“What thoughts can be so fascinating that they overcome your ability to pay heed to my words of infinite wisdom?”
“Do you still want to marry me?” The words were out before she knew she was going to say them, and hearing their echo in her mind, she forced herself to face straight ahead, though she could feel fiery heat in her cheeks and it was difficult not to turn away from him. Then she heard him chuckle.
“That is certainly a matter for conjecture,” he said, “but we are not going to discuss the matter just yet.”
She glared at him furiously, not certain if she ought to be humiliated, enraged, or simply relieved. At all events, she said not one more word to him even when he began to whistle again, and when the gates of Tuscombe Park loomed ahead in the dusk, she greeted the sight with relief, forgetting that more obstacles lay ahead. She was reminded of them the moment they entered the hall, for St. Merryn was there, talking with Charles and Davina, and he greeted their arrival with relief but no visible delight.
“Upon my word, what the devil is going on? Did you find Charley? Oh, there you are, child! Well, here is your papa and your mama at their wits’ end from fretting about you.”
Davina held out her arms, and Charley ran into them.
St. Merryn turned back to the others. “Good God, it’s Deverill,” he exclaimed when Gideon entered behind Susan, Penthorpe, and Melissa. “I suppose, because my wife’s fool aunt invited you into my house in London—which she’d no business to do—you expect now to have the run of the place here.”
“No, sir, I do not, but we have urgent matters to discuss, and this is not the place to discuss them. I suggest that we retire at once to your library.”
St. Merryn glared at him, but the sight of one of the footmen descending the stairs to lend assistance with Susan’s and Melissa’s bags was enough to make him nod in agreement.
“I have to go with Melissa,” Charley informed her parents as she attempted to free herself from Davina’s embrace.
“Oh, no, you do not,” Charles informed her sternly. “You, my girl, are coming straightaway upstairs with me to explain just what you meant by leaving the house today. And your explanation had better be very good, because you have worried your mama, and that I will not tolerate, as you will very soon discover.”
Susan said anxiously, “Don’t scold her, Charles, for indeed, I stand very much in her debt, but Charley dear, you need not come with us. Instead, I should like you to take Melissa up with you. We must talk with Grandpapa and you children have already seen and heard a great deal too much today. I will explain everything later, Charles, if you will do this for me now.”
Charles exchanged a look with his wife, then said, “Of course, we will take them up. Charley, what can you have said to your aunt to make her think you would not be living in Plymouth with us? That much I will have explained to me if nothing else.”
“Oh, Papa, I did think that, only Aunt Daintry told me I was mistaken, and indeed, I am very sorry if you both were worried.” She was still earnestly explaining when Gideon shut the book-room door, cutting off all sound from the hall.
St. Merryn, moving to his desk, said curtly, “Now, perhaps someone will explain this farrago to me. Susan, if you have run away from your husband again, let me tell you—”
“Excuse me for interrupting you, sir,” Gideon said calmly, “but before you say something you might regret, perhaps I ought to explain that Seacourt has agreed to a divorce.”
“A divorce! We have never had a divorce in this family, and by God, we are not going to have one now. Susan, go and get your daughter at once. I’ll take you back myself.”
Penthorpe stepped forward then and said, “No, sir, you will not. It has been made plain to us today that Geoffrey Seacourt is responsible for an attack on Lady Ophelia’s carriage that was intended to end in her death. It is our opinion that he wanted her dead so that he could claim his wife’s inheritance before Lady Ophelia had opportunity to alter her will. We have it on good authority, too, that he also wanted Lady Daintry dead. If those events had come to pass, Susan’s own life would not have been worth a sou, for he coveted her money and nothing more. And I’ll tell you something else, too,” he added grimly. “We are not going to wait for him to seek that divorce. Susan is going to petition in her own behalf at the Commissary Court in Edinburgh, and since she would be wise to leave first thing in the morning, she had better have something to eat now and get some sleep.”
St. Merryn stared at him. “What is this? You, sir, are betrothed to my younger daughter, but that does not give—”
“No, he isn’t, Papa,” Daintry said. “We have agreed that we would not suit each other.”
“By heaven, I told you I won’t stomach that sort of thing again!” He glared at her. “I put my foot down!”
She said quietly, “You must, sir, for I will not marry him.”
“Well, if you think that I’ll bear the expense of another London Season for a witless chit who don’t show the least gratitude for anything that’s done for her, you had better think again. Whistling Penthorpe down the wind, when it was as good as settled! Upon my word, I don’t know what to say to you.”
Gideon chuckled. “You might wish her happy, sir, for she is going to be a marchioness one day.”
“What’s that? Nonsense, I won’t have that either! Daintry, tell the man. By God, I’d rather see you remain single! An excellent notion, after all. By God, it is!”
“Yes, it is,” Daintry said indignantly, furious that Gideon could declare himself so carelessly after refusing to discuss the matter with her before. He must, she thought, have windmills in his head if he still believed he could order things as he chose.
Twenty-five
WHILE DAINTRY FUMED, GIDEON said to the bewildered earl, “A number of things have happened that must be explained to you, sir, but in a nutshell, Penthorpe is much more interested in setting your elder daughter free of her marriage than he is in marrying your younger one, while I am just as determined to marry Daintry as I was the first day I laid eyes on her.”
St. Merryn growled, “I told you then—or rather when your gross deceit became known to us—that I would not hear of that, and nothing has come about to alter that decision, young man.”
“Now, sir,” Gideon said gently, “you know perfectly well, for I know Daintry must have told you, that the feud was begun by a woman who probably wanted shaking; however, that does not signify in the least because, in any event, it’s as good as dead. My father has done nothing to end it before now, because he is cursed with a strong sense of duty, which includes a belief that he ought to support any stand taken by his father and, I suspect, because there was nothing to be gained by trying to end it. Things have changed, however. I call the tune at Deverill Court now, and I have believed for a long time that the feud must have been the result of damned foolishness. I certainly will not let it interfere with my future happiness, or that of your daughter.”
“You heard her,” St. Merryn said with a snort. “She won’t marry you. And if you take my advice, you’ll listen to the chit, for any man who did marry her would very soon learn his mistake.”
“Papa!” Susan exclaimed. “How can you say such a thing?”
“Easily,” the earl retorted, turning to peer at her through narrowed eyes. “Thought you were going to bed. You really mean to seek a divorce, do you?”
She looked at Penthorpe, then nodded. “Yes, Papa, I do. Will that put me quite beyond the pale, or may I still come to visit you and Mama and Aunt Ophelia from time to time?”
“Daresay you’ll do as you please,” he said gruffly. Then, shooting a glare at Penthorpe, and another at Gideon, he let his gaze come to rest upon Daintry before adding, “Daresay you’ll all do as you damned well please.”
“As to that, sir,” Penthorpe said gravely, “I should like to discuss certain matters with you, but first I hope you will send Susan to bed before she drops down from exhaustion. And, Gideon,” he added in that same decisive tone, �
��I will need to be getting back to Deverill Court to collect my traps if we are to leave Cornwall first thing in the morning.”
Gideon had been watching Daintry, and without looking away from her, he said, “I will be at your disposal just as soon as I have attended to my own business here, Andy.” Then, looking over his shoulder at St. Merryn, he said, “May I have some time alone with Daintry, sir? We have matters to discuss.”
Daintry, ignoring her pounding heart, said provocatively, “There is nothing further to be discussed.”
“We’ll just see about that, my pet. Well, St. Merryn?”
The earl looked from one to the other, and suddenly his lips began to twitch. “Upon my word,” he said, “if you can change her mind, lad, damme if I won’t let you have her. Never thought I’d live to see it, damme if I did, but I remember the first day you came here. It was a pleasure to see you go to work with her. Susan, get along to bed, and you, Penthorpe, come with me. I daresay there’s another room where we can have our talk.”
A moment later, Daintry was alone with Gideon, and torn between wanting to slap him for his outrageous behavior and wanting to fling herself into his arms, she sought compromise in a rigid posture and refused even to look at him.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
“No.”
“Very well, then I shall come to you.”
“No!” Abandoning hauteur, she stepped hastily away from him, knowing only too well the effect his touch would produce.
Still moving toward her, he grinned when she continued to retreat. “You are going to marry me, you know.”
“I do not know it. I am still not by any means convinced, sir, that I can be happy with a husband who by his very nature will expect his every whim and decree to be obeyed.”
Rather than promising instantly that he would never expect such a thing of her, as any sensible man in his position would have done, he said nothing at all. He just kept pace with her until she backed up against her father’s desk and could go no farther. She tried to slip to one side, away from him, but when he put a hand on her shoulder to stop her, she froze.
Taking base advantage of the physical effect his slightest touch had on her—as, indeed, she had been certain he would—he drew her nearer, holding her wide-eyed gaze with the warmth of his as he bent his head and kissed her. The kiss was gentle, but it seemed to unleash something in him that was not gentle at all, for he suddenly grasped her by both shoulders and drew her close against him, and his kisses became more eager, more demanding, until she responded with a passion as ungoverned as his own. Then, when her body melted against his, and her arms went around him tightly, as though she would be one with him, his hands moved from her shoulders to her back and waist, and one slid up her side and around to cup her breast.
Daintry moaned with pleasure, and the horrors of the stormy night at Seacourt Head faded into oblivion as her body responded of its own accord to sensations that set her every nerve atingle.
Some moments later, he drew her to a sofa near the desk, and when they were seated, her head leaning comfortably against the hollow of his shoulder, he said, “I hope you do not mean to keep me dangling after such an enticing display, my love.”
“You make me seem a wanton,” she murmured. “I daresay you believe you will always be able to make me do as you want merely by touching me or kissing me.”
He chuckled. “I doubt it will be so easy. Do you think any man could tame you to such a point, sweetheart?”
“You could, I think,” she replied seriously, wrinkling her brow. Then, sitting up and turning so that she could watch his expression, she said, “I have just had the most awful thought. What assurance do I have that you will not turn out to be just like Geoffrey? Don’t be vexed,” she added hastily when his expression hardened ominously. “After all, Susan—all of us, for that matter—thought Geoffrey was charming and delightful, just as you are, but look what he did to her. She was once so merry. One would not know it to look at her now, but she was. It was Geoffrey who reduced her to the pale shadow that she is today. How do I know—Why are you laughing? No, Deverill, don’t touch me. This is serious!”
The harsh look had vanished, and if he was not really laughing, he was certainly looking amused. He had reached for her, but at her command, he stayed his hand and said soberly, “I know you are serious, sweetheart, but I also know you are going to marry me, and I am perfectly certain that you do not for one minute believe I am cut from the same bolt as that scoundrel Seacourt. Even if I were, I can promise you, I would never let you discover it. Don’t look so outraged. Only consider, my love, what would have been Sir Geoffrey’s fate had he been so misguided as to marry you instead of your sister.”
She considered that. “Susan said it would not matter, that no one could have stopped him, and indeed, he is certainly stronger than I am, as I had cause to discover.”
His jaw tightened again, but his voice was even. “I can see that you have not carefully considered this matter. Seacourt certainly caught you at a disadvantage that night, but though you may try to convince me that had you been married to him you would have done nothing to protect yourself, I will not believe you.”
“No?”
“Not for a minute. You and your sister are two very different people. You had the benefit of your Aunt Ophelia’s teachings while Susan clearly was more strongly influenced by your mama and ladies of her ilk. Had you been in Susan’s shoes, my sweet love, you would have murdered Seacourt before you had been married to him for a year, and you would have accomplished the deed in such a manner that no one would have entertained the slightest suspicion that he did not die of natural causes.”
She grinned mischievously at him. “You are quite right, sir, and I am very glad you understand me so well. Are you certain you wish to marry such a dangerous creature?”
“I am, and I am pleased to see that you no longer spurn my caresses,” he added, drawing her back into his arms.
“There was a reason for that, you know.”
“I do. Seacourt still has much to answer for.”
“I just hope he does not come storming over here tonight, but he did not do so last time, so maybe he will not.”
“From what I saw of him, he was much more likely to drown his sorrows in brandy. But enough of him. Am I to understand from your present complaisance that you are willing—”
“Merciful heavens, here you are,” Lady Ophelia exclaimed as she pushed the doors open and strode into the library. “I have been hearing the most outlandish tales from Charley about smugglers and from Susan about divorce that I cannot tell you whether I am on my head or on my heels, but when I learned that you were here, Deverill, I came at once to inquire—” Breaking off and peering at them in astonishment, she said, “Good gracious, what are you two doing? Not that I can say I am at all surprised, mind you, but I must say, I never—”
Daintry, sitting up quickly and pushing Gideon’s hands away, said, “I beg your pardon, Aunt Ophelia, but I’m very much afraid I have actually fallen in love.”
“Nonsense, my dear, it is plain to the meanest intelligence that you walked into the stuff with both eyes wide open. Now, Deverill, what I want you to tell me—”
“You aren’t vexed with me?” Daintry was a little surprised. “I know you said you wouldn’t be, but I thought you might at least be a bit disappointed.”
“Good heavens, child, did I not tell you that being independent means making choices without having to knuckle under to anyone else’s wishes? If your decision is that you wish to be a married lady, I must suppose you have discovered a man who treats you not only with affection but with respect.” She glared at Gideon. “At least, I hope that is the case.”
He said meekly, “It is, ma’am.”
“Good. Now tell me, just what was in that stuff you put in my drink at the ball?”
They both stared at her in astonishment, and Gideon said, “I haven’t the slightest notion what it was, ma’am. Kingston gave me those
powders after the attack on my life, to help me sleep.”
“Amazing stuff,” she said. “I must have some. That is the reason I came to speak to you, but if this Kingston person is the source, I will write and tell him I shall want some made up for me next Season. I have no doubt I shall be dragged off to London again by someone, if not then, then certainly in a few years when Charlotte and Melissa make their come-outs, and a body likes to be prepared. But I’ll not stand here bibble-babbling at you. I can see that you have other matters on your mind.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached for Daintry, but there was another interruption.
“Good God, Gideon,” Penthorpe exclaimed, peering in through the open doors, “are you still dillydallying here? We must be on our way, old son. My affairs are finally in a way to being settled, and there’s not a moment to waste!”
Gideon laughed. “Such sentiments sound very odd coming from the great procrastinator. Andy, you may wish me happy.”
“Why?” He looked from Gideon to Daintry. “Oh, that. Good God, I knew that. Plain as a pikestaff. Know you’ll be much happier with Gideon, my dear. Now, dash it, let’s go! Beg pardon, ma’am,” he added to Lady Ophelia, “but I’m in the devil of a hurry.”
“I can see that,” she said. Then, turning back to the others, she said sternly, “Take good care of her, Deverill.”
“Oh, I will,” Gideon said, giving Daintry one last hug and grinning wickedly down at her as he added, “If I cannot teach her to mind me, at least I can promise to teach her the hazards of trying to make a man live under the cat’s paw.”
And Daintry replied sweetly, “Your illusions are dangerous ones, sir, but all men may dream, certainly.”
Dear Reader:
Since I am often asked where I get my ideas, I thought perhaps you might like to know a small part of the history of Dangerous Illusions. I frequently get ideas while I’m doing research, and the central theme of this book presented itself when I discovered that Englishmen, in attempting to legalize their domination and restriction of Englishwomen, had actually gone so far at one point as to make it possible for a wife to commit murder, openly and without penalty, and for her husband to suffer the consequences—including hanging. It was entirely too good an opportunity to pass up (as a writer, that is).
Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] Page 40
