The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

He heard Hera neigh behind him and knew she’d be passing him any minute. Jamie had been riding Gulliver and leading old Hera. Now there she was, her mane streaming, dashing after Gulliver like a colt. Or was it Jamie? Even the two nags pulling the carriage were prancing about; he wondered if they too would be on the run any minute.

Marianne didn’t tumble off the peak of the hill, but it was close. Toby was stuttering with fear and wanted to throttle her for scaring him so badly.

Rohan watched Susannah pick up the little girl, give her a good shake, then hug her so tightly that she yelled.

Blessed silence. It was satisfying to be able to actually hear his spoon move through the thick lobster soup. He tapped the spoon against the side of the exquisite golden bowl. It made a fine, tinny sound.

He looked down the expanse of the dining table to see Susannah gazing around her, not with awe but with a critical eye. He frowned. What the devil did she have to be critical about? Mulberry House was a slum compared to Mountvale.

“You don’t care for Mrs. Horsely’s lobster soup?”

“It’s quite good, as I can see by your empty bowl. No, I was just thinking about how I’d forgotten how silence didn’t make any noise at all.”

He didn’t like that observation. He didn’t want to be echoing her thoughts or hearing her echo his. It was unnerving.

He said abruptly, “I must find you a chaperon. Mrs. Beete, while a maiden lady of a goodly number of years, is the housekeeper, not a companion. Let me think. There must be some unattached lady hereabouts who could still any tongues that exhalt in wagging.”

“It seems rather silly, doesn’t it? I’m a grown woman, a widow, and yet Society still deems it improper for me to stay in the same house with a gentleman. Not, of course, that you are necessarily a gentleman in all circumstances.”

“Are you being impertinent again, ma’am?”

“Oh, no. It’s just that I was nourished for five years on tales about you. George never tired of recounting your adventures.”

Adventures? What bloody adventures?

She was smiling at him—no, it was closer to a smirk. He said easily, “Truth be told, I have only begun my adventures. I am not yet turned twenty-six. Surely I shall fill a dozen weighty tomes with scores of adventures by the time I finally shuck off my mortal coil. Ah . . . what sorts of adventures did Ge

orge recount?”

She said nothing more until a footman in bright crimson and white had removed the soup. The butler, Mr. Fitz, directed two other footmen to bring another half-dozen silver dishes, all covered with silver domes.

“There seems to be quite a lot of food here,” she said, her voice just a bit awed, finally. He didn’t tell her that he’d asked Mrs. Horsely to outdo herself for his guest. Why he’d done that, he had no idea. As Fitz lifted off the silver domes, abundant rich odors rose, mingled, and wafted. Rohan’s stomach growled.

Susannah was indeed awed now. There were lamb cutlets and asparagus peas, veal, curried lobster, and even a plate filled with oyster patties. There were bowls of peas, potatoes, stewed mushrooms, and more plates that she couldn’t see because they’d been set too close to the baron.

He remarked in a bland voice, “Ah, yes, I specifically requested Charlotte à la Parisienne. Don’t you think it looks delicious?”

Susannah had no idea what this Charlotte done in the Parisian way even was. Ah, but that look he was giving her. “No,” she said as she spooned a bit of boiled tongue and broccoli onto her plate. “I don’t think it looks all that tasty. Perhaps it has been cooked a bit too long? Perhaps the Charlotte was a bit long in the tooth before she went into the pot?”

He laughed, then stopped abruptly. He had to stop doing this. It wasn’t what he, Rohan Carrington, Baron Mountvale, was supposed to do. He was supposed to sneer and seduce. He had a reputation to maintain. He had countless more adventures to launch, and laughing immoderately at a silly something a lady said simply wasn’t appropriate. Not for him.

His fond mama would be aghast.

“The ratafia ice pudding is very good,” she said after he hadn’t opened his mouth for a good ten minutes, except to shovel in food. He’d laughed at her jest about the Charlotte, yet he’d instantly shut it off, just like a spigot. It was odd. Didn’t he like to laugh? Did he not laugh until after a certain hour? She was coming to like him, but she didn’t understand him.

He merely nodded now. He tried to look bored, but he was eating Mrs. Horsely’s sea-kale, and it was so good that all he could do was look blissful.

When Toby burst into the dining room with two footmen at his heels and Mr. Fitz following more sedately, his white hair standing on end, Rohan bounded out of his chair.

“Oh, my goodness,” Toby gasped, panting hard. “Sir, hurry! Susannah, you, too.”

Rohan didn’t have a chance to ask what the devil was the matter. Toby was already out of the room. He could hear his pounding footsteps going back up the stairs.

“My lord,” Mr. Fitz said, then abruptly stopped, for what was there to say? “I will come along,” he said and motioned to the footmen to follow him.

Susannah nearly passed Rohan on the stairs. At the landing, they heard a shriek.

“Oh, God.” Susannah grabbed her skirts up to her knees and ran as fast as she could toward her bedchamber, where she’d put Marianne down for the night some three hours before.