by Candace Camp
"Or maybe it is simply that both your parents were human. A little wrong, a little weak. Perhaps your mother was guilty only of loving someone to the detriment of everything else."
"The sort of love that poets praise, no doubt." His mouth twisted cynically. "That, at least, is one failing I shall not have to worry about."
"I suppose not," she agreed, aware of the drag of regret in her chest. "Neither one of us shall."
The carriage turned into the lane leading to Radbourne Park, and a few moments later they were rattling across the small bridge. Gideon cast a look toward the house looming in the distance, and his expression turned reluctant. Suddenly he reached up and rapped upon the roof of the carriage. The vehicle rolled to a stop.
"Come," he said to Irene impulsively, and opened the door to climb down. He turned back, holding up his hand to help her out. "Please? There is something I would like to show you."
She raised her eyebrows in surprise, but she took his hand and climbed down. He struck off on a course parallel to the edge of the woods, and intrigued, she followed him.
Chapter Seventeen
They walked for perhaps twenty minutes, staying close to the woods, then cutting through the swath of trees that curved back toward the house. Irene saw that they were close to the ruins of the Norman keep that had once kept watch over the Bankes land, long before the earldom had been bestowed on them.
She had seen the place on her first walk here and had wanted to explore it, but she had not yet done so. The riding party a few days earlier had gone past the ruins, and Lady Calandra, unsurprisingly, had thought it would be fun to explore. They had not stopped, however, for Miss Surton had declared with a shiver that it was eerie, and Gideon had prosaically commented that the place was too unstable to poke about in.
"The ruins?" Irene said now, casting a quizzical glance at Gideon. "Is that what you wanted me to see?"
"In a way. Something inside the tower."
"I thought it was too unstable, that it was dangerous to go inside," she reminded him.
A quick grin flashed across his face. "For Miss Surton, it is, certainly."
Irene let out a gurgle of laughter. It pleased her more than she cared to admit to hear Gideon's dismissal of Rowena Surton.
He led her into the tower. It was dim inside, but as they climbed the stairs, chinks and even holes in the stonework let in more and more sunlight. They emerged onto the top floor, and he opened the sturdy wooden door, revealing a room beyond. Irene drew in her breath in surprise.
Unlike the rest of the tower, dust and ruin had been banished here. A large piece of canvas slanted from the remains of the fallen roof down across to the waist-high southern wall of the tower, closing out the elements. A rug was spread across the portion of the room farthest from the half-ruined wall, and upon it were a pile of large comfortable pillows and a low table, as well as a small bookcase. A kerosene lamp sat on the table, and two candles stood on the bookcase. Close to the canvas-covered wall, by itself, with only a stool nearby, was a telescope.
"Gideon!" Irene looked around her, amazed. "I had no idea!"
"No one does." He walked over to the wall and unwound a rope from a bracket, then pulled on it on it, and the canvas rolled up, opening the room to the outside.
"It's beautiful," Irene breathed, looking at the suddenly revealed view of the countryside. She raised her head, looking up at the late afternoon sky.
"So this is where you come at night!" she exclaimed.
"What?" It was his turn to look surprised.
"I've seen you once or twice, late in the evening, walking out through the gardens, and I've wondered where you went." She paused, then added candidly, "I thought perhaps you were having an assignation."
"Indeed?" He arched his brows. "How ... interesting to hear your opinion of me. And who did you think I was coming to meet? One of my tenants' wives? A maid?"
"I had no idea. But I could not imagine why else you would be slipping out this way, on foot, at that time of night. I had no idea you were an astronomer."
"I scarcely qualify for that title," he replied easily, strolling over to the telescope and running a hand along it. "Actually, I had no interest in it—indeed, had never thought of it—until I came here. But this telescope was in the house—a hobby of my grandfather's, apparently—and I decided to try it out. I found the skies fascinating, and then, when I was roaming about, learning the grounds, I came upon the tower and saw how, with a little rebuilding, it could be used for an observatory." He looked out across the landscape. "I find it soothing. An escape." In an undertone, he added, "I have used it a great deal the last few days."
Irene glanced at him sharply, then looked away. "You ... have not enjoyed the party?" she asked in a determinedly casual tone, keeping her eyes on the landscape beyond.
He made a low, inarticulate noise. "Bloody hell, Irene! Of course I have not enjoyed it. Who could enjoy listening to conversation so treacly it makes one's teeth ache? Everything is so 'sweet', so 'cunning', so 'pretty' and 'pleasant'. If I ask for an opinion, all I receive is a laugh or a wave of the fan, or perhaps, 'Oh, my lord, I do not know. What do you think?' What sort of an answer is that? I know what I think."
She could not help but laugh, and he swung on her with a dark look.
"Oh, yes, well you may laugh. You are not the one having to endure it. Don't think I have not seen you sneak away every chance you get."
She should not have been so pleased, she knew, to learn that he was not enjoying the dogged pursuit of the young women at the party—or that he had noticed when she left the room.
"There is little for me to enjoy," she replied, and though she knew she should not, she added, "You did not even ask me to dance."
He glanced at her, something sparking in his eyes. "Ah, that rankled, did it?"
"Is that why you did not ask?" she countered, his remark sparking the dry tinder of her hurt and anger. "To rankle me? Were you punishing me?"
"I did not ask you," he said, each word short and sharp, "because you do not care to be my wife. You have made that plain. Therefore I must turn my mind to those who are willing."
Irene burned to make a sharp retort, but she could think of nothing that was not foolish. He was right. She was not in the running, and it would be a waste of his time to dance or talk with her when he could be measuring the others' assets as a bride.
"Of course. I forget that friendship and emotions have no place in your scheme of things."
She shot him a flashing glance, head high and chin up in a defiant pose.
Gideon took a step toward her, his eyes suddenly burning hot, and for an instant the air between them was charged, heavy and humming with anger and heat.
She thought that he was going to pull her to him and kiss her as he had before, and her loins blossomed with warmth, her nipples tightened. Her body felt as if it were opening to him, and she knew that if he kissed her, she would go up in flames like straw at the touch of a match.
She wanted nothing more than that. And nothing scared her more.
She turned abruptly, striding away from him to the center of the room. Almost before she knew what she was going to say, the words came tumbling out of her mouth. "Tell me about Dora."
There was an instant of stunned silence following her request, and she swung around to look at him.
"What?" he asked. "Why do you ask about Dora?"
"That was the name you said, the woman whom you were protecting from my father's advances," Irene went on. "That night, when I found you downstairs ..."
"Yes. She is the faro dealer I told you about."
"Is that all she is to you? An employee?"
"No," he replied, his eyes searching her face. "Why are you asking me this? Who told you about Dora?"
"Teresa. I remembered the name when she said it. I remembered how you told my father never to touch her again."
"And do you have a difficulty with Dora?" he asked, his voice tight, his eyes guarded.
"I?" Irene responded with a sinking heart. His attitude was certainly not that of a man speaking about an employee. "No. How should I have a difficulty with Dora? I have never met the woman."
"Then what is your interest?"
"Curiosity, I suppose," she answered in a voice she hoped was as cool as his. "I wonder if you will tell your wife about her."
"I will," he responded, his eyes still fastened on hers. "She is a part of my life. My wife will have to realize that."
"So part of the price she must pay to become countess is to endure your mistress?"
He looked at her for a long moment. "Is that what Teresa told you? That Dora is my mistress?"
"Yes. She said that she had heard you arguing about her with your grandmother. She said you told Lady Radbourne that you would never give her up."
Gideon released a sigh. "Dora is not my mistress."
Irene tried not to sag with relief.
"I have known Dora for years, since I was a child. We grew up together. She was another of the children Jack collected about him. She was a little younger than I, smaller, weaker. We were friends. I protected her. We shared our food, our blankets. She is ... for all my life, she has been the closest thing that I have had to a family. She is like my sister. But I have never—just the thought of that, with her, is inconceivable."
He looked, Irene realized in amazement, almost embarrassed.
"Indeed, she is engaged to Piers," he went on. "But one thing Teresa said is true. I will not give her up. Ever. Any more than I would give up Piers." His gaze was defiant.
"Of course not." Irene's smile was dazzling. "No one should ask you to."
He let out a noncommittal grunt. "You should speak to Lady Odelia and my grandmother."
"I suspect, deep down, even Lady Odelia admires your loyalty."
"And do you think any of those young ladies will?"
Irene hesitated. Quite frankly, she doubted it. What was disturbing, she realized, was that the idea of his prospective brides falling short pleased her.
"If she is the proper wife for you, she will," she answered finally, somewhat primly.
He looked at her for a long moment, and suddenly nervous, Irene turned away. "We should leave soon, or we will be late for supper."
"Yes. Of course."
He rolled the canvas back, securing it in place, and they left the tower.
* * * * *
The largest event of the weeklong house party was the ball scheduled for the following evening. There was only another day planned for the guests after that, and then the visitors would pack up and leave. The ball would be an opportunity for everyone to dress up in their finery and look their very best, and Irene felt sure that most of the girls planned to put their utmost effort into the evening.
She had spent almost a week watching the five young women flirt and chatter with Gideon—with the exception of Amanda Hurley, who seemed to be forming an attachment for Rowena Surton's equally horse-mad brother Percy—and planning entertainments to give them the opportunity to carry on their flirtations. Irene was, quite frankly, thoroughly tired of the whole lot of them, and she would be glad to see them gone in another two days.
As for the ball ... well, she had quite selfishly decided that she would do no more planning or assisting or maneuvering to aid any of them. She intended, instead, to set herself to the task of enjoying the evening. Her time here was coming to an end, too, and soon enough she and her mother would be back with her brother and Maura, a thought that was enough to quite depress her spirits. So, she decided, she would dress up in the lovely ball gown she had bought for the occasion, and she would dance and talk and laugh. And if Gideon again chose to ignore her ... well, that would be his loss.
The next evening—when she was dressed for the ball in the gold satin gown, her hair swept up into a soft arrangement of curls, tiny golden sparkling ornaments glittering here and there among her darker gold curls, and the gossamer-thin wrap of gold tissue draped across her bare arms—she knew her decision had been the right one. The soft shining material turned her eyes a pale, compelling gold and warmed her skin. She might be returning soon to a lifetime of spinsterhood, but tonight she was lovely and glowing. The very air shimmered with promise.
She went down to the ball with Francesca, who assured her as they descended the stairs that she would be the most beautiful woman in the house tonight. Irene smiled; the words were pleasant to hear. But the feeling was nothing compared to the warmth that filled her when she stepped into the ballroom and Gideon turned and saw her. His eyes widened, and the fire that sprang to life in them was swift and fierce.
He continued to gaze at her for a long moment, his eyes boring into hers, and it was not until one of the people with whom he was standing reached out to touch his arm that he finally turned back to his conversation.
"Well," Francesca said beside her, "I believe that Lord Radbourne's response was precisely what you intended."
Irene turned to look at her. "I did not intend anything."
Francesca let out a light laugh. "Irene, please, do not try to gammon me, I beg you."
Irene narrowed her eyes. "I don't know what you are talking about."
"The way you look, of course. The hair, the dress—you have taken particular care with yourself tonight, and the result is obvious. You look like a goddess. A golden goddess, at that. Who else would anyone think all this effort was for?" She cocked a knowing brow.
Irene flushed. "If you are talking about Lord Radbourne, I can assure you that I do not care a whit what he thinks."
"No, I am sure not." Francesca smiled in her catlike way. "Nor was that a look of triumph I saw in your eyes when he turned and stared at you as if he could eat you up."
Irene's cheeks turned even hotter. "Francesca! No!"
"Yes."
Irene wanted to protest, but she knew it would be foolish to do so. She had wanted to bring that look into Gideon's eyes. The question, of course, was why? And why did she feel such a rush of excitement and satisfaction at her success?
Did she want so much to outshine the other young women here? She did not really dislike any of them, and it seemed a very petty thing to do. After all, they were interested in becoming the next Countess of Radbourne, and she did not even want the prize.
But even as she had the thought, she knew she was not being entirely honest. It was true that she did not seek to be the Countess of Radbourne, but she had wanted the prize: the look in Gideon's eyes.
She did not want to marry. But she wanted Gideon.
"I am a terrible person," she confessed in a low voice to Francesca.
Francesca shrugged. "Not terrible. Only human. What female does not want a man's admiration ...? Especially the admiration of the man she loves?"
"Francesca! You are quite wrong. I do not love Gideon. I did, I admit, feel a certain low satisfaction in—in making him notice me. And I have been foolishly bothered by the fact that he has been dancing attendance on all the other young women here. But that is utter nonsense, I know. I intended for him to pay attention to them. That is why we worked with him so much."
"No. I worked with him to force you to be around him long enough to realize how you felt. The other women are here only in case you never come to your senses, or he gets so annoyed with you that he chooses someone else."
Irene stared at her. "What?"
"Irene. Really." Francesca linked her arm with Irene's. "My dear girl, I saw how it was with you two as soon as I watched you together in the park that day. It was utterly clear to anyone—or at least to anyone as accustomed as I am to watching people tumble into love—that the two of you were, well, in a word, destined."
"Destined?" Irene repeated blankly. "You mean, destined for each other? Are you mad? We argued the whole time we talked in the park."
"Yes, you did. But it was the way you argued. You were both clearly upset because you challenged each other's preconceptions. You each had very orderly arrangements, and the other one did not
fit into them at all. Naturally you were upset. But the ... attraction was unmistakable. I knew it was just a matter of time until you figured it out. You are a clever girl-Irene gaped at her. "All of this ..." She waved her hand vaguely around the room. "All of this was just a ... a ruse?"
"Oh, no. It wasn't a ruse at all. I did need your help. Your assistance was absolutely essential." Francesca smiled at her, amusement brimming in her eyes.
Irene was torn between anger and laughter, but Francesca's smile was too infectious, and after a moment she lost the battle and chuckled. "You are outrageous," she told her friend, shaking her head. "Well, I hope you will not be too disappointed when your plans do not work out as you had hoped. I have no intention of marrying Lord Radbourne."
"Indeed, that is too bad," Francesca said without any visible sign of distress. "I fear he will be exceedingly unhappy. But ..." She shrugged. "When your heart is not engaged, it simply is not. Poor man. You still find him disagreeable, then? Maddening, I think you called him. Selfish, annoying ..."
"No! I mean, yes, he is all those things," Irene agreed. "However, I do not dislike him. No, indeed. I have come to quite appreciate the man. He is strong and capable, and once you come to know him, you realize that he possesses a sharp wit. He is an excellent man. Everyone—his relatives most of all—have grossly misjudged him."
"Have they?" Francesca murmured.
"Oh, yes." Irene nodded. "It is a wonder, really, that he puts up with them. A lesser man would have tossed them out on their ears by now."
"If you hold such admiration for him, I am at a loss to understand why you would not marry him," Francesca told her.
"You know why I have no plans to marry."
"Yes, but when one meets a man who stirs one so, then such plans usually fail, and the reasons you used to cling to no longer apply."
Irene shook her head. "I am not, I hope, so inconsistent. And he—he does not want a true marriage. To love him would be a futile exercise. He does not want love. Marriage is a business arrangement for him. A practicality."
"Indeed." Francesca frowned. "Is it truly so? The look he sent you did not seem so cold."
