by Jo Beverley
She gathered her two daughters and herded them out of danger. The duchess had spots of color on her cheeks, and though Darien and the duke talked on as if nothing had occurred, they must have heard.
“Outrageous,” the duchess said, battle in her eye.
“She does have a point, Mama.”
The battle eye turned on her. “We are doing what is right, Thea, and I will be disappointed, very disappointed, to see any shrinking and quivering from you. We owe Lord Darien a debt of gratitude and I would be ashamed—ashamed, I say—if any of my family proved reluctant to pay it.”
Now Thea’s cheeks flared under a sharper rebuke than she’d earned in years. She deserved it more than her mother knew.
Very well. She had made a promise and she would keep it if she must. But if he had a scrap of mercy, or even common sense, she could talk him out of it. Perhaps this evening would provide an opportunity.
A maid came forward with Thea’s heavy silk shawl. Despite being in conversation, Darien noticed and came to take the shawl and hold it. Thea made herself smile slightly as she turned so he could put it around her shoulders. She sensed all eyes on her and a disturbance in the air. Her mother was right. The ton was behaving outrageously. They were just like schoolboys turning on the outsider and taunting Dog Cave to violence.
But the brush of his hands on her bare shoulders blew away pity. She remembered their first encounter. Viscount Darien wasn’t a misfit boy; he was a strong and ruthless man who was up to no good. She must guard herself against him, especially when he seemed able to have this physical effect on her at will.
She hurried after her parents, not taking Darien’s arm, and plunged into the coach as if it were a haven. Darien came, too, of course, but he and her father took the backward seats, so at least she didn’t have to sit side by side with him, their bodies touching.
As the carriage moved off, however, she realized that she would have to look at him. He was sitting directly opposite and she could hardly stare out through the window all the way. She expected to be assaulted by mocking looks or even lascivious leers, but he seemed completely attentive to her mother’s inquisitive questions.
“When did you join the army, Darien?”
“In oh-six, Duchess.”
“You could only have been the merest child!”
“I assure you, a fifteen-year-old lad doesn’t think so.”
Both duke and duchess chuckled.
“And you served the whole of the Peninsular Campaign,” the duke said, “then into France and Waterloo.”
“I was so privileged.”
“Why did you sell out?” the duchess asked.
He balked at that one. It was subtle, but Thea caught it.
So you have secrets, do you, Lord Darien? Can I use them to defend myself?
“You disapprove, Duchess?” he countered.
“No, but I suspect you didn’t want to.”
“The war was over, and other matters demanded my attention.”
“Your estates,” the duke said. “A fair bit of work to do there, I’d think. I don’t imagine your father was attentive.”
“But not ruinous, for which I’m grateful. Of course there’s the current economic disorder to complicate everything.”
The two men fell into talk of agriculture, industry, and trade, which lasted until the carriage halted at the end of a line leading to the Wraybournes’ house. Thea didn’t know much of such matters, but it seemed Darien was both adequately informed and willing to be advised. That was either a mark to his credit or of more clever scheming.
In either case, it made him a formidable enemy.
Darien and the duke left first to be ready to assist the ladies. Thea took Darien’s hand and stepped down, but then her mother insisted on his escort into the house.
Thea took her father’s arm, puzzled. But when they entered the house and their names were announced, she caught a frozen expression on the young Countess of Wraybourne’s face and understood.
Of course the Vile Viscount hadn’t received an invitation. He was an unwelcome invader, but Lady Wraybourne could hardly forbid him entry when he arrived as escort to the Duchess of Yeovil.
Chapter 13
The conniving wretch! He’d overheard her calling back to Cassandra that her party was going on here, and then claimed to be invited to the same event. Her mother must have guessed the truth, but instead of tossing him out of the carriage she’d assisted in the invasion.
Did Darien understand what a coup he’d achieved? Being at such a select party did not only imply acceptance by her parents and herself. Lady Wraybourne’s other guests would assume he’d received an invitation, and thus feel obliged to be polite to him. Anything less would be an insult to their hostess.
Thea looked around for the Earl of Wraybourne, wondering if he would intervene and insist that Darien leave. That would be a disaster. She and her parents would have to leave, too.
She saw the earl note the situation with steady, assessing eyes, then turn his attention back to Lord Canning. There really was nothing he could do short of social cataclysm. She, however, was furious that Darien had forced her family into this position.
Why? How could social acceptance be worth this? As they mingled with the company, people reacted with variations on smile-cloaked alarm. No matter how thick-skinned he was, it had to be acutely uncomfortable. Could her wilder fears be true? Was this some convoluted attempt to ruin her family’s reputation?
If so, she thought, he’d misjudged. Her parents’ eminence was built on rank and wealth, but buttressed by genuine nobility. They both worked hard to serve their country and their fellow men. Everyone liked and admired them, and she and her brothers had not diminished the family name.
Yes, the Debenhams could be embarrassed by the Cave connection, especially if Darien turned out to be as vile as the rest. But they wouldn’t be ruined. Society would merely shake its head and say that Sarah Yeovil’s generous heart had carried her away again, and hope that perhaps this time she’d learn.
Thea had to greet friends and acquaintances as if all was normal, but she observed. Yes, Darien was clever. He was accepting introductions with polite reserve, subtly acknowledging the reservations of others rather than attempting greater familiarity. He didn’t try to impose or linger, but moved on with her parents to the next helpless victims.
In his wake, people whispered, exchanging puzzled, questioning looks, and Lady Wraybourne’s charming poise seemed stretched thin. She was only in her twenties, after all, and didn’t deserve to have this inflicted upon her.
“Surprised Lady Wraybourne invited the likes of him.”
Thea turned to find Lord Avonfort by her side. “My mother brought him.”
“Good Lord, why?”
“He supported Dare. The other night, at the ball.”
“No more than his duty. Doesn’t call for this.”
Because of her mother’s scold, Thea had to support Darien. “He’s probably not as bad as people say. Cully served with him and admires him.”
“Army manners,” Avonfort dismissed.
“Easy to sneer when we spent the war comfortable at home,” Thea protested.
He flushed. “I had responsibilities.”
“Yes, of course, I didn’t mean that. But we should make allowances, Avonfort.”
“Only to an extent. One man from my estate came back all wrong in the head. Had to be put in an institution. Nothing for it. He tried to murder his mother, dreaming he was in battle. Probably what this one’ll come to. It’s in the blood, after all.”
Thea was becoming truly upset at the unfairness of this. “Onlyone of the Caves committed murder.”
“There was another a generation ago.” But then perhaps he saw her anger, for he smiled. “Typical of you to be so kindhearted, Thea. It’s one of the many virtues I admire in you.”
Thea sensed another proposal coming and said, “Come and be introduced, then.” That sent him scuttling off with a mum
bled excuse. There, now Darien had driven away her prime suitor, too.
Then she saw the Earl of Wraybourne walking toward her parents and Darien, and other concerns fled. The earl had a stalwart, sandy-haired officer by his side—to assist him in removing the intruder? Thea hurried over, though what she could do to prevent disaster she had no idea.
But the officer smiled at Darien and introduced him to the earl, who accepted the introduction with grace.
Army manners,she thought, her heartbeats slowing. And thank God for them.
“What a splendid hound you have at heel.” Thea started to find Maddy and Aunt Margaret by her side. Maddy was eyeing Darien with relish. “Do introduce me.”
“No. The dog bites.”
Maddy laughed and towed her reluctant mother over to Darien. Soon Maddy was flirting with disaster and disaster was flirting back, while all around people surreptitiously watched and commented. Thea joined the group, hating to be part of this.
The performance was announced then, and Thea saw Maddy angling to become Darien’s partner. Thea would happily have allowed it, but Aunt Margaret steered Maddy toward the sandy-haired officer—Major Kyle, Lord Wraybourne’s brother.
Darien turned to Thea, extending his arm. She took it and they joined the procession toward the drawing room.
“Your cousin is delightful,” he said.
“And more innocent than she appears.” Thea knew the warning was nonsense. She didn’t think Maddy had gone beyond the line, but innocent she was not.
“Ah. I have stumbled into another of those social niceties. Never praise one lady to another? Especially when the other is my betrothed.”
Thea spoke quietly but firmly. “We aren’t betrothed yet, Darien.”
“Then when?”
“We need to talk about that.”
“Your given word means so little to you?”
“No, but—”
“But?”
It was a flat challenge that implied no mercy at all.
“We are too newly introduced for it to be believable.”
“I’m all eagerness to become better acquainted.”
“We need to talk,” she repeated, smiling as they entered the large drawing room filled with rows of chairs.
“Whenever and wherever you wish, Lady Theodosia. I am entirely at your command.”
Then disappear in a puff of smoke.
He didn’t, so Thea took her seat without further words.
He was willing to talk, however, and that was precisely what she wanted. But they needed a safe and private place. Might there be one here tonight? The sooner the better, for her nerves’ sake.
The scrubbed-faced boys in their cassocks filed in and soon heavenly harmonies were combing through the air and mind, banishing petty cares. Thea relaxed and enjoyed.
Applauding at the end of the first piece, she glanced to her side, hoping to catch Darien in a yawn. Sacred music should have shriveled the Vile Viscount to dust, but he, too, was applauding. The angelic voices began again, but now Thea surreptitiously observed her partner, trying to detect whether that pleasure had been acting. He appeared truly absorbed.
From this side, she realized, his profile might belong to a different man. The lines were elegant because the crook in his nose hardly showed, and the scar that twisted his lip was invisible. She noticed another one, however—a puckered, glossy scar along the line of his jaw, half hidden by his collar. A burn, she assumed. It must have been painful.
As if alerted, he turned to look at her. She met his eyes because to look away would admit weakness, and they were enemies.
After a long moment, he turned his attention back to the choir.
Thea did the same, but now a fluting solo seemed to carol passion. She could feel Darien’s presence beside her as if he gave off heat, and flaming memories rippled through her. If they were alone, she might press against him, press into his arms, even. Kiss him as she had the last time. Then, heaven help her, do more….
A finger stroked hers.
She was gloved, but still she started.
Looking firmly at the choir, she moved her left hand into her lap, covering it with her right. How had her hand ended up so far to the left, almost between them?
When she’d regained her calm she flickered a glance sideways. Darien’s hands were also in his lap and he seemed intent on the choir. She focused every sense there herself until the performance ended with a high chord that held for so long Thea feared her mind would shatter, taking all sense and restraint with it.
When silence settled, she applauded with everyone else. All around her people shifted and began to talk as if nothing extraordinary had happened. She, however, felt cracked and in danger of falling apart if she didn’t escape.
Lady Wraybourne announced the entertainments available during the intermission—refreshments in one room, cards in another, a lecture on the island of St. Helena, where Napoleon was imprisoned.
As Thea rose with everyone else, he spoke. “You enjoyed that, Lady Theodosia?”
He wasn’t talking about music.
“Choirboys sound like angels, don’t they, my lord? The soloist was exquisite.”
“But soon he and the rest will become coarse men. Alas that we no longer create castrati.”
She gave him a flat look. “Another subject no longer referred to in polite society.”
“We poor, wicked Italians. There’s no hope for us, is there?”
His eyes were wicked, and hot temptation came off him like a wave. Her weakness had encouraged him. Heaven knows what he’d do next. No private discussions tonight, that was certain. How could she bear ever to be alone with him again?
Thea pushed past him and attached herself to Maddy, Cully, and some other young people. They were going to the refreshment room, and a cool drink was just what she needed. A cool drink and freedom from a Cave. She didn’t look back and could only pray that he would not attempt to follow her.
Chapter 14
Darien let his prey go. He needed time to regain control. Music had always been his weakness, and tonight he’d found himself wondering what his life would have been like if he’d been sent to a choir school. It was an absurd thought. His father would never have considered it, and he doubted any cathedral choir would admit a Cave.
His mother? She’d ignored her children as soon as they’d escaped her womb.
She had sung, however. Not to him. No lullabies from Maddalena D’Auria. But she sang arias in the ballroom for an invisible audience. The only clear memory he had of her was her desperate, soaring voice. Perhaps the cruelest act his father had ever committed was to forbid his wife to perform.
Darien shook away fruitless memories. By some miracle Frank had survived mother, father, and brothers with spirit intact, and now he wanted to marry the woman he loved. It was Darien’s job to make that possible. By another impulsive move, he’d gained entrée here. Now he must milk the opportunity dry.
Excellent luck that Fred Kyle be present. Perhaps fate was on his side after all.
That would be nice, because there’d been blood on his step again this morning. It had been cleaned up early, but the persistence worried him. What would be tried next?
He strolled through the rooms, exchanging nods and words with anyone who’d meet his eye, but he found it damned uncomfortable. At the rout, he’d had Van’s support. Van and his extraordinary wife, Maria. It had been their idea and their insistence, and they’d paid the price in being ignored. In some alchemical way, however, they’d created the illusion that they were an exclusive trio with all others mere outsiders.
The plan had been to go on to the theater, where anyone was welcome for the price of admission. He should have stayed with that, but on seeing Lady Theodosia and hearing her destination, he’d acted on impulse. Again.
But now he’d let his shield escape and soon his isolation would become obvious. Clinging to the duke and duchess wouldn’t serve. He needed some other support.
As if
summoned, a friendly voice said, “Canem, what are you doing in London?”
Friendly, but he didn’t recognize the speaker’s voice.
He turned and after a moment realized that the tall, dark, intelligent man in civilian dress was Major George Hawkinville. He had a smiling russet-haired lady on his arm, and the lady wore spectacular jewels. Interesting. Last seen, Hawkinville, like himself, had been living on his officer’s pay.
“Being pricked by ice, mostly,” Darien said in answer, as if they were old friends, but what the devil was going on? He’d met Hawk Hawkinville about four times, and only because he was a close friend of Van’s. Ah. Van had alerted the troops, had he?
