"Who taught you to do this?" he asked.
"My father." She smiled. "He said I had a fine mind."
"He was wrong," Devereaux answered briefly. "Your mind is more than fine. It's excellent."
Apricot color rose in her cheeks. She was very conscious of him standing beside her.
"Thank you," she said.
"Nathanial Harrington must be a very unusual man."
"Yes," his daughter replied, "he is. Forgive me for being rude, but isn't it rather unusual for an English duke to admire an American tradesman?"
James grinned. "I'm beginning to regret sending Georgiana to America. We're not all snobs, you know."
Silence stretched out between them. "No," she said at last. "I apologize. I've been shamefully rude. Please, forgive me."
Looking into the candid eyes, James would have forgiven her anything. From the moment he saw her he knew she was extraordinary. She had a quality that rose above her stunning beauty. It was something that drew him, willing or not, into the dangerous realm of the forbidden. He was no stranger to beautiful women. The ones he preferred were warmhearted and shallow. This woman wasn't shallow. Daniel Bradford's wife was a woman of consummate grace and rare intelligence, the kind of woman a man searched his whole life for, the kind he once imagined would look beyond his enormous fortune to the man behind it. Now, it was too late. Because of a bullet at Badajos, he would never have a woman like Teresa Bradford to call his own.
"You must be of great help to your father," he said quietly.
"He always said so," Tess agreed. "We became very close when my mother died. That was nine years ago. Papa did a wonderful job caring for all of us."
"Why did he never marry again?"
"If you had known my mother, you would never ask such a question."
"I see." His eyes rested on her face. Did the remarkable Mr. Harrington recognize how much of her uniqueness his late wife had given this one particular daughter?
James looked at the chiseled perfection of her features and the clear ivory skin. Eyes, grey as rain, stared back at him. He could feel the question in them like a physical thing. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he reached down taking her hands in his own and pulled her to a standing position.
"You may trust me, you know," he said, without relinquishing her hands. "I will help you in any way I can. It is not a thing I would take lightly."
Tess opened her mouth to deny her doubt, but the words wouldn't come. There was strength and compassion in the hard mouth that spoke so gently, compelling her to believe him. But the shadowed planes of his face and the leaping pulse of his blood under her hands held a hidden message. She felt a tenseness within him, a hidden reserve, that made her self-conscious in a way she'd never known before.
"Good morning." The low cultured voice of Leonie Devereaux broke the silence.
Tess flushed and tried to remove her hands from his grasp. They were held fast in an iron grip.
"Good morning, Your Grace," she stammered.
Without a hint of embarrassment, James released her. He walked around the table and pulled out a chair.
"Good morning, Mother," he said, bending to kiss her cheek. "You're up early." He winked at Tess.
"Yes," said the duchess reaching for a cup of coffee. "I went to check on Teresa and when she wasn't in her room, I suspected I'd find her here." She smiled dazzlingly at the younger woman. "James can be such a bore in the morning. I thought I should rescue you."
Tess's eyes widened. Of all the terms she could think of, boring was the last one she would use to describe James Devereaux.
"Do you ride, Mrs. Bradford?" James asked, returning to his own seat.
"Shame on you, m'lord," Tess teased. "To ask a woman from Maryland if she can ride is like asking Lord Liverpool if he's a politician."
James laughed. "I stand corrected. If you would care to join me, I believe we could find a suitable mount for you in the stables."
Tess opened her mouth to accept when the gentle voice of her hostess cut in. "Why don't you wait for Georgiana to join you," Leonie suggested. "You know how disappointed she would be if you didn't invite her."
"You know very well that Georgiana doesn't emerge from her room until noon. She won't even know we've gone and come back," James answered.
"Don't forget, dearest, that Tess is her guest," his mother reminded him. "Perhaps Georgiana had plans to ride this afternoon."
There was a message hidden beneath the gracious words that Tess couldn't identify. It was almost as if the duchess disapproved of her.
"Nonsense. We shall be back before the morning is done." James was too well bred to openly defy his mother but there was steel and more than a little annoyance in his terse reply.
"I really would prefer to wait for Georgiana." Tess pushed her chair away from the table. "If you'll excuse me I have some letters to write."
"Of course, my dear." The duchess smiled in approval as she watched the graceful exit of the American girl. Buttering her biscuit, she turned innocent eyes on her son." She really is a very sensible girl. Don't you think so, James?"
"Yes, Mother," he agreed dryly. "I only wish I might say the same of you."
Leonie's blue eyes widened. "Whatever do you mean?"
"Teresa Bradford is a married woman," he reminded her. "It would be quite awkward if you forgot that and treated her as you would Georgiana or Judith."
"I have no intention of forgetting Mrs. Bradford's marital status." She looked up through her lashes at the rigidly controlled expression on her son's face. "I'm extremely relieved to know you haven't forgotten it either."
Chapter 5
Tess ran her hands over the cannon bones of the grey mare and looked up at the groom. "She's perfect, Higgins. Are you sure the duke won't object to my riding her?"
"Not at all, madam," he assured her. "His Grace told me himself that I was to choose a mount suitable for you." He looked approvingly at her well-worn riding habit. "I can tell you know what you're about."
She laughed. "I hope I won't disappoint you. May I ride alone if I stay within the park?"
"Aye," he nodded. "As long as you don't go beyond the south wall you'll be perfectly safe. No one would harm a woman on Langley grounds." Lacing his fingers together, he cupped his hands around her instep and boosted Tess into the saddle.
"Handle her gently now," he warned patting the mare on the rear. "She has a mouth like silk."
Twenty minutes later Tess reached the edge of the park. Beyond the manicured lawn and neatly clipped hedges, a wooded forest beckoned her. Urging the mare forward she pushed aside green-leafed branches of white oak and maple, their beauty unfamiliar but still appealing. A stream gurgled beyond the trees. She could barely make out the flash of silver where the water tumbled over the rocks. A movement, white and abrupt, like the flicker of a gull's wing, caught her eye.
Curious, she turned her mare in the direction of the movement and slid to the ground. Winding the reins around one hand she placed the other over the animal's nose. Higgins had told her there was nothing to fear on Langley land, but Tess knew a startled animal, or person for that matter, could be dangerous. Stepping into the darkness of the trees she waited until her eyes adjusted to the light. There, perched on a rock, fishing pole in hand, sat an extremely muddy Lizzie Devereaux.
Tess stifled a laugh as the youngest Devereaux daughter reeled in a respectable trout.
"Hello," she called out, after the fish had been removed from the hook.
Lizzie looked up, startled. Her brow cleared when she recognized Tess. "Oh," she said breathlessly, "it's you."
Lifting the skirt of her habit, Tess waded through the shallow water to the rocks where Lizzie remained seated. "Were you expecting someone?"
"Not exactly," the child explained. "It's just that I'm supposed to be in the schoolroom and I've escaped."
"I see," Tess's lips twitched. "Do you dislike studying?"
"Oh, no," Lizzie smiled when she realized Tess wasn't g
oing to scold her. "It's just that we've had rain for over a week and I couldn't stay inside for another moment."
Tess nodded. "I know exactly what you mean. I was something of a madcap myself at your age and much preferred the outdoors to dabbling in watercolors and playing the pianoforte."
Lizzie looked wonderingly at the chiseled features and silvery coloring of Georgiana's friend. She looked down at her own reflection in a pool of still water. Running her tongue across dry lips she said, "I really do want to behave like a lady, but sometimes it's very hard."
"What is it that you find so difficult?" Tess asked.
"I'll never be like Georgiana or Judith." Lizzie's eyes were suspiciously bright. "I'm not pretty enough," she explained, refusing to let the tears spill over onto her cheeks.
Tess's eyes widened. She looked at the child's thin high-bridged nose and clear translucent skin, at the glossy black hair pulled back into a single plait and the impossibly blue eyes fringed with thick beautiful lashes.
Wrapping the reins around a tree branch, Tess pulled off her boots and rolled up the sleeves of her habit. Barefoot, she climbed up next to Lizzie and reached for a worm to bait the empty hook.
"May I?" she asked, lifting the rod.
The child nodded her head and watched in astonishment as Tess expertly cast her line into the shadowed brook. Within moments a trout was hooked. Lizzie laughed out loud as Tess deposited her catch into the basket.
"How old are you, Lizzie?" Tess asked suddenly.
"Twelve," was the reply. Tess measured off a piece of fishing line and efficiently bit off the end with even white teeth.
"I have a sister just about your age," she said.
"Does she look like you?" The blue eyes were fixed trustingly on her face.
"Good heavens, no!" Tess laughed. "She's a child. A person's appearance changes a great deal between ten and twenty."
"That's what James says, but I wonder if he's telling the truth or merely trying to comfort me because he's my brother." Lizzie looked away again.
"Well," Tess appeared to consider the matter. "It wouldn't be unusual for an older brother to try and make his sister happy."
"That's what I think." The child's voice quavered.
"Lizzie, look at me." She waited until the blue eyes met hers. "If I tell you something will you believe me?"
Lizzie Devereaux looked for a long moment into the lovely clear-eyed face. At last she nodded.
"You aren't the least bit pretty," Tess emphasized every word. "But in less time than you can imagine, you'll be quite beautiful." She tilted her head to the side surveying Lizzie's openmouthed face. "In fact," she continued, "you look more like your mother than any of your sisters and I'm sure you'll agree that to resemble the duchess would be a wonderful thing indeed."
"Do you really think so?" The child's face glowed.
"I'm sure of it."
"I thought you were going to write letters?" an amused voice broke into their conversation.
Startled, Tess lost her precarious balance on the rock and tumbled into the stream. She landed in an upright position. The water wasn't deep, but it was very cold. She gasped in shock as the icy wetness lapped against her legs.
Before she could even think, strong arms lifted her to the bank. James stripped off his coat. Lifting her skirts to her knees, he began rubbing the life back into her calves and feet with the costly wool.
Pain, like the tiny stabs of a thousand needles, followed his touch. She gasped again as his fingers touched the sensitive skin on her inner calf. "I had no idea my presence would affect you so," he teased, maintaining the steady rubbing pressure on her feet.
"You know very well why I fell," she retorted, trying to ignore the dark head so close to her own and the warm fingers massaging her skin. "I think you frightened us on purpose." She looked at Lizzie hovering anxiously nearby. "You weren't expecting him, were you, dear?"
Lizzie shook her head. "You startled us, James." Her lips tightened. "It isn't like you to do such a thing. Tess could have been hurt."
"Perhaps I was paying her back for being dishonest." There was a disturbing glint in his eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Lizzie demanded.
Tess squirmed beneath his gaze.
"Mrs. Bradford refused my company earlier today in favor of writing letters in her room," he explained. "Now, I find that she preferred riding after all." He kept his eyes on her face. "You might have mentioned it was the company and not the ride you objected to."
"Don't be absurd," Tess said, pulling her feet away. "Since you obviously prefer to be direct, so will I. I would have been very glad of company but for some reason your mother did not wish you to ride with me this morning. I've no desire to anger my hostess."
She stood up and looked around for her boots. "We've enough trout for a fine meal, Lizzie. If your mother is anything like my father, the longer you stay away from your studies, the angrier she'll be."
James did not move immediately, watching Tess from beneath lowered lids. He was struck by the natural appeal of the woman beside him. The sight of a lady in a muddied habit and wet hem, her tangled hair down her back should have appalled him, but it didn't. Tess, with her worn clothing and loose hair looked charming, too charming for her own good.
He stood up suddenly. "Lizzie has been gone for the entire morning already," he said. "A bit longer won't make a difference. There's a sunny spot in the meadow where we can rest while your skirt dries."
Afraid of offending him any further, Tess followed behind as he led the horses to a grassy knoll at the edge of a secluded meadow.
Lizzie lay down the fishing gear and stretched out on the grass. Tess joined her, her eyes closed against the light, her hands behind her head. The sweet smell of new grass and the drugging warmth of the sun worked their magic and soon, Lizzie was asleep.
James looked at Tess, free at last to let his eyes move leisurely over the entire length of her body. Lashes, darker than her hair, rested on cheeks the color of warm honey. Anyone with eyes in his head would recognize her as an American. The glowing skin, the sprinkling of freckles on her small straight nose, the confidant vitality of her walk, the lovely drawl of her speech, belonged to a gentler, slower-paced world.
With a shaking hand, he wiped away the moisture collecting on his forehead. Tess stirred, changing position slightly. Her breasts rose and fell under his fascinated gaze.
Tess felt his eyes on her. Her body was drawn tight as a bow, almost as if she were waiting for something. She knew the exact moment he withdrew his gaze and lay back, hands behind his head. She released her breath, finally able to relax.
Much later, a hand on her arm and the duke's familiar low voice woke her. The sun was low in the sky. She looked up to find Lizzie already mounted.
"Wake up, lazybones," the child grinned. "We'll be late for dinner."
Tess rose unsteadily to her feet. She was hungry, and the sun had drained the energy from her body. Walking to the mare she took the reins in her hand and leaned against the animal's warm flanks. As if she weighed no more than his small sister, James encircled her waist with his hands and lifted her to the saddle.
"Thank you," she smiled gratefully. "I'm more tired than I realized."
"You've done nothing but travel for the last several weeks," replied James, climbing up in back of Lizzie. "You need time to recover."
"I really had intended to write those letters, m'lord," she said. "But until I can send some news about Daniel to his father, I hesitate to give him hope." She bit her lip. "Adam Bradford is a very old man."
"He's also a sensible man, if I recall."
"Do you know him?" Tess looked surprised.
"I've met him several times," James replied. "Unless he's changed his mind, he was against a war with England."
"That's right," Tess agreed. "He's an outspoken Federalist. Even now, after what happened to Daniel, he still feels the same. He sees no need for war, not even to help France."
&nbs
p; "Didn't Senator Bradford fight in the revolution?"
"Yes, he fought in the Virginia Brigade with George Washington. My father did, as well. Both of them survived the winter at Valley Forge."
"Without the French the Americans would never have been victorious, you know."
Tess looked offended. "Yes, James. It is American history we are speaking of, after all. I know it well."
He returned her look with a level stare. "I'm glad of it. Then you should know something of Napoleon Bonaparte."
"Only a little. What do you think of him?"
"I believe what every sensible Englishman believes. Bonaparte is a madman."
Tess frowned. "I suppose you are bound to feel that way. It is your duty as an Englishman. But Americans feel differently. He has helped our country a great deal."
"Believe in fantasies if you must," replied James curtly. "If you knew one half of what he's done, you would agree that the term butcher describes him perfectly."
"I assume Wellington can do no wrong," she teased.
James smiled. He noticed the change in her tone and recognized it as an attempt to lighten the seriousness of their conversation. "I've enormous respect for the general. There is no one like him in all the world."
"I've heard he is a terrible taskmaster."
James laughed. "You wouldn't say that if you knew him. He has quite a way with the ladies. One look at you and he wouldn't concern himself over something as inconsequential as an absent husband."
Her cheeks burned. "Rumor has it that he shares that same quality with his chief intelligence officer." The words were out before she could stop them.
His eyes were the deep blue of the sun-kissed Atlantic but there was no longer any laughter in them. "You shouldn't listen to rumor, Mrs. Bradford. There is little truth in it."
Lizzie watched in interested silence. James was sad again. He had been that way ever since he came back from Spain. She wondered if his leg hurt. She had overheard her mother say that a piece of leg was a small price to pay if it meant James never had to go back to the army again. Lizzie agreed with her. Nothing was worse than not having James at Langley.
Tuesday's Child Page 5
