Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  "So if I were to escape and accuse you of kidnapping, they'd likely not believe me."

  "Likely not," he said levelly. "Especially as I have the papers with me that appoint me your guardian. I would explain that I'm preventing your marriage to an unsuitable man. Which has the virtue of being true."

  She tossed the crust of her bread back into the basket. "Do you have any idea how galling this is?"

  "I have a clear memory of being bound and gagged."

  Color touched her cheeks. "We only kept you tied until we could release you with as little danger as possible. Would you rather have been beaten like Dunsmore?"

  "You don't have to remind me what an angel of mercy you were, sweet Joy. Especially when you flaunted your lovely legs a short while ago."

  Her lips tightened, but she didn't lose track of her main point. "We took you prisoner to keep you safe. This abduction is an attempt to totally overrule my will."

  "You overruled my will, and I have taken you prisoner to keep you safe."

  "You have no right! Even if what I plan were disastrous, I would have the right to choose."

  "Not as long as I'm your guardian. Surely that is what guardianship is all about—protecting the young and innocent from their own follies and the wickedness of others."

  A noise escaped her, and though it could have been fury, he rather thought it was a strangled laugh. But her anger did not abate. "This has nothing to do with guardianship. This is all to do with your lust!"

  "No," said Miles firmly. "If I were as uninterested in you as I am in Nuala Yeates, I would still do my damndest to stop your marriage to Dunsmore. What is between us is a very unfortunate complication."

  She tossed her head. "Unfortunate, is it?"

  "Damnation, Felicity, don't bring those games into this. You've given me more pleasure and more pain in the last few weeks than I ever expected to have in a lifetime."

  "We share the pain, at least."

  "And the pleasure. You came to my room, remember?"

  She gasped as if hit. "Damn you. Do you have to throw my weakness in my face?"

  "If it's weakness, then I'm as weak as you. I'm aching for you now."

  "The flesh is weak," she said, but not as firmly as she perhaps wished. Then her voice firmed. "If you are slave to your flesh, though, I'm willing enough to use it against you."

  "You'll make passionate love to me here if I'll let you go?"

  She bit her lip, then said, "I will."

  "Well, then. I'll make passionate love to you if you'll promise to stay."

  She flared deep red. "Damn you!"

  "Felicity, if we duel with those weapons, we'll kill each other for sure, for we are equally matched. That's why our love—"

  "Not love!"

  "Yes, love," he said firmly. "That's why our love is unfortunate. It can destroy us. We have to be very careful until we find the solution to your problem with Dunsmore."

  "Solution! Miles, you must believe in fairy gold! Why can't you accept that there is no solution. I will not seek my safety at Kieran's expense."

  "Then I'll have to find a permanent solution to the problem of Kieran."

  "There isn't one..."

  "...short of Dunsmore's death. I know. But that can be arranged."

  Abruptly, she turned pale. "But, Miles, that solves nothing unless I marry him first. On Rupert's death, Kieran would be in the care of Kathleen's cousin, Michael."

  "He'd be safe there, surely."

  "He would, but..."

  They were back to her unhealthy obsession with the child. "Felicity, you will have children of your own in time. Save your devotion for them."

  She looked away in strange confusion. "How can I know they'll be kind to him? Orphans in a strange family are often neglected. And they won't raise him in Ireland. Poor Kieran will be taken from all he knows and sent to strangers. And what's more," she said, turning back, "he's the only thing standing between Michael Craig and Loughcarrick. There must be a better way. Promise me you won't kill Dunsmore out of hand. Promise me!"

  Her desperation dragged the promise from him before he had time to think. He immediately regretted it.

  "And you mustn't set your friends to kill him, either," she begged, leaning forward to grasp his hands.

  He turned his hands to hold hers. "Felicity, the man deserves death a dozen times over."

  "No one deserves death."

  "That's nonsense."

  "Promise me, Miles. Please! Promise you won't do anything to bring about his death."

  And weak man that he was, he gave her that promise, too.

  * * *

  The weather held and the moon stayed clear, enabling them to travel through the night. Once more they stopped by the road for Felicity's convenience. Miles did not take her shoes. When they halted in Derby for another food basket, however, he bound and gagged her as before.

  Most of the time, Felicity appeared to sleep. Miles, despite aching weariness, didn't dare. When they finally rolled up to Vauxhall, the Duke of Belcraven's Melton hunting box, he felt as if he'd reached heaven.

  It was noon on a fine, crisp day, and the sun hurt his gritty eyes. It was Friday so the Quorn would be out. On such a fine day, no Rogues would be at home. Beth Arden should be here, however. He hoped so. He wasn't sure how to handle his rebellious ward without help.

  Felicity sat still and watchful. He made sure there was no uncertainty in his manner as he asked, "Trussed or untrussed?"

  Her lips parted in surprise, then her eyes narrowed. "You're bluffing."

  "Try me."

  Hennigan opened the door and let down the steps. The door to Vauxhall spilled servants hurrying to attend to the arrivals.

  "Well?" he asked, trying not to let a scrap of his leaden exhaustion show.

  Chapter 15

  Felicity stared at Miles, feeling as if she were transported into a dream-state where nothing was real. This large, modern house with long gleaming windows and carefully tended grounds was the height of respectability. How could Miles be threatening to take her in there bound and gagged?

  There were even servants. Respectable-looking servants who could not—like Hennigan and the rest—owe their allegiance to Clonnagh.

  She looked at Miles again, seeking a trace of uncertainty or hesitation, but saw none. His resolution astonished her and even summoned a degree of admiration. Truly he was turning out to be a foe worthy of her mettle. If the matter were not so serious, she could almost enjoy the battle.

  The coach door swung open. Felicity hesitated, tempted to make Miles bind and gag her simply because she knew he'd hate it....

  Suddenly, though, she was weary of it all. She'd rest and reconnoiter the land before continuing the war.

  "I give you no parole," she said, "but I'll walk into the house peacefully enough."

  The breath he exhaled told her he'd been less sure of himself than she'd thought, but it didn't change matters. He'd succeeded in bringing her here. First skirmish to him. She doubted he could hold her, though, unless they had a dungeon to lock her in.

  She picked up Gardeen, let a footman hand her down, and walked toward the house, studying the area like a general preparing for battle. The house lay close to the road, and the estate was unwalled. Not that a wall would keep her in, but the open effect of rolling meadows on all sides made this place a very unlikely prison.

  A lady appeared in the doorway, a handsome brunette in a comfortable blue wool gown and capacious but costly Indian shawl. "Miles! How wonderful. We'd almost given you up. Lucien's riding one of your horses today. He said you'd written asking him to."

  "Indeed I did, or they'd have been fat as slugs by now. Beth, may I present to you Miss Felicity Monahan of Foy Hall in Meath. She has the great misfortune to be my ward. Felicity, this is Beth, Marchioness of Arden, our hostess here."

  Felicity felt she should be surly, but Lady Arden appeared so pleasant, so ordinary, that she simply couldn't. She curtsied. "Good day, Lady Arden. I'm sorry to a
rrive uninvited and unannounced."

  "Think nothing of it," her hostess said cheerfully, ushering her into a well-lit beech-paneled hall. "The Rogues all come and go as they please."

  The hall was decorated with a great many fox masks interspersed with hunting prints and a couple of fine oils of magnificent horses. No doubt as to the purpose of this establishment.

  "It must be a great convenience to them," Felicity said, "to have a residence so close to good hunting."

  Lady Arden grinned. "One might almost think Nicholas had that in mind when he chose Lucien to be one of the Rogues. Nicholas is King Rogue. Oh, but you don't want to hear me chatter. You look exhausted. Let me show you to a room."

  "Thank you." But as Beth led her up the wide, wooden stairs, Felicity heard Miles coming behind.

  "Who's here?" he asked.

  "Just Lucien and I, and Hal and Blanche," Beth said over her shoulder. "Stephen and Con were here until yesterday. Con's visiting his estate. Stephen is discussing some political matter at Belvoir. He'll be back tomorrow."

  "Good, because I have a problem."

  They had reached the upper landing, and Lady Arden turned. "A problem?"

  "Felicity."

  The marchioness looked between them, mildly surprised. "She doesn't look like a problem to me."

  "Hah! She's a hellion."

  "Miles!" Lady Arden objected.

  Felicity could feel her cheeks redden with mortification and annoyance.

  "There's no point glowering at me, Felicity," he said. "You've refused to give your parole, so I have to take other measures." He turned to Lady Arden. "She's hell-bent on marrying the basest scoundrel ever to crawl about Ireland on his belly, and I'm determined to stop her. But she'll run if she sees a chance. I have to get some sleep. Is there somewhere to put her where she'll be safe?"

  Lady Arden studied them shrewdly. Felicity thought of making some plea, but what Miles said was the truth. Anyway she, too, needed sleep.

  "I have rooms with doors that will lock," Lady Arden said, "and if we put a man to watch the window, she should be completely safe."

  "Thank you," Miles said, visibly relaxing.

  "Won't the man think it very strange?" Felicity asked as she was led down a carpeted corridor.

  "They're well paid not to think too much about some things," Lady Arden replied, as if imprisonment were commonplace. "And anyway, since the end of the war, the duchy has taken on a great many extra servants just to give them employment. It's often quite a business to find things for them to do." She flashed Felicity a mild smile. "You are doing an act of charity, you see."

  "I'll take comfort from that fact."

  Felicity's room bore no resemblance to a dungeon. It was a normal bedroom with russet draperies of jacquard weave and a square carpet over polished boards. The sight of a proper bed made Felicity ache to collapse onto it.

  "Your bags will be brought up in a moment," Lady Arden said, "and a maid will come to assist you. I'll have a fire made in here, too, within moments."

  "Better not," Miles said.

  "Good heavens, do you expect her to freeze? It's January!"

  "No fire unless she promises not to burn the place down."

  Lady Arden stared, which infuriated Felicity.

  "Do you think me mad?" she demanded of Miles.

  "I think you capable of anything."

  In a strange way, it was flattering. Burning the house down had never occurred to Felicity, but she could see it might enable her to get free—if she avoided being turned into a cinder. She could never endanger others that way, however.

  "You have my word," she said frostily, which was easy when her breath made little puffs as she spoke. "I'll not use the fire in any way in our struggle."

  He nodded. "That should be all right, then." To Lady Arden he added, "You can trust her word. But never trust her smiles."

  "Miles Cavanagh, that is most unfair!"

  "Felicity Monahan, I'm too tired to be fair. I'm hoping you are, too, but I don't forget a pleasant journey we enjoyed not long ago and what happened when I let down my guard."

  "I do what I must."

  "Quite."

  A footman entered with her trunk, and another arrived with coals to make a fire. In moments, a maid bustled in with a warming pan and hot bricks for the bed, accompanied by another bearing a jug of hot water. This servant stayed to unpack the trunk.

  Miles prowled and tried a door in a side wall. It opened into another bedroom. "Is this room vacant, Beth?"

  "Yes. But it's not your usual one."

  "It'll do." With that, he went through and locked the door on the far side.

  Lady Arden shrugged at Felicity. "I'm sure we can sort all this out. Your clothes will be chilled. I'll send a warm nightgown." With that, she, too, left.

  Felicity still had Gardeen in her arms and was a little surprised that the cat hadn't insisted on going with Miles. But then Gardeen II had never shown the same devotion to Miles as her previous incarnation—or dead sister—had.

  Sighing, she shrugged off her cloak, bunched it on a chair, and put the cat in the still-warm folds. Gardeen curled into a sleepy ball. Felicity knew just how she felt. She'd dozed a little on the journey, but most of the time she'd been faking sleep to avoid talk. Now she, too, wanted nothing so much as to curl into a ball and forget the world.

  The maid helped her out of her dress so she could wash. The fire was already warming the room, but Felicity shuddered with the chill of exhaustion. She hurried into Beth's nightgown. Then the maid gave the bed a final sweep with the warming pan before leaving. When Felicity slid between the sheets, she was able, like Gardeen, to curl up in comfort and fall instantly asleep.

  * * *

  Miles woke when shaken. "Up you get, Miles! You've had six hours, which must be enough to tide you over."

  Miles rolled over groggily to see Lucien de Vaux's aristocratic features and blond hair made macabre by a single wavering candle.

  "Hell. All right. I'm awake. Don't drip wax on me!"

  The marquess moved away to light a branch of candles near the bed and to throw some extra coals on the fire. "Dinner's in half an hour, and we need to talk as you dress."

  Miles saw that Lucien was already in elegant evening clothes. "Why is my presence at table so essential?" But he sat up and shook his head, rubbing his chin. "I need a shave. I probably need a bath, but I doubt there's time. However I must have a shave."

  "True. I assume Hennigan's as exhausted as you. I'll call for my man."

  As soon as it was arranged, he said, "The thing is, Miles, this guard on your ward has Beth uneasy. You know how she is about the oppression of women, and she considers even protection oppression at times."

  Miles groaned and rubbed his gritty eyes. "I can explain it all, Luce. Just give me a moment to get my wits together."

  But in those moments, Lucien's valet appeared with hot water and set up, ready to shave Miles. The two Rogues settled to talk of safer matters.

  "Who's here?" Miles asked as the valet scraped the sharp blade over his cheek. "Hal and Blanche."

  "Oh, yes. Beth said."

  "That creates a problem."

  "For you and Beth?"

  "No, not for me and Beth. Do get your wits together. As I said, Hal has Blanche with him—she's taking a rest from the stage just now. Beth has no problem with that, but you might."

  "Why? You must have even Melton in a flurry with both mistress and wife in one house, but it don't bother me."

  "Ex-mistress," said Lucien firmly. "Think about it. As a conscientious guardian, you just might have a problem with your innocent young ward meeting the White Dove of Drury Lane over breakfast."

  "Oh God," Miles groaned.

  Blanche Hardcastle was a gifted actress, but she was known to have made her way out of poverty on her back. She'd been Lucien's mistress for a number of years until his marriage. Recently, she had become the mistress of another Rogue, Hal Beaumont.

  Though Blanch
e's earlier years could not bear close scrutiny, her morals were now quite strict. She had been as faithful to Lucien as any wife and was now completely faithful to Hal.

  Her presence did, however, create a problem.

  For a man to have his ex-mistress in the same house as his wife was brow-raising, even when the two ladies were the best of friends. To bring a young, ostensibly innocent lady into such a manage could be considered a scandal.

  "Damnation. I do need to have Felicity here for a while, Luce. It's not just that I want to enjoy some hunting."

  "Then perhaps it will be best if Hal and Blanche leave."

  The valet had stopped wielding the blade, so Miles felt able to shake his head. "No. I think Blanche might be able to help. And to be honest, when this all works out, I'm not sure minor social irregularities will matter much."

  "Oh-ho. This sounds like a very Roguish matter."

  "It is."

  As the valet wiped away lather with a warm cloth, Lucien eased into another subject. "Did you hear Leander married a few weeks ago? A widow with two children, no less. We're falling like coconuts at a shy."

  There was a question in it, and Miles answered by saying, "It's the devil being a guardian, Luce."

  The valet finished and bowed out, so Miles was able to explain the whole situation while pulling on his evening wear. He didn't mention, however, that Felicity was no innocent, or that they'd become lovers.

  Looked at in the cold light of sanity, it was not something he was proud of. It certainly wouldn't happen again, or not as long as he was her guardian.

  "Lord, what a tangle," Lucien said at last, assisting in the arrangement of Miles's cravat. "But at least it provides an excuse for your treatment of the girl. This Dunsmore is definitely not the sort of man to gain Beth's approval. You think he'll follow Felicity here?" He stuck a silver pin in his creation. "Just shooting the wretch on sight springs to mind."

  "Felicity is adamantly opposed to that." Miles shrugged into his jacket and flashed his friend a wry look. "I'm afraid that, in a moment of foolishness, I promised I wouldn't kill him. Or let anyone else do so."