by Jane Feather
“Hardly that, Mama,” Theo broke in, her face white with anger, her eyes blue-black. “I believe we are Lord Stoneridge’s guests. If you’ll excuse me, I have pressing business elsewhere.” She spun on her heel, brushing past Sylvester, dusting off her sleeve where it had touched him, an expression of acute distaste on her face.
“Theo!” Elinor took a step forward, but Sylvester held up a hand.
“I think this is mine to deal with, ma’am,” he said, tight-lipped, two spots of color burning on his cheekbones.
Elinor hesitated; then she made a tiny gesture of acknowledgment, and Lord Stoneridge strode out of the drawing room in pursuit of his cousin.
“What’s going on?” Bewildered, Clarissa looked after his lordship. “Have they already met?”
“It would seem so,” Elinor said, calmly taking up her embroidery.
“But … but Theo never said.” Emily ran to the window, looking anxiously across the lawn as if expecting to see a scene of violent mayhem. “How could you let him go after her, Mama? He looked ready to murder her.”
“I could cheerfully wring her neck myself,” Elinor responded. “I am strongly of the opinion that your sister and Sylvester Gilbraith will be very good for each other.”
“What do you mean?”
Elinor smiled, threading her needle with a crimson thread. “His lordship had a proposition to put to me….”
Theo had reached the first landing when Sylvester caught up with her. She turned at bay, her stance apparently relaxed, but he could read her readiness in every muscle.
“You wish to take inventory of the bedrooms, my lord. Don’t let me stand in your way,” she said through her teeth.
“You’re not in my way in the least,” he replied, his anger as high and as visible in eye and mouth as Theo’s. He moved toward her.
She shifted her stance, her hands hanging loose at her sides, her eyes fixed on his face.
“You won’t manage it twice, gypsy,” he said quietly. “This time I’m ready for you.”
“You take one step closer, my lord, and you’ll go down those stairs on your back,” she said as softly as he. “And with any luck you’ll break your neck in the process.”
He shook his head. “I don’t deny your skill, but mine is as good, and I have the advantage of size and strength.” He saw the acknowledgment leap into her eyes, but her position didn’t change.
“Let’s have done with this,” he said sharply. “I’m prepared to forget that silly business by the stream.”
“Oh, are you, my lord? How very generous of you. As I recall, you were not the one insulted.”
“As I recall, you, cousin, were making game of me. Now, come downstairs. I wish you to ride around the estate with me.”
“You wish me to do what?” Theo stared at him, her eyes incredulous.
“I understand from your mother that you’ve had the management of the estate for the last three years,” he said impatiently, as if his request were the most natural imaginable. “You’re clearly the obvious person to show me around.”
“You have windmills in your head, sir. I wouldn’t give you the time of day!” Theo swung on her heel and made to continue up the stairs.
“You rag-mannered hoyden!” Sylvester exclaimed. “We may have started on the wrong foot, but there’s no excuse for such incivility.” He sprang after her, catching her around the waist.
She spun, one leg flashing in a high kick aimed at his chest, but as he’d warned her, this time he was ready for her. Twisting, he caught her body across his thighs, swinging a leg over hers, clamping them in a scissor grip between his knees.
“Now, yield!” he gritted through his teeth, adjusting his grip against the sinuous working of her muscles as she fought to free herself.
Theo went suddenly still, her body limp against him. Instinctively, he relaxed his grip and the next instant she was free, bounding up the next flight of stairs.
Sylvester went after her, no longer capable of cool reasoning. A primitive battle was raging, and he knew only that he wasn’t going to lose it. No matter that it was undignified and totally inappropriate.
Theo raced down the long corridor, hearing his booted feet pounding behind her in time with her thundering heart. She didn’t know whether her heart was speeding with fear or exhilaration; she didn’t seem capable of rational, coherent thought.
His breath was on the back of her neck as she wrenched open the door of her bedroom and leaped inside, but his foot went in the gap as she tried to slam the door shut. She leaned on the door with all her weight, but Sylvester put his shoulder against the outside and heaved. Theo went reeling into the room and the door swung wide.
Sylvester stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him. He glanced around. It was a pretty bedroom, redolent of girlhood from the delicate dimity hangings to the china doll on the window seat.
Theo backed away, her heart beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. For some reason he seemed a lot bigger than before. Perhaps it was because he was towering over the dainty familiarity of her childhood bedroom. With a nasty jolt she recognized that she had been unpardonably rude. Even in the light of his provocation, she’d gone above and beyond what was forgivable.
“Very well,” she said breathlessly. “If you wish it, I’ll apologize for being uncivil. I shouldn’t have said what I did just now.”
“For once we’re in agreement,” he remarked, coming toward her. Theo cast a wild look around the room. In a minute she was going to be backed up against the armoire, and she didn’t have too many tricks left in the bag.
Sylvester reached out and seized the long thick rope of hair hanging down her back. He twisted it around his wrist, reeling her in like a fish until her face was on a level with his shoulder.
He examined her countenance as if he were seeing it for the first time. Her eyes had darkened, and he could read the sparkling challenge in their depths; the flush of exertion and emotion lay beneath the golden brown of her complexion, and her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to launch into another of her tirades.
To prevent such a thing, he tightened his grip on her plait, bringing her face hard against his shoulder, and kissed her.
Theo gasped against his mouth, her body stiffening in preparation for a struggle.
He raised his head; a finger of his free hand stroked her eyelids closed, and his mouth returned to hers.
Theo was so startled that she forgot about resistance for a split second and in that second discovered that she was enjoying the sensation. Her lips parted beneath the probing thrust of his tongue, and her own tongue touched his, at first tentatively, then with increasing confidence. She inhaled the scent of his skin, a sun-warmed earthy scent that was new to her, and his mouth tasted of wine. His body was hard-muscled against her own, and when she stirred slightly, she became startlingly aware of a stiffness in his loins. Instinctively, she pressed her lower body against his.
Sylvester drew back abruptly, his eyes hooded as he looked down into her intent face. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “How many men have you kissed, gypsy?”
“None,” she said truthfully. She’d kissed Edward several times, but those exploratory embraces bore no relation to what had just happened. Her anger had vanished completely, surprise and curiosity in its place. She wasn’t even sure whether she still disliked him.
“I’ll be damned,” he said again, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, little glints of amusement sparkling in the gray eyes. “I doubt you’ll be a restful wife, cousin, but I’ll lay odds you’ll be full of surprises.”
Theo remembered that she did dislike him—intensely. She twitched her plait out of his slackened grip and stepped back. “I fail to see what business that is of yours, Lord Stoneridge.”
“Ah, yes, I was forgetting we haven’t discussed this as yet,” he said, folding his arms, regarding her with deepening amusement. “We’re going to be married, you and I.”
“MARR
IED?” THEO STARED at him, convinced he’d taken leave of whatever senses a Gilbraith could possess.
“Yes, I have your mother’s permission to address you,” he said with a smile that struck Theo as demented.
“My mother?” She shook her head. “My dear sir, you are in need of a physician … or Bedlam,” she couldn’t help adding. She moved to walk past him to the door.
He laid a restraining hand on her arm. “Hear me out, cousin.”
“I have no wish to listen to the ramblings of a lunatic,” she declared. “I suggest—”
The suggestion was stillborn as she found herself swinging through the air to land with a jarring thump on a chair in the corner of the room. Lord Stoneridge leaned over her, his hands braced on the walls on either side of her head. His face was very close to hers.
“Now do I have your attention, cousin?” he demanded with deceptive mildness. Sensing an almost imperceptible shift of her leg, he continued in the same tone, “If you’re thinking of bringing your knee into play, I most earnestly recommend that you reconsider.”
Theo, who had been thinking of doing just that, reconsidered.
“Do I have your attention, cousin?”
“I appear to have little choice but to listen to your raving,” she said tartly, wishing she could move back, away from a disturbing proximity that confusingly seemed to embody both menace and promise.
Sylvester straightened and ran a hand through his crisp dark hair, disheveling the close-cropped cut. “We’re going to have to deal better than this,” he said in some frustration. “We can’t always be manhandling each other.”
Theo closed her eyes, forcing herself into stillness. If she didn’t react, he would go away and this crazy nightmare would fade. But he was talking, telling her that the only equitable solution to the entail was for him to marry a Belmont. Her mother would no longer have to worry about finding dowries for all her daughters, since he would provide them from the estate. Lady Belmont would remove to the dower house, but she’d still have close contact with the manor. And Theo herself … well, she could judge her advantages for herself.
Advantages! She opened her eyes once his even tones had ceased. “I wouldn’t marry a Gilbraith if he was the last man on earth,” she stated, standing up now that he’d moved far enough away to allow her to do so.
“That’s history,” he said. “It has nothing to do with us … with any of us, anymore. Can’t you see I’m trying to rise above a quarrel that happened in the mists of time?”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged and went to the door. “Maybe I should have said I wouldn’t marry you, cousin, if you were the last man on earth.”
She left, leaving Sylvester staring into empty space. His hands were tightly clenched, and slowly he opened them, flexing his fingers. He was not going to be routed by an insolent baggage fifteen years his junior. Not while he had breath in his body.
He followed her downstairs, his step measured, consciously banishing all signs of his white-hot fury from his expression. Theo’s voice came from the drawing room, shaking with emotion as she demanded to know why her mother had consented to such a hideous proposal.
Sylvester paused outside the open door, waiting for Lady Belmont’s response.
When it came, it was calm and equable. “Theo, dear, no one is forcing you into anything. I consider Lord Stoneridge’s suggestion to be both generous and perfectly reasonable. But if you dislike it, then there’s nothing more to be said.”
“My sentiments exactly, Lady Belmont.” Sylvester stepped into the drawing room. “I’m desolated to have caused my cousin such distress…. I was perhaps somewhat premature in making my declaration.”
“Perhaps you were, Lord Stoneridge.” Elinor’s look and tone were disapproving. “However, let’s agree to bury the issue. I trust you’ll join us for dinner, sir.”
Ah … so he hadn’t lost the mother’s support. She considered him inept, no doubt, but she didn’t know that her daughter was a castle to be taken by storm or not at all. However, the door remained open.
Taking his cue, Sylvester bowed and accepted with appropriate thanks before saying, “I was hoping my cousin would ride around the estate with me, but I daresay I’m too much in her bad graces to ask for such a favor.” He smiled at Theo.
The ground had been neatly cut from beneath her feet with that swift and delicate apology. She had no choice but to accede if she were not to appear childishly churlish. The trouble was, her mother didn’t know what a shark lay behind that engaging smile.
“If you wish it, cousin,” she said stiffly. “But we can’t go far this afternoon, it’s nearly four and we keep country hours. Unfashionable, I know, but we dine at six.” She managed to convey both her contempt for anyone who would find the hour outmoded and her belief that Sylvester Gilbraith was such a fribble.
Sylvester had his temper on a tight rein. “Then perhaps we should postpone it until the morning,” he said easily. “If I’m to join you for dinner, ma’am, I should return to the inn and change my dress.”
“By all means. Until later, Lord Stoneridge.” Elinor held out her hand in farewell.
Sylvester smiled, bowed to the room in general, offering no special attention to his hotheaded soon-to-be betrothed, and left, not completely displeased with the afternoon’s events. At least he knew the price of his birthright now. It was certainly high, but he had a feeling it might have its compensations … once he’d established supremacy.
“Why must we make a friend of him!” Theo exploded. “Isn’t it bad enough that we have to be neighbors without inviting him for dinner?”
“I will not be deficient in courtesy,” Elinor said icily. “And neither will you. I suggest you mend your manners, Theo.” She swept from the room, leaving her daughters in uncomfortable silence.
“You really have vexed her,” Clarissa said after a minute. “I haven’t heard her use that tone in ages.”
Theo pressed her palms to her flushed cheeks. She was in a turmoil, her chaotic thoughts chasing each other in her head. “I don’t understand how she could have considered his proposal, Clarry. It … it’s … oh, I don’t know what it is.”
“You’re not being practical,” Emily said. “Such arrangements are made all the time. It’s the solution to so much—”
“But he’s detestable!” Theo broke in. “And he’s a Gilbraith.”
“Ancient history,” Emily said calmly. “It’s time to forget that.”
“Emily, I’m getting the impression you want me to marry him!” Theo stared incredulously at her eldest sister.
“Not if you don’t want to, love,” Emily said. “And if you find him detestable, then there’s nothing more to be said. But you’re not a romantic goose, like Clarry, who’s looking for a parfit gentil knight on a white charger—”
“Oh, that’s so unfair, Emily,” Clarissa declared. “I’ve no intention of marrying, ever.”
“Wait till your knight rides up,” Theo teased, forgetting her own troubles for a minute in this familiar discussion.
But Clarissa was frowning. “I wonder why the earl chose you, Theo. Surely it should have been me, as the elder.”
“I expect Mama steered him away,” Emily said. “She’d know he wouldn’t suit you.”
Emily was more in her mother’s confidence than the others and knew how Elinor regarded Clarissa’s romantic leanings and how she worried over her sometimes fragile health. The Earl of Stoneridge didn’t strike Emily as the embodiment of a romantic hero, or particularly gentle either.
“Well, I can’t imagine why she thought he might suit me,” Theo said, helping herself from the sherry decanter on the sideboard. “Ratafia, Emily … Clarry?” Her sisters found sherry too powerful a brew, but, then, their tastes hadn’t been formed by the old earl, who’d educated his favorite granddaughter in all such matters with meticulous care.
She poured the sticky almond cordial for them and sipped her own sherry, frowning. “I suppose, since she knew he wouldn�
�t suit Clarry, and for some reason she thought the idea in general to be worth pursuing, I was the only option. Unless he’d be prepared to wait for Rosie.”
The thought of their grubby baby sister peering myopically at the immaculate earl as she instructed him in the anatomy of her dissected worms sent the three sisters into peals of laughter.
“Heavens!” Emily gasped, choking over her ratafia. “Look at the time. We have to change for dinner.”
“We aren’t supposed to dress formally, are we?” Clarissa went to the door. “Mama didn’t say anything.”
“No, and I for one shall wear the simplest gown I possess,” Theo declared. “And I hope his lordship turns up in satin knee britches and looks like the overweening coxcomb that he is.”
“I don’t think he’s a coxcomb,” Emily said seriously, as they went up the stairs.
Theo said nothing. She wasn’t yet ready to confide in her sisters what had happened in her bedroom. If that kiss hadn’t been the act of a coxcomb, she couldn’t imagine what would qualify. The fact that she’d enjoyed it was something she preferred to forget.
Sylvester, even if he’d been inclined to appear at the manor in full evening regalia, couldn’t have done so, since he’d left all such clothes with Henry, his servant and former batman, in his lodgings on Jermyn Street.
He rode up to the manor at five-thirty, immaculately but unassumingly dressed in a morning coat of olive superfine and beige pantaloons. And he had his plan of campaign neatly mapped out. Lady Theo would discover that cold incivility had its consequences. He would concentrate his attentions on Lady Belmont and the two elder daughters. If they could be charmed into favoring his suit, it would be more difficult for Theo to defend her position.
Thus it was that Theo, bristling to do battle despite her mother’s warning, was not given an opportunity.
The earl was a perfect guest, well informed, an amusing conversationalist, exerting a powerful charm. He was attentive and deferential to Lady Belmont, on whose right he sat, discussed music knowledgeably with Clarissa, and to Emily’s shyly hesitant inquiry about London fashions offered an enlightening description of the new gypsy bonnet that was all the rage.
