Maggie MacKeever by Lady Sweetbriar Page A

workmen was a fair example, Lady Sweetbriar was the greatest curiosity of them all. Gratified, she winked.
    Alerted by the unanimously gawking expressions displayed by his underlings, Sir Avery turned. His aristocratic features expressed neither pleasure nor surprise. “Eek!” squealed Lady Sweetbriar, and promptly turned her ankle. “Minx!” responded Sir Avery, and caught her before she fell. Prudently he dismissed the workmen, then seated Nikki in what she decided must be the South Sea Islanders’ version of a throne.
    Before he could elude her, Lady Sweetbriar flung her arms around her fiancé’s shoulders. “Oh, this wretched ankle! But I cannot censure it too severely, for if I did not have it, we would never have met.”
    “What a melancholy thought.” Sir Avery sought to disengage himself. “Still, I daresay you would have devised some other means to put yourself in my way, had your ankle not served you, my dear.”
    Lady Sweetbriar took offense neither at her fiancé’s reading of her character, which if unflattering was correct; nor at his attempts to free himself. Instead of reading him a scold, she nuzzled his cheek. “'Tis almost like when we first met!” she whispered. “Except that I am seated and you are on your feet! Now if you would only—”
    “You may save your breath: I shan’t!” Sir Avery, who was not nearly so unworldly as his daughter thought him, gently but firmly removed himself from Lady Sweetbriar’s clutch. “Not until after the knot is tied. You are a conniving wench, Nikki. No, I do not mind it. So long as you do not try and bamboozle me.”
    Perhaps it was her prickly conscience that caused Lady Sweetbriar to wince, perhaps the bruised ankle upon which she put her weight in an attempt to prevent Sir Avery from moving away. Temporarily defeated, she sank back down on her throne. “I fear I have bamboozled you just a teeny bit, Avery. Pray do not interrupt; I must speak of it. I do not wish to, precisely; indeed, I would not, did not I think some old cat might recall— Well! You know already that I like prizefights, and that I have trod the boards—but I fear my past is—er, not quite the thing.”
    “Now you are being a pea-goose. Why should I care for your past, Nikki?” Having achieved a safe distance, Sir Avery folded his arms across his chest and looked saturnine. “What has brought you to me today? China rugs, or bric-a-brac?”
    Lady Sweetbriar bade her conscience cease tormenting her; she had tried to make a clean breast of her misdemeanors, and had been told to let the subject drop. “If I am keeping you from your work, you need only say so, Avery.” Charmingly, she smiled. “Since you ask, I am on my way to Morgan and Sanders of Catherine Street, off the Strand—you know, Trafalgar House! Or so they style themselves, because they supplied furniture to Nelson—and I thought that since I have not seen you for several days, I should seek you out.”
    “To inquire if I still wish to marry you?” Sir Avery had moved to inspect the results of the workmen’s efforts. He gave the kangaroo one last nudge then stopped back. “Should I change my mind, I will inform you of it, Nikki. Since I am not prone to vacillation, I think you may act your mind at rest.”
    Fervently, Lady Sweetbriar wished she could do just that. “I have not the most distant guess why you wish to marry me!” she confessed. “But I have decided that you must. Otherwise you would not, I think, no matter how hard I tried to persuade you.” She cocked her head to one side. “Perhaps I may persuade you to cease fussing with that kangaroo if I tell you I surprised a stranger in my bedchamber last night.”
    “A stranger?” Sir Avery moved to the fireplace. “I trust, my dear—”
    “—that I shall not carry on in such wise after we are wed?” Lady Sweetbriar was indignant. “I should think you wouldn’t want me to do so before! Not that I did, or would even dream of such a thing,