The Other Guy's Bride (26 page)

“If she what, m’dear?” her great-grandfather asked gently.

“If she told him she wouldn’t marry him in the first place because all he had was a…”

“A what?”

“A horse!” she bawled, and turned on her heel and fled.

Sir Robert Carlisle stared after his bolting great-granddaughter. For a moment, he considered calling her back and explaining to her that he hadn’t been speaking of James Owens when he’d made his initial query about what she intended to do about the man who loved her, but of Geoffrey Tynesborough.

But then, good sense prevailed. Why muddy already considerably clouded waters?

So, he thought, the newly discovered Duke of Avandale had proposed to Ginesse not once, but twice. Now, that
had
been a surprise. Though, he supposed it shouldn’t have been; after all, she had her mother’s charisma and her father’s eyes.

And her wonderfully Florentine nose.

The following morning Ginesse left her room in Pomfrey’s house early and waited outside the building where Magi had been housed, prepared for the tongue-lashing she richly deserved for failing to leave any clue as to her whereabouts with anyone. But after one look at Ginesse, Magi, not known for her demonstrative nature, flung her arms around her and held her tight for a long moment. It was a much more effective rebuke than anything Magi could have ever said. Never again, Ginesse swore, would she cause those she loved to worry unnecessarily and vowed as much to Magi as they walked across the parade grounds.

Whether Magi believed her was another matter entirely.

“What a gorgeous animal,” Magi said as they neared the stable’s corral.

A small group had gathered at the rails including Lord Tynesborough to watch Jim’s gray stallion being led out of the stables by an uneasy-looking lad. The gray was pawing the earth and making feints at the poor boy, who darted back from his lunges.

“Miss Braxton, Miss Elkamal,” Lord Tynesborough hailed them. “A fine morning for some choice entertainment.”

“What might that be?” Magi asked.

“The stable master has declared Jim’s horse intractable and ordered Jim to remove him from the stables unless he can prove otherwise. Jim is a magnificent horseman,” Lord Tynesborough said admiringly. “He learned the art from his grandfather’s Comanche cowboys.”

“It sounds most interesting,” Magi said, “but I am afraid I must see to Sir Robert’s morning tisane. I will see you later, Ginesse.” And with a slight inclination of her head, she left them as Jim emerged from the stable.

He was gloriously handsome with his rumpled gold hair, his shirtsleeves rolled up over his strong, tanned forearms, his collar open at the throat. He glanced in their direction and frowned—apparently no one told him he’d be providing the entertainment for the day—before his gaze found hers and pulled her in. They might have been alone. She imagined she could hear his heartbeat and feel the warm buffeting of his breath, though his gaze was so cold it seemed to frost the very air between them.

“You’ll have a better view if you sit up on the top rail,” Lord Tynesborough suggested, blithely unaware of any tension. She looked around. A few of the women had perched themselves on the topmost rail of the corral. “It’s entirely safe,” he assured her. “The horse is on a lunging line.”

As long as the other ladies were up there, Ginesse could see no reason why she shouldn’t join them. She accepted Lord Tynesborough’s hand and climbed up the rails, settling sideways on the top.

Lord Tynesborough smiled up at her with an unusual degree of warmth, confusing her a bit until she realized he probably hoped to join her on her search for Zerzura.

Sure enough, his first words confirmed her suspicion. “I owe you an apology, Miss Braxton. After you left my employ, I could not shake the feeling that I had been rudely dismissive, so I followed your research, or as much of it as I could, and came to the inescapable conclusion that you were right and that there is a city waiting to be discovered out here.”

She should have felt a leap of exultation, validation, at least some sort of unworthy triumph, but all she felt was a sort of temperate gratification.
Damn
Jim Owens.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Yes. Of course,” she said, wishing he would stop regarding her so soulfully, like a puppy who knows she is holding a bone behind her back. In this case, the bone being Zerzura.

“How long did Mr. Owens live in America?” she asked, looking for another topic of conversation.

“Fourteen years,” he said. “Ten of those without a mother. From what I gather, he had few female influences growing up. He was probably ill-prepared for the change his life would take when our grandmother fetched him from his uncle’s ranch after our father died.”

“I imagine it was a rather wild young man who arrived at your doorstep,” she said, half smiling in spite of herself at the thought of an unruly young Jim terrorizing the staid old retainers of some moldy manor house. “A right barbarian,” she said, her eyes on Jim.

He held the lunge line slack, waiting patiently for the gray Arabian to approach him. He bided his time, casually swiping the line’s frayed end on the ground, giving the horse no excuse to bolt at an unanticipated movement.

“Hardly. Not inside the house, at any rate,” Tynesborough said. “Though anyone testing him at the school where he was sent would earn a fair demonstration of what he was capable of—and there were, I am sad to say, many eager to try to intimidate an outsider, mistaking a difference in accent or manners for ignorance and,” he glanced at her, “barbarism.”

She flushed.

He reached out and briefly touched her hand where it rested on the corral’s top rail, regarding her sympathetically. “I know you didn’t mean it that way, but there were many who used far crueler terms who meant it precisely that way. The Duke of Manure and Lord Yokel were some of the less offensive titles they called him, though rarely more than once in his presence. He was a strong, athletic lad even then.

“But at Avandale Hall, in our grandmother’s and my mother’s presence, he was entirely circumspect, even courtly, as odd as that word might seem. Unfortunately, he suffered there as well.”

His words painted a depressing picture of an orphaned boy thrown upon the shoals of English society. She knew firsthand how unkind children could be. She could all too well imagine the cruelty of those rough schoolyard encounters: the jeers and mocking laughter, the hot blood rising in one’s face, the hopeless sense of powerlessness, the tears that choked off the ability to speak and could not,
must
not fall because then the taunts would become howls of ridicule.

She’d endured her fair share of epithets. Luckily, the Misses Timwell quickly weeded out the most bullying students. But those dear ladies could not be omnipresent, and Ginesse had been a prime candidate for mockery, being skinny and big-nosed and easily provoked. But at least she’d had parents and siblings who’d loved her.

Where had Jim’s sanctuary been?

“Surely your mother or grandmother did what they could to prevent others from abusing him?” she asked.

Tynesborough did not answer right away. He looked uncomfortable, clearly trying to find a politic answer. In the corral, the stallion had finally been overcome with curiosity and was approaching Jim cautiously.

“Jim was completely unfamiliar with women. He regarded the fair sex with something approaching awe. Certainly with reverence.” Tynesborough smiled sadly. “He learned that duplicity and cruelty are not gender-specific traits.”

Ginesse frowned, unsettled by Tynesborough’s suggestion. Had his mother been the hackneyed version of the wicked stepmother? Had she treated Jim unkindly, resentful that her son was not the duke’s heir?

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I ought not to say, but your relationship with my brother seems strained. I understand. He can appear very cold and remote and stern. He had to be.”

She frowned.

“Our grandmother strongly resisted her son marrying Jim’s mother. It offended her that the Avandale bloodline should be polluted.”

“Why did they marry then?”

“The old duke was as strong-willed as his wife. Avandale was falling into financial ruin. Jim’s mother’s family was, at the time, immensely rich. She brought that wealth to the family, quite saved the old manse from going under, truth be told. In addition, she gave a huge parcel of land to the old duke.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Who can say? Perhaps she really thought my father loved her? Perhaps her father liked the idea of his daughter being a duchess?” He shrugged sadly. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that Althea, our grandmother, never reconciled herself to the idea of a half-American inheriting the dukedom, and when Jim did, she made it her mission to do everything within her power to eradicate from him any traces of his American manner, attitudes, accents, memories. He was not allowed to speak of his family in America or his life on the ranch. Ever. Some of her methods were…brutal.”

Dear God. She shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself and holding tight against the picture Tynesborough painted. And if this was her reaction to a secondhand recounting, how much more horrific had the reality been for Jim?

“Jim learned to hide behind a mask of indifference. It’s not who he is. Not really,” Lord Tynesborough said. “Indeed, he had planned to forfeit his title in order to guarantee that others whom he cared for deeply would not suffer.”

“Is someone suffering?” a feminine voice asked.

Ginesse look around. Miss Whimpelhall was toddling toward them under the shade of a lacy parasol, her hands encased in little lace mittens, her long skirts sending up little puffs of dust. “Not the poor horse, I hope?”

For a moment, Ginesse sat frozen, unable to segue from the story she’d heard to the banal pleasantries expected of her. Luckily, Lord Tynesborough was better at such things than she.

“No, indeed, Miss Whimpelhall,” Professor Tynesborough greeted her, his expression smoothing to polite interest. “The horse is in fine fettle. That seems to be the problem. He’s raising havoc with the stable lads, so they’ve elected to call in the heavy reinforcements—my brother. I hope you’re prepared to witness a master horseman in action?”

Amazingly, Miss Whimpelhall produced a dimple. “I am always interested in adding to my education, Professor.” She looked up at Ginesse, showing not a bit of surprise at where she was sitting. Apparently, her recent travels had loosened her strict sense of decorum. “Hello, Miss Braxton.”

“Good morning, Miss Whimpelhall,” Ginesse said, finding her voice. “Would you care to join me for the exhibition?” Ginesse asked, indicating the rail.

“Good heavens. I mean, no, thank you.”

“Will Colonel Lord Pomfrey be joining us?” Lord Tynesborough asked.

“No, I am afraid not. He is otherwise engaged,” she said, her eyes on Jim and the stallion.

The gray was finally standing quietly. Jim moved to his side, placing his hand on his withers. A shiver ran through the stallion’s glossy hide as in one smooth, unhurried movement, Jim slipped the hackamore over his fine-boned head. Then just as smoothly, he took hold of a handful of mane and vaulted onto his back.

The stallion danced, sidling backwards and away. Jim leaned forward, shifting his legs, and at once the horse quieted. Then, at some unseen signal, the horse flowed forward into an easy gait. Jim moved with him, more like an extension of the horse than a passenger.

“Magnificent, isn’t he?” Lord Tynesborough whispered with undisguised admiration as, in his excitement, he once more covered her hand with his.

Jim looked over at them. The stallion shied, tossing his head.

“He ought to have a proper bridle,” Miss Whimpelhall said.

“He doesn’t need one,” Tynesborough said. “Watch.”

But Jim was done. He swung a leg over the gray’s back and while it was still cantering, slipped off, landing neatly on his feet.

“But…aren’t you going to ride him some more?” one of the enlisted men asked. “I got a pound said you’d stick on his back for five minutes.”

“Sorry,” Jim answered, his gaze briefly touching hers, then her hand, still covered by Lord Tynesborough’s, and passing on. “I’ve seen everything I need to see. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting him into a stall now. Just be careful about touching his sides. He’s been trained to the leg, not the mouth.”

The crowd began to disperse, and Ginesse was about to climb down from the rail when she saw Haji Elkamal. He noticed her as well. He looked away, his lips pleated, and then with the air of a man set on doing an onerous task, he came over to them. He bowed to Lord Tynesborough and Miss Whimpelhall, then nodded to Ginesse.

“Hello, Ginesse,” he said. “I have not had the opportunity to welcome you back to Egypt.”

“Hello, Haji,” she said without enthusiasm. Magi’s silence had been an unexpected kindness, but she did not fool herself into thinking Haji would be as forgiving. He had never been shy about criticizing her. Mentally she resigned herself to listening to him harangue her for impersonating Miss Whimpelhall and whatever trouble, real or imaginary, great or small, perceived or tangible, she had subsequently gotten into because of it. It was an old, old pattern.

“You call Miss Braxton by her Christian name?” Miss Whimpelhall asked, looking confused.

Haji turned a baleful eye on her. “Yes. I did. Is there a problem, Miss Whimpelhall?”

Haji had always been oversensitive and prickly, looking for slights and rebuffs where none were given and triumphantly pointing out those that were. He’d been a tiresome boy, and he looked to have turned into a tiresome man.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, leave off, Haji,” she said irritably as the stable boy lost control of the end of the lunge line and the stallion began prancing around the enclosure looking like it was all great fun. “Miss Whimpelhall is unaware of the lengthy history between us. She would have been just as surprised to hear Professor Tynesborough call her ‘Mildred.’ Isn’t that right, Miss Whimpelhall?”

The little woman’s glance flickered between Haji, looking stiffly imperious; Professor Tynesborough, looking uncomfortable; and Ginesse.

“Yes. I suppose. I didn’t mean to offend you, Mr. Elkamal,” she said, blushing so profusely that had Ginesse a more suspicious mind, she might have termed “guiltily.”

“Of course it is,” Ginesse said. “Haji’s familiarity is due to our long-standing…” She hesitated. “I was going to say ‘friendship,’ but that would have implied a regard on Haji’s part that is largely missing. So let us say instead, Haji’s familiarity is due to the fact that he was my unwilling companion during childhood.”

Miss Whimpelhall looked ill at ease. Lord Tynesborough looked disconcerted. And Haji looked petulant. “I believed I was tolerated only inasmuch as I was useful in keeping an eye on you,” he said with stiff formality. “I may have been wrong. If I was, I am sorry.”

“Is that supposed to be an apology?” Ginesse asked. “Because if so, it’s a poor excuse for one.” Where had Jim gone? The stallion was galloping around the corral now, making a game of evading the enlisted men’s attempts to catch him.