by Jo Beverley
Dangerous Joy
The Company of Rogues
Book Five
by
Jo Beverley
New York Times & USA Today
Bestselling Author
DANGEROUS JOY
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"Brimming with sensual adventure and daring wit"
~RT
"...a fast paced, fun romance that will keep you glued. This is a first rate keeper!
~Aromancereview.com
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Chapter 1
Ireland, January 1816
Miles Cavanagh frowned up from the legal documents in his hand. "Your father must have taken leave of his senses, Colum. You were supposed to be the girl's guardian."
His new stepfather put on a pious look. "When a man is about to take leave of these earthly shores, my boy, he can surely be excused if he abandons his senses first."
"Abandons them enough to be cajoled, perhaps?"
Colum Monahan, a middle-aged man still in his traveling clothes, waggled a plump finger. "Don't you try to blame me now, Miles. Father was dead and the deed done hours before I arrived at Foy."
Miles supposed that to be true, but it was typical of Colum that he had in some way dodged an onerous duty. He was a charming, indolent man who found humor in nearly everything and always expected the best in life. Amazingly, life seemed to grant it to him, including Miles's pretty mother.
And now the loss of a troublesome ward.
The man must have made a pact with the leprechauns.
"What the devil possessed him, then?" Miles demanded. "No one in his right mind would appoint a twenty-five-year-old man he hardly knew as guardian to a granddaughter."
"I have no idea..."
"His twenty-year-old granddaughter."
"My dear boy, there is no point in snarling at me! And Father is beyond your reach."
Miles ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. But this is a damnable imposition."
"Tush, tush. You'll have a seizure yourself if you allow your choleric disposition to rule you."
"I do not have a choleric disposition."
Colum poured two glasses of brandy and passed one to Miles. "Every redhead is given to anger."
"My hair is not red, and I am the most easy-going of fellows." Miles unclenched his teeth in order to sip from his glass. "I simply do not want to be responsible for a young woman, especially one I remember you describing as 'that hellion Felicity.'"
Colum settled into his favorite chair. "The dear child is calming as she gets older. Nothing could have been more suitable than her behavior during the obsequies." He looked at Miles with a mischievous twinkle that made him resemble a portly leprechaun himself. "Sure and she's turned into a fine-looking girl, you know. Dark hair and eyes, and a very handsome figure."
"Devil take it, if I have to have a ward, I'd rather she be plain. I know the way young men behave."
"I'm sure you do, my boy. I'm sure you do. And just think," Colum added, smiling up at the fine plasterwork of the ceiling, "she's an heiress into the bargain."
Miles stared at him. "An heiress? Surely your father didn't leave her that much."
Colum lowered his bright eyes. "You forget her maternal grandfather, Miles."
Dammit, so he had. After all, he'd never thought his stepfather's niece's maternal relations were any affair of his.
This past summer, when Miles's mother had married Colum, Miles had accompanied the happy couple on a visit to his stepfather's family home of Foy Hall. But at that time Felicity Monahan had been off in England to visit her mother's family and discuss an unexpected inheritance from her maternal grandfather.
"You mean it amounted to something?"
A rich chuckle rolled through Colum. "When I think of the dust Father kicked up about Patrick's match with 'that miner's daughter from Cumberland...' And then the man develops mines of his own and makes a fortune!" He raised his glass in a toast. "Twenty thousand a year, my boy."
"Twenty thousand!"
"You might want to look at little Felicity with marriage in view."
"Hellion," Miles reminded him, and downed a strengthening swig of brandy. Twenty thousand. That was more than his own income. Hell and damnation. Every fortune hunter in Europe would be after her!
Miles couldn't help thinking that if his mother hadn't taken this unlikely notion of marrying again he'd never have known the Monahans and would not be in this stew.
"Now, now, my boy. A man who likes horses should appreciate a bit of spirit in a filly."
"Devil take it, Colum, we're talking about a woman, not a mare."
"It's all the same in the end." His stepfather emphasized the comment with a merry wink.
Miles refilled his glass. He still wasn't comfortable with the idea of having a stepfather at all, and one who clearly enjoyed his mother in a very earthy way was enough to try the patience of a saint.
The two of them were always touching, and a man would have to be a nod-cock not to recognize the way they looked at each other at times. In the middle of the day, too. Then they'd make an excuse to go off alone.
It wasn't decent.
But since Miles's mother seemed happy, he was determined not to make an issue of it. He'd be glad, however, to be leaving soon for England. Hopefully, by the time he returned, Colum and his mother would have moved beyond newlywed fervor and be acting their age.
If he ever got to England, that was. He'd had the damnable luck to dislocate his shoulder in October, just as he was about to leave for the hunting season. And then the thing had not healed well. Resenting each missed day in the Shires, he'd given in to his mother's insistence that he stay home so she could be sure he wasn't risking his recovery by trying to manage one of his prime horses.
Then it had been Christmas, and since he'd not spent the season at his home for years, he'd decided to stay. Now he was ready to depart and this landed in his lap.
"It's a shame you're not married, my boy," Colum said. "If you had a wife, she'd look after the girl for you."
"But I don't have a wife, or any immediate intention of seeking one. I'm not ready to settle down."
Colum tut-tutted. "You are heir to Kilgoran and have your responsibilities."
Miles twitched his shoulders as if under a burden, though this was one he'd borne all his life, for his father had been cousin an
d heir to the Earl of Kilgoran. It was only that his father's death, and the increasing frailty of the old earl, meant the ax could fall at any time, putting an end to an almost idyllic life.
"If my revered uncle had accepted his responsibilities and taken a wife himself, I'd be in no need of marriage at all."
"True enough, but it makes the necessity of your marrying the more urgent. You're the last of the line, Miles. It would be sad indeed to see a revered old Irish title fall into abeyance."
"I have a brother."
"A naval officer. Now there's a nice, safe profession!"
Miles shot a thoughtful look at his stepfather. "It's not like you to be preaching the path of duty, Colum."
Colum's exaggerated expression of innocence confirmed Miles's suspicion that he was up to something. "Your mother would like you to take a wife, and whatever pleases Aideen pleases me."
"Good, because I doubt my mother wants me to be this girl's guardian. I'll have Leonard declared of unsound mind in his last hours. With the codicil overruled, you'll have charge of the girl."
Colum shook his head. "Alas, Miles, I doubt it would work. The codicil was witnessed by the doctor and Leonard's valet, and both are firm that he was of clear mind and determined on it."
"Damnation. There must be a way out of this."
"Not quickly." Colum looked, for once, completely serious. "I've had dealings with the Dublin courts, Miles, and my advice to any man would be to avoid them at all cost. In a little over six weeks, Felicity will be of age. A court case could easily grind on that long, and in the end all you'd have achieved would be to shovel money into the pockets of the legal vultures. No. It will be easier to take up your yoke and bear it."
Miles took a restless turn around the cozy room. "I smell a conspiracy here, Colum. If you're so set on avoiding this task, there must be a catch to it."
"Not at all..."
"I've already missed two months of the hunting season, and this business will delay me even more!"
"Now, it wasn't my doing that you ripped your arm from its socket, Miles, and you can't claim it was! In fact, I told you to turn that horse into dog-meat months ago."
"Banshee has qualities I don't want to waste. But my horses are in Melton, and I'm stuck here. If I accept this duty, I'll have to at least go and meet the girl."
"Yes, I think you will. But it need be no more than that. She seems content to live at Foy, and my sister Annie is a suitable companion for her. Felicity has a Dublin lawyer and two other men as trustees for her fortune..."
Just then, Miles's mother, Lady Aideen Monahan, entered in her usual aura of crackling energy, eyes bright, smile wide.
Despite having been born into the august family of the Fitzgeralds, she had little use for pomp and elevation. She had, however, kept up the use of her title. After all, she said, there was something very hausfrauish about the designation "Mrs."
Plumply pretty in a blue wool gown, her sandy curls tucked into a lacy confection that hardly deserved the name 'cap,' she welcomed her husband home with a hearty kiss.
"Who has a fortune that needs managing?" she asked with interest. It was Aideen's willingness to manage Clonnagh that allowed Miles his unshackled way of life.
"Colum's niece, Felicity," Miles said.
"Oh yes! She inherited it from her maternal grandfather. Is there a problem?" If Aideen had the right kind of ears, they would have pricked. "Now I remember. You are her guardian, Colum."
"No," Miles said. "I am. Old Leonard Monahan changed his will on his deathbed."
She swung back, blue eyes sparkling. "How intriguing! Why?"
"Devil alone knows."
"As to reasons," Colum said slowly, "there was some talk of Felicity being in danger..."
"Danger?" Miles asked. "Of what kind?"
"He didn't say. Or wasn't understood. His speech was affected, I gather. Doubtless he worried about fortune hunters."
"Doubtless he did, but to talk of danger is proof his mind was affected."
Aideen looked at Miles carefully. "Are you very put out, my dear?"
"You can probably tell from the way my hair is standing on end." But he grinned.
She reached up to smooth it. "It should not be an onerous burden, and Colum and I will keep an eye on matters while you are away. A dying man's wishes must be respected, Miles."
From his mother, that was as good as an order. Miles sighed. "Very well. I'll ride over tomorrow to introduce myself to the girl. I'll even stay a few days. But then I'm going to Melton."
* * *
The next afternoon, Miles urged his horse into a gallop across a lush meadow, each fall of Argonaut's heavy hooves throwing mud onto his top boots and leather breeches. It was proving to be a wonderful ride, almost putting him in charity with the young woman who was the cause of it.
He headed the horse toward a long rise. Even after a thirty-mile journey, Argonaut took the slope as if it were flat, cruising up without slackening speed.
Laughing, Miles pulled up on the crest, patting the horse's lathered neck. "Ah, my beauty, you're all I expected and more. It'll break my heart to part with you."
The big bay sidled and preened, taking praise as his due.
"I'll see you go to one who'll appreciate you, though, my friend. Don't you worry."
Nudging the horse back down toward the road, Miles thanked the gods that he didn't breed horses for the money. All too many Irishmen did. They had to harden their hearts and sell to the highest bidder, even to a heavy-handed lout or a break-neck hunter who would kill his horses instead of himself.
Miles, however, could choose his customers. His normal practice was to take a string of hunters to Melton Mowbray for the extended hunting season. There, he either rode the horses himself or lent them to trusted friends, then negotiated sales privately. The Meltonians—the avid hunters—knew the reputation of Clonnagh hunters without having to see them run, but any man liked to see a horse in action before buying.
Once the hunting season was underway, Miles had more offers than the father of a grand heiress at Almack's.
Thoughts of heiresses recalled a certain grand heiress nearer to home. He prayed earnestly that he not be put in the position of judging contenders for Miss Monahan's fair and wealthy hand.
He kneed Argonaut onward, checking his direction against the setting sun. He was on course and couldn't be many miles from Foy, though he didn't yet recognize any landmarks.
Too bad the girl had not been at Foy during his visit so that he'd have some idea what to expect. He'd gained a clear impression from Colum's past comments that she was an ill-raised creature who rode astride and came and went as she pleased.
Her wildness was hardly surprising. Orphaned at ten when her parents drowned on their way to England, she'd been left in the care of her grandfather. Miles's assessment of old Leonard Monahan was that he had been as charming as his son Colum, but twice as indolent.
Leonard's land had been cared for haphazardly by a lackadaisical agent, and his house ruled by his equally indolent daughter, Annie, whose main interest in life was cats. She stirred herself for little else.
Yes, Felicity had doubtless been allowed to run wild, but Miles had no interest in trying to correct this neglect. He just prayed his unwelcome ward behaved herself for the next few weeks.
At a fork, a signpost told him he was two miles from Foy. As he turned Argonaut in that direction, another horseman cantered around the bend and drew up to exchange pleasantries.
"Rupert Dunsmore of Loughcarrick," the fine gentleman said, raising his silver-knobbed crop to touch the glossy beaver set with precise rakishness upon burnished pale-gold hair. Though his showy gray didn't impress Miles, his elegant clothing—rather too elegant for riding—marked him as a gentleman. Miles had no choice but to respond.
"Miles Cavanagh of Clonnagh."
He wasn't sure why he was taking an instant dislike to Mr. Dunsmore. Perhaps it was the disdainful expression on his pale, narrow face, or the extr
eme Englishness of his accent. He was either English and determined to exaggerate it, or the sort of Irishman who tried to ape the invaders.
"You're a long way from home, Mr. Cavanagh." Dunsmore was eying him as if he suspected him of being up to no good. Horse thievery, perhaps?
Having been educated in England, Miles could be as English as the Regent if he'd a mind, but now he deliberately slipped into a brogue. "As far as I know, Mr. Dunsmore, the English have made no law against it. Yet."
They moved on at walking speed, side by side but not in harmony, Dunsmore having clearly decided that Miles was not worth the waste of breath. Miles could have ridden on and left the man behind, but Argonaut was due for a breather and the light was going.
"I'm for Foy, sir. And you?" he asked, hoping Dunsmore was headed elsewhere.
"Loughcarrick lies close to Foy."
Damn. "This is a fine part of the country."
"Indeed it is."
They might have continued this desultory conversation until they died of boredom if Dunsmore had not suddenly come to life. He turned sharply to look at Miles. "Cavanagh! You are not...? You cannot be grandson to old Leonard Monahan of Foy?"
"Indeed I'm not." Then before the look of relief could settle on Dunsmore's face, Miles added, "I'm his step-grandson if such a relationship exists."
"But... but then you're heir to Kilgoran!" Dunsmore looked up and down Miles's serviceable buckskins and well-used brown jacket in disbelief.
"I don't dress fine for a long day's ride, Mr. Dunsmore." Miles cast a similar look over Dunsmore's too dandyfied clothes.
Dunsmore collected himself and summoned a social smile. "Then you'll be traveling to meet your ward, Miss Monahan."
Miles despised people who were only pleasant to those of higher rank, but there seemed no point in quarreling with this specimen. "Indeed I am. You are acquainted with her?"
"Very well acquainted. We are neighbors. She and my late wife were quite close."
