A Lot Like a Lady (8 page)

“Arden, take the horse,” Grey fairly growled.

Startled, the trainer rushed forward and took the reins, making an obvious attempt to look anywhere but at the young woman. Finally, he managed to catch hold of the reins and led the horse away.

With rage driven by thoughts of the likely imposter’s bloodied body being pounded beneath the horse’s hooves, Grey stalked forward and grabbed the little instigator by the arms. “You stupid girl, you could have been injured or killed. What possessed you to take such a risk with yourself — or my horse?”

Irritation sparked in her eyes and she tried to jerk free of his hold. “You gave me permission.”

Tension rose from his fingers where they gripped her and fluttered along Grey’s arms. He squeezed lightly. “I said you could
talk
to him, not ride him.”

“Well, riding him
was
talking to him.” She tossed her head and those glorious curls glinted gold in the sunlight. “He did splendidly, too. I told you he didn’t li—”

“Enough!” Grey bellowed, aware of the livery manager regarding the altercation from the stable doorway, yet also beyond caring. “What you did was foolish and irresponsible. Had the horse not been tired from training, he most certainly would have thrown you. Not only did you put yourself in danger, but you endangered the stallion as well.”

Her cheeks burned crimson and her nostrils flared. “Of all the — I’m
sorry
if I embarrassed you by getting the horse to perform better than
you
did, your grace. How foolish of me to show you up.”

He tightened his hold on her shoulders again and shook her. “Stop it. Just stop it. Do not now insult me, on top of everything else.”

“Insult you?” she screeched, trying to tug herself from his grasp once more. “Oh!” With eyes that spat fire, she glared at him. Then her lips pulled upward in a calculated smile that never reached her eyes. Before he gathered her intent, she drew her right foot back and lashed out with it, connecting solidly against the outside of his leg with the point of her shoe.

He howled in pain and grabbed his ankle. His hold broken, she ran off. Grey cursed and straightened, unable to believe what had just occurred. The chit had actually had the impudence to kick him.

“Are you hurt, your grace?” Clyde asked, hurrying out of the livery.

Without tempering his impatience, Grey waved him back. At least the livery’s manager had taken his leave from the doorway. “I’m fine, Clyde. I think we will call it a day.”

“Right, your grace.” The man hesitated before adding, “She was amazing, weren’t she, your grace? Why, she reminds me of them corky magpies near me old home in the country. And she were right about the bay hatin’ the cart. Why, I bet—”

Grey jerked his head up and glared.

Clyde shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Forgive me, your grace. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

Sucking in a long breath, Grey blew it through pursed lips while he considered recent events. “Yes, Clyde, she was amazing, as much as it pains me to admit it. But what she did was unwise.”

“Of course, your grace.”

Grey raked his hands through his hair and cursed. “Please inform Mr. Arden that I shall be taking over the training of the stallion and he is not to touch the horse unless I am here.”

“Yes, your grace,” said the groom.

“Tomorrow then, Clyde.”

“Thank you, your grace.”

Eager to get home Grey stomped off, ignoring the throbbing in his ankle. But he hadn’t even left the livery’s yard when Clyde called out from behind hm.

“Your grace, the dog. Do ye think ye should take the dog, your grace?”

Grey rolled his eyes and retrieved the beast. Percy was sprawled out on his side, snoring loudly. “Come on, you lazy cur.”

The dog jumped up and growled.

“Have a mind for my ankle, you mongrel. I am already wearing a bruise, I do not wish to add a dog bite. Come along, then.”

“Your grace!” called the groom once more.

Impatient now, Grey whirled, a snarl on his lips. “What
is
it, Clyde?”

The groom held up the white muslin and lace shawl his houseguest had worn earlier. “The lady left this behind, your grace.”

No! I will not traipse through London carrying that infuriating chit’s blasted wrap! Let her return and retrieve it herself.

The shawl fluttered on the breeze, almost as though it beckoned to him. A light floral scent clung to the wrap and wafted up to tease his nostrils through the more barn-like airs. Gritting his teeth, Grey snatched the length of fabric from Clyde’s hands without a word. His lip curled and he suppressed a growl as he bunched the wrap into as small a bundle as possible. With his attempt to ignore the cool softness of the muslin between his fingers only marginally successful, he stalked toward his home, irritation and anger increasing with each step.

The girl had thoughtlessly endangered herself and the horse, as well as himself and the groom. Grey had every right to be upset. Yet instead of apologizing, she had acted as if he had been in the wrong. Insulted him. Even kicked him.

Kicked
him! Apparently, biting was not enough of an affront these days.

He puffed out a breath. She’d terrified him, he had to admit. His anger had come from the vision of the likely false-Annabella being trampled beneath the horse’s heavy hooves. The mental picture put a spark to his rage again and he kicked a pebble out of his path.

He was a man who wasn’t used to being struck motionless by fear, and so had been harder on her than probably he should have been because of it. Well, if she thought him harsh before, when he got to the townhouse, she would think him merciless.

If he ever made it home. He gave an impatient yank on the leash of the slowly plodding dog, eliciting a growl. He was beginning to think he would have to carry the blasted brute.

After what seemed an eternity, he crossed the threshold into the foyer. As he tossed the leash to the butler, he scanned the area for his quarry. It was past time the chit learned respect for the rules. He swept the foyer with his gaze. Of course, the brat was nowhere to be seen.

Smart girl. Well, she cannot hide for long
.

He slapped his gloves against his thigh and trotted up the first few steps of the main staircase just as Lady Harmony glided down. She gave her somewhat tousled hair a final pat into place and then rearranged the neckline of her elegant blue dress.

“Good day, your grace.” Her face brightened and she gave him a smile as she started to pass.

“Madam, are you aware that it is unacceptable for a young lady to be traipsing up and down the streets without a chaperone?”

She faltered, nearly tumbled down the last stairs, then stiffened her spine and straightened. Her cheeks turned scarlet and she tightened her lips into a thin line. “I’m perfectly aware of what is acceptable behavior, your grace.”

“Then mayhap you can explain to me why your — er, niece was at the stable without an escort.” He shoved the muslin shawl he carried into a surprised Harmony’s hands and then stood with his legs spread, his arm folded across his chest while he awaited her answer.

She furrowed her brows together and tipped her head sideways. “Weren’t you at the livery, your grace?”

Taken aback by her question, Grey jerked backward a half-step. “Yes.”

Lady Harmony leaned sideways as if to look behind him. Then she glanced at the door, over the railing in the dim foyer, and back at him. “Where is she now, your grace?”

The ticking behind his eye started again, and Grey tightened the grip on his gloves to keep from jabbing his fist in it. He counted to three to keep from throttling the old woman. “I do not have the slightest idea where your niece has gotten herself to. She ran off and I ha—”

Lady Harmony’s eyes bulged. “You let her out of your sight? Allowed her to wander off without accompanying her? Honestly, your grace, it appears you are the one who needs a lesson in propriety and decorum. You know a young girl should not walk the streets alone. It isn’t at all proper.” She
tsked
and continued her graceful glide down the stairs, shaking her head and muttering. “That will never do… never do at all.”

Grey’s mouth fell open as the maddening woman walked away from him. His mind refused to process what had just happened. Lady Harmony actually had the audacity to reprimand
him
for her supposed niece’s actions and for her and Lady Charity’s inability to control the wild hoyden. The chit had already enraged him by running off, now her aunt had scolded
him
for the girl’s improper behavior.

He wheeled about. Miss Price would receive the set-down she deserved, as would her inept aunts.

Higgins hovered in the foyer. As Grey opened his mouth to demand that the butler find his
stepsister
, the front door was slowly pushed inward. Ah! Perhaps the little imposter had found
him
. Grey marched over and jerked it open.

His secretary flinched and dropped an armload of books to the landing. “I-I’m sorry, your grace.” Petry stooped and began gathering the scattered volumes.

His anger somewhat deflated, Grey bent to help. “I apologize for startling you. I thought you were someone else.”

“Not to worry, your grace. I apologize for my early arrival, but I was on an errand for Lady Charity.”

As he handed the books to his secretary and assisted the man to his feet, Grey frowned at the titles. “
Pride and Prejudice
?” He plucked the book from the tall stack Petry now held and opened the cover. Turning the pages, he began to read. Distaste flooded his mouth.
A single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

Grey slammed the book shut. He certainly had no use or desire for a wife. Not at the moment at any rate, though in good time, with an appropriate match, certainly. Grey shook his head, irritated with the direction of his thoughts. “What blather is this?” he asked, shaking the book in Petry’s face.

“It’s a fiction book by a new author, your grace.” Petry’s head bobbed up and down. “Lady Charity begged me to select some books from the circulating library. She was hoping to get…”

Silencing his secretary with a glare, Grey set the book on top of the others. “It does not number among your duties to make excursions to the circulating library for Lady Charity.”

“Yes, your grace.” Petry hesitated, his jaw working silently. “Er, what should I do with the books I’ve borrowed for her?”

Indeed, the man probably didn’t want to know what Grey really wanted done with the blasted things. He raised an eyebrow. “I suppose you should give them to the lady to read.”

Petry lingered.

Fresh clothing and a basin of water with which to wash away the morning’s mishaps hovered just out of reach. Grey released a slow breath. “Is there something else, Petry?”

“Yes, your grace.” He shifted the books to his other arm. “The inquiry agent you employed called earlier. He would like a private word with you this afternoon. He says it’s urgent. You have an opening in your schedule at half past two.”

“Thank you, Petry. Deliver the books to Lady Charity and then wait in my study.” Grey ushered Petry into the townhouse and shut the door. He massaged his temple, trying to stave off the headache coming on. Would this day never end?

“Of course, your grace.” Petry headed down the hall.

Higgins stood at the foot of the staircase, his face expressionless, waiting for instructions.

Ignoring him, Grey limped up the stairs. Now that his pulse had returned to normal and some of his anger had subsided, he was painfully aware of the throbbing in his ankle. He winced each time he set it down. His houseguest might have gained a reprieve, but she would be lucky if he didn’t take her over his knee the first opportunity he had.

Magpie indeed.

****

From her position partway up the servants’ steps at the back of the foyer, Juliet waited until she heard the uneven stomp of the duke’s steps as he trudged upstairs. Just to be safe, she kept out of sight and counted to fifty before she moved. Surely he’d be in his rooms after that and she wouldn’t chance running into him.

She slipped up to the second floor, using the narrower and dingier back staircase, certain the duke would somehow know what she was about and be waiting for her when she reached the top step.

But the hallway was deserted and she skirted along the wall, uncertain which door led to the duke’s room, praying that at any moment he’d not yank it open and chastise her like he’d just set upon poor Harmony. Juliet was glad the older woman had given his grace a bit of her acid tongue. He shouldn’t be talking to his elders with such poor manners anyway.

He really is an insufferable old gobble-cock. I wasn’t hurtin’ that precious horse ’o his. Why, anyone can see the poor thing ain’t made for pullin’ a cart. I’d like to suggest hookin’ his grace up to a blistering cart.

With more force than necessary, she shoved open the door to the suite she shared with the aunts.

“Oh!” Standing in the middle of the sitting room, Charity shrieked in surprise.

“Aunt Charity!” Juliet hastily shut the door behind her and rushed to help. “What are you doing up on your injured ankle?”

“I was trying to get to the window.”

Juliet slipped her arm around Charity’s waist and steered her toward the chair she’d indicated. “You should have waited for someone to come help you.”

“Well, I was waiting for Harmony but she’s been gone at least an hour.” Charity plopped into the chair and fidgeted until she was apparently comfortable. “Poor dear went to fetch some chocolate. She must have gotten lost on her way to the kitchen.”

Juliet frowned. An hour? Harmony and the duke hadn’t had such a terribly long conversation on the stairway. Poor Charity must be confused.

The door opened to admit Harmony, carrying a tray with a teapot and biscuits. “Here you go, dearie. I’ve come with your tea and biscuits.”

Tea? Hadn’t Charity said Harmony had gone for chocolate? Juliet glanced from one to the other and smiled. Maybe the both of them were getting confused these days. They
were
quite up in years. Mayhap they really were as dotty as Annabella had assured her.

“Won’t you join us, dear?” asked Harmony, setting the tray on a table. “There’s plenty. And you certainly should replenish yourself after walking the streets and then giving his grace a bit of the slip by using the servant’s stairs.”

Juliet jerked and sought Harmony’s face. Her eyes twinkled in obvious childlike delight.

The clink of china drew her gaze toward Charity, who tipped the teapot, sending steaming brown liquid splashing into a delicate cup edged with yellow and pink flowers. She glanced up, focused a jovial glance on Juliet.

A chill swept through her. Neither pair of eyes currently regarding her held a hint of insanity or dementia.

“You know, don’t you?” she murmured, her heart crowding into her throat and making it nearly impossible to draw her next breath.

“Know what, darling?” asked Charity, her eyes wide.

“That I’m not your niece,” whispered Juliet, holding her breath while she awaited the answer.

The two women exchanged glances over the teapot, and Harmony smiled. “Well, of course you’re our niece. We ought to know our
own
niece.”

“Absolutely,” agreed Charity. She took a sip of her tea and smiled. “If we say you are our niece, then most assuredly you are.”

Juliet could only stare. What on earth did
that
mean? Had Annabella somehow convinced
them
to go along with her scheme as well?

Harmony handed her a cup of tea. “Drink up, dear. Mustn’t allow your energy to be depleted, after all.”