Clarissa, delivered by a strangely serious Toby to the dim temple with a promise that her most ardent suitor—Ned, of course—would shortly join her, had entered the shadowy hall with high hopes. It was clear that Sophie would shortly receive the offer she desired; Clarissa, having expended considerable effort in encouraging Ned, expected that he would, tonight, at least take a more definite step in his wooing of her. With any luck, he might kiss her. Why else had he asked her here?
As the minutes ticked by, she had fallen to pacing, hands clasped behind her, her brow furrowed as she wondered how fast she could urge things along. A marriage in September, assuming Sophie did not opt for a long betrothal, seemed a distinct possibility.
She had reached this point in her cogitations when firm footsteps approached and ascended to the temple.
Starry-eyed, Clarissa turned.
And beheld the unmistakable outline of Captain Gurnard.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, not the least bit pleased at the prospect of having her tryst with Ned interrupted or—even worse—postponed.
Terrance Gurnard blinked. “Why, I’m here to meet you, my dear.”
“I’m afraid, sir, that my time this evening is spoken for.” If nothing else, Clarissa was Lucilla’s daughter. She delivered the captain’s dismissal with an affronted dignity that would have done justice to royalty.
For a moment, Gurnard was bewildered. Where was the youthful, wide-eyed innocent he had arranged to meet? Then he shook himself. The hoity young miss was just playing hard to get. “Nonsense, my dear,” he purred, advancing on Clarissa. “We all know you’re besotted with me. But fear not, for I’m equally besotted with you.”
Even in the dimness, Gurnard could not misinterpret the icy rigidity that laid hold of Clarissa’s slim frame. She drew herself up and, somehow, succeeded in looking down her nose at him. “My dear Captain, I believe you have lost your wits.” The cool incisiveness in her tone bit deep. “If you will but consider, the notion that I, with suitors such as Mr. Ascombe, could consider you, who have nought but your uniform to commend you, is highly insulting, sir!”
Rocked by the strident vehemence in her tone, Gurnard blinked. Then he sneered. “You were ready enough to encourage me to dangle after you—do you deny it?” Abruptly, he closed the gap between them. He did not have all night to accomplish what he must.
“That was because you were being useful.” Clarissa, her own considerable temper in orbit, continued with undisguised relish, “Useful in ensuring that Mr. Ascombe’s attention did not wander.”
“Useful, was I?” Gurnard ground out. “In that case, my dear, you’ll have to pay the piper.” Roughly, he grasped her arms, intending to pull her to him.
Used to wrestling with her brothers, Clarissa anticipated the move enough to wrench one arm free. “Let me go, sir!”
Her furious shriek jolted Ned from the dazed stupor into which he had fallen. He shot up the steps, only just remembering their plan in time to change his automatic. “Unhand her, you fiend!” to a relatively normal, if slightly strangled, “Clarissa?”
He saw her immediately, one arm held by Gurnard. With an heroic effort, assisted by the calming effects of the cold rage that poured through him, Ned strolled lazily forward. “There you are, m’dear. I apologize for my tardiness, but I was held up.” Commandingly, he held out his h
and to Clarissa, his gaze, coldly challenging, fixed on Gurnard’s face.
In order to take her hand, Clarissa chose to use the arm Gurnard was holding. She did so without in any way acknowledging Gurnard’s grasp, much less his presence.
The action snapped Gurnard’s patience. He had no time to play games, nor to brook interference of any sort. He waited until, as Clarissa’s fingers slipped into Ned’s palm, Ned glanced at her. Then he attacked.
And was immediately sent to grass—or marble, as was the case—by a punishing left jab.
In the bushes to the side, Jack allowed the battle-ready tension that had instantly gripped him to fade. “He said his left jab was coming along.”
Inside the temple, Ned frowned, attempting to shield Clarissa from the sight of the captain stretched out on the marble floor. “I’m sorry, Clary. Not the sort of thing one should do in front of a lady, I know. You aren’t feeling faint or anything, are you?”
“Good heavens, no!” Clarissa, eyes alight, both hands clutching one of Ned’s forearms, peered around him at the captain’s prone form. Satisfied that the captain was, at last temporarily, beyond further punishment, she turned her glowing eyes on Ned. “That was marvellous, Ned! How thrillingly heroic. You rescued me!”
And with that, Clarissa promptly hurled herself into her knight errant’s arms.
The watchers in the bushes heard Ned mutter something that sounded like a weak disclaimer but his heart was clearly not in it. Then came silence.
Jack sighed and relaxed, looking up into the night sky, considering, with a certain rakish satisfaction, the prospect of the immediate future. Beside him, Toby shifted restlessly.
Then they heard Ned’s voice, and Clarissa’s replying; the pair turned, still hand in hand, Clarissa’s head against Ned’s shoulder, and made slowly for the steps.
“We’ll follow,” Jack said. “They may be almost betrothed but they’re not betrothed yet.”
They followed Clarissa and Ned at a distance; it was questionable whether either was aware of their presence.
When they reached the booth, it was to find Horatio beaming benevolently, and Ned standing, proud but a trifle hesitant, as Clarissa poured the details of her rescue into her mother’s ear. Jeremy’s and George’s eyes were wide as they drank it all in. Seeing Jack, Lucilla smiled and asked, “Where’s Sophie?”