Page 29 of The Pirate and the Pagan
“No, silly. This is a day dress, and a simple one at that, I warrant.”
“Well then, it’s for his benefit,” he grumbled.
“No, Spider, it’s for yours. I have to get to Lord Helford before Sergeant Oswald does. Ruark will have to choose between us.”
Spider grinned. “That bastard Oswald doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”
“No, I’m afraid he doesn’t,” she said honestly. “Now come and hitch your pony to that little ponycart for me.”
“You know how to do that; you’ve done it dozens of times,” he said, yawning.
“Not in cream linen, I haven’t, you lazy dolt.”
As she came up the long driveway to Helford Hall she saw that Ruark was just ready to depart. A groom held his saddle horse while Mr. Burke stood by holding a stirrup cup. The moment Ruark saw her he came toward the cart, but she jumped down in a flurry of petticoats and ran to him. He took her hands in his, wondering how she could possibly look so delectable at six o’clock in the morning.
She looked up at him with distress clearly etched on her lovely brow.
“You’re trembling, love, what is it?” he demanded.
She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again hesitantly.
“Come inside and sit down,” he urged.
“Well … I … well … I.” She hesitated breathlessly.
“Well … I … will,” she said, allowing him to persuade her.
With a protective hand at the small of her back he led her through the entrance hall to a small salon with comfortable chairs and a cheery fire. “Some coffee, Mr. Burke.” He sat down across a small inlaid table from her and said anxiously, “Tell me what’s amiss. Something has frightened you.”
“It was a man,” she said, low. “He came in the middle of the night demanding entrance. I was alone … undressed …”
His eyes blazed with fury; the muscle in his jaw clenched into an iron knot.
Mr. Burke’s voice carried to them as he answered the door and bade Sergeant Oswald wait in the entrance hall. Summer looked through the doorway of the salon.
“Ah, no …” she cried, her hand going to her throat in alarm.
“Was that the man?” Ruark demanded.
Summer closed her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.
Ruark strode into the entrance hall and Sergeant Oswald saluted him smartly and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Helford, but I need your authorization for a search warrant for your neighbor’s property.”
Helford took a threatening step toward the militiaman, who stepped back in alarm. Ruark ground out, “Yesterday, Oswald, I questioned your gross incompetence. Today I think I have my answer. Do you drink, Sergeant?”
“Yes sir, no sir, not on duty, sir.”
Ruark was enraged that this ruddy-faced lout had seen Summer in her nightclothes. “What other explanation could you possibly have for harassing Lady St. Catherine in the middle of the night?” he thundered.
“Sir, we chased a suspected smuggler onto the St. Catherine property. She refused to cooperate and let us search for him.”
“And if you had chased him onto my property, that implicates me in smuggling, does it?” he demanded dangerously.
“No sir, not at all, sir,” Oswald answered, standing at rigid attention.
“By God, Oswald, I should have your commission for this,” said Helford, trying to control his anger. His voice quietened, but it was much more deadly as a result. “If you or your men ever set foot on Lady St. Catherine’s property again, I will take disciplinary action. Do I make myself clear, Sergeant?” he asked silkily.
“Yes sir.” Oswald’s eye caught a movement across the hall. Summer stood in the doorway with a complacent little smile on her lips, then she moved back into the salon. Oswald swore she would one day rue the victory she now savored over him.
