Free Time's Fool by Patricia Veryan

Quality was assaulted by crude animals?”
    Politely stifling a yawn, Naomi sank into a chair. “I am very tired, sir. Might this not wait until morning?”
    The earl watched her. The rich satin dressing gown clung to her shapely figure, and her hair, brushed free of powder, glowed in a rich chestnut-brown cloud about her lovely face. She was a vexatious and defiant chit, not yet broken to bridle, but in a way he was proud of her spirit, and certainly she was a credit to him. Controlling his burning impatience, he crossed to the sideboard, poured a glass of wine and carried it to her. “No, it might not wait ’til morning. Here. This will restore you. And let me hear no missish airs about its being the first you’ve ever tasted.”
    Naomi sipped the wine, then said demurely, “As you say, Papa.”
    He gave a faintly amused grunt, and returned to prop his broad shoulders against the mantel. “Well?”
    â€œI think you have already questioned Roger Coach—”
    â€œThe man’s a dolt. I’ll have it from you, if you please. And firstly, I’ll know what the devil you were doing frippering around Canterbury Cathedral.”
    â€œImproving my mind, sir. I was so long out of England there is much I’ve not seen of my own land.”
    â€œYou shall see it when you’ve my permission, and are properly chaperoned.”
    â€œWith all due respect, Papa, I am of age and—”
    â€œAnd are a lady of Quality, and will behave like one.”
    â€œLa, but you are become very prim of a sudden.”
    â€œPerhaps. But I have told you before that what I countenanced in Italy will not do in England. Never flash your eyes at me like that, my girl! You’re not too grown up to be spanked, I’ll remind you, and so long as you dwell under my roof, you’ll obey me!”
    Pale with anger, she said, “On the day you raise your hand to me, sir, I shall leave your roof. I am not cut of the same cloth as poor Mama.”
    The earl’s lips set tightly and he took a pace towards her. She saw the fine eyes narrow with wrath, and her heart beat faster. “Besides,” she went on, struggling to keep her voice steady, “had I been accompanied by three chaperones and Falcon’s hound, they would have availed me nothing. The thieves were waiting for us and we were surrounded before Roger had a chance to so much as think of his blunderbuss.”
    â€œWaiting for you? What the deuce d’you mean by that?”
    â€œI mean that they were evidently hiding in the shrubs, waiting for some likely looking coach to come along.” Puzzled by such a silly question, she added, “Whatever did you think?”
    He shrugged. “I suppose I must admit ’twas a fortunate circumstance that you met the Falcons. I’ve no love for the half-breed, but at least he was able to prevent your being robbed. He knows one end of a pistol from t’other, certainly.” He had seen her irked frown and said slyly, “Alas, and I have offended Madame Tolerance. I should have used his proper title, I collect. ‘The Mandarin’ then, is that acceptable?”
    She said with cold emphasis, “August Falcon’s grandmama on his mother’s side was the daughter of a Chinese princess and a Russian nobleman. His grandfather was English, as were his father’s parents. I believe that would result in his having less than one-fourth mixed blood. Furthermore, if her portrait is even a remotely close likeness, Mrs. Natasha Falcon must have been the most beautiful lady in London, half-breed or no, and I—”
    â€œShe was ravishing, and if you fancy that makes her grandson one jot more acceptable, disabuse your mind of the notion. What is it, m’dear? Have you a fondness for his fortune? An inducement, and he’s a handsome young devil, I admit, but I’ll not give my consent to an alliance in that direction, and so I warn