Page 50 of The Major's Mistake
“No.”
Sykes picked at a thread on his cuff.
“But no doubt you will find a way to make my life intolerable if I do not,” he added with a grumble.
“Aye.” A mischievous grin stole to the valet’s face. “I could offer to handle the ribbons for the entire journey back to London.”
Julian made a mock grimace. “Well,” he began after a short pause. “I, er, took exception to Dagleish interfering with a … conversation I was having with Lady Miranda in the barn?—”
“A conversation? In the barn?”
Julian colored slightly. “Yes, well, as it was rather late, she offered to light the way instead of asking my aunt’s butler. He’s rather elderly, you know.”
“Now I may be a bit of a slowtop here, guv, but I fail to see why the groom would, er, take it upon himself to interfere. Heain’t exactly been the friendly sort, but he ain’t a candidate for Bedlam either.”
The marquess gave a slight cough. “I believe he was under the notion he was … protecting the lady.”
The valet looked at him rather strangely. “What would have given him that idea?”
“Bloody hell, you are not making this any easier,” muttered Julian. “I’m afraid that Lady Miranda misinterpreted my … embrace, and as I was seeking to follow her out of the barn to, er, explain, Dagleish caused me to loose my footing. After a brief exchange of words, I suggested we settle the matter with our fists. I’ll also have you know,” he added defensively, “I was more than holding my own, until my cursed leg gave out at the wrong moment.”
“So I heard from Dagleish.” The other man tugged at his chin. “A most interesting evening, I would say.”
“Oh, that isn’t the half of it. Lady Miranda came back to investigate why she hadn’t heard Zeus leave, only to find the two of us—I believe the phrase she used was, looking worse than unruly schoolboys.”
Sykes burst out laughing.
“You would think, with my exalted position, I could expect a modicum of respect in my own house,” grumbled Julian under his breath.
The other man continued grinning for a bit, then his expression sobered considerably.
Julian shifted uncomfortably as he regarded the other man’s furrowed brow. He stood up and began to dry off. “Now what?” he finally demanded as his valet helped him into his dressing gown..
Sykes merely shrugged.
“Out with it, man—I would rather that than have to regard that disapproving mug of yours.”
There was a lengthy silence. “It’s not my place to give advice guv, but I hope you know what you are about. Lady Miranda is—” He hesitated, as if aware that perhaps he was going too far.
Their eyes met, and though the marquess’s shoulders went rigid, he nodded almost imperceptibly. “Go on.”
“Well,” Sykes continued slowly. “Despite whatever happened in the past, she appears to be a very good sort of person. It doesn’t seem that she deserves to be … hurt.”
Julian knotted the sash of the heavy silk dressing gown with great deliberation. “No,” he whispered hoarsely. “She does not.”
His valet eyed him with something akin to sympathy. “Have a care, guv. Seems you could be in danger of falling into deep water if you are not careful.”
The marquess made no answer.
It was a bit too late for warnings—he feared he had already been pulled under by the swirling currents.
Twelve
McTavish eased himself up over the last tumble of weathered stone and slipped into the makeshift camp. Squatting down near the opening to the shallow cave in the rocks that served as his shelter from the elements, he signaled for Gibbs and Scofield to join him.
“Did everything according te plan?” Scofield couldn’t contain his impatience as McTavish took his time in coaxing a flame to life in the remains of the morning’s fire.
Putting his flint away, the other man straightened. “Bring me some whiskey.”
