How To Beguile A Beauty Part 10

"Safe? Did you think I'd run to alert his creditors?"

Justin flashed his wide smile. "Possibly. You are a very upstanding fellow. A veritable repository of morality and such like. I vow, I don't know how I stand you sometimes. Or how you abide me."

"I'm also very forbearing," Tanner told him, tongue-in-cheek.

"Patient as a saint, I agree."

"In addition, in case you might be wondering, I am devoid of any inclination toward begging for snippets of scandal."

"Ah. And your point?"

Tanner urged his horse forward as the traveling coach broke free of the early-morning traffic and the fresh team broke into a canter. The second coach, bearing luggage and servants, followed some s.p.a.ce behind. Justin, on the other hand, seemed to be traveling light, although that probably meant his coach had been on the road for hours and was already well ahead of them.

"My point? Must I have one? I thought you simply wanted me to recite my a.s.signed line, that being to look at you all goggle-eyed and exclaim in horror-struck tones: my G.o.d, man, don't tell me you helped Brummell escape!"

"I would have appreciated that sort of enthusiasm, yes. Do you think, if I were to tell you, you'd deign to at least pretend to be hanging on my every word?"

"I suppose I could try, if it means that much to you. Now, are you going to tell me how he-or should I say, you-outwitted the duns? I heard they sit in his drawing room and watch him eat his breakfast-which he probably hadn't paid for if accounts of how dest.i.tute he is are true."

"Oh, truer than true. The man had not two s.h.i.+llings to rub together, although he's fairly well-to-go now for a while, if he's prudent. A few of us fellow reprobates took up a collection of sorts, as a farewell gift, you understand. We owe the man something. After all, were it not for Beau, we'd still be prancing about like trick ponies in embroidered satins and dripping lace."

"Not to mention the periwigs and powder."

"Please, don't even whisper of those horrid things. And then there's daily bathing. You have to admit that the air in the ballrooms has been fresher since Brummell declared proper hygiene as the mark of a real gentleman. But I digress."

"You nearly always do. But that gives me time to ask a question, if you don't mind?"

"You nearly always do," Justin quipped. "You wish to ask me how I managed to be one of the conspirators in our small adventure. Since I've only returned to England two short days ago."

"So you said."

"Ah, you're learning. I may have only officially arrived two short days ago, but I did not say this is my first visit to my ancestral home. In truth, I've managed to be in and out of the country-incognito you understand-several times in the past few months. Securing a royal pardon is not only costly, but time-consuming. At any rate, between my growing loathing for our own Prinney, whose pockets are now clogged with my blunt, and a hard-won affinity for outcasts, such as our prince has made Brummell, it was only logical that I should offer the man my a.s.sistance."

"And yet still I don't know what you did. We'll be at the first posting inn before you tell me, at this rate."

"It's a curse, this delicious enjoyment of the dramatic, I do try to fight it. Please forgive me. I'll be quick about the thing, then, so as not to have to leave you hanging as I go off to rid myself of my dirt and change into fresh clothing, all courtesy of the estimable Wigglesworth. My coach is already waiting for me at the Hoof And Claw. That is our first stop, yes? I seem to remember your pa.s.sion for their dumplings."

"Your memory is long, if not entirely accurate. Her name was Dumpling, and that was a long time ago," Tanner said, stifling a grin. "I'd like to get to Malvern before Christmas, you know, so if you're above an hour primping in your bath, we'll leave you there."

"You're to be mine host, not my taskmaster," Justin pointed out, and then shrugged his broad shoulders. "Very well. As my reputation couldn't be more tarnished, I volunteered to be the one who escorted Beau to the opera in my coach. One of the more decla.s.se duns attempted to share said vehicle, but I disabused him of that notion. It was a rare treat, watching him and a half-dozen others of his ilk running alongside the coach in an attempt to keep our das.h.i.+ng debtor in their sights."

Tanner could readily imagine the scene, and easily saw the humor in it. "And after the opera?"

"Yes, that was an interesting discovery. Duns, as a species, would seem to have very short legs, and rather limited stamina," Justin remarked, clamping an unlit cheroot between his teeth. "I'm afraid they couldn't keep pace with my team, which made quick work of eating up the road between London and the estate of a fellow conspirator who had hidden Brummell's carriage. We said our farewells-a vastly touching scene, really-and the man was off on Dover Road, heading toward the tide and the small vessel waiting for both he and his carriage at the docks. I imagine he was sipping wine at some cafe in Calais before I managed my return to London."

Tanner shook his head. "All of that, Justin, and you barely knew the man."

"Or he, me. Still, he left me his seat at the table in the bow window at White's."

"He left it to you? He isn't dead, just gone."

"You were always such a stickler for accuracy. All right, I'll admit it. I bought the thing. For some reason, and rather belatedly, the man didn't wish to be indebted to yet someone else-me."

"You bought his seat? The actual chair?" Tanner laughed so hard his mount snorted and began sidestepping until his master returned his attention to the reins. "Have you decided to become an arbiter of fas.h.i.+on? Are you going to sit in the window and critique the rigouts of every hapless man and woman to trip down the flagway?"

"Yes, that about says it. Ought I get myself a quizzing gla.s.s, do you think? To go with my funereal black and melancholy scowl."

"I think you should get yourself to the posting inn. Either that, or find your own way to Malvern."

"And give you a clear path to the affections of our fair and-thanks to your honorable idiocy-fair game Lady Lydia? I think not." And with a flash of his devilish grin and a tip of his hat, Justin dug his heels into the flanks of his mount and was off, down the road...leaving Tanner to mutter curses only his horse heard, which did him no good at all.

He urged his mount forward, alongside the coach, and dipped his head so that he could look in through the window, to where Lydia and Jasmine were seated.

Jasmine saw him first, and quickly lowered the window. "Was that the baron who just sped past us? He looked marvelously das.h.i.+ng, with his neck cloth loose and flying out behind him. Oh! I shouldn't have said that. Are you going to join us, Tanner? The coach is very well sprung, and the seats much more comfortable than those in Papa's carriage. We'd be happy to have you join us, although you'd have to ride backwards. Lydia and I have discussed this, and we both agree that we'd probably take very ill in our stomachs if we were to ride backwards. Well, I agreed. Did you say anything about that, Lydia?"

"I don't recall," he thought he heard Lydia answer quietly.

"Perhaps later," he told his cousin, and then looked past her, to where Lydia was doggedly attempting to work her embroidery hoop, even along this rather b.u.mpy stretch of roadway. Her lips were compressed, and there was a white line ringing her mouth. "I thought perhaps you'd care to ride with me to the posting inn, Lydia? I noticed that you were wearing your habit."

She looked at him with such relief in her marvelous blue eyes that he instantly decided that Jasmine had probably been chewing off her ears for the last hour. Did she really think pretending an interest in her embroidery was enough to discourage Jasmine's prattlings? "I would like that, yes, thank you."

Tanner signaled to the coachman to pull to the side of the roadway and stop, and five minutes later Julia was mounted and riding beside him, far enough back from the coach to not have the two of them covered in dust within moments.

"Jasmine was proving to be her normal nattering self?" he asked her as they moved ahead at a slow canter.

"She says she natters when she's nervous. I didn't suppose that I made her nervous, but it appears I must. Or else it is simply returning to Malvern that has her feeling overset."

"Anxious to be going home, or unhappy to be leaving London, do you think?"

Lydia seemed to consider this for a moment. "I think she's anxious to be home. She has...friends in the vicinity."

"Are they all deaf, do you suppose, like Mrs. Shandy? No, don't answer that, it was mean of me."

"She's aware of what she's doing. She simply can't seem to stop talking. I would hate to be so nervous."

"Now I'm doubly ashamed of what I said. It's her father, you know. He pushes her and pushes her-toward me, mostly. Her ambitions for herself don't match his."

"She'll have to stand up to him at some point," Lydia said firmly, surprising him. "n.o.body else should be allowed to arrange someone else's future."

Tanner immediately was tossed back to his promise to Fitz. The man had been arranging Lydia's future, even as he lay dying. And, if Thomas Harburton was to be believed, the late duke had arranged his son's future from his deathbed. Was Lydia trying to tell him something without actually saying it? But if so, was she speaking of his father, or of Fitz? Could she somehow know what her captain had planned for her if he were to die in battle? If she did, clearly she didn't approve.

Just what he needed, another hurdle.

"I've never seen you ride," he said, steering the suddenly uncomfortable conversation elsewhere. "I knew Nicole did, but not you."

"Nicole doesn't merely ride," Lydia said, smiling. "She and her Juliet terrorize the countryside. Daisy and I are content to amble along, admiring the view."

"Sometimes, the slower you go, the more you can savor the route and antic.i.p.ate the arrival." Was he speaking of horses now, or his slow pursuit of Lydia herself? He knew the answer to that question-but did she? They both talked, but how much did either of them really say, and how much of their conversations, the important parts, lay in what was not said?

Her cheeks colored slightly, and Tanner knew he couldn't credit that color to the few minutes she'd been in the warm fresh air. His hopes soared. He was really quite the pathetic fellow, and he knew it.

He hastened into speech: "What were you and Jasmine-Jasmine, mostly, I'm sure-talking about? Were you listening at all?"

Lydia smiled at him. "There was little else to listen to. She was only telling me about Malvern. So far, I know that the house is big. And huge. And enormous. She's quite intimidated by its size, probably because, as a young child, she once got herself lost in the West Wing. But you know that because you are the brave hero who found her, rescued her, and carried her safely back to civilization when she was convinced she would be lost forever and succ.u.mb to cold and hunger."

"Good G.o.d, she said that? Did she also tell you that she'd closed herself up in a linen cupboard and fallen asleep? How did she expect to be found? And she wasn't that young, Lydia. I believe she was twelve or thirteen at the time, at least. She hasn't gone a step farther than the drawing room since then whenever she and her father visit. She's a...she's rather timid about some things."

"And with a tendency to overstate matters, it would seem. But now you're no longer a brave hero, are you?" she asked, humor in her voice. "That's too bad, as I was quite impressed when I believed you to be one. Perhaps you've done something else worthy of my maidenly awe and admiration?"

She wanted to bandy words with him, did she? Well, he was more than amenable. Words could be quite...evocative.

"Not lately, no. But I shall endeavor to do so at the earliest possible moment. Did you have any special feat of derring-do in mind?"

She pretended to consider his question, and he felt his heart swelling, because she obviously felt comfortable enough with him to tease him.

"Are there dangerous dragons at Malvern?"

"The fire-breathing sort, you mean?" He refrained from saying Justin's name.

"Are there other sorts?"

"Oh, yes," he said with all the solemnity he could muster. "Several, in fact. The h.o.r.n.y-toad sort, for one. All b.u.mpy, you understand, and his breath gives you warts. The double-tailed sort-they make a real havoc when they're happy and begin wagging those tails. Many a village cottage has had to be re-thatched over the years thanks to those considerable appendages. Lastly, there's the red-eyed five-legged nut-hatcher. Although, sadly, we haven't seen any of them ever since the walnut trees were felled by a blight some years ago and the lack of their favorite food forced them to relocate. I heard a few have been spotted feeding somewhere in the vicinity of Bagshot Heath, but that may only be rumor."

"A pity, as I would have liked to see the red-eyed nut-hatcher."

"Red-eyed, five-legged nut-hatcher," Tanner said. "The four-legged sort is still flouris.h.i.+ng quite well with the hazelnuts."

"I stand corrected, thank you. I suppose I'll simply have to make do with having you slay one of the double-tailed sort. You'll not want to risk warts, after all. Brave heroes, I'm convinced, should not be plagued by warts."

"They would vastly take away from my consequence, I agree. And if the dragons have all gone in search of greener pastures? How then am I to impress you, fair maiden?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll think of something," she said, and then her eyes got rather wide and she looked away from him.

"Lydia?" he asked after giving her a few moments to compose herself. Clearly she was as unused to verbal sparring with a man as he was with a woman. They were two rather reserved people, actually, except for the fact that they were trying, perhaps too hard, to not be so very circ.u.mspect anymore. Staid. Safe. Careful.

"Yes?" she asked him, sitting very erect and proper on the sidesaddle.

"Have you brought along the boots?"

Did she know what he was asking her?

Slowly, she turned her head toward him and looked him full in the face. As if she'd come to some sort of decision. "You said I would be able to see the world from the top of one of the hills. How could I not bring the boots? I'm...I'm very much looking forward to everything you can show me."

Tanner's mount danced a bit as he accidentally tugged on the reins. Either she knew what he'd been saying, or she was so innocent he should pack her up the moment they got to the posting inn and send her home to her brother.

"There are so many things I want to show you, Lydia," he said, watching her closely.

"And so much I want to learn," she replied softly, her long lashes coming down to hide the expression in her eyes.

So beautiful. So chaste and demure.

Was she telling him without telling him that she was ready for more? He believed she was. Hoped she was.

He had Rafe's blessing, along with his advice that a woman can weary of being treated like a fragile flower. If that hadn't been enough, there had also been the whispered words from Charlotte as he quit the study: "Tell her, Tanner. Show her. She's ready to wake from whatever dreams she's hidden in for so long. She longs to be a woman. Don't let anyone else be the one who wakes her. Not if you love her."

Ahead of them, the coach began to slow as they approached a small hamlet and the Hoof and Claw. A fresh team and food and drink would greet them on their arrival. Along with the Baron Justin Wilde, currently prettying himself up in one of the bedchambers, cheerfully determined to make his friend's life as complicated as possible.

"At my invitation, no less," Tanner muttered under his breath.

"Pardon me? Did you say something?" Lydia asked him as they turned their horses into the inn yard.

"I asked if you're hungry. Justin promised to order us a meal."

"I was so busy saying goodbye to everyone that I completely forgot breakfast. Is that why he rode ahead? That was very thoughtful of him."

"That's Justin, thoughtful. The man is positively br.i.m.m.i.n.g with thoughts all the time. Let me help you down."

Tanner dismounted, handing the reins to the young ostler who'd run up to grab them, and walked around his horse to raise his arms to Lydia. She kicked her foot free of the stirrup as she lifted her other leg up and over the pommel before resting her hands on his shoulders.

Gripping her slim waist, he allowed her body to slowly slide down his, holding her still until the ostler had led their mounts away. He searched her eyes with his gaze, longing to tell her how beautiful she was, how just the sight of her smile could steal his breath from him, make him want to promise her not just the world but the sun and the stars. Instead he said quietly, solemnly, "I don't say things as well as Justin does, Lydia. But when I say something, I mean it."

She lifted a hand to his bandaged cheek, cupping it gently for the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat. "I know. I'll remember."

He felt foolish, even disloyal to one of his best friends. "I'd never hurt you."

"I know that, too." Her hand drifted back down to her side. "They're probably wondering where we are. Shall we go inside?"

He nodded, then stepped back and offered her his arm.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

JASMINE AND LYDIA were given over into the capable hands of the innkeeper's wife and escorted to a room set aside for them, to refresh themselves, while Tanner was also shown to a chamber, perhaps the same one occupied by the baron.

"Oh, isn't this a lovely room?" Jasmine said as she headed straight for the pitcher of fresh water and the white earthenware washbasin. "Do you mind if I clean my hands first? You've been riding, and even with gloves, you're probably very dusty and smell of horse, and I wouldn't want to wash in dirty water."

Since the girl was already pouring water into the basin, Lydia didn't bother to answer what would have seemed an insult from anyone even an inch more cunning than Jasmine Harburton. She only walked to the small mirror hanging above a dresser to check on the position of her hat, the rather small, silly one that mimicked a man's curly brimmed beaver, but was worn at a rather rakish angle atop her blond curls, angled down over her left eye. Perhaps it was the color she liked best, a perfect match to her emerald green riding habit. Or, more probably, what made the hat so special was the fetching array of peac.o.c.k plumes stuck to the back of it and standing in the air a good eight inches or more, and the half-veil that she'd pulled down once she was aboard Daisy, so that when she'd looked at Tanner, it was through the clever wisp of veil. She felt jaunty in this hat. Even sophisticated.

Full of false courage? Goodness, if a hat could make her feel this way, imagine how courageous men felt when they'd strapped on a sword. Were both women's hats and men's swords to be considered weapons? And what battle did men and women fight?

"Now there's a question I would never ask Charlotte, because she'd probably answer me," she told her reflection quietly.