by Sandra Heath
Gervase raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
The faun explained about Penelope.
“Serves you right,” Gervase observed with complete lack of sympathy, “and to be honest I don’t rank your lecherous activities very high on the scale of priorities. I’m much more concerned that in a few hours it will be dawn, and I will have to become a statue again, which means that much as I would like to, I can’t really sleep here.”
Sylvanus rubbed one of his horns thoughtfully, then gave a slight shrug and pointed toward the little escritoire at the far side of the room. “You said you had other business in Monmouth, so slip away leaving a note explaining urgent appointments. Say you didn’t like to awaken her, and you’ll come back as soon as you can.”
“And when I do return, it will be without a horse, without a change of clothes, and still without a clue as to how I’m going to proceed. The lady is intelligent enough to wonder why I should travel so light, and she is also virtuous—if fauns know what that means.” Gervase pointed out dryly, thinking that the obstacles still seemed unfairly stacked against him.
“This one is beginning to find out,” Sylvanus muttered.
“So a note is the best you can think of?”
“Well, on the spur of the moment, yes.”
Gervase sighed. “What is she going to make of me? First I break in, then I break out again, all the same night!”
“I’ll tell you what she makes of you—she likes you very much indeed,” Sylvanus observed.
“She does? What makes you say that?”
“Faun’s instinct. Now then, I’m going to find some food in the kitchen, and then I’m going back to the temple make it comfortable. I saw some rope to make pretend snakes, so I’ll be safe from that wretched animal. You’ll have to go back to the rotunda now that the statue has been discovered. Here, take this to find your way.” Sylvanus tore a silver button off the greatcoat.
“Have you no respect at all for other people’s property?” Gervase inquired, again dryly, taking the button.
“Well, the coat’s ruined anyway,” replied Sylvanus.
“Yes, by you.”
Sylvanus chose not to respond, and as the door closed behind him, Gervase pocketed the button and then went to the escritoire to write in a disguised hand, for his natural writing was distinctive enough to ring bells concerning the letters on the drawing room mantelpiece. He was brief and apologetic.
“Miss Willowby.
“Please accept my apologies, but I overlooked the fact that my other business in Monmouth is scheduled for first thing in the morning, and I do not wish to cause you further interruption by awakening you yet again. I trust I may take the liberty of returning to Llandower within the next day or so.
“Charles Danby.”
He left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind him, but as he was about to turn toward the staircase, he noticed a thin line of light beneath a doorway farther along the passage. Was it Anne’s room? Unable to resist the possibility of speaking to her alone, he went to knock at the door in question. “Miss Willowby?”
She was sitting up in bed reading, having found herself far too awake to sleep. She was startled to hear him, but as she closed the book and flung the bedclothes aside, a vigilant Mrs. Jenkins emerged wrathfully from the adjoining dressing room, where she’d insisted on sleeping for her mistress’s protection. “There, I knew that scoundrel up to something!” The housekeeper declared, going to the fireplace for the poker.
Anne got hastily out of bed. “Please be calm, Mrs. Jenkins. I doubt very much if Mr. Danby has anything improper in mind. One moment, sir,” she called, as for the third time that eventful night she put on her wrap. Mrs. Jenkins stood behind her with the poker as she opened the door. “What is it, Mr. Danby?” Anne asked, trusting she sounded cool and collected, for a telltale warmth had spread through her the moment she saw him again.
Gervase was a little taken aback to see the housekeeper standing guard with a weapon he did not doubt she was prepared to use. “Er, forgive me for yet another unwarranted intrusion, Miss Willowby, but I fear I have to leave.” Anne’s perfume drifted distractingly over him again, and her hair was flushed with a halo of gold by the candlelight behind her.
“Leave?” she repeated in astonishment. “But it’s the middle of the night.”
“I, er, had forgotten that I have important business in Monmouth first thing in the morning. I wrote this note, but then saw the light on in your room and felt it would be churlish to simply leave without speaking.”
“But how did you intend to get to Monmouth without a horse?”
Damn, he hadn’t thought of that! “I was going to presume greatly by borrowing one from your stables.”
Mrs. Jenkins snorted. “So you’re a wicked horse thief to boot!” she declared wrathfully.
Anne tossed a cross look at her. “That’s enough, Mrs. Jenkins.” Then she turned to Gervase again. “You may indeed borrow a horse, Mr. Danby.”
He smiled. “I promise you will see your property again.”
The smile sent color into her cheeks, and she was glad the candlelight was behind her. “I’m sure I will, Mr. Danby.”
“I trust you will be able to overlook what has happened tonight. Miss Willowby, for I assure you my conduct is not usually so unorthodox.”
She gave a little smile. “I’m relieved to know it, Mr. Danby.”
“When I return, I will come to the door in a much more proper manner,” he replied, struggling against the longing to touch her. She was meant to be his duchess, and he wanted to sweep her from her feet and carry her to the rumpled bed behind her. Cupid’s arrow had pierced him with an accuracy he could never have anticipated, and he hoped Sylvanus’s faun instinct was right. It was true that she blushed and lowered her eyes, and that she was prepared to view him charitably, but such things might have nothing to do with attraction to him and everything to do with her being a trusting innocent.
She managed another little smile. “We will begin again at our next meeting, Mr. Danby.”
“You are most kind. Miss Willowby,” he murmured, reaching for her hand and drawing it to his lips. “Now, I will take my leave for the time being.” Her fingers trembled in his, and he couldn’t help putting his lips fully to her skin, albeit for the most fleeting of moments. He thought he heard her soft intake of breath, but he wasn’t sure.
“Goodbye, Mr. Danby.” Inclining her head, she drew back into the room and closed the door.
He stood there for a few seconds, still struggling with the force of feeling she’d aroused in him, then he walked swiftly away down the passage.
On the other side of the closed door, Anne was leaning back with her eyes closed. Her hand was still alive to his kiss, and her whole body felt flushed with emotion. She listened to his steps dying away into the night and prayed he would return as he’d promised. But it was wrong to feel like this about a man she hardly knew, wrong anyway to have such feelings for anyone except Hugh Mowbray, to whom she now regarded herself pledged. When next she met the unconventional but exceedingly desirable Mr. Charles Danby, she mustn’t betray by so much as a glance that she felt anything more than she should.
Mrs. Jenkins said nothing as she replaced the poker by the hearth. She could not mistake the glow on Anne’s face. The dismayed housekeeper did not know what to do, for in her opinion the departed male person was anything but a gentleman! It was as well that the new duke would arrive any day, for mayhap his presence would instill a little common sense into her suddenly foolish young mistress.
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning found Anne, Mrs. Jenkins, Joseph, and young Martin in the center of the maze, surveying the statue. Jack was there too. The lurcher knew the statue wasn’t quite what it seemed and pawed Gervase’s foot for attention. Gervase wished it would go away, for its nose was damned cold!
Anne was puzzled. “What’s wrong with Jack?”
“Hopeful of a tidbit, even from a
stone man,” Mrs. Jenkins replied tartly, folding her hands in front of her crisp white apron and putting her head to one side to view the statue’s lines a little better. “Well, he’s a particularly handsome fellow, I must say.”
Anne was in agreement with the housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Jenkins, he’s exceedingly handsome.”
Joseph pulled the protesting dog away, and then looked disapprovingly at the statue. “It’s not fit to have a fellow standing there as naked as the day he was born!”
Martin sniggered, and as Joseph gave the boy a cuff on the ear, the housekeeper raised an eyebrow. “Just because you never looked like that, Joseph Greenwood.”
“If it was a female standing there without a stitch on, you’d soon have something to say,” Joseph replied. “At least I had the consideration to put a gown on that lamp holder I made.”
Anne looked impatiently at them both. “What does it matter if it’s got clothes on or not? I just want to know when—and how—it came to be here.”
The gardener shook his head. “I have no idea at all. Miss Anne.”
“Mrs. Jenkins?”
“It’s a mystery to me,” the housekeeper replied.
Anne looked inquiringly at Martin. “Have you any knowledge of it?”
“No, Miss Anne,” the boy replied.
Anne sighed. “Come now, one of you must know.”
But they protested their innocence so vehemently that in the end she had to concede that they were as much in the dark as she was. She was perplexed. “Then it must have been delivered on a day when we were all absent.”
“Llandower is never completely empty. Miss Anne— there’s always someone here,” Mrs. Jenkins pointed out. Then she added, “Mind you, now I come to think of it, Mr. Willowby was here alone for a while the day before he and Mrs. Willowby left for Ireland. Joseph took me to market in Mon-mouth, Martin went home to visit his mother, and you and Mrs. Willowby went to Peterbury to see if the haberdashery had any peach-colored ribbon. Do you recall?”
“Yes, I do, but if my father was here when it came, why didn’t he mention it? At the very least I would have expected him to describe the trouble there must have been to carry it through the maze and then erect it.”
Mrs. Jenkins cocked her head to one side again, studying Gervase’s profile. “He reminds me of someone,” she murmured.
Gervase’ s stone heart missed a beat.
“Now who is it...? Ah, yes, I recall! It’s that rascally Mr. Danby who was here last night. If the hair were to be combed back instead of forward, they could be one and the same.”
Gervase felt colder than marble. Had he been found out before he’d really begun?
Anne gasped. “You’re right, Mrs. Jenkins, it is like Mr. Danby!”
The housekeeper met her eyes, recalling the telltale moments after the mysterious lawyer had taken his leave in the middle of the night. “Will that be all, Miss Anne?” she asked after a moment.
Anne nodded. “Yes, you may all go.”
When they’d left, she looked up at the statue again and wondered if the astonishing likeness was why the lawyer had seemed familiar. Slowly, she put a hand up to the marble cheek, imagining Charles Danby naked like this. How immeasurably enticing was the notion of lying in the lawyer’s arms in a summer wheat field… Shocked by the force and eroticism of her thoughts, she caught up her skirts and fled from the rotunda.
Gervase felt suddenly emboldened as he gazed after her, for he knew that Sylvanus had been right—she did like him in the relevant way. There’d be no more shilly-shallying; tonight he’d embark properly upon the task of seducing her into loving him. He only prayed the servants wouldn’t be in the offing, especially Mrs. Jenkins, who was justifiably watchful and suspicious.
Fate came to his rescue. That afternoon the housekeeper was summoned urgently by her sister, whose kitchen was covered in soot after a chimney fire, and armed with cleansing equipment of every description, she set off with Joseph, who providently offered his assistance too. As soon as they had gone, Martin slipped away across the fields to spend a little time with his family at their cottage about three miles away. Anne was left alone, and Gervase’s coast was clear.
Sylvanus had enjoyed a good sleep in the comfort of the subterranean temple, and as dusk approached, he emerged to call upon Penelope. He left the greatcoat behind because he was mindful of the nymph’s taunts, and he paused by a mirror to polish his horns and smooth his goat fur. After admiring himself from every angle, he proceeded toward the drawing room, intending to impress the nymph with his virile faun handsomeness.
Anne had taken a lighted candle to her father’s study, which wasn’t a very well lit room at the best of times, and was sifting through the accounts to see they were all in order should Mr. Danby insist upon seeing them. With her curls loose and a lacy white shawl around the shoulders of her lavender velvet gown, she examined the ledgers. She didn’t glance up as the faun crept past the open door. But on reaching the drawing room, which was lit only by the dancing flames in the hearth, Sylvanus was almost undone because of Mog, Mrs. Jenkins’s cat, who was enjoying a clandestine sleep on the cushioned armchair by the fire. At first he didn’t realize Mog was there because the cat continued to sleep contentedly, but when the faun’s hooves pattered on the polished wooden floor, her ears twitched and suddenly she awoke. Her amber eyes widened with alarm, her fur stood on end, and she erupted noisily from the chair to dash from the room. But Sylvanus had closed the door behind him, and there was no way out. Suddenly, there was pandemonium, with the panic-stricken cat dashing in all directions, knocking ornaments over.
Sylvanus was in a panic too. There was a cat here as well as a dog? And the wretched creature was making so much noise that Anne was bound to hear! For a few moments he simply froze, but then he had the wit to open the door. In a second the cat had rushed out, but Sylvanus had no time to feel foolish in front of Penelope, who must have witnessed everything, for to his further dismay footsteps and the flutter of candlelight announced that Anne had heard and was coming to investigate! Once again he was obliged to dive ignominiously for the shelter of the curtains, and had only just pressed back out of sight as Anne entered.
She halted in astonishment as she saw the scattered ornaments, which included a little porcelain Cupid that had been broken. She’d heard Mog, so knew who the culprit was, but couldn’t imagine what had frightened the cat like that. Setting her candle on a table, she straightened the undamaged ornaments, then gathered the broken Cupid and bore him off to the kitchens.
Sylvanus peered from behind the curtains, then fled without a glance at Penelope, who was surely laughing at him. He scampered down the staircase and out into the darkening courtyard just as Anne emerged from the kitchen to return to the study. The faun ran into the maze and didn’t stop until he reached the rotunda. Then he transformed Gervase from stone again and regaled him with his woes.
Gervase dressed, struggling to tie his neckcloth without the benefit of a mirror. “So all you’re saying is that you had a set-to with a cat,” he said when Sylvanus had finished.
“Yes, but it was in front of Penelope!” The faun was wretched. “I wanted to look my best to impress her, but I stood there uselessly, and then hid behind the curtain again like a felon. I felt completely foolish and embarrassed.”
“Now you know how I feel when I’m a damned lump of stone and people gaze at my more intimate portions!” Gervase replied unsympathetically.
Sylvanus scowled. “You might at least be a little understanding.”
“You aren’t,” Gervase pointed out.
The faun gave a labored sigh and said no more.
Gervase finished his neckcloth. “How does that look?”
“All right, I suppose.”
“My success with Anne Willowby is much more important than yours with a naiad, so give me a sensible reply.”
Sylvanus tweaked the folds of muslin. “There, that’s much better.”
“Thank you.” Gervase lo
oked toward the castle. “Well, at least I’ve been able to think of a few logical explanations for some of the odd things about Charles Danby, so I feel a little more confident about my strategy.”
Sylvanus looked imploringly at him. “If you can leave the drawing room clear, I’d be most grateful.”
“I hope you don’t expect me to carry Miss Willowby straight up to the nearest bedroom.”
“It would solve a lot of problems,” the faun replied hopefully.
“In your world, maybe, but not in mine. The ravishing of women is against the law here!”
Sylvanus looked sly. “There wouldn’t have been anything forcible in the barn last night.”
“Need I remind you about your panic when you realized Bacchus had discovered your continuing sins? So just let me get on with it in my own way, will you? Besides, I really don’t want your dubious help; it’s a little overpowering, even for me.”
Taking a deep breath, Gervase left the rotunda, and without another word Sylvanus meekly followed.
Chapter Fourteen
Anne was just putting one ledger away and taking out another when she heard the knock at the courtyard door. The night was quiet, and she turned in surprise as the sound echoed dully through the house. Charles Danby was far from her thoughts as she picked up the candlestick and hastened downstairs. Shielding the dancing flame with her hand, she opened the door and found herself staring into Gervase’s eyes. “Why, Mr. Danby...”
“I trust I haven’t called at an inconvenient moment. Miss Willowby.” Gervase replied, conscious of Sylvanus watching him from the dark archway across the courtyard.
“Er, no...of—of course not. Have you no horse?” She looked past him at the empty courtyard.
This was the first thing for which he was prepared, although he crossed his fingers that no one had realized there hadn’t been a horse missing in the first place. “I rode here leading the mount you so kindly permitted me to borrow, and I’ve taken the liberty of putting them both in your stables. I hope you don’t mind.”
