He turned to his ward, who'd made no move to accompany Crispin to the stables. "Chloe, if you intend to inspect the dam, I suggest you do so."
He and Jasper waited until Chloe and Crispin had disappeared around the side of the house.
"She always was an ill-mannered brat," Jasper said with clear venom.
Hugo raised an eyebrow and said quietly, "Too ill-mannered to make a suitable wife for your stepson, Jasper? Or would her fortune compensate adequately for any faults in character?"
Jasper's florid complexion deepened, but his eyes were almost opaque as they skidded away from Hugo's direct gaze. "Are you trying to say something, Lattimer?"
Hugo shook his head. "What would I be trying to say, Jasper?"
Jasper smiled his thin smile again and observed with soft insult, "Something seems to have sobered you up, Hugo. I wonder how long it'll last."
"Long enough to see you in hell," Hugo responded pleasantly. He turned his back and remounted his horse. "I'm not interested in the mare at any price. I'm not interested in any dealings with you, Jasper… unless you should be foolish enough to meddle again in my bailiwick."
Jasper's tongue flickered over his lips. "You are mistaken, Hugo. It's you who are meddling in my bailiwick. You did it once before, and I'll be doubly avenged, make no mistake."
Hugo nodded. "So we understand each other. It's always as well to be certain of that."
Chloe and Crispin reappeared, and he called her sharply.
She hurried over. "Are we leaving?"
"Yes, but without the mare." He held down his hand. "Up you come. Put your foot on my boot."
Chloe showed neither surprise nor disappointment at this abrupt, unexpected conclusion to the negotiations. She took his hand, put her foot on his, and sprang upward as he pulled her. She settled on the saddle in front of him.
"Good day, Jasper… Crispin." She smiled down at them with such friendliness, one would believe only pleasantries could ever take place between them. "Thank you for lending me Maid Marion… and for showing me Red Queen. She's beautiful."
"And to think your brother called you an ill-mannered brat," Hugo remarked with a dry smile as they rode off. "When it suits you, you can be impeccably polite."
Chloe chuckled. "I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of thinking I was disappointed. I'm sorry about Maid Marion, but I certainly wouldn't have paid three thousand for her."
"I'm relieved to hear it, since I had no intention of doing so."
"Would he not negotiate?" A hint of wistfulness crept into her voice.
"I didn't attempt it."
"Oh. I suppose you had your reasons."
"I did, lass. But we'll buy you a horse this afternoon. Squire Gillingham has a good stud in Edgecombe. I'm sure he'll have something suitable."
His arm encircled her lightly as he held the reins, and she leaned back against him, fitting herself into his shoulder as naturally as if she always rode in such fashion. The seeming artlessness of her proximity produced
a riot of confused and confusing responses in both mind and body, and Hugo had the unnerving suspicion that Chloe was quite aware of her effect. Every time he persuaded himself she had to be protected as an ingenuous young innocent on the verge of womanhood, she did or said something that proved beyond doubt that in all important matters she had crossed the line long since.
Samuel came out to the courtyard as they rode in. "Took me by surprise, you did," he said gruffly. "I didn't know Sir 'Ugo 'ad said you could go along wi' him."
"I hadn't," Hugo said, dismounting. He reached up to swing Chloe down from her perch.
"He didn't say I could go with him, Samuel," Chloe explained with a sunny smile. "But he didn't say I couldn't either."
Samuel stared at her in bemusement, shaking his head like a dog with a flea in his ear, his mouth ajar as he looked for words.
"Don't even try, Samuel," Hugo said with a wry grin. "When it comes to logic-chopping, the lass can produce the finest examples since Eve ate the apple."
.Hugo was playing the pianoforte before dinner that evening when Chloe came hesitantly into the library. He turned as the door opened, offered her a smile of greeting, and continued with his playing. It had been a long time since he'd played simply for the pleasure of it. a long time since he'd been sufficiently at peace to enjoy the music for its own sake.
Chloe curled into the big wing chair by the window, where she could watch his face as she listened. She was enthralled by the play of emotions flitting across his face as the long, slender fingers drew deep feeling from the notes, bringing the music alive in the room. Dusk encroached as the sun left the last corners of the library,
and his face fell into shadow, but she could still see the mobile mouth, relaxed and half smiling, the long lock of hair flopping over his wide brow.
It occurred to her that there was more than one Hugo contained in that powerful frame. She'd enjoyed the easygoing, humorous companion; she'd felt the sting of the authoritarian commander; and once she'd known the man of passion. Now there was Hugo the musician. Perhaps it was in this form that all the others came together and found expression.
Hugo stopped playing and turned toward her, resting one forearm on the top of the instrument. "Did they teach you to play at that seminary?"
"Oh, yes. I have all the accomplishments," she assured him earnestly.
Hugo stifled his smile. "Well, let me hear you." He stood up and gestured to the bench.
"But I couldn't play that piece," she said, rising with great reluctance.
"I wouldn't expect you to. It's my own composition." He struck tinder and flint and lit the branched candlestick, then moved it so it would fall over the keyboard. "I'll find you something simpler." He riffled through a pile of sheet music and selected,, a familiar folk song with a pretty lilting melody. "Try this."
Chloe sat down, feeling as if she were on trial as he placed the music on the" stand. She flexed her fingers. "I haven't practiced in ages."
"It doesn't matter. Relax and do the best you can." He sat in the chair she'd vacated and closed his eyes, prepared to listen. He opened them very rapidly after the first few bars and his expression became inscrutable.
Chloe finished with a flourish and turned to face him with a smile of triumph. It had been easier than she'd expected.
"Mmm," he said. "That was a slapdash performance, lass."
"It was perfectly correct," she protested. "I know I didn't play a wrong note."
"Oh, no, you were note perfect," he agreed. "Your ability to sight-read is not at issue."
"Then what was wrong with it?" She sounded both hurt and aggrieved.
"Couldn't you tell? You raced through it as if the only thing on your mind was to get it over with as soon as possible."
Chloe chewed her lip. She was not enjoying this, but honesty required that she admit the criticism. "I suppose it's because at the seminary we had to practice until we got a particular piece right. Then we could stop."
Hugo pulled a disgusted face. "So practicing was punishment for failure. Good God, what a criminal way to teach." He stood up. "Your mother was a most accomplished musician… Move up."
"Was she?" Chloe shifted along the bench as he sat beside her. "I never heard her play." His thigh was hard and warm against the thin muslin of her gown, and she kept her leg very still, knowing that the minute he became aware of their proximity he would move away. And that was the last thing she wanted.
The laudanum must have killed the artist as effectively as it killed the mother, he thought sadly, too engrossed in music and his train of thought to be aware for once of the slight, fragrant body so close to his. "She was a harpist as well as a pianist, and she sang like an angel."
"/ can sing," Chloe said, as if this might compensate for her lamentable performance at the keyboard.