Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  He kissed Joy's hand—a gesture that appeased most women, especially those of the lower class. If he found out she was the local light-skirt after all, he might take her up on today's offer, for she was the most luscious piece he'd encountered in a long while. "I fear, like Dunsmore, I'm in no state to do you justice tonight, my dear. Perhaps another time."

  She made no protest but held onto his hand. "And you'll not report the matter, sir?"

  "If Dunsmore wants it kept quiet, I won't spill it."

  She kissed his hand then with almost religious fervor. "Ah, thank you, thank you, sir! May Jesus and Mary guard you!"

  She was overacting again. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph guard you," he replied in the traditional way. "If you'll just lead me to my horse, sweet Joy, I'll be on my way."

  "On your way? But it's late, sir. You should stay at the inn till morning. That's where your horse is, after all."

  "I didn't think you'd want me lingering in the area."

  The look she flashed him then was noticeably intelligent—aware of all the aspects to this situation. "The law around here doesn't take kindly to people who are abroad at night, sir."

  Interesting. Perhaps they feared that if he fell in with the military he'd tell his story. His journey, of course, would take him only as far as Foy Hall, which sat in the old style close by the village, but they couldn't know that.

  Impulsively, he decided to let this play out, to see if there was more to be learned.

  "Very well, sweet Joy. Lead me to the Shamrock Inn."

  She collected her lantern, but closed it before leading him down the track to the Foy road. Perhaps she did fear a military troop. With only a sliver of moon to give natural light, Miles had to watch his steps.

  "So," he said when they were on the relative smoothness of the road, "what about Dunsmore makes him worthy of a beating?"

  "What about him doesn't?"

  "Since I don't know the man, I'd be hard pressed to say. He seemed courteous enough in a top-lofty manner."

  "Top-lofty. Now there's a good word for him. And him a down-at-heels English captain before he married Kathleen Craig."

  "Married money, did he? And English to boot. Now there's a series of wicked sins to be sure."

  She flashed him an angry glance. "The man's gone through as much of his wife's money as he could get his greedy hands on. Now she's dead, he's stealing from his son's estate and squeezing every last penny out of his tenants without pity or mercy."

  They were coming into the small village. "'Tis not unusual for landlords to wring their people dry, my dear. But perhaps he deserved a trouncing for it. I'd be interested to know why you think he won't report it."

  She stopped beneath the creaking inn-sign and he heard a fiddle scraping inside. The shutters were drawn, however, so only a glimmer of light spilled out into the road. "He has matters he'd rather keep quiet."

  Miles noted with interest that she'd pulled up her hood again. Probably not the local light-skirt, alas.

  He perched on an edge of a stone horse-trough. "If you can stop him from reporting an assault, I'd think you could stop his extortions altogether."

  "He's growing desperate. He's a gamester, you see. Tonight was simply a reminder." She touched his sleeve. "Truly, he is a bad man, sir. Please don't betray us."

  She really was an entrancing creature, and his body was recovering rapidly. He took her hand, and after a startled moment, she did not resist. "You offered payment for my silence before, sweet Joy."

  He raised her hand and sucked gently on a finger.

  She tugged tentatively. "It's late now, sir. I should be home."

  He sucked the next finger. "Your parents don't know what you're up to? Or do you live with an employer? Tell me how to contact you—" he drew the finger suggestively deep into his mouth before sliding it free, "—when I've regained my strength."

  She tugged her hand harder, but he didn't let go. "Are you saying you won't be silent unless I sleep with you?"

  The note of outrage told him she'd never meant to pay with her body. Perhaps she'd thought his roughing-up made him safe. A strangely naive view for such a bold piece. He decided to see just how far she would go and what he could learn from it.

  He slipped his other arm around her and pulled her between his legs. "It wasn't sleeping I had in mind, alannah. I won't keep you out all night."

  He could hear the unsteadiness of her breathing now, for her face was only inches from his. "I can't here, sir. Everyone would know."

  "Do you still have your reputation, then?" He released her hand and cupped a breast as he'd wanted to do since first seeing her. Ah, but it was magnificent—full, warm, and firm. He bent to kiss the rising swell. "I won't ruin you. You have my word, Joy. Are you betrothed to one of those animals? Is he willing to have you pay this price, or will he be after me for revenge?" His thumb found her nipple, already hard, and brushed it gently.

  She shivered, pulling back again. "I am betrothed to no man." After a moment, however, she ceased resisting. "But I will do what I must to save them all."

  A true patriot-martyr, but such a tempting one. And the response of her flesh told him it wasn't all sacrifice. Or perhaps it was just the response of his own flesh, hoping it wasn't all sacrifice.

  "Joyfully?" He teased her sensitive flesh again.

  She grasped his hand. "Sir, please! Not here in public!"

  He glanced around at the empty street. "Public? There's not a soul in sight and it's pitch dark. We could couple here with none the wiser, sweetheart. Let's kiss at least."

  This time she was not pliant in his arms, but he tilted her chin and kissed her, using all his skill to overcome her scruples. To the devil with finding out her secrets. A night of Joy was becoming insistently attractive.

  At last her lips did soften and part for him. Murmuring encouragement, he stroked her delightful curves. Easing her mouth further open, he kissed her fully, finding her every bit as sweet as he'd expected, and every bit as responsive.

  He wasn't aware that his hand was inside her shift until she pulled away with an alarmed cry.

  He quickly covered her mouth, abruptly remembering his resolve to be circumspect in this locality. "Alas, sweet Joy, this is not the time and place."

  When he was sure she wouldn't scream, he freed her mouth. "Just direct me to my horse, my dear. When I've seen to him, I'll be happy to rest my bruises alone."

  But she gripped his hand, bone-tight, preventing him from moving away. "You don't need to check on your horse, sir. Michael Flaherty has seen to him, and he's the best stable lad in five counties."

  He twisted his hand free. "It's a practice of mine not to leave my horses to others, especially not a horse as valuable as Argonaut. The stables will be at the back, I suppose."

  He set off toward the lane beside the low building, but she grabbed his jacket. "Sir, please. Don't leave me!" She towed him back and flung herself into his arms. "You cannot be so cruel! You've made me mad for you!"

  She had him up against the horse-trough with enough weight and strength to bruise his back. "Darling, I've never left a lady desperate yet. Give me a moment to see to Argonaut and I'll ease your madness willingly."

  "I can't wait! You can see to the horse in the morning."

  He seized her hands and fought his way free. It was quite a struggle, for she was strong for her size. "Enough," he snapped. "Or—terrible waste though it'd be—I'll toss you into the trough to cool you down."

  Her breathing was so rough it sounded like sobs. "Please..."

  Her desperation was breaking his own control and he almost gave in, but Argonaut... He must check on Argonaut.

  He put a comforting arm around her and led her down the lane. "Hush, a muirnin. Just a moment or two and I'll give you all you desire. Come on now. Open the lantern and let's find the fine fellow."

  Her madness seemed to abate, for she managed to open the window in the lantern so he could check the loose-boxes. Two contained heavy horses, and then he
found Argonaut.

  The horse whinnied a greeting and pushed his head into Miles's chest. Miles stroked him fondly. "Taken care of you better than me from the looks of it, eh?" Then he saw the bandage on the hind hock. Not a bandage. A fomentation...

  Lust dissipated. He was into the box in a second, feeling for damage. He moved the horse and took in the limp. "May hell wait for the lot of 'em!"

  He erupted into the yard and seized the woman. "You and your louts have lamed my best horse!"

  "We meant him no harm."

  "Meant him no harm? I saw someone hit him with a cudgel. If Argonaut's damaged I'll see the lot of you in Botany Bay!"

  Abruptly, she stood taller. "I see. People don't matter. Just horses, and then only for the price they'll bring in England." She wore a sneer fit for an ancient queen of Ireland.

  He thrust her away. "Most horses are worth a deal more than most people. Especially whores."

  "Whores! Damn your black heart, I'm no whore!"

  "You'd have spread your legs to keep me from finding out about this, wouldn't you? To stop me from reporting your antics to the magistrates. That's whoring in my mind."

  She laughed with scorn. "You weren't reluctant to take me up on the offer, were you? Why is that more noble, my fine gentleman?"

  He turned back to the stall. "Just pray my horse is sound, sweet Joy, or someone will suffer."

  "Mick says it's nothing serious and he'll be easier in the morning. If you'd only waited until then, you'd not have been so distressed. Why the devil didn't you take me up on my offer?"

  Turning to face her, he was struck by her magnificence—red hair touched to flame by the lantern, angry pride holding her straight and tall. Damn, but he still desired her.

  "Hurts, does it? Darling, you could be Helen of Troy, Deirdre of the White Breast, and the Gunning sisters rolled into one, and you'd not have stopped me from checking on Argonaut. You're right. I do care for my horses more than most people, particularly people who attack defenseless men on the highway."

  Before she could spit out her reaction to that, he stepped by her, heading for Argonaut's stall. Just then the inn door opened, spilling light and singing into the yard. "Who's out there? Oh, it's you Miss Felicity. Where's the stranger?"

  Miles froze, then moved back into the lantern-light. "He's here." He turned to the young woman. "Felicity?"

  She shrugged. "Another word for joy."

  "I'm sure you're a joy to all who know you. Felicity Monahan, I assume."

  Unease flickered in her dark eyes, but she said nothing.

  "What an interesting young woman you are to be sure. Allow me to present myself. I'm Miles Cavanagh, your legal guardian."

  Chapter 3

  Not long after, Miles and his ward entered Foy Hall to be greeted by a dusty chill and the pervasive smell of cats.

  Miles had to assume that Felicity Monahan felt some embarrassment at her situation, but the only emotion he'd seen cross her beautiful, stony face had been rage. She'd said not one word of explanation or apology.

  Since Michael Flaherty—for it was he who'd interrupted them—seemed to know horses, there hadn't been much point in hovering over Argonaut. Miles, therefore, had escorted his ward to her home, gaining nothing from her but silence and a fine air of disdain. Miles intended to have an explanation of her behavior, though. By Hades, he'd known she was wild, but not that she was a wanton and an Irish rebel!

  A dying fire smoldered in the entrance hall's huge grate so he flung a log on it. "Are you regularly mixed up in these disorders?"

  "You have no right to question me. Good night."

  He caught her cloak before she could escape, and held her close. "Have I not? God knows, I wish I had no rights in this, but I have the misfortune to be your guardian, Miss Monahan. Clearly someone has to bring you to your senses, and it appears to be me. Do you have any idea of the seriousness of tonight's affair?"

  With proud spirit, she snapped, "I am not a simpleton. Of course I have."

  "Then what the devil were you doing mixed up in it?"

  When she remained silent, he shook her. "Answer me, damn you. Are you part of that mad gang?"

  Some notion of his seriousness must have struck her, for she grew wary. "No. They asked my help, that's all. They needed someone to release you. Someone you wouldn't attack. Someone who wouldn't be in serious trouble if you reported her."

  He let her go. "Not in serious trouble? What the devil do you think would have happened if I'd gone to the military with this tale and pointed you out as the accomplice?"

  She tossed her head. "You wouldn't have found me. You'd have been looking for a red-haired peasant, whereas I—" she unpinned a wig to reveal midnight-dark hair in a knot beneath "—am a dark-haired lady!"

  He felt a strong desire to slap her. "I'd have found you. Beauty such as yours doesn't live in every cottage. And when we'd exhausted the cottages, we'd have started on the better houses."

  "Even if you'd found me, what could the English do to Miss Felicity Monahan of Foy Hall?"

  "My dear girl, you need a sharp dose of reality." He seized her by the shoulders and thumped her down in a hard, wooden chair. "Now," he said, hands braced on the arms so his face was only inches from her mutinous one, "what if the local military officials are of a ruthless inclination and very much want to round up the Farmyard Boys? I think Miss Felicity Monahan might suddenly disappear..."

  "They couldn't!"

  "Not permanently. But once in their hands, you would be offered a choice. Tell all or be raped."

  She paled and pressed into the back of the chair. "They wouldn't dare!"

  "Who's to stop them? Do the English in Ireland obey the rule of law? Even if it came out, you're a lawbreaker and they'd have a right to act against you. Legally, they could tie you to a tree and flay the flesh off your back, as has been done to other women they thought knew something."

  "They wouldn't dare..." But it was a whisper now.

  He moved away, disturbed himself by the picture he was painting.

  A true one.

  "Don't fool yourself, Felicity. If anyone did ask questions, the military would claim it was a mistake, particularly if they'd caught you dressed as a peasant girl. Their apologies would be profuse, but you'd still be scarred for life."

  He saw her press her lips together to steady them. Dear Christ, what had her grandfather and aunt been about not to explain the realities of life in Ireland in these troubled times? Then he remembered the Monahans. They were all better at avoiding trouble than facing it.

  "The same thing goes for rape," he said more moderately. "They'd say it was a mistake. Or that you'd wanted it. Wouldn't there be plenty to say you'd always been wild?"

  "Not like that—"

  "And would you even dare speak of it? What young lady would tell the world she's been the plaything of a barrack-room?"

  She was looking sick. Good. He hated to do this, but he wanted her worried sick.

  Then she sat straighter and rebellion flashed in her eyes. "This one. I'd rather be an outcast than let them get away with that. And true Irish folk would not hold such against me!"

  "You're too trusting about that, alannah." But her renewed fierceness worried him. Reckless courage was admirable, but could land a person in grave trouble. Look at his own distant relative, Lord Edward Fitzgerald, killed in the Irish cause.

  "I'd take such a case to the courts," she declared. "To the highest court in the land."

  "They'd claim you were willing, and your reputation would count against you."

  "What reputation?"

  "As a hellion. And as a wanton."

  She flushed then and almost looked hurt. "My reputation is untarnished! And I would tell the soldiers nothing, even if they did rape me."

  "Then they'd torture you. There are plenty of ways that leave little mark."

  "You seem to know a great deal about such matters, Mr. Cavanagh. Done some torturing yourself?"

  Miles sighed. What had
he done to deserve this? He'd been roughed up, his best horse was possibly ruined, and he was landed with responsibility for this wayward creature whom he clearly could not let out of his sight for a moment.

  And if that list of problems weren't enough, he still desired Felicity Monahan. He'd enjoyed kissing her, and he'd definitely been looking forward to the chance to take "Joy" to bed and enjoy every luscious inch of her.

  He was, however, her guardian, dammit, and that meant she was the one woman in Ireland he absolutely could not seduce. In fact, it was his task to preserve her virtue for two long months. And that with just about any man who set eyes on her trying to get his hands under her skirts or into her well-filled bodice.

  And her perhaps not putting up much resistance.

  "Where's your aunt?" he demanded irritably. "Doesn't she care for you at all?"

  It was a stupid question. Of course she didn't.

  Looking at the frightened, rebellious girl left young in the charge of such useless people, he felt pity stir. It was how he felt about a fine horse ruined by cruel treatment. Sometimes he would take up the challenge of saving such a horse, but this was a person, and he doubted she felt she needed saving.

  He ran his hand wearily through his hair. "Let's be practical. Can you be sure Dunsmore won't raise the alarm? Or was that wishful thinking?"

  Panic flashed in her eyes, but then she looked down. "He's not a bad man. He'll not want to make trouble."

  What new insanity was this? "Not a bad man? Not want to make trouble? If he's not a bad man, why was he trounced earlier? And if he'd not want to make trouble, why did you imply that you could force him to keep quiet?"

  She leaped to her feet. "You misunderstood. I meant that he'll realize it's not worth bringing the military down on the area. Everyone would suffer."

  Miles stared at her. This was the first time she'd really seemed flustered, and this was on behalf of Rupert Dunsmore whom he'd thought to be the villain of the piece.

  He was suddenly exhausted. "Oh, to hell with it. If you think he'll not report it, the rest can wait until tomorrow. Is there any food in this house?"