Page 174

I t was barely past dawn, and yet Derry had already let herself into Philp's shop.

By the dim light of a single oil lamp, she inspected each of the viscount's clubs for any minute flaw that might affect play.

Once assured that none of the grips were loose or cordings frayed, she ran a cloth dampened with a mixture of linseed oil and pine spirits over the hickory shafts and hawthorn heads to remove any residue of salt or dried mud.

Having passed the scrutiny of both master and caddie, a dozen new featherie balls lay on the adjoining workbench, waiting to be pocketed for play.

She tucked them in her jacket, along with a pouch of sand, then looked around.

There was really nothing else that needed to be done, but to keep busy, she began to polish the forged heads of the irons.

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she worked. It was not difficult to find something to occupy her hands, but it was not nearly so easy to keep her mind engaged on the tasks at hand.

Her thoughts kept straying to things she knew were best forgotten, like the feel of Adrian's lips on hers—their warm gentleness underlying the searing passion…

or the intoxicating scent of him, a subtle mixture of woodsy spice with overnotes of bay rum and leather.

The mere memory of it was doing strange things to her breathing.

Her grip tightened on the cold iron. After today, all she would have of the viscount were memories. She would have to picture in her mind's eye the way the salty gusts ruffled his hair against the upturned collar of his coat or the way his damp linen shirt clung to the corded muscles of his back.

No, that was not entirely true, she realized.

There was one tangible remainder of his brief presence in her life in the carefully folded sheet of paper that was tucked inside her sketchbook.

The thought of it was nearly her undoing, and it took all of her self-control to keep from sobbing aloud.

It was something she would always treasure.

Those deft lines and shadings, so simple, yet so eloquent, showed more than just a masterful talent for mixing color, texture and shape.

They revealed the toplofty English viscount to be, in reality, a true artist, passionate and sensitive as well as boldly original in his thinking.

They also drew a picture of someone who was kind and generous.

That he had taken the time to study her paltry efforts and offer such meaningful suggestions showed him to be far different from the cold, selfish aristocrat she had expected, just as his surprising personal revelations had shown him to be far more vulnerable than she had ever imagined.

He was just the sort of man she had secretly given up hope of ever meeting—one whose intellect and imagination were matched by his compassion and his sensitivity. One for whom she could feel nothing but utmost respect and regard.

The club dropped into her lap. Who was she trying to fool? What she felt for Adrian was something much more than respect or regard. Her lip curled into a mocking grimace.

Lud, she had really made a mull of things by falling in love with an English lord. She supposed she deserved the dull ache that had now settled in her chest for thinking that she was immune to the intricacies of the human heart.

A sound nearby caused her head to come up.

Philp took a seat at his workbench and slowly unfolded a heavy linen napkin on its scarred pine top.

"You had best eat something, lassie. You are going to need your strength.

" He held out a hot scone, refraining from any comment on the trace of a tear or two on her cheek.

"Thank you, Hugh." Derry managed a bite of the rich, raisin-studded pastry and found to her surprise that she was indeed hungry. The rest of it disappeared rather quickly.

A small smile played on his lips. "It's a good sign that you aren't so nervous as to have lost all appetite." He took one of the remaining scones for himself. "So, have you confidence that you and your man have a chance?"

A part of the scone was reduced to crumbs between her fingers. "What Lord Marquand lacks in experience he makes up for in determination, Hugh. And this match is of the utmost importance to him. So, yes, I think we can win. We shall no doubt need a little luck as well as skill, but it can be done."

"I think His Lordship is not the only one with pluck," murmured Philp. "Now best put on that cap of yours before he arrives?—"

"He knows, Hugh."

" What ?" Philp nearly choked on his last bite. "How?"

"He... guessed." She hoped her cheeks were not as flaming as they felt.

"I think he said it had something to do with m-my lips.

But it doesn't matter. I convinced him he had no choice but to keep me as his caddie for today.

" She essayed a note of humor. "At least Master Derry shall take his leave of St. Andrews with a grand flourish—and hopefully with a much plumper pocket. "

"Derry, I hope that?—"

His words were interrupted by Adrian's arrival. "Good morning," he called, rubbing his hands together to ward off the early morning chill. "A bit of a squall has blown in, but it looks to be clearing off shortly."

As he approached the workbench, he paused to sniff the air. "That smells delicious, Miss Edwards, I hope that you are going to share some of your treats with me.” A tinge of color rose to his cheeks as he realized how his easy banter might be interpreted. "Ahhh, that is, what I mean is?—"

Philp saved him from further embarrassment. "I should hope you've taken more than a bite of scone for your breakfast, sir. It's going to be a long day."

"I have," he admitted with a sheepish grin. "My friend Greeley threatened to tie me to my chair until I polished off Cook's porridge, several shirred eggs and a platter of gammon. Falling faint with hunger will not be the worst of my worries."

"Still, you are welcome to the last of Mrs. Hamish's creations. She is accorded to be the best baker in town," said Derry, taking great care to match the viscount's light tone.

"I shall take your word for it." Adrian took a seat next to her—much too close for her own peace of mind.

She quickly looked back down at golf club in her lap, in hopes that his perceptive gray-green eyes would not see what she feared was so clearly written on her face.

Philp picked up his pipe and stowed it in one of his pockets.

"I had best toddle along and fetch Duncan Brewster from his table.

" He gave a curt nod to the viscount. "As captain of the Society of St. Andrews Golfers, he shall serve as judge for the match.

He's a good man—an authority on the rules and scrupulously fair. "

"Above temptation as well?" asked Adrian in low voice. "The marquess would no doubt be willing to be quite generous."

"Aye, you may count on his honesty. Of that I'm certain."

"Good. Now, I only hope that I may count on my own rather suspect skill as well."

"You have become a good golfer, sir. Stay focused and relaxed. Remember to think of the shot at hand, rather than the outcome and you shall do fine. Oh, and between shots, try to think of something other than golf."

The master looked slowly from the viscount to his caddie. "I have a feeling in these old bones that all is going to turn out well, milord." With that, he took his leave. "You are expected at the first hole at eight," he added over his shoulder before closing the door. "Don't be late."

Derry's head was still bent, the iron in her hands fast becoming burnished to a silvery glow.

Adrian began to toy with the grip of his putter. "All is in readiness?" he asked, more to break the silence than because he feared she might forget anything.

She nodded, still not daring to look up.

There was a slight stirring as he shifted his seat on the bench.

"You know, with all the recent, er, events, I have not had a chance to properly thank you for all you have done.

It cannot have been an easy task, putting up with my clumsy efforts and foul moods, not to speak of the sort of rough teasing I would not have dreamed of inflicting upon a lady's ears. "

He cleared his throat. "I-I know you have soldiered through it out of loyalty to Mr. Philp and the young ladies who have suffered at the hands of Hertford, rather than out of any regard for me, but nonetheless, I am terribly grateful for your help.

Without it I am well aware I wouldn't stand a chance. "

There was another fraction of a pause. "I would hope that in spite all our differences and disagreements, we might cry friends."

Friends? Oh, how she wished they might be much more than that.

However, she supposed she must be satisfied with it.

After all, a hoydenish little hellion was hardly likely to inspire any more passionate response when the viscount had his choices among the glittering London Diamonds of the First Water.

"Of course." Her voice was carefully schooled to reveal none of her inner turmoil. "I have thought of us as a... a team for some time now, sir."

He gave a strange smile. "Have you now? I am glad to hear it."

Despite a firm resolve to keep a cool demeanor, she couldn't help but ask, "I imagine that whatever the outcome, you will be leaving St. Andrews as soon as the match is over?"

"Yes, Rafe and I must return to London as soon as possible.

I'll be hard pressed as it is to finish the preliminary sketches for the duke's commission, and he—well, he and his cousin will be setting out for the war on the Peninsula.

And yet, despite all his worries, he chose to come north with me, to offer moral support. "

"He sounds like a very nice and brave gentleman. And a loyal friend."

"Aye, he is the very best of men," said Adrian.

They sat for a moment in silence.