The Rake and the Recluse REDUX (a time travel romance) (34 page)

Gideon glared at him. “Has it?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“It has,” Perry continued carefully. “And while I am fully in support of your courting my ward, I feel I must remind you that until you are wedded, there will be no more improper behavior.”

Gideon lifted his brows. Had his brother just called him out? He was rendered speechless. He could not form a thought, much less a decent sentence. He nodded once as Perry stared pointedly at him. He cleared his throat.

“My lord, I would appreciate the opportunity to court your ward, Miss Francine Larrabee,” he said respectfully.

Perry stood with a wry smile. “Well, as I am not guardian over any such chit, may I offer another from my
bountiful
selection?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows rakishly.

Gideon laughed. He was mistaken; Perry hadn’t changed all that much. “Of course, dear brother. Shall I leave it to your expertise to choose a suitable young lady for me?”

“By all means, though I suppose we should follow the lines of convention and that puts
Madeleine
as the first available. She should be coming out this Season. Perhaps you would endeavor to throw a ball in her honor at Roxleigh House?” Perry asked with a devious grin.

Gideon smiled in return. “Well, my lord, you are well acquainted with the business table. I will agree to the venture, but we must first discuss the dowry. If it is found to be lacking, well—” Gideon shrugged.

Perry laughed. “Good God, man, I may have received extra coaching at the business table, but your expertise still outranks me by far. Do remind me to always be on
your
side of a negotiation, will you?”

“After this one, we shall be,” Gideon said. They laughed, and Perry downed his whiskey.

“What plans have you now?” Perry asked.

“I plan to ride, and I would like to ask Lady
Madeleine—
” He said her name with a great deal of effect, looking Perry squarely in the eye. “—to accompany me. By your leave, of course.”

“Yes, of course. Carole will serve as chaperone,” Perry replied with a smile.

“Agreed.” Gideon sighed. “Lady Francine. Sounds nice, does it not?”

“Yes, well, it shouldn’t be too difficult to get used to. Though I don’t entirely understand the reasoning behind it, since the French peerage was abolished more than twenty years ago.”

“Let the House of Lords sort it out. An unrelated ward would not be recognized with a title, but most wards are unrecognized by-blows of the peerage, and granting them title would only give them a foothold their families do not want them to have,” Gideon said. “
I
prefer Miss Francine to be addressed as the Lady Francine.”

“Thank you for the lesson.” Perry shrugged. “Still the very least of my worries where these wards are concerned. I will see you after? I have something to see to.”

Gideon nodded. “As long as what you are seeing to involves none of my maids,” he said as he walked around his desk, patting his brother on the shoulder.

Perry groaned as they left the study. “No, Your Grace, you have drawn a line there that I quite shudder to cross.”

Mrs. Weston packed a large basket of food with the help of Chef. She sent it along with Grover and Gentry to Kelso with a letter requesting the presence of Miss Faversham, then she went to Francine’s suite.

Francine was finishing her lunch in front of the fire and intently studying the section on peerage and titles in her book of manners.

“Well, miss, you have already had such a busy day, and now you’ve been invited to go riding with His Grace. That is, if you are up to it?” Mrs. Weston asked.

Francine stood, her eyes sparkling as she nodded her head vigorously.

Mrs. Weston laughed and went to the wardrobe to pull out the peacock blue riding habit. The stunning color mirrored Francine’s eyes, as vibrant in hue as her eyes were pale. The habit consisted of skirts and crisp white shirt with a beautifully tailored jacket that had black velvet-covered buttons crossing from one hip to the opposite shoulder and at the sleeves from the elbow to wrist. The matching top hat included a silk veil to protect her from the sun, also held in place by black velvet buttons.

Mrs. Weston helped Francine into the habit and then, seeing her confusion at the lop-sided skirts, pointed to her hip. “See this large button?” she asked. Francine nodded. “You pull the skirts up here and button it. That’ll keep it from dragging the ground while you walk. Now, when you’re mounted you undo it, so as to cover your legs properly. See here?” She billowed the skirt out around Francine’s legs. “It’ll cover you and the horse. You look so elegant, Miss Francine,” she said, sighing.

Mrs. Weston pulled up the skirts and fastened them to the button, then steered Francine to the dressing table and fussed over her hair until it hung in a long, thick plait down her back with a few loose tendrils curled around her face.

Francine smiled. She actually liked what she saw. She ran her hand down her neck, from her chin to the little hollow that Gideon liked, and a shiver ran down her spine. Was it just last night that he had refused her? Heat infused her cheeks. Rather suddenly, she was afraid to face him. She had not seen him since his refusal, and wasn’t entirely sure how he would react toward her. Or, frankly, how she might react toward him. Then she thought about his intentions.

I had my list all wrong
.
It isn’t job, house, husband, children, dog, fish, happiness. The list is much simpler.
Mrs. Weston pinned the top hat on and handed her a pair of riding gloves, then hurried her out the door. Francine looked down the stairs at the man who waited for her, and as his eyes caught hers she revised the list:
Gideon...happiness.
She smiled.

Gideon waited in the great entrance for Francine in his doeskin riding breeches and favorite old topboots. He paced, circling the grand table and adjusting his gloves.

Carole entered with a curtsey.

“Good afternoon, Carole. I understand you do well on a horse,” he said, attempting to pass the time as they waited.

“Yes, Your Grace, my da insists we learn. Though I do not have the proper skirts for it, begging pardon, Your Grace,” she said shyly.

He waved her off. Her lack of proper skirts was the least of his worries.

They both looked up when they heard footsteps, and Gideon’s breath caught.

“Oh, my, but she’s a vision!” Carole said under her breath.

Gideon swallowed audibly, his mouth suddenly quite dry.

Francine paused at the top of the steps, the habit traveling her body in perfect curves and sweeps, hugging every turn with perfection.

Carole looked at him. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, but Mrs. Weston bade me pack some treats for the ride, in case you get hungry, Your Grace.”

“Truly,” he whispered. “Well, that is fine, er, good. I mean that is good, yes, that will do fine,” he managed. He walked to the base of the stairs and held out his hand.

Francine jumped slightly as a jolt of electricity coursed between them.

He bent, kissing the back of her wrist between the sleeve and her glove, then turned, placing her hand on his sleeve as he led her to the stable.

“Did you ride much in France?” Gideon asked Francine.

She glanced at him curiously, then realized he now believed her to be Madeleine, and why shouldn’t he? The last name, the Larrabees’ reaction to her—of course he would believe them. If her father’s journals were right, she was now Madeleine Larrabee, and Madeleine was Francine. Quite unexpectedly, she was okay with it. She shook her head and lifted her hands in question.

No,
Gideon thought to himself,
even if she remembered anything of France, horseback was probably just as forbidden to her as any other pursuits that might endanger her maidenhead.
He scowled, then paled, remembering that
he
had, in fact, endangered her maidenhead. He looked away, lifting one hand to his brow to cover his expression as they walked to the paddock. Three Friesians stood saddled and warming in the sunshine.

“Davis!” Gideon called as he opened the paddock. Samson walked straight to Gideon as Davis led the two mares. “Lady Francine, you remember my steed, Samson, and this is Delilah,” he said, taking her rein. “Carole, Davis has saddled Kalliope for you.”

Carole curtseyed and moved to help Davis with the animals, but he shooed her away.

She jumped up on Kalliope without hesitation as Francine watched; the maid had a regular saddle, and her skirts bunched up around her as she sat astride.

Francine smiled, looking at the strange contraption on Delilah, wishing she could ride like Carole. The basic saddle was there, but near the top was a large, curved horn that pointed skyward, and below it another that pointed down toward the stirrup. It was confusing, and she wasn’t sure where to place her legs.

Gideon walked over and handed Samson’s rein to Davis before returning to Francine. She stroked the mare’s neck as she looked at him. “Here,” he said, turning Delilah’s head to her. “Touch her here, on the muzzle.” He lifted her hand and pinched the fingertips of her glove, pulling it carefully from her hand.

She reached out and stroked Delilah’s nose. “Oh my,” she whispered. “I’ve never felt anything as soft as this pony’s nose.”

“Shh,” he admonished her speaking with a smile. “And yes, there is nothing softer than—than a pony’s nose. Let me help you,” he said, wrapping his hands about her waist. She smiled as he turned her to face him and lifted her handily to the saddle. “May I?” He motioned to her leg.

She nodded and held onto his sturdy shoulders to keep from sliding off the far side of the horse. He placed her right knee around the upper pommel, then feeling her left leg through her skirts, he gently slid her other knee below the lower pommel. He placed her boot in the stirrup as he adjusted the length, jerking on the saddle below her skirts. Drawing back, he examined her for a minute and she stared at him, waiting for his next move.

He cleared his throat and tapped the button at her hip. “Oh,” she whispered, looking down and undoing the button. He watched as a light pink blush colored the crests of her cheeks and nose.

She smiled sheepishly as she loosened her skirts and he pulled them from beneath her, letting them billow around the horse so Francine could sit snugly in the saddle. She smiled again as she put her glove back on. He handed her the rein before walking to Samson and deftly jumping astride the steed.

Gideon clicked his tongue and Samson and Delilah walked toward the meadow side by side, Carole guiding Kalliope behind.

Francine was nervous at first. She’d always had very good balance and body control, but she felt quite vulnerable atop this large animal with no experience in how to ride. She also felt a bit off-kilter on the sidesaddle. It was awkward. She’d ridden on carousels and merry-go-rounds, even on motorcycles, and astride seemed much more comfortable.

Gideon’s instruction was gentle and helpful as he explained about the horses: how to push them forward, how to direct them and to hold. She hadn’t realized that riding had more to do with the pressure of her legs on the horse than the rein. He spoke a bit about the Friesians, their English history, and their origins in the Netherlands. It sounded like he loved them very much. His eyes crinkled at the corners and his mouth broadened into a grand smile, and she enjoyed seeing his face lit with excitement. He obviously carried a great deal of pride in his animals.

Francine watched the horses communicate: the sounds they made, the way they behaved with each other. Samson liked to lead Delilah, even if by just a nose, and if she passed him he would snort and take a quick step to correct her. She appeared to ignore him, but Francine could see the way the muscles in her neck tensed when he pulled ahead of her, and Francine knew that Delilah was anything but oblivious.

Francine was aware of Gideon watching her and her face flushed warmly. She felt so removed from the person she had been before. She’d spent so much of her life ignoring anything that made her feel, and keeping herself busy, that now she was overwhelmed with the feelings she allowed herself. She sighed, looking around the meadow.