The Rogue and I (11 page)

His brothers stopped just at the curve in the hedge, allowing Garret to perch on the edge of the fountain and listen through the greenery.

“She will not tell Garret,” Edward said flatly. “She swears to Emmaline it is impossible she do so.”

“Poor lady,” James sighed. “She is such a treasure and that she should be so misused.”

Misused
? Misused. Later, he’d show James misused. He’d misuse him six ways from Sunday.

“Shouldn’t we tell him?” prompted Edward, his voice impassioned. “Surely Garret should know she pines for him so dearly.”

“Absolutely not,” James snapped, his booted feet grating on the gravel as he, no doubt, made some sort of dramatic movement to bind Edward to secrecy.

Garret jerked to attention. Why
absolutely not?
The dratted woman was in love with
him
. Of course he deserved to know. If he didn’t, who else did?

“You’ve seen the way he derides her,” James continued. “He shall only make use of this knowledge. He shall hurt her and she has been hurt enough. No. I cannot condone passing this knowledge on to our brother.”

“I suppose it’s true,” Edward agreed, his own tone tragic. “He is ever cruel to her.”

Cruel? How he longed to jump through the damned hedge and proclaim that he was the epitome of kindness. It was
she
who was cruel. As they should know. They’d seen the woman at full sail ready for battle.

“Yes,” James agreed. “We shall just have to leave the lady to her unrequited love. It was clear long ago that he was done with her. And if we gave him this information now, it would merely be fresh meat for him to feed upon.”

James’ voice started circling back towards the open space Garret was in. Panicked, Garret looked right to left. Seeing green. Green up and down and in every direction but that of the damned fountain!

How was he to escape if they came into his enclosure?

“Well, I shall tell Emmaline that we must keep this to ourselves,” Edward said solemnly, his voice dangerously close to the entrance to the small, open area around the fountain.

Garret ground his teeth together, praying they’d just keep heading to the house.

A hand appeared on the arched entry.

Not good. Bloody not good.

“Besides, he is completely unworthy of the lady’s love,” James said woefully.

“Ha!” Garret clapped a hand over his mouth and froze.

“Did you hear something,” queried Edward.

“Sick animal, I think.”

Garret lowered his fingers from his mouth and glared at the hand perched on the hedge. Damn it, he was the worthiest fellow in Christendom. Who else would know how to handle a woman like Harriet, without breaking her beautiful spirit? And love her as she was meant to be loved?

Footsteps crunched on the gravel, coming towards him. Garret winced then slid down into the fountain. Cold water rushed around him. But it was worth it. He’d hear every morsel of this confession.

He paddled his way through the lily pads and sat up against the curved stone wall, his head tucked carefully under the ledge nearest his brothers.

Dignity now completely gone, Garret ignored the water dripping down his nose.

There was a long silence.

“Did you hear that?” asked Edward.

“A frog no doubt,” assured James.

“Then we are agreed. We shall keep the lady’s secret?”

“Absolutely. Garret shall never know. That way he will never hurt the poor lady again.”

Footsteps thumped away along the gravel path, the voices dying to nothing.

Garret sat in the cold water for several moments, completely dumbstruck. He didn’t give a fig for the lilies drifting about him. Hell, a whole host of plant life could descend upon him and he wouldn’t give it a second glance, he was so full of amazement.

A frog on one of the lily pads eyed him suspiciously, his big chest billowing before letting out a loud, “Ribbet.”

Garret stared down at the green fellow before finally bellowing with surprising vigor, “She loves me!”

The frog’s eyes bulged with alarm and he jumped hastily into the safety of the water.

Garret lifted his eyes to the blue sky. Blue sky as clear as the day he had first met her and fished her from the watery depths to make a muck of his life.

She loved him still.

A laugh burst from his lips. All this time he’d tried to convince himself that he didn’t care that she loathed him. All this time, he’d tried so hard to convince himself that he felt nothing for her but disdain and lust.

It was a lie.

All of it.

He still loved her with the same joy and ardor that he had felt the day he’d fished her from that pond. The day he’d convinced her to enter his father’s home, despite the fact she came from Cheap Street and bought her bread on the second day for economy’s sake.

It mattered not that they had both proclaimed their mutual hate after abandoning each other five years ago. This was a chance. A chance to start completely anew.

His love was mature now. It wasn’t the stuff of youth, but the stuff of pain and experience. Surely that was the most powerful love of all?

Garret lifted his hands then splashed them down through the water, sending up sparkling droplets, jubilant for the first time in years.

“Harriet Manning loves me,” he said to himself, his face brimming with a ridiculous smile that he couldn’t fight. It was preposterous, this sudden feeling of freedom and opportunity. “What to do?” he asked himself, half laughing.

Love her. That was the only thing to do. He would love her in turn.

And everything would be now as it should have been then.

Chapter 12

“I say, do I have cake on my face?”

Emmaline shook her head, blonde curls bouncing along her slightly perplexed face.

Harriet glanced out of the corner of her eye. Yes.
He
was still staring. This was bad. Very bad indeed. Surely, it indicated he was up to no good? “Wine perhaps?”

Emmaline shook her head again, her own fingers twisting around her champagne glass. There had been champagne every night after dinner, being the good digestive that it was. And after all, it was a tremendous week of celebration.

“Roast beef?” she prompted. There had to be something wrong with her appearance. It was the only reason that
he
hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they’d sat down to dinner. Strangest of all, that look of his wasn’t his typical glower.

It was one of the most intense interest.

A most upsettingly hot and curious interest.

Surely, he was plotting his revenge.

“No. No. No.” Emmaline took a long sip. “Before you can ask anything else, your appearance is positively perfect. There is not a thing about it I would change.”

Well and good, but that didn’t explain his confounded behavior. “Yes, but. . . He won’t stop looking at me.”

Emmaline licked her lips and leaned forward. “It’s quite simple really.”

Oh God. Garret was suddenly making his way across the room, the oddest grin on his face. “He’s coming.” She turned away and glared at her cousin. “I really have nothing on my face? You’re certain. My frock isn’t falling apart?”

“Who’s coming?” Emmaline asked innocently.

“Him,” Harriet snapped, smoothing her hands quickly down her skirts.

“Him, who?”

Harriet snorted.

Emmaline’s eyes widened to twin saucers and whipped her gaze in his direction. “No,” she squeaked. “I haven’t told you yet.”

“Told me what?”

“Too late.”

“Ladies,” lilted—
lilted—
Garret, an exaggerated swagger to his already cocky presence.

“Yes, my lord. Did you require something?” Harriet drawled wishing the man would just bugger off.

He laughed.

Harriet frowned. This was not going at all like their typical exchanges of taunting words. “Are you quite well, my lord?”

“Marvelous,” he said, his face still as happy as a dog that caught his own tail.

Dreamy perhaps.

Yes. That was exactly how she might describe his expression. Or perhaps moon-faced. What on earth was going on? “I am so glad. Now, what can I do for you?”

He shook his head ever so slightly, that look never fading. “Nothing.”

Harriet drew in a long suffering breath, trying not to roll her eyes. An unforgivable societal faux pas. “Then what possibly could have drawn you across the room?”

“Oh,” he said his voice full of satisfied male confidence. “I think you know.”

Emmaline let out a high pitched little sound of distress, bobbed a quick curtsy then scurried over to Edward. Whereupon, the two commenced in rapid and whispered conversation.

Harriet arched a brow at the ludicrous behavior then turned her attention back towards Garret. . . Whom she was beginning to believe dabbled in Eastern potions. What else could describe his self-satisfied grin?

“Sadly, my lord,” she began. “I am not, as you have implied on more than one occasion, a witch. I do not have powers of seeing beyond the veil. Now, if you would care to let me know what it is that I apparently know, I would be grateful.”

He merely smiled wider and reached for her hand then quickly pulled back, realizing, undoubtedly, it was entirely without etiquette to take a young woman’s hand after dinner. “Do let’s converse. I was seated too far from you at dinner to hear your on dits.”

Harriet gaped. She couldn’t help it. She knew it made her look a bit like a cod fish, but she couldn’t countenance this new tack. He might as well be speaking Greek his words were so foreign to her ears. “Sir, I would rather be jabbed with a fish fork than have you about me at dinner.”

“Of course.” He winked. And the smile remained.

Good God, the man was mad. “Are you deaf?”

“Pardon?” he teased, tilting his ear in her direction.

“I know you were rammed in the head and you have grown in years, my lord. But those are the only two possible reasons you can have for not listening.” She cleared her throat. “Let me make myself plain. Your presence, sir, is about as welcome as that of an eel. And I loathe creatures from the sea unless they have been killed, peeled, and poached.”

That ebullient optimism dimmed ever so slightly under her pointed gaze, but then it bounded right back. “I am not deaf to you. Quite the contrary. When you speak, Miss Harriet, people must listen. I would gladly listen to you. . .” He eyed her knowingly. “If you have anything you wish to tell me.”

“What could I possibly wish to tell you? Unless it is that the doctors have told me I must avoid fools after dinner.” She leaned in and whispered. “Bad for the digestion, don’t you know.”

He stared blankly for a minute then nodded merrily. “I would gladly be your fool, my dear. Anything that pleases you, I will gladly do.”

A shriek of exasperation threatened to hurl past her lips, but she refused to let him shake her. He wouldn’t win, even if he was using the most fantastical tactics. “Shall I use smaller words, my lord? Have you suffered a fit?”

He pointed at her, his brows waggling. “Nothing you can say will convince me of your displeasure at my presence.”

A burst of shocked laughter rippled past her lips.

“Garret,” James called.

“In a moment,” he replied blissfully. “I’m speaking with Miss Harriet.”

“No. Go.” Harriet waved her hands at him, in the universal gesture meant to send one packing. “Your brother wishes your company.”

He remained on the spot as if a guard at the palace. “If that is what you wish.”

“Yes,” she rushed. She waved her hand again in the duke’s direction. “Do go.”

He bowed, a little twirl to his hand and bounce to his step as he made his way to his brother.

As soon as he was gone, Emmaline was by her side.

Harriet stared after him. “The man has turned lunatic,” she hissed.

“Worse,” Emmaline whispered slyly.

“What on earth could possibly be worse? The man has reduced himself to acting like an idiot to irritate me.”

“Let me correct your noun. He is not an idiot, but rather, a lovesick fool.” Emmaline placed a marked emphasis on the last three words, her own voice rich with amusement. “There is no denying it.”

Harriet snapped her gaze to her cousin’s concerned face. “He has a lover?”

The very thought of it, though she knew he must have had many over the years, did not bear thinking on. She still, in many ways, considered him hers. Even though there wasn’t a chance of it.

“No lover, though he dearly wishes it.”

“You are speaking enigmatically,” Harriet gritted. “While that is quite appropriate in a sphinx, I am not amused. Be plain.”

“No. I cannot say it. Do forgive me cousin.” With that, Emmaline was off again, scurrying this time to Meredith. The two girls exchanged one swift look and whisked into the next room.

“Has everyone gone mad?” Harriet asked herself.

She bit down on her lower lip. She eyed Garret who was now gazing at her again, a remarkable resemblance to a besotted poet upon his face. Really now, what the blazes was going on? She looked towards the door Meredith and Emmaline had disappeared behind.

There was nothing for it. She’d have to follow and find out what this was all about.

Picking her skirts up ever so slightly, she made her way, as quickly as one might do without drawing undo attention, to the doorway. Carefully she cracked it open.

It was completely silent. She slipped into the room and glanced around. The salon was empty except, of course, for the two French chairs flanking the delicate, ivory sofa. The fire crackled warmly, throwing honey gold light on the icy blue and ivory furniture.

Harriet crossed to the Chinese screen tucked in the corner and let her fingers trail along the shimmering embroidered peacocks. Where had the two gone?

The door on the other side of the room opened and Emmaline’s voice pierced the silence. “I almost told her.”

Eyes flaring and heart pounding, Harry launched herself behind the screen. The delicate silken thing wobbled and began to topple forward.

Harriet bit back a yelp and grabbed the screen before it could clatter forward, revealing her like a ridiculous character in the play
The School for Scandal
.