Part 9 (1/2)
d.i.c.k grabbed all three mugs in one fist and stood up. He hesitated. ”You might try Annie Pollard's family. I don't know what went on there, but it was bad, and Granville was in the middle of it. And, Harry?”
Harry had risen and put on his hat. ”Yes?”
”Stay away from aristo ladies.” The piggy eyes were sad and old. ”They won't do you any good, lad.”
IT WAS WELL PAST MIDNIGHT, the moon hanging high and full like a swollen pale pumpkin, when Harry crossed through the Woldsly gates later that night. The first thing he saw was Lady Georgina's carriage standing in the drive. The horses hung their heads, asleep, and the coachman gave him a dirty look as Harry turned into the track leading to his cottage. The man had obviously been waiting a while.
Harry shook his head. What was she doing at his cottage, the second night in a row? Was she bent on plaguing him into an early grave? Or did she see him as something to amuse herself with here in the country? The last thought made him scowl as he stabled his mare. He was scowling still when he walked into his cottage. But the sight that met his eyes made him stop and sigh.Lady Georgina was asleep in his high-backed chair.
The fire had died to glowing coals beside her. Had the coachman lit it for her, or had she managed on her own this time? Her head was tilted back, her long slim throat exposed trustingly. She'd covered herself with a cloak, but it had slid down, pooling at her feet.
Harry sighed again and picked up her cloak, laying it gently over her. She never stirred. He took off his own cloak, hung it on a k.n.o.b by the door, and advanced to stir the coals. On the mantelpiece above the hearth, the carved animals had been placed into pairs, facing each other as if they were dancing a reel. He stared at them a moment, wondering how long she'd been waiting. He laid more wood on the fire and straightened. He wasn't sleepy, despite the hour and drinking two pints.
He went to the shelves, took down a box, and brought it to the table. Inside was a short, pearl-handled knife and a piece of cherrywood about half the size of his palm. He sat at the table and turned the wood over in his hands, rubbing the grain with a thumb. He'd thought at first of making a fox from it-the wood was the reddish-orange color of a fox's fur-but now he wasn't sure. He picked up the knife and made the first cut.
The fire crackled and a log fell.
After a while he looked up. Lady Georgina was watching him, her cheek cradled in one palm. Their eyes met, and he looked back down at the carving.
”Is that how you make all of them?” Her voice was low, throaty from sleep.
Did she sound like that in the morning, lying in her silk sheets, her body warm and moist? He pushed the thought aside and nodded.
”That's a pretty knife.” She s.h.i.+fted to face him, curling her feet on the chair. ”Much nicer than the other one.”
”What other one?”
”The nasty-looking one in your boot. I like this one better.”
He made a shallow cut, and a curling strip of wood fell to the table.
”Did your father give it to you?” She spoke slowly, sleepily, and it made him hard.
He opened his fist and stared at the pearl handle, remembering. ”No, my lady.”
She raised her head a little at that. ”I thought I was to call you Harry and you could call me George?”
”I never said that.”
”That isn't fair.” She was frowning.
”Life seldom is, my lady.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to relieve the tightness. 'Course, the tightness was mostly in his b.a.l.l.s, not his shoulders. And shrugging sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't help that.
She stared at him a minute longer, and then turned to look into the fire.
He felt the moment her eyes left him.
She took a breath. ”Do you recall the fairy tale I told you, the one about the enchanted leopard that was really a man?”
”Aye.”
”Did I mention that he wore a golden chain around his neck?”
”Yes, my lady.”
”And on the chain there was a tiny emerald crown? Did I say that?” She'd turned back to him again.
He frowned at the cherrywood. ”I don't remember.”
”Sometimes I forget the details.” She yawned. ”Well, he was really a prince, and on his chain there was a tiny crown with an emerald in it, the exact green color of the Leopard Prince's eyes-”
”That wasn't in your story before, my lady,” he cut in. ”The color of his eyes.”
”I did just tell you that sometimes I forget the details.” She blinked at him innocently.
”Huh.” Harry started carving again.
”Anyway, the young king had sent the Leopard Prince to get the Golden Horse from the evil ogre. You do remember that part, don't you?” She didn't wait for an answer. ”So the Leopard Prince changed into a man, and he held the emerald crown on his golden chain . . .”
Harry looked up as she trailed off.
Lady Georgina was staring into the fire and tapping a finger against her lips. ”Do you suppose that was the only thing he was wearing?”
Oh, G.o.d, she was going to kill him. His c.o.c.k, which had started subsiding, leaped up again.
”I mean, if he was a leopard before, he couldn't very well have been wearing clothes, could he? And then when he changed into a man, well, I think he'd have to be nude, don't you?”
”No doubt.” Harry s.h.i.+fted on his chair, glad the table hid his lap.
”Mmm.” Lady Georgina pondered a moment more, and then shook her head. ”So he was standing there, evidently in the nude, grasping the crown, and he said, 'I wish for an impenetrable suit of armor and the strongest sword in the world.'And what do you suppose happened?”
”He got the armor and sword.”
”Well, yes.” Lady Georgina seemed put out that he'd guessed what any three-year-old could've. ”But they weren't ordinary weapons. The armor was pure gold, and the sword was made of gla.s.s. What do you think of that?”
”I think it doesn't sound very practical.”
”What?”
”Bet a woman made this story up.”
Her eyebrows arched at him. ”Why?”
He shrugged. ”The sword would break the first time he swung it, and the armor would give to even a weak blow. Gold's a soft metal, my lady.”
”I hadn't thought of that.” She tapped her lips again.