A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(24)

Thorne cursed silently. If all Miss Taylor’s friends knew the truth, they’d thank him. He was only trying to protect her from a far more dangerous threat.

The Gramercys.

It made no sense that the family would so eagerly take up residence in Spindle Cove, and even less sense that Lord Drewe himself would remain. Thorne could only conclude the marquess was reluctant to let Miss Taylor out of his sight. Why would he feel so protective of an illegitimate second cousin?

Higher mathematics might not be his strength, but he knew when something didn’t add up.

“Corporal Thorne!” Rufus Bright called down from the turret. “Miss Taylor’s climbing up the path.”

Thorne dismissed the men with a curt nod. “That will be all. Go assist Sir Lewis with the trebuchet.”

The men groaned. But they obeyed, crossing through an arch and wandering out to the bluffs where Sir Lewis Finch had his monstrosity erected.

Spindle Cove denizens whispered a prayer whenever the aging, eccentric Sir Lewis approached a trigger, a fuse, a powder charge—or in this case, a medieval catapult designed to lay whole cities to waste. However, instead of launching flaming balls of pitch over fortified walls, this trebuchet’s sole purpose was lobbing melons out to sea. Just a bit of show for the midsummer fair.

The mechanics of the ancient weapon were apparently more sensitive and twitchy than a virgin’s inner thigh. A great many test runs were needed before it would be ready.

Sir Lewis’s sonorous baritone carried over the castle ruins. “Ready, men! Three . . . two . . .”

A great whomping and whooshing noise coincided with the count of one, as the men released the trebuchet’s counterweight. The sling made its groaning orbit upward, then lurched to a halt and sent its missile soaring in the direction of the sea.

In the direction of the sea. Not all the way there.

From the loud squelch that followed, the thing couldn’t have flown more than fifty feet before smashing to pulp on the rocks.

“Corporal Thorne?”

“Miss Taylor.” She’d appeared out of nowhere while he was distracted, Badger nosing at her heels.

“I’ve a matter to discuss with you. Can we have a private word?”

He led her through the remains of a crumbled archway and around a low sandstone wall. It was a place apart, but not enclosed. The armory was no place for her, and he damned well couldn’t take her into his quarters alone.

If he got her anywhere near a bed . . . this temporary engagement could all too easily become permanent.

God, just look at her this morning. The sunlight gave her hair hints of cinnamon and threw gold sparks in her eyes. The exertion of a steep climb up the bluffs showed her slight figure to its best advantage. And the heart-shaped mark at her temple . . . it was the worst and best of everything. It made him painfully aware she wasn’t some unearthly apparition, but a flesh-and-blood woman who’d warm in his embrace.

None of this was for him, he reminded himself. Not the careful curl of her hair, nor the spotless new gloves that gave her hands the look of bleached starfish. She wore a pale blue frock that seemed more froth than muslin. A border of delicate ivory lace trimmed the low, squared neckline. He shouldn’t be noticing that lace. Much less staring at it.

He wrenched his gaze up to her face. “What’s wrong? What do you need?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Except that I’m not accustomed to having a puppy for a roommate.”

“Ready to give him back, then?”

“Not a chance. I adore him.” She bent to give the dog a brisk rub. “But how do I keep him from chewing things?”

“You don’t. It’s what he’s born to do—chase down small animals and rip them apart.”

“My. What a little savage.”

He pulled a handful of rabbit hide twists from his pocket. He tossed one to the dog, then offered the rest to her. “Give him these, one at a time. They should last a few days, at least.”

“Can I buy more at the shop when these are gone?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t purchase them.”

He expected her to give the knotted bits of scraped hide a faintly disgusted look, now that she knew just where they’d originated. Instead, she regarded him with the same soft, liquid eyes she used on the pup.

“You had all those prepared? She must have been right. You do value this dog.”

“What? Who must be right?”

She pocketed the extra rabbit hide scraps. “Sally Bright told me—”

“Sally Bright says a lot of things.”

“—that you had a puppy on order from a breeder. Bred from some kind of superior hunting stock. She said the pups come very dear. Corporal Thorne, if Badger means something to you, I’ll give him back. I just need to know he’ll be cared for.”

Not this again. “The dog is mine. That’s all I should need to say.”

“What’s so horrible about admitting a fondness for the creature? I’m a music tutor, as you well know, and music is just another language. Unfamiliar phrases come easier with practice. Say it with me now, slowly: ‘I care about the dog.’ ”

He didn’t say a thing.

“That’s a very intimidating scowl,” she teased. “Do you practice that look in the mirror? I’ll bet you do. I’ll bet you glare into the looking glass until it shatters.”