Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Ice ran through Felicity. In truth, she could have killed him then if she'd had a weapon.

  Rupert rapped on the door, and a man cautiously opened it. "Be quick then," he whispered. "We don't want any more of that lot to think there's another way out."

  Felicity glanced back to see that the main exit was completely jammed. Some of the audience milled in the auditorium looking for another way out of the building.

  Miles was gone, and a glance at the Belcraven box showed it was empty.

  So much for the Rogues. As always, she was on her own.

  The door led into a warren of corridors smelling of musty costumes and greasepaint. Actors squeezed out of the way of theater servants rushing to prevent the doorway fracas from growing worse. Rupert shoved his way through, towing Felicity.

  "Where are we going?" she gasped.

  "Outside. Where do you think? Since you failed to keep me informed of your movements, I've had to cobble together a plan as best I could."

  "How could I keep you informed?" Felicity bumped into a plaster pillar, doing her best to impede progress without being obvious about it. "At Vauxhall, they wouldn't even let me piss unescorted after that time I gave them the slip. Here in London, I've been waiting for you to contact me."

  He stopped to study at her. "I wonder if you're telling the truth. I doubt it, but it doesn't matter. There's no escape, and you know it."

  Gathering all her mendacious ability, Felicity looked him in the eye. "Yes, I know it. Wasn't it I who set up that elopement? And it would have worked, damn you, if you'd not stopped to argue about a cat."

  "It would have worked if you'd agreed to bring it."

  "Or if you'd agreed to let it go."

  "Or if you'd run to the boat not the horses when Cavanagh appeared!" His grip on her wrist turned so vicious she gasped with pain. "I killed that damned cat, and I'll kill my sniveling son if I please. The only thing that will stop me is you as my sweet and dutiful wife. Remember that!"

  Bile rose to sicken her, but Felicity kept her eyes steady on his. "Then let's get it done before Miles Cavanagh comes charging along to guard me again."

  Two men dashing by with a ladder crushed them back against the wall. Rupert's lips twisted in an unpleasant smile. "I hear real feeling in that. If he weren't my enemy, I could almost admire Cavanagh. He soon learned you need a firm hand."

  "Except that now we've thwarted him."

  He laughed. "Struth, you really do want to spite him in this, don't you? Come on, then."

  He dragged her along, but she'd achieved her goal. His grip was less tight, and his suspicions lessened.

  What to do now, though?

  Whatever it was, she must not let Rupert guess she planned resistance unless she could take him prisoner. She knew without doubt that if he realized he'd lost his power to compel her into marriage, he'd seize Kieran at all costs.

  A blast of cold air warned her they were nearing a door to the outside. God, what was she to do?

  When an actress rudely elbowed her way past, Felicity took her chance and fell to the ground with a cry of pain.

  Rupert yanked her to her feet.

  She shrieked again. "My ankle! I've broken it!" At the memory of a certain play on words, giggles threatened, and Felicity covered her face with her free hand, hoping desperately that her unsteadiness would be taken for tears.

  "Confound it, you can't have!" He gripped her right ankle and she screamed at full volume. If it brought a crowd, she'd be glad of it.

  Muttering curses, he bent to carry her.

  He was no Miles, however, and though he pushed to his feet with her in his arms, he staggered under her weight.

  At this farcical situation, Felicity lost all control. She hid her face in his shoulder and gave way to laughter until her tears ran down to soak into his cravat.

  "Stop watering me, damn you," he gasped, lurching toward the door.

  "Perhaps she hopes you'll grow," said a welcome Irish voice.

  Chapter 24

  Felicity was plucked out of Rupert's arms into Miles's and saw Lucien ably pin her would-be-husband to the wall.

  Yet again, she buried her head against a man's shoulder, but with genuine relief. "And about time, too," she gasped, still half-helpless with that wild laughter.

  "Damnation, Felicity, I had no choice but to go forward and come round the back. Lucien saw everything from his box and due to his misspent youth, he knows the backstage of Drury Lane like he knows Vauxhall." He looked at her, eyes gleaming with anger. "How has he hurt you?"

  She gained control and wiped her damp cheeks. "Oh, not at all. You can put me down."

  The rage faded, and he nuzzled down her cheek to the corner of her lips. "Do I have to?"

  "It would be interesting to see how long you can carry me..."

  Lucien interrupted this. "Remember we have other business to take care of tonight. We need to find a place to put this until later."

  "You fool, Felicity," snarled Rupert, his eyes glinting with rage. "You'll regret this to your dying day."

  Then he gasped, clearly because Lucien had tightened his crippling hold. "I fear you're the one who will regret it, Mr. Dunsmore. Bitterly."

  Rupert turned pale with fear. "Kill me, and it will get you nowhere! I've given Michael Craig a fine account of your unruly behavior and unhealthy obsession with the boy, Felicity. If he becomes Kieran's guardian, you'll never see the brat again."

  His scream made even Miles jump.

  "Oh dear," said Lucien, letting his prey go. "I think I've broken something."

  Rupert was dead-white and sobbing, clutching his wrist. Felicity couldn't enjoy this and turned her face away. Miles slid her down onto her own feet, still holding her close. "For an Irish warrior-queen, my love, you're a mite squeamish. Let me take you to the carriage, and then I'll come back with a groom to dispose of the rubbish. Lucien has to carry on with Serena's conquest of Society."

  Without a backward look, Felicity went with him to a waiting carriage which took her to Emile's, where Beth was calmly presiding over the elegant supper ordered for them all. Soon Lucien and Miles arrived, as unruffled and charming as always.

  While trying to play her part, Felicity couldn't help stealing fascinated glances at the marquess, trying to see him for the predator he clearly was.

  Was Miles the same beneath his pleasing exterior? He'd said he could kill Rupert if she'd allow it. Perhaps he'd spoken nothing but the truth.

  When the official part of the evening was over, Lucien, Miles, and Con gathered to deal with Rupert. Felicity joined them. "You're not leaving me out of this."

  "You don't like violence," Miles objected.

  "I like sitting home sewing samplers even less."

  He shook his head. "If I send you home, you'll just slip out into the streets of London and come searching for us, I suppose."

  She grinned. "You know me all too well."

  For her ears alone, he murmured, "Not near well enough for comfort, tempting Joy."

  So, as they climbed into a carriage, Felicity was humming with desire and with the hope that soon it would be both possible and sanctified that they exploit it.

  A night of loving.

  Not just one night. A lifetime of nights.

  Like a castle made of diamonds or the moon in her hands, it seemed impossible; and yet, just possibly it was to be hers. She took Miles's hand, sensing him in that small area of skin, drawing through that contact the nurturing her spirit needed.

  The gentle flexing of his hand, the slight movement of his thumb against hers, said he was doing the same.

  * * *

  They'd stowed Rupert at Blanche's house, and found him there, tied to the bed. At least, his right arm was tied to a bedpost, but his left was free and bandaged.

  Lucien shook his head at Blanche. "You softhearted women."

  She snorted. "Remember who you're talking to. I think Mr. Dunsmore understood that he wasn't to try anything."

  The fright
ened look Rupert flashed her confirmed it. But rage replaced fear when he looked at Felicity. "Such a shame about Kieran," he said, as an evil promise.

  Felicity flinched inside, but hoped it didn't show.

  He's a toothless lion, snarling uselessly.

  Toothless.

  Toothless.

  "If you want the rest of your bones to stay whole," said Miles, quite calmly, "watch your words. By the time we're finished here, you will have no power over the boy at all."

  "Oh, will I not? Even the bloody heir to Kilgoran can't steal a father's rights."

  Miles perched on a corner of the bed in an almost friendly manner. "But I can take away a father's supposed rights to an estate, can't I?"

  Rupert frowned at him in genuine incomprehension. "What?"

  "Kieran is not Kathleen's son, so he has no right to Loughcarrick. Therefore, nor do you. Theft, it is. And a whole host of other criminal actions."

  Rupert stared at Felicity. "You'd tell the world you're a whore?"

  Miles grabbed his shirtfront, but then slowly let it go. "I'll not add to your wounds while you're bound, Dunsmore, but I'll keep a tally."

  As a sense of his predicament sunk in, Rupert changed from toothless lion to trapped rabbit. Or trapped weasel, perhaps, for there was plenty of cunning in his eyes along with the fear. "You're bluffing, Cavanagh. You'd never take this before the courts. It's clear you're hot for her. If this comes out, the heir to Kilgoran could never marry such a one."

  "I would marry Felicity if her sin were worse than to be cozened into foolishness when still a child."

  Rupert turned on Felicity. "You'd brand your son a bastard?"

  "To keep him out of your hands, yes. Better a bastard than blind."

  He cackled. "You can't take that seriously!"

  "Can I not? You killed Gardeen."

  "The cat? You're in a fret about a cat? "

  Sickened by the fact that she had ever let this man touch her, Felicity turned away. "Explain our terms to him."

  Miles listed their evidence and the conditions of leniency—that Rupert give the guardianship of his son to the Earl of Kilgoran; that he never reveal the truth about the child's birth; and that he never set foot in Ireland again. In return, he would get a monthly pension for life.

  By the time he'd finished, Felicity felt strong enough to turn back and see Rupert's reaction.

  "Not setting foot in Ireland will be easy," he sneered, somewhat calmer and a great deal more cunning. "A benighted country peopled by fools. But how will I ever explain why I abandoned my beloved son to strangers?"

  Felicity answered that. "For the reason you just gave. You hate Ireland but know your son must be raised there. As for Kilgoran, you need merely claim him as a distant relative of Kathleen's and the most honorable man in Ireland."

  "It's as well, then, that we aren't speaking of the next earl."

  She moved up beside the bed. "Though I confess to being a bit squeamish, I don't think it would be beyond me to black your other eye."

  His lips curved into a snarl of pure hate. "Oh, but the part of this I like least is that I'll not have the taming of you, you bitch."

  Miles backhanded him into silence.

  When Rupert looked up at them, his swollen lip was bleeding and feral fury blazed in his eyes. "Very well," he mumbled. "I accept your terms. To hell with you all."

  "He's lying," Felicity said. "He's planning something."

  Miles shrugged. "He'll come to his senses when his rage fades." He leaned forward to grasp Rupert's chin. "For he knows, don't you, my beauty, that if he so much breathes in the wrong direction from now on, I will kill him slowly. I have the right, both for what he's done to you and what he planned to do." Quite casually, he untied the man and pushed him toward the table where Lucien was laying out papers.

  "Clever of you not to break his writing hand, Luce."

  Miles slid some papers in front of Rupert. "This is the trust by which the Earl of Kilgoran becomes completely responsible for Kieran George Dunsmore and his estate, Loughcarrick in County Meath. Sign each page."

  For a moment, Felicity thought Rupert would balk; then, fingers white on the pen, he signed.

  Lucien and Con came forward to witness the signature.

  Then Miles put more papers on the table. "These are the statements we've collected about your son's birth. You can read them if you want. You are to write at the end of each, 'This is a true account of the birth of my son, Kieran George Dunsmore, to Felicity Monahan.'"

  Rupert flashed a malignant look at Felicity, but he wrote as commanded at the end of each document. Felicity watched, still sure this wasn't the end they had hoped for. She knew there was a place in Rupert that didn't obey the rules of logic and sense.

  "Good boy," said Miles derisively when it was finished. "And now, give me the details of your debts and I'll settle them."

  "Why on earth would you do that?" Felicity demanded.

  "I've not turned soft in the heart or the head, love. We might as well give him a clean start. A desperate weasel is more dangerous than one who can afford to drown its sorrows."

  Rupert turned in the chair to face Miles, and he had regained some of his haughty air. "The sum is a little over five thousand guineas to David Saul of Dublin. If Kieran's trustees had been more flexible about his expenses, the amount would not have been a concern to anyone."

  "If they'd been more flexible about expenses, the lad wouldn't have an estate left. I'll pay it. Just remember that, in future, you'd better not game beyond your means."

  "Or?" asked Rupert, rising and straightening his rumpled coat one-handed. A slight smile twisted his battered mouth. "You can't kill me, can you? Because if you do, that trusteeship becomes null and void and the child goes to Michael Craig."

  "You should have read it before you signed," Miles said. "It supersedes your will and makes Kilgoran—and future Earls of Kilgoran—the boy's guardian even should you die."

  Rupert's lips curled almost in a snarl, but he collected himself. "Michael Craig would still have a claim and interest. I think you'll find him very interested."

  Miles took Felicity's hand. "Come, love. Let's leave before I do something I might regret."

  "I wish you would," she said, with a look of loathing at Rupert.

  His naked rage and malice made her flinch. "You won't get away with this," Rupert said almost casually. "You'll never have Kieran."

  She whirled and left the room, telling herself that the weasel was toothless. But that declaration of possession terrified her.

  On Blanche's landing, Miles pulled her into his arms. "Hush, love. Hush. Don't let him frighten you. There's nothing he can do."

  She burrowed closer. "I know, I know. And yet... How will we ever be free of him?"

  He rubbed her back. "If he bothers you again, I'll kill him and you won't talk me out of it. There's nothing to fear."

  Felicity gathered herself and moved back a little. "What of Michael Craig? Rupert's right. He might take an interest. There's a prosperous estate at issue."

  "We'll deal with that if it arises. Home now, and a good rest. Within days, we should be able to return to Ireland."

  It felt like the first sun after a storm. "Really?"

  "Really. But for now," he said with a grin, "you'll have to make do with the squalor of Belcraven House."

  When they arrived back at the Palace, they had to tell the whole tale to Beth, who then accompanied Felicity to her room. "You don't look ecstatic."

  Felicity held her hands out to the fire. "I fear Rupert's hate will be like a sword of Damocles hanging over our heads. Or over Kieran's. Will we have to keep him under guard forever?"

  "Surely Dunsmore will realize there's nothing he can do."

  "That assumes he behaves like a reasonable man. Thwarted..." Gardeen rubbed against Felicity's ankles, and she picked up the cat for comfort. "Perhaps we should have taken you to the theater, little one. You could have guided us."

  "You place a lo
t of faith in cats."

  Felicity stroked the black fur. "She saved me once. I think."

  The maid arrived then, and Beth left. Felicity prepared for bed, feeling she should finally be at peace. Instead, she was tormented by the look in Rupert's eyes when he'd said, "You'll never have Kieran."

  What might Rupert do to enforce the statement?

  * * *

  The next morning, however, Felicity's fears seemed irrational, a product of shock and exhaustion. She settled to playing the piano until a footman interrupted to say that Mr. Cavanagh required her presence in the rose reception room.

  She accompanied the man, wondering why Miles hadn't just come directly to her. When she entered the room, however, she found him entertaining a solid, middle-aged man with grizzled side-whiskers.

  Felicity had to choke back a cry of alarm when she recognized Kathleen's cousin, Michael Craig. So soon, Rupert's prediction had proved true.

  She managed to greet the man politely, then took a seat, heart racing with alarm. Miles wore a bland look that she couldn't interpret. Mr. Craig was scowling, but then that was always the case.

  "Felicity," said Miles, casually crossing one leg over the other, "Mr. Craig has posted down to London with some extraordinary matters to discuss..."

  He knows!

  "...and I wanted you to be present."

  "Foolishness to involve a woman," snapped Mr. Craig. "But if you insist. Miss Monahan, I recently received a letter from Kathleen's husband, a man I do not hesitate to say that I despise. However, he seemed most sincere in his concern that you plan to steal his child. That you have, in fact, already succeeded in removing the boy from his home."

  Felicity summoned up a blank look. "Steal? Why would I want to steal Kieran?"

  Could Rupert actually have told him the truth?

  The man pushed out his bottom lip. "He says you have an unhealthy obsession with the boy. You can't deny you've spent plenty of time with him. Kathleen remarked on it."

  Felicity's heart-rate settled a little. "I liked Kathleen, and I like Kieran. On her deathbed she asked me to keep an eye on her son. You can't deny, Mr. Craig, that Mr. Dunsmore is not an ideal father."