Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  "I can't sleep here."

  "Ah, but it's so sweet to lie in one another's arms. Stay a little while, love. I won't let you sleep too long."

  So, wrung to limpness, Felicity let her heavy eyes close and slept warm in her lover's arms.

  * * *

  Miles stroked his beloved's lovely hair, feasting on her sleeping, trusting features, resolving to cherish her forever.

  Despite herself.

  How many days could he count on, though, before Dunsmore returned like a serpent to Eden to destroy everything?

  At the thought of Dunsmore, Miles's hold tightened slightly on Felicity. At one time his concern had been to protect her from her own generosity. Now care was drowned by a possessive need to keep her for himself.

  Perhaps his earlier motivations had been noble, but this wasn't noble at all. It was entirely selfish. He needed Felicity as he needed breath itself.

  He waited as long as he dared, but when a clock struck four, he eased away from Felicity and put on his banjan. He took the damp towel and threw it on the fire, watching to see that it burned up. Then he gathered his beloved into his arms and carried her to her own room and her now-chilly bed.

  Which meant he had to lie with her for a little while to help her warm it.

  Where unfortunately, he fell asleep.

  He was woken, thank heavens, not by a maid coming to rouse Felicity with chocolate, but by his mother.

  It was no great mercy.

  Aideen's eyes snapped anger. With a crook of her finger she drew him out of the bedroom and down the corridor to his, which by its disorder told a tale. "Think what would have happened if anyone else had caught you!"

  "I fell asleep."

  "That is not the issue, and you know it! How could you?"

  He went to place some wood on the lingering glow. "I'm doing what I must to prevent her marrying Dunsmore."

  "By getting her with child?"

  "Not in last night's games."

  "Miles, you must stop this. I'm the girl's chaperon."

  "I've probably done as much as I can anyway."

  She frowned even more. "Is that all it is? A cold-blooded attempt to turn her from Dunsmore?"

  He felt the color rise in his cheeks. "No."

  "Good," she said more moderately. "For if it were, I would not help you."

  "Help me?"

  "To get Felicity out of Ireland. While you've been playing your illicit games, I've been keeping an eye on matters. Ned Tooley returned from Scotland safe enough, but says Dunsmore found a boat to take him to Larne. This morning, my watcher at Loughcarrick reported his return home. We can expect him here today, I think."

  "Damnation. I'd hoped to delay him longer."

  "You failed. Now we have to act. Colum and I are going to visit Kilgoran Castle and take Kieran and Mrs. Edey with us. Dunsmore may follow us there, but he'll have little success snatching his son away from your uncle without offending him."

  "You hate visiting the Castle."

  His mother's reply was tart. "In the midst of all this dramatic romance, I can afford to make a small sacrifice or two. It's likely Dunsmore will keep his eye on the main game—Felicity. Take her to Melton and he'll follow. What you and your Rogues do there is up to you, but you need to find a true solution to this problem, not just a patch. I'll keep the boy safe for a week or two."

  Unready for this after a stormy, sleepless night, Miles ran his hands through his hair. "She'll never consent to going."

  "That's hardly news. How did you ever intend to take her? Don't tell me, you hoped to seduce her into compliance. Miles, when will you learn? When resolved upon something, women have wills of iron, resistant to even the most devastating manly charms. Drug her and carry her off by force."

  Miles stared at his mother in shock. "I can't do that."

  "Then wait for her to run off with Dunsmore again."

  At that moment, Gardeen uncurled on the bed and leapt down to twine around Miles's ankles, meowing.

  "And what's that supposed to mean?" Miles asked irritably.

  Aideen swooped down and grabbed the cat to hold it up in front of him. "Miles, this is a cat. She cannot be your guide. I, however, am your mother and can. I'm going to give Felicity a cup of chocolate that should keep her sleeping into the afternoon. What you do with the opportunity is up to you." She dumped Gardeen into his hands and left in an irritated swish of silk.

  Miles stroked Gardeen until he realized he was waiting for some mystical sign from the cat. With a shake of his head he placed her back on the bed and rang for Hennigan.

  When the man arrived, he told him to prepare for immediate departure for England.

  Chapter 13

  Felicity awoke from vague tangled dreams of intimacy, a smile teasing at her lips. It was hardly surprising that the world seemed remarkably unsteady. Nor was it strange that after such a night her lids felt almost too heavy to raise.

  She stretched, reveling in the sensation of her own body.

  Then she realized that she had a headache.

  Now that was strange.

  In fact, though the memories were sweet, she did not feel particularly well. More as she had after experimenting once with her grandfather's port. Heavy, dull, and slightly sick.

  Then she realized that the smell in the air was not the smell of her room.

  Tar.

  Salt.

  Sea?

  She forced her eyes open and found herself on a narrow bed in a tiny cabin on board a rolling ship.

  Miles was standing, looking out a porthole. He turned, his expression wary.

  Felicity squinted against the light digging into her eyes. "Where are we?" It came out as a croak, for her throat was horridly dry. "Why...?"

  "We're at sea," he said levelly, "heading for England. Would you like some water?" He moved toward a carafe held safely within a brass rail on the small round table.

  "No!" But then Felicity stopped her instinctive rejection.

  She needed water, she needed clarity, and she needed time to think.

  England?

  He poured water into a glass, then raised her gently and helped her drink. Strength returned a little, though the headache was made worse by movement. Or perhaps it was the sharp edges of the thoughts jangling within her skull.

  When he would have settled her back onto the pillow, she fought free and sat up. "Take me back!"

  "No."

  "Miles, you can't do this. The week's not even up."

  "Perhaps your parole still holds then."

  "My parole? You must be demented! What of yours?"

  He moved away to lean by the porthole again. "I never gave you any promises."

  A moment's thought told her it was true. "Miles..."

  He turned with a sigh. "Don't beg or threaten, Felicity. I'm taking you to Melton Mowbray where I intend to do my damndest to ensure that Rupert Dunsmore gets nowhere near you. If you want to extend your parole, you can travel in comfort. Otherwise, you'll go in whatever manner gets you there."

  She lurched off the bed, then stopped with a hiss to clutch her pounding head. "Damn your black heart! What did you give me?"

  "Nothing. It was my mother, and I don't know what she used."

  Despite willpower, tears were leaking onto Felicity's cheeks. "Oh, God. Oh, God. What of Kieran?"

  "He's as safe as can be," he said, with the first gentleness she'd heard from him this day. "My mother has taken him to Kilgoran Castle. She'll do her best to keep him safe, and my mother's best is formidable."

  Felicity stared at him, trying to make him appear the monster he was. "She can't refuse him to his father!"

  "Is Dunsmore going to claim that she and Kilgoran have kidnapped him? Anyway, I believe he'll follow you." A glimmer of humor touched his bleak face. "Tooley says he suffers from seasickness."

  That did give a spurt of satisfaction, but Felicity refused to be mellowed. "So Rupert's back already. And before you expected him. When did you find out, I wonder."<
br />
  "This morning."

  But something in his manner—perhaps an embarrassment—made Felicity distrust him. "I think not. I think you knew at least yesterday when you teased me into weakening. You needed another chance to charm me out of all reason so you could pull this foul trick upon me. It was all planned—"

  "No. On my word—"

  She spoke over him. "I will never let down my guard with you again, Miles Cavanagh. I swear it. It is war between us now." With satisfaction, she saw him wince. "I take back my parole. You will have no cooperation from me. None."

  "Felicity..."

  She stared into his gentle-seeming eyes. "None. Now I would like my privacy."

  She thought he might argue on, but he nodded and left the room. As she sank back down onto the hard bed, she heard the key turn in the lock.

  Grief hit her like a crashing wave, rolling her onto her back, arm over brimming eyes. Regardless of the letter of their agreement, he had betrayed her trust. He had used her just as Rupert had used her. He had betrayed her just as her grandfather had betrayed her.

  She'd learned years ago that no man could be trusted. Why had she forgotten that hard-won lesson? They lied; they cheated; they took as God-given that they should run a woman's life.

  Felicity was terrified for Kieran but, more than that, she was devastated by the way Miles had stolen her freedom and rendered her powerless before his will.

  But Kieran must be her first concern.

  She sat up and drank some more water, forcing herself to analyze the situation. Honesty made her admit that Miles's plan might work, for a while at least. Rupert would hesitate to take on the Earl of Kilgoran.

  Yes, unless Miles had lied, Kieran was safe for the moment.

  So what would Rupert do?

  He'd fall into one of his livid rages, for a start. Warned off squeezing his tenants dry, hounded by duns, thwarted in his elopement, carried against his will to Scotland, then returning—seasick—only to find both Felicity and his son snatched out of reach.

  It summoned a laugh, though it wasn't funny. He'd be in the kind of frigid rage when he was capable of anything as long as it did not require physical courage on his part. She wished she could send a warning to the whole of County Meath. Petty cruelties would happen unless he was in direct pursuit of her.

  She hoped he was. At least she and Miles were on their guard. With a shudder, she remembered the way Rupert had killed Gardeen. Casually, but delighting in the pain and terror it caused Felicity.

  She had recognized the warning. If she married him and were docile, she could expect him to behave in a reasonably conventional way. If she thwarted him, he would terrorize something or someone just to spite her.

  She shuddered at the memory of those weeks between Rupert's proposal and her grandfather's death, when her grandfather had refused to allow the marriage.

  Kieran had fallen down some steps and scraped himself quite badly.

  Mrs. Edey had been definite that the boy's father had been trying to stop him from falling, but Felicity had known the truth. She'd thrown herself desperately into convincing her grandfather that she was madly in love and had to marry Rupert immediately.

  But then her grandfather had died, leaving her fate in the hands of Miles Cavanagh. She hadn't known then what that would mean. What little she'd known of the man had indicated he was as feckless as her Uncle Colum. She'd felt sure she could bring him around.

  "Hah!" she said, looking at her prison.

  Of course, it might have gone better if she'd met Miles, as planned, as a demure Irish miss instead of wanton Joy. Even now, she winced at her performance that evening.

  Miles had warned her then that he was a dangerous man, not to be crossed.

  The next day, she'd thrown his words back at him, referring to herself in the same terms.

  They had both spoken the truth, and the danger terrified her. They could end up dragging each other to destruction when all either of them wanted was the sweet tenderness they had shared last night....

  A sudden warm movement made Felicity flinch out of her thoughts, thinking Miles had returned. But it was Gardeen that had touched her arm.

  She pulled the warm cat into her arms and nuzzled its fur. "Oh, Gardeen. Are you the same come back? Can I read hope into you?"

  The little cat just purred.

  "Or are you just another black cat of Annie's? Either way, little one, you don't seem to bring me much luck."

  Felicity eased out of bed with Gardeen in her arms. Her head seemed a little less obstreperous, and she moved the few steps to the porthole to look out. All she could see from here were rolling gray waves, but there were gulls in the rigging, so they could not be so very far from shore.

  Which shore, though?

  Such matters were irrelevant. She couldn't prevent Miles from carrying her to England, but when they docked, she would escape and get back to Rupert before he had a chance to do real harm.

  How?

  She put the cat down and searched the small cabin. In drawers under the bed she found some of her clothes and she slipped out of her nightgown.

  Nightgown.

  She'd gone to Miles without it. Had he dressed her in it? The thought was disturbing but strangely arousing.

  "Feeble woman!" she muttered to herself as she stuffed the nightgown into the drawer in place of the clothing she had taken. She pulled on her shift and the light, front-lacing corset.

  The gown, thank heavens, was one of her sensible wool walking dresses, designed to be easily put on alone, to allow her complete freedom of movement, and to be comfortable in nearly all circumstances. When it came time to escape, she'd have as good a chance as possible.

  Her hairbrush was there, and so she tidied her tangled curls into a plait, then rolled it into a knot at the back of her head. She pushed in the hairpins, thinking they might be of some use. She couldn't think how, but the bent wires were the closest thing to a weapon she possessed.

  Having armored herself as best she could, Felicity searched the cabin thoroughly, looking for weapons, money, or anything that could be turned into money. She found nothing but a few other items of clothing, a couple of books, and a chamber pot.

  As she used it she berated herself for not having a silver-backed hairbrush rather than a wood one. Such extravagances had seemed frivolous, but now such a hairbrush could be useful. Silver was a saleable commodity.

  She covered the pot and checked the room again, hoping against hope for a dropped coin in a forgotten corner.

  Nothing.

  So, what should she do when someone came? She could run through the door... and do what? Jump over the side?

  She was desperate for action but, in fact, it made no sense to do anything until they reached port.

  She tried to settle to read one of the books, but it was something dull about tribes in America. The other was a history of England under the Tudors. As if she cared.

  She prowled the small space, wishing someone would come—even Miles—just to break the monotony.

  It was dark, however, by the time she heard footsteps and Miles entered carrying a lamp and a tray. "I'm sure you're hungry."

  Felicity resented his distant courtesy. He should be embarrassed, guilty, or pleading his case.

  He did not oblige, so she sat on the bed and inspected the meal. Chicken, ham, potatoes, brussels sprouts, and a pudding.

  She began to eat.

  "I'm glad you're not going to starve yourself."

  "I'm going to need my strength."

  "Felicity, you will not escape me. Why not just accept it?"

  She gave him a scathing look and continued to build up her strength.

  He said no more, and she found it gradually harder and harder to swallow. His presence in the tiny space began to overwhelm her.

  She looked up and found him staring at her as if he were equally disturbed.

  "I love you, Felicity."

  It was like a blade in the heart. She took the time n
ecessary to gather the moisture in her mouth, then spat at him. He flung up his hand to block it, but his face paled with shock.

  Felicity looked down at the food and made herself continue to eat despite the tears blocking her throat. She was aware that he turned to look out at the rolling sea.

  Why was he was even staying here? Probably to guard the knife and fork. She looked at the silver knife and wondered if she were capable of using it on him. But if she'd not been able to shoot Rupert Dunsmore, she surely could not stab Miles.

  The mere thought was making her feel sick. Or perhaps it was just the meal on her unsteady stomach. She eyed the jam pudding and decided it was not essential to nutrition and could, therefore, be left.

  "I'm finished," she said.

  He turned back, once more impassive, and came to take the tray. But instead of reaching for it, he flipped her onto her face, put his knee in her back, and snared her hands.

  Felicity struggled but could not move. She tried to scream, but her face was pressed so far into the pillow she could hardly breathe. Something cinched her wrists in moments, then a gag was tied into her mouth. Her legs were bound—not at her ankles, but just below her knees, beneath her skirts.

  Pointlessly, she screamed her opinion of the treacherous snake into the lump of cloth in her mouth.

  "I'm sorry, Felicity," he said rather unsteadily. "I'd much rather we travel in comfort. I can see you intend to fight me, though, and I don't underestimate your intelligence or your courage, so it has to be this way. We're already into the Mersey, and we'll be in Liverpool in a couple of hours. I'll carry you to the carriage as if you're seasick. Once there, however, I'll try to make you more comfortable."

  He turned her gently so she was on her side, but arranged her facing the glossy planks of the wall. She didn't even have the satisfaction of glaring at him as he left.

  * * *

  Since it was the middle of the night, there were few people around to see Miles carry a cloak-shrouded figure off the Ellen Jane and into the waiting carriage, for which he could only be grateful.

  She kicked and groaned as he had expected, and he covered it by responding, "Ah, but you'll soon feel better, my dear, now we are on dry land.... No, I assure you, you do not want to go home, for that would mean another sea journey.... Well now, I fear you will have to go home one day, but perhaps by then you'll have grown sea legs...."