The Wild Child (Bride Trilogy)

by Mary Jo Putney

  He cupped his hands to help her onto her mount, steeling himself not to be distracted by her nearness. When she stepped onto his linked hands, he found that she wore boots. He was glad of that; though she’d managed with bare feet, boots were definitely preferable.

  She settled lightly on the mare’s back, gathering the reins in one hand. With the other, she touched his cheek, rueful amusement in her eyes. He was forgiven.

  Unable to entirely control himself, he caught her hand and kissed it swiftly. “I’ll saddle Pegasus now. Wait for me?”

  She smiled enigmatically and walked Moonbeam from the stables. Not sure if she would wait, he saddled his mount quickly and led the horse outside. He was pleased to find that she was walking the mare quietly around the courtyard.

  As he swung into his own saddle, he said, “Do you have some special place you like to visit? If so, I’d be pleased to see it.”

  She set off at a fast trot. He followed, immensely relieved that they were on comfortable terms again. Later today, or perhaps tomorrow, he would explain who he really was and declare himself. She might turn out to be entirely indifferent to the fact that he wasn’t Lord Maxwell.

  Of course, it was equally possible she would be enraged to learn that he had been deceiving her. He’d simply have to take one fence at a time.

  She led him up to the ancient standing stones that crowned a hill at the farthest, wildest corner of the park. Renbourne’s reaction would tell her much about him.

  On the way, he chatted with her easily. She liked that he spoke to her as an equal. Most people talked at her or over her, as if she were made of wood. She also enjoyed the way he could carry on both sides of a conversation quite nicely without her help.

  But his gilded tongue fell silent when they neared their destination. Where they emerged from the woods, the stones stood stark and menacing against the early morning sky. She dismounted and tethered Moonbeam before entering the circle. Wordlessly Renbourne did the same.

  He walked to the center of the circle and turned slowly, studying the irregularly shaped stones. Half a dozen had fallen, but three times as many still stood, looming to twice his height in silent testament to a race long vanished. He’d called her a pagan the night before, and she supposed he was right. Certainly she heard the old gods whisper when she came to this place.

  He crossed to the tallest stone and laid his hands flat on the rough, lichened surface. After a long moment, he turned and said in a hushed voice, “This is a place of power, isn’t it? Like a cathedral, one can feel the pulse of faith beating here.”

  He felt it, too! She wanted to kiss him for his perception, but refrained rather than risk offending his gentlemanly modesty.

  “People must still come here,” he said thoughtfully. “It can’t be an accident that no trees grow inside the circle, or for several yards around outside.”

  She blinked. That had never occurred to her. Perhaps the circle was not as abandoned as she had thought. She liked the idea that some of the locals still held a place in their hearts for the old ways.

  The rising sun was behind him, and his broad-shouldered silhouette made her think of a warrior, or perhaps a powerful priest. She shivered, touched by an uncanny feeling that the two of them had met here before. Perhaps her bones remembered lady ancestors who had brought their lovers here.

  She bent and plucked a daisy from the grass by her feet. In the language of flowers, a symbol of innocence and gentleness. In the herbal written by a Meriel of three hundred years earlier, it was called Herb Margaret. The herbal had given the recipe for a salve made of daisies, good for wounds and bruises. Had that ancestress brought her sweetheart here and lain with him among the flowers?

  Meriel tucked the daisy in one of his buttonholes, then flattened her hand in the middle of his chest, feeling the beat of his heart quicken under her touch. He covered her hand with his, saying huskily, “You belong in this place, my wild fairy maid.”

  She held her breath, hopeful that he might give in to the temptation visible in his eyes. The circle had an untamed pagan energy from the days long before the Christian god had commanded chastity. Who knew where a kiss might lead?

  To her disappointment, he touched her hair so lightly she could scarcely feel it, then led the way back to the horses. She admired a man of firm resolve, but wished it were less firm in this case.

  Nonetheless, the ride back to the house was pleasant. She had grown very accustomed to having him around.

  The groom was awake, and he took charge of the horses when they reached the stables. Hungry from the exercise, she decided to join Renbourne in the breakfast parlor rather than beg tea and toast in the kitchen as she usually did.

  He opened the door for her, and she swept by him. She’d noticed it was easier to sweep impressively when wearing boots. Renbourne murmured, “Well done, Lady Meriel! A princess could not have looked more regal.”

  She smiled, amused that he had interpreted her movements so accurately. Then she saw Mrs. Rector, and her smile faded. The older woman was perched on a bench in the hall, her face ashen as she read a letter that must have been delivered by the dusty messenger who stood awkwardly nearby.

  Hearing their footsteps, Mrs. Rector looked up, her vision unfocused. Renbourne asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She ran her tongue over dry lips. “Lord Amworth has suffered a seizure of the heart. His wife, Elinor, says that…that the physician is not optimistic about the chances of his recovery.” Her gaze dropped to the letter again. “He’s my cousin, you know. I…I’ve known him my whole life.”

  A chill went through Meriel, and not only because she, too, was fond of Lord Amworth. In her bones she knew this news would have repercussions that would shake her world.

  The message about Lord Amworth cast a shadow over the household. Though earlier Dominic had hoped to work in the garden with Meriel, he was relieved when she vanished. He spent the day on the endless chore of trimming topiary chess pieces while he pondered the implications if Lord Amworth didn’t recover.

  Amworth himself had feared for Meriel if he died, because Lord Grahame’s opinions on her best interests were so different from his own. A pity Dominic knew little about the law, and even less of the legal provisions surrounding Meriel’s guardianship and inheritance. He simply did not know how much control her childhood guardians still had over her person. One thing was sure—Dominic had no standing on her behalf.

  Upright and inflexible, Grahame would surely take a dim view of his niece’s marriage to a younger son of small fortune. In fact, he would probably object to any marriage, and he’d be furious that Amworth had gone behind his back to arrange one.

  Technically, Meriel was of age and free to make up her own mind, but Grahame might be able to get her declared incompetent if she chose to behave in a manner he considered mad. Though Dominic was sure that her mind and judgment were basically sound, as long as she didn’t speak and behaved eccentrically, she was at risk of being treated as if she really were mad.

  Would she speak up to preserve her freedom? Or would she withdraw into her own world and confirm the general belief that her wits were addled?

  Uneasily Dominic recognized that a crisis was imminent. He must ask the ladies if they knew when Grahame was due back from his Continental journey. And he’d better pray that Amworth made a swift and unexpected recovery from his heart seizure.

  When the members of the household gathered in the salon before dinner, Dominic was pleased to see that not only had Meriel appeared, but she was demurely dressed in one of her mother’s gowns. She even wore soft kidskin slippers, slightly scuffed.

  Both of the ladies smiled at the sight, which made him suspect that Meriel had made a special effort to cheer them up. Though Mrs. Marks was related to Meriel’s father, not her mother, she had known Amworth for years and was almost as upset at his condition as Mrs. Rector was.

  The butler poured sherry for each of them. Even Meriel took a glass, though Dom
inic had noticed that she drank virtually no alcohol.

  Mrs. Rector moved to Dominic’s side. “She looks so charming tonight. So…so normal. You’ve been very good for her, my lord.”

  “I hope so.” He sipped his sherry. “But if she looks elegant and ladylike, it’s because she has been shown such fine examples through the years.”

  Mrs. Rector’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve a silver tongue, my lord.”

  He was about to reply when a commotion sounded outside, in the front hall. A deep voice boomed, “Nonsense, of course they’ll see me. D’you know who I am?”

  The footman’s reply was inaudible, but heavy approaching footsteps were heard, along with the visitor’s comment, “Would’ve been here earlier if the cursed carriage hadn’t broken an axle.”

  Dominic lowered his glass, his blood turning cold. No, it couldn’t be. Surely it was just a similarity of voices….

  The door to the salon swung open, and a broad man of implacable confidence swept into the room. Appalled, Dominic recognized the sixth Earl of Wrexham, and the slender, dark-haired young woman who trailed behind.

  His father and sister had just arrived.

  Chapter 21

  Mrs. Marks stepped forward, her brows arched with polite challenge. “Good evening, sir. Do we have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

  Why the devil did everyone drop into Warfield unannounced? Thanking heaven for his father’s notoriously bad eyesight, Dominic took a firm hold of Kyle’s mannerisms, then drawled, “My apologies, Mrs. Marks, I didn’t realize that you and my father were unacquainted. Mrs. Marks, Mrs. Rector, allow me to present the Earl of Wrexham and my sister, Lady Lucia Renbourne.”

  Adjusting swiftly, Mrs. Marks said, “What a pleasant surprise. Let me ring the housekeeper to prepare rooms for you.” A delicate edge showed in her voice as she tugged the bellpull. “What a pity we couldn’t have them ready.”

  Wrexham recognized her irritation but merely shrugged. “We were on our way north, and I decided I wanted to see how Maxwell was doing with his courting.” His gaze swung to Meriel. “A pretty little thing. Doesn’t look mad.”

  Meriel had drifted back to one wall, her gaze blank. Grateful for once that she didn’t talk because he was afraid of what she might say, Dominic said hastily, “You must be tired from your journey. Would you like a glass of sherry?”

  “I wouldn’t say no to some brandy.”

  Dominic moved toward the drinks cabinet, hoping the ladies wouldn’t mind that he was acting as host. “Lucia?”

  “My usual.” Lucia’s apologetic gaze went to her hostesses with a sweet earnestness that could touch the hardest heart. “Mrs. Marks, Mrs. Rector, I’m so sorry that we’ve come at an awkward time.”

  Mrs. Marks’s expression softened. “It’s no trouble, my dear. I’ll simply have dinner set back an hour.”

  “No, no. We’ll just finish our drinks, then take trays in our rooms.” Wrexham covered a yawn. “No wish to put you out more than we already have. We’ll stay through tomorrow and be off the next morning.”

  Dominic noted wryly that his father didn’t consult Lucia about her dining preferences, or the ladies about whether they minded having uninvited guests for two nights. The charitable interpretation was that Wrexham thought of the families as already joined in marriage, but it was probably more accurate to say that it simply never occurred to him that anyone might object to his wishes.

  As he poured the brandy, Dominic wondered what his sister’s usual drink might be; she’d still been in the schoolroom when he’d left Dornleigh. Once she’d been fond of lemonade, but he didn’t see any, nor any other beverage that he remembered her enjoying. Hoping for the best, he poured a sherry and crossed the room with the drinks.

  Engaged in polite conversation with Mrs. Marks, his father accepted the brandy without looking up, but Lucia frowned when he gave her the other glass. “Sherry, Kyle?”

  Then she raised her gaze. Slowly her eyes rounded, and the glass almost dropped from her hand. There was nothing wrong with Lucia’s vision, and there wasn’t a prayer that Dominic could fool her. She’d have recognized him immediately if she hadn’t been expecting to see Kyle.

  Turning his back so that she was the only one in the room who could see, he touched his finger to his lips, his eyes pleading for her cooperation. She swallowed and took a firmer grip on the stem of her glass, her gaze darting to her father.

  Voice almost inaudible, Dominic murmured, “A good thing he’s too vain to wear his spectacles. There’s a sound reason for this, I swear.”

  Lucia regarded her brother sternly. “There had better be.”

  “I’ll explain later,” he promised. Then he slid away, grateful that she hadn’t given him away. Yet.

  Dominic was relieved when his father and sister withdrew to their newly prepared rooms, but he could still feel his father’s presence in the house like a thundercloud. Though he was safe for this evening, what about tomorrow? Wrexham’s vision might be weak, but he wasn’t stupid. If Dominic couldn’t discuss topics familiar to Kyle and the earl, he’d be caught, and there would be holy hell to pay.

  It was hard to enjoy dinner when his mind persisted in counting the number of people who would be outraged to learn the truth. In fact, Dominic couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be shocked.

  Meriel disappeared after the meal, and Dominic excused himself from the drawing room early. It was a kindness, really, because with him gone the ladies could discuss the Renbourne invasion freely.

  The footman on duty directed him upstairs to his sister’s room. There he tapped on the door, half hoping she’d be asleep, but she called out, “Come in.”

  He opened the door and stepped inside. Clad in a flowing blue robe, Lucia sat on a stool in front of the dressing table while her maid brushed her hair. Turning, she gave her brother a baleful glance. “Jane, you may go now.”

  She waited for the door to close behind her maid before asking, “What on earth is going on, Dominic?”

  He crossed the room to her. “I’ll explain, but don’t you have a hug for your prodigal brother first?”

  “Of course.” Her expression relaxed into a smile as she rose and embraced him. “It’s been too long since you came home, Dom. But what a wicked prank this is! I’ve spent the evening worrying about how much trouble you’ll be in if you’re discovered.” She pulled away, a furrow between her brows. “You do have a good reason, don’t you?”

  “Why am I not surprised that I’m the one being blamed for this?” Dominic said wryly as he sat on the canopied bed. “It’s simple, really. Kyle had some other pressing engagement—he wouldn’t say what—so he asked me to come in his place.”

  “Kyle asked you to help him, and you agreed,” Lucia repeated incredulously as she dropped onto the stool again. “And you say that’s simple? You’ve hardly spoken to each other in years.”

  “Which is why it’s obvious that this is very important to him.” Dominic hesitated a moment, wondering how much to say. Deciding that if he was going to ask his sister to lie for him, she deserved the truth, he continued, “I don’t know what he’s doing, but I believe he’s left the country. He only intended to be gone for a few weeks, though.”

  Lucia started twisting her long hair into a rope. “Why did you agree? Did you think it would be amusing to deceive two sweet old ladies and a girl who is deranged?”

  “Lucia!” He propelled himself from the bed and began pacing the room, thinking that his sister was becoming entirely too cynical. But of course, she had been moving in London society for several years. That tended to take the edge off innocence very quickly. “Believe me, I’m no happier about this deception than you are. I did it for two reasons. First, Kyle has offered to give me Bradshaw Manor if I manage to impersonate him successfully.”

  Lucia’s eyes widened. “Heavens, he really was serious. I can see why that would be a hard offer to refuse.” She cocked her head. “And the other reason?”

  He hesitated,
wishing he had restricted himself to real estate. “Because he seemed so…so desperate. As if he’d break from the pressure if I didn’t agree to help.”

  “He has seemed upset lately,” she agreed. “I’ve been worried, but of course he wouldn’t tell his little sister what was wrong even if I’d dared to ask.”

  “Kyle could give a rock lessons in silence.” He’d kept things from Dominic, too, creating another wedge between them after they were sent to separate schools. During the holidays, Dominic talked about his lessons and new friends, trying to maintain the fabric of their relationship. But Kyle hadn’t been interested in Dominic’s life.

  Lucia regarded Dominic gravely. “I’m glad you care about him enough to help. I’ve never understood why you two are so estranged. It seems as if twins ought to like each other. You did once.”

  He stopped pacing and stared out the window. The room faced the front lawn, where moonlight illuminated the sweeping drive. “I’ve never disliked Kyle. I’m not sure the reverse is true.”

  “Oh, he cares about you,” Lucia said softly. “And resents that you’ve turned your back on him. Just as you resent the fact that he’s the heir and you’re not.”

  He spun on his heel and glared at his sister. She had definitely grown up. He thought longingly of when she had been ten, with grass stains on her skirt and her hair every which way. She’d loved her big brothers quite uncritically then. “I didn’t ask for your opinion on my relationship with Kyle.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I know. That’s why I thought I’d better volunteer it.”

  “Mistress Mischief rides again,” he said, resurrecting her childhood nickname. “Enough about me. Have you any exciting news?”

  She blushed, her worldly air falling away. “I’m betrothed.”

  “Really!” he said, delighted. “I missed seeing the notices in the newspapers.”