Page 11 of Claws and Contrivances
“Why not let him look after her for now?” Georgie suggested. “He of all people ought to know how to manage this sort of creature, and Mama can’t insist that he attend upon Sir Gareth.”
“But ...” Rose bit her lip. Even after so brief an acquaintance, it did seem unlikely that Mr Aubrey would mistreat a dragon. Still, the memory of those hidden, raw marks on the dragon’s legs was painfully vivid. “I’m not quite certain ...”
For the first time since he had glimpsed the dragon, Mr Aubrey looked directly at Rose. “I shall keep her safe,” he said as he rose to his feet. “You may rely upon me for that.”
He really was startlingly tall. Even standing two steps above him on the staircase, Rose had to tip her head back to meet his bespectacled green gaze. It must have been that slightly off-kilter angle that made her chest tighten in such a disconcerting fashion; that or the sheer intensity of his focused attention, now that it was turned in her direction.
She couldn’t step away without abandoning both the dragon and her dignity, so she drew herself up higher instead. “Very well. But you mustn’t take your eyes off her for an instant.”
For the first time since they’d met, a spark of humour glinted in Mr Aubrey’s pale green eyes. His lips curved. “I assure you, paying attention to a dragon shouldn’t present too great a difficulty for me.”
“Well ... good.” Blinking rapidly, Rose broke free of his gaze. “I’ll be back soon,” she promised the dragon. Then she clattered down the steps in an unladylike rush to join her cousin. “Quickly!”
“As you say.” Georgie straightened away from the wall where she’d been lounging, heedless of her wrinkling gown. “I call dibs on the seat furthest from Serena, though, just in case she does sing after all.”
Rose winced. “Let’s hope not.”
Serena’s magnificently operatic soprano could have easily blasted through the largest and most crowded of city theatres. Unfortunately, she disdained ever to lower her volume for the unromantic sake of small, low-ceilinged family rooms or intimate occasions ... with deafening results.
Fortunately, when they approached the front parlour a few minutes later, no throbbing arias could be heard through the closed door. Unfortunately, Rose heard something worse.
“... Ah, yes, Miss Tregarth.” That was, unmistakably, Sir Gareth’s deep voice, undercut with a mocking edge. “No, we haven’t yet been formally introduced, but ...”
Rose flung open the door. “Are we terribly late?” She aimed a dazzling smile at the room as a whole.
Young Rupert, of course, had been swept away by his nanny, to be kept safely out of sight of company, but poor Uncle Parry was scowling and scrunched miserably into an armchair at the very back of the room. At least Aunt Parry was doing her best to look hostess-y and attentive, with black ink smeared across one of her cheekbones, her topknot sagging at a dangerous angle. Cwtch sat alertly by her feet. Beth was flattened against the couch beside Aunt Parry, wide-eyed and pale with the nauseating nerves that always assailed her in wider company, but Serena leaned forwards on Aunt Parry’s other side like a flower stretching towards the sun as she gazed at the gentleman who lounged on another settee, balancing a chipped teacup and saucer in his hands.
“Ah, Sir Gareth!” Rose dropped a graceful curtsey in his direction, beaming even harder. “Aunt—Uncle—I meant to tell you that I’d come across our new neighbour in an outing earlier today. Such a delightful surprise!”
“Indeed.” Sir Gareth’s eyes narrowed. “That—”
“Oh, well, that explains it, then.” Aunt Parry smiled warmly at Rose, beckoning her forwards. “Do find a comfortable seat now. And you, too, Georgie, dear. Sir Gareth, you’ve already met our lovely niece. This is our daughter Georgiana.”
“Miss Georgiana. A ... pleasure, I am sure.” Sir Gareth’s upper lip curled, faintly but unmistakably, as his gaze ran over Georgie’s rumpled gown, cropped-short hair, and the stiff, graceless curtsey that she reluctantly dropped.
Rose’s teeth set hard behind her smile as she watched him. Had she actually felt fear of this man earlier? Her feelings shifted into gloriously liberating contempt as she linked her arm firmly with Georgie’s and towed her taller cousin towards the nearest sofa with her chin held high.
“It’s all right, coz.” Laughter lurked in Georgie’s tone as she whispered her words into Rose’s ear. “You needn’t glare daggers at him for my sake, I promise you. I’m no fair maiden in need of protection.”
“Hmph.” Rose would do a good deal for her family, but she would not ignore slights to any of them ... especially from this source. As she took her seat on the sofa, she turned her gaze back to Sir Gareth, once again taking note of the deep scratches along the back of the hand that he used to hold his saucer and the telltale hint of a burn that peeked just above the black cuff of his jacket. “Oh, dear,” she said sweetly. “Sir Gareth, you appear to have suffered some dreadful injuries!”
“What?” He blinked, then followed her gaze. “Oh, that? It’s nothing.” Grimacing, he tugged the cuff of his jacket a fraction higher.
“Oh, no,” Serena breathed. “I can see them, too. Poor Sir Gareth! Whatever happened to you? Were you attacked? How exquisitely painful that must have been. Do tell!”
“It was nothing. Only ... I was training my newest young hounds for the hunt.” His lips lifted in an unconvincing smile. “Everyone knows how obstreperous puppies can be.”
“Oh, yes,” Aunt Parry said. “Our dear Cwtch was a menace at that age. Do you remember, Humphrey, that time he chewed my manuscript to pieces when he was teething? I must admit, I was cross. Silly old thing!” She reached down to give Cwtch an affectionate rub on his soft ears, and he leaned into her hand with a wide, panting grin.
“I’ve always found that a good, firm beating takes care of that sort of nonsense in short order.” Sir Gareth’s lips twisted as Beth let out an audible gasp, one hand flying to her mouth in horror, and even Serena drew back slightly. “But then, I suppose ladies such as yourself may be more soft-hearted about such matters.”
“You mean soft-headed, do you not?” Georgie drawled. Her lips had curled, too, as if in humour, but Rose, even in the grip of her own seething outrage, knew her cousin too well to be fooled. “Do share, Sir Gareth, all of your finest recommendations for frightening young animals.”
“Georgie! That’s quite enough.” Aunt Parry drew a deep breath as she straightened, leaving Cwtch with one more reassuring pat. “Moving on to more pleasant topics of conversation ...”
“Could those scratches truly have been made by puppies, though?” Serena asked wistfully. “They look so dreadfully painful. Surely puppy claws couldn’t dig deep enough to—”
“Speaking of claws.” Sir Gareth set his teacup and saucer down on the closest side table with an impatient clatter. “We’ve arrived at your particular interest, haven’t we, Parry? I’m surprised not to find a single dragon gracing the shoulders of any of the ladies in this company.”
