The Indian Maiden Read Free Page B

storyteller to view the intruder, he looked more like a knight of old come to slay a few dragons in order to rescue the fair maiden than a fellow hell bent on silencing the damsel as soon as he could. But the simple fact of his sudden appearance turned the trick nicely before he even drew his mount to a stand several feet from the young lady. For she left off speaking and stared at him as though he were the most wondrous thing an English forest ever disgorged, nettles, dragons, and unicorns included.
    There was nothing odd about her reaction, for after all, American or not, the chit had eyes. So all of the other young females, and quite a few of their seniors as well, responded when they saw him. It was not just the fact of his sudden appearance that thrilled them, it was he, himself. He might well have produced the same excitement in their ranks if rather than flying down the slope on a blooded stallion, he’d come strolling along, negligently, hands in pockets. His was that sort of presence.
    He didn’t need the great steed to show off the long muscles in his legs nor close-fitting riding clothes to display the athlete’s torso which grew from trim hips to broader chest to broadest shoulders. Nor did he need his mount’s brushed light coat to point up the light golden tan that gilded his own smooth skin on the sensitive hands that held the reins, or on the strong-featured face which smiled reassurance at his startled hostess. Nor did he even require the steed to nudge the errant memories of some of the gentlemen to make them remember their long neglected, gladly forgotten classics lessons and suddenly think, “Centaur!” when he bowed his tousled, tawny head in greeting.
    The hair was overlong and thick, and streaked blond and baize and all the several colors that the sun will turn a thatch the color of taffy to begin with when it is left to have its way by constant exposure. And when the dutifully bent head lifted, it was a pair of long hazel eyes which looked out at his impromptu audience, and beneath the long straight nose the mobile lips parted to show a flash of strong white teeth again before the cool voice said evenly, “My lady, greetings. I was visiting with your father and, having missed seeing you at home, I am, you may imagine, delighted to find you here. I cannot believe my good fortune,” he added, when it seemed that his unknowing hostess could not reply at once.
    The Lady Mary might be forgiven for coming to a stand and remaining at one as her company recovered themselves and pressed forward, eager, in some cases avid, for an introduction. Barnabas Stratton, Lord Deal, might be a neighbor, she might have seen him, or more honestly speaking, looked to see him, many a dozen times along the local roads, but he’d never been delighted to see her, nor missed not seeing her, nor considered it good, bad, or even indifferent fortune to see her, so far as she knew. He was, as everyone knew, almost a social recluse. But now he was here, and Lady Mary had had an excellent upbringing, and besides, everyone was staring at her now. So she swallowed down her fear of his mockery and her surprise at his arrival, and doing homage to generations of British governesses, curtsied and then quietly and without one slip introduced him to her party.
    “ ... and this,” she concluded, several moments later, having come full circle, “is Miss Faith Hamilton, who is visiting with us from America, and this, as I am sure you know, is Robert Craig, Earl of Methley. Lord Deal,” she breathed at last as she finished up.
    “Yes, of course, we’ve known each other forever,” the earl said pleasantly, though his eyes remained cool.
    “Servant, Methley,” Lord Deal replied quietly, giving the tall gentleman a level look.
    “I could not help but overhear your somewhat spirited debate as I approached,” Lord Deal turned and said at once to the entire company, “and I couldn’t fail to be impressed at how all you fellows tried