The Passionate Prude

by Elizabeth Thornton

  “Not particularly,” and he shifted her in his arms to bring her lips back to his searching kiss.

  “But…but…isn’t that what you came to Marcliff for in the first place?” she asked in slight bemusement.

  “That was only one of the reasons. You’ve convinced me that Armand is a pattern card of rectitude. Where are they? On the way to my mother in Bath by now, I shouldn’t wonder. Oh well,” went on his lordship philosophically, “that should keep them out of our hair for a week or so at least.”

  His lips moved to the pulse at Deirdre’s throat and she made a slight movement to evade the heat of his lips.

  “Gareth?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “Tell me later,” he murmured as his lips dropped lower.

  “Promise you won’t be angry?”

  His head came up, and he looked searchingly into her luminous green eyes. “What is it?”

  “I’m not only a gambler and a blackmailer but I’m also…please forgive me, my dear, a cheat.”

  “A cheat?”

  She nodded dumbly and said in a small voice, “I didn’t beat you at cards just now. I cheated.” She saw his blank look and explained, “The cards were marked. I knew every card that was in your hand before play started, Gareth,” she went on a little desperately when she saw that he still did not understand how far she was sunk in iniquity, “you didn’t stand a chance from the moment you entered this room.”

  He saw her serious expression and a smile of deepest tenderness gentled his features. “Ninnyhammer,” he purred against her ear, “I’ve known that since the moment I first set eyes on you. Don’t give it another thought. If I had won, the forfeit I intended to exact from you was identical.”

  “You didn’t want to know where Caro was?”

  “Oh that,” he responded dismissively. “I know you too well to think that you would have loaned your support to anything havey-cavey. And I’d no real wish to dash all over England to look for that headstrong sister of mine. Armand wanted responsibility? He has his wish! Let him try and tame her. I can’t even manage the one slip of a girl who happens to be my own wife.”

  Deirdre could feel the steady beat of his heart at her breast. She looked up through the veil of her lashes, and a wave of tenderness caused a sudden tightness in her chest. One hand went up to smooth the rough edge of the scar on his cheek, and she was submerged in a rush of memory. She scarcely recognized the girl who, even loving him then, at Vauxhall, had struck out in blind fury, passionately denying the strength of the attachment between them. That his love had endured time and distance and every imaginable obstacle she had thrown in his path seemed like a miracle to her. Nor could she be sorry for that almost frightening ruthlessness of purpose in him which had compelled her to accept his claims upon her. A well of gratitude opened up deep within her. It bubbled up like fresh spring water drenching the parched earth with its life-giving properties. She was filled with a sense of well-being, of coming home, and she knew then that the man whom she had been so reluctant to love, whom she had mistrusted without foundation, was the one person in the world with whom her happiness was most secure.

  She drew a deep breath and said unsteadily, “Gareth, that night on the castle walls, when I threatened you with that pistol.”

  “Yes…the pistol. I think that hurt more than anything. I would have put you to the test, you know, but I expected O’Toole to be right behind Tony. I couldn’t take the chance that, if you had pulled the trigger, he might not want to take a paltry revenge. I had to disarm you, and quickly.”

  “You would have put me to the test? You were so sure I wouldn’t pull the trigger?”

  “No, my love. In that moment of truth I would have given anything to know if you would have chosen your brother over me.”

  Her eyes, tear bright, she said shakily, “You might have been very, very dead.”

  “Then I would have had my answer.” His face was grave but in his eyes she discerned a glint of laughter.

  “About the pistol,” she began, but his fingers sealed her lips.

  “I know. I found it, oh, days later. It wasn’t loaded.”

  “No.”

  “But why?”

  “Because…because, I found I could only go so far. If the gun were armed, I don’t think I could have pointed it at you. An empty pistol was a better defense than nothing. When you forced me to choose between the two people I love most in the world, it was the best compromise I could come up with.”

  “I was insanely jealous. Can you forgive me? I wanted, from the very beginning, to share the burden of your brother with you. But you would have none of it. And if ever I did try to instill some sense of responsibility in him, you—”

  “I know. I was there to ruin whatever good you might have done.” He pulled back his head to study her more closely and Deirdre continued, “Armand himself said as much, and more. He said that if he’d had you or someone like you for his guardian for the past five years, he might not have become such a scapegrace. I think he rather hero-worships you.”

  “Oh, that’s going too far.”

  An impish light danced in Deirdre’s eyes. “That’s what I told him.”

  She received a rough shake for that piece of impertinence and she nestled closer in his arms. His lordship was not insensible of the advantages of his position and he administered another rough shake with most agreeable results.

  “Gareth?”

  “Mmm?”

  “You said that Caro was only one reason you came to Marcliff. What was the other?”

  Rathbourne’s mouth reluctantly halted its slow exploration of Deirdre’s shoulder and collarbone. “To take you back to your proper domain, of course.”

  “Did you miss me a little?” she asked coyly.

  “More than a little,” he responded with gratifying ardor.

  “Yes? Go on.”

  “My dear, how could I not? Every day of your absence became more of a torment to me.”

  “How so?” she prodded, and her silky lashes fluttered down in artless confusion.

  “It was the candles that finally broke down my resistance.”

  “The candles?” she asked, and the artless pose was gone in an instant.

  His lordship’s lips remained grave. “The candles were the last straw in a week of utter frustration. Wellington, at Waterloo, could not have felt more desperate. You’re my last hope. With you by my side, I expect we shall manage to turn the tide of the battle.”

  “Waterloo? Battle? What the devil are you talking about?”

  “Can’t you guess? Then I shall explain, though it pains me to tell you. Deirdre, there’s insurrection in the ranks at Belmont. Either that, or some evil spirit has put a hex on my once tranquil existence. The signs are unmistakable. Do you wish me to enumerate?” Taking his wife’s wide-eyed silence for acquiescence, his lordship warmed to his subject. “There isn’t a candle in the castle that doesn’t smoke and drip over—oh, everything. There’s a constant fog in the house of an evening when they’re lit that is positively intolerable. The silver seems to have been attacked by an incurable disease, I think it’s called tarnish; the fires won’t light in the grates anymore; water, in defiance of natural law, can’t be brought to the boil, so I’ve had to make do with a cold bath every night; the servants have been struck with a peculiar form of amnesia—they’re so confused they can’t remember the dining room from the tapestry room; no one answers to his name any longer, it doesn’t matter whether you call him John or Jeremiah; cook can’t recall how to boil eggs, let alone dress the high cuisine we were fortunate enough to sample when you were in residence; there’s no mail, nothing ever gets delivered—no, not even if it bears the Royal Seal; but most heinous of all, and something which I refuse to tolerate an instant longer—my best brandy has turned into vinegar. You can see how it is with me. I’ve been brought to my knees. You’re my last hope, Deirdre—the reinforcements I’m counting on. If yo
u can’t see your way to doing your duty, I’m done for.”

  “And the reason you wish me to return to Belmont…” she began in outraged accents.

  “…is to make my life more comfortable,” concluded the Earl suavely.

  The silence which ensued was ominous. Then a furious spate of invective broke from her ladyship’s lips. The Earl winced to hear it. After a moment, his arms tightened around Deirdre’s warm, struggling body, and he proceeded, quite ruthlessly, to kiss her into silence.

  When her movements had stilled under the onslaught of his fervent embrace, he lifted his head and looked down with satisfaction into her smoky eyes. “And that, madam wife, is the third reason I came to fetch you back to Belmont. Now what do you have to say to that?”

  But coherent speech was beyond Deirdre. A strangled sound halfway between a moan and a whimper fell from her lips. She tried to speak, but intelligible words were beyond her, and his lordship, who evidently understood perfectly his beloved’s inarticulate form of address, gave himself up to persuading his lady that words between lovers were totally superfluous.

  More from Elizabeth Thornton

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