Page 6 of Barbarous

“Good Lord,” Daphne murmured, not sure where to look first. It was like a scene from The Arabian Nights’ Entertainments.

The entire front lawn and at least half of the tree-lined drive that curved in front of Lessing Hall were obscured by people, animals, and possessions. There were mountains of trunks and luggage, heavy brass-strapped chests portending treasure, massive oaken casks, roll upon roll of colorful carpets, elegant furniture, exotic animals, and equally exotic men of every size and nationality and description.

It was a blinding visual cacophony.

Daphne rode to the edge of the mayhem and stopped beside Caswell, who was staring in openmouthed amazement. The groom was holding the reins of her sons’ ponies and Lucien and Richard were nowhere to be seen.

Daphne was surveying the colorful mélange for signs of her children when a remarkable-looking man with honey-colored skin and eyes like molten gold sauntered up to them. He was not just breathtakingly handsome, he was also half-dressed. He wore only obscenely tight buckskin breeches, glossy polished boots, and a worn leather vest that exposed arms rippling with muscles and acres of golden skin. He was leading two dogs that looked as if they’d been packed in a box and then hastily taken out full of wrinkles. A huge red parrot with a beak larger than Daphne’s fist rode on one shoulder. The man’s unnerving gold gaze brazenly roamed the length of her body and then flickered away and over her shoulder.

Daphne couldn’t decide if she was insulted or amused by his obvious dismissal of her person.

Ramsay reined in beside her and heaved a gusty sigh. “Martín, would you please find a shirt and coat and then put them on.” It was not a question.

The younger man’s sinfully lush lips pulled into a mocking smile, exposing white, even teeth that added to his perfection. “Oui, Capitain.” He did not move.

“Now, Martín.”

He chuckled and rejoined the circus behind him, not moving with any particular haste.

Ramsay dismounted and came to help her down. “I apologize for Martín; he’s rather a force of nature. He and the others will not be here long. I’ve taken rooms at the Pig and Whistle, but I’m afraid they do not have space to accommodate all my possessions. I recalled my uncle kept several large barns for storing his tenant farmers’ harvest and hoped I could impose upon you just until I determine my plans.”

His request jarred Daphne out of her speechless contemplation of the spectacular sight before her. The irony of the real Earl of Davenport taking rooms at an inn and asking if he could store his belongings on his own property sent a hot wave of shame surging through her body.

“You must stay at Lessing Hall, Lord Ramsay.” She was pleased with her cool, level tone. “As you pointed out, we are family. It would be ridiculous for you to lodge at the Pig and Whistle.” He raised his eyebrows and Daphne hurried on. “There is ample room at Lessing Hall for dozens more servants, and the stables are nearly empty since the earl’s death. This was your home before, Lord Ramsay, and so it should be now.” Her heart thudded in her ears as she waited for his response.

It was a long moment before he nodded, his piercing gaze and warm, caressing smile once again reducing her to the status of awkward adolescent. “I am grateful for your hospitality, my lady. If you are not—”

“Is that a monkey?” she blurted, pushing up her spectacles.

Ramsay chuckled. “Yes, that is a monkey, although you had better refer to him as Mr. Boswell when you are within his hearing—if you wish to remain on his good side.” He gave her a mocking bow and sauntered into the fray.

Daphne was still gawking at the awe-inspiring display when what could only be the screech of a monkey—Mr. Boswell, she mentally corrected—came from behind a tower of casks and was followed by the equally simian shrieks of her children.

Daphne was already headed toward the sound when Mr. Boswell shot out from behind the casks, scrambled over a mountain of burnished copper chests, and streaked past Daphne carrying something large and shiny in one small hand. Hot on his heels were the boys, laughing so hard they could hardly run. Bringing up the rear was a slight man wearing a turban. Humans and monkey flew past her, looped back around, and then disappeared behind a wall of neatly stacked crates.

Daphne edged around a massive collection of wooden barrels, carefully picking her way toward where Lord Ramsay stood conversing with several men.

He gave her a rueful smile and gestured to a beautiful gold chain in his hand. “Mr. Boswell is vexed with me and has taken my quizzing glass to demonstrate his displeasure.”

Daphne could not find it in her to mourn the loss of his wretched glass. She stood on her toes and peered over the mountains of baggage, looking for some sign of the boys.

“Is that creature safe?”

“Mr. Boswell? He has never bitten anyone who was not intent on doing him harm.”

Daphne turned to stare at him.

He raised one big hand and gave her a reassuring smile. “You needn’t worry, he won’t hurt them.”

One of his men laughed and Ramsay scowled and fired off a volley in French, the words far too rapid—and colorful—for Daphne to translate them. The men dispersed quicker than a puff of smoke, leaving Daphne alone with him.

“Ah!” Ramsay pointed toward a towering stack of trunks. “There, you see? Here they come, all safe and sound with Kemal.”

Kemal was the soberly attired man wearing the turban. Mr. Boswell was perched on his shoulder and the boys followed behind, their adoring eyes fastened on the small animal.

“Mr. Boswell feels deep remorse, my lord.” Kemal handed Hugh his quizzing glass and turned to glare at the monkey until the diminutive creature removed its hat and executed a formal bow in Ramsay’s direction.

Daphne bit back a smile. The little beast was turning his tiny felt hat round and round in his hands with downcast eyes in a convincing show of contrition.