely astounds me that you managed to come to the ball as if nought had happened, after that horrid man almost caused you to be killed!”

  At once reversing her stand, Naomi said hotly, “He saved my life! He has always been absolutely terrified of heights. He fears that dreadful hill, but he found the courage to run down it so as to pull me from the coach, and—” Her impassioned words ceased. Blushing, she added hurriedly, “And he is treacherous and deceitful.”

  “And treated you roughly when first you met.”

  “He did.” Naomi took the lily-of-the-valley corsage from the little vase on her dressing table, and stroked a leaf absently.

  Troubled, Katrina said, “Worst of all, he behaved disgracefully to his poor chère amie in Holland.”

  “Yes,” whispered Naomi, flinching a little. “I could never forgive him for that. Never!”

  “No lady could. So ’tis of little moment that the man has gone demented, as indeed he must have done, to make such awful accusations ’gainst Lord Collington.”

  Naomi said nothing.

  Standing, Katrina walked to the window and looked out at the misted garden. “How very fortunate, love,” she said, “that you are no longer betrothed. Now that would really be a mare’s nest.”

  “Yes.”

  “If you had cared for him, I mean.”

  “Oh.”

  Katrina turned and looked at her friend’s rather wilting figure thoughtfully.

  Naomi stared at the flowers in her hand for a long moment, then dropped them into the wastepaper basket beside the dressing table. “I think—” she began, then stopped speaking, startled by a wild outburst of barking, some assorted shouts, and a crash.

  “Oh, dear,” muttered Katrina, hurrying to the door. “Apollo! If he wakens August…!”

  She went quickly down the stairs and found Lieutenant James Morris pressed against the wall in the entrance hall while two lackeys strove to hold the ravening hound that leapt and strained to come at him. Katrina paused, frowning, and was about to retrace her steps when she saw that the lieutenant held a bloodied handkerchief to his wrist. Dismayed, she told the lackeys to put Apollo in the side garden.

  “Did he bite you, sir?” she asked. “Indeed, I am most sorry for it. He is an ill-tempered animal. Pray let me see.”

  Morris’ wrath melted away as he gazed on this beauteous creature. Her gentle hands were moving his handkerchief aside. He could catch the sweet scent of her, and trembling to her touch, he watched her, and hoarded the seconds.

  “Oh, dear!” sighed Katrina. “He did tear the skin a little, and ’twill bruise I fear.”

  “Mmm…” he murmured dreamily.

  She glanced up. He was smiling at her with such patent adoration that she could not but be amused. She took his arm and led him firmly to the kitchen, where neat maids hastened to bring bowls of hot water and cloths for the relief of the wounded. Had Morris been aware of all the eyelashes fluttering at him, he would have retreated in horror, but he had eyes for only one lady. Katrina saw, however, and their admiration caused her to look at the lieutenant again. He really was quite a well-favoured young man. And, la, but he was bashful, his face reddening when his eyes met hers, and his glance falling away. She rather liked shyness in a gentleman. She washed the wound with strong soap, which made him gasp, then sprinkled it with basilicum powder and bound it up quite proficiently, asking if it felt a little better now.

  “G-good as new,” stammered Morris. “Your hands are so—” He saw the Chef frowning at him, and floundered. “So—er— Not like a real nurse, ma’am. Oh, egad! Wh-what I mean is—”

  Katrina hid a smile. “You have had much experience of nurses, I understand.”

  “No, no!” he declared desperately. “Scarce knew any. Do assure you! I— Oh! Well, that is to say, I have of course, but not in a—er— Only in a—a quite respectable—” She looked at him again, a laugh in those glorious eyes that slanted in so bewitching a way, and his knees turned to jelly. “Lord, what a clunch I am! Miss Falcon, will you pray believe I did not intend to shoot your brother? Er, not exactly. And—and I’d no least idea he would be indisposed for so long a time.”

  “Even if you shot August by mistake, your action was ill considered, sir. And I cannot like recklessness.”

  “No, of course not. Dreadful trait. Truly, I am very sorry, ma’am.”

  She walked with him into the hall. “My brother would be nigh recovered by this time, I must admit, save that he is a difficult patient, at best.”

  Morris brightened. “Heard he was hot at hand. Drives you to the ropes, does he? Ain’t surprised, though the fella who would cause anxiety to a creature so gentle as yourself, ma’am, must be a proper slowtop, and—”

  “Not such a slowtop as to permit you to call upon my sister, Morris!”

  Wearing a red and purple satin dressing gown that made Morris blink, August Falcon was coming down the stairs. His black hair was rumpled and unpowdered, causing him to look even more menacing than usual, and the dark blue eyes fairly hurled anger.

  Morris tore his shocked stare from that garish dressing gown, and made an effort to recover. “Ain’t no law forbidding a man to pay a morning call.”

  Falcon paused on the last stair, his glance flashing to his sister. “Whatever is your aunt about? I trust she don’t permit that you receive every military rattle who abuses my father’s door knocker!”

  “I ain’t a rattle!” protested Morris indignantly. “And Miss Katrina didn’t receive me. Fact of the matter is, I come to call on you!”

  A lackey opened the door to the book room, and Falcon waved Morris inside.

  Following, Katrina said, “I was bandaging the lieutenant’s hand, dear.”

  “For which I am eternally grateful,” declared Morris fervently.

  Falcon murmured, “Full of sound and bombast and doubtful of achievement.”

  Scarlet, Morris said, “If you care to know it, Falcon, that’s a vicious dog you’ve got!”

  “Well, well!” A grin replaced Falcon’s sneer. “Apollo gave you a proper greeting, did he? The animal earns his keep.”

  “An you’d the least discrimination, you’d not give the brute house-room!”

  “Nonsense. Apollo is a fine fellow.”

  “You’d not think him so fine had he ever bit you.”

  “Au contraire. He has bitten me.”

  “Gad! Why the deuce would any rational person keep a dog who bites the hand that feeds him?”

  Falcon gave him a scornful look. “Because he bites, of course. What did you want to see me about?”

  “Oh.” Morris glanced uneasily at Katrina, who stood with her hands demurely folded, enjoying this foolish conversation.

  “Er—it’s to do with Gideon Rossiter,” Morris explained.

  “Rossiter!” Falcon’s lean countenance flushed. “If there’s one thing I don’t choose to talk about before I have my breakfast, ’tis that son of a—”

  “August…,” murmured Katrina reproachfully.

  Fuming, he said, “You’d best leave us, ma’am. If we’re to discuss Rossiter I’ll not be re
sponsible for my language!”

  She shook her head at him, but went out.

  “About the duel,” began Morris, as the door closed.

  “To hell with the duel,” snarled Falcon. “Any discussion of that can be handled by my seconds. Burn it, I thought you’d come to take him!”

  Staring, Morris said feebly, “Take him? Take him—where?”

  “What the devil do I care? Just get the beastly fellow out of my house! And for the love of God, stop gaping at me like a landed trout!”

  Closing his sagging jaw with an effort, but still severely shocked, Morris gasped, “Do you say that Gideon Rossiter stays with you? Why, if ever I heard of such a thing! You’re engaged to fight him day after tomorrow!”

  “I know that, you looby!”

  “Well,” said Morris, taking on a judicial air. “It’s dashed improper, is what it is! I cannot expect you to mind the conventions, but—”

  “Why?” jeered Falcon. “Because I’m a half-breed?”

  “Because you’re a hot-at-hand knock-in-the-cradle,” Morris answered equably. “With not the least notion of how to go on.”

  Falcon uttered a sound somewhere between a howl and a snort and sprang at him.

  Coming into the room Rossiter was in time to see Morris reel back, and steady himself against a reference table.

  Feeling his jaw apprehensively, the lieutenant muttered, “You’ll meet me for that, Falcon.”

  “Try if your feeble wits can recall that I already challenged you.”

  “Besides which,” said Rossiter, closing the door, “you must wait your turn, Jamie. What are you doing here?”

  “More to the point, dear boy,” said Morris, straightening, “what are you doing here? Ain’t at all proper, y’know.”

  Falcon said sneeringly, “We have offended his sense of propriety.”

  “I’m not surprised,” said Rossiter. “And I don’t really know what I’m doing here, to say truth. I remember riding in last evening, but—”

  “But having damned near caused Lady Lutonville to be killed, you had the confounded gall to fall asleep in the saddle.” Falcon gave an irate snort. “When we tried to pry you loose, you simply fell off and since we couldn’t wake you, I was damned well obliged to let you rack up here for the night. A fine laughingstock I shall be an the word gets out!”

  “Lord, yes,” agreed Rossiter, embarrassed. “I do beg your pardon. And thank you for your hospitality. What Naomi must think of me, I dare not guess. I was to have taken her back to the ball.”

  Falcon scowled at him. “I took her. And if there is one thing I abominate, ’tis being obliged to get up and put on ball dress after I am settled into my bed!” He turned on Morris, who had uttered a shout of laughter. “How typical that you would find that amusing.”

  “Well, I do,” admitted Morris gleefully. “Does my heart good to see you put out. Blest if ever I saw such a quarrelsome fellow. I vow were you alone on a desert island, Falcon, you’d fight yourself!”

  “How fortunate that in the meantime I’ve Rossiter to fight. And then”—Falcon’s smile was unpleasant—“you. To which end, Morris, the sooner we sort out these inchoate matters—”

  “In—what?” echoed Morris, curious.

  Falcon groaned. “In-choate, you clod! Would you wish that I spell it?”

  “No I would not! Never use such jawbreakers. Damme, Falcon, I don’t hold nothing ’gainst you because of your face, but you might make an effort at least to speak the language! ‘Inchoate,’ indeed! If ever I heard such a cockaleery word! And speaking of cockaleery, that dressing gown…”

  Grinning, Rossiter slipped into the hall. He noted absently that it was truly a splendid house, beautifully appointed, but he was more aware that his time was very limited.

  A lackey eyed him woodenly. Rossiter said he had a message for Lady Lutonville, and asked for her whereabouts. The lackey conducted him to a large dining room with doors opening to the terrace.

  Naomi was busied with her sketchbook in a little summer house at the far side of the garden. Her great skirts billowed about her, and sunbeams slanted through the trellised roof to paint a sheen on her powdered curls. It was a charming picture, and having crossed the lawn Rossiter paused with one foot on the step, to commit it to memory.

  Still slightly breathless from her scramble to set this scene, Naomi glanced up, convincingly surprised, only to become even more breathless. Why must his dark hair curl so charmingly? Why must that wistful look in the deeply lashed grey eyes wreak such havoc with her pulses? Why was it so difficult to summon the anger and resentment she should feel for him?

  He moved nearer and stood looking down at her.

  “I hope you are recovered,” she said coolly. “I should have realized last night that you were close to exhaustion, and—”

  “Stop it,” he interrupted, his voice stern. “We’ve more important things to say to each other.”

  Naomi stood. “We have nothing to say to each other, unless ’tis—”

  She was seized in hands of steel and wrenched to him. With a gasp, she tried to break free, but he jerked her closer and bent his head. His lips found hers, hard and bruisingly. Long years of yearning went into that kiss. Fighting him, struggling, furious, Naomi was unable to break free. He was too strong, and her silly heart was thundering so madly that her mind spun. A wave of ecstasy drowned indignation, propriety, caution, and brought a dizzying need to respond. She seemed to melt against him. Her hands crept up to his shoulders, then slid around his neck, and she was kissing him back with a passion that left her breathless, so that when he at last released her she lay limp and spent in his embrace and hid her heated face against his cravat.

  “Oh, Lud!” she gasped feebly. “I fancy everyone in the house saw that.”

  He smiled. “Good. Beloved,” he lifted one of her clutching little hands to his lips, “do you not see that we cannot fight the inevitable? You always were meant to be mine. And I always will adore—”

  “You forget,” she whispered, striving to be sensible, while her every nerve quivered with love and desire for this ruthless man whose arm held her so wonderfully tight.

  “My Holland family?” He sighed. “I should have told you—”

  “No. No—pray do not.” She found the strength somehow to pull back and stand erect. “It is no use, Gideon.”

  “I know,” he said softly. “I am a rake and a libertine. You are a wanton. But I love you, and you love me. No, never deny it. Just now—”

  “That was a moment of weakness.” She bit her lip. “We are farther apart than ever, for now, to add to all else, you suspect my father of heaven knows what infamy. And he has already forbidden me to see you.”

  “As has mine,” he said quietly, and nodded as her startled gaze shot to his face. “Sir Mark feels that your sire turned his back when most he was needed.”

  Her eyes fell. She said sadly, “So what hope is there for us? We must say goodbye and—”

  “When I die, perhaps,” he interposed, seizing her hand again. “What we must do now, my dearest girl, is come at the root of this business. Likely we will find your papa had nought to do with any of it, and—”

  “You are too generous,” she said, angry again. “What of your papa and the charges brought ’gainst him, not by vague and unfounded suspicions, but by the government and the—”

  “So here you are, Gideon.” Majestic in a fine coat of brown velvet embellished with gold braid, Sir Mark had come up unnoticed, and his strident voice cut off Naomi’s words.

  She jumped and turned very red.

  Gideon swung around to meet his father’s irate glare. “Good morning, sir. You are early abroad.”

  “Aye! Searching for you! While you allowed yourself to be captivated into remaining here, did it never occur to you that your brother, your sister, and I might be anxious for your sake?”

  “Your pardon, Sir Mark, but I did not captivate Gideon into remaining here,” said Naomi, irked. “He was c
ompletely exhausted by the time we arrived last night, and quite unable to—”

  “Well, that is a relief, at least,” declared another voice. The Earl of Collington paced gracefully across the damp grass, the picture of aristocratic elegance in a claret-coloured habit, a jewelled quizzing glass swinging from one white hand, and disdain clearly written on his handsome features. “I think you must have forgot, my lady, but I gave you quite explicit instructions with regard to your future—ah, associations.”

  Before Naomi could respond, Sir Mark snarled, “An your instructions had to do with my son, Collington, they were redundant. I have long since ordered Gideon to keep away from your daughter.”

  The earl’s quizzing glass was raised. Through it, he surveyed first a rebellious beauty, then an icy-eyed young soldier. He smiled faintly. “The captain does not appear to take orders very well. Come, my lady. Your visit here is at an end.”

  Gideon said sharply, “My lord, ’tis only fair to warn you—”

  “No!” cried Naomi, afraid of what he might say.

  Falcon marched across the lawn. He looked dashing, although his dark face was murderous. “My lord … Sir Mark…” His bow was extravagant. “My father will be shattered to have been absent on so momentous an occasion. I collect you were unaware he is presently in Sussex.”

  Sir Mark had the grace to flush before that cynicism.

  “How unfortunate,” murmured the earl.

  “Most unfortunate.” Falcon added nastily, “Unless ’twas Rossiter you came to find? Connected with … a meeting, perchance?”

  “A damned good notion,” growled Sir Mark, scowling at Collington.

  Gideon murmured, “Or a missing chess piece?”

  Naomi gave a gasp. Falcon looked puzzled. Sir Mark swore under his breath.

  Collington drawled, “Fascinating as is this conversation, alas, I cannot linger. Your servant, messieurs. If you please, Naomi…?”

  Keeping her eyes downcast, she put her hand on his arm and he led her away.

  * * *

  “I tell you,” said Gideon earnestly, “that blasted chess piece is bound up in it somehow! I wish to God I knew how!” Clinging to the strap as the coach raced through the late morning, he waited for a response and, receiving none, turned to his friend.