Dangerous to Kiss (26 page)

Gray heard not one word of his mother’s deliberately provocative prattle. He was absorbed in watching Deborah
as gradually others drifted over to her and laughingly demanded to have their palms read.

“Gray?” said the countess, bringing his attention back to herself.

“Mmm? Oh yes, Deborah. Don’t worry about it, Mother. There’s plenty of time to get her married off. What I wanted to talk to you about is Leathe. He’s back.”

“Leathe.” The countess’s gaze strayed to her daughter. She had a shrewd idea that Meg was more taken with young Leathe than she let on. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise her if Meg encouraged the young man. She understood his appeal only too well. Good girls were always attracted to bad boys, thinking they would be the one to reform them. That was mere wishful thinking. Poor Meg.

She heard herself agreeing to Gray’s suggestion that they go down to Hart’s place before the week was out.

“Meg will be safe from Leathe there,” said Gray, “and Channings is close enough to town to make it easily accessible for visitors. Besides, I know that Deborah will be more than happy to be with Quentin again.” This reminded him of something else. “By the way, has Deborah said anything to you about finding another position as a governess?”

The countess smiled to herself. “I believe,” she said, “Lord Denning could tell you more about that.”

“Denning?” Gray’s eyes fixed on the gentleman in question. Denning was all right in his way, thought Gray dispassionately. He was a bit of a dandy, but not vulgar with it. His looks were passable. However, he was a widower with two young daughters still in the nursery. Now that he’d had time to think about it, he had decided that he did not want Deborah saddled with a brood of infants before she had time to enjoy herself. He watched her for a moment as she responded to something Denning had said. He could detect no interest on Deborah’s part, and that made him feel marginally happier about the riding expedition to Richmond Park he had arranged where Denning was to be one of the party.

“What,” he asked at length, “has Denning to say
about Deborah finding another position as a governess?”

The countess choked back a laugh. “I gather the poor man was trying to hint Deborah into marriage, but she jumped to the conclusion that he was offering her the position of governess.”

Gray smiled. “And did she accept it?”

“No. She told Denning that she already had a position, but she would be quite happy to write to her old governess to see if she could suggest someone for him. The poor man was utterly confused.” Her expression turned serious. “Do you know, Gray, I don’t think Deborah wishes to marry? Oh, she’s very agreeable to all the young men who come to the house, but she never encourages any of them.”

“Nonsense. Every young woman wishes to marry. Would you excuse me, Mother?”

The countess watched curiously as Gray joined the group beside Deborah and deftly plucked her out of it. He then led her to the piano and stood over her like a watchdog while she selected a piece of music to play to the assembled guests. Gray and Deborah? The thought made the countess smile.

Nick, also, watched Gray with Deborah, and when his chance came, he droned in Gray’s ear, “This has all the makings of a farce.”

“What has?” asked Gray absently.

“You, watching Miss Weyman, watching Philip, and Mother, weighing every word and change in expression.”

“You are imagining things, Nick.”

Nick allowed that to pass. “I suppose,” he said, managing to sound serious, “Philip would do very well for our Deborah?” Gray’s brows came down. Taking that for encouragement, Nick went on in the same vein. “He is of good family, and with your patronage, he should go far in the diplomatic corps. Moreover, he is youngish for someone who is over thirty, handsome and virile. And Deborah seems taken with him. What more can I say?”

Gray’s eyes met Nick’s in a steady stare. “Actually,”
drawled Gray, “I was thinking of someone closer to home, someone like you, Nick.”

Nick’s jaw dropped. “Oh no you don’t! You’re not going to palm her off on me, Gray. She’s too old for me.”

“Nonsense,” said Gray. “You are about the same age.”

“I’m only a stripling! You have said so yourself on many occasions. I have years ahead of me yet in which to enjoy my freedom before I tie myself down to one woman. Besides, you are joking. You want her for yourself. You know you do.”

Gray merely smiled, and eventually Nick went off huffing to join Denning in a game of chess.

Gray settled back in his chair and went through the motions of taking snuff. Philip and Deborah? He just couldn’t see it. Philip was too prim and proper and Deb had enough of those traits for the two of them.

As for Nick, he could not see that either. Nick was too young, too inexperienced. Deb would have the bit between his teeth before the ink had dried on their marriage lines, if not sooner. There was another reason, a more compelling reason to keep them apart. If Deborah married Nick, she would become his sister, live in the same house with him, be closer to him than was good for him. That must never be allowed to happen. There was no hurry, he told himself. It was months before Quentin would be going off to school. In that waiting period, some suitable candidate was bound to turn up.

“Sophie! This is a pleasant surprise!”

Deborah was descending the stairs when she heard Gray’s cordial greeting. She looked over the banister and saw a young woman, dressed from head to toe in unrelenting black, holding out both gloved hands. Gray quickly crossed to the girl, clasped her hands briefly, then dragged her into a bear hug. Deborah wasn’t surprised. Bear hugs, back poundings, exuberant kisses, and so on were a particular idiosyncrasy of all the Graysons. They never stood on ceremony with their friends.

When Gray released the girl, Deborah had a clear view of glossy dark ringlets peeking from beneath the brim of an elaborate bonnet, and a beauty that was almost childlike in its purity. This face was well-known to Deborah. It belonged to Sophie Barrington, the young widow of Gil Barrington. The last time Deborah had seen her ladyship was when the Capets had called for her in their carriage to convey her from Paris to England. Just as she had then, she was weeping delicately into a lacy white handkerchief. Tears and swoons were not uncommon with Sophie Barrington. Her nerves were so fragile that it didn’t take much to reduce her to a quivering jelly, and most people avoided that at all costs.

“Gray,” said Lady Barrington, one hand clutching a lapel of his blue coat. She gulped back a teary sob. “I had to come when you wrote me that Quentin had lost his memory. I had no idea that the poor boy had suffered so much. I had to see with my own eyes that he is as well as you say he is. We were always so close.”

“What a pity you’ve missed him. He’s at Channings right now, but the family will be there before the week is out. Why don’t you join them when they go down?”

“Unfortunately, I have appointments this week.”

“Then the week after? I know my sister won’t take no for an answer. She’ll be delighted to see you, Sophie.”

“Will you be there, Gray?”

“Unfortunately, no. There is a war going on, and my presence is required at the Foreign Office. But I should manage to get down there on odd days.”

Sophie laughed. “How can I refuse? Oh Gray, it’s so good to see you again.”

Deborah was on the point of continuing her descent, when Sophie’s next words froze her to the spot.

“And what is this I hear about Miss Weyman, Gray?”

“What have you heard?”

“That there has been an extraordinary change in her appearance?”

Gray answered easily, “Oh, that. Yes, Deb tried to make herself look older to impress her employers. She thought if Gil knew how young she was, he might have reservations about her abilities as a governess.”

Deborah peeked over the banister just as Sophie let out a trill of musical laughter. She was looking up at Gray with a teasing smile on her face. Gray’s arms were still around her.

“What a bore for Miss Weyman,” said Sophie. “And really, it was not necessary. She’s a plain-looking girl, as I remember.”

“Is she? I couldn’t say. My mother thinks she’s quite pretty.”

Deborah did a quick about-turn and headed for the servants’ staircase. Inwardly, she excused herself for
avoiding Sophie Barrington on the grounds that Nick and Meg were with a party of friends in the mews behind the house, waiting for her to join them for an outing to Richmond Park. It would be inconsiderate to keep them waiting. Besides, she had no wish to intrude on
that
tender reunion.

We were always so close.
Deborah almost snorted. She could count on one hand the number of times her ladyship had entered the schoolroom, or included Quentin in any of her plans. It had all been a great disappointment to Lord Barrington.
She is very young
, Deborah told herself, trying to be fair,
young and flighty, and man-mad, just like the girls at Miss Hare’s.
And her ire had nothing to do with the soft, stupid smile on Gray’s face when her ladyship had batted her long, curly eyelashes, blatantly flirting with him.

Only a few more days and she would be reunited with Quentin. She had felt lost without him. She was bored with sewing and shopping and playing the piano and being on display like some porcelain figurine in a china shop. She couldn’t rest easy not knowing where Quentin was, and what he was doing, not as things stood. It wasn’t fair to say that she wanted to keep him on leading-strings, as Gray had flung at her. It was fear that put her on edge.

Her throat burned when she remembered her quarrel with Gray. She would just be in the way if she went down to Channings with Quentin, he had told her. And the look on Quentin’s face, anxious and guilty at the same time, when she had suggested it, only confirmed Gray’s opinion.

Later, when she was in her room, lying fully clothed on top of her bed, Quentin had come to her. Without saying a word, he had taken her hand. He understood even if Gray did not. She didn’t want to spoil Quentin. She wanted to keep him safe.

Finally, Quentin had broken the silence. “The grooms at Channings are all armed and crack shots, Deb. Uncle Gray told me. It’s quite safe.”

That’s when she had burst into tears.

She smiled now at the groom who raced to catch up
with her as she left the house. He, also, was a crack shot, and it was more than his life was worth to lose sight of her. Where oh where would it all end? Her smile became more fixed when she entered the mews.

“What kept you?” asked Meg. She was already mounted and looked very striking in her new plum riding habit with its matching feathered bonnet.

“Nothing in particular,” Deborah said, then smiled an acknowledgment to the other riders who had assembled.

There were six in the party, not counting two grooms. Mr. David Banks had brought his sister, Rosamund, and Lord Denning had brought his carriage with a feast fit for kings, or so he said.

It was a fine day; the company was pleasant, and the prospect of Richmond should have been inviting. Deborah squared her shoulders, stepped lightly onto the mounting block and swung into the saddle.

Though it was good weather for riding, it was quite cold, and when they came to the park, Lord Denning suggested that they repair to the nearest inn for hot toddy or tea to take the chill out of them. This Meg refused to do. They had come to Richmond Park for the riding, and she was not ready to give up yet. There was a good-natured debate, and finally they decided to stay with the original plan. While the ladies waited in the comfort of the coach with hot bricks and fur wraps to keep them warm, the gentlemen would put their mounts through their paces, after which they would all ride together. Then they would have their picnic.

Nick was first away. He touched spurs to flanks and his horse shot forward. There was a shout, and Banks and Lord Denning went bounding after him. The ladies watched them until they disappeared over a rise of ground, then they sat back, exchanging smiles.

“A regular cavalry charge,” said Rosamund Banks. She had a pleasant face fringed with fairish red hair. She
also had dimples, and Deborah always felt sorry for anyone who had been cursed with dimples.

It was Rosamund and Deborah who kept the conversation going, while Meg stared out the window at passing riders and carriages. Deborah was happy to have found someone who shared her love of Paris, and did not notice Meg’s preoccupation.

The two girls were exchanging reminiscences when Meg rudely interrupted. “I shall die of boredom sitting here doing nothing. Don’t worry about me, Deb. I shall take one of the grooms with me.”

“What?”

Deborah and Rosamund were caught off guard. Before they could prevent it, Meg was out of the carriage and untethering her horse. She summoned one of the grooms, and the next thing they knew, she was sprinting to the far side of the turf with the groom galloping at her heels. They watched dumbfounded as a rider on a huge black stallion came forward to meet her.

“Oh dear,” said Rosamund. “David will be so disappointed.” She shook her head. “If Nick were here, he would put a stop to it. It really is too bad of Meg.”