Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (19 page)

Charity paled. "Heavens! You never think it would come to a
duel? Surely Mr. Garvey would not be so rash?
He
is the one challenges convention in pursuing a married lady!"

"I have tried to warn him away. We can but hope he will behave
properly in the future."

Charity nodded, but when she was in the carriage and being
driven to
Cloudhills her heart was heavy. She had very little faith in the proper
behaviour of Mr. James Garvey.

Something
was tickling Lisette's nose.
She brushed it away
sleepily, and snuggled deeper under the blankets. Again came that
persistent tickling. She opened one eye. A dewy pink rose lay within an
inch of her face. Blinking at it, she heard a familiar and amused voice
scoff, "Slugabed!"

She raised her head and discerned Strand, booted and spurred,
standing at the foot of the bed. For a moment of foolishness she
fancied him almost attractive as he leaned against the bedpost watching
her with his quirkish grin, his blue eyes bright against his tan, the
fair hair tumbled as usual, and his whip tapping restlessly against his
top boot. Such an illusion must, she decided, be the result of
insufficient sleep, and closing her eyes she muttered, "Go away."

The rose tickled her nose once more, and when next she opened
her
eyes, Strand's face hovered rather frighteningly close. "You desire
help, madam bride?" he murmured. "I shall be glad to assist you…"

His hand closed over the bedclothes. Snatching at them
protectively,
Lisette, aware that he had every right to do as he chose, was spurred
to hasty, if indignant, agreement. "Shall I ring for your abigail?" he
enquired, moving back. "Or can you manage to dress yourself alone?''

Lisette imparted regally that although
she
might be forced to arise at so ungodly an hour, she refused to inflict
such misery upon her hapless abigail.

Strand chuckled and left her, but she was shocked when the
door
again swung open just as she was getting out of bed, and he stuck his
head back in. "If I chance to have dropped asleep by the time you
arrive downstairs, please wake me." His eyes wandered downwards; he
added appraisingly, "You've a well-turned ankle, I'm glad to see."

She gave a gasp of mortification and whipped her foot back
under the
covers. Dreading lest he again return with his odious offer of
assistance, she dressed in record time, her rapid movements accelerated
by the chill in the fireless room. Adjusting her petite grey hat, its
large red feather a vivid complement to her dark hair and eyes, she
appraised herself critically and decided that she looked well
enough—well enough for her husband, at all events. She took up whip and
gloves, paused beside the full-length mirror, and lifted her habit a
little. She had suspected she had no cause to blush for her legs, but
nonetheless, it was nice to know she had a "well-turned ankle."

Outside, the skies looked threatening and the air was cold.
Lisette
shivered as they started out of the stableyard side by side. "What a
miserable morning. It looks like rain." She glanced at

Strand's right arm, carried in the sling. "I doubt you should
be riding yet."

"It won't rain this morning. And I feel very well, thank you,"
he
said cheerfully. "We'll give the horses a gallop. That should warm your
blood a little." He added,
sotto voce,
"I hope."

Lisette turned a scornful glance upon the repellent creature
but
surprised such a whimsical twinkle she could not hold her anger and,
fighting an impulse to smile in return, remarked, "I trust we do not
have far to go, Strand."

"Oh, only a short way past Petworth," he said airily.

"Petworth?
Why, it—it must be three and
twenty miles, at least!"

"Oh, at least. But it's early yet, and we can breakfast along
the—"

His words were cut off as Brutus came charging from the trees
and
shot under the horses, excitedly barking. Lisette had caught a glimpse
of him an instant before he reached them and had tightened her grip on
the reins. Strand was caught by surprise as his big chestnut gelding
bucked in a frenzy of fear. Struggling to manage her own mount, Lisette
shot an anxious glance at her husband. For a man with only one arm at
his disposal he was doing magnificently, his wiry body swaying to
counter the chestnut's gyrations as he fought for control. Reining the
animal to a halt, his gaze flashed to Lisette. "That blasted idiot of a
dog!" he exclaimed, a trifle breathless. "You might have got a broken
neck out of this!"

"You terrify me, sir," she said meekly. "Shall I return home
while you dispose of him?''

He glared at her, grunted "Come on!" and spurred to a gallop.

The horses were eager to go and fairly flew over the turf.
Strand
rode like a centaur, guiding the big chestnut unerringly with his left
hand. Lisette, who had been used to chafe at the restrictions polite
Society placed on young damsels and yearn for a gallop, contrarily was
now vexed by Strand's breezy assumption that she needed no pampering.
When her pert little hat was almost snatched off by the wind, she
decided enough was enough and drew Yasmin to a sedate trot. Strand was
soon out of sight, but since she had no idea whither they were bound,
she surmised he would return for her. She was right. He came thundering
up, his eyes bright and a becoming flush on his lean cheeks. "My
apologies." He grinned. "I forget you're London bred and unaccustomed
to exercise."

She was irritated, but smiled and said sweetly, "Alas, I fear
I am a great disappointment to you, Mr. Strand."

"Never mind," he reassured her infuriatingly. "We'll have you
up to snuff in no time."

Why was it, she wondered, that however right
she
was, however wrong
he
was,
she
inevitably was made to feel inferior? It was a new experience, and one
she did not at all appreciate. Up to snuff, indeed! She rode on in a
lofty silence, and Strand stayed more or less beside her, his horse
fidgeting and fretting, snorting at every puff of breeze, sidling at
shadows, and in general behaving so outrageously that several times
Strand was obliged to allow him to circle Yasmin. Lisette was being
drawn to a snail's pace and had to grit her teeth to keep from urging
Yasmin ahead. They came to a low hedge the horses could have walked
over, but Strand made a great point of insisting that Lisette wait,
while he galloped off, the chestnut kicking up his heels in delight at
the change of pace. In a minute or two Strand returned and led Lisette
a short distance westward where he dismounted to open a low gate.
Having ushered her through it with grave ceremony, he prepared to close
the gate, whereupon his mount pranced sideways, colliding slightly with
Yasmin.

"Brandy, you devil, be still!" Strand exhorted, and with
laughter
brimming in his eyes, said, "Sorry about this idiot, madam wife. He
behaves in much the same fashion when I take my grandmother out."

It was the last straw. With a muffled but incensed
exclamation,
Lisette drove home her heels. Yasmin bounded forward. Strand's startled
shout rang out, but bending low, Lisette urged the mare to greater
speed, paying no heed to the wind now, and exulting in this gallop of
her own choosing. Over lush meadows, down a gently sloping hill, and
along a winding lane she raced, trees and hedgerows flashing past, the
wind whipping her hair and sending her habit billowing. Her cheeks were
tingling; she felt invigorated and ignored Strand's roared demand that
she stop. He was coming up fast but, exhilarated by the chase, she made
no attempt to slow the mare. They were following the path of the river
and as Yasmin shot around a curve, the lane narrowed suddenly. Too
late, Lisette saw that the heavy rains had caused the river to overflow
its banks at a low spot just ahead. Floodwaters surged across the lane,
having dug a deep channel in which debris swirled sullenly. There was
no way to avoid that treacherous gulf. Tall hedgerows presented an
impenetrable barrier at the left, to the right was the raging swell of
the river, and the jump was by far too wide for Yasmin to attempt. For
the first time in her life Lisette froze with terror and sat watching
disaster rush at her.

A thunder of hooves, a gloved hand closing over her reins and
wrenching back with surprising power. Yasmin reared, neighing in panic.
Recovering her wits, Lisette jerked her about.

There was no time for Strand to do the same, besides which he
had
lost his own reins when he grabbed hers. He was leaning perilously from
the saddle, but managed to pull himself upright. With his hand fast
gripped in Brandy's flying mane, his knees tight, his weight on the
stirrups, he guided his horse into that impossible jump. They soared
into the air. Lisette gasped as Brandy's tucked-up back hooves skimmed
an ugly splintered tree trunk. They could not hope to clear that
deathtrap! They
could
not! But the chestnut
landed on the far
side. The earth crumbled away under his back legs. Strand had been
flung forward and with a fluid leap was out of the saddle and tugging
at the reins. For a breathless moment man and animal scrabbled and
fought, then Brandy was clear and stood trembling, eyes rolling, and
lathered with foam.

Lisette closed her eyes and breathed a silent prayer of
thanks. "Are you all right?" she called anxiously.

Having already satisfied himself that she'd not been thrown,
Strand
did not so much as deign her a glance, his full attention bent upon an
inspection of his mount's muddied legs. He patted the chestnut's neck
and spoke softly to him. "Wait there!" he called curtly, and led Brandy
along the lane.

Watching him disappear from sight through a break in the
hedgerow,
Lisette thought rebelliously that he had taunted her into essaying that
gallop. The fact that he had shouted at her to stop conveniently
escaped her, and she glowered at Yasmin's ears, quite sure she was
about to be chastised.

Strand hailed her. He had circled around and, instead of
having the
common decency to rush to his shaken lady and determine if she was
about to swoon, waited some distance behind her, gesturing impatiently.
Her brows gathering into an irked frown, she rode back to him.

"What in the devil did you think you was about, madam?" he
demanded,
not mincing his words. "Trying to prove what a bruising rider you are?
Did you not hear me tell you to stop?"

Unhappily conscious that his anger was to an extent justified,
she lifted her chin and said with proud hauteur,
"Tell
me, sir? No man
tells
me what I may do! I do as I
please!"

"You
did
as you pleased,
Mrs.
Strand.
From now on,
you will be guided by me!" His eyes fairly sparked rage; his chin
seemed to thrust out at her, and his lips were a tight, angry line.

"How
dare
you address me in such a
tone?" Lisette flared.

"Oh, I dare! Never doubt it. And shall do more than scold if
you
ever again commit an act of such reckless folly! Had you forgot you are
my wife?"

Her lip curling, she retaliated, "I wonder how ever I might
have
come to do so!" She knew at once that she had erred, for the rage in
his eyes was replaced by a dancing gleam of mirth.

"I do not wonder at all," he said, adding wickedly, "but I
shall contrive to remind you of it. Just as soon as possible."

Her cheeks fiery, Lisette thought it best to ignore the vulgar
boor.

With wretched perversity the weather bore out Strand's
forecast. The
sun burst through the clouds to bathe the rain-drenched south country
in its brilliance, the air became pleasantly warm, and every bird in
creation seemed determined to offer up a paean of thanks for this
respite from the gloom. At any other time, Lisette would have been
elated by so glorious a morning; under the circumstances, however, she
was all but oblivious of the beauties about her. Strand's one attempt
at conversation was a banal comment on the improved state of the
weather, to which infamous behaviour his bride responded with
justifiably haughty courtesy. Had he cared even a mite, the wretch
would attempt to be conciliating, instead of which he was so heartless
as to utter not another word. Her own nerves ragged, she said nothing
either, and a deep, unbroachable silence settled over them.

It was almost nine o'clock when Strand turned into the yard of
a
quaint old inn drowsing comfortably beneath three great oak trees, its
whitewashed walls somewhat weatherstained, but the mullioned windows
gleaming and with smoke curling from several chimneys. The proprietor
of the inn, which was rather inappropriately named The Pines, came
hurrying out to them. "Back again so soon, Mr. Justin?" he beamed,
adding a disastrous, "And I see you brought the little lady with—" His
eyes, having travelled to Lisette, widened. "Oh," he finished, lamely.

"You must allow me to make you known to my wife," Strand put
in, betraying no trace of embarrassment at this
faux pas.
"This is Mr. Drye, ma'am," and, as a fat little woman bustled out to
join them, "and his lady, who is also the finest cook in Sussex."

Lisette summoned her most gracious smile. Strand assisted her
to
dismount and then went off to the stables with Drye, while Lisette was
shown with much curtseying to a small chamber under the eaves. Viewing
herself in the mirror, she was not surprised to find that the
disastrous ride had reduced her hair to a windblown tangle, the collar
of her habit was all awry, and her eyes looked red. She at once set
about to correct matters, wondering what Strand must have thought of
her appearance, and if the Other Woman ever allowed him to see her in
such a state.

The parlour-maid brought up a jug of hot water. Lisette poured
some
into the china bowl and glared at it. Applying soap to cloth rather
savagely, she decided that her husband's peculiar was likely an insipid
blonde who laughed at every feeble joke he offered, and meekly agreed
with whatever he had to say. The creature, whoever she was, had
evidently visited The Pines a time or two, for it had been very
apparent she was the lady Mr. Drye had expected to greet today. How
infuriating, thought Lisette, that Strand would be so crude as to bring
his wife to the same inn he had frequented with his mistress! But why
should she expect anything else? He had not the slightest consideration
for her feelings, or—