Vixen

Chapter 12

When Chloe came down to the kitchen the following morning, Hugo was sitting at the table in buckskins and top boots, a white linen cravat tied neatly if without great artistry at his throat.

"Are you going to visit someone?" Chloe filled a beaker from the milk churn and drank deeply.

"Your half brother," he said, pushing his plate away and leaning back in his chair. "To settle the matter of Maid Marion. You did say you wanted to keep her, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course." She regarded him thoughtfully, and he caught himself thinking that her eyes were like gentians in the sun. "Will you be discussing anything else?"

Hugo shook his head. "I'll play it by ear, but I hardly think it'll be necessary to spell anything out, lass."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed, trawling her fingers through a bowl of gooseberries on the table until she found a particularly succulent one.

"Jasper's not obtuse… although I'm not sure the same could be said of Crispin." She popped a berry into her mouth and punctured the skin with her front teeth, closing her eyes in unconscious pleasure as the sharp juice squirted down her throat and the lush round fruit yielded its flesh. "Are you going alone?"

Hugo was for a minute riveted by the sheer sensuality of her expression and missed the careful deliberation of the question. How could such a vibrant creature so full of earthly hungers have grown in Elizabeth's pure, pale

womb? But she'd also sprung from the loins of Stephen Gresham. The black thought came and went with surprising lack of pain.

He stood up. "I'll only be a couple of hours. If you care to ride out with me this afternoon, lass, I have to do a long-overdue survey of the estate. It'll give Dante a decent walk too."

"That'll be nice," Chloe said somewhat absently. "Are you leaving now?"

"Shortly." He strode to the door. "Samuel, I think it's time young Billy got off his backside and cleaned up the courtyard. He's been getting away with murder."

"Right you are," Samuel said. "I'll tell 'im." A pleased little smile lit up his creased countenance as Hugo left the kitchen, and he nodded to himself with secret satisfaction. "You want coddled eggs, lass?"

"Oh, no, thank you, Samuel." Chloe was on her way out of the kitchen. "I don't think I want any breakfast." On which extraordinary statement, she whisked herself out of the door, closing it firmly on Dante, left inside.

"Lord love us," Samuel muttered. "Now what's she up to?"

In her room Chloe threw off her gown and hastily donned her riding habit. She flew down the stairs and waited in the hall until she heard Hugo ride out of the courtyard. Then she ran to the stable. "Billy, help me saddle the mare."

The stable lad shrugged but offered a lethargic helping hand. Chloe led the horse to the mounting block and sprang into the saddle. 'Tell Samuel that I've gone with Sir Hugo," she instructed. 'Tell him right away, Billy."

She waited just long enough for the lad to round the corner to the kitchen door and then trotted Maid Marion down the drive. Samuel wouldn't worry if he knew she was with Hugo.

On the road she encouraged the roan to a gallop toward Shipton. Hugo had perhaps ten minutes start, and he wouldn't be making particular speed since she doubted he was in a hurry. She should catch up with him very soon.

Hugo heard the pounding hooves behind him and at first took no notice. It was a relatively busy highway. When they were almost beside him, he glanced incuriously over his shoulder.

Chloe beamed at him, drawing rein as she came up with him. "I thought you might like some company."

"You thought what?" He was for a moment completely taken aback.

"I thought that you'd probably regret deciding to go alone," she said, still beaming. "And there you'd be, riding along, feeling lonely, with no one to talk to. And I don't mind at all bearing you company, so here I am."

The bare-faced effrontery of this sunnily artless justification rendered him momentarily speechless. Chloe continued to chatter, commenting on the warm morning, the beauty of the hedgerows, a red squirrel.

"Quiet!" he demanded when he'd finally gathered his forces. "You have a very short memory, Miss Gresham. I told you only yesterday that I do not tolerate disobedience from those in my charge."

"Oh, but I'm not disobeying," she said earnestly. "I was most particularly careful not to ask you if I could accompany you, so you haven't told me that I may not. If you remember, I only asked you if you intended to go alone."

Hugo closed his eyes briefly. Of all the scheming little foxes!

"And then, as I said, it occurred to me that no one would truly wish to be alone on such a beautiful morning, and if you were regretting it, then-"

"I heard you the first time," he snapped. "And it was no more convincing then than it is now."

"When you've stopped being vexed, you'll realize how much pleasanter it is to have my company," she said with utter confidence, still smiling. "And I can't come to any harm from Jasper and Crispin when you're there to protect me. And I know exactly how we should behave. It'll be most diverting. We'll behave as if nothing happened yesterday… as if we don't suspect anything. We'll just say we've come to buy Maid Marion, and I'll say that I was sure Crispin would like to know how Plato-"

"Plato?" He was betrayed into the interjection.

"The owl," she said impatiently. "I'm sure Crispin will like to hear that he's doing so well. Or at least, that's what I'll tell him. But I'm sure he doesn't really give a damn."

"You're sure he doesn't what?" He seemed to be reeling from one outrage to another.

"Give a damn."

"That's what I thought you said. I refuse to believe the Misses Trent can have taught you such language."

"Of course not," she said cheerfully. "I expect I learned it from the poacher or the grooms at the livery stables."

"Then you will oblige me by unlearning it immediately."

"Oh, don't be stuffy. You say it all the time."

"You will not."

"Oh." Her nose wrinkled at this, then she shrugged and said equably, "Very well. If you don't wish it. But what do you think of my plan with Jasper and Crispin? I can't wait to see Jasper's face when we trot up to his door… all smiles and politeness."

Hugo privately admitted that the scheme had a certain appeal. However, he was not going to give his manipu-

lative traveling companion any such satisfaction, and set about dampening her confident high spirits. "This is not a matter for childish games-playing, and your presence is as inappropriate as it's unwelcome. My business with Jasper most emphatically does not need your input."

"Oh." Chloe seemed to consider this, then she said, "I suppose I could go back, but it's quite a long way, and I know you don't want me riding alone."

"And just what, pray, were you doing to get here in the first place?"

The sarcasm ran off her like water on oiled leather. "But that was only a few minutes. I galloped like the wind to catch you up."

Hugo gave up. He wasn't going to send her back on her own. He could take her home, of course, but it would be a waste of a morning. He rode on, maintaining a severe silence.

Chloe seemed to feel it was her duty to entertain him. She filled his silence with a cheerful commentary on their surroundings, some reflections on the events of the previous day, and anything else that popped into her head.

He interrupted a minute description of all six of Beatrice's kittens. "Must you talk so much?"

"Not if you don't wish it," she said, instantly accommodating. "I want to be exactly the companion you would wish, so if you prefer to be quiet, then I won't say another word."

A sound halfway between a strangled sob and a choke of laughter came from her companion.

"Have I amused you?" Her eyes were brimful of merriment as she looked at him.

"I am rarely amused by nuisances. If you value your skin, Miss Gresham, you will refrain from all conversational sallies until we get home," he declared, managing to school his features with some difficulty.

When they turned up the driveway to Gresham Hall, Hugo wasn't expecting his own reaction. It had been fourteen years since he'd set foot in this place, and Elizabeth, his unattainable love, had been young and alive. The ruined edifice of Shipton Abbey stood out against the summer sky in a clearing to the right of the driveway, halfway between the road and the house.

He averted his gaze, then forced himself to look at it, to see in his mind's eye the steps that led to the crypt. The dank smell of corruption was suddenly vivid in the soft summer air, overlaying the rich scent of honeysuckle.

"What is it?" Chloe asked in a near whisper, all raillery and mischief gone from face and voice.

He wrenched his gaze from the scene of past evils. "Painted devils."

"You said that once before. What are they?"

"None of your business, Miss Poke-nose. It's time you developed some respect for other people's privacy."

"That's unjust," she said with quiet force. "And you know it is."

It was. He sighed. "Since you're bearing me company against my wishes, it would be tactful, not to say prudent, to intrude on my consciousness as little as possible."

"Oh, pah," Chloe said. "If you're unhappy, then of course I'd try to help."

"Of course you would," he murmured. "I can't think how I could have thought otherwise. However, you may set your mind at rest. I am not unhappy… merely annoyed with you."

Chloe clearly didn't think this worth a response. "I haven't been here since Mama's funeral," she observed next. "Louise was very kind, but then Jasper and Crispin weren't around, so she wasn't afraid."

Hugo turned sharply toward her. "Afraid?"

"Most people are afraid of Jasper," she said matter-of-factly. "Or at least those people he has power over."

"Are you afraid of him?" He looked at her closely.

Chloe wrinkled her nose in thought. "I don't think so," she said. "Or at least until yesterday I wasn't. I just disliked him heartily. But since he doesn't have any power over me, I don't have any reason to fear him, do I?"

"It's to be hoped not," he said neutrally.

Chloe seemed to accept this and changed the subject. "Are we going up to the front door?"

"I don't know how else one would approach when paying a social call."

"I always went through the side door… because I'm a relative, I suppose."

"Well, on this occasion you'll do as I do."

"Of course," she said demurely as they trotted onto the gravel sweep in front of the house. "Shall I bang the knocker?"

"If you wish," he said, giving up his attempt to maintain his severity. It was impossible to stay annoyed with her for more than a minute, and pretending was clearly as much a waste of effort as it was tedious.

Chloe slipped from her horse and ran up the steps, seizing the great brass knocker and banging it with gusto.

The door was opened by a footman in a baize apron. He blinked at the visitor.

"Good morning, Hector. Is Sir Jasper in?"

"Well, well, if it isn't my little sister." Jasper spoke from behind the footman. "That'll be all, Hector." He stepped into the doorway and looked down on Chloe, one eyebrow raised. "So what brings you?" His eye flickered over her head to where Hugo still sat his horse, impassive on the drive.

"I've come to buy Maid Marion," Chloe informed him.

"I told Crispin I couldn't accept her as a gift, but I'd like to purchase her."

Jasper put his hands on her shoulders and moved her out of his way. He walked slowly down the steps to Hugo. Chloe followed, not a whit put out by being ignored.

Crispin came around from the side of the house, and she called out to him. "Good morning, Crispin. We came to buy Maid Marion, and I thought you might like to know how the owl is recovering. The splint is holding nicely." Her smile embraced the three men with an ingenuous confidence that fooled none of them.

Hugo's eye caught hers in acceptance of the scene she was setting. "Stop prattling, Chloe," he said with feigned exasperation as he dismounted. "Jasper, how much do you want for the mare?"

"I'm not sure she's for sale," Jasper said.

"Oh, but she must be!" Chloe cried. "You were going to give her to me, so you can't say you want to keep her. And I so enjoyed riding her yesterday. I couldn't bear to give her up." She turned the brilliance of her smile on Crispin. "It was such a pity we weren't able to have our picnic, Crispin, but I became caught up in the crowds going into the city for the Reform Meeting, and I couldn't turn back."

Crispin put a hand to his throat. A starched cravat hid the finger bruises from his audience, but the involuntary gesture spoke for itself to Hugo and Jasper.

Jasper's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked between his stepson and Hugo Lattimer. "It's to be regretted you missed your picnic, little sister," he said blandly. "Crispin had gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure your pleasure."

"Yes, I was aware," she replied. "I was desolated to spoil his efforts."

Hugo decided that it was time he joined the fencing

match. Chloe seemed to be running away with herself. "Chloe, I asked you to stop prattling. Jasper, do you have a price for the mare?"

"Three thousand pounds" was the prompt response. "Since my sister won't accept the gift, then I'd be a fool not to ask a fair price."

"A fair price!" Chloe squeaked. "Three thousand-"

"Hold your tongue!" Hugo put a heavy hand on her shoulder. "This immoderate behavior is most unbecoming."

"Yes, but-"

"Quiet!"

Chloe subsided, glaring at her half brother. His cold eyes slid over her, and for the first time she read menace as well as the usual dislike in their depths. Then he turned to Hugo, a sardonic smile on his thin lips.

"Three thousand pounds. Since I now find myself short by such a sum…"

"Quite," Hugo said in perfect understanding. He had stopped Elizabeth's payments to Jasper and was now being required to make up for it. Chloe's slender shoulder was rigid beneath his hand, and he could feel the currents of tension running through her. Clearly she, too, understood what her brother was demanding. But if he expected her to rush into ill-considered speech at this realization, he was mistaken.

"We have to see the dam," she said as calmly now as she'd been fervent before. "I know Sherrif, but I'd like to inspect Red Queen."

Jasper inclined his head in acknowledgment. "Crispin, take Chloe to the stables and show her the Queen. I'm sure she'll be satisfied." He turned back to Hugo. "Shall we conclude this business in my book room, Lattimer?"

"I doubt it's a business to be so easily concluded,"

Hugo commented with an oblique smile. "But by all means let's discuss terms. However, you'll understand if I don't accept your hospitality. Since I don't extend my own, it would be a trifle hypocritical, wouldn't you say?"

He turned to his ward, who'd made no move to accompany Crispin to the stables. "Chloe, if you intend to inspect the dam, I suggest you do so."

He and Jasper waited until Chloe and Crispin had disappeared around the side of the house.

"She always was an ill-mannered brat," Jasper said with clear venom.

Hugo raised an eyebrow and said quietly, "Too ill-mannered to make a suitable wife for your stepson, Jasper? Or would her fortune compensate adequately for any faults in character?"

Jasper's florid complexion deepened, but his eyes were almost opaque as they skidded away from Hugo's direct gaze. "Are you trying to say something, Lattimer?"

Hugo shook his head. "What would I be trying to say, Jasper?"

Jasper smiled his thin smile again and observed with soft insult, "Something seems to have sobered you up, Hugo. I wonder how long it'll last."

"Long enough to see you in hell," Hugo responded pleasantly. He turned his back and remounted his horse. "I'm not interested in the mare at any price. I'm not interested in any dealings with you, Jasper… unless you should be foolish enough to meddle again in my bailiwick."

Jasper's tongue flickered over his lips. "You are mistaken, Hugo. It's you who are meddling in my bailiwick. You did it once before, and I'll be doubly avenged, make no mistake."

Hugo nodded. "So we understand each other. It's always as well to be certain of that."

Chloe and Crispin reappeared, and he called her sharply.

She hurried over. "Are we leaving?"

"Yes, but without the mare." He held down his hand. "Up you come. Put your foot on my boot."

Chloe showed neither surprise nor disappointment at this abrupt, unexpected conclusion to the negotiations. She took his hand, put her foot on his, and sprang upward as he pulled her. She settled on the saddle in front of him.

"Good day, Jasper… Crispin." She smiled down at them with such friendliness, one would believe only pleasantries could ever take place between them. "Thank you for lending me Maid Marion… and for showing me Red Queen. She's beautiful."

"And to think your brother called you an ill-mannered brat," Hugo remarked with a dry smile as they rode off. "When it suits you, you can be impeccably polite."

Chloe chuckled. "I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of thinking I was disappointed. I'm sorry about Maid Marion, but I certainly wouldn't have paid three thousand for her."

"I'm relieved to hear it, since I had no intention of doing so."

"Would he not negotiate?" A hint of wistfulness crept into her voice.

"I didn't attempt it."

"Oh. I suppose you had your reasons."

"I did, lass. But we'll buy you a horse this afternoon. Squire Gillingham has a good stud in Edgecombe. I'm sure he'll have something suitable."

His arm encircled her lightly as he held the reins, and she leaned back against him, fitting herself into his shoulder as naturally as if she always rode in such fashion. The seeming artlessness of her proximity produced

a riot of confused and confusing responses in both mind and body, and Hugo had the unnerving suspicion that Chloe was quite aware of her effect. Every time he persuaded himself she had to be protected as an ingenuous young innocent on the verge of womanhood, she did or said something that proved beyond doubt that in all important matters she had crossed the line long since.

Samuel came out to the courtyard as they rode in. "Took me by surprise, you did," he said gruffly. "I didn't know Sir 'Ugo 'ad said you could go along wi' him."

"I hadn't," Hugo said, dismounting. He reached up to swing Chloe down from her perch.

"He didn't say I could go with him, Samuel," Chloe explained with a sunny smile. "But he didn't say I couldn't either."

Samuel stared at her in bemusement, shaking his head like a dog with a flea in his ear, his mouth ajar as he looked for words.

"Don't even try, Samuel," Hugo said with a wry grin. "When it comes to logic-chopping, the lass can produce the finest examples since Eve ate the apple."

.Hugo was playing the pianoforte before dinner that evening when Chloe came hesitantly into the library. He turned as the door opened, offered her a smile of greeting, and continued with his playing. It had been a long time since he'd played simply for the pleasure of it. a long time since he'd been sufficiently at peace to enjoy the music for its own sake.

Chloe curled into the big wing chair by the window, where she could watch his face as she listened. She was enthralled by the play of emotions flitting across his face as the long, slender fingers drew deep feeling from the notes, bringing the music alive in the room. Dusk encroached as the sun left the last corners of the library,

and his face fell into shadow, but she could still see the mobile mouth, relaxed and half smiling, the long lock of hair flopping over his wide brow.

It occurred to her that there was more than one Hugo contained in that powerful frame. She'd enjoyed the easygoing, humorous companion; she'd felt the sting of the authoritarian commander; and once she'd known the man of passion. Now there was Hugo the musician. Perhaps it was in this form that all the others came together and found expression.

Hugo stopped playing and turned toward her, resting one forearm on the top of the instrument. "Did they teach you to play at that seminary?"

"Oh, yes. I have all the accomplishments," she assured him earnestly.

Hugo stifled his smile. "Well, let me hear you." He stood up and gestured to the bench.

"But I couldn't play that piece," she said, rising with great reluctance.

"I wouldn't expect you to. It's my own composition." He struck tinder and flint and lit the branched candlestick, then moved it so it would fall over the keyboard. "I'll find you something simpler." He riffled through a pile of sheet music and selected,, a familiar folk song with a pretty lilting melody. "Try this."

Chloe sat down, feeling as if she were on trial as he placed the music on the" stand. She flexed her fingers. "I haven't practiced in ages."

"It doesn't matter. Relax and do the best you can." He sat in the chair she'd vacated and closed his eyes, prepared to listen. He opened them very rapidly after the first few bars and his expression became inscrutable.

Chloe finished with a flourish and turned to face him with a smile of triumph. It had been easier than she'd expected.

"Mmm," he said. "That was a slapdash performance, lass."

"It was perfectly correct," she protested. "I know I didn't play a wrong note."

"Oh, no, you were note perfect," he agreed. "Your ability to sight-read is not at issue."

"Then what was wrong with it?" She sounded both hurt and aggrieved.

"Couldn't you tell? You raced through it as if the only thing on your mind was to get it over with as soon as possible."

Chloe chewed her lip. She was not enjoying this, but honesty required that she admit the criticism. "I suppose it's because at the seminary we had to practice until we got a particular piece right. Then we could stop."

Hugo pulled a disgusted face. "So practicing was punishment for failure. Good God, what a criminal way to teach." He stood up. "Your mother was a most accomplished musician… Move up."

"Was she?" Chloe shifted along the bench as he sat beside her. "I never heard her play." His thigh was hard and warm against the thin muslin of her gown, and she kept her leg very still, knowing that the minute he became aware of their proximity he would move away. And that was the last thing she wanted.

The laudanum must have killed the artist as effectively as it killed the mother, he thought sadly, too engrossed in music and his train of thought to be aware for once of the slight, fragrant body so close to his. "She was a harpist as well as a pianist, and she sang like an angel."

"/ can sing," Chloe said, as if this might compensate for her lamentable performance at the keyboard.

"Can you?" He couldn't help smiling at this anxious interjection. "In a minute, you may sing for me, but now we're going to improve on your rendering of 'Larkrise.'

Listen to this." He played the opening bars. "There's a bird in there… not a herd of rogue elephants. Try it."

Chloe produced a faithful rendition of his pauses and tones as he took her through the piece stave by stave. "There's nothing wrong with your ear," he commented at the end. "We'll just have to cure the laziness."

"I am not lazy," Chloe protested. "But no one taught me properly, you said so." Her expression was one of half-laughing indignation as she turned her face toward him in the candlelight. "You can teach me."

His breath caught. Such heart-stopping beauty didn't seem possible. She shifted on the bench and her thigh pressed against his, sending a jolt of arousal through his loins.

"Stand up," he commanded sharply. "You can't sing sitting down."

Chloe didn't move for a second, and her eyes were filled with awareness as they searched his expression. A smile quivered on her lips… a smile of pure sensual invitation.

"Stand up, Chloe," he repeated, but evenly this time.

She did so slowly, still smiling, her skirt brushing across his knees, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder as if in support. "What shall I sing?"

" 'Larkrise,'" he said, clearing his throat. "The tune will be familiar. You can read the words as I play."

Her voice was true but untrained, lacking Elizabeth's power and intensity, and she still had a tendency to rush. He wondered as the last note died whether it would be interesting to see how he could improve on what nature had given her.

"There, I told you I can sing," she declared. "Wasn't that pretty?"

"My child, you lack discrimination," he said, embracing the role of mentor and tutor with relief. It gave him much-needed distance. "There's nothing wrong with

your pitch, but your voice is weak because you don't breathe properly. Why were you in such a hurry?"

Chloe looked somewhat crestfallen and, as he'd intended, the sensual invitation was quite vanished from both face and posture. "I didn't think I was."

"Well, you were. But we can do something about it if you'd like to."

"You would teach me?" A speculative look was in her eye, but she was looking down at the music and he didn't see it. She was thinking that music lessons would of necessity involve more of this closeness; and the closer they became, the sooner she would be able to overcome his inconvenient sober prudery.

"If you'd like me to," he repeated. "You have to do it because you want to. And that means practicing because you want to and not because I tell you you must."

"How long would I have to practice every day?" she asked cautiously.

Hugo threw up his hands. "As long as you feel it's necessary to achieve what you want to achieve."

"But what if I don't achieve what you want me to achieve?"

"Then the lessons will cease, since clearly you won't be interested."

"Oh." She frowned. "How well did you know my mother?"

It was a legitimate question, one he'd been expecting at some point. He made his voice matter-of-fact. "Quite well. But a long time ago."

"Why didn't you see her recently? You lived so close and she had no friends. But she must have counted you as a friend. She wouldn't have made you my guardian otherwise."

He'd prepared his answer to this during the long night watches of the insomniac. "She withdrew from the world after your father's death. You know that yourself."

"So, she didn't want to see you?"

"I don't think she wanted to see anyone. But she knew she had my friendship, regardless."

"I see." Still frowning, Chloe wandered over to the window. The evening star had appeared, hanging over the valley. "You must have known my father, then."

He stiffened. All the preparation in the world couldn't prevent his blood from racing or his palms from sweating. "I knew him."

"How well?"

There was only one honest answer. "Very well."

"I don't remember him at all. I was three when he died, you'd think I'd have some vague memory… a smell, or an impression, or a sensation. Wouldn't you?"

Stephen had had nothing to do with his daughter. Hugo doubted he'd laid eyes on her more than a couple of times in those three years. He had a son, and the son had a stepson, and only they were important in his scheme of things. If Elizabeth had given him a son, it would have been different. The child would have come under the father's influence from his earliest moments. A girl child was of considerably less interest than the hunters in his stable.

"He was in London a great deal," Hugo said.

"What was he like?"

Evil… unimaginably evil… corrupting all who fell under his influence with the devil's enticements.

"Not unlike Jasper to look at. A bruising rider, a clever man, very popular in Society, which is why he spent so much time in London, I believe… he and your mother were somewhat estranged."

"And then he died in the accident," she stated flatly. "I'm surprised a bruising rider should have broken his neck on the hunting field."

It was the official explanation, one that protected the

Congregation's secrets. Stephen Gresham was buried in the family vault, the victim of a riding accident.

"Supper's ready." Samuel appeared in the open doorway.

With relief Hugo ushered his immediately diverted ward out of the library.