To Taste Temptation (Legend of the Four Soldiers #1)(50)

She pursed her lips, watching Jasper caper about. “Maybe he didn’t have any fear.”

Sam slowly shook his head. “Only fools have no fear at all in battle, and Lord Vale is no fool.”

“Then he is an accomplished actor.”

“Perhaps.”

“Our rescuers!” Lady Hasselthorpe flew at them, her pale hands fluttering helplessly. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Hartley and Lady Emeline. You’ve saved my little alfresco party from disaster.”

Sam smiled and bowed.

“And you?” Lady Emeline asked quietly as their hostess flitted about, getting in the footmen’s way.

Sam glanced at her in question.

“How do you face death?” she clarified, her voice so low only he could hear.

He felt his face freeze. “As well as I might.”

She shook her head gently. “I think you must’ve been just as much a hero as Jasper in battle.”

He looked away. He could not meet her eyes. “There are no heroes on the battlefield, my lady; there are only survivors.”

“You’re modest—”

“No.” His voice was too intense, he knew. He was in danger of drawing attention. But he could not banter about this subject, of all things. “I am not a hero.”

“Emmie!” Lord Vale hailed them. “Come have some pigeon pie before it is all devoured. I have risked my very life to save you a slice or two. I fear the roast chicken is already disappeared.”

Sam nodded to Vale, but he leaned down and whispered in Lady Emeline’s ear before he led her there, because it was important she not have any illusions about him.

“Don’t ever think me a hero.”

Chapter Ten

So all of the things that the old wizard had promised came to pass. Iron Heart lived in a wonderful castle with Princess Solace as his bride. He had purple and crimson clothes to wear, and there were servants everywhere to wait upon him. Of course, he still could not speak, for that would break the promise he’d made the wizard, but Iron Heart found that silence was not such a very bad hardship. After all, a soldier is rarely asked his opinion....

—from Iron Heart

“That scowl on your face does not become you,” Melisande murmured the next morning.

Emeline tried to smooth her forehead, but she had a feeling her irritation still showed through. She was watching Samuel, after all. “I wish you had come down yesterday instead of today.”

Melisande raised an eyebrow fractionally. “Had I known that you would pine for my company, I would’ve, dear. Is that why your mood is so gray?”

Emeline sighed and interlocked her arm with her friend’s. “No. My mood has nothing at all to do with you except as you make me feel calmer.”

They stood on the long mown lawn at the back of Hasselthorpe House. Half of the house party had assembled here for target shooting, the other half having chosen to go into the nearby town to see what sights there were. Painted canvas targets were being erected at the far end of the lawn by footmen. Behind the targets were straw bundles to catch the balls that were fired. The gentlemen who intended to participate were standing about showing off their weapons to admiring ladies who were, of course, to be the audience.

“Mr. Hartley’s gun is awfully long,” Melisande commented. “No doubt that is why you are glaring at him so ferociously.”

“Why does he have to stand apart?” Emeline muttered. She picked fretfully at her rose and green striped skirts. “It’s as if the man goes out of his way to be different from the other gentlemen. I declare he does it just to aggravate me.”

“Yes, that’s probably the first thing he thinks about when he wakes in the morning. ‘How shall I go about aggravating Lady Emeline today?’”

Emeline looked at her friend, who was staring back with innocent wide brown eyes. “I’m being a ninny, aren’t I?”

“Now, dear, I didn’t say ninny—”

“No, but you didn’t have to.” Emeline sighed. “I brought something that I want to show you.”

Melisande looked at her, brows raised. “Oh?”

“It’s a book of fairy tales that my old nanny used to read to us. I found it recently, but I think it’s written in German. Can you translate it for me?”

“I can try,” her friend said. “But I won’t promise anything. My German is only fair, and there are many words I don’t know. A product of learning it from my mother and not a book.”

Emeline nodded. Melisande’s mother had been a Prussian who had never entirely learned English, despite marrying at the age of seventeen, and Melisande had grown up speaking both German and English. “Thank you.”

The targets in place, the last footman began to walk toward the shooting party. The gentlemen bent their heads together in a grave manner, evidently deciding in what order they should shoot.

“I don’t know why he causes all intelligent thought to flee my mind.” Emeline realized she was glowering at Samuel again.

Unlike the other gentlemen, he didn’t make a show of aiming his weapon and such. He held his rifle with the butt resting on the ground as he stood casually, one hip cocked. He caught her eye and nodded, unsmiling. Emeline looked quickly away, but she could still see in her mind’s eye his plain brown coat, the now-familiar dull leather leggings, and the wind ruffling the hair on his bare head. Nothing about his dress recommended him. Even with the other gentlemen attired for shooting in the country, Samuel could’ve been a servant, so much more plain were his clothes. And yet, she had to exert her will to refrain from looking at him again.