by Jo Beverley
They chatted for a moment and then dinner was announced. She took his arm and they processed downstairs to the dining room. “Loose hair really isn’t wise, you know,” he said.
A wary look. “Why not?”
“It makes a lady look new come from bed.”
She gave him one of her heavy-artillery smiles. “Another thing a gentleman does not say to a lady.”
“Not even to warn?”
“No. In any case, you clearly don’t know many ladies—in that sense. A lady braids her hair to bed, or confines it in a cap.”
He struggled with laughter. “Really? You’ll do that on your wedding night?”
“We willnot discuss my wedding night, Darien.”
“I suppose not, now it no longer will be ours.”
Her color rose, beautifully. “It never would have been ours.”
“We’re arguing again. What a shame we’re in company. We could kiss and make up.”
“When pigs grow wings,” she said, putting on a bright smile as they entered the glittering dining room.
He had to work to keep his smile moderate. She’d clearly been waiting to make that retort.
Thea sat to the meal pleased to have had the last word there, but still churning inside under the effect of his very inappropriate words.
Her wedding night.
It was a subject she’d thought about, wondering who her husband would be and exactly how it would spin out. She’d heard promises of pleasure and warnings of horror, but she’d never thought about what to do with her hair.
If Darien were her husband, clearly he’d want her hair loose for some reason.
Of course he wouldn’t be, but if he were…?
Stars! Stop thinking about such things.She turned to Viscount Sidmouth and asked about some renovations to his estate.
Under her parents’ skillful direction, topics throughout dinner were varied and entertaining, but all comfortable for Darien. They touched on the past war frequently enough to remind everyone that his military record was excellent. No, everyone here did not instantly become his friend, but Thea could tell that many barriers were lowering.
When the ladies went to the drawing room for tea, Thea played the piano as background to gossip. She was expert enough to be able to keep track of conversation at the same time. It only touched on Darien occasionally, and no one mentioned blood or Wilmotts, but then, all the ladies knew that he was one of Sarah Yeovil’s special projects.
When the gentlemen joined them—quite quickly—Thea surrendered the piano to Mrs. Poyntings and went to assist her mother in handing round more tea. They always did without servants during this time. She made sure to take Darien’s and to smile as she gave it.
The best way to regard him, she decided, was as a friendly ally. Almost a brother.
“Still intact, I see,” she said.
“Only nibbled around the edges,” he agreed.
“Are you trying to tell me that men really do talk about weighty affairs during their after-dinner conclave? That it’s not all horses and loose women?”
“Now that, Lady Thea, is definitely not the sort of thing a gentleman discusses with a lady.”
A spurt of genuine laughter escaped and she saw it reflected in his eyes.
She looked away. “You certainly didn’t linger.”
“And deprive the ladies of their dangerous thrill? I think I’m supposed to circulate and titillate them all with terror.”
She looked back at him. “Probably. Do you need a protective escort?”
“I wish I could, but they’d detect fear and tear me apart.” He strolled off into the fray.
Thea watched for a moment, fighting a sudden true liking. This would never do. She joined two ladies who were looking titillated and attempted to present Darien as both a dashing military hero and a man tame enough to be tedious. At the same time, she observed and assessed.
The men would come around, she thought. Having spent most of his adult life in the army, Darien must be comfortable in the company of men. He had qualities they would admire.
She wouldn’t say he was entirely without the ability to please women. He certainly had qualities they admired, as Mrs. Invamere and Lady Sidmouth were revealing, even with their shock and trepidation at being in the presence of a Cave. As her mother had said—her mother!—danger did lend appeal to a certain sort of man.
Foxstall’s words slithered back. But perhaps Darien wasn’t deliberately manipulating her. Perhaps that was simply how he was.
“Lady Thea?”
Thea started, smiled, and attempted to pick up a conversation she had completely lost track of. She’d been caught watching Darien.
Mrs. Invamere smirked. “Men like that make terrible husbands, dear. But then, no danger of that! A Debenham and a Cave.” She tittered.
“Especially as I hardly know the man,” Thea said, and instantly felt despicable.
She rose and went to join him, where he was talking to Mr. Poyntings. After a moment, she said, “There are some prints of Long Chart on the table over there. May I show them to you, Lord Darien?”
Looking quizzical, he agreed, and they strolled to a pier table where a folio of prints lay.
“Seeking to know me better?” he asked.
She colored again. “You have sharp ears.”
“Unusual after years of cannon fire. But useful.”
“I thought you might need a respite.”
“Thank you.” His eyes flickered over her. “Yellow becomes you. And red.”
Thea blushed.
“You wear pale colors too often,” he said.
“Really, Lord Darien. That’s inappropriately personal.”
“I thought it was a compliment.”
“Framed in criticism.”
“But true. Do you attempt to fade into the background?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She opened the folio brusquely and indicated the first watercolor of her Somerset home, sprawled along its rise of land, golden in sunshine. “Long Chart.”
“It looks like a coronet.”
“I suppose it does.” She turned to the next painting, which was similar but from the back, including the winding river and the lake.
“Scenery provided by nature?” he asked.
“Not entirely, but the countryside is naturally lovely.”
He turned to the next picture, a side view. “Will you mind leaving when you marry?”
“No.” As he turned another page, for the first time she noticed the strong elegance of his hands. Not flawless, not at all, but they were well shaped and the nails perfect oblongs, well cared for.
“What’s your country estate like?” she asked, looking up at his profile. “Is it improved?”
“Not at all, and it could do with it.”
“The landscape?”
“Everything.” He turned to another sheet, this time to swans on the lake. “Stours Court was built during the brief reign of James the Second—a bad omen in itself—and by a poor architect. It’s of a grayish brown stone with appalling proportions. As for the estate, it comprises badly harvested woodland and a bog.”
She chuckled. “It can’t possibly be as bad as that.”
He smiled. “Trust me.”
That seemed to resonate in ways beyond the obvious.
She turned the next page, to a detail of the gardens. “The gardens of Stours Court?”
“Overgrown.”
“I can understand the recent neglect, but there’s been over a century in which to correct structural flaws.”
He turned from the pictures to her. “No money. The second viscount stuck by the Stuarts longer than was wise. He eventually bent the knee to Queen Anne but had lost the opportunity for plum positions and favor. The third flirted with the Stuarts in 1715 and then flung his support to Hanover, but dithering hardly endeared him to the new King George. My grandfather—Devil Cave—was caught in bed with one of George the Second’s mistresses before he’d tired of her. An
d thus it goes. The Caves are not so much marked by wickedness as by political ineptitude.”
“It’s a sorry tale,” she said, but laughing.
“Isn’t it?” He raised her hand and kissed it. She allowed it before remembering the room full of people nearby. Awareness of those people made it impossible to snatch her hand away.
So she drew it free gently, even coyly, as if pleased. But she said, “Remember this is playacting, Darien.”
“Is it? Then what is my role?”
“Mywould-be betrothed.”
“I would still be betrothed to you if I could. Marry me, adored one.”
Thea flipped open her fan and fluttered it. “Alas, sir, I fear you only want my dowry to restore your decrepit estates.”
“Not decrepit, precious pearl.”
She opened her eyes wide, fighting laughter. “The bog? The mangled woodlands?”
“Only mismanaged, my cherished cherub.”
“Cherub!” she spluttered.
“Seraph. More blinding than the sun.”
“Stop it.”
“It is having the desired effect.”
She looked at him sharply, instantly sobered. All calculation. She should have known.
“Your estatesare decrepit. My mother is having you thoroughly investigated, you see. She has a report.”
“Very wise of her.”
“You aren’t worried about what it says?”
He smiled wryly. “My dearest Thea, when a man has been condemned as mad and vile, when people shrink away as if he will savage them at any moment, there are no worse secrets to unveil.”
He took her hand and led her back among the party, many of whom were giving her very interested looks indeed.
She hadn’t wanted to be amorously linked to the Vile Viscount, but he’d done it anyway, damn him. The talk would be all around Town tomorrow—that the Great Untouchable wasn’t so untouchable anymore. That she was smitten by Vile Viscount Darien, of all people.
Thea did the only thing she could—she acted as if nothing was amiss. But when the final guest left, she had a headache.
“That went well,” her mother said, smothering a yawn. Was she truly unaware?
“I hope so,” Thea said. “I tried to be warm to Darien.”
“And very convincingly, too.”
Thea couldn’t hear sarcasm. Perhaps she’d blown the whole incident up out of proportion. Because she’d been angry. Because he’d fooled her and used her. Again. And hurt her, silly creature that she was.
“We can rely on most of those people not to encourage nonsense,” the duchess said as they strolled toward their bedrooms. “Some may even steer talk of Darien into more positive streams, especially the men. But I doubt any will go out of their way to assist him. We need more active support.”
“I’m doing as much as I can,” Thea protested.
“You’re doing splendidly, dear.”
The duchess came into Thea’s bedroom with her. Harriet slipped away to the dressing room to give them privacy. Thea longed for peace and quiet, but she tried to pay attention.
“His attention to you may seem a little too much,” the duchess said, “and it’s not fair for you to carry the burden alone. There’s a limit to what I can do, as everyone knows our interest. It’s time to have the Rogues take over.”
Thea remembered Darien’s cold anger. His terse, “I want no help from theRogues .”
“Does Darien agree?” she asked.
“Why shouldn’t he?”
“That incident at school.”
Her mother waved that away. “All so long ago.” She kissed Thea. “Good night, dear. You truly were splendid, but this will allow you to enjoy your season as you deserve.”
When her mother left, Thea sighed. She was no longer sure what enjoyment meant or what she wanted, but she knew Darien would not easily accept the support of the Rogues. She was going to have to persuade him. She sat and wrote a note asking him to escort her riding early the next day.
Chapter 22
Harriet had to wake Thea, and—perhaps an omen—the morning was dull and might even threaten rain. Thea struggled out of bed, however, ate her breakfast, and put on her habit.
As arranged, her horse was waiting, being walked in front of the house, but she didn’t emerge until Darien rode down Great Charles Street on his gray. The groom gave her a hand up into the saddle, and she was ready exactly when Darien reached her.
Perhaps he noticed. There seemed to be a slight smile on his lips when he raised his hat to her. They rode off toward St. James’s Park, hooves clattering on cobblestones.
“So,” he said, “you wish to renegotiate?”
“No.”
His brows rose. “You couldn’t bear more than eight hours without me?”
“Of course not! Why do you have to be so suspicious, Darien?”
“You did say that it’s always a contest between us.”
So she had. “Only in some matters. In others, we’re allies.”
An overloaded cart drawn by two huge but weary horses trundled toward them, the cloth stretched over the top flapping in the breeze. Her horse jibbed, and she appreciated the fact that Darien didn’t reach to control it. She managed, and they both sidled the horses well away from trouble. When the cart had passed, they rode on.
“This is a meeting of allies?” he asked. “For what purpose?”
She worked up to it gently, explaining her mother’s reasoning, but no matter how she tried, she couldn’t see a way to soften the end point—except to make it provisional.
“So she wants to bring in the Rogues.”
“No.” They were entering the park and he moved up into a canter.
Thea pursued. She didn’t suppose he was actually fleeing her, but it felt like it. She caught up and kept pace and eventually he slowed, and then stopped.
“The answer is still no.”
“They are the best weapons to hand,” she protested.
“No.”
A wind had come up and it whipped her veil around her face. Irritated, she tucked it into the high collar of her habit. “This battle means nothing to you then? If it did, you’d accept any means to win.”
That hit. She saw it in the tightness of his lips.
“Think of it as using them, if you want. As chaining them and whipping them.”
He laughed dryly. “I try not to indulge in self-deception. They pity me.”
“No.” But then Thea decided that honesty was best. “They did. At school. But not any longer. They believe that they owe you a debt. They will probably pay it by leaving you alone if you insist.”
“Evil woman.” He rode on slowly. “What will I be expected to do?”
“That’s up to you and them, but mostly be seen in their approving company.”
Still tight-lipped, he looked at her. “Why do you care?”
“We made an agreement. I see this as part of my unstinting support. I knew you’d reject the idea, but you need to accept.”
“It’s important to you?” he asked, seeming to give it some special meaning.
Thea looked away. “It will relieve demands on my time.”
“Then a bargain.”
She turned back. “Oh, no!”
“You don’t know what I want in exchange.”
“You have no right to askanything in exchange. I’m doing you a kindness.”
“You just admitted that you’re sloughing off a burden. My price for your freedom—come with me to an Opera House masquerade.”
Thea’s jaw dropped. “You truly are mad.” She instantly regretted the words and braced for anger, but he simply waited.
“You are aware that they are scandalous affairs?”
“Yes.”
“Then you know I can’t do it.”
“Of course you can. You can choose not to, but that is my price.”
“Then go drown yourself.”
“I’m a good swimmer.”
“Tie stones to you
r boots.”
He suddenly laughed. “Ruthless to the core, but not as ruthless as I. If I manage to endure the Rogues graciously, you will attend the Opera House masquerade with me a week on Monday.”
