Beyond Compare Read Free Page A

started toward Kyria, a babble of words rising from them.
    “Oh, my lady!” Smeggars was the first to reach them. “Are you hurt?”
    “I am fine,” Kyria assured the butler, shaking out her tangled skirts. It made her color all over again to think of how much leg she had exposed to her rescuer.
    “Cousin Kyria!” Wilhemina seized the opportunity to burst into sobs, burying her face in her handkerchief.
    “Damned watering pot!” Lord Penhurst commented in the trumpeting sort of voice he considered an undertone.
    “Well, I never…” Cousin Wilhemina’s companion began indignantly, but one stern glare from Lady Rochester stopped the woman’s words.
    Lady Rochester’s maid had apparently come to her mistress’s aid, for the indomitable old woman now had her head covered with an elegant, lace-trimmed black cap. She leaned on her cane, looking at Kyria, and let out a loud harrumph. “You’ll break your neck one day, Kyria, the way you go at things. Mark my words.”
    “Yes, Aunt,” Kyria replied meekly, too used to her great-aunt’s strictures to bridle at them.
    “Who the devil are you?” Lady Rochester went on bluntly, pointing at Kyria’s rescuer.
    The stranger turned his charming smile on the old woman and swept her an elegant bow. “Rafe McIntyre, ma’am, at your service.”
    Lady Rochester did her best to look disapproving, but Kyria was sure she saw a glimmer of a smile flicker across her mouth.
    “You’re an American?” Cousin Wilhemina asked, tears forgotten as she stared at McIntyre.
    “Yes, ma’am, I have to confess that I am. I’m a friend of the groom’s.”
    “Oh!” Kyria whirled back to face the man, realizing now who he was. “You are Stephen St. Leger’s partner.” He was also Stephen’s good friend and would act as his best man at the upcoming wedding. She had, she thought with another spurt of embarrassment, been rather rude to the man.
    “Former partner,” he corrected, and turned his brilliant blue gaze back to her.
    He was, Kyria thought, undeniably handsome. The bright eyes and the bone-melting smile would have been enough for any man, she thought, but in addition, he had been blessed with a tall, wide-shouldered frame and well-modeled face framed by thick, light brown hair, just a trifle long and shaggy, and sun-kissed with streaks of gold. Kyria felt sure that half the women in the house would be swooning over him. Any hesitation they might have at his lack of aristocratic background would be more than offset by the fortune he had reputedly made in silver mining when he and Stephen were partners. For some reason, the thought made her feel even more annoyed.
    “I must say,” Lord Marcross put in, walking up to McIntyre and extending his hand. “Deuced good riding there.”
    “The credit belongs to the horse, I’m afraid,” McIntyre said, easily turning the compliment aside, and looking for his mount.
    The bay stood a few feet away, grazing unconcernedly. McIntyre grinned and walked over to take his reins and run a hand down the horse’s neck. “Half thetime he looks like he’s about to fall asleep, but he can fly.”
    “Did you buy him in England?” Cousin Albert asked.
    “Ireland,” McIntyre answered, and in the next moment several of the men were clustered around him, talking horses.
    “Oh!” Kyria remembered the parrot. “Wellie! Where is he? Did he fly away?”
    She turned to look up into the tree. Sure enough, there was a flash of red and blue as the parrot flitted from one branch to another, somewhat lower down than previously, and let out a squawk, apparently peeved at being ignored.
    Rafe looked up from his conversation. He glanced at Kyria. “Is that what you were trying to do up there? Catch the parrot?”
    Kyria nodded.
    Rafe put two fingers to his lips and let out a piercing whistle. To Kyria’s vast irritation, the parrot rose from his perch and flew down in a wide circle to alight on McIntyre’s shoulder.
    “Good Wellie,” the bird