Jane Feather - Charade

by Unknown

  Her arrival in the private parlor caused his lordship a moment of acute pain as he wrestled with laughter, amazement at her ingenuity and irritation that she should so calmly have rifled his possessions.

  "You might have asked, Danny," he expostulated. "That is a most hideous abuse of a perfectly good cravat!"

  "Would you have had me come down in my small clothes to do so, milord?" she retorted.

  That was an image Linton preferred to put from his mind. "Well, at least you are clean and relatively tidy again," he conceded, seating himself at the laden table. "I have informed our host that I do not wish to be disturbed unless I ring, so I think you may safely come to table."

  The meal was simple, a single course, as was to be expected in a country inn, but the wild mushrooms in the mousse aux champignons reverberated on the palate, the delicate texture of the dish of artichokes pleased the eye as much as the taste buds and provided perfect accompaniment to the succulent river trout swimming in butter, crisped with almonds. Danielle surveyed the haunch of venison and shook her head regretfully as her companion offered her a slice. The rich, cheesy gratin of thinly sliced potatoes was also rejected, prompting the earl to remark, "Those britches will never fit you if you continue to eat so circumspectly."

  "Last night, my lord, you were cautioning me to eat sparingly. My belly, as you said, is not used to riches. I would hate to subject you to a night of nursing."

  "You are an incorrigible wretch, Danielle de St. Varennes. Have you ever been short of an answer?" Linton sat back in the carved chair, sipping his wine as he regarded her with interest.

  "I am not normally required to look for them quite so hard, milord," Danielle replied sweetly.

  The earl gave a shout of laughter. He would like to spend the rest of the evening fencing with this sharp tongue, this quick wit, this exquisite creature whose beauty at this moment was barely hidden by the ridiculous clothes. Those enormous eyes danced with the readiness to respond to challenge and something else that he did not want to see right now—a naturally flirtatious awareness of her femininity. The full lips of that adorable mouth curved in impish anticipation of his response and a soft glow suffused the delicate ivory of her cheeks.

  "If you've finished your dinner, brat, I should be obliged if you would seek your bed."

  The heart-shaped face fell. Hurt, quickly masked, flashed in the velvet depths of her eyes as Danielle rose instantly. "As you command, milord." With a mock leg she left the room, leaving Justin to his melancholy reflections. He had not intended to be so abrupt, but in the face of his unbidden arousal it was the only response possible. She was a child, for God's sake! Just a child! But, of course, she was not. Had he met her in any other circumstances, the careful pursuit of an eligible maid would have been quite in order. But she had given him her trust and was as yet unaware of her own sexuality or the power of another's, or, indeed, of her ability to arouse that power.

  It was very late before he repaired to his bed, conscious that he had imbibed more than he had intended of Mine Host's excellent cognac. He was far from under the hatches, but just a little more concerned than was his custom. There was a rigidity about the heap of bedclothes on the cot that declared his ward's wakefulness, but he refrained from comment, preparing for bed behind the dressing screen before blowing out the single, flickering candle and climbing thankfully into the feathered comfort of his enclosed bed.

  The unearthly shriek brought him upright, wide awake, feeling for the silver-mounted pistol under his pillow. He sat blinking in the darkness, poised, ready for he knew not what. Mumbled, incoherent words came from outside the tent of the bed curtains and slowly he drew them back, sliding to the floor crouched in a position of attack. The room was in pitch darkness, only the strange keening moans penetrated the silence of the night. Linton, no longer expecting an intruder, crossed the room barefoot to light the candle on the mantel. Danielle was tossing restlessly on the cot, moaning, mumbling incoherently a desperate dream tale of confusion and terror.

  So, it was happening already, he thought, crossing to the writhing figure. For a long while he stood vigil until the deep, gasping sobs of grief replaced the dream terror. Then he knelt by the narrow cot, soft nonsense words of comfort on his lips as he stroked the damp forehead, pushed back the matted curls.

  "Alone, so alone," the broken voice repeated until it became almost a chant and Linton gave up the struggle. Lifting the small figure in the sweat-soaked shirt he moved back to his bed, not releasing his

  tight hold as he slid beneath the covers. Danielle was aware only of a warm body against her own shivering one, of strong arms cradling her, holding off the terror. Deep black, dreamless unconsciousness beckoned its promise and was welcomed.

  Chapter 4

  Danielle awoke in a strange, darkened world. Her legs were pinioned to the mattress by a heavy weight, her head held in a tight grip against an expanse of finest linen. Something was rhythmically causing a gentle rise and fall of the curls on her bent head. She lay very still, resisting the urge to leap in panic from her curious situation until she had decided exactly where she was and how she had got there. The darkness was created by bed curtains, and whatever was holding her legs down was definitely hairy. Something of last night's nightmare came back to her and she realized that not only was she in the same bed as Justin, Earl of Linton, she was clamped to his side and it was the even in and out of his sleeping breath that lifted her hair. His legs, heavy with relaxation, held her captive unless she chose to wake him. Strangely, she was not afraid. Surely he could not have taken her virginity without her knowing? Breaching the maidenhead was supposed to be painful—she could not have slept through such an experience!

  "Sweet Jesus!" The Earl of Linton, with a convulsive heave, shook off his burden roughly and bolted upright, blinking in dazed half-remembrance. What had seemed a perfectly reasonable action in his not entirely sober state in the middle of the night struck him now in the cold light of dawn as a piece of the most sentimental, utter foolishness. His aching head was yet another reminder of his stupidity. If it hadn't been for this troublesome chit he would not have overindulged in the cognac and certainly would not be

  in this ridiculous position now. He turned the full force of his anger on Danielle.

  "Get out of this damned bed! In fact, get dressed and get out of the room altogether!"

  "But what have I done?" Those huge eyes widened in distress and bewilderment.

  "What do you mean, what have you done? You have somehow contrived to get yourself into my bed, that's what!" he thundered.

  "But I didn't; you put me here," she protested. "I was asleep."

  "You were not asleep. You were in the middle of some damn nightmare. Oh, the devil take it!" The earl ran a frustrated hand through his unpowdered locks. "Just dress and go downstairs while I try to pull myself together."

  Danielle got off the bed, pulling aside the curtains. As she stood up an early ray of sunlight flashed across the room and her body under the fine lawn of his shirt was suddenly silhouetted against the light, the dark tips of her breasts pressing against the thin material, the soft curve of buttocks and long length of leg as transparently revealed as if she were naked. His loins stirred, throbbed in time with his aching temples, and Linton groaned, sinking back onto the pillows. He could still feel the slight, warm body against his and began seriously to question his ability to deliver Danielle de St. Varennes virgo intacta to her grandparents if there were to be any more nights like the last.

  "Milord?" There was an almost pleading note in the soft voice.

  "Well?"

  "Nothing ... I mean . . . nothing happened, did it?" The words came out in a rush.

  "No child." With an effort he sat up, remembering that this was a seventeen-year-old who in the last two months had undergone more terrifying experiences than most people endured in a lifetime. "I am angry with myself, not with you. It is very hard for a ... a ... normal man to spend the night as we did. I am suffering fo
r it this morning."

  "Oh?" Interest quickened in her eyes. "How are you suffering?"

  Why the devil had he started this? Linton wondered irritably if there were any insanity in his family. "You'll find out when you are married," he said dismissively.

  "Oh, but I would much rather know now. It's better to be prepared, don't you think? Could you not explain?"

  "No, I could not!" the earl roared, closing his eyes against the sharp stab of pain. "Just get out of here, would you? And tell them to bring up my shaving water and I'll breakfast in an hour."

  "Yes, milord." Danielle sketched him a sardonic curtsy and turned behind the dressing screen. "The water's cold," she complained.

  "Well, since you have managed without it altogether for I don't know how many weeks, you should be grateful for what there is" was the callous reply.

  She pulled a face in the direction of the bed, but washed as best she could and pulled on the landlady's son's clothes. If she was to spend another day in that horrid coach it didn't matter if she started out looking scruffy. She would save her rather more respectable suit for more public occasions.

  The kitchen was filled with the wonderful smells of fresh baking when she reached it. "Bonjour, madame." Her cheery greeting brought the landlady around from the bread oven, a batch of crescent-shaped rolls steaming golden brown on the flat wooden paddle between her hands.

  The plump face, rosy from the oven, beamed at Danny. "It's going to be a beautiful one, lad. How's

  your master this morning?"

  "Wants his shaving water."

  "The kettle's hot on the range," Madame instructed brightly. "Jug's on the dresser." She was too busy arranging a second batch of rolls on the paddle to notice Danny's indignant, startled expression. So, she was supposed to do it herself, was she?

  "You can take the clean linen up with you," the landlady continued. "Your own clothes are there, too—

  all pressed and as good as new."

  Danielle muttered to herself as she filled the jug with the dipper from the iron cauldron on the range. The jug was very heavy and she crammed the clean laundry under one arm before picking it up by an uncomfortably warm handle and staggering for the door.

  "Come back down for your breakfast," the cheerful voice called after her.

  Danielle aimed a warning kick at the door of the chamber before setting down her burden and reaching for the latch. The door, however, swung open and a startled Earl of Linton stood there, splendid in a long robe of brocaded silk.

  "It's heavy," she mumbled in half-apologetic explanation.

  "I see," he responded dryly, bending to lift the jug.

  "I thought inns were supposed to have their own servants." She followed him into the room with the pile of laundry.

  "So they do," her exasperating companion concurred blandly. "But since I have a perfectly good one of my own, I'm sure Madame Bonnet considers it unnecessary to employ hers on my personal needs."

  "I suppose you'd like me to shave you as well?"

  "I do not think, brat, that I would trust you with a razor," His Lordship chuckled, examining the clean linen with a sudden frown. "You do appear to have creased my cravat. That's the second one you've ruined."

  "I've only got two hands, you know," Danielle snapped.

  "Well you could always have made two journeys. Or didn't that occur to you?"

  Danny gobbled at him in wordless fury and His Lordship, with infuriating calm, said, ''If you have something to say, infant, do so quickly. I wish to get dressed."

  Those brown eyes threw daggers at him before she turned on her heel with an impudent twitch of her small rear that aroused in the earl two quite conflicting urges and flounced out of the room.

  "Shouldn't wonder if His Lordship's got quite a head on him this morning," Madame Bonnet remarked casually as she half filled a bowl with hot creamy milk, added strong black coffee, and set it on the table before Danny.

  "Why?" Danny mumbled through a mouthful of honeycomb and hot, fresh bread.

  "Dipped deep into the cognac last night," her informant stated mattef-of-factly. "Must have something

  on his mind."

  Danielle pondered this information in silence. She was well accustomed to the aftereffects of a heavy night on the imbiber—her father and uncles had given her ample opportunities for observation of that condition. It would certainly explain Milord's irascibility.

  The imperative peal of a bell from within had Madame Bonnet clucking over to the range for the coffeepot. "That'll be His Lordship wanting his breakfast. Hurry along, lad." She thrust a laden tray toward Danny, who was about to announce that she'd finish her own meal first, but thought better of it.

  Her protector, apart from a slight heaviness around the eyes, was looking his usual immaculate self, the black hair drawn into a neat queue at his neck, snowy lace at throat and wrists beneath a brown cloth coat over a short waistcoat of the same material. Buckskin britches and top boots encased the shapely legs.

  Danny placed the tray on the table, regarding him solicitously. "Perhaps, milord, you should take a powder for your headache. It might make you feel more the thing."

  "What headache?" His Lordship demanded suspiciously.

  "In my experience, sir, when one gets foxed it is the usual consequence." She smiled innocently.

  "What the devil do you mean, brat? I was not foxed! And what do you know about it, anyway?" But he was talking to empty air. Danielle had whisked herself from the room. Furiously he tugged the bellpull again and within seconds the door opened and the impish face of his urchin appeared around it.

  "Yes, milord?"

  "Bring me a tankard of ale," he growled.

  "Is that wise, sir? After the cognac, I mean."

  "Danny, I'm warning you . . ." Linton took an infuriated step toward the door. The tip of a small pink tongue peeped between rosy lips for a second and she was gone again leaving the earl torn between reluctant amusement and considerable annoyance.

  When she returned with the foaming pewter tankard there was nothing about her demeanor to annoy and Linton, examining her through his glass, observed, "Judging by whatever it is you have on your nose, you have already breakfasted."

  "I haven't finished it yet," she retorted. "And I do not have anything on my nose." The back of her hand went up to wipe the offending feature, but her companion moved swiftly, catching her wrist.

  "How many times do I have to remind you that you are not now on the street, urchin? Hold still." He scrubbed her face vigorously with his napkin. "It's honey, you sticky brat."

  "I am not a sticky brat." Danny moved backward from his ignominious ministrations. "I don't know how I'm to be expected to eat properly when I have to keep leaping up to answer your bell!"

  "Well, when you've filled your belly you can pack up my things. I wish to leave in half an hour." Linton sat down at the table and addressed himself to his own breakfast, effectively dismissing Danielle from his presence.

  Her task completed, twenty minutes later Danny went out of the kitchen and into the sunny stableyard. The ostlers were busy putting the horses to the heavy coach and watching them she didn't hear the soft footsteps behind her until her cap left her head and a rough voice mocked, "What little bantam is this?"

  She whirled to face a brawny stablehand whose little eyes in a pudgy face glinted spitefully. "Can't imagine what you're good for," her tormentor continued, grabbing her upper arm and pinching it painfully.

  Danny wrenched herself free. "Gimme my cap." She stretched for it, but the youth merely held it higher.

  "Got to jump for it," he taunted.

  "Cochon!" Danny spat, leaping at his arm.

  He laughed maliciously and tossed the cap onto the high wall surrounding the yard.

  "Betch can't climb either, runt."

  Danny knew that she should leave the cap and walk away, but she had never been able to run from a fight—it was not the de St. Varennes way. She was also as agile as a monkey and the wall
uneven with plenty of foot and handholds. In no time she had retrieved the article and crammed it back onto her head, making to walk out of the yard. But the bully was not finished yet. He grabbed the cap, seizing a painful handful of the hair beneath as he dragged it off again. It sailed through the air to land again on the wall.

  "This time, bantam, you're gonna 'ave to fight fer it!" Two sledgehammer fists went up. Danielle thought rapidly. She was no physical match for this oaf who quite clearly intended for some reason to do her considerable damage, but he was all brawn. With a swift dancing movement she aimed a kick at his shin. It was unlikely to cause him much pain, but, as she had hoped, it enraged him mightily. Prancing backward, just out of reach of those treetrunk arms, she delved into her wide vocabulary of insults, producing a tirade that drew reluctant admiration from the circle of interested spectators who had appeared instantly it was known that Jacques was out to teach the snob servant of Milord a lesson or two. She didn't know it, but she had Linton to thank for this unprovoked attack. His refusal to allow her to eat in the kitchen the previous evening had been misinterpreted as a high and mighty gesture of the servant's rather than the edict of the master.