Love's Patient Fury (The Deverell Series Book 3)

by Susan Ward

  She felt the comforting movements of his lips in her curls and then his voice as gentle as his kisses were. “It will be all right, Merry. You were never this afraid aboard ship and this adventure is tame. This is a different war, a bloodless battle, Merry, of meeting with men and trying to unravel plotting. No bullets. No blood. I will be home in a fortnight, Little One. There is no reason for you to be distressed.”

  Merry lifted her face, and tried to explain. “On ship, I could see the danger and I could see that you could best it. I can only feel this danger, Varian, and it worries me that I can’t see it. That you can’t see it either. Whether it is wise to or not, the act of going commits you to face it. You will not turn from it because you can’t. Indy is your son. The danger is at Indy’s heels looking for you. You will do all you can to protect him, even offer yourself. I know this because you love him as you love Kat. That is why I am afraid.”

  Quick. Clever. Wise. His face against her ear, he said, “If you know all that, Little One, then you know I must go. I failed the boy once, Merry. I could not live with myself, not even in the happiness of being with you, if I failed him a second time.”

  Fiercely holding him tightly against her, she exclaimed, “You have never failed anyone in your life, you insufferable man. You did not fail Indy. You did not fail Ann. You have never failed me or Kat. You are a good man. A loving man. It is not your failure the evil others do. Why can you never see that and release the guilt you carry for the past.”

  Varian stroked her hair, surprised to note his hand unsteady. Merry was older than her years at times, the wiser, more strong of the two of them. And in other ways, she was younger than her years, an ageless youth and innocent, the gifts of an honest and blameless heart, which preserved her whimsy, her humor, and her blush even after marriage and motherhood. He had taken her to his bed, wanting to protect her, protect and somehow complete her, but from that first moment, she had completed him. He had been reborn. She was in her spirit the same girl, staring out at him from the perfection of his wife.

  For more minutes than he should, he indulged the pleasure of caressing her before he gazed into the clear depths of her eyes and said, “Don’t ever leave me, Little One. I could not live a day without you after knowing the joy of living with you.”

  She ran her cheek up and down his chest. “In my heart, you’ve been a part of me from the moment our eyes first touched. You are a necessity of my living.”

  He gathered her close, loving her so, the feel of her melting into him and the sensation of them blending into one. At that moment he felt it fully, the depth of her worry, her fear, and knew in an instant she was right.

  He should not go. He felt the danger, more defined and touching him, but touching her as well. That it touched her took choice from him, if he had even had choice. She was destined to be right about all things, it seemed today. He could not stay with her and abandon the boy. Nature’s unrelenting rule. As skillful as he could be at self-manipulation, at trading off pieces of himself to live with himself, loving Merry made going a necessity.

  Presently he stepped back and rubbed her sweet lips at the corners with his thumbs as though to tease a smile. “Take care of Kat. Take care of yourself. I will be home within a fortnight, Merry, and we will laugh at our seriousness today.”

  Merry lay her palm on his chest and said in a tone of wifely demand, “Then I will expect you in a fortnight and you had best not make me wait for you longer. I am taking you to America where you will live out your days captive to me.”

  She watched him mount his horse, his lower leg the only part of him she was tall enough to reach so she took his leather encased calf in her hands, her fingers spread like stars and put the press of her brow against him before letting go.

  Then he was gone, a cloud of dust marking his departure down the drive and the emptiness of the air confirmed he had left her. Merry stood in the morning, watching him until she could no longer see him or the puffs of dirt that marked his passing or hear the sound of hooves pounding earth. The dust settled and was gone.

  Something held her there, and she stood and simply stared at it all. Around her the farm was slowly coming alive. The clank of heavy iron from the forge in the livery. Doors slamming from the cottages. Children’s voices raised in play. The sound of the plows and harness going off to the fields, workers whistling, and serving girls chattering.

  She started to turn back toward the house, when it exploded inside of her. Death. It was rushing through her, unbearable and unchangeable. The force of it took the strength from her body. She didn’t make it to the house. She sank on the sweet newly cut grass beside her mother’s garden, her face in the heels of her hands, her tears coming with such force they did not allow even sound. There was only the motion of her tiny body, gently rocking that gave notice of her sorrow.

  Death. I feel death. That is why I am afraid. She tried to recreate the feel of Varian’s touch against her skin, but her mind either wouldn’t or couldn’t summon it to her senses. That it didn’t come only added to her tumult. She brushed her forearm beneath her nose and she anxiously caught the lingering freshness of his flesh mingled with a hint of wintergreen pressed into the fabric of her sleeve.

  The tears came stronger. The image more brutal in this peacefulness, the sudden impression Varian would not return, that she had let him go and should not have. She tried to gather her energy to stand and walk back into the house, but she couldn’t.

  That is how Lucien found his daughter, dressed in her husband’s shirt, huddled in a rocking ball on the grass beside his wife’s flowers, sobbing hysterically. Tanner had told Moffat of His Grace’s unexpected departure. Moffat had brought the news to Lucien, having been instructed to do so, still watching Varian at Lucien’s order though he had not acted upon all he had discovered.

  The investigation of Varian had all stalled since Katherine’s birth and Lucien had ordered it. Stalled by his will, since Varian seemed to have stopped his own intrigue and journeys. Lucien had surprised himself with how much more at one with himself he had felt since stopping it all. It had cost him Rhea. It had worried and made miserable his daughter.

  Seeing Merry thus, he wondered if he had been wrong not to keep a more watchful eye. A watchful eye to protect his daughter. His granddaughter. Even Varian, who he had begun to care for. Varian’s love for Merry and his child so obvious, it was impossible not to share a bond with Varian Deverell. Katherine was both their flesh. A permanent connection to each other, and to Merry. Their immortality linked forever through this girl they both loved.

  Lucien stared down at her, blue eyes not icy, but liquid with his worry. What has happened? Why is Merry crying? Why has Varian left? Had they shared it with Rhea? A second pain visited his heart to rest with the one that had struck with the picture Merry made. Would Rhea share it with him?

  Strong fingers slipped around Merry. A familiar touch. A familiar scent. A carefully gentle lift from the ground to a chest still strong even with the passage of years, with arms comforting and as protective in their hold as they had been when she was a little girl. She knew him before she opened her eyes. The comfort came even through this numbing pain.

  She felt his embrace tighten and he began to walk, sure even strides that carried them upward on the steps and into the house in spite of his age and in spite of the burden of her weight. When his voice finally came it sounded stern, he always sounded stern, but she knew the loving cords of his heart, the tenderness of this man who could be often times too gruff on the surface.

  “I have missed you, Merry. I have missed being your father. You are my daughter. You will always be my daughter. Why are you crying, my dear? You can trust me with this, though I have given you no reason to believe you can. What has happened? Where did Varian go?” No response. It tore at his heart that there was no response. Chiding, he added, “Varian would not be pleased to see you like this.”

  As they mounted the stairs he drew her in more closely and she pressed her
cheek against his broad, comforting shoulder and whispered, “I have missed you too, Papa. I have missed you.” She could manage nothing more.

  “When you were a little girl you would tell me everything. You are a married woman, with a husband who adores and wants to protect you, but I will always want to protect you as well. There is nothing you could need I would not move heaven and earth to give to you. Is Varian in some sort of danger? Has something happened? Will you let me help him? Will you let me help you both?”

  Merry closed her eyes. The scent. Wintergreen. The gentle touch of powerful hands. The tenderness you could always feel beneath the surface. No wonder she had never feared Varian. They were so alike as men, and it was odd it should not have occurred to her until this moment.

  Lucien felt her tiny body shake with laughter and eased back to study her face. “Why are you laughing, Merry,” he asked, totally bemused. “There are times I cannot follow the shifts of your moods. You shift as rapidly as the wind.”

  More laughter and tears. “I am laughing because I love you, Papa. I know as you don’t yet know yourself that you would have never harmed Varian, and you never will harm my husband because he is my heart and you see that. He is my heart, Papa, and I love him. I have loved him forever.”

  Forever. Merry’s word. Merry’s drama. His little girl. As they neared her rooms, Lucien heard baby Kat’s demanding wails float into the hallway. He knew that cry. His granddaughter was hungry.

  He looked at Merry curled into his chest. His little girl. Varian’s wife. Kat’s mother. Not a little girl, but still his Merry. Always his Merry. His daughter.

  Setting Merry on her feet outside her bedchamber, he kissed her brow and surprised her by saying, “You were wise not to tell Varian about the child you carry. It would add to his worries over you. If there is danger in whatever is going on you want him thinking as clearly as possible. You and Kat are worry enough for the man.”

  Those round doe eyes were huge in Merry’s flushed face. “What makes you think I am about to make you a grandfather again?”

  The smile in his heart held Lucien’s lips this time. “You have the same look in your eye as you had when you carried Katherine. I am old. I watch people and you, my dear, are as constant as the sun. Every thought, every feeling as clear as your nose, right there, on your lovely face.”

  He tapped the tip of her nose. Then his eyes changed, losing the luster of humor, and he said, “I will never forget how Varian was the night your daughter was born. His joy over that child and his misery over wondering if he would lose you. I believe he would have died that night if you hadn’t come through it. He was in agony, every minute until you were well. If you had told him about the babe he would never have left you. You are remarkable for a girl so young. There are not many women, even after scores of years, who understand their husbands so well. Who would have remained silent and let him go, as he needed to, when you wanted him to stay and knew you could stop him. You are remarkable and strong. Don’t forget that, Merry. No matter the future, you are strong enough to face anything life may toss at you.”

  Merry brushed at her tears and shook her head. “No, Papa, you are wrong. If the future takes Varian from me I am not strong enough to face that. He is my strength.”

  Lucien interrupted her with a tender chide, “No, Little One, you are his strength. Don’t forget that.”

  Later, Lucien entered Rhea’s bedchamber without a knock, and startled his wife by snatching her from her chair before her desk. He lifted her in his arms.

  “Lucien.”

  A passionate kiss stopped her words and when he finally lifted his mouth she was breathless. Rhea eased back, puzzled and not so ready to fight with him. She sensed a change in him. A loss of tension, of separateness with her, as though he had lost a measure of that ever-present displeasure that had claimed him since Merry and Varian’s marriage. Had he seen reason at last?

  Lucien dumped her in the center of the bed they’d shared for twenty-five years with only this one overly long interruption, and stared down at her with desire-hot eyes as he began to undo the fastenings on his shirt.

  “I have had enough of your foolishness, Rhea,” he announced, crossing the room to bolt the door. “I am the same manner of man as I have always been, though I behaved a fool for a while, but you should have known better and not doubted me completely. You should have known Merry would always come first for me, that whatever I learned about Varian, I could never act against our daughter’s happiness.”

  Rhea watched as Lucien settled beside her on the bed and began to remove his boots. “What is going on, Lucien? While your words please me, they settle nothing. We can’t fix this problem between us so easily.”

  He kissed her again. Again he left her breathless. “There is no problem between us except my stubbornness and your pride. I have decided we’ve had enough of both of them. I will be civil with Varian. I have made my apologies to Merry and have offered her my help. I have done the best that I can do to please you, Rhea. Now you will please me.”

  Rhea sat on her knees. Lucien was nearly undressed. At sixty-one, he was still firm and fit, and six months without his passion had been torture. The sight of him naked and aroused made crescent bands of color wash her cheeks. His words had not been lover-like. His voice just a touch gruff. They had been pure Lucien. Merciful heavens, how she had missed him.

  Rhea’s laughter was tinkling like tiny bells. She did not resist as he began to open the back of her gown. “What has happened today, my love?”

  His lips began to skim her nape. His voice was raspy with passion. “I will explain later, Rhea. Our daughter just reminded me of all the things you have been to me. All the things I have missed by behaving an ass and forcing you from my bed.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  If was after midnight when Varian reached London. He went straight to the Wythford’s town residence in spite of the lateness of the hour. Christina would know if Rensdale was responsible for the men who were following his son. The last time he’d seen Christina, he’d sensed she knew more than she was telling him. He’d been wrong not to press her and pursue what it was she’d been keeping from him.

  Varian’s knock on the door was loud and impatient. It took but a moment after it opened a crack before Harris, Christina’s butler, recognized him. With no notice at all to Varian’s unkempt traveling state or the alarming hour of this intrusion, after uttering a proper greeting the aged servant escorted Varian to the library before going to rouse his mistress.

  Varian stood by the sideboard, helping himself to brandy when Christina joined him. “How dare you break down my door at this hour,” she announced sharply by way of a greeting.

  He whirled with the bottle still in hand. “There was a time you wouldn’t have cared about the hour, my dear.”

  She sank onto a chair. “There was a time you came for my bed.”

  Varian took notice of the sharpness in her voice and its meaning. His instincts were not wrong.

  “I suppose I should wish you happy on the birth of your daughter,” she remarked, picking an invisible bit of nothing from her nightgown. “I trust she is well, Varian?”

  He sank into a chair across from her. “She’s extraordinary. I could not be a happier man than I am with my wife and family.”

  Her eyes flashed. Varian cautioned himself. It was not wise to bait her. Swirling his drink, he noted she was mussed from sleep and haphazardly garbed in a too sheer nightdress. In the short span since he had last seen her it seemed age had taken greater possession of her face. Age or was it something else? She looked greatly different to him. The once striking lines of high cheekbones and flawless skin diminished even in the kind glow of firelight.

  He said, “This is not a social call, my dear. I’m amused you thought it could be.”

  Christina’s gaze sharpened with anger. “And I am amused you thought I thought it was.”

  She walked over, took the drink from his hand and settled beside him. S
he took a long swallow and asked, “What is it you want, Varian? Just out with it so we can conclude this business quickly and you can leave.”

  The sharpness of her voice surprised him, though it probably shouldn’t have. Had he asked too much of her? Had he been too callous with her heart? He had not always treated her fairly. He regretted that this day.

  Christina’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “I’ve taken Warton as a lover.”

  “I imagine Wythford isn’t pleased.”

  Damn, that sounded crass. He shouldn’t have reacted to her toying with him.

  “Wythford is too occupied trying to save his own skin to worry overmuch about me,” she said. “Warton likes to talk. He talks much more than he should.”

  A long pause. She was enjoying his anxiety.

  “They have a sketch of you, Varian,” she said at last. “It was delivered to Andrew Merrick shortly after your return to England. It is you in flowing black capes dressed like a sea captain. But that is not the most amusing part. It was quite an interesting verse.” She made a pretty show of tapping her fingers on her cheek as if unable to recall it. Then her eyes rounded and she quoted, “A murderer from shore to shore, claims a gentle bride, from a family he does scorn. Treason, piracy, murderer, thief. He cannot escape justice, behind the skirts of one so sweet.”

  Varian’s eyes raged in fury. “Damn you for not telling me this.”

  Christina remained infuriatingly calm before his temper. “They’ve traced it back to Rensdale, but they’ve been unable to corroborate his claims. Warton has done nothing but search waterfronts and docks to see if anyone can lay claim to having seen you seen as Morgan. They were halfway to deciding it was a ruse and arresting Rensdale, but then, of course, Rensdale disappeared. And Warton has charged off to search for Rensdale and evidence against you.”

  She made a dramatic sigh and started to fiddle with the fabric of her gown again. He’d had enough. In the ruthless clutch of his hand, he jerked her face around so he could meet her eyes. “If you do not tell me everything you have withheld from me, you will rue the day you didn’t, Christina. Or has it not occurred to you if I am charged with these treason, you will be charged with me as well?”