The Wild Baron (Baron 1)

“Ah, but I can top that one, Susannah. Did you know that the primrose is a symbol for wantonness?”

She did turn to face him then. She didn’t look at all shocked or offended. Instead she was grinning. “I should have expected you to know that. Indeed, that’s the only reason you know anything about primroses at all, am I not right?”

He said, his eyes clear and calm, “Did you love George?”

“You think to take me off balance? To make me spill out my innards without thinking?”

“I am accounted to be rather good at it. I would appreciate it if you would begin to spill.”

“I will tell you the truth, my lord. There is no reason not to. In the beginning, yes, of course I loved George. Later, well, he made it difficult. He came rarely to Mulberry House.”

“You will tell me about how difficult he made things for you later. I’ve been thinking about our adventure last night. Let’s say that the fellow who searched Mulberry House three times managed to follow us here to Mountvale. Let’s say he somehow discovered which room you were in, managed to slither his way into the house without a soul observing him, cajoled Marianne so that she’d be quiet. Then, I fear, Toby must have come into your bedchamber. He didn’t see the man. He must have been hiding behind the door. Toby runs out to get us. The man again manages to slither out of the house with no one observing him, but he does rip his coat on a tree limb near the stables.” Rohan pulled the swatch of dark blue wool out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Ben, one of the stable lads, found this early this morning. I don’t suppose you recognize it?”

“No, I don’t. It appears he didn’t have time to do anything. There was no mess, no ripped up valises, no papers tossed to the floor. Oh, God, what if he had hurt Toby?”

“He didn’t. Forget it.”

She looked at him. It was odd, but she really looked at him for the first time. She was still so afraid that her brain was barely working, but yet she was staring at him, recognizing that he was beautiful. He was tall, but he wasn’t massively built. Rather he was lean, well formed, she could see that clearly what with him wearing tight buckskin breeches. His face was well sculpted, almost too perfect a face for its own good. And those eyes of his—Susannah imagined that if he turned those eyes on a woman, she would have little resistance. They were a dark green, as cold as a winter sky if he was displeased or as hot as the roiling sea if he was laughing. Or doing other things. Interesting other things. With her, perhaps. She shook herself. This was ridiculous. He was a womanizer. It was his stock-in-trade.

“Would you care to tell me why you’re staring at me?”

She shook her head.

“Ah, then perhaps you’d care to tell me what you’re thinking?”

Why not? “I was thinking it’s a good thing you’re beautiful. Surely a man who was also a womanizer wouldn’t be all that successful at it if he looked like a toad.”

“Beautiful? Me?” He began to laugh. He laughed louder. Mrs. Beete called down from an open upstairs window, “My lord! Are you feeling just the thing? Perhaps cook’s breakfast kidneys made you a bit liverish?”

He’d laughed again. He’d even laughed loudly. No wonder Mrs. Beete thought he was sick. He called up to her, “I am liverish. There is no other explanation.”

“Why,” Susannah said, “does Mrs. Beete think you’re ill? You look perfectly fit to me. You’re grinning, not attending at all. Very well, then. Did you know that the Harker brothers want to give me a racing kitten? They say they will teach me how to train it, but the training process must be kept secret. I have never heard of racing cats before, but perhaps it could prove interesting. What do you think?”

And he laughed again. Then, quite suddenly, he was quite serious. “A racing kitten? No, surely you have misunderstood them.”

“No, that is what they’re giving me.”

“It isn’t fair,” he said, kicking a rock with the toe of his boot. “They never offered me a racing kitten. Why did they offer you one? They only just met you. How can they possibly know that you can deal with one of their racing kittens? You could bungle the whole thing.”

“I will let you train the kitten with me, if you like.”

It was half a bone. He took it, but he didn’t like it. “Very well,” he said finally, his voice all grudging, “but I still wanted my very own. Curse them.”

7

ROHAN SAT BACK IN HIS VERY COMFORTABLE LEATHER chair behind the huge mahogany desk in the library. He’d done all he could for the moment. There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come,” he called out.

It was Fitz, standing taller than he had in at least five years. He looked as arrogant as a peer of the realm on his worst days, but today he could be the king. He said with grave formality, “I’ve got all the men together, my lord. They await you on the east lawn.”

There were men from Mountvale village, many tenant farmers on the estate, and all his people as well. Even Mrs. Beete was standing beneath an apple tree, her arms folded over her massive bosom. Ozzie Harker was holding one of Rohan’s best mousers in his arms, rubbing its chin. The brindle cat looked blissful. The brindle cat was also supposedly half wild.

At least seventy-five men and a sprinkling of women stood there. He saw Susannah standing near the back, holding Marianne in her arms, Toby

beside her.

They all looked grim.