Tempting the Heiress (7 page)
Read Tempting the Heiress Online
Authors: Barbara Pierce
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical Romance
Brock made a concurring noise in his throat. It was rather comforting to learn that he was not the only one in the family acquainted with the lethal point of the surgeon’s hidden blade. Even more interesting was what Milroy might have done to provoke Tipton to action.
They had reached the center of the garden. The heart of the design was a diamond-shaped brick pool lined with
an impermeable render of pozzolana. Several buckets placed at its base suggested that the center not only provided sustenance for the eye, but was also a source of water for the multitude of flowers, trees, and hedges.
an impermeable render of pozzolana. Several buckets placed at its base suggested that the center not only provided sustenance for the eye, but was also a source of water for the multitude of flowers, trees, and hedges.
Milroy dipped his bare hands into the water. Scrubbing the grime from his hands and arms, he looked in Brock’s direction, his eyes squinting against the sun. “Wynne is visiting your aunt Moll. It appears her dear friend Mr. Keel has worked up the courage to propose and she has accepted.”
It grated a little that his brother-in-law knew more about the private details of his family than he did. He had yet to pay a visit to his elderly aunt, the widow of his father’s older brother. This current news only reminded him how distracted he had become.
“Who is Mr. Keel?” He despised asking, but Wynne’s husband was the only one who would not lecture him for his shameful neglect of his family.
Milroy rubbed the back of his neck with the tepid water, earning Brock’s envy. Perched against the edge of the pool, he crossed his arms and considered the question. “Not the sort of man worthy of the challenge I see in your eyes. If I were you, I’d forget all about having a private visit with her betrothed. What’s more, Aunt Moll would strike a birch whip across your hands for even considering it. Her Mr. Keel is sixty and too comfortable to be a fortune hunter. He is a well-mannered proprietor of a perfumery off Bond Street. If you insist on fighting someone, Wynne will not like it, but I can oblige you.”
“You are protecting my aunt against me?” It was too outrageous to contemplate. “Why?”
The fighter shrugged, the agile movement drawing attention to the solid muscle concealed under his linen shirt. “I’ve a keen affection for the dear woman. Spending
most of my life without a family has taught me to treasure the one I’ve been granted through Wynne. You are not the only male around who knows how to look after the ones he loves.”
most of my life without a family has taught me to treasure the one I’ve been granted through Wynne. You are not the only male around who knows how to look after the ones he loves.”
The message was clear. Keanan Milroy protected his own. Something shifted inside Brock, lessening the ache in his gut. He had felt responsible for protecting his family for so long that he was still uncomfortable with the notion that he had three brothers-in-law who would stand beside him if he asked. “My aunt must have adored you at first sight.”
“Aye, she did. It was Wynne who needed charming.” He nodded toward the house. “Come along. I promise to behave like a proper host since you’ve changed your mind about the milling.”
He would be damned if the heat in his face was a blush. “I did not come here to fight. I might have a reputation for unruliness, but no one has ever accused me of lunacy.”
Unconvinced, the man pressed, “What brought you here then?”
He hesitated. Clenching his teeth, he said, “Miss Claeg.”
Milroy’s easy stride faltered at the admission but he recovered quickly. To his credit, he did not laugh, for perhaps he understood all too well.
Lord Keyworth was not in his library managing his various interests as Amara had assumed. Closing the door, she realized how little she knew of her father’s affairs. There had been little interest on her side, and having two older brothers had diminished the value in educating her. Doran had shared their father’s pursuits, but was found
lacking in talent. Mallory, the heir and reluctant prince, had chosen pursuits that continually vexed the family. Her mother was confident her firstborn would assume the mantle of responsibility when called upon. Amara thought it would take more than threats and bribery to sway her wayward brother.
lacking in talent. Mallory, the heir and reluctant prince, had chosen pursuits that continually vexed the family. Her mother was confident her firstborn would assume the mantle of responsibility when called upon. Amara thought it would take more than threats and bribery to sway her wayward brother.
Striding across the empty back parlor, Amara walked through the open doors onto the balcony. Potted bay and yellow jasmine added a welcoming warmth of color to the wrought-iron railing while the fragrance of the plants enticed the curious ambler down the broad stone steps that led to the garden.
On her descent, she spotted her father standing outside the aviary. The original owners of the house had built the ecclesiastical Gothic structure with the intention of using it as a conservatory. Its octagonal sides framed arched floor-length traceried glass windows. Her mother had declared it a madman’s folly. She had hoped to replace it with an edifice that harmonized architecturally with the house and surrounding outbuildings, but her father had refused. Amara had been pleased by the decision. As a child, she had raced Doran round and round the two-story structure, which had always reminded them of an ornate campanile. When the game had grown tiring, they had pressed their faces to the glass and marveled at their father’s predatory menagerie.
“Good morning, Papa,” she said softly, not wanting to disturb the falcon perched on the padded buckskin gauntlet he wore over his left hand. The bird was about the size of a crow, and a slit hood covered its head, exposing its pale yellow cere and sharp beak. The back and head of the bird was slate blue in color, whereas its throat and breast were white with vertical markings. The direction
of the dark slashes switched to horizontal farther down the breast, pannel, and legs. The peregrine falcon was a stunning predator and her father’s particular favorite.
of the dark slashes switched to horizontal farther down the breast, pannel, and legs. The peregrine falcon was a stunning predator and her father’s particular favorite.
Turning his head, he acknowledged the affection laced in her salutation with an answering smile. Lord Keyworth was an athletic man for the estimable age of fifty-two. The blond hair of his youth had darkened to brown and was accented by white streaks at his temples. He was balding at the crown of his head, but he concealed the flaw by wearing hats or, if the occasion demanded, a peruke.
Years of enjoying the outdoors had scored lines around his eyes and mouth. Nevertheless, it had not extinguished completely the devastating handsomeness of his youth. At their country estate, a painting commissioned by his mother when he was twenty hung in the gallery. Walking beside him, she still saw the glimpses of the young ambitious lord who had secured her mother’s heart.
“There you are, my dear. I had called for you earlier, but no one could find you.”
Despite the jesses tethered to the falcon’s legs, Amara kept her distance. The hood calmed the bird; however, she had witnessed on numerous occasions the natural pugnacious tendencies of her father’s prized pets.
“I arose later than usual.” Hanging back seemed cowardly so she edged closer to the servant assisting her father. She could not recall the young man’s name, but she recognized him as one of the gamekeeper’s sons. “I see I am in time for the entertainment.”
The sardonic tone drew a bark of laughter from her father, unsettling his plumed companion. The bating falcon settled with an expert touch and a few soothing words.
“You never did have the heart for this sport. If you would rather wait for me in the library—”
“No, no,” she declined, glancing down at the square wood and wirework cage that contained half a dozen grouse. “There is nothing quite like the display of the falcon when it stoops on its quarry.” She tried to insert the right amount of required enthusiasm. It was not as if she had an extraordinary fondness for the distressed birds fluttering in the cage. Grouse fricandeau with red currants was one of her favorite dishes. She just preferred not to have her supper slain before her.
“On that we agree, daughter.” He addressed the servant supervising the prey. “My Ellette grows impatient. Start the quarry.”
“Aye, milord.” Reaching into the cage, the servant withdrew a grouse and closed the lid before the others could escape.
Removing the leash, Lord Keyworth tensed with anticipation. “Ready, man?” At the servant’s concurrence, he removed the leather hood. “Release the grouse.”
The quarry, sensing danger, took to the sky. The advantage gained was soon lost. The hungry falcon ascended above the grouse, and then in a burst of speed plummeted toward the bird, its long narrow wings pulled inward almost like a scythe in form. The two birds collided in a breathtaking midair spectacle. Stunned or perhaps already dead, the grouse tumbled, striking the roof of the stables before hitting the ground. Claws splayed, the falcon alighted on its quarry. Bowing its slender, dark head, it ripped the grouse’s throat out with its razor-sharp beak.
“What a truly gruesome display!” Piper exclaimed, joining them.
Her cousin had not yet bothered to close her mouth as
she watched with horrified fascination the falcon feast on the grouse. To the uninitiated, the scene was rather disconcerting. “Good morning, cousin. I trust you slept well.”
she watched with horrified fascination the falcon feast on the grouse. To the uninitiated, the scene was rather disconcerting. “Good morning, cousin. I trust you slept well.”
The falcon lifted its head, watchful that no one violated its territory. It warned off its audience with an occasional,
“Kee, kee, kee.”
“Kee, kee, kee.”
“Well enough, thank you.” Gaining Lord Keyworth’s attention, Piper curtsied. The viscount turned and offered his cheek. Piper dutifully stepped forward and gave him a kiss. “My lord, pardon my ignorance, but since the birds have been caught, would it not be kinder to have Cook wring their necks?”
He removed the gauntlet and handed it to the servant. “A practical observation, would you not say, Amara?” Lord Keyworth winked at his daughter, including her in the jest.
“Yes, Papa. Our cousin is nothing if not practical.”
Miss Novell might have questioned the sincerity of the compliment if Lord Keyworth had not cordially taken both of them by the elbow and steered them away from the falcon. “The grouse was for Ellette,” he explained. “Most of my birds reside in the mews at our northwestern estate, Arras Green. Still, I cannot part from my favorites. When we are in town, I usually take her to one of the commons for the hunt, but I have too many commitments this day to indulge my pleasures.”
While her cousin asked various questions about falconry, Amara remained a silent companion throughout the exchange. If she felt a twinge of jealousy, she blamed it on Miss Novell’s intrusion. Private moments with her father were scarce when they resided in London. Encouraged by the captivating attention Miss Novell bestowed, Lord Keyworth relinquished his hold on Amara as he
gesticulated while making a point. Keeping pace with his stride, she smiled slightly at his fervor.
gesticulated while making a point. Keeping pace with his stride, she smiled slightly at his fervor.
“Then we are in agreement?” Lord Keyworth said, a touch of his hand drawing Amara back into the conversation.
“I believe so,” she replied, too stubborn to admit she had no hint to what they were discussing. Had they not been discussing falconry?
“Fine, fine. I shall send a note to Prola, notifying him that you shall be home to receive his card.”
“This afternoon?” she queried, twisting the tip of one of her gloved fingers. “Heavens, it will not do.”
Accustomed to his daughter’s fickleness, he clenched his jaw. He was losing patience with her daily excuses. He gave them both a minute, until he trusted his ability to hold a rational dialogue with his youngest child. “I was not aware you would be out.”
“Miss Novell has ruined her slippers. Mama had suggested an afternoon of shopping.”
“Delay it,” he ordered.
Her cousin touched him on the arm. “Naturally, we will choose another afternoon.”
The charitable twit had Amara choking on her own resentment. What argument could she offer that would not be perceived as stubbornness? There was something about the conte that disturbed her. She was not the type of woman who inspired such devotion. Brock Bedegrayne’s attentions only added to her confusion. What she needed was solitude, and she felt fenced in by everyone’s demands.
She made a final attempt to dissuade her father. “My commitments extend beyond shopping, Papa. I promised Mallory I would pay him a visit.”
Lord Keyworth’s face took on a reddish hue. Almost
sputtering, he said, “Taking into account Mallory’s numerous indiscretions, he must be well acquainted with false promises by way of acquisition and execution.”
sputtering, he said, “Taking into account Mallory’s numerous indiscretions, he must be well acquainted with false promises by way of acquisition and execution.”
“He has asked me to sit for a portrait.” Sensing his refusal, she added, “It is a gift for Mama—a surprise.” Amara silently begged the other woman for support. “Miss Novell was present when he made his request.”
Her cousin pursed her lips. “I do recall Mr. Claeg expressing a fervent desire to paint his sister.”
Lord Keyworth fisted his hands in an agitated manner. “My treasure, I praise your noble intentions toward your mother. However, as always, your deeds are inopportune and hinder mine.” He gave her a considering stare. “One might believe it is deliberate.”
Amara clasped her hands. “No, Papa. I thought only of accepting my brother’s generous offer before he was distracted by a more appealing whim.”
She had not lied about her brother’s mercurial temperament, and her father’s grim expression revealed he concurred. “Very well.”
The reprieve made her light-headed. “Oh, thank you, Papa!” She rolled onto her tiptoes and gave him several ecstatic kisses.
His annoyance gradually yielded under her delight. “You are a good daughter. Leave our conflict in my care, and all will be well. When you see your brother, remind him that he has been neglectful of his mother.”
“I promise.” Amara could barely contain her excitement as she watched him walk away to check on his falcon’s progress with her quarry.
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