April Moon (22 page)

“Then let me have the other gun,” she said, holding out her hand. “As you recall, I’m every bit as good a shot as you are.”

“I don’t care whether you are or not,” he whispered sharply as another shot ricocheted off the stones. With two pistols, he would have two shots, while the others on the road would have—well, they’d have a great many more from the sounds of them, and he would rather not picture the outcome. “The pistols are our last resort. We’ll have a far better chance hiding under here.”

She made a
harrumph
of disdain, smoothing her hair back behind her ears. “I thought highwaymen always wished to make a brave stand before their enemies.”

“Not always.” He’d grandly told himself and his friends countless times that he didn’t care whether he died or lived, but at present living seemed to be the vastly more appealing prospect. “And never with ladies in tow.”

“Oh, yes, in tow, exactly like some aging coal
scow.” She sniffed, and leaned around him to peer out into the darkness. “And we’re not exactly
hiding
from them, Harry. They already know we’re here, else they wouldn’t have bothered firing at us in the first place. Besides, even if they didn’t see
us,
they would have seen the horses by now, there in your magical moonlight.”

“Why the devil can’t you be a bit less rational?” demanded Harry as he, too, looked at the horses, whinnying uneasily and tugging at their tethers. “Why can’t you make less sense and simply be frightened, like other women?”

“Because I’m not like other women, Harry,” she said, unconsciously proving his point. “Because that is how I am, and I cannot—”

“Come out, in the name of the sheriff of this county!” roared a man from the road. “Show your damned faces, you cowardly bastards, before we come in after you!”

“The blasted
sheriff,
” muttered Harry crossly. “Oh, hell. I suppose I must go.”

“Wait!” Anxiously Sophie caught at his arm. “How do you know he’s the sheriff? How do you know he’s not lying?”

“I don’t,” admitted Harry, tucking the pistol back into his belt. “But I’d rather go out to him then have him come here and find you, too.”

“Then I’ll come with you,” she declared, taking his arm. “I’ll not let you go alone, Harry.”

“You’ll stay here,” he said firmly, slipping free of her arm. “I mean it, Sophie. Stay where you’ll be safe. What would Sir William do without a governess for his boys?”

“Oh, bother Sir William,” she said, reaching up to kiss him quickly on the cheek. Perhaps she was like other women after all; trust Sophie to find a way to be both practical and tender at once. “Settle things with them, then come back to me. But take care, Harry, please. Don’t try to be a hero for my sake, mind?”

Don’t try to be a hero for my sake: wasn’t that precisely what he’d told George when he’d left with his regiment? And look at the sorrow that had come of that warning….

“I’ll be quick, lass,” he said, stopping just short of saying he loved her before he stepped out from beneath the arch and into the moonlight, his heart pounding and his mouth dry.

Ah, Sophie, Sophie, I do love you, even if I hadn’t the courage to tell you.

He’d never be a hero. He hadn’t been one to George, and he doubted he’d be one to Sophie, either. All he could be was his own sorry self.

And pray that, this time, that would be enough.

I
F
S
OPHIE PRESSED
her back against the underside of the bridge and leaned far to one side, she could watch Harry as he climbed up the bank, holding his hands out on either side to prove that he’d kept the pistols in his belt. Of course, this time he’d left off his highwayman’s mask, and because she’d sailed his hat into the grass, his face was as unhidden as a man’s could be. Surely that would be enough to show any sheriff—if in fact it was the sheriff waiting on the road—that Harry meant no harm, so they would hold their fire.

Please, please, please, Harry, keep both your temper and your wits about you!

He was either swaggering or sauntering, she couldn’t say which for sure, except that his whole person seemed to announce that he hadn’t a care in the world.

Oh, Harry, you great brave lordly daredevil, take care, take care!

“Good day to you, sheriff,” he called in his best lordly drawl, even before he could see any of the
men himself. “I am Harry Burton, earl of Atherwall. Is there some crisis in your county, sheriff, that you must waste your powder and balls shooting at me?”

Now, thanks to the moonlight, she could see a carriage, waiting on the road just beyond the bridge. On the box beside the liveried driver sat two rough-looking men with muskets, and another pair were on horseback behind the carriage, and every one of their guns were pointed directly at Harry’s chest.

Don’t you dare try to be a hero, Harry Burton, not on this night, not before I’ve told you how much I love you. Don’t do it, Harry, else I shall never, ever forgive you.

“Atherwall!” A stout man in an expensively embroidered coat flung open the door to the coach and clambered down before the footman could help him. “Put aside your guns, men, this man’s no thief. But damn my eyes, Atherwall, I’d no notion at all it was you, no notion at all!”

“Clearly,” said Harry as the guards uncocked their muskets. “That isn’t a carriage, Charleck, any more than you’re a sheriff. That’s a blasted man-o’-war, armed for battle with me as your enemy, just as you’re a jumped-up country squire who only comes up to London for a fortnight in the Season.”

“But I’d reasons, Atherwall,” protested the other man, “good reasons, and—”

“There’s not a single damned reason that I know
for trying to kill me, Charleck,” said Harry sharply. “What if I did the same to you, by way of an example?”

“Oh, Harry, don’t,” whispered Sophie unhappily. The good news was that this man wasn’t the sheriff at all, but some gentleman that Harry had recognized by name. But the bad, bad news was that he’d made Harry angry, and an angry Harry was liable to do the reckless, impulsive things that a calm Harry would never consider.

“But my sister and I heard at the last inn there were thieves abroad on this road tonight,” Charleck was saying, his face shiny with anxious sweat. “The sheriff told us to hire these men as guards, to be safe.”

But Harry wasn’t listening, his arms folded across his chest. “Who the devil was supposed to keep me safe from you, then? Who would blame me if I’d fired first to protect the lady in my care?”

Not for me, Harry, not for my sake, and if this show is intended for my sake, I’m decidedly not impressed. I told you not to be a hero, I warned you not be gallant and foolhardy for me!

“You wouldn’t do that, Atherwall,” said Charleck uneasily. “You’d stop as soon as you saw me, same as I did with you. You’re a gentleman, and a peer.”

“But I’d do anything on a dare,” declared Harry
with a slow, challenging smile. “You can try me, and see for yourself.”

But Sophie wasn’t about to let it come to that, and before he could make matters any worse, she clambered up the bank to join him.

“I know this highwayman you speak of, sir,” she said breathlessly, not daring to look at Harry just yet. “This very night, he stopped my carriage and if his lordship hadn’t come by when he did to rescue me, I do not know what ill might have happened.”

Charleck frowned, doubt making him suspicious. “The earl of Atherwall saved you from a highwayman, ma’am? You were riding by yourself on this road?”

“I was travelling by coach,” said Sophie quickly, wanting to stay as close to the truth as possible. “But the highwayman so frightened my driver that he abandoned me and drove away on his own.”

“Miss Potts was very brave,” said Harry beside her. “She didn’t faint or wail the way most ladies would, but was confronting the scoundrel outright when I came to her assistance.”

Sophie turned and smiled, relieved that the tension seemed to have slipped from his voice. With his dark hair tossing across his forehead and a conspiratorial glint in his eyes, his earlier antagonism
now seemed so completely forgotten that she almost wondered if it had truly existed at all.

She liked being his conspirator again, almost as much as she’d liked kissing him. She liked it just fine and her smile widened.

And yet something still wasn’t quite right. Harry was studying her with a curious mixture of disbelief and amusement, as if a parrot were roosting on the top of her head. Uneasily she patted at her hair, smoothing back the few stray wisps, and glanced down at her clothes. She was rumpled and mussed from travelling, true, but everything seemed as it should be, all buttons fastened, and she knew her face was as perfectly composed as a good governess’s should be, the way she could do without even thinking of it. All that was missing was her bonnet, still in the grass beside the stream, but considering how Harry had lost his hat, too, that didn’t seem worth his notice.

“So his lordship rescued you, eh?” said Charleck slowly, likewise looking her up and down with the peculiar, narrow-eyed intensity that men used when they wished they could see through a woman’s clothing. “Doubtless you are most grateful to him.”

“Yes, sir,” answered Sophie warily. “I am indeed.”

“And no doubt ready to demonstrate that gratitude, too,” said Charleck slyly, and to Sophie’s
amazement, he winked. “I say, Atherwall, you always do find the beauties, don’t you?”

Sophie drew aback with discouraging frostiness. The man must be addled to speak like that of
her.
“I beg your pardon, sir.”

“Lord Charleck, might I introduce Miss Potts,” drawled Harry, clearly enjoying himself more than Sophie thought he should. “Miss Potts, Lord Charleck.”

“My lord,” said Sophie, her voice still chilly. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but I am not one of his lordship’s ‘beauties.’ I am a governess, on my way to my new position, when my carriage was stopped by the highwayman.”

But Charleck was undeterred. “A
governess,
” he said with relish. “I say, Atherwall, are you schooling her proper?”

There was that conspiratorial mischief in Harry’s eyes again, meant for Sophie alone, as he shook his head and sighed. “Miss Potts is a very stern and proper governess. If there is any schooling to be done, she will be the one to do it, and I only her miserable pupil.”

Before Sophie could answer, an older lady’s face popped from the carriage window. “A
governess?
” exclaimed Charleck’s sister indignantly. “The villain waylaid a governess? Oh, poor dear, come, let me look at you!”

Relieved to have an excuse to leave Harry and
Charleck, Sophie stepped closer to the carriage and gulped.

“I
know
you, miss,” announced the older woman triumphantly, her oversized wig bobbing around her face. “You’re Lady Wheeler’s governess at Iron Hill. Potts, isn’t it?”

“Mrs. Mallon, good day,” said Sophie, misery growing as she dipped a curtsey. Mrs. Mallon had been an old acquaintance of Lady Wheeler’s and a frequent visitor to Iron Hill. The older lady could be kind and generous to her friends, but she was also a notorious gossip, and Sophie’s heart sank at the cruel coincidence of meeting her on this particular night. She and Harry should have stayed at the Peacock after all; they certainly couldn’t have done any worse than coming here.

But if she kept herself properly meek the way she’d learned to be, her conversation deferential—and if she could forget again the outspoken, flirtatious banter that she’d been sharing with Harry—then perhaps she could talk her way free.

At least it would be worth trying.

“Yes, ma’am, I was governess to Lady Wheeler’s boys,” she explained demurely, keeping her head bowed. “But now that the youngest is finally going away to school with his brothers, I was no longer needed at Iron Hill, and thus have found another place with a family in Winchester.”

Mrs. Mallon nodded. “Lady Wheeler has such
nice boys,” she said fondly, “and so very handsome they are, too. But they will grow, as all boys do, no matter how attached they are to their governess, and then off you must go to another set of children. That is your lot as a governess, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sophie. The worst part of her lot was having to listen to ladies like Mrs. Mallon, speaking of her as if she weren’t quite human, but only a servant without any true emotions or feelings. Mrs. Mallon would neither know nor care that once Sophie had had the same dreams as other well-bred girls, to have a home and husband and children of her own. She’d become a governess from necessity, not choice. But as for the only man she’d ever loved—oh, that man would never want the same, and without thinking she glanced over to where Harry was still with Charleck.

“You might have done better to stay with the highwayman,” whispered Mrs. Mallon loudly, misreading Sophie’s thoughts. “All the world knows the earl of Atherwall is a dreadful rake. To be seen alone in his company is quite sufficient to ruin a lady’s reputation, and as for a governess—why, you should most likely never find a place in a decent household again.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Sophie, the only acceptable response as she swallowed back her protests. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Mallon severely. “But
for Lady Wheeler’s sake, I am willing to help you salvage this…this
indiscretion
of yours.”

“What indiscretion, Mrs. Mallon?” asked Harry innocently—or his murky version of innocence, anyway—as he came to join their conversation near the coach, with Charleck following like a lonely puppy. “I rescued the lady with only moonlight to guide me, and surely there’s nothing more discreet than moonlight.”

“Not whilst shared with you, my lord,” said Mrs. Mallon with withering contempt.

“Ahh,” he said dryly. “You wound me, ma’am. But if I defend Miss Potts, it is not because she cannot defend herself against you. She
could,
of course, but chooses not to, being too well-bred to descend to your depths.”

“She does not speak because she is a
governess,
” said Mrs. Mallon scornfully. “She is not entitled to opinions. You, as a gentleman and a peer, must know that.”

Charleck shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Here, now, now, sister. You’re painting it all a bit broad for his lordship, aren’t you?”

Though Harry smiled still, the cheerfulness had abruptly left his face.

“I remember a great deal about Miss Potts,” he said softly, and with unquestionable conviction. “And most of all, I remember that she is without doubt a lady.”

“Not at all,” declared Mrs. Mallon imperiously, ignoring her brother’s warning as she beckoned to Sophie. “She is a
governess,
my lord, and whatever memories you may have of her cannot be any older than this night.”

“You are mistaken, ma’am,” said Harry, and as Sophie recognized that familiar gleam of challenge in his eye, she wondered if Mrs. Mallon had any notion of what she’d started. “I’ve known Miss Potts since, oh, the sweet days of Eden.”

Mrs. Mallon tipped her head back, the better to stare down her nose at Harry. “You are deluded, my lord.”

He bowed low over his riding boot, adding a curling, courtly flourish of his hand. “No more so than you, ma’am. And while I may be so damned deluded, I do not bare my fangs and hiss like a gorgon to frighten others, as you appear to do.”

Mrs. Mallon sucked in her breath, her mouth a wrinkled rosebud of disbelief. “You have the manners of a jackal, my lord,” she said tartly, “and I’ll not bear your company a moment longer. Come, Potts, here.”

“Ma’am?” said Sophie, not trusting herself to venture more. But while she did not enjoy being called to heel like a naughty dog, she very much did like Harry saying everything she couldn’t on her behalf. “Ma’am?”

“Don’t stand there posturing like a chalkware
shepherdess on the mantelpiece, Potts,” said Mrs. Mallon sharply. “I shall see to it personally that you arrive in Winchester unharmed by this villain, or any of the others that are lying in wait along this road.”

“Sister, mind your tongue,” warned Charleck urgently. “Atherwall is an earl, not a villain.”

“Oh, hush,” his sister snapped. “I mean for Potts to ride in here with us, where no one shall think the worst of her.”

The footman unlatched the carriage door and flipped down the small folding step. But as the older woman beckoned for Sophie to join her, a tiny new spark of rebellion flared and glowed in Sophie’s breast.

Perhaps it was Mrs. Mallon’s condescending manner that was the tinder to that spark, or perhaps it had come from kissing Harry until she’d felt as if her feet had left the grass. Maybe it was simply the moonlight that was addling her wits, and making her wonder how she’d come to worry so much about other’s opinions of her, whether good, bad or even the worst.

Twice tonight Harry had come to the defense of that old Sophie who’d been so bold and outspoken and cared not a fig for any opinions but her own. There must have been some merit to that other version of her for him to do that. For her sake, he’d first stepped into the face of gunfire, and now with
Mrs. Mallon he was confronting words that likewise had the power to wound and scar.

For her, Sophie Potts. He’d done it for
her.

She turned to look at him again, and flushed as she realized he was already watching her. There must have been a half-dozen other people scattered around them—Mrs. Mallon, Lord Charleck, the guards, the driver and the footmen—yet when Harry looked at Sophie the way he was now, she felt as if the two of them were once again completely, wonderfully alone.