River of Fire: Book 6 in The Fallen Angels Series

by Mary Jo Putney

  He swore under his breath and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. "It isn't that I don't care for you, Rebecca, or that there is anyone else," he said quietly. "The problem with marriage is..."

  He broke off. After a long pause, he said carefully, "I have an obligation to fulfill. When I have done so, there is a very real chance that you will want no part of me." His voice became wry. "Except for my head on a platter, perhaps."

  She had a brief, gruesome vision of a silver tray with his severed head on it. An artist's imagination was not always a good thing. "I don't understand."

  He rested his cheek on her head. "I certainly hope not. It is not something I can discuss."

  Under her ear she could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. She wondered what his mysterious obligation entailed. Probably it was about the dreadful financial problems he had inherited. "Whatever happens, the fault is not yours. It was I who instigated what happened between us," she said softly. "And though it may have been wicked of me, I really can't be sorry."

  "Neither can I, Ginger," he said with a rueful sigh. "Neither can I."

  * * *

  Rebecca found that it was easy to sin with a man who was living under the same roof—particularly in a household of mad artists who kept strange hours. No one noticed a thing.

  Of course she and Kenneth knew, and tension thrummed between them the next morning. She was torn between wanting to apologize and wanting to rip his clothes off again.

  It was hard to tell what Kenneth thought, but he was definitely not relaxed in her presence. Knowing that the intimacy of a sitting would be misery, she said brightly that for the next few days she would be busy with the background and clothing of the corsair picture, so he would not be needed for posing. He accepted that with visible relief.

  Then, deciding that knowledge was better late than never, she invited Lavinia up to her studio for tea and a woman-to-woman talk. Specifically, she asked how to prevent conception.

  Accepting the request as natural from a female on the verge of marriage, Lavinia matter-of-factly described several methods. She even promised to send over pieces of sponge suitable for soaking with vinegar and inserting. ("Not that I don't have the highest regard for your intended husband, darling, but when men become excited they sometimes forget to leave before they come. Much better for a woman to manage matters herself.")

  Rebecca did not reveal that the question of marriage was still undecided. That was between her and Kenneth. But acquiring the means of preventing a baby made her feel wonderfully free. A second bedding would probably not make Kenneth feel any more remorseful than he already was, so perhaps, if the opportunity arose, she could try to ravish him again.

  Because, blast the man, he had been right. She had not understood the difference between being a virgin and a woman who had tasted of Eve's apple. Before, she had yearned for Kenneth without knowing exactly what she wanted. Now her flesh remembered his feel and weight and scent with breath-catching precision. Now she understood how passion could intoxicate body and mind so that nothing existed except the lover. How desire could fill the emptiness inside her, and the touch of a man's hand could make her blood dance.

  Yes, now she knew what she wanted, and she craved it with an intensity that unnerved her.

  Most unnerving of all was the recognition that it wasn't sexual satisfaction in the abstract that she wanted. It was Kenneth. Only Kenneth.

  * * *

  Three days after the betrothal notices appeared, Rebecca found that she could proceed no further on the corsair picture without her model. The next morning she would have to ask Kenneth to sit again—and hope she could keep her hands off him. It was bad enough working on his image. The warm, solid physical reality might tempt her beyond her self-control.

  She was staring at her corsair canvas, thinking depraved thoughts, when a knock sounded on the door of her studio. It was Minton, the butler, with a card on the tray. She frowned at him. "Why did you bring this up? You know that I am never at home to casual callers."

  He cleared his throat meaningfully. "I thought perhaps you would wish to make an exception in this case, miss."

  She took the card and her brows shot upward. The Honorable Elizabeth Wilding. "Is this a young lady, Minton?"

  "Yes, miss. Escorted by a military sort of gentleman."

  It must be Kenneth's sister, making a courtesy call on her brother's prospective bride. Rebecca hadn't known the girl was in London. And he was out running errands, blast him. She would have to carry the burden of pretending to be a happy fiancée alone. "Tell Miss Wilding that I'll be down in a few minutes."

  She made a quick stop in her room to tame her hair and don a gorgeous Indian shawl that brightened her plain garb. Then she instructed Minton to send Kenneth in on his return and warily entered the drawing room.

  Her guests were standing by the wall admiring one of Sir Anthony's paintings. Both turned when she entered. The young man was blond and attractive, with eyes that had seen experience beyond his years. His upright bearing and crippled left arm confirmed the likelihood that he had been in the army.

  The girl beside him was slender and pretty, with a sweet face and Kenneth's striking gray eyes. She moved toward her hostess with the help of a cane. "Miss Seaton?" she said hesitantly. "I'm Beth Wilding, Kenneth's sister."

  Recognizing a kindred shy person, Rebecca met her guest in the middle of the room. "I'm delighted to have the chance to meet you, Miss Wilding." She took her hand with a smile. "From what Kenneth said, I thought you were in Bedfordshire."

  "Please, call me Beth since we will be sisters. When I saw the betrothal announcement in the newspaper I decided to come to London to welcome you to the family." She slanted a glance at her escort. "And we... we also wanted to speak with Kenneth about another matter. This is my friend Lieutenant Jack Davidson. He was in Kenneth's regiment."

  Davidson bowed. "A pleasure, Miss Seaton. Please accept my best wishes on your betrothal."

  Rebecca liked the look of him, though he seemed tense enough to ring like a bell if tapped. It was obvious from the way he and Beth looked at each other that they were rather more than friends. "You must both call me Rebecca."

  Rather than ignore Davidson's injury, she glanced at his crippled arm and said matter-of-factly, "Waterloo?"

  He nodded. "Kenneth—Lord Kimball—saved my life that day. If he hadn't put a tourniquet on my arm, I would have bled to death." The recollection seemed to make him even more tense.

  Wanting to put her guests at ease, Rebecca invited them to sit down and rang for refreshments. After they took seats, she said to Beth, "I met your stepmother several days ago."

  "And you survived?" Beth said promptly. Then she clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, dear. I shouldn't have said that. I meant to be on my best behavior."

  Rebecca grinned, knowing she and Beth would get along very well. "Hermione is perfectly dreadful, isn't she? You must have great fortitude to have endured her."

  "Luckily, I was usually beneath her notice. I lived quietly at Sutterton with a wonderful governess and did very well."

  A tea tray and cakes were delivered. Rebecca noticed how deftly Beth arranged the cup and cake plate so Davidson could manage easily with one hand. They meshed together like clockwork gears. Not like her and Kenneth, who were circling each other as warily as two strange cats.

  After several minutes of general conversation, Beth asked, "Do you know where we might find Kenneth?"

  "He should be back soon. He's out doing some errands."

  "He lives here?" Beth said with surprise.

  "Yes, he's my father's secretary." Rebecca looked at her guest curiously. "You didn't know?"

  "He's never mentioned where he was living. We've been sending letters to a postal receiving station."

  Curiouser and curiouser. Rebecca wondered if the secretiveness had something to do with Kenneth's mysterious "obligation." Feeling an obscure desire to protect him, she said lightly, "He was probably afraid
you would write to him as Lord Kimball. He's the most casual peer I ever met. Neither my father nor I knew about his title until his friends Lord and Lady Michael Kenyon met him here and revealed the dreadful truth."

  After her guests laughed, Jack asked, "Do you know if Kenyon is still in London? I should like to call on him. He was in my regiment." He smiled, more at ease. "We humble lieutenants admired both him and Lord Kimball extravagantly."

  "They have the same effect on me," Rebecca said.

  As conversation flowed easily among the three, she listened closely for the sound of Kenneth's return. Her corsair was going to have some questions to answer.

  Chapter 22

  As usual when returning to Seaton House, Kenneth stopped to collect his letters. There was a sharp message from Lord Bowden, saying that he was about to go to his country seat, but that when he returned they must meet so he could learn how the investigation was proceeding.

  Kenneth frowned as he tucked the letter away. He had continued making discreet inquiries of everyone who might have any knowledge of Lady Seaton's death. He had acquired a substantial file of notes. But he had yet to find anything that shed new light on what had happened. Perhaps there might be information in the Lake District. If not—well, when there were no more leads to pursue, the investigation would be over. Bowden would be furious, but Kenneth was guiltily aware that he himself would be relieved.

  He walked through the afternoon drizzle, mentally going over everything he had learned for what seemed like the thousandth time. He could honestly say that he was doing the best he could. The fact that he had found nothing almost certainly meant that there was nothing to find.

  If that was the case, his obligation to Bowden would soon be discharged, and in a way that meant Rebecca need not learn that he'd come to Seaton House to spy on her father. It was an open question whether Bowden would fulfill his side of the bargain; he might feel that he hadn't gotten his money's worth.

  Kenneth would be in a quandary if Bowden balked at returning the Sutterton mortgages. Though they had signed a contract, he could not imagine taking the other man to court and letting the world—including Rebecca and Sir Anthony—know of the agreement. And while Kenneth was doing his best, it was true that he was finding the task increasingly distasteful. That would make it harder for him to demand payment.

  If Bowden did not want to clear the mortgages outright, perhaps he would agree to a compromise such as letting Kenneth pay the debt off gradually. However the matter was resolved, at least the end was in sight—and after the investigation, Kenneth would be free to think about a possible future with Rebecca.

  Now, he mostly thought about making love in the attic and wishing, rather desperately, that they could do it again.

  He let himself into Seaton House and was shaking the raindrops from his cloak when the butler came and said, "Miss Seaton has asked that you join her in the drawing room."

  Thinking that the Kenyons must have called, Kenneth went to join them. The sight of his sister and Jack Davidson rocked him.

  Tart amusement in her eyes, Rebecca said, "Look who has come to offer congratulations on our betrothal, my dear."

  Beth rose and came toward him. "Hello, Kenneth," she said, her eyes anxious. "Are you sorry to see us?"

  "Of course not. We still have years of separation to make up for." He enveloped her in a hug. "Though I'm surprised you came all the way to London. How on earth did you find me?"

  Emerging from his embrace, she said, "Cousin Olivia saw the betrothal notice and said we should pay a call on your fiancée. She stayed at Sutterton because of a chill, but Jack and I had no trouble finding where Sir Anthony Seaton lives when we reached London." A touch of dryness entered her voice. "Finding you here was a lucky accident."

  She had every reason to question his secretiveness. He was grateful that she didn't. His arm around his sister, he moved forward and took his friend's hand. "You look much better than the last time we met, Jack."

  "Bedfordshire and Beth have worked wonders, sir."

  As they shook hands, Kenneth observed that the other man looked as nervous as a mouse on a hot griddle. He was also being unnaturally formal. Perhaps there were estate problems so severe that his steward thought they must be discussed face-to-face.

  Confirming his guess, Rebecca said, "Jack wants to speak with you privately. The small salon should be empty now."

  Beginning to be seriously concerned, Kenneth ushered Jack from the drawing room to the small salon. As soon as the door closed behind them, he said bluntly, "More trouble at Sutterton?"

  "Why, no." Jack paced across the room. "At least, not estate trouble. In that area, everything is going well."

  "Then why do you look ready to jump out of your skin?"

  Jack rubbed his crippled left arm, as if massaging phantom pains. "I... I've come to ask permission to marry Beth."

  "When the time comes I'll be happy to give you my blessing," Kenneth said, surprised. "But when you wrote me about your intentions, you said it was too soon, and I agreed. You haven't known each other long, and the future of Sutterton is still undecided."

  "I'm afraid we can't wait." Jack swallowed hard. "Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we didn't wait."

  The silence was thunderous. Then Kenneth asked in a dangerous voice, "Are you saying Beth is with child?"

  Looking miserable but resolute, the younger man said, "We think so." He met Kenneth's gaze steadily. "I'm sorry, sir. You must want to call me out, and you have every right to. It... it only happened once, and was certainly unintended, but that doesn't excuse me." His mouth twisted. "You saved my life, and I repay you by seducing your sister. All I can do is say that I love Beth from the bottom of my soul. I swear that she will always be loved and cared for, even if Sutterton is sold and I must find a situation elsewhere."

  The first rush of Kenneth's brotherly anger was quickly followed by recognition of the irony. He could hardly take the moral high ground when there was a chance that he and Rebecca might also make a hasty trip to the altar. Heaven knew that he understood how years in the masculine maelstrom of war could make a man crave the healing warmth of a woman's arms to the point where desire overcame sense.

  After taking a deep breath, he said, "It isn't what I would have chosen, but I suppose there is no harm done. I suspect that the seduction was mutual. Beth has a mind of her own."

  Jack's wry smile showed that Kenneth had hit the mark. Beth and Rebecca obviously had certain similarities, though Kenneth doubted that his sister was as wonderfully brazen as Rebecca. After a brief, dizzy memory of his Lilith shaking her flaming hair provocatively over her naked shoulders, he said, "Shall we return to the drawing room and break the news to the ladies?"

  Looking enormously relieved, Jack said, "You're taking this very well, sir. Better than I deserve."

  "You and I have both seen our share of the world's misery. The impetuousness of love is a minor problem by comparison." Kenneth gave the younger man a stern glance. "But for God's sake, stop calling me sir!"

  Jack smiled sheepishly. "Under the circumstances, using your Christian name seemed like insult after injury."

  "Since we're going to be brothers-in-law, you'd better go back to calling me Kenneth." As they went to the door, he asked, "What would you have done if I'd refused permission?"

  "Married her anyhow. Beth is of age." Jack held the door open for Kenneth. "But neither of us wanted to start our life together by becoming estranged from you."

  A good, practical point of view. As they retraced their steps to the drawing room, Kenneth found that his pleasure in his sister's marriage outweighed the inconvenient timing. Beth and Jack both had steady dispositions, and they seemed deeply in love. He only hoped that he would soon be able to provide his sister with the dowry to which she was entitled. He did not want to see the young couple forced to live hand-to-mouth, especially with a baby on the way.

  They entered the drawing room. Kenneth said to his sister with a smile,
"Jack has asked for your hand, and I intend to see the two of you spliced before he discovers what an imp you are. Since we're both here in London, how about marrying by special license within the next few days?"

  "Oh, Kenneth!" Beaming with relief, Beth hurled herself into his arms. "You are the best of brothers."

  "I'm not, you know. Jack will take much better care of you than I did." He hugged her back, his mind busy with ideas for making her wedding memorable despite the haste and his lack of money. It was time to ask for a favor or two.

  Releasing his sister, he said, "Michael and Catherine Kenyon are staying at Ashburton House, and he has mentioned several times how large and empty the place is. I think they would be happy to have you both as guests for a few days."

  "If they are willing, it would be far more convenient than staying in an inn," Jack said with a pleased smile.

  Rebecca said hesitantly, "Of course you scarcely know me, Beth, but if you don't have a friend in London who can stand up with you, I would be honored to do so."

  Beth instantly accepted the offer. As wedding planning began, Kenneth sent a note to see if Michael and Catherine would take two guests. Michael replied within the hour, saying that any officer of the 95th and any sister of Kenneth's would always be welcome under their roof. The note was delivered by a handsome carriage that awaited the orders of the expected guests.

  Somewhere in the midst of the bustle, the tension that had been between him and Rebecca evaporated. There was another kind of tension that came when he speculated about what kind of bride she would make. As he watched Beth and Jack climb into the carriage, he wondered wryly if weddings were contagious.

  * * *

  The next day, George Hampton came by with a trial engraving of Sir Anthony's third Waterloo picture. The two men had a noisy discussion before agreeing on several areas that needed work. Sir Anthony returned to his studio and Hampton was preparing to leave when Kenneth approached him. "I'd like to talk to you sometime, sir. When would be convenient?"