"In that case we must be sure to make Mrs. Bradford's stay a pleasant one," replied James smoothly. "She will not be kept against her will."
"You're a sly one, Devereaux." Charles Mottsinger looked at his friend in admiration. "Take care that you don't overdo it. The lady is charming, although over young. I've been at sea for a long time but if I remember correctly you had a preference for redheaded widows with ripe figures. Have you changed your mind since then?"
James could picture Tess in his mind as clearly as if she stood before him, the clear, speaking eyes, the proudly tilted chin, the lovely curves of her breasts. He would wager his last crown that a woman with eyes like hers harbored smoldering passion beneath her veneer of calm. The redheaded widow was quickly becoming a vague memory. He lowered his eyelids, shuttering his thoughts.
"My feelings for Mrs. Bradford are not a topic for discussion, Charles," he said quietly.
Good God, thought Charles Mottsinger in dismay. In the space of time between his last remark and Devereaux's suddenly guarded expression, he thought he recognized something quite shocking in the level blue eyes fixed on his face. James Devereaux was as close to being a legend as a man could be. England needed him. This was not the time to lose his head over a woman, no matter how lovely. Especially an American with a husband and a father who together had it in their power to challenge the right of the British Navy to control the seas.
Chapter 3
Tess was ill at ease. The horses were fresh and the elegant Langley coach sinfully comfortable. The duke, sitting across from her, had been meticulously polite since the beginning of their journey. But whenever she raised her eyes, his own were on her face.
Once again, he was splendidly dressed. The snow-white cravat was tied to perfection and the elegant coat subtly defined the lean muscles of his upper body. Pale yellow buckskins covered the powerful legs and his boots, brown this time and again higher over the calf than normal, were so shiny she could see her reflection in the expensive leather.
Although he was attentive and replied cordially to her questions, Tess knew his thoughts were elsewhere. There was something secretive and frightening in the dark features closed against her. She shivered. Somehow she knew that whatever was bothering him had everything to do with her.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
She stared at him. "In this weather?" She shook her head. "Hardly. It's as warm as Annapolis in summer. I thought England was always cold."
"Something is making you uncomfortable," he persisted. "Perhaps I can help if you tell me what it is."
How could he have known? Tess wondered. Wetting her lips she looked at him gravely. "I'm terrified of meeting your family," she confessed.
"Good Lord, why?" It was the last thing he expected.
She glanced out the chaise window at the glorious countryside. Cattle and sheep grazed in pastures of green farmland. Well-stocked farms boasted fields of golden grain. The people looked healthy and prosperous. Children, pink-cheeked and curious, were followed by flocks of clamoring geese and ducks. Small, quaintly thatched cottages dotted the tree-covered hills, and country manors with wide lawns and weathered trees were set amidst fields of colorful flowers.
"It's so very different from home," she said at last.
"How different?" the smooth voice probed.
Her eyes narrowed to assess his intentions. Was he trying to divert her or was he genuinely interested? Satisfied at what she saw reflected in the eyes gazing back at her, Tess began to speak, hesitantly at first, and then gaining confidence as she went along.
"The smells are different, and so are the trees." She took a deep breath, longing for the salty brackish smell of the Chesapeake. "We've magnolia and boxwood and mimosa, all blooming at once so the air smells like perfume and honey. We use the bay instead of the roads, or at least we did," she amended, "before British ships blockaded our ports."
"It sounds lovely." Mesmerized by the low melodic cadence of her voice, James willed her to continue. He had seen Washington, years ago, when his sister, Caroline, married an American. But he had never traveled as far south as the Chesapeake.
"Yes," answered Tess, her mood broken. "It is lovely."
"Have you no desire to see the world, Mrs. Bradford?"
"It isn't the usual thing for a woman to have such an ambition is it, m'lord?" she hedged.
"That isn't what I asked you."
Her fingernails bit into the soft flesh of her hands. "I had hoped to see the world with my husband," she said bitterly.
"A regrettable occurrence," the capable voice dismissed her pain, "but one that you have little control over at the moment. Why not make the best of the situation and leave the rest to me?"
Tess chewed the inside of her lip. She had no choice but to trust him. This man, this English lord, held Daniel's life in his hands. She looked at the remote guarded face, the hard mouth and jutting chin, and was suddenly afraid. If Admiral Cockburn's men were anything like James Devereaux, the United States of America was in desperate straits.
"I know it can't be easy for you," he said gently.
"No," she replied, her voice cold. "It isn't, but I'm sure Daniel is finding it much harder, wherever he is. How can you condone the policies of your navy?"
"I don't," he said. "But as long as Bonaparte controls France, the British Navy must maintain its strength. Sometimes unsavory means are necessary to obtain crews for their ships."
"That's an outrageous excuse. Even you must see that."
"England is fighting for her very existence. The alternative forces us to behave outrageously."
Tess stared out the window at the peaceful English countryside. Her thoughts were not at all peaceful and her voice, when she spoke, was tight with anger. "Consider how you would feel if circumstances were reversed and you were impressed into the American Navy and forced to risk your life for a fight that wasn't yours."
Devereaux's lips twitched. "The very idea terrifies me."
She glanced at him thoughtfully. Was that laughter she heard in his voice? There was nothing but a warm glint of approval in the piercing blue gaze. She changed the subject.
"I hope my visit doesn't inconvenience your family."
"Not at all," he answered. "They are eagerly awaiting your arrival."
"I wonder if Georgiana has changed since I saw her last?"
James grinned. "Georgiana will never change. She's the same as always, constantly getting into scrapes and expecting others to rescue her. I can hardly believe you two are friends."
"What do you mean?"
James hesitated before answering. "You appear to be older than my sister," he said at last, knowing the words weren't the ones he was looking for.
"My goodness!" Her voice shook with laughter. "And they told me you were a diplomat."
"I did handle that one rather badly, didn't I," he said, a smile curving his lips. "What I meant was that Georgiana's liveliness makes me feel as if I were her father, instead of a sorely tried older brother."
"How odd. You don't strike me as being the paternal type."
His eyes twinkled. "Thank you," he said formally.
Feeling more in charity with him than she had since the journey began, she leaned over to lay her hand on his arm.
"I don't want you to think of me as another obligation, m'lord. Nathanial Harrington is my father. I don't need another."
She was the one woman in England who knew nothing about his injury and she was flirting with him. He couldn't help himself. Reaching for her hand, his fingers closed around hers.
Tess could feel the heat of his skin through her gloves. The warmth traveled up the entire length of her arm and spread across her chest, until she felt as if her very bones would melt.
His eyes rested on her hair, her nose, her cheeks, settling at last on her mouth.
Her throat went dry. She concentrated on the pulse beating steadily along the taut line of his cheek. Inhaling the clean soapy scent of him, she looked up. His eyes wer
e a deep blue and no longer remote. Somehow the physical nearness of him filled the closed air of the coach and a kind of stillness, like a hovering presence, radiated from him.
Tess closed her eyes, powerless to resist, as the back of his hand grazed her throat. Then, gently, he released her and leaned back against the velvet cushions.
She opened her eyes, surprise registering in their smoky depths. His expression was guarded once again.
"I do consider you an obligation," he said softly, "but you would do well to understand that whatever my feelings, they aren't in the least bit fatherly."
A terrifying sensation threatened to consume her. It was as if her skin were peeled back and every nerve exposed. Without answering, she closed her eyes, attempting to recover her poise in the pretense of sleep. The gentle rocking of the carriage wove its spell and her head fell back against the cushions.
Devereaux woke her in time to see an unobstructed view of his home. They had turned eastward and were traveling down a long, well-kept road when he touched her arm.
"We're almost there," he said.
The road turned into a wide drive, lined with trees, bordering a secluded lake. Passing over a stone bridge they came to a park. There, large and sprawling, made of grey stone brightened by a thousand diamond-paned windows, was Langley.
Tess held her breath. From the little she had seen in London, the homes of the English aristocracy weren't particularly impressive. Her own home, on the Chesapeake, built and designed by Nathanial Harrington, was imposing enough, but she had never seen anything like this.
A medieval horror, architecturally hideous to Tess's American eyes, the castle had two towers and the remnants of a moat, making it look more like a fortress than a home. A multitude of additions over the years, with no thought at all to design, had softened it somewhat, giving it a haphazard irregular appearance.
Accustomed to the wide porches and stately grace of the American South, Tess could only stare in amazement at this monstrosity the Devereauxs called home.
James chuckled. "It's dreadful isn't it? The original house was built during the reign of Henry the seventh. Since that time every owner has added something. Fortunately, it has been completely remodeled within. The chimneys don't smoke and the walls no longer drip. Unless you're afraid of ghosts you'll be completely comfortable."
"Ghosts?" Tess eyed him warily.
"From the dungeon," he answered, his expression neutral. "One of my ancestors had an interesting penchant for torture."
"Indeed." She looked up, suppressing a smile. "Is there a rack in your dungeon, m'lord?"
"Of course." His eyes glinted with laughter. "We've kept it in good condition to be sure difficult houseguests behave themselves."
"I'll keep that in mind," she assured him and was rewarded by an answering grin.
Tess was taken aback at the number of liveried footmen waiting to greet the carriage. She watched the butler's dignified face break into a smile as he took his master's coat.
"Welcome home, Your Grace." He beamed. "We are exceedingly pleased to have you back."
"Thank you, Litton. How is my mother?"
"Quite well, sir."
A shriek echoed from inside the hall. "James! We've been waiting an age. Have you brought her?"
A slim young woman with elegantly coiffed black hair and a gown of embroidered cambric flew down the stairs. With a cry of delight she threw herself into Tess's arms.
"Tess, my love, is it really you?" Georgiana Devereaux pulled away to look at her friend. "I can't believe it. You're really here." Slipping her arm around Tess's shoulders she guided her up the stairs and into the center of a vast marbled hall.
"Mama," Georgiana called, "Tess is here at last."
There was a babble of voices and the sound of slippered footsteps on wooden floors. Two younger girls rushed down the staircase and tumbled into their brother's embrace. James was completely enveloped in two pairs of feminine arms.
A calm voice broke through the confusion. "Girls, remember your manners." A tall, dark-haired lady came down the stairs and smiled as Devereaux kissed her on the cheek.
"James," she said, "you're safely home and looking none the worse for your journey."
She turned, and for the briefest of intervals, assessed the American with veiled blue eyes. Her cool lips brushed the girl's cheek and she placed her arm around Tess's shoulders.
"My dear, we are so looking forward to your visit. Georgiana has told us all about you. These are her sisters, Judith and Lizzie. But you must be tired and not in the mood for introductions. I'll take you to your room. Our housekeeper will bring you a tray of tea and hot food. We'll get acquainted in the morning."
Tess, too stunned to protest that she wasn't tired at all, allowed herself to be led up the stairs to her bedchamber.
The duchess of Langley wasn't what she had expected. Leonie Devereaux was slim and tall and amazingly young. Dressed in a gown of pale rose crepe that brought out the glow in her olive skin, she looked more like an older sister than the mother of four grown daughters and a son. Her hair, thick and shining, without a hint of grey, was pulled back and twisted into a coil on the top of her head. Wispy loose curls framed a face that was enchantingly lovely when she smiled. It was a serious face, thin and finely featured, with sharp clear bones. There was a look in her eyes, when they rested on her son, that reminded Tess of a lioness readying to do battle for her cub.
Footmen moved swiftly toward the luggage. A maid scurried past and vanished into the kitchen. Devereaux grinned and disappeared with his sisters into a room at the end of the hall.
"We've so been looking forward to your visit," repeated the duchess. "Georgiana won't forgive me for taking you away, but I know how exhausting the journey from London can be, especially coming the entire distance in one day." She smiled warmly. "Of course, James could hardly do otherwise as you've not brought your maid." She looked inquiringly at Tess. "You do have a maid don't you, my dear?"
"No," answered Tess. "I brought no one."
"We'll see about that tomorrow." Leonie Devereaux patted her arm. "Now that you're here we intend to take very good care of you."
Leaning against the door of her bedchamber after the duchess departed, Tess breathed a sigh of relief. Her fear of meeting the Devereauxs had come to nothing after all. Who would have thought this proud English family would be as welcoming as any of her Maryland neighbors?
She looked around at the opulent splendor of the room that would be hers while she waited for news of Daniel. It was done in pale blue and cream with satinwood furniture and delicate moldings. The friezes on the ceiling reminded Tess of Dolly Madison's sitting room in the White House.
There was a knock at the door and a maid entered bringing hot water and towels. After lighting a fire in the grate, she announced that dinner would be brought up shortly.
Nodding her thanks, Tess closed the door behind her and sank gratefully into the blue satin chair to sip a cup of scalding tea.
Downstairs the duchess of Langley made her way to the library in search of her son. He was seated by the fire in a leather chair surrounded by his sisters. Leonie paused briefly to admire the attractive picture her children made. Blessed with a vitality that glowed from within, the Devereaux offspring were recognized as exceptionally good-looking, the image of their mother.
In the privacy of closed circles it was said that the late duke, a quiet scholarly gentleman, had passed nothing at all down to his children except his impeccable lineage and enormous fortune. The blue eyes and black hair, the quick intelligence, that hint of steely arrogance they all shared without exception, came through the thin blue blood of Leonie St. Clair.
The picture would have been perfect, thought Leonie, except that Caroline, her oldest daughter, was absent. James was first and, after Caroline came nineteen-year-old Georgiana. Judith was a sophisticated young lady of seventeen and Lizzie, at twelve, was not yet out of the schoolroom.
"Girls," Leonie's voice int
errupted them. "Please excuse us. I would like a word with James. Georgiana, go up and see if your guest is comfortable. The two of you," she nodded at her two younger daughters, "are free until dinner."
With good-natured grumbling the girls did as they were told, leaving the duchess with her son. Her sharp glance took in the dark circles under his eyes and the white line of strain around the pinched lips. James was in pain. She could feel it as if it were her own healthy flesh and bone that had been severed.
"How are you feeling, love?" she asked gently.
"Well enough." He recognized that hovering look and knew what was coming next.
"James," she said, clasping her hands tightly and working to eliminate the concern from her voice. "You aren't well enough to go junketing across the country on this errand. I'm terribly sorry for Teresa Bradford, but why can't someone else help her?"
"Because Georgiana is her friend and I gave her my word," he explained impatiently.
"Surely she would understand if you explained that you are recovering from a severe wound."
"The situation is much more serious now, Mother. America has declared war on England. This visit is no longer what it started out to be. Mrs. Bradford is not free to leave the country. There is nowhere else for her to go."
"Dear God," Leonie whispered. "Does she know?"
"Not yet." Devereaux's mouth hardened.
"She'll have to be told."
"I'll not have her know until she's more comfortable here. In case you haven't noticed, Georgiana's friend is very much an American. It goes against her grain to be under obligation to an Englishman."
Leonie straightened her shoulders. "I'll not allow it, James. The girl will only hate us more if we deceive her, not to mention the immorality of such a deception. Think how uncomfortable that would be, having a hostile houseguest living under our roof. I'm surprised you would even consider such a thing."
James smiled grimly. "There are a great many things about me that would surprise you, Mama. As much as it distresses you to hear it, my life is my own. I gave up short coats long ago."
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