The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Do you want me to speak to him?”

  She considered, then shook her head slowly. “It is very tempting, but... it is too soon, I... I need time. My spirit is at war. I want to be with you more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but there are so many others involved. How can I turn my back on them? And I gave my promise to Jason as well.”

  He made no attempt to touch her. “It is your honor, and you must decide. But when you are weighing everyone’s welfare, pray do not forget mine.”

  She gave him a forlorn look. “And if I decide I must go through with the marriage?”

  The hazel eyes were steady. “I will leave here. I could not bear to see you belonging to another man.”

  Her heart felt as if it were being torn into bleeding shreds. She stood abruptly. “It is time to go. Will you be coming to the ball on Friday?”

  He stood also, looking down at her gravely. “Yes. I will be here until you accept me or send me away.”

  She nodded, then walked out the door. The cloudburst had ended and pallid sunshine shafted down through the trees as showers of droplets shook from the leaves. She pulled Richard’s coat around her, shivering with a chill that had nothing to do with temperature. The rest of her life was in her hands, and she feared that her strength was not equal to the challenge.

  Chapter 13

  The Hanscombes’ descent on Wildehaven late Wednesday afternoon signaled the start of two days of upheaval. Lady Hanscombe and Lady Edgeware circled each other like wary cats on neutral territory.

  Gina threw herself into her sister’s arms, bubbling with happy chatter, while her fiancé, Gideon, followed her around like a love-struck moonling. Sir Alfred eyed the rich acres and fabulous stables with barely concealed cupidity, elated at the prospect of such a rich son-in-law.

  Jason steeled himself against the invasion with tight-lipped politeness. While Caroline’s relations might be vulgar, he could be grateful that she wasn’t. Not for the first time, he gave thanks that his mad wager hadn’t produced a really disastrous bride. He could not even blame her for standing between him and Jessica; had it not been for the betrothal, he would never have found his love again.

  The pain of losing her a second time lay just under the surface of his iron control, but a thread of peace was woven through. There was comfort in finally understanding why she left, and knowing she loved him as intensely as he loved her.

  It was a feeble thing to support him for a lifetime.

  As Jason pointed out to George Fitzwilliam over a late brandy on Thursday night, he had won the basic principle of their bet: his fortune and title had easily gained him a randomly chosen bride. George cheerfully conceded the point; he cared little for abstract ideas. His chief problem at the moment was deciding whether he should be more enamored of Caroline or Jessica. On the whole, Caroline’s imminent marriage made her a safer choice; with Jessica, there existed at least a possibility that his passion might not remain unrequited. He sighed romantically and said, “You’re a lucky dog, Jason. Perhaps the hand of the Divine was at work when you made your wager.”

  Jason raised an eyebrow ironically and replied, “What is that cryptic remark supposed to signify?”

  “Why, that you and your exquisite bride were Destined for Each Other. Since your paths might never have crossed under ordinary circumstances, the bet was part of a Higher Flan.” His soulful look was composed of equal parts sentiment and brandy.

  Jason snorted disdainfully, half-amused, half-pained. If a Higher Power had involved itself, it showed a damned unpleasant sense of humor to bring Jessica so close while keeping her out of his grasp. “You have been reading too much Byron.”

  His friend looked hurt. “One could hardly find a better leg shackle than Caroline! Her beauty, her grace, her sweetness of disposition ... why, she is a diamond of the first water!”

  Jason suddenly felt very tired. The face he saw in his dreams was not that of a paragon—merely the most vital, lovable woman he had ever known. “Perhaps you should marry her yourself.”

  The offer was not quite a jest. If it was money Sir Alfred wanted, George Fitzwilliam had more than enough.

  But the problem was not the money. It was Caroline’s ill-timed passion for himself that was causing her aunt’s regrettable attack of nobility.

  Even half-disguised, George was not about to fall into that trap. He looked sorrowful and said, “Not fit to touch the hem of her dress. Content to worship her from afar.”

  Fortunately, Lady Edgeware entered the study before the conversation could deteriorate any further into mawkishness. George almost choked on his brandy as he struggled to his feet, since even drink could not destroy his manners.

  She waved a hand in his direction. “You needn’t rise on my account. Unless of course you are about to retire?” The last sentence was accompanied with a meaningful glare that had the hapless George mumbling his goodnights and fleeing the room in less than sixty seconds.

  Jason watched his friend’s rout with a dry half-smile. “I can only hope you are not persecuting my servants as much as my friends. Would you like something to drink?”

  Her ladyship lowered herself into the still-warm chair so recently vacated. “I’ll have some of the brandy you hide away from your guests.”

  Her nephew silently poured the dark amber fluid into a glass and passed it to her. She took a deep swallow and sighed in satisfaction while Jason watched her through narrowed eyes. Since there was a decanter of the same brandy in her room whenever she visited, it seemed unlikely she had come merely to drink. She obviously wanted to discuss something but showed uncharacteristic hesitation to do so. Suddenly bored, he prompted her, “Did you wish to say something to me? A comment on my land management perhaps? Or a criticism of my politics?”

  Her chin came up sharply and she glared at him. “It’s your marriage I want to talk about! Are you really going to marry that child?”

  He raised a dangerous eyebrow. “You disagree with my choice? I have done exactly what you wished— found a healthy young woman of respectable birth to carry on the Kincaid line.”

  She scowled. “It’s not her birth that is deficient. It’s her spirit.”

  He found himself defending her. “She has strengths and resources that I doubt you have seen yet.”

  “She’s too soft for you, boy—you’ll be bored in a week. Someone like that aunt of hers would be much more in your style.”

  Jason felt as if a fist had slammed into his stomach. Had Honoria noticed something in their behavior? Still, it was an excuse to talk about Jessica. “She’s a glorious creature but what makes you think she is my ‘style’? She said once that you disapproved of her more than any other woman in London.”

  “She was a headstrong wench but she’s grown into a woman of character. She’ll stand up to you, make you think.” His aunt took another draft of brandy, then added in a neutral tone, “Besides, I’ve seen how you look at her when you think you are unobserved.”

  “Are you proposing I jilt my betrothed to marry her chaperon? A fine scandal that would make!”

  His aunt looked suddenly sad. “It would be quickly forgotten. A marriage of convenience is well enough if you have no special preference. But when Kincaids fall in love, we never get over it. I never did.”

  Jason felt acutely uncomfortable at his formidable aunt’s display of vulnerability. “I didn’t know you considered love a worthwhile component of marriage.”

  She shrugged. “I never had a chance to find out for myself When I met someone who made the blood shout in my veins, we were both married past redemption and found little joy in it. But it’s not too late for you. Unless the fool woman won’t have you.”

  “You exceed the limits allowed even to opinionated elderly relations,” he said forbiddingly. He rose, downing the rest of his brandy in one gulp. “Can I see you to your room?”

  “You may not,” she said acidly. “I may be elderly and opinionated, but I am quite capable of finding my way around the house I
grew up in.”

  He nodded indifferently. “In that case, I will see you on the morrow. Unless you are too foxed to show yourself then.”

  She banged her glass down on the polished mahogany table and glared after him as he left the study.

  He left feeling mildly pleased at having scored at least one point on her, but a wave of depression prevailed by the time he went to bed. Even the brandy he had consumed could not still his restless twisting and turning. His mind tormented him with imaginings of how she would look in his bed, the glorious auburn sweep of hair patterned across his pillows, her arms open to receive him ...

  Knowing that she was under his own roof was well-nigh unendurable. He was still tossing at two in the morning when he was disturbed by a small sound at the door.

  For a moment he permitted himself the fantasy that she had come to him, but the crazy hope died as the sound resolved itself into a scratching, accompanied by a distinct “Mre-oo-o-wp!”

  He heaved out of the tangled covers and opened the door before Wellesley could do permanent injury to the carved panels. His unwelcome guest was half-grown now, no longer a kitten. The light of the nearly full moon was so bright in the hallway that he could see green glints in the hopeful eyes. He exhaled wearily and considered his options. He could leave the beast to cry and scratch at the door for the rest of the night. He could summon his mastiff Rufus and offer the cat for a snack. He could drop it from the window and find out if felines were as resilient as generally supposed.

  “All right, then,” he said. “Come on in. But mind you don’t snore.”

  While having the cat in his bed in no way compared with having its mistress, there was comfort in lying there and hearing friendly purrs from a spot near his head. He rubbed his face once against the soft fur, then lay back and relaxed. In a few minutes they were both asleep.

  * * * *

  Caroline Hanscombe was a badly frustrated young woman. For two days she had been attempting private speech with her father, with a singular lack of success. He kept slipping off to evaluate the Radford property, visit an old crony in the neighborhood, or absorb his host’s port in breathtaking quantities, while Caroline spent much of Thursday and early Friday greeting guests arriving for the ball. Though Lady Edgeware was the official hostess, Caroline was the main object of attention and had to make herself continually available. It confirmed her in her belief that becoming a social lioness was not to her taste.

  She determined to fight free of her unwanted engagement if at all possible, and had decided on her strategy. First and most important, she must talk with her father to find just how desperate his financial straits were. She would offer him. both her inheritance from her mother and the money from the music publisher. The latter was not a great deal, but she was preparing to send off a collection of quartets and trio sonatas she thought would be acceptable and there should be some profit from them.

  Even if the money were enough to take care of the worst problems, she knew her father would be reluctant to release her from her daughterly obligations— she had seen his covetous examination of Wildehaven. Therefore, the next vital step would be talking to Gina about her engagement to Gideon. Would her father be able to forbid the marriage even if he tried? Caroline was hazy about the legalities but knew that settlement papers had been signed. Perhaps that would protect Gina.

  And finally, she would have to speak to Jason. Socially it was acceptable for a female to end an engagement, though a man would be greatly censured for the same act. Still, she owed him respect and gratitude even if she didn’t love him.

  How would she react if he dropped his polished detachment and confessed that he loved her? If he did indeed care, it would be shatteringly difficult to break the engagement.

  Only the thought of Richard—the slow smile, the harmony of their minds and interests, the sense of rightness—gave her courage to go forward. If they were to be together, it would have to be through her actions.

  * * * *

  Mid-afternoon Friday had brought her no closer to her peripatetic parent, so she determined to accost him that night at the ball. He would have to be in attendance for hours, so at some point she would carry him off to a side room if she had to use brute force.

  As guest of honor, she’d been packed off to her room to rest before the evening’s festivities, so she invited her sister Gina in for a comfortable coze. It was their first chance for private speech and there was much to discuss.

  Gina was as bouncy as ever but she had a new maturity and confidence; being in love suited her. Gideon’s parents had welcomed her warmly and an August wedding date had been set. “And then we will take a wedding trip to Italy! Gideon has always wanted to go there, and since the war is over it is safe to travel. He says he would rather have me as a companion than anyone!”

  “It sounds wonderfully romantic,” Caroline smiled. “Do you think you will find antiquities interesting?”

  “If Gideon was there to explain them to me, I would find”—she cast about for a suitable object—”icebergs interesting!”

  Caroline hesitated, then decided it was time to introduce her questions. “Gina, if Papa were to get... difficult, would he be able to forbid your wedding?”

  Her sister looked indignant at the thought. “He wouldn’t dare!”

  Caroline tried again. “But you know the odd fancies he gets. Suppose he took it into his head to say you couldn’t marry Gideon. Could he do that when the settlements have been signed?”

  “What a shatterbrained notion, Carol If Papa tried any such foolishness, he’d go home by Weeping Cross. Neither Gideon nor his parents would permit him to back out of the contracts, and I certainly could not be persuaded to cry off. Besides”—her voice softened— “it is too late. Gideon and I are already one.”

  Caroline started at this artless piece of information. “Do you mean,” she asked cautiously, “that Gideon has ... ?” She stopped, unable to think of a sufficiently delicate way of asking for confirmation of her suspicions.

  Gina nodded vigorously, half-shy and half-proud. “Yes, it is what you think. Although it would be more accurate to say that I caused it. My poor lamb was so determined to be a gentleman. I was shameless in my persuasions. It made no sense to wait,” she said earnestly. “We wanted each other so much. You must know what I mean. Think of how you feel about Radford.”

  Caught off guard, Caroline blushed a violent crimson but she was saved from answering by Jessica’s entrance into the bedchamber. Her aunt had heard the last part of Gina’s speech, and she watched Caroline’s reaction carefully. “Spare your sister’s blushes, Gina,” she said in an artificially bright tone. “She is not such a brazen piece as you or I.”

  Gina looked at Jessica and chuckled, one woman-of-the-world to another. “Not on the surface. But I daresay that behind her ladylike manner her thoughts have been the same as mine. Whose wouldn’t be, with a man like Radford!”

  If Jessica’s smile became a trifle stiff, neither of the younger women noticed. Gina was rapt in lecherous fantasy and Caroline distressed by the implicit falseness of the situation. For a moment she was tempted to tell these two closest friends about Richard, but caution held her tongue. It would be unfair to burden them with her problems prematurely. There would be time enough to ask for comfort when the fat was in the fire.

  “Actually, Caroline, I had another reason for coming in,” Jessica said. “I have been missing Linda, and thought I would return to Wiltshire after the ball. Since Gina and your parents will be staying on, you will not lack for chaperonage.”

  Caroline looked at her aunt with a slight frown. Something felt off-key about the statement, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Of course, if that is what you wish. I shall miss you, but I cannot keep you by me forever. Will you visit again soon?”

  When hares fly! was Jessica’s thought, but she said merely, “I will be at the wedding, of course. After that, we shall see. I am sure you and your husband will want to be alone at firs
t.”

  She saw Caroline regarding her with unfathomable blue eyes. They had talked little but commonplaces since coming to Wildehaven. Falling in love was making each of them private—especially since it was with the same man. She swore once more that Caroline would never be hurt by a love affair that should have been over more than a dozen years before. In six months Jason would be totally absorbed with his lovely young bride, perhaps looking forward to the birth of a child. It would be harder for her, alone and aching. She only knew that she must remove herself and give them time to become truly wedded.

  She continued, “I am going to lie down now, and I suggest you young ladies do the same. It is going to be a long night.”

  Her words were far more prophetic than she realized.

  * * * *

  Not having been invited to the dinner at Wilde-haven, Richard partook of a light meal before going to the ball. There had been no contact with Caroline since the day they were caught in the rainstorm, and he was anxious to see her. Intuitively he felt matters were nearing the crisis point, and he hoped he would be near if she needed him. He was sure she loved him, but the forces of family and society were ranged against them. Many would be critical of his desire to take her from a splendid match; his justification lay in his belief that she would dislike being a fashionable lady, and in his own driving need for her.

  His thoughts troubled, he was unenthusiastic when Reggie joined him for dinner; their paths seldom crossed, even though they shared the same roof. His cousin had been drinking and was in a surly mood.

  “You were right about the Cornishman being off his form in Bristol,” he said abruptly, helping himself to roast woodcock.

  Richard pulled his mind back to the present and said politely, “I’m glad I could be of service.”