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"And your conduct has been excellent, my dear!" Lady Montclare reached over to press Jenna's fingers. "A grave demeanor indicative of continuing grief, with just the right touch of hauteur."
The woman obviously believed Jenna was assuming the role she'd been urged to play. She wasn't sure whether to dissolve into hysterical laughter-or tears.
"Oh no-not him!"
At Mrs. Anderson's gasp, Jenna's looked to the door, through which a gentleman now strode with languorous ease.
Jenna exhaled in relief. Though the half-mocking, half-amused smile on the handsome face of the man now approaching was reminiscent of the grin she'd so disliked on the other gentleman, this man's hair gleamed guinea-gold rather than blue-black and his eyes were the turquoise of a tropic ocean's depths-not, praise heaven, gunmetal gray.
"The effrontery!" Mrs. Anderson whispered.
"We'll soon send him to the rightabout," Lady Montclare soothed. "Teagan Fitzwilliams, Jenna-a notorious rogue and gambler. 'Tis said he mended his ways since he beguiled a rich widow into marriage, but I doubt it. His aunt, Lady Charlotte Darnell, is the daughter of a duke and a Society leader, so you cannot, regrettably, cut him, but his reputation for seducing foolish women was well-earned. Take care to avoid him whenever possible."
A moment later the blond man bowed before them. "Teagan Fitzwilliams, Lady Fairchild, at your service."
As if fully conscious of the condemnation that had just been pronounced by her companions, after nodding to them, he seized Jenna's hands and gave them a long, lingering caress that sent heat rushing to her cheeks.
She had just opened her lips to deliver a sharp set down when he gave her a quick, conspiratorial wink, so fleeting she wasn't sure whether she'd seen or imagined it. Then he tugged on her hands and pulled her to her feet.
"By the saints, dear Lady Fairchild, your grief has rendered you pale as the shades of my Irish kin! Let me assist you to stroll down the hall, that exercise might return a little color to your lovely face." Before she could think what to reply, over the sputtering protest of her chaperones, he nudged her into motion.
Not until they reached the hallway did she realize how great a relief it was to escape the confines of the parlor. Nonetheless, torn between amusement and irritation, she felt moved to protest.
"Gracious, Mr. Fitzwilliams, you are a rogue indeed!"
"That, Lady Fairchild, is for you to decide." Turning to her with an unexpectedly sympathetic look, he continued, "Nonetheless, your expression so clearly called out 'rescue me!' that I could not help but respond."
That reading of what she'd thought to be her impassive countenance belied the carelessness of the grin with which he had, she suspected, deliberately taunted her chaperones. Though she heard again Lady Montclare's warning to avoid him, she found herself curious to know why he'd called.
Besides, over her years with the army she'd encountered men who truly were seducers and reprobates.
The instincts that had protected her on more than one occasion were now telling her this man was neither.
"You are right, Mr. Fitzwilliams. I did long for rescue."
He rewarded her honesty with a smile of genuine warmth that lit his handsome face and set mesmerizing lights dancing in those intensely turquoise eyes.
Heavens! she thought, shaken by the force of his charm. If he were a rake, small wonder women succumbed!
"If what I'd heard of your adventures with the army had not already convinced me of your stalwart character, I knew Garrett would marry none but an enterprising lady."
"You were...acquainted with Garrett?"
His eyes dimmed and she read real sorrow on his face. "I had that honor and so offer you my deepest condolences. I cannot boast to have been one of his intimates, but at Eton he stood my friend, and when I became the focus of some...unpleasantness at Oxford, he continued to recognize me when few others, including my own family, did. He was one of the finest men I've ever known."
His heartfelt testament moved her more than all the grand tributes glibly offered by the influential of the ton. "He was indeed," she replied, her voice trembling.
"Respecting Garrett as I did, I felt I must call today, even though my aunt, Lady Charlotte, is out of town and unable to lend me countenance-or protect you from the censorious who will take you to task for having strolled with me. For which injury, I do apologize. Despite the appeal in your eyes, by whisking you off, I fear I have doomed you to almost certain criticism. I really should not have kidnapped you with you unaware of that danger."
"I'm still most grateful that you did! I have no fear of idly wagging tongues." Indeed, if a walk with Teagan Fitzwilliams rendered her less attractive to the potential suitors they were pressing on her, so much the better.
"When she returns, Aunt Charlotte will call upon you and set all to rights, so I may soothe my conscience by believing that I've caused you no permanent harm. Now, let me return you to the parlor."
"Wait!" Jenna cried, halting him. "'Tis a privilege to talk with one of Garrett's true friends. And I...I'm not ready to go back in. Not just yet."
He raised an eyebrow. "Already trying to pull and twist you into their mold, are they?"
"I shall have to fight them tooth and claw," she said with a sigh. "Once I manage to summon the energy."
He nodded. "It's walking the hallway for us, then." Tucking her hand back on his arm, he continued,
"Did you really escape a bandit ambush in India?"
"It wasn't so extraordinary as it might sound. Papa's batman and I both had our Baker rifles-and faster horses."
He laughed. "It's a crack shot you are, I'll wager!"
She grinned, warmed by his sympathetic understanding. "Naturally. I've spent all my life with the army."
"I hear you fended off an attack in Spain as well."
"So she did."
At the sound of that deep, uncannily familiar voice, a chill of alarm raced up Jenna's spine. She whipped her gaze toward the entry where, before her astounded eyes, the rogue she'd hoped never to meet again began climbing the stairs, limping slightly. "As I can personally attest."
Jenna blinked, still not believing his audacity. "You!" she said in a strangled voice.
Viscount Anthony Nelthorpe reached the landing and swept Jenna a bow. "Lady Fairchild, how good it is to see you again."
No doubt divining from the sudden stiffness of her body-and the low fury of her voice-that she did not welcome the newcomer, Fitzwilliams stepped forward to block the viscount's approach. "Nelthorpe, I didn't know you'd returned to England."
"Just back from Brussels, Fitzwilliams."
Though Fitzwilliams nodded pleasantly, his eyes stayed watchful as he remained between her and Lord Nelthorpe. "Lady Fairchild, may I take you back to the parlor?"
"Allow me," Nelthorpe said, holding out an arm. "I served in the same command as Lady Fairchild's late husband and can express my regrets as I walk her back."
Fitzwilliams glanced from Jenna's face to Nelthorpe's extended arm and back. "Lady Fairchild, would you prefer that Nelthorpe escort you in-or that I escort him out?"
Jenna tried to shake her mind free of anger and outrage to determine what would be best. She'd already failed to deliver the cut direct she'd previously decided would be the most appropriate response, should her erstwhile ravisher ever approach her again. She might still have the satisfaction of turning her back on him.
But he had just demonstrated that, despite what had passed between them, he possessed the gall to confront her. Perhaps she ought to do the same and establish right now that though Garrett was no longer here to watch over her, she intended to have no dealings with Anthony Nelthorpe.
"Thank you, Mr. Fitzwilliams, but for this occasion only, I shall accept Lord Nelthorpe's escort."
"You are sure that is your wish?" Fitzwilliams asked.
"It is."
"Very well, ma'am." He made her a bow. "Returning to an unfamiliar land, even the land of your birth, can be unsettling, as I have reason to know. Call on me if I may help in any way. My aunt will visit you soon. Nelthorpe."
The two men exchanged stiff nods. After one last, quizzical look, Mr. Fitzwilliams walked away.
"You miserable cur!" Jenna hissed as soon as Fitzwilliams was out of earshot. "With Garrett barely cold in his grave, how dare you approach me? Not even you could be arrogant enough to think you might still recoup your fortunes by trying once again to force me into wedlock!"
For an instant he stood utterly still, surprise-or was it chagrin?-on his face, giving her the satisfaction of knowing her attack had rendered him speechless.
"Excellent as that idea might be," he replied, "I must confess 'twas not my intention-for the moment. I wished only to offer my condolences and my sincerest thanks for the mercy that saved my sorry skin."
Though she watched closely, she could find no undercurrent of mockery, no hint of arrogance in the tone of his self-deprecating words. Even the sardonic smile she'd come to associate with him had been replaced by an expression at once wry-and charming. Her face heating, she wondered if her harsh words had been overhasty.
After all, she had not spoken to Nelthorpe-when he wasn't out of his head with pain and fever-in three years.
Three years with the army could bring about a lifetime of changes in a man, for good or ill.
