Chapter 22
    “What the hell were you doing down there?” Spider demanded, his lip curling.
“Minding my own business; something you seem incapable of,” she said haughtily.
“You let him kiss you—on the mouth,” he accused.
“I did,” she added, silently relieved he hadn’t realized she had been half naked.
“Did you worm out of him what he’s been up to the last three days or were you preoccupied with other things? Did he tell you he took possession of that Dutchman we looted? Did he tell you he captured a Frenchie plundering the estates along the coast by Penryn? They slip across from Brittany all the time, but they’ve never been caught before. He must have eyes in his arse. We’ll have to be more cautious. He means to enforce the law.”
She pushed away a quiver of apprehension, knowing full well that if you played with fire, you eventually got burned. Her eyes fell upon the tall weeds growing everywhere. “Well, if we are to have any vegetables at all this year, I’ll have to tend the garden today. Is that an innocuous enough occupation to suit you?”
He grinned at her, all animosity forgotten. “I’ll help you,” he offered.
Summer was mortified to her bones as she looked up from kneeling in the dirt to see Mr. Burke approaching her. She jumped up to brush the soil from her hands and her faded, drab gown. She wore a rag over her hair and she touched it self-consciously as Mr. Burke said, “Good afternoon, my lady.”
She glanced at Spider, kneeling in his usual raggy attire, and her heart sank. The game was up! When Helford’s servant reported to him about the overgrown tangle and air of shabby decay at Roseland, Ruark would cease to be interested in her.
“Lord Helford requests your company at dinner tonight, Lady Summer. The invitation naturally includes your brother, Lord Spencer.”
She was flushed and stammered a futile excuse, yet not by a look or a word did Mr. Burke indicate anything was amiss. “We accept,” said Spider coldly. Summer gasped.
“Very good, sir. Lord Helford will expect you at six.” Mr. Burke bowed politely and took his leave.
“Are you mad?” Summer cried, then she sank down on her knees among the cabbages and cried.
Later, as she dressed for dinner at Helford Hall she wondered just how she would face him. She had toyed with the idea of refusing to go, but if she didn’t show up, he would probably come and get her and his actually seeing Roseland would be worse than hearing of it from Mr. Burke.
“Cat, where’s my suit?” called Spider.
“What suit?” she asked absently.
“That black velvet thing you brought from London.”
She took the beautifully tailored suit and soft, black thigh boots into his room and selected a white shirt which wasn’t too frayed from his wardrobe. “You’ll have to remember to call me Summer tonight, not Cat, and even worse than that, I’m going to call you Spencer,” she warned.
He glowered at her with dark brows as she watched the clothes transform him from an urchin into a fashionable young gallant. Arrogance was written all over him and she was suddenly afraid he would demand to know what Helford’s intentions were regarding her. She sighed. It wouldn’t really matter if Mr. Burke had had a chance to disclose their poverty.
What a little fool she’d been this morning to lie in his arms naked to the waist. Tonight she’d face exposure of another kind and she needed the courage of a magnificent gown. It would have to be the crimson velvet whose skirt was shaped like an inverted tulip and the low-cut décolletage was shaped like delicate petals cupping her breasts.
She surveyed herself in the old mirror which needed resilvering and longed for rubies to clasp about her neck.
Spencer rode the big bay gelding, taking his sister up before him. Before she entered the hall she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and entered with all the pride of a cat.
As Mr. Burke took her wrapper he let one eyelid slowly close. She looked at him in disbelief and her spirits dared to rise. By St. Jude the Martyr, he didn’t intend to tell Ruark Helford her secret. They were conspirators and it felt wonderful. She glanced back at her brother and her spirits plummeted again. She could see he was spoiling for a fight. As he surveyed Lord Helford with narrowed eyes and curled lip, he looked like a lean hound with raised hackles.
Ruark came forward to greet her and she prayed that he would not kiss her … kiss her on the mouth as Spider had so quaintly put it. Ruark’s eyes warmed her and told her without words how beautiful she looked. Then he took her hand, turned up the palm, and placed a kiss within.
“Lord Ruark Helford, meet my brother, Lord Spencer St. Catherine.”
The greetings were low murmurs exchanged stiffly as they measured each other warily. Drinks before they went in to dinner were offered and accepted with impeccable politeness, and Summer thought she would scream if this frosty formality went on much longer.
When at last they went in to dine, her heart was warmed by the lovely cream-colored roses Ruark had set by her plate and they exchanged swift, meaningful glances. He tried not to stare at her, but it was difficult. She was exquisite as a cameo. And she had an elusive quality about her that was so hard to define. What was it? Fascination, he decided.
The tension in the air between the two men was so thick you could have cut it with a knife. Whatever subject their host broached, Spencer managed to work into his reply that his sister, Lady Summer, had led a most sheltered life and was unused to men and men’s wicked ways. He was more pointedly protective than any parent would have been and Summer was mortified that her brother was making it insultingly plain he was preserving her overripe virginity.