Chapter Thirteen
Katrina Falcon had never been one to lie abed in the mornings, and although she had retired very late the previous night, she was up and dressed by ten o’clock.
She went straight to Naomi’s bedchamber.
Her friend was sitting at the dressing table wearing a most fetching wrapper of pale orange satin trimmed with ecru lace.
She presented a charming picture, but she was scowling at her reflection, and meeting Katrina’s eyes in the mirror, said gloomily, “He is ready for Bedlam, is what it is!”
Stifling a smile, Katrina sat on the bed.
“Captain Rossiter? From what you told me last night, I would have to agree. I still can scarce believe you had such a narrow escape. You are so brave, dearest. It purely astounds me that you managed to come to the ball as if nought had happened, after that horrid man almost caused you to be killed!”
At once reversing her stand, Naomi said hotly, “He saved my life! He has always been absolutely terrified of heights. He fears that dreadful hill, but he found the courage to run down it so as to pull me from the coach, and—” Her impassioned words ceased.
Blushing, she added hurriedly, “And he is treacherous and deceitful.”
“And treated you roughly when first you met.”
“He did.” Naomi took the lily-of-the-valley corsage from the little vase on her dressing table, and stroked a leaf absently.
Troubled, Katrina said, “Worst of all, he behaved disgracefully to his poor chère amie in Holland.”
“Yes,” whispered Naomi, flinching a little. “I could never forgive him for that. Never!”
“No lady could. So ’tis of little moment that the man has gone demented, as indeed he must have done, to make such awful accusations ’gainst Lord Collington.”
Naomi said nothing.
Standing, Katrina walked to the window and looked out at the misted garden. “How very fortunate, love,” she said, “that you are no longer betrothed. Now that would really be a mare’s nest.”
“Yes.”
“If you had cared for him, I mean.”
“Oh.”
Katrina turned and looked at her friend’s rather wilting figure thoughtfully.
Naomi stared at the flowers in her hand for a long moment, then dropped them into the wastepaper basket beside the dressing table. “I think—” she began, then stopped speaking, startled by a wild outburst of barking, some assorted shouts, and a crash.
“Oh, dear,” muttered Katrina, hurrying to the door. “Apollo! If he wakens August…!”
She went quickly down the stairs and found Lieutenant James Morris pressed against the wall in the entrance hall while two lackeys strove to hold the ravening hound that leapt and strained to come at him.
Katrina paused, frowning, and was about to retrace her steps when she saw that the lieutenant held a bloodied handkerchief to his wrist. Dismayed, she told the lackeys to put Apollo in the side garden.
“Did he bite you, sir?” she asked. “Indeed, I am most sorry for it. He is an ill-tempered animal. Pray let me see.”
Morris’ wrath melted away as he gazed on this beauteous creature. Her gentle hands were moving his handkerchief aside. He could catch the sweet scent of her, and trembling to her touch, he watched her, and hoarded the seconds.
“Oh, dear!” sighed Katrina. “He did tear the skin a little, and ’twill bruise I fear.”
“Mmm…” he murmured dreamily.
She glanced up. He was smiling at her with such patent adoration that she could not but be amused.
She took his arm and led him firmly to the kitchen, where neat maids hastened to bring bowls of hot water and cloths for the relief of the wounded.
Had Morris been aware of all the eyelashes fluttering at him, he would have retreated in horror, but he had eyes for only one lady.
Katrina saw, however, and their admiration caused her to look at the lieutenant again.
He really was quite a well-favoured young man.
And, la, but he was bashful, his face reddening when his eyes met hers, and his glance falling away.
She rather liked shyness in a gentleman.
She washed the wound with strong soap, which made him gasp, then sprinkled it with basilicum powder and bound it up quite proficiently, asking if it felt a little better now.
“G-good as new,” stammered Morris. “Your hands are so—” He saw the Chef frowning at him, and floundered. “So—er— Not like a real nurse, ma’am. Oh, egad! Wh-what I mean is—”
Katrina hid a smile. “You have had much experience of nurses, I understand.”
“No, no!” he declared desperately. “Scarce knew any. Do assure you! I— Oh! Well, that is to say, I have of course, but not in a—er— Only in a—a quite respectable—” She looked at him again, a laugh in those glorious eyes that slanted in so bewitching a way, and his knees turned to jelly.
“Lord, what a clunch I am! Miss Falcon, will you pray believe I did not intend to shoot your brother? Er, not exactly. And—and I’d no least idea he would be indisposed for so long a time. ”
“Even if you shot August by mistake, your action was ill considered, sir. And I cannot like recklessness.”
“No, of course not. Dreadful trait. Truly, I am very sorry, ma’am.”
She walked with him into the hall. “My brother would be nigh recovered by this time, I must admit, save that he is a difficult patient, at best.”
Morris brightened. “Heard he was hot at hand. Drives you to the ropes, does he? Ain’t surprised, though the fella who would cause anxiety to a creature so gentle as yourself, ma’am, must be a proper slowtop, and—”
“Not such a slowtop as to permit you to call upon my sister, Morris!”
Wearing a red and purple satin dressing gown that made Morris blink, August Falcon was coming down the stairs. His black hair was rumpled and unpowdered, causing him to look even more menacing than usual, and the dark blue eyes fairly hurled anger.
Morris tore his shocked stare from that garish dressing gown, and made an effort to recover. “Ain’t no law forbidding a man to pay a morning call.”
Falcon paused on the last stair, his glance flashing to his sister. “Whatever is your aunt about? I trust she don’t permit that you receive every military rattle who abuses my father’s door knocker!”
“I ain’t a rattle!” protested Morris indignantly. “And Miss Katrina didn’t receive me. Fact of the matter is, I come to call on you!”
A lackey opened the door to the book room, and Falcon waved Morris inside.
Following, Katrina said, “I was bandaging the lieutenant’s hand, dear.”
“For which I am eternally grateful,” declared Morris fervently.
Falcon murmured, “Full of sound and bombast and doubtful of achievement.”
Scarlet, Morris said, “If you care to know it, Falcon, that’s a vicious dog you’ve got!”
“Well, well!” A grin replaced Falcon’s sneer. “Apollo gave you a proper greeting, did he? The animal earns his keep.”
“An you’d the least discrimination, you’d not give the brute house-room!”
“Nonsense. Apollo is a fine fellow.”
“You’d not think him so fine had he ever bit you.”
“Au contraire. He has bitten me.”
“Gad! Why the deuce would any rational person keep a dog who bites the hand that feeds him?”
Falcon gave him a scornful look. “Because he bites, of course. What did you want to see me about?”
“Oh.” Morris glanced uneasily at Katrina, who stood with her hands demurely folded, enjoying this foolish conversation.
“Er—it’s to do with Gideon Rossiter,” Morris explained.
“Rossiter!” Falcon’s lean countenance flushed. “If there’s one thing I don’t choose to talk about before I have my breakfast, ’tis that son of a—”
“August…,” murmured Katrina reproachfully.
Fuming, he said, “You’d best leave us, ma’am. If we’re to discuss Rossiter I’ll not be responsible for my language!”
She shook her head at him, but went out.
“About the duel,” began Morris, as the door closed.
“To hell with the duel,” snarled Falcon. “Any discussion of that can be handled by my seconds. Burn it, I thought you’d come to take him!”
Staring, Morris said feebly, “Take him? Take him—where?”
“What the devil do I care? Just get the beastly fellow out of my house! And for the love of God, stop gaping at me like a landed trout!”
Closing his sagging jaw with an effort, but still severely shocked, Morris gasped, “Do you say that Gideon Rossiter stays with you? Why, if ever I heard of such a thing! You’re engaged to fight him day after tomorrow!”
“I know that, you looby!”
“Well,” said Morris, taking on a judicial air. “It’s dashed improper, is what it is! I cannot expect you to mind the conventions, but—”
“Why?” jeered Falcon. “Because I’m a half-breed?”
“Because you’re a hot-at-hand knock-in-the-cradle,” Morris answered equably. “With not the least notion of how to go on.”
Falcon uttered a sound somewhere between a howl and a snort and sprang at him.
Coming into the room Rossiter was in time to see Morris reel back, and steady himself against a reference table.
Feeling his jaw apprehensively, the lieutenant muttered, “You’ll meet me for that, Falcon.”
“Try if your feeble wits can recall that I already challenged you.”
“Besides which,” said Rossiter, closing the door, “you must wait your turn, Jamie. What are you doing here?”
“More to the point, dear boy,” said Morris, straightening, “what are you doing here? Ain’t at all proper, y’know.”
Falcon said sneeringly, “We have offended his sense of propriety.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Rossiter. “And I don’t really know what I’m doing here, to say truth. I remember riding in last evening, but—”
“But having damned near caused Lady Lutonville to be killed, you had the confounded gall to fall asleep in the saddle.” Falcon gave an irate snort.
“When we tried to pry you loose, you simply fell off and since we couldn’t wake you, I was damned well obliged to let you rack up here for the night.
A fine laughingstock I shall be an the word gets out! ”