Free Fenella Miller by A Dissembler Page A

noxious drafts in order to avoid brain damage!’
    ‘You did not? No, sir, that was unkind of you. I did wonder why you were so long.’
    He grinned. ‘Serves the little baggage right. She must think that I am a veritable greenhorn to be taken in by such antics.’
    His words dropped like an icy shower on both of them. He swore under his breath and sat up, all signs of fatigue miraculously gone. She no longer had the desire to laugh. They stared at each other—assessing—reassessing. Finally he spoke, his tone serious.
    ‘That was stupid of me, was it not? I feared I had revealed rather more of my true nature to you than I intended but still hoped to persuade you that you were mistaken.’
    ‘But I am not. You are no more a town tulip than I am. Why are you dissembling, sir? From whom or what are you hiding?’
    He shook his head. ‘I am sorry, Marianne, I cannot tell you. You will have to trust me. Can you do that?’
    ‘I can.’ She smiled. ‘And I feel far safer knowing your ennui is a facade. If I should need protection from…’ she stopped, appalled, she had been about to remind him why she had been sent packing from Bath.
    He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Protection from the man who seeks to abduct you and force you into marriage?’ She nodded. ‘I can promise you, my dear, that he would take you over my dead body.’ His tone was light but she knew he meant every word of it.
    ‘Thank you, sir. I hope it will not come to that. It is unlikely he will discover my whereabouts in this rural spot.’
    ‘And you will not betray me?’
    ‘No, of course not. In fact I will enjoy baiting you, knowing you cannot retaliate because you are supposed to be too stupid to understand.’
    He chuckled. ‘In public no, but in private that will be a horse of quite a different colour.’
    She giggled, unquashed by his scowl.
    ‘And, that is another thing. I will not be called Sir Theodore, and sir, at every turn. It makes me feel like Methuselah. I am eight and twenty, not in my dotage.’
    ‘Then I am to call you Theodore? Is that not over familiar? I have no wish to be involved in any more breaches of etiquette.’ She tried to sound shocked by his suggestion.
    ‘Then you can call me Cousin Theo if you prefer, after all we are related in some way or other.’
    ‘Very well, Cousin Theo it is. And you may call me Cousin Marianne.’
    His eyebrows rose. ‘Indeed I shall not. From henceforth you are Marianne. I am your guardian; it is for me to decide how I should address you.’
    ‘Am I to have no say in it?’
    ‘None at all.’ He grinned. ‘As I am so much bigger than you it will be impossible for you to stop me calling you anything I care to. If you do not like Marianne, perhaps there is another soubriquet I can use?’
    Colour drained from her face. Was she to be made to answer to Martha Frasier again? Instantly he was on his feet, his face concerned.
    ‘What is it? Are you unwell again? You have gone so white.’
    ‘I felt a little faint that is all. It has been a morning of too many shocks and too much excitement.’
    Relieved, he leant down and ruffled her hair, which was already in disarray. ‘I suppose I had better have Lady Arabella transferred to her barouche and escort her home. What her poor parents will make of all this I shudder to think.’
    ‘I am sure Lady Arabella would much prefer her accident to remain a secret. Emily told me that her parents worry overmuch as she is their only child. If you were to accompany her, might not it give the wrong impression? They could misinterpret your concern for something else entirely.’
    ‘I am not about to be trapped in parson’s mousetrap so easily, but I take your point.’
    She allowed him to pull her up from her chair, his light clasp sending unexpected tingles up her arms. ‘I was sorry I missed my breakfast this morning but now I am glad that I did.’
    ‘And so, my dear, am I. Shall we try again tomorrow? I doubt either Miss Grierson or Lady