talking to her mother and some of the older ladies, and he went to drop a kiss on his sister’s cheek. ‘Staying up late, Puss?’
‘I shall go to bed shortly,’ she said, then adopted a chiding tone. ‘Poor Mr Farnsworth is probably still labouring over all that paperwork you gave him and you are not worried about him.’
‘You are very protective of young Farnsworth,’ Lucian observed with a tolerant smile. ‘I hope you are not flirting with him and distracting him from his work.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of flirting with him,’ Marguerite said indignantly. ‘He is far too serious to take any notice if I did. I admire him greatly,’ she added, verging towards Mrs Siddons at her most tragic.
And you are a loss to the stage, my dear.
He smiled across at Sara and she smiled back, with a little gesture of her head towards her mother. Whispered confidences had been exchanged, he assumed. He met the Marchioness’s beautiful green gaze and was rewarded with a smile, as lovely as her daughter’s, but holding years’ more experience and guile. This was the woman who had taught her daughter to defend herself with a knife and to ride astride and he had asked of Sara that she was at least as conventional a marchioness as her mother.
A month ago all he had asked of life was to have his sister back well and happy and to find a wife of the utmost, highly conventional, suitability. And now... He met Sara’s smile again. And now what could possibly go wrong?
* * *
‘I would like to see your stables, Clere. Any objections?’ For the first time Lucian found himself alone with Sara’s brother. The ladies of the party, Sara and Marguerite amongst them, were either sketching on the back lawn or admiring the artists. The other men had accompanied the Marquess to see his improvements at the Home Farm and Lucian had taken the opportunity to come across Ashe Herriard on his way to the front door, dressed for riding.
‘None at all. Care to ride?’ The Viscount nodded thanks to the footman who opened the double doors for them and led the way diagonally across the circle of the carriage drive to where a clock tower appeared above a screening shrubbery.
‘I would certainly enjoy some exercise,’ Lucian agreed, truthfully.
‘I gather you are marrying my sister,’ Clere said as they emerged from the shrubbery on to a rather trampled area just outside the arch into the imposing stable block. ‘You had better make her happy,’ he added with a charming smile that entirely failed to hide the threat behind it.
‘Oh, I intend to.’ Lucian smiled back. ‘We don’t know each other very well, do we? I keep my word, I take my duty to look after my family very seriously and I never, ever, forget a debt.’
The right hook was perfect. Solid, powerful, right on the point of Clere’s chin. The bruise on his own chin ached in sympathy. And he had taken the other man totally by surprise.
Ashe Herriard levered himself up on his elbows in the dust and grinned. ‘Point taken. Give me a hand, will you?’
He held out his right hand and Lucian took it, was jerked forward and on to a booted foot that rose to catch him squarely in the stomach. He let himself go with the move, over the top of Clere and into a rolling somersault. Lucian came to his feet and stripped off his coat to find Clere doing the same thing.
‘Come on.’ He lifted both hands, open, beckoning Lucian to advance. ‘I am going to enjoy this. Who do you spar with?’
‘The Gentleman, of course.’ Lucian tossed aside his neckcloth and squared up to the other man. ‘I’ve seen you there, but I’ve never seen you fight.’
‘Thought I’d come across you at his saloon. Jackson’s a good teacher, even if he does live up to his soubriquet.’
Gentleman. That is a polite warning that this pupil will be anything but gentlemanly, Lucian guessed. And Ashe Herriard had grown up in India, learning any number of exotic tricks, he had no doubt.
As he closed with him the other man’s left foot shot out, aiming a high kick at his elbow. Lucian spun away, untouched and landed a punch on Clere’s ribs. Oh, yes, this is going to be fun.
* * *
‘Darling, can you see if you can find that album of prints of Calcutta? Mrs Galway was interested and although I left them on the side table in the Chinese Salon they aren’t there now. I cannot think where they have got to.’
‘Of course, Mata.’ Sara made for the library first, glad of an excuse to escape the knowing looks and whisperings of Lady Thale and Mrs Montrum. It seemed the logical place for an over-tidy housemaid to have put it and she took a shortcut from the side terrace where the ladies had been sitting out of the direct sun and through the rear corridor that led from the gardens into the flower room, the boot room and down to the basement.
A glance through the glazed back garden door as she hurried past brought her skidding to a halt on the worn old flagstones. Two men were coming across the gravel from the direction of the stables. Staggering across, holding each other up. Ashe and Lucian.
Sara wrenched open the door and ran to them, nightmare visions of riding accidents blurring her vision. When she came to a panting halt in front of them they straightened up a little and she could take in their injuries and their clothing.
‘You’ve been fighting—look at the pair of you!’ Both had grazed and bloody knuckles, Ashe was sporting a split lip, a promising black left eye, a ripped shirt and seemed to be limping. Lucian’s right eye was bruised, the side seam of his breeches was gaping, there was a nasty graze on his left cheek and a footprint on his shirt over his ribs.
‘Sparring, that’s all,’ her brother said and winced.
‘Bare-knuckled without gloves? In your decent breeches? Kicking? You’ve been fighting, you horrible creatures. How could you? You are going to be brothers-in-law, for goodness sake.’ Oh, she could have wept, if she wasn’t saving all her energies for thumping the pair of them just as soon as she was sure neither had any serious injuries. ‘Come inside, quickly, before any of the ladies see you and faint dead away. Into the flower room, at least there is water in there and good light.’
‘Good light for what?’ Lucian asked as the two of them resumed their unsteady progress towards the house.
‘Checking you over and patching you up, of course, you pair of savages. Peter!’ One of the footmen came out of the door with a vase of drooping flowers in his hands. ‘Put those down for now and go and fetch me the bandages and salves. Hurry now.’
She got them into the flower room and sitting on benches. ‘Take those coats off, strip to the waist. Oh, let me help—have you broken ribs?’ she demanded as Lucian struggled out of his coat and began to tug at his shirt.
‘Doubt it. Just bruised.’ He squinted down at himself as Sara tossed the shirt aside and prodded the discoloured foot-shaped area. ‘Hell’s teeth. Yes, just bruised, possibly a crack.’
‘And you.’ She whirled round to her brother. ‘Why are you limping?’
‘Twisted my knee when I went down. And, no, I am not going
