Page 61 of The Rebellious Lady and the Phantom Lord
“Well, there isn’t, except wait for the furor to die down. I think you’d best not write anything at all ‘til then.”
“I had already resolved to put an end to Robin Goodfellow, especially after meeting Jessym. Why did you never tell me he was such a horrid little man?”
“He’s a businessman, hard-headed and practical, exactly what you needed.” Gilly frowned. “But I wish you hadn’t gone near him. He didn’t know who you were, did he?”
“Of course not. I went disguised. I only wish he didn’t know you.”
“I’m not worried about that. If you do mean to stop writing altogether, it seems a pity. ‘But the name of Goodfellow will be forgotten by summer’s end. Right now, tempers are running a trifle short.” Gilly rubbed the back of his neck. “It is this blasted heat. It does peculiar things to a man’s brain.” He shot her a sidelong glance out of his good eye. “You don’t seem to be bearing up so well under it yourself.”
Phaedra squirmed under the intensity of Gilly’s scrutiny. She tugged nervously at the front of her riding jacket, almost afraid to look down in case she found one of the buttons undone.
“I have been fine,” she stammered. “Just fine.”
“Have you now? I wonder. I thought by this time you would be all over me with questions about what I learned in France.”
She stood up, smoothing her skirts with a fluttery motion. “Naturally I am most curious. Why don’t you come up to the house? I should like to try to do something more for that eye of yours, and I’ll wager you would be glad of a glass of ale.”
She tried to lead the way out of the stable, but Gilly caught her by the elbow, hauling her back. “What were you doing just now when I came up, tearing after that de Le Croix as though your life depended upon catching him? He looked as though he’d caught someone robbing his mother’s grave.”
“Was that how he looked?” Phaedra asked, unable to keep the misery out of her voice. “He was angry. He believes I sent you to France spying, hunting for proof to expose him.”
“And so you did.”
“No! That was before-before?—”
“Before what?”
Phaedra found she could neither answer her cousin nor continue to look him in the eye. She felt glad of her sunburned cheeks, hoping it concealed some of the blush she knew must be spreading across her face.
“Your intuition about the man was right, Fae,” Gilly said as she remained silent. “He is an impostor, but I have no way of proving it yet. The real Armande de LeCroix thumbed his nose at his highborn relatives years ago and set off adventuring to Canada. But this fellow who claims to be Varnais bears no resemblance to the rest of that family.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she said, a shade too quickly. “No one else in our family has ever had red hair, and yet that wouldn’t prove me an impostor.”
“De Le Croix is a man in his early forties.”
“Maybe Armande is simply one of those men who bears his age well,” she said, uncomfortably aware that Gilly was staring at her with growing consternation.
“So it is Armande we’re calling him now, is it?”
Phaedra fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket as though she had nothing more important on her mind than straightening the cuffs. “Very likely you are right about him,” she said in what she hoped was a voice of airy unconcern. “But what does it truly matter? Most likely Armande is carrying out this pose for a wager. I’m sure it’s all some sort of a lark. When you get to know him?—”
“A lark!” Gilly seized her chin, forcing her face upward. She tried to look indifferent, but he had known her far too long to be fooled. “Sweet Mother of God. You’ve gone and fallen in love with the man.”
Phaedra shoved his hand away. “And what if I have?”
“What if you—” Gilly nearly choked. “Now you just listen to me, my girl. No one takes the kind of risks that man is taking for a lark. You, if anyone, should have the sense not to trust your heart to a man you scarce know. You allowed yourself to be charmed by one bastard, and lived to regret it.”
“Armande is different,” she cried, resenting the comparison. “He’s nothing at all like Ewan. Armande is warm, sensitive, and caring.”
“And a bloody damn liar!” Gilly flung up his hands, as though he could not credit what he was hearing. “I can see that I’ve returned none too soon. You’ve taken complete leave of your senses.”
“This is no longer any of your concern,” she said stiffly. “I am grateful you went to France for me, but?—”
“Grateful be damned.” He glared at her, looking as though he would have liked to lock her up somewhere. “I can see that it is high time I took charge of this matter and found exactly who the deuce this fellow is.”
She thrust out her chin belligerently. “I know as much about him as I need to know. In my judgment?—”
“Your judgment!” Gilly snorted. “It is clear you have no judgment left at all. The man’s put you under some God-cursed spell.”
