The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “If you say so, Miss Tavistock,” Alex answered, beguiled by her teasing. Lord, if she knew how his body quickened at the mere thought of holding her in his arms even in full sight of a huge roomful of people, she’d think twice about who had the most right to claim her for a waltz! But Alex had no desire to relinquish such rights and ceased to look about the room for Zach.

  He placed a hand on her slender waist and took her right hand in his, palm to palm. He led her onto the circle of waltzing couples, and they began to dance.

  Beth had been waiting for this moment all evening. And just as she’d hoped, it was bliss dancing with Alex. She hadn’t expected a waltz, and the fact that she was gliding across the floor exclusively with him in as close an embrace as she could respectfully hope for was just icing on the cake. Sweet, mouth-watering icing.

  His scent was still fresh and clean despite hours of dancing. Her head came just to his chin, and when she looked up at him, the first thing she saw was that wonderful cleft of his. Then his smile—friendly, confiding … tender?

  “You like to dance, don’t you, Beth?”

  She lifted her gaze to Alex’s eyes. She was drowning but she didn’t care. “It’s the best part of these dull affairs,” she admitted.

  “You do it admirably well,” he said, finding the compliment the easiest he’d uttered the whole evening, since he had said it with absolute honesty.

  “I find that enjoying something makes one do that something much better, don’t you?” she offered with a serious little quirk of her eyebrows.

  Alex found himself wondering in quick succession whether she enjoyed kissing, if Zach kissed her often, if it would be different if he kissed her. But he knew it would be different, at least for him. It would be earthshaking.

  “Hold on,” he said suddenly, “we’re going to twirl a little faster.” Then he pulled her closer and spun her with dizzying and graceful precision. He could feel her thighs lightly brushing his. She could feel the muscles in his shoulder flex as he masterfully swept her about the room.

  Beth’s musical laugh drifted across the floor to Zach, who was watching from the doorway. He’d been to see Charlie.

  “They dance well together,” opined Mrs. Tavistock, who’d just walked up to stand beside him.

  “Yes, they do,” said Zach, but his mind was still full of Charlie, the unhappy wretch he’d just taken strong coffee to. Too bad the poor man had been so unwise as to marry his mistress. Bad ton, that. But some men were unable to think with their pants down. Zach shook his head dourly, vowing then and there to keep his wits and his dignity, with or without his trousers.

  Chapter Six

  Only a few days had passed since the betrothal ball and all its attendant busyness, but Alex had never seen Zach so restless or so nearly foxed as he was tonight. Beth and Mrs. Tavistock and Gabby had joined them for dinner at Pencarrow that evening and had left the men to their port a good half an hour before.

  “Don’t you think we ought to join the ladies?” Alex lifted his brimming glass and took a small sip, eyeing his brother over the rim. He had no doubt that Zach’s skittishness, and his overindulgence in Grandfather’s best cellar stock, had everything to do with the fact that it had been two weeks since last he’d seen his mistress.

  Alex hadn’t said a word against Tess, but perhaps Zach sensed his disapproval. Whatever the reason, Zach had stayed at Pencarrow despite a desire to be elsewhere—at Tess’s, to be precise. Alex realized now what a testimonial it was to the importance of their reunion that Zach had gone a whole month without visiting the chit directly after Alex’s arrival. It was obvious she had quite a hold on him.

  Zach heaved a sigh and hunched forward in his chair, propping his elbows on the white damask tablecloth and cupping his chin in both hands. He stared hard at the minuscule amount of port left at the bottom of his own glass as if the claret-red swallow of wine held in its shallow depths the answer to Alex’s question. “I s’pose,” Zach drawled at last.

  Alex set down his glass, his mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. “Your response is overwhelming, brother. Do I detect a note of reluctance in your voice? Mrs. Tavistock is a charming women, though a trifle excitable. I find your future mother-in-law’s conversation rather diverting.”

  “Wouldn’t if you’d been listening to it since you were in leading strings,” Zach assured him, lifting his golden eyes to stare owlishly at Alex.

  “You’ve had too much to drink.” Alex reached over to remove Zach’s glass and the near-empty decanter of port from his brother’s side of the table.

  Zach watched Alex’s movements with a bemused unconcern, a half smile tilting his lips. “You’re right. I’m bosky. In my altitudes t’ be sure. Maybe a brisk ride in the cool night air would sober me up a bit. What d’ya say to that, Alex?” Zach looked hopefully at his brother.

  “If you didn’t break your neck, I’m sure you’d somehow lose your way and end up in St. Teath at a certain young woman’s cottage. Beth and her mother and sister are awaiting us in the drawing room. You don’t want to disappoint them, do you? I’ll have Stibbs serve tea at once, and if the tea doesn’t sober you up, that grim specter of a butler standing sentry by the tray surely will.”

  “Oh, very well,” Zach conceded with another ponderous sigh, tugging at his cravat with impatient fingers till the intricate knot his valet had painstakingly created was in total ruin. “Damned dull business, all this courting folderol! I’d as soon have Beth to m’self without you, her mother, her little sister, and half the servants at Pencarrow hovering about like mother hens!”

  Alex stood up and moved to Zach’s side of the table. “Naturally you would wish to be alone with your fiancée,” he said in reasoning tones. “But though I loathe to remind you of it, you are in need of a chaperon. As you told me yourself, Beth doesn’t intend to relinquish her … er, maidenhood before the two of you have tied the nuptial knot. In your present state, brother, Beth needs all the protection she can get.” He pulled out Zach’s chair and assisted him to his feet with a firm hand under the elbow.

  Zach stood up, weaved, cursed, then sat down again. “Worse than I thought,” he mumbled.

  Alex clicked his tongue. “Perhaps you could use a little fresh air, but I daresay we need only go so far as the garden. Come.” Alex pulled Zach to his feet once again and led him toward the French doors that opened to the formal gardens, taking a small three-tapered girandole with him. Zach tried to compensate for his lack of balance by walking with overcareful exactness, his steps precisely placed, his shoulders rigidly pulled back, his head held unnaturally high, and looking for all the world like a wooden marionette on the end of a jerky string.

  Alex was torn between amusement and irritation. Zach was like a favorite puppy, one moment charming you with its youthful exuberance and the next moment wetting on your boot. You wanted to either cuddle it or kick it, depending on its latest antic. Currently Alex was having difficulty refraining from the latter method in his dealings with Zach. Though he’d stayed on the premises, Zach had continued to forget appointments with Beth and seemed distracted even in her company. All this, despite Alex’s frequent reminders. He also continued to dodge any attempts by the steward or Alex to address the needs of the estate, particularly in the boarding up of the abandoned tin mines. He seemed too restless to get down to any sort of serious business.

  Alex led Zach to a low marble bench sheltered on one side by tall, sculpted yew bushes and helped him to sit down. After ascertaining that Zach was capable of sitting up without assistance, Alex lit a cigarillo he’d plucked from an inner waistcoat pocket, then set the girandole next to Zach on the bench. He moved a few feet away to lean against an ancient, thick-trunked oak tree and drew a few relaxing puffs of the aromatic mixture of Indian tobacco, lifting his face toward the star-spangled ebony sky.

  The night was balmy and softly lit by a three-quarter moon. Night-scented stock drenched the air with a heady clove and almond fragrance. Moor crickets strummed thei
r tunes, and sea gulls cawed in the distance. It was a glorious night, a night to share with a woman as soft and dark, as fragrant and lovely, as the night itself.

  “Don’t you ever want a woman, Alex?”

  Alex was startled by the question—a question so well timed to his inner musings that it was uncanny. He stared hard at Zach, his brother’s slightly fuddled expression clearly illuminated by the candlelight. He decided that Zach was still too inebriated to be very serious about anything. He relaxed and said, “Why do you ask?”

  Zach seemed to be concentrating, collecting his thoughts. “Because you never go to town, you know. You haven’t laid a finger on any of the maids, either. At least not that I know of.” Then his eyes widened. “Or have you?”

  Alex chuckled. “No. I’ve no desire to dally with the servants. It only brings them grief in the end, no matter how willing they profess themselves to be.”

  Zach nodded sagely. “’Salways been my policy, too. Hands off the servants. But don’t you …?”

  “I’m very particular, Zach. I don’t tumble into bed with the first comely chit I see. In the meantime, if I feel … romantic, and there’s no one about whom I’ve an inclination to be romantic with, so to speak, I busy myself with as many physical activities as I can find to do.” He drew another puff of his cigarillo.

  Zach’s tawny brows dipped in a deep frown. “But sometimes that just don’t meet muster, you know. Especially when you’re thinking of one woman in particular, it’s hard to be satisfied by anything but … well, that woman.”

  “Are you talking about Tess or Beth?” Alex studied Zach’s face.

  Zach cocked his head thoughtfully. “Right now, I suppose I’m talking about Tess. I love Beth, but since I’ve never bedded her, I can’t ache for her as I do Tess. Do you understand what I mean?”

  Alex understood, and yet he didn’t understand. He understood how a man could want just one woman, but he didn’t understand what not bedding Beth had to do with not aching for her. He’d never made love to Beth, but he ached for her night and day, every hour, every minute. Right now!

  “What did you think of Lydia Elmstead?”

  The question surprised Alex. Beth’s betrothal party had come and gone like a shooting star. It brightened Mrs. Tavistock’s conversation for several days before and after, but it had very little lasting impact on their quiet lives. The most memorable event of the evening for Alex was dancing with Beth. But he’d tried to forget how right she’d felt in his arms. As for Lydia, he hadn’t given her a second thought.

  “She’s pretty, but not my sort,” Alex replied at last.

  “What is your sort, brother?” Zachary prodded.

  A contralto laugh shimmered across the garden from the house. Alex turned and saw Beth’s slender silhouette at the open drawing room window, etched against the candlelit background. At dinner he’d had to continually pry his eyes away from her end of the table. She wore a lustrous silk dress tonight, the butter-cream color of it giving her skin the soft, beautiful patina of fine porcelain. Suddenly he had to go inside. He had to see her, even if he couldn’t touch her. A bitter kind of bliss, but all he had.

  “No more questions, Zach! You’ve had enough fresh air, haven’t you?” he said briskly, flicking his cigarillo into the closely scythed grass and crushing it with the heel of his boot. Then, not waiting for an answer, he said, “Topped off with some strong tea, you ought to be in prime twig in no time and easily able to tolerate Mrs. Tavistock.”

  “Lord, Alex,” Zach complained, dragging a hand down his lean jaw and grimacing. “Sometimes I think you haven’t a thimbleful of sympathy for me. I have to see Tessy. I need to see her. I promise you I shall attend to my estate business as soon as I return. But I can’t concentrate on anything till I see Tessy. Are you made of stone, man?”

  Alex wished he was made of stone. A part of him did have sympathy for Zach. But another part of him recoiled at the thought of condoning his trysts with Tess because if Beth knew of them, she’d be hurt and angry. Wouldn’t she? Would she loathe to share Zach with another? If Beth were his fiancée, he wouldn’t want her to feel anything less than furious if he spent time with another woman.

  “I’ve never said anything to you about staying away from your mistress. I’ve never spoken a word against her,” Alex told him.

  “You’ve never said anything, but I’ve felt your disapproval,” Zach quickly interjected. “And I can’t fathom it in the least You’ve had your share of mistresses, I’ll wager.”

  Alex did not rise to the bait but kept his voice cool and emotionless. “Do you love her?”

  Zach looked startled. “Tess?”

  “Yes, Tess.”

  Zach grimaced. “She’s my mistress, Alex. I’m not stupid enough to cherish that kind of feeling for her. It would be bound to complicate things if I loved her. M’ friend Charlie—you know, the drunken fellow who passed out on Beth’s library sofa?—he loved his mistress too damned well! He married her.”

  “So that was the case, eh?”

  “Yes, and I’ll not make the same mistake! And I’ve never told Tess I love her, either. I believe in being honest with the chit.”

  “Well, you’re your own master now. You don’t have to answer to anybody but yourself and your conscience.”

  “My conscience is quite clear,” Zach answered defensively.

  “Then do as you will, brother.” Alex forced a smile. God, he didn’t want to fight with Zach! Their renewed relationship was too precious, too fragile. “But don’t let us come to fisticuffs over it. I won’t tell you how to live your life, but I would be less than a brother if I didn’t occasionally try to counsel you on matters in which I’ve had more experience. I’m older than you by several years.”

  “Are you advising me to quit seeing Tess?” Zach persisted.

  “Have I said so?”

  “Not in so many words, but—”

  “Just don’t neglect Beth,” Alex interrupted, lifting a hand in protest to a continuation of the subject. “That’s the advice I give you.” He hesitated, set his jaw determinedly, and added, “She will respond to your attention like a flower to the sun. She needs a man’s … She needs your attention, Zach. And pay heed to your responsibilities about the estate. You will surely regret it if you do not. You sow what you reap, brother,” he finished wryly.

  Zach seemed relieved by Alex’s smile and lighter tone of voice, despite the serious advice he’d just offered him. “I’ll tend to business directly upon my return from St. Teath tomorrow, Alex. Or by the next day without fail, since I could return quite late in the evening from Tess’s,” he amended. “Believe me, I shall be in much better mettle once I’ve bedded my Tessy a time or two. As it is, she’s all I can think of.”

  Zach stood up, tottered only slightly, tugged on his waistcoat to straighten it, and combed his long fingers through his disheveled locks till he’d achieved a semblance of order. Cheered, he said, “Well, then, let’s go inside, shall we?”

  “As soon as I’ve straightened your cravat,” Alex said, pulling and prodding the limp muslin into a more respectable appearance. As for going inside, Alex was only too ready to comply. He’d had enough of advising his brother. He wasn’t at all objective about anything that concerned Beth, and he didn’t trust himself to advise Zach fairly. Should Zach give his mistress the conge, or would that make him all the more eager to bed Beth? But why should he care if Zach made love to Beth before they were married? After all, he’d made love to her after they were married of a certainty. What difference would a few weeks make?

  Hell and damnation! Alex cursed vehemently beneath his breath as he picked up the girandole and strode quickly toward the house, practically dragging a still unsteady Zach. How he wished he’d never met the girl!

  Candlelight flickered in every corner of the drawing room except one. There in the darkness sat the droll-teller in a ruby-red wing chair, his hoary head bent over a mug of cool cider. His white mane of hair hung well past h
is shoulders, and his beard rippled like a snow-flecked stream over the front of his patched and sun-faded jacket almost to the last chipped button. His trousers were the same washed-out dun color as the jacket, baggy and obviously mended time and again. His boots were scuffed and worn thin at the soles till his bare feet shone through several holes. He would have to visit the cobbler soon and spin him a tale in exchange for a pair of shoes.

  Beth knew Pye Thatcher well. She had seen him in the village and about Brookmoor and Pencarrow since she was no bigger than a flea bite, peddling his drolls in return for food and clothing. But she had been ten years old before her father had allowed her to sit in on one of his stories. Papa had said that Beth’s imagination was of such a lively and vivid variety that it was unwise to expose her to Pye’s Cornish faerie-tales about piskies, spriggans, mermaids, and knackers. She wouldn’t sleep for a month, he’d said.

  Papa had been right. Even at the mature age of ten, Beth had lain awake for many nights imagining piskies in the shadows of her bedchamber, wigs of gray moss hanging down to their shoulders, a pointed red cap atop each elfin head. They were short, no bigger than moor hares, with wide sloped shoulders and bloated bellies. Piskies were basically friendly, but it wasn’t lucky to catch one or even catch sight of one by accident.

  Spriggans, however, were mean elves who crept about the countryside after nightfall. They were skinny with sun-crinkled skin and twiggish legs that ended in flat, broad feet. Their arms dangled to their knees, and their heads were large and odd-shaped, with jutting brows and eyes that glowed like searing embers.

  Pye said that spriggans were as wicked as they looked. Old Bloody Bones, an especially horrid spriggan, would come and snatch naughty children from their beds at night. Naturally Beth feared spriggans most of all. She did try harder to be a good girl—at least for a little while.