by Jo Beverley
Suddenly a small black creature leapt up to pad around the jacquard coverlet, occasionally catching threads.
"Watch your claws, Gardeen," said Felicity, picking up the cat and stroking her.
"I wonder if she's telling me it's time I left. It's true enough that last time I fell asleep in your bed, it didn't work out well." Miles took a piece of bread from Felicity's tray. "I missed most of my dinner for you, cailin."
"Oh, the bitter sacrifice." But she smiled at him, and the truth had torn down some of the barriers between them.
Miles slid his arm from behind her and rolled off the bed. "Leaving you now is a bitter sacrifice, a muirnin. But I'm determined to be a good guardian from here on."
"Good as in firm?"
"Indeed." Though he knew she understood the other meaning—that he would not make love to her.
"Then we are destined to battle. I will not stay here and wait on your pleasure. I intend to escape."
Miles leaned on one of the end-posts of the bed. "Felicity, think. There really is no point in your running off. Where would you go? You have no idea where Dunsmore is. He's doubtless following you, but he could be anywhere between here and Ireland."
"But how can we be sure he will follow me, not Kieran? What if he's stolen him...?"
"He hasn't. Trust me on that. I'd back my mother against Dunsmore any day, and clearly you have never visited Kilgoran Castle."
"It's fortified?"
He laughed. "Far from it. It's a cold, classic monument. But it fair crawls with servants and is run on rigid lines. No one could sneak in there."
"It doesn't sound like a pleasant place for a child."
"It's not too bad. The nursery still contains the toys bought to amuse me and my brother and sisters. There's a fine fishing stream and a small ornamental lake ideal for children to go boating on, since it's barely two feet deep. But the grounds are always crawling with servants chasing down every weed and every blade of grass that dares to grow taller than its fellows. Your son is safe."
"I want to believe you."
"You can. My mother promised a letter as soon as she arrived. It should reach us within days. So, why not declare truce for a little while and wait for Dunsmore to contact you?"
She eyed him with a frown. "Truces seem to serve us no better than battles."
"This one will. I'm your guardian, and that's the only role I'll play for the next few weeks."
She raised a brow, as if disbelieving. "But how will Rupert contact me, held prisoner as I am?"
"If you give me your parole, you won't be a true prisoner. Once you receive a message, we'll know where he is and what he plans. So, until then, will you rest easy here?"
She looked at him steadily, still stroking the cat. It was a fierce pain that she could not trust him, but like a poorly handled horse, she would need time to let go of wariness. It wasn't Felicity he blamed, but those who had hurt her through abuse and neglect.
"Until he contacts me, then," she said at last. "Or until two weeks have passed. I daren't wait longer without news. There's no telling what he might be up to." She lowered her cheek against the cat's fur. "Do your friends know everything?"
"I told them part, and Blanche guessed the rest."
"Will they disapprove?"
She looked so young, he wanted to hug her again. "Lord, no. They're Rogues. Didn't I say that Blanche experienced something similar herself. She's an actress, by the way. She was Lucien's mistress—he's the marquess—and now she's the mistress of another Rogue, Hal Beaumont. It's more a question of do you disapprove?"
A disbelieving smile lit her face. "I'm positively faint with shock! I see I needn't concern myself with my reputation at all after being here."
He removed the tray and straightened her covers. "The high aristocracy have their own rules."
Felicity slid down under the covers. "Miles, do they know about us?"
"I haven't told them, but they probably guess. Does it concern you?"
"I don't know."
"Whatever they guess, we'll not give them fuel for it. Until February 20th, we're going to act the parts of grim guardian and wayward ward."
"It's not so far from the truth. But why, when your unconventional friends won't care?"
"Partly to save my sanity. But also so when Dunsmore starts sniffing around, he'll see what he wants to see—you held here against your will."
"And true it is!"
"But not quite as he'll think. It's always useful to have the enemy burdened by misconceptions. Can you do it? You've proved to be a fine actress in the past, sweet Joy."
"I might enjoy it." She grinned mischievously. "Do I get to kiss the stable lads and throw tantrums?"
"Only if I get to spank you for it."
She stuck out her tongue, and on that note, he left her.
But he didn't lock the door.
Chapter 16
Exhaustion carried Felicity back into sleep and kept her there until a plump young maid woke her by drawing back the curtains to let in the sun. "Good morning, Miss. I'm Harriet. I was told to wake you since the men'll be leaving soon for the meet."
Felicity sat up, rubbing her eyes. Though she could have slept on, she felt all the sluggishness of one who has slept too long. "Am I supposed to wave them off?"
The maid's smile created amazing dimples. "Well, milady and Mrs. Hardcastle generally do. But it's more a question of breakfast. If you want to eat downstairs it'd best be now. Or you can have a tray here."
"What I really want is a bath."
The maid nodded. "I'll arrange it then, Miss. Do you want your breakfast before or after?"
"Oh, some chocolate now, I think, then something more substantial after."
The maid whisked off, and Felicity climbed out of bed to stretch and prowl, remembering that dream-time in the night. She half-wished it truly had been a dream, for she had lost her last secret and she didn't know what would come of it.
It was sweet to have honesty between her and Miles, and the memory of his tenderness could break her heart. But all in all, she feared the truth would be a complication.
He'd been right, at least, about the folly of running away from here just yet. As Miles had said, Rupert would find her.
And then, of course, she would elope with him, for even these Rogues could not find a better way.
A movement caught Felicity's eye, and she bent to scoop up the black cat gamboling toward her. Two empty dishes and a sand-filled box by the hearth were evidence that someone had looked after her. "Well, Gardeen, you look happy enough at our situation. I wonder if that means anything."
Felicity carried the cat over to the window and saw grooms leading three horses round to the front of the house.
"Would you look at that," she said to the cat. "Prime horseflesh, but from what I hear those are only the hacks the men ride to the meet. The hunters will have gone at first light by gentle stages so as to be fresh for the run. Seems unsporting, somehow. The fox isn't permitted such careful preparations."
The cat gave a meow which was impossible to interpret.
From the position of the sun, she judged it to be the middle of the morning on a clear, crisp day. If the hounds raised a good fox, the run would be marvelous. Felicity hunted sometimes at home, and it seemed unfair that women were not allowed to hunt the Shires. Decent women, anyway. She'd heard that some men's mistresses rode to hounds.
The maid returned with a tray holding a silver chocolate-pot and a china cup. Then she bustled into another adjoining room—a dressing room—to supervise the filling of the bath.
Felicity poured her chocolate, then sat in a chair by the window to sip it. It was the best chocolate she had ever tasted, and she deliberately savored the moment, not allowing her fears for the future to invade.
But the present could not be resisted.
During the last truce between herself and Miles, their desire had triumphed over reason. Miles said he would act the proper guardian this time, but did he hav
e the strength?
And did she?
Last night, it had been almost more than she could bear not to kiss him, and she was sure it had been the same for him. They'd both known, however, that it wouldn't stop at kisses. The desire between them was so strong that Felicity felt as if she were truly in heat, but in heat for only one man.
Deep within her now was the teasing burn of desire.
But to increase the risk of conceiving Miles's child would be foolish beyond all reason.
Was love ever not foolish beyond all reason?
And his room was just next door...
Harriet interrupted this madness to announce that the bath was ready. Felicity went to scrub away many days' worth of grime, happy that she would not emerge until after the men had safely left for the day.
* * *
Harriet was skilled and deftly assisted Felicity in her transformation into a well-bred young lady. Her trunk was the one she had packed for her visit to Clonnagh, so she had an adequate selection of winter gowns, as well as two less-practical evening gowns should the need arise. Her habit was there, too, and the comfortable boots Lady Aideen had lent her.
That reminded her of other boots, however.
Faith, but it was true—they were both dangerous people. How many women could have planned that elopement? How many men would have the resolution to kidnap a lover, even if supposedly for her own good? Such ruthlessness in the cause was likely to lead to tragedy, however.
But even with that knowledge, she could not let herself weaken. Her job was to care for her innocent and vulnerable son. Miles—a grown man—could look after himself.
Eventually, clad in a dress of soft brown wool over a warm flannel petticoat, and with a knitted shawl draped over her elbows, Felicity ventured out to assess her circumstances. Gardeen pranced after, whiskers twitching with curiosity.
Felicity smiled down at her. "This seems another dauntingly well-run establishment, little one. I fear you'll find no mice. It's perhaps as well. Your ambitions tend to exceed your size."
As Felicity descended the stairs, she decided anyone could tell this was a ducal household, even if only a hunting lodge. The pictures, even though all on hunting themes, were of the highest quality—she noted a Stubbs and a Fernley—and even the ornamental china looked priceless. In the hall, a powdered, liveried footman stood with no apparent purpose other than to open the front door if visitors should arrive, or offer assistance to anyone who should require it.
When asked, he informed her that Lady Arden was in the morning room, guided her there, and opened the door for her. After closing it, he presumably retreated to his imitation of a painted statue.
Felicity shook her head and concentrated on assessing her hostess. Her impressions from the night before were vague.
Was she friend or foe?
Lady Arden had not seemed happy about acting the part of warden, but she had done it. The fact that she had provided food for the incarcerated indicated collusion as well as kindness.
Now, Felicity found her hostess surprising. She'd always expected the English high aristocracy to be an arch and effete lot, but Lady Arden could be mistaken for any ordinary woman. She was at best handsome, with clean-cut classical features and brown hair dressed simply. Her gown was as plain and practical as Felicity's, and the only ornament she wore was her wedding ring.
There was intelligence in the gray-blue eyes, however, and an air of shrewd serenity that told Felicity this woman would not be easily fooled.
Lady Arden put aside a dauntingly heavy tome and rose with a welcoming smile. "Felicity, good morning! You don't mind my calling you Felicity, do you? We're noted for our lack of formality at Vauxhall. You must call me Beth. And this, of course, is Blanche, Mrs. Hardcastle. She's one of the principal players at Drury Lane."
Felicity stared at a woman of ethereal beauty, whose white, lace-trimmed dress and heavy silver hair seemed to hint of elf-land. The only color about her was in her pink lips and cheeks, and her twinkling blue eyes.
She smiled but did not rise. "Excuse me, Felicity, but the feathers fly so." Felicity saw she had a sheet over her lap and the sheet was covered by glossy drake's feathers. Blanche appeared to be making something out of them. One floated free, and Gardeen sprang like the killer she was.
Felicity grabbed the cat and tried to rescue the feather, but Blanche laughed. "Oh, let her have it unless it will choke her. Truly, I'm rather tired of all this, but having set my mind to the project, I'm determined to complete it."
"What are you making?" Felicity asked, having never attempted decorative crafts herself.
"An aigrette of feathers for my hair. Don't ask why," said Blanche with a twinkling smile, "when I never wear colors. It just seems the sort of thing to do when stuck in bucolic idleness."
Felicity did not equate country living with idleness, but she didn't say so.
Blanche grinned as if she'd read the thought. "I'm a city girl, my dear. Born and bred." She gathered up the sheet on her lap, neatly trapping the feathers, and placed the bundle aside. "Sit here beside me and tell me about Ireland."
Felicity soon found she had spent an hour talking of her country, her home, and her daily life, skillfully eased along by two excellent listeners. She colored. "You mustn't let me go on so about myself."
"But we're fascinated," said Beth. "Neither of us has ever been to Ireland. You make it sound quite mysterious."
"Oh, it's all nonsense really, but Tara is not far from Foy, and that's supposed to be the site of the ancient palace of the High King. There's a feel to the place sometimes and beliefs that go far back."
"It's exactly the same here," said Beth. "If the local people trust you, they'll talk of fairy lines and ancient customs. As you say, sometimes even the most modern thinker has to wonder if there might be something to it. I was a schoolteacher before my marriage and have an inquiring mind."
Beth then took over the conversation and discussed her research into local customs. Blanche provided some theatrical superstitions, which soon led to talk of her life as an actress, which Felicity found fascinating.
When they broke to take a light luncheon, Felicity realized she had never spent such a pleasant time engaged only in talk. Her grandfather and Annie were not conversationalists, and in gatherings with neighbors and friends, there had usually been activity rather than talk.
She found it rather depressing. If this was the quality of company Miles was accustomed to, surely he must find her boring as well as uncouth, under-educated, and hazardous to his health.
Or rather he would find her boring if they ever shared peaceful days without assault and kidnapping. They couldn't always end up making passionate love in the afternoon.
"Are you hot, Felicity?" asked Beth with concern. "There's an extra fire screen if you would like it."
"No, no," Felicity stammered, and addressed a slice of cold veal pie.
After luncheon, Beth suggested a brisk walk in the open air. Felicity settled Gardeen in her room by the fire, put on her cloak, and joined the others. Brisk was the word, too. She was pleased to have led an active life, or she would have been gasping.
When they reached the summit of a low rise, they had an excellent view of the countryside.
"Sometimes we see the hunt from here," said Beth, producing a spyglass to scan the rolling pastureland. "But since the meet was some distance away, it's unlikely they'll run this way today."
They all took turns, but agreed in the end that the hunt was nowhere to be seen.
"Now, Felicity," Beth said crisply, "it's time for us to make plans."
"Plans?"
"You can't simply give in to this male tyranny, you know. You must fight!"
"Are we talking about Miles or Rupert?"
Beth looked taken-aback, and Blanche chuckled. "Men are all tyrants at heart, aren't they? Don't worry. Both Beth and I believe in the rights of women. We'll support you, even in your right to be a burnt offering if it comes to that. But it really wo
uld be better to find a way to thwart your black-hearted oppressor."
"Are we talking about Miles or Rupert?" Felicity asked again, but with a wry smile. "Oh, well, if you know all, you know Kieran's my child. Did Miles convince you that Rupert is capable of great cruelty? He is. He could make Kieran's life a misery and will do so if thwarted. He's even capable of killing him if he can do it without being caught."
"But you won't agree to murder?" Beth asked.
Felicity stared at her. "You, too? Faith, but you're a bloodthirsty lot! Killing's not so easy, you know. I tried to shoot Rupert once and couldn't bring myself to pull the trigger."
Beth nodded. "That's where men come in useful. Whether by nature's design or man's, they are better at violence than we are."
"Speak for yourself," said Blanche. She turned to Felicity. "I killed a man not long ago, but I know what you mean. By his own actions my victim had forfeited any right to live, but I doubt I could have done it had he not threatened the lives of innocents. I think Beth would have killed him, too, if she'd had the opportunity. Women find the strength for anything when they need it."
Felicity looked between the elegant lady and the ethereal actress. "I feel as if I've suddenly landed among the Furies! Be that as it may, I don't regret not shooting Rupert, for his death will do no good unless it leaves me with a right to my son."
"You're determined on that, are you?" asked Beth. "Even if he were placed in a good home?"
"I am. I thought at one time it would be enough to know he was safe and happy. Now I want more."
"Then you certainly don't want to be dragged into the courts for the murder of his father, do you?" Beth made the point as neatly as a sword-thrust.
"I certainly don't want that."
Beth set off down the slope again. "Let us have our aims clear. You want sole care of Kieran. Do you want to be acknowledged as his true mother?"
"Hardly. Quite apart from the scandal, it would lose him his inheritance."
"An inheritance to which he has no right," Beth pointed out. "You should perhaps bear that in mind."
It was not an aspect of the case Felicity had considered before. "It was Kathleen's property," she defended, "and she wanted him to have it. Surely that must count for something. She disliked her cousin Michael."
