around her, a queen at court. She touched her grey hair as if adjusting a crown. Most of the small company had abandoned their card playing to gather around her and hear about her mysterious rescuer.
"He was all of these things," she said, her voice low with portent. "And more." The ladies around her sighed.
Annabella bit her lip. She should not be listening to gossip, and she knew Lady Bowerland had a taste for dramatics, but she could not help wondering if this Cavalier who came to Lord and Lady Bowerland's rescue was the same one who had come to hers . . . and had kissed her. Annabella's cheeks became warm, and she bit her lip again, this time to repress the tingling she felt on them at the memory. Well, it was not gossip, really, for Lady Bowerland was not relating something she had heard from someone else, but her own experience.
Lord Bowerland snorted and slapped down a playing card. "I do not see how you could have seen what he looked like, Edna. He was masked, and it was dark as pitch last night, except for the moonlight. He could dashed well have been platter-faced for all we know." He turned his attenion back to the card table and the gentleman with him.
Lady Bowerland cast him an irritated look. "Well, then, he was tall—"
"Not much more than middling height, I'd say," Lord Bowerland said over his shoulder. "Your turn, Wentworth." He nodded to the dark-haired gentleman next to him.
Mr. Wentworth flicked a brief look toward Lady Bowerland, then pushed some guineas in front of him. "Five," he said. "And I stand."
Annabella glanced at him. Mr. Wentworth was a young man—not above five-and-twenty, she was sure, and aloof in his manner. He seemed almost unfriendly, for he merely looked coolly at one when he spoke to him, and said little. It was a pity, really, for though his skin was sadly brown, and his hair was black and tied back into an old-fashioned queue, he was not uncomely. She turned her attention back to Lady Bowerland.
Her ladyship let out an impatient breath. "You cannot deny he was very strong, Albert!"
A fanatical light sparked in Lord Bowerland's eye as he turned once more toward his wife. "Now that is something I'll not argue, my dear. Charged up on that pale horse of his like a demon from the nether realms, and knocked that highwayman flat in no time at all. Good science, no wind-milling at all. Straight on the chin. Had good, broad shoulders on him, from what I could tell. Probably strips to advantage, I'd say—wouldn't mind seeing him in the ring against, oh, what say you, Carlyle—Big Jim Brown?"
"Wouldn't be a match at all, if the Cavalier's of only middle height. I'll take a card and . . . yes, I'll raise you seven," said Lord Carlyle, a portly, middle-aged man.
A morose expression spread itself over Lord Bower-land's face. "Dash it all. I'll wager you have that court card I was looking for." He tossed his cards down on the table. Lord Carlyle grinned and showed his hand—including a queen. "Wentworth—your cards?" Lord Bowerland asked.
Mr. Wentworth blinked, as if he'd been thinking of other things than the game before him. He put down his cards.
"Deuce take it! Beat me to flinders!" exclaimed Lord Carlyle.
"Looks like your luck is in, Wentworth," Lord Bowerland said at the same time.
Lady Bowerland shuddered. "I wish you would not talk of such vulgar things as prizefighting, Albert." Lord Bowerland only shrugged.
"Could you tell what color his costume was, Lady Bowerland?" Annabella asked. She had the peculiar feeling that she was being watched, and looked through the corner of her eyes at Mr. Wentworth. He looked quickly down at the pile of coins in front of him. Annabella almost thought that a slight pink tinged his cheeks, but she could not be sure, for his sun-browned skin obscured any other color that might have appeared there.
"Alas, Miss Smith, I could not tell," Lady Bowerland said and shook her head. "The moon was bright, but all I can say is that his costume was
"He was all of these things," she said, her voice low with portent. "And more." The ladies around her sighed.
Annabella bit her lip. She should not be listening to gossip, and she knew Lady Bowerland had a taste for dramatics, but she could not help wondering if this Cavalier who came to Lord and Lady Bowerland's rescue was the same one who had come to hers . . . and had kissed her. Annabella's cheeks became warm, and she bit her lip again, this time to repress the tingling she felt on them at the memory. Well, it was not gossip, really, for Lady Bowerland was not relating something she had heard from someone else, but her own experience.
Lord Bowerland snorted and slapped down a playing card. "I do not see how you could have seen what he looked like, Edna. He was masked, and it was dark as pitch last night, except for the moonlight. He could dashed well have been platter-faced for all we know." He turned his attenion back to the card table and the gentleman with him.
Lady Bowerland cast him an irritated look. "Well, then, he was tall—"
"Not much more than middling height, I'd say," Lord Bowerland said over his shoulder. "Your turn, Wentworth." He nodded to the dark-haired gentleman next to him.
Mr. Wentworth flicked a brief look toward Lady Bowerland, then pushed some guineas in front of him. "Five," he said. "And I stand."
Annabella glanced at him. Mr. Wentworth was a young man—not above five-and-twenty, she was sure, and aloof in his manner. He seemed almost unfriendly, for he merely looked coolly at one when he spoke to him, and said little. It was a pity, really, for though his skin was sadly brown, and his hair was black and tied back into an old-fashioned queue, he was not uncomely. She turned her attention back to Lady Bowerland.
Her ladyship let out an impatient breath. "You cannot deny he was very strong, Albert!"
A fanatical light sparked in Lord Bowerland's eye as he turned once more toward his wife. "Now that is something I'll not argue, my dear. Charged up on that pale horse of his like a demon from the nether realms, and knocked that highwayman flat in no time at all. Good science, no wind-milling at all. Straight on the chin. Had good, broad shoulders on him, from what I could tell. Probably strips to advantage, I'd say—wouldn't mind seeing him in the ring against, oh, what say you, Carlyle—Big Jim Brown?"
"Wouldn't be a match at all, if the Cavalier's of only middle height. I'll take a card and . . . yes, I'll raise you seven," said Lord Carlyle, a portly, middle-aged man.
A morose expression spread itself over Lord Bower-land's face. "Dash it all. I'll wager you have that court card I was looking for." He tossed his cards down on the table. Lord Carlyle grinned and showed his hand—including a queen. "Wentworth—your cards?" Lord Bowerland asked.
Mr. Wentworth blinked, as if he'd been thinking of other things than the game before him. He put down his cards.
"Deuce take it! Beat me to flinders!" exclaimed Lord Carlyle.
"Looks like your luck is in, Wentworth," Lord Bowerland said at the same time.
Lady Bowerland shuddered. "I wish you would not talk of such vulgar things as prizefighting, Albert." Lord Bowerland only shrugged.
"Could you tell what color his costume was, Lady Bowerland?" Annabella asked. She had the peculiar feeling that she was being watched, and looked through the corner of her eyes at Mr. Wentworth. He looked quickly down at the pile of coins in front of him. Annabella almost thought that a slight pink tinged his cheeks, but she could not be sure, for his sun-browned skin obscured any other color that might have appeared there.
"Alas, Miss Smith, I could not tell," Lady Bowerland said and shook her head. "The moon was bright, but all I can say is that his costume was
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