His Lordship's Chaperone (9 page)

Haverton awoke to a marvelous morning after the
triumph at the Trowbridge soiree the previous evening. Last night had gone just
as he had hoped. With his chaperone by his side, he felt he could enjoy the
ball as a free man. He proceeded as he pleased, without worry of some woman
hiding around every corner to waylay him.

A ride in the park would be just the thing to set
the right tone for this day. There would be no need for Mrs. Hayes while he was
out on horseback. He had never been accosted in the park before and did not
expect to be bothered with only a few other gentlemen riders present.

He called for his bay hunter to be saddled while he
took breakfast. A mere half hour later, he rode at a fast-paced trot and made
good time to the park. Once he reached the path, he nudged his mount into an
easy canter.

It hadn’t been ten minutes before he heard several
high-pitched calls for help. Haverton glanced behind him, trying to spot the
source of the cries. The sound of thundering
hoofbeats
grew louder as the approaching gray runaway came up fast from behind. On its
back was a woman in distress and clearly unable to gain control of her mount.

Haverton’s bay surged forward. He checked the
reins, held his horse from bolting and sat deep. The gray neared. The Marquess
urged his horse forward to pursue and within seconds matched the gray’s speed.
Haverton stretched out his arm and reached for the rider. The woman grabbed for
him and snatched him by the coat sleeve, successfully pulling him off his horse
as she lost her seat, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

A few moments’ silence ensued after their
undignified landing. The Marquess sat up and craned his neck to check on the
condition of the woman who had all but caused this disaster.

“Lord Haverton! Thank goodness it is you.” It was
Lady Darrow. Had he not seen her last night at the ball? Did he not dance with
her daughter the lovely Miss Darrow?

“I do not believe it is such good fortune,” he
mumbled. Apparently the comment passed unheard. He stood and helped Lady Darrow
to her feet before brushing the dust from his clothes.

“Please,” she said in a soft, low tone, “allow me.
It’s the least I can do.” Lady Darrow brushed the sleeve of his coat then she
inched closer. He caught her arm by the wrist, preventing her from approaching
areas she had no business near.

“I am fine.” He noted that she had forgotten to
feign helplessness and shock and seemed more interested in helping herself. All
he could manage was a civil, “Are you harmed?”

Lady Darrow drew her wrist to her forehead and
fluttered her eyelashes. Holding out her other arm, she gave an anguished sigh.
“I suppose I am fine but … I feel … a trifle …” She wobbled a bit before
swooning in just the right direction for Haverton to catch her.

What had probably hurt her the most was being found
out, he
mused.
The Marquess laid Lady Darrow on the
grass next to the bridal path and knelt by her side. His bay stood not ten feet
away from him, grazing alongside Lady Darrow’s gray.

He glanced down the path, looking, hoping,
praying
her riding companion would soon arrive. Anyone
except her husband. Several minutes passed. No one was coming and Lady Darrow
showed no signs of recovery. Would it be a terrible thing to leave her here?
How wrong would it be to leap into his saddle and dash home? No, he couldn’t do
that, no matter how ill or premeditated her intent.

Haverton lowered himself to the grass and he sat.
If she were unconscious, he was the King of England. Resting his elbows on his
knees, he concluded he was better off leaving her lie pretending
unconsciousness than reviving her and having to fight her off.

Yes, he’d wait, but he would not enjoy it.

In the large parlor of Moreland Manor, Catherine
discovered, to her delight, not a harpsichord but a pianoforte. The last time
she had played was as a child while living at her grandfather’s house. She sat
on the bench and keyed a simple tune with her right hand. Her fingers were
slow, proving that it had been too many years since she had last practiced.

Moving down an octave, she played the same tune
with her left hand. Then again, down another octave. Instead of the plucked,
tinny sound of the harpsichord, there was a wonderful low, sonorous vibration.

What a wonderful sounding instrument.

Catherine played a slow arpeggio, delighting in the
tone and range. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone hovering at
the door and stopped, pulling her hands from the keyboard.

“Lord Simon, is it not?”

“Delighted to see you again, Mrs. Hayes.” He came
into the room and neared the piano. “I must relay my appreciation.”

“In what way, my lord?”

“Because of your presence, you will, ultimately,
give my brother the opportunity to choose his own wife. I suppose after he
marries and provides an heir, I will be even more thankful that my name will
remain Lord Simon and not a simple … Simon.”

“Simple Simon?” Catherine bit her lips to keep from
laughing.

Lord Simon chuckled. “It’s only a jest.” It was not
long before Catherine joined him. Surely charm must run in the family for Simon
was more than simple.

“Do you play?” He leaned against the piano, looking
genuinely interested in what she had to say, quite unlike his brother. “I
thought I heard something resembling music coming from this room.”

Catherine started to move away from the instrument.
“I’m sorry, I should not have assumed—”

“Nonsense, it’s perfectly fine,” Lord Simon said,
motioning her to return to the seat. “Why should you not play? This instrument
sits abandoned most of the time. The only other person who ever plays is me.
Haverton has never shown any interest in music. He has other activities, I
suppose, that take precedence.”

Why had that come as a surprise? Because he had
taken the time to learn? Or because she knew his brother had not?

Lord Simon pointed to the music drawer. “I say,
have you found a piece for four hands there?”

“I cannot possibly accompany you … it’s been years.”
Catherine slid from the chair.

“Well, Haverton’s gone out riding. They expect him
to be gone a good while longer.”

The Marquess had ventured out of the house without
her? Catherine wondered if that had been wise then thought how silly it was to
believe he could not remain safe outdoors in broad daylight.

“What shall we do while I wait for him?” Lord Simon
scanned the room. He pointed at the game table with the chess pieces standing
ready. “Do you play chess?”

Catherine followed Lord Simon to the waiting
challenge. “I know how to play but as with my keyboard skills, I have not had
much practice as of late.”

“I propose it is time you brush up. We have at
least an hour before my brother returns.” Lord Simon positioned a chair on one
side of the chess table for Catherine and pulled up another for himself. “Would
you care to be white or black?”

Haverton had waited for a good forty minutes before
someone arrived. All in all, he had weathered this crisis sustaining only
minimal injury. He left the ungrateful Lady Darrow in Lord and Lady Lambourne’s
capable care. The Marquess then removed himself to White’s for a much needed
respite. The entire way there he scolded himself. It had been a mistake going
out without his chaperone. How was it possible that he could not enjoy a simple
ride in the park by himself?

At seeing the Marquess, Sir Giles shot to his feet.
“Odd’s fish, man! What the devil has happened to you?”

Haverton usually didn’t give much thought to his appearance;
James took care of that. The Marquess had left the house this morning with an
intricately tied cravat and not a wrinkle in his forest-green riding jacket. He
caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. His crumpled cravat and his jacket’s
torn shoulder seams would have his valet tendering his resignation.

“Good Gad, Haverton, what have you been up to?”
Brewster was the first to approach and offer a helpful hand, guiding him toward
the group.

“I suppose you can say I’ve been playing hero.”
Haverton swiped at each sleeve. A small cloud of dust rose, causing him to
cough.

“Here, you look as if you’ll need this.” Fitzgerald
placed a glass in Haverton’s hand. “Do tell us what adventure you’ve been up to.”

“Thank you, Fitz.” Haverton drank deep and managed
to relax in the leather arm chair. “Can’t seem to completely keep free of them.”

“Some wretched female—who was she this time?”
Brewster leaned forward, apparently as intrigued as Fitzgerald.

Haverton shook his head. He would not say.

“Was it Lady Amanda?” Sir Giles winked.

He shook his head again.

“Was it Miss Emma Worthington?” Fitzgerald asked.
“Gentlemen …” Haverton smiled. No matter what they said, he would not be
persuaded. “Your friendship and your sympathy is all I require. I do not need
to plunge anyone into scandal nor do I wish to encourage tongues to wag.”

That was the last thing he wanted.

Lord Simon tipped his king in defeat. “There you
are. You may think you do not play well but it seems you play well enough to
trounce me.”

“I am sorry.” Catherine could not imagine how she
had won.

“You must play Haverton. He might prove more of a
challenge for you.” Lord Simon busied himself by setting the chess pieces in
their rightful places.

Catherine could not picture the Marquess sitting
long enough to play a sedate game of chess. “I hardly think I shall have the
opportunity to—” She turned to the hallway when she heard the male voices. “I
believe his lordship has returned.”

“And making a grand entrance in his own home I see.”
Lord Simon stood and headed toward the voices.

Catherine followed him to the foyer. They
approached Lord Haverton from behind. It was Lord Haverton but something
dreadful had happened to him. He sported a sizable scrape on his left
cheekbone.

“Good Gad, Robert, who was she this time?” Lord
Simon exclaimed without the briefest welcome.

Lord Haverton, who was clearly out of sorts, glared
at his brother. “It appears I cannot step out of my own home without the
protection of Mrs. Hayes.”

That was a fairly backhanded compliment. Catherine
actually felt sympathy for him, and what came as a shock to her, protective.
Her first instinct was to touch the injured cheek and check the swelling.
Catherine reminded herself that she no longer looked over children. He did not
require her to act as his nursemaid. She was certain his valet James could deal
quite competently with the superficial injury.

It was a shame to mar the perfection of his
beautiful face with that nasty scrape. What it did was give him a dashing,
roguish quality. That’s all Lord Haverton needed, something more to draw the
ladies to his side.

Catherine smiled, feeling his allure strengthen.
Then her heart warmed as she masked her newly uncovered emotions.

Oh, dear.

What a fuss females made over the scrape on Lord
Haverton’s cheek that night at the Sutherland rout. Believing he could make a
safe journey from the front door to the ballroom, the Marquess had sent Mrs.
Hayes ahead to wait for him in the ballroom. That proved to be a mistake.

Mrs. Lyndon-Smythe stopped him just inside the
front door and soothed his cheek with a dab of her violet-scented silk
handkerchief. She deemed it fortunate her daughter, the ever-lovely Camille,
carried scented water with her at all times.

In the foyer Lady Stanhope called attention to the
scrape on his cheek. The surrounding women closed in on him, proclaiming their
own methods to augment the healing process. Managing to extricate himself from
the women, he strode from the foyer, up the stairs to the doorway of the
ballroom. Mrs. Hayes stood in the far corner. She nodded when she spotted his
arrival and found herself a seat against the wall.

Haverton paused at the doorway straightening his
sleeves. One would have thought he had been injured in battle and had come home
to a hero’s welcome.

The hostess, Mrs. Sutherland, caught up with him.
“You must be in such pain,” she remarked, her voice full of compassion. She
called to a footman to bring the Marquess a chair.

“No, really, it’s nothing.” Not wanting to appear
rude, he merely inched back out of her reach. “It’s merely a scratch, that’s
all.”

Lady Sutherland winced when she touched his face.
“It is a bad scratch. I’m afraid I must ask you to refrain from dancing.”

Was the hostess flirting with him? “I hardly think
dancing can cause any further harm.”

“What if you feel dizzy while on the dance floor?”

“I really doubt that—”

The chair arrived and she begged him to sit. “No,
no, I must insist.” She held up a hand, brooking no protest. “Doctor Sullivan
shall arrive shortly and he will give a diagnosis.”

Haverton had already refused James’ treatment that
afternoon. He didn’t need any type of medical aid, much less that of a doctor.