jaunty set to his head. As they went along, he touched things they passed, trailing his fingers over the delicate head of a foxglove, across the bumpy bark of a tree, along the crumbling edge of a brick wall, left from some unimaginably distant time. And as he touched, he looked. Looked up to admire the fading leaves of an arching oak, to watch a sparrow sail through the blue sky, to glance back over his shoulder at something his fingers had not quite absorbed.
It was a curiously appealing habit, one he evidently carried on as he thought, for next he said, "I'm not entirely clear why your brother would face a trial. Men are killed in duels monthly."
"Yes." She sighed. "Unfortunately, Malvern was the son of the King's brother. His mother is… well-known to men at Court and in Parliament, and she's been quite insistent that the crime should be tried."
"Mmm. I see." He cast a single raised eyebrow toward her. "A pretty mess."
Riana suddenly imagined how it would go, the scandal sheets and the wags and the gossip at court. She squeezed her eyes shut and stopped, giving out a little moan. "Oh, God! I am so glad to have them home, but it has been so peaceful here—"
"St. Bridget!" he cried out, and took her arm. "What a selfish little twit you are! I'd expected better of a daughter of James St. Ives."
She looked up, startled.
His eyes narrowed. "Imagine what he'd think of you now! You're whining about scandal and embarrassment when your brothers have rushed home to try and save you from a marriage you evidently did not want. They slayed your lover at the risk of their own necks, and now again will face the repercussions of that act, and you snivel here about—frivolity."
It was not only her ears that burned now, burned red as berries by the feel of them, but her cheeks and forehead and chin. She yanked her arm from his grip and bowed her head in shame. He was right.
But she could not seem to find words to give him that, and only put her hands on her cheeks, faintly amazed when they did not seem hot.
Tynan stayed where he was and did not speak.
Finally, Adriana captured the racing of her heart, smoothed her skirt and turned back, lifting her chin. "You've a very sharp tongue," she said.
He had the grace to wince a bit. "Aye, too quick at times. I'd have said it more kindly if I'd stopped to measure my words," he added, his gaze direct, "but I'd have said it."
"It needed to be said."
"Will they hang?"
A quick terror pressed through her, and she raised her face to him. "I don't honestly know. It's more likely they'll be transported if they're found guilty." She swallowed. "Is that your wish?"
"I wish no ill on anyone, save the—" His mouth tightened and he halted. On his face Adriana again saw that fleeting, dark despair, and wondered what caused it.
Before she could begin to form opinions, he said gravely, "In this I offer my most earnest promise, my lady: I wish no ill upon your brothers. I will do nothing to harm their case, and all in my power to assist them, if you will but assist me."
Adriana met his eyes, searching his face for hints of duplicity. "I don't know why, but I believe you." She shook her head. "Though I cannot think what will be gained by my appearance in London. Seems it will only stir the gossip to a higher frenzy."
"'Twill serve them by reminding all you are no harlot, no scarlet woman, but a lady of good standing who was ill-used. It will show the true devotion that lives between you and your siblings." His lips pursed momentarily, and a shrewd expression came into his eyes. "And in truth, dear wife, I require your assistance in my own task."
In the distance a bell on the village church tower rang four times. Adriana looked up, startled to discover so much time had passed. "We must start back, or be late for supper." She lifted her skirts. "Come, tell me this task as we walk."
He joined her, lacing his fingers behind his back. "I have thought long on this today, and have devised a new
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