Page 22 of The Hired Hero
“Oh, please tell me that a man of your reputation didn’t really name his horse ‘Nero,’” she managed to say in answer to his quizzical look.
His mouth twitched at the corners. “One must have a sense of humor to survive in this world.”
Eight
Caroline wasn’t sure the earl’s study was the spot she would have chosen for their confrontation. He looked even more forbidding seated behind the massive oak desk, hands steepled on the tooled blotter, stormy blue eyes crashing into her like waves against the strand. It was uncomfortably familiar, as she had faced her father under similar situations on countless occasions. Besides, there was the little matter of…
“And now, miss…” There was an emphatic pause, which he drew out like a duelist unsheathing a rapier. His voice, though low, was equally sharp. “Kindly put an end to the theatrics. If you wish to continue enacting a Cheltenham tragedy, join Mrs. Siddons at the Drury Lane Theater. I will not tolerate this drama any longer under my roof. I mean to know who you are, and I mean to know itnow.”
It was only for the last sentence that his voice rose drastically. But if the desired effect was to reduce her to flinging herself at his feet in contrition and immediately confessing her identity, thought Caroline, he had sadly miscalculated his oratorical skills.
She simply stared at him in stony silence.
Davenport scowled, the blue of his eyes darkening to a scudding gray, and he began drumming his fingers on the desktop. When it became evident to him that she didn’t mean to answer him, he rose and slowly walked to stand beside her chair.
From where she was seated, Caroline noted that the earl seemed to be towering over her, his broad shoulders and imposing height only reinforcing the appearance of holding the upper hand.
She imagined that was what he had intended.
Ha! The nerve of the man, to think he could intimidate her with his ultimatums!
Refusing to look up at him, she locked her gaze on the first item on his desk that caught her eye. As she focused in on it, she found that for the second time that morning, she had to strangle the urge to laugh.
It was a book. On the breeding of sheep.
“Well?” he demanded.
“It isyou, sir, who may stop the histrionics,” she said. “I will not tell you my name. It is of no concern to you.”
“When I am forced to drag some half-dead chit out of the mud and have her nursed back to health—at an expense I can ill afford—only to have her steal my property…”
Caroline had the grace to color at that.
“Then it damn wellismy concern. I mean to have your name, make no mistake about it.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should just haul you into the village—it seems I would learn who you are soon enough.”
Caroline shot up from her chair. “The only mistake I have made is landing on the doorstep of a profligate wastrel who has squandered his last farthing on drinking and gaming and…and any number of other awful pursuits, instead of taking care of his responsibilities, like atruegentleman. Why, it seems you are insensible to even the most basic decencies of gentlemanly behavior, like helping a lady in distress, you—you odious man!”
* * *
Davenport’s patience,already dangerously frayed, snapped. For weeks, he had borne the shrill demands of countless creditors, the suspicious looks of his tenants, and the whispered innuendos of his neighbors. More nights than he cared to remember, he had struggled with the ledgers, fighting against despair to come up with a way to restore his estate and family name to respectability. To be so cavalierly accused by a chit barely out of the schoolroom, with no acquaintance of him except through rumor, was too much to bear, especially when she owed him her very life. How dare she speak to him like that?
He raised his hand.
Caroline flinched.
Davenport caught himself.
Is that how it begins, he wondered. A simple loss of temper that suddenly moves from thought to deed. The bruises on the face before him, though lightened, were still very much in evidence—ugly, raw reminders of some other man’s anger. He thought of Helen’s face and how similar the damage looked. Except that her eyes didn’t spark with the spirit anymore, as this young lady’s did.
How many times did it take to beat the will out of another person? His jaw clenched. And why would someone filled with life and humor and dreams allow it?
The thought of how easy it would have been to cross the line made him nearly ill. Was he really not so very different from Charles after all? He had never been so utterly ashamed of himself. He dropped his hand and moved slowly around to slump into his desk chair. Running his hand through his hair, he turned to stare, unseeing, into the cold black coals of the unlit fireplace.
“What would you have me do?” he asked in a voice barely above a whisper. “I have a small sum…”
Caroline cleared her throat. “Ummm…actually, sir, you don’t.” She took a leather purse out of her jacket pocket and laid it in front of him.
For a brief moment, Davenport wondered whether he was beginning to lose his sanity. He stared at it, speechless…and then he threw back his head and began to laugh.
