stepped forward and bowed. Both were dark-skinned and quietly exotic, clad in white tunics belted with wide gray sashes over loose white trousers. They wore turbans, which were knotted just above their right ears, and the younger man was holding a large, flat mahogany case. The older one undid the clasp and raised the lid.
Sothingdon gasped.
Jessica could not imagine what her father found so wonderful about the contents. The leather-lined case held a long-barreled rifle with a shiny wooden stock, along with the usual implements for loading and cleaning. But what of it? He was an extravagant collector of guns and already owned several score of them.
Nonetheless, he was undeniably impressed. When the gun was lifted from the case and put into his hands, he caressed it with the affection he might have given to a new grandchild. “Splendid workmanship,” he said, sounding a bit dazed. “Splendid.”
“I had thought you would be interested in the new percussion ignition,” said Duran, “but Manton was sure you’d prefer the traditional flintlock.”
“Oh, yes. Yes indeed. I don’t hold with these modern experiments. Apt to blow up in your hands, what?”
“I certainly hope not,” Duran replied. “I bought two of them for myself.”
“Then you must explain your reasons. Come along to my study and we’ll have a whisky while the servants see to your rooms. Jessica, make certain the gentlemen are settled, will you?”
And thus, she thought, glaring at Duran’s straight back, did the serpent slither into the garden.
Chapter 5
Men were never so provoking as when they failed to do what was expected of them.
Jessica’s expectations had been suitably modest—a diligent pursuit by Duran and disdainful evasion by her. But for three days—not that she was counting—he had brazenly ignored her. If they chanced to encounter each other, he bowed and smiled, but before she could give him the cut direct, he continued by without a word.
Last evening she had joined the gentlemen at dinner, accompanied by a reluctant Mariah, only to find that Duran had abandoned his usual seat near her father for a place clear the other end of the table. Was that a coincidence, or had he learned of her arrangement to be seated across from him?
He appeared to be enjoying himself. Most of the laughter at the table came from the group surrounding him, while she was stuck between her tongue-tied sister and the gout-ridden Lord Marley, who was too busy forking in collops of veal to converse.
Once, as she lifted her glass of wine for a sip, she glanced up to see Duran gazing directly at her. For a few tense moments voices faded and all the air left the room. They seemed to be attached to opposite ends of a magnetized wire. Until he grinned, and she realized she was spilling wine down the bodice of her dress.
Luckily she was wearing red, to match the wine. She covered her humiliation with an observation about the weather to Lord Marley, who grunted a reply, and waited a decent interval before suggesting to Mariah that they withdraw. Her sister, who had toyed with a slice of roast duck for the entire meal, practically bolted from the room, leaving Jessica to make a solitary, dignified exit. Had Duran been paying attention, he would have been impressed.
If his strategy of ignoring her was designed to intrigue, and she expected that it was, he was going to be disappointed. She had no intention whatever of approaching him. Never mind that she sometimes found herself circling him like a shark. It was no more than he deserved for paddling into her territory.
Besides, how else was she to deduce what he was up to? If Duran had come to High Tor merely for the shooting, she would eat an unplucked partridge.
He did shoot, though, every day. At first she watched from a distance, perched on a flat rock atop one of the high tors that gave the estate its name, but she felt uneasy there on her own. Exposed, as if other watchers had secreted themselves
Sothingdon gasped.
Jessica could not imagine what her father found so wonderful about the contents. The leather-lined case held a long-barreled rifle with a shiny wooden stock, along with the usual implements for loading and cleaning. But what of it? He was an extravagant collector of guns and already owned several score of them.
Nonetheless, he was undeniably impressed. When the gun was lifted from the case and put into his hands, he caressed it with the affection he might have given to a new grandchild. “Splendid workmanship,” he said, sounding a bit dazed. “Splendid.”
“I had thought you would be interested in the new percussion ignition,” said Duran, “but Manton was sure you’d prefer the traditional flintlock.”
“Oh, yes. Yes indeed. I don’t hold with these modern experiments. Apt to blow up in your hands, what?”
“I certainly hope not,” Duran replied. “I bought two of them for myself.”
“Then you must explain your reasons. Come along to my study and we’ll have a whisky while the servants see to your rooms. Jessica, make certain the gentlemen are settled, will you?”
And thus, she thought, glaring at Duran’s straight back, did the serpent slither into the garden.
Chapter 5
Men were never so provoking as when they failed to do what was expected of them.
Jessica’s expectations had been suitably modest—a diligent pursuit by Duran and disdainful evasion by her. But for three days—not that she was counting—he had brazenly ignored her. If they chanced to encounter each other, he bowed and smiled, but before she could give him the cut direct, he continued by without a word.
Last evening she had joined the gentlemen at dinner, accompanied by a reluctant Mariah, only to find that Duran had abandoned his usual seat near her father for a place clear the other end of the table. Was that a coincidence, or had he learned of her arrangement to be seated across from him?
He appeared to be enjoying himself. Most of the laughter at the table came from the group surrounding him, while she was stuck between her tongue-tied sister and the gout-ridden Lord Marley, who was too busy forking in collops of veal to converse.
Once, as she lifted her glass of wine for a sip, she glanced up to see Duran gazing directly at her. For a few tense moments voices faded and all the air left the room. They seemed to be attached to opposite ends of a magnetized wire. Until he grinned, and she realized she was spilling wine down the bodice of her dress.
Luckily she was wearing red, to match the wine. She covered her humiliation with an observation about the weather to Lord Marley, who grunted a reply, and waited a decent interval before suggesting to Mariah that they withdraw. Her sister, who had toyed with a slice of roast duck for the entire meal, practically bolted from the room, leaving Jessica to make a solitary, dignified exit. Had Duran been paying attention, he would have been impressed.
If his strategy of ignoring her was designed to intrigue, and she expected that it was, he was going to be disappointed. She had no intention whatever of approaching him. Never mind that she sometimes found herself circling him like a shark. It was no more than he deserved for paddling into her territory.
Besides, how else was she to deduce what he was up to? If Duran had come to High Tor merely for the shooting, she would eat an unplucked partridge.
He did shoot, though, every day. At first she watched from a distance, perched on a flat rock atop one of the high tors that gave the estate its name, but she felt uneasy there on her own. Exposed, as if other watchers had secreted themselves
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