The Reluctant Guardian Read online

  She mashed her lips and focused on the task at hand, finding a duet in the messy stack of sheet music. Mrs. Scarcliff had asked her and Frances to perform a duet for the other twenty-odd guests, a simple request. Gemma sat at the pianoforte bench, hunting a suitable piece while Frances settled her father into a chair by the fire in the green-and-gold drawing room. The others, like Hugh, chatted in small groups but, unlike Hugh, ignored her. His gleeful gaze unnerved her.

  It did not help matters that Tavin stood beside her, so close she could tip her head back a few inches and rest against his black embroidered waistcoat.

  She’d lain against his chest once before, that day he scooped her out of the lake. She’d been fool enough to think he might fancy her. And then he’d just pulled a leech from her neck.

  She ruffled the sheet music. Tavin did not fancy her; nor were they friends. But he gave a far different impression to Hugh and everyone else, lurking over her like this.

  She turned back to him. “There is no need for you to assist me. I doubt the pianoforte has orders from the Sovereign to attack me.”

  “Ah, but one should never underestimate one’s foe. The sheet music might slice your delicate fingers.”

  Fighting a smile, Gemma returned to the stack. “Wouldn’t you rather chat with the gentlemen?”

  “I would rather be in Hampshire.” He bent over, his chest mere inches from her cheek. “What about this one?”

  “The title may refer to two people, a shepherd mourning his lost love, but that does not make it a duet. Clearly, you do not play pianoforte.”

  “My hands find better use cuffing scoundrels.”

  She spun around to him. “I hope no one eavesdrops.”

  “Not a soul pays the least interest to us except Beauchamp, whom I might remind you is betrothed.”

  “I do not require your reminder.”

  “I was not certain, the way you two snuck into the trees.”

  Embarrassment heated her skin from her fingers to her neck. She’d wondered if he would bring up the topic and had been relieved when he hadn’t mentioned it all week. Until now. “I do not like what you infer.”

  “I infer nothing. Only that I could not see you for a time.”

  “Nothing happened.”

  “That doesn’t matter. If I cannot see you, I cannot fully protect you. Don’t you know I am protecting you now? Look around.” She followed his gaze around the chamber. “The staff’s shoes are cheap and squeak against the floor, but the noise assures me the servants are who they claim to be. I’ve noted everyone’s activities, from Wyling and old Scarcliff talking corn laws, to Miss Fennelwick settling her father so he can enjoy the duet that does not seem to be forthcoming anytime soon. One might think Mrs. Scarcliff does not truly own any duets and she attempts to keep you from her prospective son-in-law.”

  Impressive. But he was wrong on one count. “She has naught to fear from me.”

  “Not from you. Him.”

  He was wrong there, too. “Not that it is your concern, but when we were hidden from you, Hugh and I spoke of his betrothal. He did not wish the children to overhear.”

  He snorted.

  She glared up at him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you here?”

  “To help you find music.” His brow quirked.

  “Do not be thickheaded. Why are you here, tonight?”

  “Because I was invited to dine. And I am to watch you.”

  “You do not watch me. You watch everyone else.”

  He laughed. “Does that pain you?”

  “Like the prick of a hairpin. Annoying but soon forgotten.” She squared the music into a neat pile, patting the sides with too much vigor.

  “I regret the inconvenience. But you were the one who intruded on my case—”

  “Had I been informed of the reason for your visit to my house, I would not have intruded. If only to avoid your so-called protection.”

  “My protection cannot be that intolerable. I’m a decent sort.” He grinned, and her frustration melted. Why did his smiles—the full ones that crinkled his eyes—have that effect on her?

  “I am shocked you did not taste my food at dinner to ensure I was not poisoned. I should have held out my fork of turbot in oyster sauce to you.” The teasing words slipped out before she realized how flirtatious they sounded.

  Would he balk? Instead, his mouth twitched. “Is that an invitation to share your cup? Next time, before the whole company, I shall do it.”

  “Scandalous.”

  “Coward.”

  Heat flooded her neck, cheeks, arms. He wouldn’t really offer his cup. Would he?

  He didn’t look away; nor did his smile slip. He’s flirting with me, too. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, breathing in Tavin’s woodsy smell while her heart galloped against her ribs. Say something clever. She leaned forward—

  Crash!

  Strong fingers circled Gemma’s upper arm, pulling her from the pianoforte and spinning behind Tavin. One of his arms reached back to form a protective crescent about her. She could see naught but his shoulder blades. Had the Sovereign found her...here?

  Laughter erupted. She peeked around Tavin’s solid form. The group of young people stared down at the floor. Gerald Scarcliff righted a chair and Hugh pulled a fellow to his feet.

  “Deep into his cups,” a matron muttered.

  The flushing fellow offered the room a gallant bow before resuming his seat. Tavin’s arm dropped and he stepped away from Gemma.

  The whole thing had lasted seconds. Drawn by the commotion of the tipsy cousin, not a soul in the room had taken notice of what Tavin did. Thankfully. How to explain it?

  Gemma’s limbs trembled as she resumed her seat. Not from the crashing chair or Tavin’s response. It was the speed of his protection. The noise had startled him, and he’d acted. He’d protected her without thought of the cost to himself.

  She’d been such a fool, resenting his presence. He took it far more seriously than she—serious enough to fight for her. To die. How could she resent him or even flirt with him, ever, after this?

  Frances sauntered to the pianoforte, an elegant vision in a simple gown of blue silk. “Have you found us something to play?”

  “Ladies.” Tavin bowed, sending an errant lock curling over his forehead, and strode away, taking a seat beside Frances’s elderly papa. She watched after him. What would he have done had she been in true danger? Perhaps he carried a weapon on his person. Or maybe he used his colossal fists.

  Gemma swallowed, then remembered Frances awaited an answer. “I cannot find a duet.”

  “How curious.” Frances perched beside her, smelling of violets. “Shall we look again, if only to appear as if we tried?”

  Gemma nodded and flipped through the sheet music, her vision too blurred with emotion to take in a single note. Frances giggled. “If we do not find a duet, it will be for the best, you know. My musical efforts will not impress anyone.”

  “So you wish to impress someone in particular?” Gemma grasped at the diversion.

  Frances scrunched her nose. “If you imply Mr. Scarcliff, do not draft the banns for us. It is not at all like your situation with Mr. Knox.”

  She was as bad as Hugh. “There is nothing there.”

  Frances thumbed through the stack. “Do not fib. I see the way he watches you from the corners of his eyes.”

  He watched her from the corners of his eyes? Gemma peeked.

  He was turned toward Frances’s father, revealing his profile. Strong jaw, slightly crooked nose, dark hair curling over his forehead, a wide smile on his full lips. My, the man generally seemed miserable in Gemma’s company.

  “Fascinating.” The deep timbre of his voice sounded relaxed as he spoke to Mr. Fennelwick. “So those shards may have be
en Roman implements?”

  “Indeed.” Frances’s father, a slender gentleman with a white shock of hair, rubbed his hands together.

  “I kept them in a box when I was a lad.” Tavin formed a triangle with his fingers. “My favorite was about this long, broken at the top, but heavy.”

  “That could well have been a spear point. Where did you find it?”

  Gemma craned her head, eager to learn where he’d grown up.

  “Near the northern border.”

  “Hadrian’s Wall, no doubt.” At Tavin’s nod, Mr. Fennelwick beamed. “So many artifacts surround the environs of the wall. Who knows what lies just under the soil? Pots, coins, more of your spear points. Oh, for a shovel and a strong back, and I would uncover all I could.”

  When Tavin smiled, he seemed younger. For a moment, Gemma could imagine him as a boy, playful as her nephews, before he grew and chose to live as a spy. Frances was wrong—he didn’t watch her from the corners of his eyes. But Gemma was happy she had looked up at him, anyway. Imagining him as a cheerful child lightened her spirit. How she’d like to see him carefree again.

  I do not claim to know what Tavin needs, Lord. But I suspect the little boy who found the spear points is still inside of him somewhere. Help him to rediscover the sense of peace and joy that he must have had then.

  Just then, his eyes moved. Not his face, not the tilt of his head, not his bearing. Just his eyes, quick as a cat darting under a bush, glancing at her from the corners.

  A thrill shot from her core and down her limbs. How to liken the sensation? Anticipatory, like something lovely was coming soon, like the heady scent of orange blossom heralds the promise of fruit.

  She lowered her gaze to her lap. Tavin might be handsome and he might have glanced at her, but she’d do well to remember why he’d done it. He was being paid to ensure she wasn’t attacked while she sat at a pianoforte.

  Still, she felt a joy she couldn’t squelch. And to be honest, she didn’t wish to.

  Frances nudged her. “Play something alone. I recall how our old music teacher, Mrs. Drund, praised your skills. Do you remember her?”

  “She entrenched that sonatina into my bones.” Gemma had loved the way her fingers had flown over the keys and the feeling of freedom music provided. Cristobel had grown so weary of the tune, however, she’d forbidden it.

  “Play it for us,” Frances urged. “I so enjoy vigorous music.”

  Could she? It had been so long. Then Tavin peeked at her from the corners of his eyes.

  “I shall try.”

  Frances stood and clapped. “Gemma is to play for us.”

  Tavin’s brow quirked. In return, she sent him a dazzling smile. Let him—and the others—wonder what it meant.

  The guests settled into chairs. Gemma’s fingers found home, and she began.

  While her fingers traced the keys, up and back, up and back, her mind wandered. She was no longer in a London town house, dressed in pearl-colored silk, her hair bedecked with ribbons and lace. She was young, donned in the serviceable gray of her school dress, playing for her favorite teacher. Happy days.

  Her fingertips hit the final keys. Despite the years, she’d done it, and fairly well, too.

  Applause filled the room. Pet’s smile seemed forced, but Hugh, Frances, Amy and Wyling all beamed. Tavin’s smile was less wide, but it was there, and his dark gaze held hers for a span of several heartbeats.

  A tall figure moved between them, drawing Gemma’s gaze upward. “Well done, Miss Lyfeld.” Gerald Scarcliff bowed.

  Frances clapped. “You exaggerated your lack of practice. I scarcely noted any mistakes.”

  Gerald smiled. “I hoped we all might ride in the park. I mentioned it to you, Miss Lyfeld, some time ago.”

  “I remember.” But she had yet to practice on a horse.

  “Would you ladies care to join me Monday next? Just a trot through Hyde Park?”

  Frances’s eyes glowed bright. “I should enjoy it. What say you, Gemma?”

  “Very well.” She had best don her riding habit, climb astride a horse and practice.

  “When we go, we might discuss your relation’s masque,” Gerald said. “I received my invitation from the comtesse.”

  “As did Gemma. What a delight we shall all have.”

  Gemma’s eyes met Tavin’s. From the thunderous look on his face, he’d clearly heard. She braced herself for a lecture when he pulled her aside.

  “I thought I made my views on your attending a masque quite clear.”

  “Your no was most emphatic.” But this was not Tavin’s last chance for adventure. It was hers. She would take hold of it with both hands. “Nevertheless, I do not require your permission. I do not wish to cause you difficulty. Truly. But I am in no danger. Except from falling off a horse.”

  A quizzical look replaced his glower, and she explained Gerald Scarcliff’s invitation to ride. “I fear I have not ridden in years.”

  “I’ll teach you, then.”

  Her lips popped apart. She’d intended to ask a groom. Maybe Wyling. “A generous offer, but I wouldn’t wish to impose on you.”

  “’Tis no imposition. I’ll call in the morning. Early.”

  And despite her frustrations with him and their circumstances, something liquefied in her bones at the thought of spending time with him. Not near him, but with him.

  Then she realized that if she went riding, his devotion to his task of protecting her would have made him follow after her, anyway. She turned away so he wouldn’t read the disappointment in her eyes.

  Chapter Ten

  “Hold tight.” Tavin took Gemma’s left hand in a perfunctory gesture and placed it on his right shoulder. “But not so firmly you strangle me.”

  “I shall restrain myself.” Her light brown eyebrows rose as she took the reins and crutch in her right hand. “At least until after you teach me to ride this beast.”

  Tavin exhaled. Gemma’s borrowed mount, Kay, was as harmless as she was overfed. But the gray mare was the perfect choice for Gemma, considering she had not ridden in years.

  “Do not toss me over Kay’s other side, now.” Her breath, scented with tea and honey, warmed his cheek and lifted the hairs at his nape. Fool! No doubt he smelled of breakfast, too. The pudgy mare certainly smelled of hers, among other less pleasant things.

  Best to get Gemma out of his hands, in every way possible, before he embarrassed himself as he had done at the Scarcliffs’. Jumping up to protect her at the crash of a chair? Idiotic.

  He could hardly look Gemma in the eye even now without wanting to kick himself. Good thing he could teach her to ride without making eye contact. He knelt, took her left boot in his hands and hoisted her aloft.

  She gasped when she landed on the sidesaddle. “This was not so terrible.”

  “Do you refer to my assistance or the height of the horse?” He placed her boot—half the size of his—in the stirrup with a none-too-gentle tug.

  “The horse, of course. It is a long way up.”

  “Kay is a mighty dragon.” He patted the mare’s ample flank. “If she manages to take twenty steps, I shall be astonished.”

  Gemma patted the mare’s neck. “Do not mind mean Tavin, Kay. You are perfectly frightful to me.”

  Tavin scanned the empty park while Gemma situated herself on the saddle. Here and there, shafts of sunlight penetrated the pale gray clouds overhead, promising another fine day. While the hour was not as early as he preferred, Rotten Row remained virtually deserted. Only a few others took advantage of the decent weather, the occasional lone rider and nursemaids and their charges. A pair of romping toddlers reminded him of Petey and Eddie.

  “How do the children enjoy London?”

  “Very well.” Tendrils of her light brown hair escaped her jaunt
y hat. “We hope to visit Montagu House to see the Elgin Marbles in a few weeks. If that is acceptable, of course.”

  By the gentle way she tacked on the last words, it was clear she was trying to initiate a truce. Perhaps he’d gone too far, challenging her about Beauchamp, but her private rendezvous with the cad made his work more difficult. For certain, his annoyance had naught to do with her foolish desire to keep time with such a dandified bounder.

  If she offered a truce, he’d take it. “More than acceptable. But I thought children weren’t permitted inside.” He swung himself onto Raghnall’s back.

  “Wyling secured permission. You may accompany us if you wish. Rather than following behind us, that is. Unless you’re released from duty by then. And if you do not mind being with the boys.” Her cheeks pinked.

  “I do not mind. They remind me of myself and my brother.” In their mischief and in terms of their lack of attention by their parents.

  “Splendid.” She fussed with her habit. The reddish-orange of a bullfinch’s breast, the hue went well with her coloring. It also looked too much like her red cloak for his tastes.

  “You seem to favor red clothes.”

  “This is not red. It’s vermilion.” Her lips pulled into a teasing smile. “Do you fear the Sovereign will hunt the realm for a lady in red? Because I am not the only female with crimson in my wardrobe.”

  He bit back a grin. “Shall we ride?”

  “I am ready.”

  “Hold the reins like this.” He bent and slipped the reins between her third and fourth fingers. “Excellent. Now we walk in a straight line.”

  Raghnall led the way, clearly comprehending he served as an example. Kay walked alongside.

  “Success.” Gemma laughed, but her smile dimmed when her gaze met his. “There must be a thousand other things you’d rather be doing.”

  “Not in London.” His words were clipped, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Blood and regret tinged his tongue. This was not her fault, after all. And his attitude had grown tiresome, even to himself.