The Story of a Baron (The Sisters of the Aristocracy) (15 page)

Chapter 28

Chapter Seven: A Ride in the Park

Matthew Winters had his barouche merging with the traffic in Oxford Street as if he did it every day, which Geraldine considered he might very well do. She had no idea what the baron did, at least on the days that Parliament wasn’t in session. “Tell me, Lord Ballantine. What would you being doing right now if you weren’t on your way to Hyde Park for a birthday party?“

The baron glanced in Geraldine’s direction, surprised by the question. He had thought they would be discussing the weather or the latest fashions from Paris. “I would probably be in my study seeing to the business of the barony,” he replied easily.

With one hand hooked around his arm, Geraldine placed her other hand in her lap. “You don’t employ a secretary to see to your barony?” she questioned, marveling at how he expertly avoided a child who darted out in front of them and then swerved when a costermonger looked as if he were trying to be run over by the older-model barouche.

Matthew considered how to respond. He would gladly employ someone if he could afford to do so. “I do not,” he responded as he took the turn onto Park Lane.

Geraldine considered the comment for a moment. “Because you do not trust someone else to do it?” she half-questioned, her attention suddenly on the Abdington’s mansion. “I’ve always thought that was the most beautiful house in this lane,” she added as she openly admired the Palladian architecture, manicured lawn and gardens in front.

“Indeed? I would have thought Lord Atheron’s manor would suit you much better,” Matthew countered, testing her to discover if she would stick to her original claim or change her opinion to match what he’d just suggested.

Geraldine shook her head. “Although the Atherton pile is certainly impressive, it lacks ... the modern look, I suppose,” she replied carefully. “I’m just not very fond of Tudor architecture, I suppose.”

His eyes widening in surprise, Matthew dared a glance in her direction. So the woman was versed in architecture. “Is Palladian your favorite then?” he wondered, his attention turning to the mansion to their left, one he knew didn’t belong to a member of the aristocracy but rather to a man who was a tradesman. A rather successful tradesman.

“I do love the Greek influence,” Geraldine agreed. “In fashion as well as buildings,” she added enthusiastically.

Matthew blinked. He had never seen the chit dressed in any gowns that took their cut from the Greek goddess dresses that had been so popular at the turn of the century. “And yet you do not wear such gowns,” he accused lightly.

Geraldine blinked.
What did the baron know of women’s fashions?
she wondered. “True,” she answered carefully. “Unfortunately, my modiste is quite set on styles that she claims are French but that my brother says are most certainly not. I am not exactly sure how
he
would know, though,” she said in a quieter voice, as if she were just then wondering how it was her brother could know one way or the other.

Chuckling, Matthew patted the hand that wound around his arm. “Given his avocation, your brother is a worldly man, Jerry,” he said, barely aware he had called her by her nickname. “He probably knows more about women’s fashions than any modiste in New Bond Street, seeing as how he’s managed to remove them from so many women.”
And then had to help to put them back on
, he nearly added. The man would probably make an excellent lady’s maid! Prior to his having earned a degree from Cambridge, Richard Porterhouse enjoyed the life of a randy member of the
ton
, his conquests ranging from young widows to willing maidservants to older women who were bored in their marriages.

Shocked by Ballantine’s comment, Geraldine inhaled sharply, lifting one gloved hand to cover her open mouth. “Why, Matthew Winters, you take that back right now,” she insisted, her manner suggesting she wasn’t the least bit humored by his statement about her brother.

Matthew swallowed, shocked that he would put voice to such a thought, even if it was to Geraldine Porterhouse. “I apologize, my lady. I ... I don’t know what came over me just then,” he said with a good deal of humility. “Just because we were fast friends in our youth does not give me the right to impugn your brother. Do forgive me.”

Geraldine straightened in the squabs, suddenly wondering if the baron was testing her. “Are you testing me, Lord Ballantine?” she asked.

A quirk formed at the edge of the baron’s mouth. “I am, indeed, Jerry,” he responded, his face breaking into a wide smile. “I must admit that I feared you and your brother were no longer on speaking terms,” he explained. “I did not wish to take sides, if that were the case, since you two are my dearest friends.” He guided the barouche through the gates into the park.

Settling back into the squabs, Geraldine’s face took on a serious expression.
Friends?
Was that all she would ever be to Matthew Winters? They had known each other since she was in leading strings. They had played in creeks and made mud pies along the edge of the farm field and skipped rocks across the pond and hid in the folly.

And kissed in the barn.

Even now, Geraldine felt a shiver of delight skitter down her spine.
When will I ever be kissed like that again?
she wondered. Despite all the rumors that had her kissing any man who would allow it, she hadn’t kissed anyone since that night in the barn on the Ballantine farm. She couldn’t remember if she had started it, or if Matthew had, but the two were suddenly lip-locked, their arms wrapped awkwardly around one another. As to who ended it, well, it didn’t much matter seeing as how Matthew’s father began bellowing the boy’s name from somewhere behind the nearby house. “Go!” she had said, giving Matthew a gentle push, her eyes deliberately kept straight ahead, for she knew his erection was apparent behind the placket of his breeches. Even now, she could remember how it felt to have it pressed against her belly as they held one another, how it had felt to imagine him lowering her to the straw below so he could lift her skirts and remove her drawers and claim her as his own. She would have allowed it. Would allow it even now should he wish to claim her.

“If my father hadn’t been looking for me, you would have lost your maidenhead that night,” Matthew stated suddenly, his voice carrying a hint of warning.

Geraldine gasped, her eyes wide as she turned to regard the baron.
Had she said something aloud? Or could he read her mind?

Matthew held her gaze as if he dared her to look away before he did. He had to, though, when he realized the horse was veering off the road. Once he had the nag back on track, he returned his attention to the earl’s sister. “Would you have fought me off?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

Geraldine shook her head. “No.”

Nodding once, Matthew turned his eyes back to the road.
Well, there was that
, he supposed, wondering how different their lives would be if they had consummated their
affaire
, such as it was, all those years ago.

“I would never deny you what has always been yours.”

The words were said so quietly, Matthew wasn’t quite sure he’d heard them correctly. He suddenly led the horse to the side of the road and pulled back hard on the reins, his brows furrowing as he stared at Geraldine. A bit of anger welling up in him and suddenly sure the rumors about her were true, he asked, “Mine, and how many others?”

Geraldine gasped, the expression on her face turning from doe-eyed innocence to angry-eyed she-devil. Her blue gloved hand came out of nowhere and walloped Matthew hard across his right cheek, the strike so unexpected, the baron was nearly unseated. “How dare you!” she cried out, scooting across the seat until she was pressed against the other side of the barouche.

So startled was he by the chit’s right hook – it was probably just a slap, but the baron wasn’t about to believe that much pain could result from an open-handed hit – Matthew let go of the reins. The horse actually looked back at him, as if she were annoyed she would have to give up the snack of flowers she had found next to a hedgerow in order to pull the damned barouche.

Matthew stared at Geraldine, and watched as tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

“I ... I have
never
shared a bed with a man,” she whispered harshly, her breathing so labored Matthew could hear her gasps for air from where he sat.

“Of course, not,” Matthew replied, his ire evident in the set of his shoulders. “Who needs a bed when there is a ... hay bale or a table or a ...” He was suddenly seeing stars as he slowly realized her reticule had impacted his left cheek. He had a passing thought that everything she owned must have been in that reticule, for he was quite sure there would be a very large bruise covering half his face the following morning.

He shook his head, trying to clear the light-headedness that seemed to have replaced his usual clear-headed view of the world.

Tears flowing down her cheeks, Geraldine fumbled for the door catch, determined to take her leave of Lord Ballantine’s barouche. They were already in the park; a short walk, and she would be able to join Lady Barrick and her band of surprise party-goers. She imagined casually strolling up to the group on foot, angling her head to one side and saying, “Surprise!” The alternative was to arrive on the arm of Lord Ballantine, who at the moment was regarding her with a look of surprise and ...
was that adoration?

Geraldine shook her head as she managed to get the door to open. “Thank you for the ride, my lord,” she spat out. “I must inform you it will be the last I ever take with
you
.” She stumbled out of the barouche, slamming the small door behind her before stomping off on a crushed granite path.

Embarrassed and belittled more than he was when he attempted to pay his monthly bills, Matthew watched the earl’s sister take her leave of the barouche. He frowned when he realized her determined steps were taking her in the wrong direction for the party.

“Lady Barrick’s picnic is in the other direction, my lady,” he managed to call out. He watched as Lady Geraldine’s shoulders straightened. Although she didn’t slow her pace nor immediately turn around, she made a wide arc so that her eventual direction was toward the grounds of the birthday party.

Dropping his head into his hands, Matthew Winters cursed himself. He cursed the horse. He cursed his mouth. He cursed Lord Afterly. And he cursed Lady Geraldine.

So, she wasn’t the doxy the
ton
had made her out to be, he realized suddenly. She was merely the
ton’s
currently
on-dit,
a chit who by circumstance of being beautiful suffered the wrath of a jealous aristocracy. And he had just made it worse by allowing her to escape his protection.

When his breathing returned to normal, Matthew lifted the reins from the floor and urged his reluctant horse to return to the crushed granite path. He intended to make his way toward Lady Barrick’s party. And then he urged the mare to pick up the pace.

He had to find her. He couldn’t allow her to show up unescorted! In a few moments, the deep blue of her carriage gown shown behind the hedgerow that lined the lane. He hurried the nag on ahead and then parked the barouche on the other side of the lane. Getting out as quickly as he could, Matthew ran to the other side of the hedgerow and intercepted Geraldine ... or at least a woman he thought was Geraldine. The startled matron, Lady Featherly, on a walk with no less than three smalls dogs, screamed at the sight of Matthew.

Good grief!
Could anything else go wrong today?
he wondered as he gave her a deep bow, excused himself, and returned to his barouche, the yips and yaps of the dogs following in his wake.

Where could Geraldine be?
he wondered. Glancing back along the hedgerow, he was sure he could hear quiet sobs coming from behind a particularly thick area of vegetation. He worked his way around the hedgerow and found Geraldine in an indecorous heap next to her parasol. She was obviously unaware of his presence, and for a moment, Matthew allowed her to cry her eyes out. He knew they would be red-rimmed for the party, but perhaps a mention as to how happy she was to have her brother back in residence at Rosehill House would explain her crying.

Moving to her, Matthew lowered himself to the lawn and gathered her into his arms. “I am sorry, Jerry,” he whispered, his heart heavy when he realized how hurt she really was by his accusations. “I shouldn’t have believed everything I’ve heard about you,” he whispered as he held her against the front of his body. Despite her stylish hat, which lacked the usual feathers of some poor fowl, he was able to land a kiss on her temple just as he felt a pin prick into his chest. “Ouch,” he murmured, pulling his chest away from hers.

“I hate you,” Geraldine whispered, secretly glad one of the pins holding back the ruffles of her bodice had poked the baron..

Matthew shrugged. Having heard that particular comment from her more times than he could count, he didn’t take it personally. “Of course, you do, my darling,” he replied without a without a hint of humor. She had stuck him, after all, and he couldn’t quite figure out how she’d managed it.

“How could you?” she asked, which just started another round of tears.

“Because I’m a heartless heathen intent on seeing you as bereft as possible,” he answered, again with no hint of humor.

Geraldine struggled from his grasp and turned to regard the beastly baron. “Damn you,” she whispered harshly. “I was going to forgive you, but now ... now you can just ...
go to the devil
.”

Fighting the urge to smile at her indignation, Matthew cocked his head to one side. “There are some who would tell you I am already there,” he said quietly.

Her eyes widening with fear, Geraldine pushed herself away from Matthew, ignoring the possibility of grass stains on her gown.

Matthew stood up and simply took the two steps to stand over her. Reaching down, he grasped her beneath her arms and lifted her to her feet with little effort. Geraldine whimpered as he did so, and he had a passing thought that she might think he was going to take her virtue right there and then.

But Matthew knew better than to allow thoughts of Geraldine in that way. If he did, it would be a long time before he could join the birthday party.

“I hate you,” she said again, a tear rolling down her cheek.

“I know,” he said with a nod. He held her against the front of his body, wondering if she would stick him with another pin. He was about to release his hold on her when he realized she needed him for support or she would simply return to the ground below in a graceful heap of broadcloth and lawn and muslin.