No words were necessary. She had taken his meaning and he was satisfied. He made no move to follow her as she alighted from the carriage, but he detained her with one hand on her wrist, turning her back to face him.
“Go to Henley. I shall spend a few days in Belmont. I can always find something to do there, and I’d like you to see your future home at its best. In one week, I shall join you. We might as well be married from Henley as anywhere. Don’t look so crestfallen. What have we done that is so wrong? We have merely celebrated our nuptials one week in advance.”
There was no answering smile and he was constrained to say in a rougher tone, “Don’t be too hard on me, Deirdre. I promise you’ll never have cause to regret this night.”
“I don’t regret it,” she said in a low voice, and swiftly turned from him, running lightly to the house in a rustle of skirts.
Rathbourne leaned back against the squabs, his eyes closed, turning over in his mind the source of the irritation which gnawed at him. He didn’t trust Deirdre’s air of preoccupation. She was up to something! Not that it mattered a rap, of course. There was nothing she could do to deflect him from his purpose. But it angered him that she would still try to hold him at arm’s length after what had passed between them. Any other woman would have been in a fever of impatience to have the banns called, but not his Deirdre! Damn her! She should be insisting that he marry her on the morrow, not fobbing him off with excuses about “persuading” her relations to the match. Good God! Didn’t she know what a catch he was? They should be ecstatic! But that wouldn’t weigh with Deirdre, not one jot. And he loved her for it.
“I don’t regret it,” she had said, and the ring of truth was in her words. A slow smile touched his lips. Let her try to deny that she wanted him, loved him, and he would use his body as the instrument to subdue her. That avenue of thought brought a rush of heat to his loins and he regretfully turned his mind to more pressing problems.
He rapped smartly on the roof of the carriage. “Bond Street, O’Toole, if you please.” It was time for his interview with St. Jean. Perhaps it was as well that Deirdre would be out of town until they were wed. She would miss the fireworks when her spoiled brat of a brother learned what his new guardian had planned for his future. Rathbourne was prepared to be very patient with his bride. He would be as generous a husband as she could wish, except in one particular. He would not permit her to spend herself on a brother who cared not a fig for what straits he brought her to. The burden of Armand St. Jean was too heavy for Deirdre’s slim shoulders, and belonged more properly to her husband.
He would make a man of St. Jean or break him in the attempt. That the boy should bring one more moment of unease to Deirdre was intolerable. Deirdre would not like it, but she would accept it. As her husband, he would give her no choice.
Chapter Fourteen
Deirdre shut her ears to the hum of the bustling servants as they prepared to close up the house for the duration of the Season. She sat in the breakfast room, solitary and silent, and gloomily stirred the small silver spoon in her cup of coffee, the third she had consumed that morning in lieu of breakfast. Since her aunt’s departure for Brussels was imminent, Deirdre’s own valises had been packed in the preceding days for the journey that was to take her home to Henley. But Henley was far from Deirdre’s thoughts on this particular windy March morning as she sat quelling her impatience until her aunt should make an early appearance as was her custom.
The door of the breakfast room opened and Lady Fenton entered, pausing as she took in the droop of Deirdre’s shoulders and the dark circled eyes in a face that was unusually pale. She sat down at the breakfast table in a rustle of skirts and her shrewd eyes examined Deirdre closely.
“That must have been some reception you attended last night with Armand. What time did you come home, young lady?”
“Late,” said Deirdre noncommittally, and flashed her aunt a smile that was meant to divest her abrupt answer of any incivility.
Her aunt reached for the silver coffee pot and poured herself a demitasse. “Then why are you up so early? I thought you would sleep till well past noon. Your trunks, I know, have already been brought down for the trip to Henley, so why the haste?”
“I’m not going to Henley,” said Deirdre firmly. “I have decided to take you up on your offer to accompany you to Brussels, if it still stands.”
“Of course. But may I ask why?” Lady Fenton’s eyes narrowed fractionally.
“Because I am bored and like being with you,” said Deirdre, striving to keep her voice light.
The older woman heaped a generous portion of marmalade on a small, gold-rimmed side plate, spread the merest smidgen on one corner of a piece of dry toast, and nibbled daintily. After a moment, she said, “It’s Rathbourne, isn’t it?” At Deirdre’s startled look, she went on more kindly. “Can’t you confide in me, my dear? I am not blind to what is going on under my nose. What has he done now to provoke this fit of the dismals?”
“N—nothing,” stammered Deirdre, and blushed to the roots of her hair.
“Nothing? But you want to run away and hide from him? I was afraid something like this might happen. I warned him not to rush his fences.”
Under Deirdre’s astonished gaze, Lady Fenton delicately spread another smidgen of marmalade on her dry toast. “Delicious,” she said placidly as she nibbled upon it. “Try some.”
“Aunt Rosemary,” said Deirdre with a faint note of impatience, “how could you possibly know?”
“That he paid his addresses to you? Because he asked for my permission, as if my refusal would have made a jot of difference to a man like that.” She chuckled. “And you think that by putting the English Channel between you, you can keep him at a distance? For how long?”
“It’s that or the wilds of Scotland,” said Deirdre desperately. Her aunt looked a question at her. “I have a friend who lives in Aberdeen. She would love to see me again. I haven’t seen her since school days, although we keep in touch. She tells me that the climate there is very healthy and bracing.”
“I don’t doubt it. That explains why you prefer Brussels. But Deirdre, do think what you are about. A man like Rathbourne has a lot to offer and I am not talking about his title or fortune.”
“What Gareth Cavanaugh has to offer, I don’t want,” Deirdre responded gently but very firmly, and there was no doubt that she meant what she said.
She had spent a long, sleepless night, reliving every moment of their hours together. She could not deny that he could bring her bliss, but he could also bring her anguish, and she was a fool if she thought otherwise. His ruthlessness of purpose terrified her. He had tried to relieve her of her beloved Marcliff, taken away her virginity, and now thought to rob her of her freedom of choice. Did he think they were still living in the middle ages? And these were the least of his iniquities. The consummate skill of his hands and body as he had brought her to pleasure, in retrospect, was a grim reminder that Gareth Cavanaugh was no novice as far as women were concerned. He had never tried to deny it. How many women had he taken as he had taken her last night? The thought made her stomach turn. She had told him that she didn’t regret it. That was no lie. He had made a woman of her, and she could not be sorry for it, although some vestiges of conscience provoked a vague sense of guilt when she remembered how actively she had participated in her own downfall since he had brought her body alive to passion. She had reveled in his lovemaking, but it was an experience she had no wish to repeat. She would not tie herself to such a voluptuary for the rest of her life, to condemn herself to wretchedness wondering where he spent his nights and who his next conquest might be. She had watched her mother go through that hell. It was a fate she had no intention of letting overtake her. But she knew that she was already in hell—this wanting, without having; this loving…She balked at the direction her thoughts had taken and brought the subject ruthlessly around.
“Aunt Rosemary, I don’t want Rathbourne or anyone to know that I am going with yo
u. I know he’ll find out soon enough, but I prefer to put some distance between us for as long as possible.”
“You sound as if the man had threatened you.”
“He has.”
Deirdre’s calm statement was met with shocked silence. “He’s very persistent,” she explained patiently.
“But as a gentleman, he must accept a lady’s refusal.”
“He isn’t a gentleman. He is a nobleman. And what Gareth Cavanaugh wants, he takes. Don’t you know that by now?” She sounded weary beyond words.
“Deirdre, has Rathbourne dared to…”
“No! Certainly not!” She fought back the guilty rush of color. “But there’s no telling what a man like that might do. I would feel safer under Uncle Thomas’s protection.” Her eyes were tear bright and the hands on her coffee cup were white at the knuckles. “Aunt Rosemary, he is hounding me and I cannot bear it.”
Lady Fenton rose and laid a motherly arm around Deirdre’s shoulders. “I warned him how it would be,” she said soothingly. “The beast! The unmitigated impertinence of the man, to frighten you like this. I’ve no doubt there’s a lot more you’re not telling me. Of course you may come with me to Brussels. We’ll find a way to throw him off the scent, if we put our heads together. And if he dares show his face, he’ll have your uncle to contend with, not a defenseless slip of a girl and an old woman.”
By the time the ladies had disposed of their meager breakfast and decided on a course of action, Deirdre’s spirits had risen a trifle. She was, however, anxious to see her brother and made her excuses to her aunt, having sent for a hackney by one of the footmen. She had hardly stepped out of the house when she spotted O’Toole, Rathbourne’s groom. He was on foot and lounging against the railing at the far side of the Square in conversation with some vendor or other. Deirdre’s lips tightened. So that was how the Earl knew of her every movement! He had set spies on her. It was just as she had suspected.
When she was dropped at Armand’s door, she lingered in conversation with the hackney driver and it was not long before, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of O’Toole. He was mounted on a glossy bay gelding. And to think she had liked him! With a flounce of her skirts, Deirdre entered her brother’s lodgings. She found him in the bedroom engaged in packing a large valise and one leather grip which lay open on the bed. She had barely crossed the threshold when he rounded on her.
“Dee, how could you?” he accused fiercely.
“How could I what?” she parried, momentarily taken off guard and blanching at the thought that Armand had divined what had transpired between Rathbourne and herself the previous evening. His next words reassured her.
“Marry him, of all people! Stop gaping at me. I know it’s true. He was here just before dawn, hauling me out of bed to inform me of the happy event.” He jammed some neckcloths into the leather grip, unmindful of the wrinkles his rough handling produced. They were crushed beyond redemption, but Armand was past caring for such trivia. “That man, and my own sister!” he bit out, his jaw clenching with helpless rage.
“I’m not going to marry him, calm down!” Deirdre said quietly, and moved to stand beside him. “What are you doing?”
“Packing. What do you mean you’re not going to marry him? He informed me that I was to have the privilege of giving you away at Henley before our removal to his estate at Belmont.”
“I can see that you are packing, but where are you off to?”
“For God’s sake, Dee, tell me what happened last night after I was drugged into oblivion.”
“I thought it was something like that. But how could you, Armand? To leave me…alone, and with him!”
His neck flushed scarlet and he rubbed it with one hand. “Dee, you must understand…when Maria said she had something she wished to say to me in private, and that it would take only a minute, I could see no harm in it. Besides,” he went on defensively, “I could tell that Rathbourne had recognized you and that he was annoyed to see you in such a place. I thought you would be safe with him watching over you.”
“Safe? With Rathbourne?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you! I thought, I knew, for the few minutes I’d be gone, that no one would get near you with him as your watchdog. Good God, his eyes flash warnings at me sometimes, and I’m your brother.”
“Armand, his eyes flash warnings at anyone who gets in his way.”
“He ripped up at me something awful for taking you to such a den. In this instance, he had the right of it. Dee, I’m sorry, truly. I should have known better.”
“You were not to blame, Armand. I was the one who insisted.”
“Nevertheless, Rathbourne…”
“He has no right to interfere,” she interrupted, suddenly incensed that Armand had been taken to task by the Earl. “Rathbourne takes too much upon himself. If it weren’t for him, everything would have worked out fine.”
“Then what went wrong?”
Deirdre chose her words with care. It would be fatal for Armand to suspect the truth. “Need you ask? Rathbourne beat me at cards and I owe him a considerable sum, which, of course, I cannot pay. He suggested that in lieu of payment, he would accept me as his wife. Generous, isn’t he?” she concluded dryly.
Armand sat down at the edge of the bed and raked both hands through his disheveled hair. “I don’t understand. Why would he go to such trouble? Why not simply ask you?”
“He did, and I refused him. You need not look so surprised.”
He recovered himself quickly. “I’m not. It’s only that…well, you remember, from the moment I first saw you together, I wondered, and you insisted that you didn’t care a button for the man, but later…”
“Armand, please! I don’t want to go into all that.”
Something in her voice warned him not to pursue that particular avenue of reasoning, so that after a moment, he asked in a matter-of-fact tone, “How will you pay off the debt?”
Deirdre turned and took a few steps to the window to steady herself. Bond Street was choked with pedestrians and coaches of every description. She spotted O’Toole lounging in the door of a draper’s shop. She didn’t think much of Rathbourne’s spying methods, or any of his methods, come to think of it.
“I have no intention of paying. He cheated! The cards were marked! Can you imagine? That’s why Mrs. Dewinters distracted your attention. It was all a ploy so that he might play on my inexperience.”
“Bitch!” he growled, then patiently pursuing the thread of her story, “But if Rathbourne has your vowels…”
“He doesn’t have my vowels. I didn’t sign anything.”
“That doesn’t sound like Rathbourne.” He was watching her intently.
She managed a convincing laugh. “Put it down to overconfidence. I am merely a female. He doesn’t expect me to fight back. How little he knows me!”
“What do you intend to do?”
“I told you I won’t marry him. I am running off to Brussels with Aunt Rosemary. If necessary, I shall throw myself on Uncle Thomas’s protection. Now will you tell me why you are packing?”
Armand put his head between his hands. “God! What a coil we are in. He wants you for his wife, and me for his ward. I think he must be mad.”
“His ward?” She looked at him blankly, then sudden comprehension jolted her. “Do you say that Rathbourne is your guardian?” She sat down as if she had been struck.
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“How? Why?” Deirdre asked, trying to bring her spinning thoughts into some semblance of order. The sudden conviction that Rathbourne would always be one step ahead assailed her. She tried to shake it off, but as she listened to Armand, the conviction grew stronger.
“Why is he doing this? Isn’t that obvious now? To keep you in line. If he puts the thumb screws on me, he knows that you will be the one to suffer. How did he manage it? Bribery, I suppose. It’s no secret that all the St. Jeans have pockets to let. I don’t doubt that Uncle Giles, damn him to hell,
is now lording it over his neighbors with some bit of blood whose mouth he’ll ruin in less than a fortnight. It’s all legal, though not above board, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
“There must be. We just haven’t thought of it yet. I’m not going to escape his clutches so that you can fall into them. Get me a sherry, will you, Armand? That or something stronger. I feel the need of a lift.”
She was not about to run off and leave her brother to Rathbourne’s tender mercies. In just under six months, Armand would reach his majority, then Rathbourne couldn’t touch him. No one could. She sipped her sherry. If she weren’t so frightened she might be flattered at his tenacity in pursuing her. But she was frightened, terribly frightened. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?
Tired. She was so tired. And nothing had gone right since he had come back into her life. She shut her eyes and tried to concentrate. Think. Rathbourne had found the one weapon that could really hurt her—her love for Armand. She did not doubt for one moment that he would use it to compel her obedience.
“Armand, if what you say is true, that Rathbourne intends to use you to force me to fall in with his wishes, then we have no choice. You must stay out of his reach until he either forgets about you or you reach your majority.”
“Easier said than done, Dee. He has set one of his watchdogs to guard me—discreetly, of course—and tomorrow morning we make for Belmont. I shouldn’t think I’d have much chance of evading him once he gets me into his own neck of the woods.”
“I’m surprised you let yourself be bullied by him. It isn’t like you, Armand.”
“There was no alternative. He gave me to understand that if I failed him, you would suffer the consequences.”
It was some time before she could frame a reply. She was more upset than she wished Armand to know. Anger and fear had been displaced by a new emotion. She was deeply hurt to think that the man whom she was beginning to suspect she was half in love with could be so callously indifferent to the anguish and terror he was putting her through. She had no doubt that Rathbourne’s threats were never idle.
The Passionate Prude Page 18
