"I suspect Mother will draw heavily on your strength in the weeks to come. Can you be strong for her?"
"Of course I can. But I'll be glad when Arrian and Warrick arrive. Your mother will need her family about her. Arrian's children would help cheer her, and the new baby would surely be a welcome distraction."
Michael felt the unfamiliar sting of tears, and he quickly turned away to hide his weakness from his great-aunt. "I am frightened, not for myself, but for my father," he finally admitted. "I tried hard to convince mother that he's alive, but you and I both know he may be—" He could not say the word.
The perceptive little woman moved to face him and pressed her cheek to his. "I know, Michael—I know what you are feeling."
"I mustn't think like this," he said, straightening his shoulders and gathering his strength. "I'll need a clear mind if I'm to help Father."
"Put your fear aside and do what you must," Lady Mary said encouragingly. "When do you leave?"
"I'll go now to instruct William to pack my trunk. I leave within the hour for Southampton, where I'll take the first available ship to Egypt."
She gripped his arm. "Be extremely careful, Michael. The men who took your father are dangerous. Don't do anything rash or foolish. I'll expect you and your father home soon."
"I don't know how long this will take, Aunt Mary, because I won't come home without my father."
"You will write and keep us informed?"
"Every chance I get."
She tried to regain her composure and gave him a forced smile. "I'm counting on you attending my spring gala, you handsome rogue."
He hugged her. "I'll try my damnedest, Aunt Mary."
Her eyes glimmered with tears, but she managed to put on a calm face. "I don't want to have to explain to all the females why you aren't at my party. Don't disappoint me."
"If it's at all possible, I'll dance with you at your gala."
Chapter 3
Sussex
Lady Mallory Stanhope burst into the sitting room, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "Mother, Father, are you here?" She looked around the room for her parents, but saw no one but her cousin, Phoebe, who was sitting in a straight-back chair near the window, a letter crumpled in her hand. Automatically, Mallory's back stiffened and the enthusiasm went out of her face.
"Mallory, that is no way for a lady to enter the room," Phoebe Byrd chastised her absently.
Mallory searched her cousin's eyes. Evidently something was occupying her thoughts, for the admonishment was merely perfunctory.
Phoebe Byrd was her mother's spinster cousin, and was what the neighbors secretly referred to as a "poor relation." She was in her forties, but looked much older. Tall and birdlike, she was always fussing about, straightening a picture, dusting a table, polishing the banisters. She was strict and demanding, always insisting that Mallory act like a lady.
Cousin Phoebe had come to live at Stoneridge House when Mallory was five years old. Soon afterwards, Mallory's parents had begun their travels and left Mallory in Phoebe's care. Mallory respected her cousin and looked to her for guidance. It was Phoebe's hand that had dried Mallory's tears as a child, and it was Phoebe who had nursed her when she was ill. Though only a paid companion, she was the only mother Mallory had ever known.
"I beg your pardon, Cousin Phoebe. I thought I heard a carriage pull in the drive while I was dressing, and I was sure it was mother and father. Their letter said they would be arriving today."
Phoebe didn't answer at once, but looked down at the letter in her lap. Ten years since Tyler and Julia had seen their daughter—ten years of thoughtless neglect that she had tried her best to hide from the child. How did one explain to a young girl that her parents didn't love her? That as far as they were concerned, since she hadn't been born a boy, she might as well not have been born at all?
At last, she said, "It wasn't your parents, but merely a messenger delivering this letter."
With a rustle of skirts, Mallory moved across the room and knelt down beside her cousin, clasping the frail, wrinkled hands in hers. "What is wrong?" Mallory asked in concern. "It isn't Mother and Father—there hasn't been an accident?"
Phoebe looked on Mallory with controlled affection. The girl didn't know it yet, but she was a beauty, and Phoebe feared for her future. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her auburn hair sparkled as if it were on fire. Her features were lovely, and her violet blue eyes were so brilliant that one could see the color from across the room. Mallory was slender, and each movement was graceful as if she'd practiced, but gracefulness came naturally to her.
"Oh, no, child," Phoebe reassured her. "Your mother and father are enjoying perfect health." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of the last words.
Mallory looked searchingly at her cousin. "They're not coming, are they?" Years of loneliness and disappointment were reflected in her voice.
"No, child," Phoebe said gently. "They had to return to Egypt. It seems that there is some dispute with the Egyptian government over ownership of artifacts your parents have found, and they have all been confiscated. I don't really understand it, out your parents were quite concerned, and they've already set sail."
Mallory's eyes were glimmering with tears. "But they were in London for weeks, Cousin Phoebe. They should have sent for me." Her shoulders drooped. "They didn't want to see me," she said forlornly. "They didn't, did they?"
"Nonsense! This letter is full of their sorrow at not being able to see you." Phoebe wove her half-truths for the girl's sake. "They also sent their loving wishes and congratulations for your birthday, along with this present," she said, indicating a large box wrapped in brightly colored paper.
"May I see the letter?"
Phoebe smoothed out the crumpled sheet, that merely contained instructions from Mallory's parents that their tenants were to grow oats instead of barley in the coming season. She quickly folded it and put it in the pocket of her dress. "You know it is impolite to read another's correspondence, Mallory."
But Mallory wasn't fooled. She knew that whatever the letter contained, it wasn't love and best wishes for her. Phoebe was trying to protect her. She felt suddenly dejected and lonely.
"Here, child," Phoebe prompted. "Open your gift. I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow, but go ahead."
Without enthusiasm, Mallory complied. She carefully unwrapped the pink paper, taking care not to tear it. She stared at the white box, wondering what it contained. The label was from a shop in Paris. "They have sent me a gown or perhaps a bonnet," she said as enthusiasm crept into her voice.
Eagerly, she lifted the lid, her eyes shining with anticipation. But when she saw what was inside, her lower lip trembled and she raised hurt eyes to Phoebe.
"What is it, child? Show me what they sent you," Phoebe urged.
Mallory lifted a stylishly dressed doll from the box and held it out for her cousin's inspection. "It's my eighteenth birthday, and my mother and father gave me a doll. Don't they know I'm a young lady now and I don't play with toys?"
Phoebe tried to disguise her anger. It would have been better if they had not sent anything, she thought, as her heart broke for her charge. She took the doll from Mallory and straightened the stiff white gown. "It's beautiful," she said, trying to sound lighthearted.
Mallory stood, her eyes blazing with anger. "Give it to one of the village children. I don't want it."
"You'll change your mind."
Mallory turned away from the doll as if the sight of it offended her. "No, I won't ever change my mind. I never want to see it again."
Phoebe sighed as she replaced the doll in the box. "I know a little girl who would love to have this. I doubt she's ever had anything half so nice."
"Then give it to her. I'm going to ride Tibor."
Mallory raced her gelding across the meadow, her eyes on the fence just ahead. It was high, but she had been training Tibor for months, and she felt he was ready for the jump.
"Come on, boy," she said close to h
is ear, "you can do it, I know you can."
With little urging on her part, the horse lunged forward as if he had wings. The wind kissed her cheeks as horse and rider sailed over the fence, landing safely on the other side.
Mallory patted the horse's sleek neck and spoke softly to him. "I knew you could do it. You were magnificent!"
Her attention was drawn to the wooded area where she heard someone approaching. When she glanced up to see their neighbor, Sir Gerald Dunmore, emerging from the woods, she straightened her back in displeasure. Of late, he always seemed to know where to find her and when she was alone. Why was he pursuing her when he was a married man? she wondered. She detested him, but nothing she could say would convince him of that fact.
"That was superb, Lady Mallory. There's no disputing that you're the best horsewoman in Sussex."
"I wasn't aware that I had an audience, Sir Gerald," she said coldly. "I would prefer that you inform me ahead of time when you plan to come to Stoneridge."
He merely grinned at her rebuff. "If I had informed you that I wanted to pay a call on you, you would have found a reason to be absent."
He was tall, with sandy-colored hair and blue eyes. Mallory knew that many women found him attractive, but she did not. She loathed him for the shameful way he trifled with other women, giving little thought to his poor wife.
"I do hope Lady Dunmore is enjoying good health," Mallory said pointedly. "She did not accompany you today?"
Sir Gerald merely shrugged. "You know I'm alone. Little my wife cares where I take my pleasure as long as I don't bother her."
"I would rather not hear you speak disparagingly about Lady Dunmore. I like her, and she deserves better."
"Why not pity me? You don't know what it's like to be married to a woman with a cold disposition. Twelve years we've been married." His eyes raked Mallory's body to fasten on the swelling of her young breasts against her tight-fitting riding habit. "I've often imagined how you'd warm a man's bed on a cold night, Mallory."
She stared at him in horror. "How dare you? You're deplorable."
He appeared undaunted by her rebuke. His voice became silky. "Perhaps I am, but I could do things to you that would leave you begging for more."
She whirled on him, her eyes darkening in rage. "Get off my father's land. You aren't welcome here."
He merely laughed. "Not very hospitable this morning, are you? Never mind—sooner or later I'll break down your defenses."
"Never! What must I do to convince you that I don't even like you?"
His eyes burned into hers with naked desire. "It's been my experience with women that they often say no when what they really mean is yes."
"You think too much of your charms. 1 find you-offensive and without honor."
"Honor is just a word invented by fools who were too afraid to say what they really feel. I believe, given the right circumstances, you would be more than amiable to me.
Tibor chose that moment to perform his antics. He tossed his mane and pranced about, causing Mallory to devote her full attention to quieting the spirited animal.
Sir Gerald's eyes followed Mallory's every graceful movement. As she attempted to gentle her mount, her hat flew off and dark auburn hair spilled down her back. He ached to possess her. He was determined to have her, no matter what. He had been very tolerant with her, but no more. Today he would take her, with or without her consent.
Mallory slid off her horse and walked to the bramble bush where the wind had blown her hat. Before she could poise it on her head, she was grabbed from behind. She spun around to face Sir Gerald.
"Take your hands off me!" she demanded.
His eyes rested on her heaving breasts, and he felt a strong need to crush her in his arms. "You always turn away my advances, but there is no one here to stop me from taking what I want."
Mallory was suddenly afraid, but she was determined not to allow him to see that fear. "Release me," she said bravely. "Your wife will hear about this if you don't leave me alone."
His grip only tightened. "Why do women pretend they don't want a man's kiss, when all along they ache for it?"
"Don't you care about your wife?"
"I can't even abide to be in the same room with her. Have pity on me and give me what I crave."
"I don't know what kind of woman you think I am, Sir Gerald. But I'm outraged that you would take such liberties with me. If my father were here, he'd kill you for touching me."
"But he isn't. The whole village knows that your parents have never been concerned for your welfare, m'lady. Since your father began acquiring artifacts for British museums, he and your mother only care about traveling the world for treasures, leaving their greatest treasure unguarded." He touched her hair and she drew back. "Your mother and father don't give you a thought, while I can't get you out of my mind."
"You insult me."
"You know I speak the truth, m'lady. Now, if you were nice to me, I'd never leave you alone. I know your father has left you practically impoverished. Most of the servants have gone, and those who remain are too old to look after you properly. Under my protection, you would want for nothing. I would shower you with fancy gowns and expensive trinkets."
She was disgusted by his vile suggestion. "How dare you make such a lewd offer to me. I'm a highborn lady, and not some guttersnipe."
He slid one hand behind her head and the other about her shoulders, bringing her closer to him. "It's because you are highborn that you appeal to me. I will have you, Mallory, make no mistake about that."
Her heart was thundering with fear. "I'll scream."
He smiled. "Go ahead. No one will hear you."
She struggled to be free of him, but his grip only tightened. "What do you want of me?"
His eyes settled on her lips. "I think you know. Can you guess what it feels like to have a man make love to you, Mallory? I've watched you grow into a beautiful young woman, and I've lain awake at night aching to touch you."
Fear robbed her of her voice, and she could only stare at him in disbelief.
He dipped his head, and his lips covered hers in a suffocating kiss. She pushed against him, and tried to turn her head away, but he persisted. She froze when his hands moved up the bodice of her gown.
At last she was able to move her head enough to escape his kiss. "You monster," she said, rubbing her hand across her lips. "You vile, unprincipled monster!"
He only smiled. "When you struggle like that, it only excites me more. Now I shall excite you."
"Surely you aren't saying that you would . . . that you would force me to .. ."
His eyes gleamed with something she couldn't define. "I believe we understand each other."
She decided to try reasoning with him, at least until she could think of a way to escape. "Why would you want me? I've had no experience with a man. Surely you could find a woman much more willing than I."
He studied the fine details of her face—her upturned nose, her finely arched eyebrows, eyes so blue a man could get lost in them. Her innocence only aroused him more. "You are unaware how your beauty can tear at a man's guts. Ask of me what you will, and it's yours. I'll do anything to possess you."
"I ask you to let me go."
He stared into her eyes. "Anything but that," he said harshly. Then his wet lips pressed against hers, making her stomach churn sickeningly.
Sir Gerald was beyond reasoning, and Mallory felt bile rise in her throat as his lips moved down the curve of her neck. His hand was fumbling with her gown, and she realized that he was raising her skirt. When she tried to pull away, she heard the fabric rip. Pain shot through her body as he shoved her to the ground, his weight crushing her.
She knew what she must to do. She still held the riding whip, and her fingers tightened over the silver handle. Using all her strength, she wedged her elbow between them enough so she could roll out from under him. She quickly gained her feet and turned to run.
Sir Gerald ran after her, and when he caught her, he
whirled her around. Before he realized what she was doing, Mallory struck him across the face with her whip.
He cried out in pain and grabbed his cheek. She saw her chance to get away, so she went flying toward her horse.
He muttered a loud curse, and she could hear him running after her. Fear gave her the strength she needed. She grabbed Tibor's reins and led him forward quickly. She leaped on the fence, and lifted herself into the sidesaddle.
Sir Gerald was nearly upon Mallory when she urged her horse into a run. After she was safely out of his reach, she halted and glanced back down the hill. She felt great satisfaction when she saw him dab blood from his face with his handkerchief. Mallory was glad she had drawn blood.
He raised his clenched fist at her. "You'll pay for this, Mallory. You'll see—you'll pay."
"You are mistaken. Let this be a warning to you, Sir Gerald. If you ever touch me again, you'll get a lot worse than a lashing from my whip."
"No one stands between you and me except that crazed old spinster cousin. She can't keep me away from you."
Mallory spun Tibor around, riding down the hill toward the stables. Her heart was beating so fast she could hardly breathe. She had endured Sir Gerald's insults and innuendoes for over two years, but today was the first time he'd been so bold as to try and force himself on her.
Riding into the interior of the stable, she was assisted from her horse by the aging coachman. Bill would be no help—he was much too frail to take on Sir Gerald, and she dare not involve him in this anyway.
Today she'd escaped Sir Gerald's advances, but would she be as fortunate the next time? She could think of no one to turn to for help.
Mallory was still shaken from the encounter. She had to tell someone what had happened, so she went in search of Cousin Phoebe.
Mallory was so distraught that she didn't notice the carriage in the driveway. The sun was waning, and candles flickered in the entryway as Mallory rushed into the house. Seeing warm light spilling into the hallway from the formal sitting room, she ran in that direction.
Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) Page 3
