A Reckless Match

by Kate Bateman

  Harriet’s eyes widened as she took in her bedraggled appearance. “Lord, whatever happened to you? Did you fall off Sir Galahad?”

  “No, I lost my hat in the river. And then I fell into a hole. And that wasn’t even the worst thing to happen to me today.”

  “The Davieses sent a representative, I take it?” Harriet surmised drily.

  “The dreadful Gryff Davies himself.”

  Harriet lifted her brows. “Really? I thought he was still in London. Being scandalous.”

  “Sadly not. He made a concerted effort to ride down here in person, just to thwart us.” Maddie hobbled stiffly along the corridor and entered her bedchamber. Harriet followed.

  “I suppose it was too much to hope that he’d actually forget to come,” Harriet said reasonably.

  Maddie collapsed on the bed with a groan. “Our problems would have been solved.”

  Harriet knew all about the family’s dire financial situation. Unfortunately, Uncle John was in no position to help. The mapmaking business had been slow since the end of the war; he had no money to spare.

  “What was he like?”

  Maddie threw her arm over her eyes. “The same. Worse.”

  Harriet chuckled. “Those Davies boys were always terribly attractive.”

  “Terribly annoying, you mean.”

  Harriet nudged her hip and Maddie felt a flush warm her cheeks. “Is Gryff Davies the reason you fell down the hole?”

  “No. Well, yes. Indirectly.”

  Harriet was wise enough not to try to decipher that cryptic remark. She pleated the bedcovers between her fingers. “I don’t suppose he mentioned his brother?”

  Maddie almost laughed at her cousin’s studied nonchalance. Harriet had been obsessed with Morgan Davies, the younger of Gryff’s two brothers, for years.

  “Who, Rhys?” she teased, keeping her expression blandly innocent.

  “No, the other one. The one who went to sea.”

  “Oh, you mean Morgan. No, I don’t believe he discussed either of his brothers, now that I think of it. Nor his sister. He was too busy being insufferable. Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason.”

  Maddie sent her a comical look of disbelief.

  Harriet gave her a haughty, superior look back. “If you must know, I heard the admiralty were using some of our maps for navigation. I was just wondering how he was getting on. Whether he was satisfied with the accuracy. That’s all.”

  “A purely professional interest,” Maddie said, straight-faced.

  “Of course.” Harriet’s ears were turning pink. “But, you know, I’ve been checking the admiralty reports in The Times. Morgan’s ship hasn’t been heard of for months.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re worried about a Davies,” Maddie scoffed. “They’re like bad pennies. Always turning up.”

  “Of course not,” Harriet said, too quickly. “No more than I’d worry about any other living creature on this earth. Like a snake. Or a toad.”

  “Out of basic human kindness,” Maddie added, her eyes twinkling. “I understand. But Gryff didn’t mention him, I’m afraid.”

  She rolled on the bed and winced as her body protested. She was going to be covered in bruises by tomorrow, and doubtless as stiff as a board, but there was no question that she wouldn’t let Gryff go adventuring without her. “Have you seen the Aunts today?”

  “Not since breakfast. They’ve gone to see Lady Brassey, over at Raglan Grange.”

  Maddie nodded. The Aunts, as they were collectively known, were Prudence and Constance, her mother’s older sisters. The two of them had occupied Newstead’s east wing for as long as anyone could remember. From what Maddie had heard, they’d come to visit thirty years ago, and had never left.

  Her father grumbled about them constantly. He referred to them as “a two-woman coven” and “those gossiping harpies,” and generally left them to their own devices. But ever since scarlet fever had taken her mother, mere days after Maddie’s tenth birthday, they’d been an unfailing source of comfort and support.

  “Your father was asking about you,” Harriet said.

  “He’ll want to know which Devilish Davies dared to show his face.” Maddie gave a weak smile. “Actually, I was rather surprised he let me go in his stead. This meeting used to be the highlight of his year. He loved squaring up to the old earl.”

  “Maybe the new earl will start some project he can oppose, just on principle?”

  Maddie sniffed. “If anyone has a God-given talent for annoying people, it’s Gryff Davies. I’m sure he’ll aggravate us all in countless ways until he slopes back to London.” She pushed off the bed and unfastened the row of buttons that secured the top part of her riding habit. “I should change. Father hates it when I come down all muddy from one of my digs.”

  Having donned a cotton day dress and tamed her hair into a bun, Maddie descended the main staircase and sought out her father in his study. She found him seated behind his desk, wire-rimmed spectacles perched on his nose. Piles of papers were scattered all around him.

  He glanced up as she entered. “Well?”

  The hopeful expression on his face was enough to make her stomach swoop in misery. She hated to be the one to dash his prayers of financial deliverance. She shook her head, and his features dropped back into their previous cast of morose dejection.

  “They managed to rustle up a representative,” he surmised. It was more statement than question. “Some second cousin, twice removed. Some lazy fop with just enough Davies blood in his veins to stop the land coming to us. Am I right?”

  “Not exactly. A Davies did come. But it was the new earl. The oldest son, Gryffud.”

  Her father grunted. “The soldier? Your uncle John wrote that he was safely tucked up in London, drinking and whoring himself into an early grave.”

  Maddie pursed her lips. “I’m sure he was. But he still managed to ride down here to honor the agreement.”

  Father’s bushy eyebrows waggled like a pair of hairy caterpillars. “Are you sure it was him? I don’t put it past those devils to send an impostor. Did you ask for proof that he was a Davies?”

  “I didn’t need proof. He looks exactly the same as he did when we were children.”

  Well, not exactly the same, Maddie amended silently. He was broader. Wilder. More rough around the edges. And with a new air of cynical experience that only added to his charm.

  Damn him.

  “A preening cockerel, I’ll warrant,” Father muttered.

  “It was definitely him.”

  He sank back in his chair. “Blast it. Still, I never really doubted they’d come. Every last Davies would have to be moldering in his grave before they’d cede an inch of land to us.”

  Maddie tried not to roll her eyes at his dramatics. She gestured at the mountain of papers strewn across the desk. “What’s all this?”

  A spark of his old excitement flared in his eyes. “I’m reviewing the old earl’s plans to dig a canal across the common land. I’ve no doubt the son will prove as demented as his father and try to push it through again. I need to speak to my solicitor, lodge a new objection.”

  “That sounds expensive,” Maddie warned. “And besides, the new earl might not have any interest in building a canal. Why not wait and see what he does?”

  Father, of course, ignored this perfectly sound advice. “But you object to it too, Maddie.”

  “I have good reason. A canal would destroy anything of archaeological significance in its path. What’s yours?”

  He gave a huff. “I don’t need a reason. Any plan conceived by that Welsh scoundrel is bound to be a bad one. We haven’t needed a canal here for hundreds of years. Why start tearing up the countryside now?”

  Maddie took a deep breath. They’d discussed this before. And while it pained her to suggest that their beautiful valley be disfigured, their urgent need for funds might have to take precedence over aesthetic and historical preferences.

  “The world is cha
nging. Maybe a canal isn’t such a bad idea. We’d get a portion of the toll levied on every barge that used it.”

  Father’s brows lifted. “Why are you suddenly playing devil’s advocate, eh?”

  “Because any plan that doesn’t involve me having to marry Sir Mostyn Drake should be seriously considered,” she said tartly.

  “Now, Maddie—”

  “I can’t do it,” Maddie blurted out. “He’s dreadful.”

  “Well, I admit he’s not anyone’s first choice of husband, but he’s rich,” Father cajoled. “And a shrewd businessman. Once you’re married you hardly need to see him—”

  “Do you think he’ll let me continue my excavations?”

  Father opened his mouth, but she forged on without letting him interrupt. “He would not. He curls his lip every time I mention it. He told me ‘the wife of a justice of the peace shouldn’t make such a spectacle of herself, tramping about the fields.’”

  Father’s face fell comically. “Ah.”

  “Even if the man I eventually marry doesn’t share my hobby, I hope he’ll at least allow me to pursue it. You had such a wonderful marriage to Mother. I want something like that.”

  Father slumped lower in his chair, and Maddie knew that she’d won.

  “Ahh, Maddie,” he sighed. “Of course I want that for you. I only thought that you might…” He trailed off and ran his hand through his hair. “He offered to pay me, you see.”

  “Who? Sir Mostyn?” Maddie stilled. “To marry me?”

  Father nodded.

  “How much?”

  “Two thousand pounds.”

  Maddie blinked.

  “And he said he’d waive your dowry. It would go a long way toward settling some of the more pressing debts,” Father said dejectedly.

  “How much did you lose, exactly?”

  “Close on six thousand pounds.”

  The room wavered in front of her eyes. Good God, she’d known they were in trouble, but not to such an alarming extent. Six thousand pounds was an exorbitant sum.

  “Two thousand from Sir Mostyn would keep the worst of the creditors at bay,” her father muttered. “It would give me time to raise the rest of the money from other ventures. We wouldn’t have to sell the house.”

  Maddie swallowed a ball of guilt and despair. Was she being unreasonable? Was it childish fantasy to expect a loving union like the one her parents had shared? Was her personal happiness more important than that of the rest of the family, whom she loved with all her heart? What if her refusal saw the Aunts thrown out of the house they’d lived in for years? A house that had been defended by countless generations of Montgomerys.

  But the thought of marrying Sir Mostyn was utterly abhorrent.

  Things would have been different if he’d been a decent man. He wasn’t handsome, but looks weren’t everything. She might have been able to accept a kind, if elderly, squire. Someone who would respect her opinions and see some value in her archaeological work. Someone who would view her as a partner in their marriage, with whom to share confidences, discuss problems, and offer mutual support.

  None of that would happen with Sir Mostyn. He reminded her of an undertaker. Or a crow. His sallow skin was accentuated by his perpetual choice of dark clothing, and his watery blue eyes were always lingering on her bosom …

  Father’s resigned sigh brought her back to the present.

  “Ah, well. I told him we’d give him a final decision at Squire Digby’s dance on Saturday. If you truly can’t bear the thought of marrying him, then I won’t force you.” He sent her a valiant smile, but Maddie’s heart was heavy as she returned it with one of her own.

  “Thank you. We’ll find another way to raise the money, you’ll see.”

  He brushed off her gratitude with another gruff harrumph and she decided to change the subject. She pointed at the latest copy of The Times that was perched on the corner of the desk. “I hear Napoleon’s reached Paris. They say he already has a hundred and forty thousand men.”

  The ploy worked. Bonaparte was another of her father’s lifelong foes. His brows twitched in outrage. “That scoundrel! He won’t rest until we’re all humming the Marseillaise.”

  It had been almost three weeks since the deposed emperor had escaped from his island prison of Elba, and the newssheets had followed his inexorable progress toward the French capital with breathless dismay.

  “I hope Tristan hasn’t been caught up in all that madness,” Maddie said. Her older brother had an uncanny knack for becoming embroiled in the most unfortunate escapades.

  Father rubbed his forehead. “I sent a letter to his last address, some unpronounceable place in Austria, but I haven’t received a reply. You know what he’s like. Always moving about.”

  Maddie nodded. What else was there to say? “The Aunts are out for dinner with Lady Brassey.”

  “I thought the smell of brimstone had dissipated.”

  Father’s lips twitched into a smile and she sent him a chiding look. “Be nice. You know we’d be lost without them.”

  “If wishing made it so,” he muttered. “I tell you, Maddie, your dear mother was the best of the bunch.” He sent her a brief, regretful smile, and they shared a moment of bittersweet understanding. Then he cleared his throat and made a shooing gesture with his hands. “Well now, off with you. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  She left him to his brooding. Heaven only knew what he’d say if she told him she was meeting his new nemesis tomorrow. Still, the possibility of finding some interesting archaeological treasure to sell was more than enough incentive to meet up with a Davies.

  Alone. In the dark.

  Chapter 7

  Gryff was already at the entrance to the cave when Maddie arrived the next day.

  He’d dressed sensibly, in buff breeches and scuffed riding boots, and a jacket that was less fitted than the one he’d worn yesterday, although it still did an admirable job of accentuating his broad shoulders. His white shirt was secured at the neck with a loose, informally tied cravat and she couldn’t help but smile. He looked like an amiable country squire, instead of the seasoned soldier or darling of the ton he was rumored to be.

  Looks, however, could be deceptive. Was she being foolish, coming here alone? What did she know about the man he’d become? Years of warfare could have had all manner of negative effects on his character.

  What if he’d turned into some raving lunatic since he’d been away? He could strangle her down there and nobody would ever know.

  She should have told Harriet where she was going. In fact, she should have asked her cousin to accompany her. But some wicked part of her had wanted this adventure—and Gryffud Davies—all to herself.

  Just for one day.

  She couldn’t explain it, but despite his undoubted physical superiority and their history of antipathy, she’d always felt safe with him. He was a known entity, reassuringly constant in his role as her relentless tormentor. He might have teased her mercilessly when they were younger, but he’d never done anything that put her in actual physical danger. Rogue he might be, but honor was as ingrained in him as the seams of coal were embedded in these Welsh hills.

  He sent her a smile of challenge from across the clearing as she dismounted.

  “Afternoon, Miss Montgomery. Ready for adventure?”

  “Always.”

  His gaze flicked over her and she repressed the need to check her hair to see if it was still contained. After yesterday’s debacle, she’d tamed it into submission with a ruthless series of plaits and pins. Nothing short of an earthquake could dislodge it.

  Not wanting to flatter him into thinking she’d made an effort with her appearance, she’d dressed in the same practical work clothes she used when on a dig: a blue serge day dress, a matching spencer, and her worn leather ankle boots. Father always joked that it made her look like a washerwoman. Still, she wasn’t going to ruin a perfectly nice dress tramping around in the muck, especially when they currently had no means to buy a r
eplacement.

  She cleared her throat. “Before we go down there, Davies, I want your word that we’ve called a temporary truce.”

  His lips curled up. “A truce? Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Don’t think I’ve forgotten all the mean tricks you and your brothers played on Harriet and me when we were younger.”

  “Childish games.”

  Childish games that had left her strangely restless and hell-bent on vengeance. This was not the time to restart such foolishness.

  “A truce,” she repeated sternly. “For as long as we’re in these caves. That includes no leaping out at me from the darkness and trying to scare me witless.”

  He clapped his hand over his heart as if he’d received a mortal blow. “Would I?”

  “Absolutely. For all I know, you could be planning to strangle me and leave my body down there to rot.”

  He gave a comical lift of his eyebrows. “There are many things I’d like to do to your body, Miss Montgomery, but believe me, strangling is not one of them. Besides, a dead enemy’s no fun—just ask your father.”

  “Well, that’s true,” she conceded, desperately trying to ignore the swirling heat his suggestive comments had created. “So you agree to a cessation of hostilities?”

  “I do. Would you like to seal our bargain in the same manner as yesterday?” More heat scalded her skin as his wicked green gaze flashed to her mouth.

  “No thank you,” she said primly. “I’ll accept your word on the matter.”

  “How disappointing.” He eyed the small bag she’d lifted from the saddle with a cynical lift of his brows. “What have you got in there? A clean pair of gloves? Monogrammed handkerchief? You women carry all sorts of ridiculous things about with you.”

  “I’m not such a peahen. I have candles and a tinderbox. A compass. My folding knife.”

  He gave a grunt that might have been grudging respect and slung his own satchel across his chest, bandolier-style. “You can leave the candle. Open flames are a bad idea in enclosed spaces like mines.”