Page 30 of Wicked Wager

She had noted Nelthorpe observing her from the crowd last night after she was introduced to Colonel Vernier, but as he often watched her when they attended the same entertainment, she'd not given it much thought.

However, combined with his mulish stance and still-irritated expression, incredible as it seemed... "You are jealous of the colonel?" she blurted out.

His stance grew even stiffer. "Now, why should I be jealous? Since I promised to turn away only undeserving suitors, why should I be concerned if a gallant guardsman who still has full use of his faculties, a soldier Wellington himself pronounced 'the bravest man at Waterloo,' should dangle after you?"

"Colonel Vernier wasn't 'dangling,'" she objected, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused by his attitude. "He was merely being polite."

"Being 'polite,' was he?" Nelthorpe retorted hotly. "Hanging you on his arm, monopolizing your company from the moment you were introduced until your departure?"

"You are jealous," she repeated wonderingly. Though she knew it should not, a quiver of entirely feminine satisfaction ran through her. "Have you breakfasted yet?"

"What has breakfast to do with this?" he retorted.

"I thought not. I've never known a gentleman who wasn't cranky until he'd been fed. Stop this nonsensical brangling and let's depart. I've had a picnic breakfast assembled. We shall stop at Richmond Hill on our way out of town. Lady Charlotte highly recommended the view."

"I am not jealous," he pronounced, his tone still belligerent. "But I am hungry."

"Get along, then." Jenna gestured to the doorway. Looking a bit mollified, Nelthorpe walked toward it.

As he passed, Jenna had the oddest desire to smooth his dark hair, which stood up a bit in the back, as if he'd been too hurried to comb it thoroughly. For some reason, this flaw in his normally impeccable appearance, combined with the fact that, deny it or not, he was jealous of Colonel Vernier, created a warm glow within her.

Heavens, she must be as addled as he, if she were developing an affection for Nelthorpe!

Shaking her head at such folly, she followed him out.

Riding beside Jenna's carriage, Tony could only shake his head at his idiotic performance in her parlor.

After reminding himself he must be on his most charming- and proper-behavior, should he be lucky enough after last night's stupidity to have Jenna still receive him, he'd acted like a bacon-brained moonling.

'Twas true that he'd slept poorly and awakened shorter of temper than usual. Worried that Jenna might leave London without giving him a chance to apologize, he had thrown on his clothes and rushed to Fairchild House without pausing even for a cup of Betsy's coffee.

Tired, famished and plagued by anxiety, he'd then waited nearly an hour, increasingly convinced that she must indeed have left without him-doubtless in the Perfect Hero's company. So that when she finally did appear, irritation had run away with him, freeing the jealousy he had no right to feel from reason's control.

He could only thank his guardian angel Jenna had not ejected him on his ear.

It not being prudent to count on that angel to intervene should he commit any further idiocies, he promised himself that for the remainder of the day, he would be the soul of wit, courtesy and consideration.

During the limited chat they'd had since Jenna embarked in the carriage, Jenna had not once referred to their interlude on the balcony. Grateful to have a semblance of camaraderie restored, Tony was content to let the distressing matter rest.

The early winter day being unusually mild and sunny, when they reached Richmond Hill, Jenna decided to have the picnic set out on a blanket in front of a copse of trees on the far side of a meadow that bordered the road.

The earth of the meadow being too soft for the carriage to cross, Tony helped the footmen carry over the repast. Jenna had also thoughtfully provided several camp stools, sparing him the humiliation of struggling to lower and raise his stiff leg off the ground.

Sancha and the footmen settled on the blanket, assuring their mistress the thick wool protected them from the ground's chill. Though he'd intended to eat sparingly and concentrate on drawing Jenna out about her plans for the property, the cheerful warmth of the sunshine and Jenna's insistence that he sample a good portion of the repast Cook had packed soon had him neglecting conversation to devote his attention to the fine assortment of victuals.

Though loath to break the companionable mood, Tony was about to recommend that they pack up the remains and be on their way when the calm of the morning was shattered by the crack of a rifle shot, followed immediately by a menacing and all-too-familiar whine.

Sancha's scream echoing in his ears, Tony instinctively launched himself at Jenna, dragging her down onto the blanket and shielding her body with his own.

"Lord Nelthorpe!" Jenna protested, while Sancha exclaimed in a volley of Spanish and the footmen traded exclamations.

"Silence, all of you!" Tony barked, keeping Jenna flat beneath him while his ears strained for the sounds of crackling underbrush, stealthy footsteps, the metallic click of a rifle being loaded or cocked. After a few long moments, during which he heard nothing but a distant bird-song and his own ragged breathing, he straightened.

What he saw made the breath catch again in his throat. A bare inch above where Jenna's head had been a moment before, embedded in the tree truck behind them glittered the metal casing of a rifle bullet.

It took two attempts before he could get his voice to function. "Are you unhurt?" he was finally able to demand.

"I'm fine!" Jenna said, trying to wriggle out from under him. "But how careless of the hunter to discharge his weapon so close to the main highway. 'Tis a wonder-"

'"Twas no hunter," Tony said, instantly convinced in the wake of Jenna's fall that this had not been a random shot. When Jenna tried to rise, he pushed her back down. "Please, Jenna, not yet." A hand on her shoulder to keep her from moving, he rapidly surveyed the area.

"Pack up everything and return to the coach," he directed Sancha and the footmen, "then have the coachman drive you and my horse back down the hill to that small inn we passed. I'll conceal Lady Fairchild in the copse and make sure whoever fired that bullet is no longer in the vicinity. Once I'm sure it's safe, we'll make our way to the inn under the cover of the trees."

"Should you not take her in the coach?" Sancha asked in a low, urgent voice.

"Too much open ground between here and there." He gestured to where the vehicle was drawn up some two hundred yards away. "I'll not give whoever might be watching a clear field of fire while she crosses this meadow."

"Aye, my lord. Keep her safe. We do as you say."

"Oh, really, Sancha, there's no need..." Jenna's words trailed off as, swiftly following Tony's instructions, the maid piled dishes in one of the baskets and set off with it at a trot. Her eyes widening, Jenna's gaze followed the girl, obviously surprised by her instant compliance.

She looked back at Tony, eyebrows raised. "You certainly succeeded in spooking Sancha," she said, amusement mingled with aggravation in her tone. "But at the risk of stating the obvious, my lord, this isn't Spain, nor are there likely to be French sharpshooters trying to use us for target practice."

"That bullet was entirely too close, Jenna. I'll not risk allowing whoever fired it another shot. Now, while I remain in front of you, back quickly into the trees."

"Nelthorpe, this is ridiculous!"

"Just do it, Jenna! I'll explain later." Uttering a quick prayer of thanks that the thick blanket on which they'd been picnicking was a dull brown, he gathered it up. "James," he called to the footman who was completing the packing of the crockery, "a hand up, if you please."

Jenna looked for a moment as if she would protest further, but by the time the footman had hauled Tony back to his feet, she evidently had decided to cooperate- at least for the moment. Cautiously, as he'd instructed her, she began to back toward the thick stand of evergreens.

"Thank you," he said as he covered her movements, a trace of humor in his voice. "I was afraid for a moment you were going to make me carry you."

As soon as they'd penetrated within the thick cloak of greenery, Tony came to her side and seized her hand, half-dragging her across a small clearing to a large fir tree. Pulling her beneath its sheltering branches, he threw the blanket over her, leaving only her face free.

With a soft exclamation of annoyance, she whispered, "Now I'm to be swaddled like a bandit? This delusion has gone far enough! Why would anyone shoot at us?"

"Trust me a bit longer, Jenna," he whispered back. "I'm not hallucinating that I'm back on some Peninsular battlefield. Stay here and don't move, speak, or do more than breathe until I get back."

"There'd better be a good explanation for all this when you do," she muttered.

"There will be. Do you still carry that knife?" When she nodded, he continued, "Take it out. And if anyone but me comes near, use it."

*CHAPTER SIXTEEN*

Hoping he'd convinced Jenna to remain under cover, Tony limped back to the edge of the copse. Was he making too much of the incident?

But after peering out over the meadow in the direction from which the bullet had been fired, his soldier's instinct, which had saved his neck on several occasions, still warned him the shot had been deliberate.

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