No Choice But Surrender

by Meagan Mckinney

  They walked down the north passage, where, the eating room joined the gallery, but when she saw it was completely dark, without even one candle, she cried, "What is this now? I thought we were to dine—"

  "Yes, yes, my dear. Don't be overly alarmed." Cumberland patted her arm reassuringly.

  But she did not like surprises if they even remotely involved Avenel Slane. Anything out of the ordinary with him was to be suspected. She looked at him sharply. "But then where—?"

  "In the gallery, my dear. Slane thought it would be more intimate."

  "More intimate? The gallery is four times the size of the eating room!"

  "Well, then, let us just say that it is his favorite room. And he prefers it." Again he patted her arm; there was a twinkle in his faded blue eyes. "He's eccentric, to be sure; but Americans will be no other way!"

  "Well, at least one of his colleagues has been blessed with some British sense." She smiled back at him and let him lead her to the gallery; the two walked in quiet camaraderie.

  When they reached the gallery, she noticed that one of the three mahogany tables from the north passage had been placed at the far end of the room. The early Georgian gateleg table had been set with a creamy tablecloth and celadon green Sevres porcelain. A silver candelabrum with eight burning can­dles provided the only light, except that from the large fire in the hearth, which was vigorously burning the chill from the evening air. By the fireplace she saw the rugged form of Avenel as he leaned on the mantel, casually holding a glass of amber liquid.

  "I say, Slane, we've been favored with gracious company tonight." Cumberland led her to the table. She gave an invol­untary shudder at the picture of the earl looking down upon them from the mantel. Morrow's dull, muddy eyes stared at her and followed her, clinging to her every movement until she had to look away.

  "Good evening, Lady Brienne." Avenel took her hand and bent down to place a kiss on the back. She was shocked by the sensuous warmth of his lips as they touched her skin, and she pulled her hand away quickly. "As always, you are unspeak­ably lovely." He pulled up to his full height, and she found herself staring at the fabric of his coat; her eyes were barely level with his shoulders, so much more taller was he than she. She noted that his coat was of some dark-colored satin, but whether it was green or blue she couldn't be sure in the soft glow of the fire.

  "Lady Brienne, do allow me!" Cumberland eagerly pulled one of the three ornately carved elbow chairs from the table. She sat down in it, grateful that her back was to the fireplace and the portrait of Oliver Morrow.

  She looked up just in time to see Avenel cock one of his infuriating jet eyebrows in Cumberland's direction; he was no doubt amused by the elderly gentleman's behavior. Flustered and perhaps a bit embarrassed, Cumberland took the chair to her left, mumbling to himself about the unchivalrous behavior of certain individuals.

  "Thank you, Master Cumberland. Only in your company am I treated so well." She shot Avenel a daring look of dis­taste, but she was met with one of his most charming smiles, and she felt cheated out of a proper reaction.

  "You certainly like this room." She looked down to the far end of the long gallery and could not even make out the long, delicately curved sofa that lined the far wall, so obscured in darkness was it.

  "Like it, Lady Brienne? You are mistaken! I love this room. Being in this room means everything to me. I can gaze at your father and laugh, relishing his return." Avenel snapped his fingers, and two footmen appeared, one with the wine, the other with the first course.

  Suddenly Brienne lost her ravenous appetite. The earl's ar­rival was something she dreaded with every fiber in her body.

  The thought of seeing him in the flesh sickened her. "I'll have you both!" The words echoed in her mind until she grasped the edge of the table. She looked down at the thin strips of canard and sections of orange. Forcing herself to take one mouthful, she picked some up on her silver fork. She tried very hard to be casual when she asked, "How soon do you expect the earl?" She placed the utensil delicately in her mouth.

  "Oh, 'tis hard to say. If he should chance have some good luck, we should see him sooner than expected, eh, Cumber­land?" With that both men had a hearty chuckle, unmindful of Brienne, who had lost her appetite.

  "You mean you have no idea when he might arrive?"- She tried to get down her food with a sip of claret. Her mouth felt so dry that each morsel seemed to stick against the back of her throat. However, she eventually found her courage, and she glowered at Avenel. "He could show up at the door right now and find us all communing at the table. I tell you, I will not be pan of this!"

  "You are pan of this, my lady, whether it pleases you or not." He gave her a stern look.

  "I will do no such thing." She refused. "Why, the complete audacity—"

  "I say, the cook has really outdone herself tonight. And to think she was here when we arrived!" Cumberland took a relishing bite of his food and then gave Avenel a reproachful stare.

  Avenel leaned back in his elbow seat and took a healthy swallow of the wine. Mutely he stared at Brienne, who for Cumberland's sake refused to even look back at him. Fuming, she begrudgingly took another bite of the delicious duck, but she was too angry to enjoy her meal. The awful realization that Oliver Morrow might be standing in the courtyard at that very minute, anxious to get back his house and discipline her, made her stomach curl into a hard, unyielding knot. And there was no relief in sight, for if he did not show up tonight, there was always tomorrow or the day after that. Slowly she bit into her soft lower lip, unmindful of those at the table.

  Looking up, she found both men staring at her; then they switched their gaze to the painting that hung in back of her.

  " Tis remarkable how little you resemble your father." Avenel leaned forward and examined her. "Seeing you both in comparison, why, no hair on your head is even remotely like his."

  Nervously she looked down at the long burgundy curl that swept over her neck and bosom. "Many children do not look like their fathers."

  "Perhaps."

  "The earl claims me as his." She defended herself.

  "Of course—he would. But in a case such as yours, my guess would be that only your mother would know for sure."

  "What are you implying, sir?" She tried to look her most insulted and squelch the terrifying anxiety that threatened her.

  "I mean nothing by it. Let us just say that your mother must have been terribly beautiful, and we all three know what the earl is like. It would not be hard to imagine—"

  "Well, do not!" She stood up from her seat. "There would be consequences for me if the earl should wonder about my parentage. But if he believes I am his, then I am his. I have not been informed otherwise!"

  "Please, Lady Brienne, be seated." Cumberland stood up. "It does you no good to get upset. We do not doubt what you believe, do we, Slane?" He shot him another reproachful look.

  "I did not mean to offend you, my lady. Please rejoin us." Avenel, still seated, pulled her chair out farther, and Cumber­land took the lead in seating her once more.

  She gave in simply because she did not want to make too much of the situation. The less said, the more easily it would be forgotten, she thought. She resumed nibbling on the orange slices. More wine was poured, and she gratefully took hers to her lips, seeking the soothing effect it offered.

  After the second course of fish in cream, the wine helped her find her tongue once more. "Why are you both so sure the earl will show up at all? It seems that he lost Osterley fairly.

  What reason would he have for returning here? I can't let you continue to believe that he would return for me. The truth is that he has not seen me for years, and I daresay he does not even know I have been at Osterley at all."

  "He will show up." Avenel's face looked as if it were chis­eled from solid granite. "Do not think you are the bait, Lady Brienne, for that gives you too much power. You see, the earl will come here, but I can assure you, not for you." At her puzzled expression, he started to laugh. "
Never fear, little one. We shall all be around here long enough that you may come to find our company not so distasteful."

  "It's not Cumberland's company that I find distasteful, sir." She slowly sipped her wine from the heavy crystal glass and let her artless dark eyes toy with him. "And I daresay it will take a longer time than we have on this earth for me to find your company pleasurable." She heartily, bit into a small roll made of white flour; her teeth showed clean and pearly as they pulled on it.

  "You may change your mind. I have found 'tis not unusual for a woman to do so."

  "Yes, but then, I am not like other women," she said smugly.

  " 'Tis so." Avenel leaned toward her, speaking quietly and for her ears only. "And you may come to wish it were other­wise. For it may prove to be your downfall." He looked at her now; his silver-blue eyes did not miss a detail. They wandered ruthlessly across her sweetly tied échelle and finally rested at a point just below her shoulders, where the creamy tops of her breasts were exposed from the shallow lace edging her bodice.

  Wishing she were provincial enough to don a concealing fichu and not have to remain under the dominion of his stares, she took another casual sip of wine and redirected her atten­tion to Cumberland; she refused to please Avenel with so much as a blush.

  "Tell me, how did you meet this . . . American, sir? Espe­cially when you are so wonderfully British, I might add." She smiled at him beguilingly and was glad to see a faint, happy blush on the older man's lined cheeks.

  "I suppose we seem an odd pair, eh, Slane?" Cumberland laughed and then tried to brush off her question. "We met on a ship, my lady. It was such a long time ago, I have completely forgotten how we started our friendship. But I fear I must correct you, my lady, for you could call me an American, also. For although I was born and raised here in merry old England, I have lived this past score of years in the Colonies. In Mary­land, to be exact."

  "Well, at least it does not show in you. If all Marylanders were like him, they would have to keep you all in cages!" She knew the wine was making her rather brazen, but she liked its effect. Smiling at Avenel, she hoped to see a sign of anger, but there was none.

  "Cumberland is not a . . . How did you put it?" he started in English. "Arrogant colonial beast," he finished in Welsh. He laughed out loud and placed some more raisin tart on his plate from the platter the footman offered him. "More, my comely Welsh lass?" He was infuriatingly polite amidst her sputters as he made his offer.

  "I suppose it would do me no good to tell you in French exactly what I think of you." She couldn't keep annoyance from showing on her face..

  "Go ahead! I would love to know what you really think of me!"

  "I shall decline then, thank you, for I have already heard the tale of you and Vivie's brother. I suspect it would be an exer­cise in futility." She stabbed at one of the tarts that the foot­man held out for her. Was there anything this overbearing man did not know?

  The dinner was thankfully over soon after that. The men sipped brandy, while she was given tea in a large, wafer-thin porcelain cup. Soon her head started to droop; she was an early riser, and it was unusually late for her. She wanted to make her plans for tomorrow. Perhaps she would be able to get the key that lay unreachable underneath Avenel's silver- embroidered waistcoat, she pondered. But at the moment she felt so overwhelmed by the claret she had drunk that her only real desire was for the cool, linen sheets that awaited her in the taffeta-hung room upstairs.

  "I think she's done in, Avenel. We've worn her out," Cum­berland could be heard whispering, but he seemed very dis­tant, and she found she did not care what they had to say about her.

  "I shall take her up, my friend. I'll rejoin you shortly." Avenel's chair legs squeaked as he stood up. Quietly he took her arm, and she allowed him to escort her out of the gallery. But before Brienne left, she kindly thanked Cumberland for his companionship throughout dinner.

  "Why, it was my pleasure, truly." He bent and chivalrously brushed her hand with his lips. Then he watched them go and finally retook his seat as they neared the door of the gallery.

  It was a short walk to the grand staircase and then up to her bedroom. They made it rather peacefully. She was unaware of how heavily she was leaning on Avenel's arm due to the wine she had drunk. Without really wanting to, she started to gig­gle.

  "Methinks your friend Cumberland won't be dining with us again!" she spurted out, finding the whole situation at that moment very funny.

  "And why not, you silly wench?" He took her by the waist, as they had reached her bedroom door, obviously determined to make the most of her jovial spirits.

  "Why, his poor stomach must be churning from the bicker­ing. It went on all evening long!" She laughed merrily.

  "His stomach may be churning, but 'tis not from our belli­cose ways. I believe he's quite taken with you, my wild one." He leaned closer to her and breathed in the clean scent of honeysuckle that lightly permeated her hair.

  "He is so nice." Brienne was sincere. "He would be the father I wish for."

  He looked at her for a long time after that, and her lids grew heavy as they stood by her door. But finally he spoke, asking in a gentle way, "Tomorrow, little one, I would like it very much if you would go riding with me."

  She raised her heavy head to look at him in amazement. "I cannot believe my ears! You! Giving me a proper invitation to a proper activity and not to some lewd, licentious—"

  "Will you?" He looked deeply into her eyes, and she felt that the wine must have affected him, too, for his eyes had warmed to a definite gray.

  "All your gentlemanly courting is for naught, Master Slane, for I have never been on a horse in my life. I am sure that if I did, 'twould put the fear of God in me." She leaned her head back on the door to gaze up at him.

  "I will teach you, then. You won't be afraid, and soon you will find it quite pleasurable. I have a very tame mare. She would not frighten a kitten."

  She watched him as he spoke, then slitted her eyes suspi­ciously. "Master Slane, if I am reading you correctly, 'tis not only Cumberland is taken with me at the moment. I almost wouldn't know you."

  He smiled at her, his teeth flashed white and brilliant, even in the candlelight of the hallway. Slowly he bent his head down to kiss her, but she quickly turned her head, somehow having anticipated his desire.

  "I take it all back. 'Tis you after all," she stated after success­fully dodging his advance.

  He laughed and swung open her bedroom door behind her, making her almost lose her balance. Catching her firmly with , both arms around her waist until she was steadied, he then let her go. But before he left her, he took her hand and bent over it, placing a soft, warm kiss directly in the middle of her sensi­tive palm.

  He curled it up after he straightened, and she heard him say as he was leaving, "Think of me, wildflower, when your head touches the pillow." Then he quickly descended the stairs, leaving her with no doubt at all that she would.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The largest bay stud Brienne had ever seen in her life loomed over her. His head nudged her playfully and rubbed his forehead across her stiff, fright­ened back.

  "Ah! Stop that, you mawkish fool!" Avenel snapped at his mount and pulled his horse away from her. He handed the reins over to the young stableboy, Kelly, and then attended to her.

  "I'm not sure they like me." She took a step back from the dappled mare, who was not as large as the stud but still as intimidating. "Perhaps we could do this another day?" She turned around, but much to her chagrin she found Avenel blocking her way.

  "Are you a coward?" He looked down at her, and his eyes confirmed what he thought.

  "Most certainly not! But I do not see the necessity of learn­ing to ride." She shrugged her shoulders, tightly bound in a jacket that was too small for her. She hadn't had an occasion to wear the indigo-dyed wool jacket for several years, and now she found it to be fitted for a smaller girl than herself. The largest was still fine homespun, it fell down to her kn
ees and provided sufficient protection to her violet wool dress. Still, she was uncomfortably looped into it from the waist up, and she was concerned that her movements on the horse would cause the fabric to split. "Perhaps on another occa­sion?" She twisted her shoulders once more, trying to find some give in the weave.

  "I would like a companion on my rides. That reason alone should suffice." He tossed the reins on the mare's bridle over the animal's head and placed them at the end of the pulled black mane.

  "Then could not Cumberland take these rides with you?" She searched every avenue to avoid having to perch atop that huge beast.

  "Cumberland is not a young man, and I daresay he would not find it pleasurable to jog in a saddle for hours at a time."

  "And you believe I will?" She looked doubtfully at him.

  He smiled; his lips curled with a boyish twist. "Perhaps not at first. But at least you are young enough to weather the bumps and bruises well. Besides, the exercise will tire you out, so I won't have to listen to you pace in your room when I visit the library in the evening."

  "I have no need for exercise, nor for the accompanying bumps and bruises," she said, her pretty lips curling in disdain.

  "It may not be so bad. I would think that, under that bum roll you don, you're comfortably padded."

  She gasped and glared at him like a startled, hissing cat. How dare he be so crude as to mention her underthings in the presence of a stablehand! She started to turn away from the horse, but Avenel blocked her way. He came just a little closer and rested his hands on the fine French leather of the mare's saddle. She was aware of the masculine scents of glycerine- rubbed saddlery and well-groomed horseflesh that clung to him. When he demanded her attention, Brienne made herself look at him so that her overcome senses could return to nor­mality.

  "If you would rather avoid testing out on the mare," he said, keeping her head caged between his arms. He then con­tinued in Welsh, knowing full well that she was the only one in the stable block who could understand the dialect, "we could go back to my bedchamber and . . . you could ride me." He whispered this last statement, making her legs, which had seemed strong and mobile before, go weak. He bent down to her once again giving her a scent of that elusive masculinity that seemed to exude from his every pore.