"You're certainly welcome to try, though," he added, finally backing away so that she could breathe freely again.
Once again she amazed him with her will and her unshrinking determination. He could see that his words stung her, but she would not back down. What sort of fiend was he that he felt so compelled to subdue her, to stand over her and make veiled threats and insinuations? He supposed he was just as he'd told her; he was his father's son and could hardly expect anything good of himself.
Here they were in polite company, surrounded by family and guests, and still he could barely restrain himself from sweeping her into his arms and taking up where the curate's dog had disrupted them earlier. She would hate him for it, of course, but he hardly cared about that. He'd tapped into an inferno inside of her and he knew he could do it again. In spite of herself, Miss Langley was a creature of passion and Dovington was not above using that against her.
Although why on earth would he? She knew the truth of his schemes now and it was in her best interests to play along. She'd see that Ned and Miss Vandenhoff were put together as often as possible and if tonight's harmonious interplay was any indication, things were well on their way toward the goal. As Miss Langley had said, she wanted them out of her house. Dovington realized as well as she did that the best way to accomplish that was to bring those two together and rush them off to the altar.
There was no reason at all for Dovington to leer at her and torment her for her designs on the curate. They must be more than designs, too, given the pain he saw flash over her face when he questioned the man's intentions toward her. She must honestly care for him.
Only a beast would attack a lady on such a tender subject, and yet he had done so. It was all he could do right now not to attack her again, to remind her that by her very nature she had far more in common with a scoundrel like him than the righteous Mr. Skrewd. All it would take were a few kisses, some moments of burning caress, and she would be forced to admit the truth.
By God, he needed to get away from her. With his mind wandering in such ways, there was little he could do but ruin anything good that had begun to crop up around them. Acting on impulse he would scandalize his cousin, offend the Vandenhoffs, and ruin a woman who did not deserve to be ruined. Just as he'd always known, he was flawed to the core and there was no place for him in gentle society.
Tomorrow he would leave. Yes, he'd take himself away before he did anything more foolish and destructive than he already had. Miss Langley would continue her efforts to connect Ned with Miss Vandenhoff, and by the day of that silly ball they had planned, everything should fall into place.
As usual, everyone here would be much better off without him.
He cleared his throat and adjusted his coat as if suddenly bored with his gentlemanly perusal of the needlework he'd been pretending to admire. He stepped away from Miss Langley and her angry-sea eyes to speak loudly enough to be heard around the room.
"You have an excellent hand, Miss Langley. You should keep at that and it will be quite a showpiece when you are done. For me, however, I beg you excuse me. I must retire early as I intend to ride for Dovington Downs first thing in the morning."
"Dovington Downs, sir?" Mr. Vandenhoff asked from his seat near the ladies, probably thrilled for this interruption.
"Yes," the earl replied, moving away from Miss Langley as if he did not even recall she existed. "I have several pressing matters in the works and I dare not leave my steward alone for too long to manage them on his own. Oh, he's quite a competent man, but I cannot rest easy until these things are settled, you know."
"Indeed I do," Mr. Vandenhoff agreed. "Mrs. Vandenhoff chides me all the time, saying I work too hard and that I should have people do more of my things for me. We men of business know, though, don't we? If something is to be done right, we're going to have to do it ourselves."
"Er, exactly," Dovington replied, glancing at Miss Langley and pushing aside a wave of indecent thoughts regarding the various things that ought to be done to her.
Her eyes narrowed as if she could read his mind. "And when might we expect you to return, sir?"
"I should be back in three days."
Miss Renford looked up from her book and clapped her hands. "That means you'll return in time for our ball! You will be here for the ball, won't you?"
Where Miss Langley's blond hair was the color of heated gold, her younger sister's was pale like the petals of a spring flower. Almost-white ringlets framed her face and her huge blue eyes blinked up at him. The elder girl's gaze always seemed to burn with the heat of an erupting volcano, but this one waited for his answer like a frightened rabbit. He could hardly be short with her.
"I will be back in time for your ball, Miss Renford," he responded.
She was far more happy about that than she should have been, but he supposed she was young and naive and couldn't imagine that he might not be such a fine addition to their number as his title might imply. It had been so long since he was confronted with actual innocence and zeal that it made him feel very out of place, indeed.
"Well, then," Miss Langley said, as if speaking for the group. "I suppose we'll just have to find ways to entertain ourselves in your absence."
Damn it, but he had no doubt she would do just that and the very thought was like a cold, hard mass in his chest. He would be gone and things would carry on here just fine. Even better than with him present, perhaps. Hell, by the time he came back, maybe Miss Langely would have attached not only his cousin and the heiress, but herself and her curate, as well.
That was a thing, he realized, he was very happy not to be here to see.
Chapter 14
Moring arrived, finally, with gray skies and singing birds. Mariah welcomed it. She hadn't slept very well. Actually, she simply hadn't slept, at all.
Her mind had been tossed around by waves of emotion that, even all these hours later, she still couldn't quite understand. She hated that horrible earl. How dare he risk ruining her, kissing her as he had done and drawing from her things she hadn't even known she had held inside? Then he was spiteful enough to taunt her afterwards, reminding her who she was, what she was. He'd been right when he said she was unworthy, but she'd never forgive him for saying it.
But it hadn't been rage and unforgiveness that had kept her awake all through the night. It had been those lingering memories of his searing kiss, and then that cold, defeated shadow that had come over his eyes when he spoke of his father. She tried to tell herself she hadn't seen it, that it had meant nothing. But she knew she was wrong.
The earl thought himself even less worthy than he thought her. He had given up on any of the usual hopes and dreams of a man; he had everything, and yet he had nothing. He was just acting out his duty and waiting to die.
Try as she might, she couldn't hate him despite his cruel words, despite his reckless kisses and unrelenting selfishness. If not for her step-father who had given her a measure of respectability, for her mother who loved her unconditionally, and her sister who adored her—most of the time—she supposed she could be in the same dark place that he was. She could understand why he treated others with so little concern. He had no concern for himself.
And that, she knew, was tragic.
She still wanted him out of her house and far, far away from her life, but she just couldn't find it in herself to wish him evil. In fact, she had a ridiculous notion of what she could do to possible help the man. It was silly, of course, but maybe once this was done and he was off living his bleak, friendless life at his father's estate there was one little thing she could do to make him more human.
It was obvious what the man needed: a puppy.
She'd told Mr. Skrewd that she'd visit him today to make sure the puppy she selected for Ella was still the one that she wanted, and now she'd pick one out for the earl. She hoped there was still one available, actually. Hadn't the curate told her many of them were already spoken for? If she wanted to chose another, she'd best get herself over there.<
br />
With the sun just cresting the horizon and the sky a smear of milky golds and pinks, Mr. Skrewd would likely be preparing for morning prayer very soon. He might talk with some of the parishioners about the remaining puppies and perhaps even find takers for them all. If she was serious in her intent to gift one to the earl—and for some reason it seemed that she was—she'd best do so quickly.
It was an excellent excuse to give up on the tossing and turning. She leapt out of bed and selected clothing she could don without assistance. No doubt she looked less than ideal when, not fifteen minutes later, she dashed out one of the side doors and headed for the little hut with the faded red door that Mr. Skrewd called his home.
Her skirts sucked up the early dew and she shivered with chill, even as the sunlight grew brighter and morning mists began to clear around her. It dawned on her that this was a ridiculous, foolish errand and that she must need her head examined. Rushing out this early in the day in hopes of securing a puppy, of all things, for the horrible Earl of Dovington who seemed to care nothing for her but to make her life miserable? There was no reason to it.
Perhaps she merely wanted an excuse to visit the puppies. No one could tell her that wasn't a perfectly reasonable goal. Who wouldn't go out early to enjoy the delights of wagging tails and fat, furry bellies? Puppies were nothing less than a gift from God and the fact that she wanted to share one of them with the hard-hearted earl simply meant she was a decent, Christian soul.
The sun was a low golden orb just over the horizon now and Dovington squinted into it. He'd not had much sleep and even in the mist-blurred light of morning, it was too bright for him. He didn't like waiting, but there was nothing to do as his carriage was being readied. He was glad to be leaving before any of the family were up; the last thing he needed was to run into Miss Langley again. Clearly he could not be trusted around that woman.
From the corner of his eye he noticed a dog. The curate's dog, if he was correct. What the devil was that thing doing here at this hour? She disappeared around the far corner of the house, so he followed.
A pathway ran along there, through a dense thicket of lilac that nearly overwhelmed him with its fresh, heady scent, and then on behind several other garden areas. The path meandered away from the house and up toward a tree-covered hillside. There was that little hut, the old gamekeeper's hut, Miss Langley had called it. Oddly enough, the dog went to the hut and scratched at the door.
Miss Langley said they had a lodger there, did she? Well, whoever it was must give out scraps to the neighborhood dogs. Rather a quaint picture, in fact. He almost smiled with some misplaced sense of nostalgia.
But then the door opened and he could see just who this scrap-feeding lodger was.
Mr. Ben Skrewd. Indeed, the curate himself.
He lived here? Why should a respectable curate live in something like a hermit's hut behind the home of a widow with two very pretty daughters? Having a house readied in the village, Miss Langley had said. Hell, Dovington could think of any number of reasons the curate might wish those preparations to dawdle.
And just what did Miss Langley think of this? She probably loved it, having her admirer so close at hand. Did she think he would marry her and give her a fine place in her little society?
She hardly needed a husband for that. She'd obviously done very well for herself, taking over after her step-father's death and clearly making herself a valued and respected member of this community. Dovington should never have used the accident of her birth to tease her. She was every bit the lady and he'd been wrong to suggest otherwise.
His self-chastisement ceased immediately, though, when the weathered red door opened wider and Dovington realized Mr. Skrewd wasn't alone. Miss Langley was with him.
Dovington could see them clearly, though it was obvious they were too deep in conversation to glance over his way. He ground his teeth, freezing behind a screen of greenery, waiting to make sure his eyes weren't deceiving.
By God, the two of them were in that tiny hut, and the curate wasn't simply giving spiritual comfort. By the contented smile on Miss Langley's face, it appeared the type of comfort the curate had been offering was just what she had come for.
But at this ungodly hour of the day? The sun was barely up. What on earth could the chit be thinking, to show up here now? Dovington had seen no signs of her inside the house, so how had she come to be out here already?
His blood raced hot. Not already. Perhaps the word he ought to use for her presence behind that red door was still. There was one glaringly obvious reason why he might not have seen her in her own home this morning: she quite possibly had been out here in this hut all night!
He balled his fists and considered marching over to Mr. Skrewd and planting a facer that would allow the good reverend to present his morning homily right at the very gates of St. Peter. He held himself back, though.
What was it to him if Miss Langley chose to ruin herself this way? She was nothing to him. No, she was less than nothing. She was a nuisance and an annoyance. He could not be happier if she found some man to take her and get her out of his hair.
Hell, instead of pummeling the man, he ought to go up to Skrewd and shake his damn hand. So Miss Langley thought she could get herself a husband by playing fast with the lowly curate? Well, that was perfectly fine. Let her. She could marry the man, raise ten screaming brats in whatever village would have them, and be out of The Grove.
Unless, of course, the curate was simply taking advantage of the situation. Did he realize his little ladybird would not bring the house and the lands into their union? As that bit of information had come as a surprise to Miss Langley, perhaps their neighbors had not been made fully aware of things, either. It was entirely possible Mr. Skrewd saw in Miss Langley a charming addition to his bed and an easy escape from his hut.
Dovington was back to considering fisticuffs again. No, he would not. He did not care what Miss Langley did. If she had made her own bed with Mr. Skrewd, it was her lot to lie in it. No matter how much better she might look nestled into the over-large master suit at Dovington Downs.
Hell and damnation, he would not let his mind wander there.
He was leaving this place. His carriage was being brought round even now, his horses were rested, and there was nothing holding him back.
Certainly not Miss Langely. She and Mr. Skrewd seemed perfectly content in that faded doorway of that little hut. Anyone but Dovington would count them a lovely couple and wish them well.
Dovington wished them to the devil. While he was at it, he wished himself there, too. Maybe an eternity tormented by demons would make him forget how Miss Langley had felt in his arms or how the pain nearly radiated from her when he insulted her last night.
Indeed, she was much better off with her curate than she could ever be with someone like him.
Chapter 15
Mariah's head was swimming. Their ball was this evening and she'd been consumed by preparations the full past three days. Dinner was already over for their usual house party, now guests for the ball would be arriving soon. Still, her list of things to get done did not seem to be growing any shorter. Whose foolish notion had it been to attempt this sort of thing, anyway? It should have taken a month to prepare for a proper ball, not the mere three days she'd been allowed.
And where was that dratted earl? He'd said he'd be back in time for the ball. Not that she cared one way or another, but he'd promised Ella and it would be in very poor form to let the girl down. This was the first ball they'd ever hosted and even though Ella was not officially out yet, Mamma had decided there could be nothing wrong with allowing her to participate in the country dances here in their own home. Ella wanted to be able to say she'd had an earl in attendance at her first ball. If Dovington knew what was good for him, he'd turn up in time.
Besides, Mariah had asked Mr. Skrewd to hold back two puppies, and only one of them was supposed to remain here. Dovington had better show up and be happy with his puppy. If she had to k
eep it she'd find herself adoring it and feeding it and scratching it softly behind the ears and thinking of that dratted, vile man every time she did so.
That was why she found herself watching out windows all day. That was why she asked the servants if they'd seen him over and over all day. She wanted to finish their business and be done with the man.
The past days had been very busy making plans for the ball. She'd taken great care, though, so make sure there was ample time for Mr. Chadburne to be in company with Miss Vandenhoff. Ella had been a great help in that area, coming up with entertainments for them all even if Mariah had been too busy with arrangements to participate with them. Mr. Skrewd had also been a great asset, joining in on those entertainments and making up for Mariah's absence. She would have to thank him tonight for so generously giving his time while she was unavailable.
She and Mamma had invited a few others of their closest acquaintances so hopefully the atmosphere would be friendly and festive. Miss Vandenhoff had seemed to get better with every passing day and by tonight Mariah had every reason to expect the girl might be not merely tolerable, but actually pleasant. There was no doubt that the earl—if he did ever deign to show up—would be satisfied with her efforts.
What better place to announce a betrothal than here at a ball amongst friends? Mariah was taking extra care that everything would be just perfect. Miss Vandenhoff would have this night to remember forever and Mariah was determined that it should be a happy memory. Perhaps that union had been devised by others, but there was no reason for the couple not to find themselves happy in it.
The Earl's Passionate Plot Page 10
