Dancing With A Devil

by Julie Johnstone

  Aunt Hillie’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “And Lord Davenport agreed?”

  Heat singed Audrey’s cheeks and she darted her glance to her lap. “No,” she choked out in a hoarse whisper. “He told Father he would not.” Anguish threatened to close her throat. She gulped hard, desperately wanting to finish the explanation, race to her room and be alone. She turned to meet her aunt’s sorrow-filled gaze. “They fought. Father fell in the midst of it, clutched his chest and…and he…he died.” Her voice cracked on the last word and consumed by guilt she tugged her hands free of her aunt’s and covered her face.

  “Dearest. Dearest.” Her aunt pressed a soothing hand to Audrey’s forehead but Audrey moved away and lowered her hands.

  She did not deserve to be soothed. “Please do not,” she said, feeling as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

  Aunt Hillie narrowed her eyes. “His death is not your fault,” she said in a stern tone.

  Audrey bunched her hands into fists. She refused to fight with another member of her family, so she simply stared silently at her aunt.

  After a moment, her aunt heaved a sigh and shook her head. “We’ll talk more on it tomorrow.”

  “Yes, thank you,” Audrey murmured and pressed a hand against her aunt’s arm before dropping it away and rising on legs that felt like pudding. She locked her knees and glanced down at her aunt. “I’m going to bed now.”

  “Yes, of course.” Aunt Hillie rose as well. “Dearest, where is Richard?”

  “I’m not sure. He would not talk to me after it happened. He came onto the terrace as Father was dying. I think he must have been looking for us.”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure Richard does not blame you, dearest.”

  Audrey was sure he did, but she kept her silence on that matter. “There is more, Aunt Hillie.” Audrey wrapped her arms around her mid-section, feeling as if she was coming undone. “I was so upset about Father that I blurted to Richard what had happened with Lord Davenport and Richard demanded Lord Davenport marry me. He denied Richard’s request as well.” Hysterical laughter threatened to spill out. She bit her lip, breathed deeply and continued. “Richard demanded restitution for me by a duel with Lord Davenport. It’s all so senseless! No one knows of my folly and the damage to my pride and heart is mine alone to be concerned with.”

  “My gracious, yes, it’s senseless, but I’m afraid Richard is correct in that the man should marry you. He took liberties no gentleman should without the intention of marrying the woman. I can hardly believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Richard’s inclination to protect your honor, but I daresay there is a better way to settle this. Perhaps Lord Davenport felt it was somehow a trap gone wrong?”

  Audrey shrugged, though she had considered that too. Trent was not the sort of man to allow himself to be forced into anything, but if he loved her what did it matter how they ended up betrothed? She ground her teeth, considering the notion, but wariness blanketed her mind in fuzziness and made it hard to think properly. “I don’t know. I’m very tired.”

  “Of course you are, dearest. Go to bed. I’ll wait up for Richard and we will somehow set everything straight tomorrow.”

  Audrey nodded, though she did not possibly see how this could ever be set straight.

  The next morning, after a humiliating hour of trying unsuccessfully to talk Richard into calling off the duel, Audrey retreated into her drape-drawn darkened room and huddled under her covers. Richard’s merciless berating continued to ring in her ears. She needed to think and plan but it was desperately hard to quiet the noise in her head. She longed for her mother and realized with sickening awareness that she didn’t long for her father. If she had an ounce of decency and true compassion, she would.

  It didn’t matter he’d only been dead since last night. She should have desperately wanted to see him again. The fact that she didn’t sent her scrambling out of her bed and to her chamber pot, where she retched up whatever was left in her stomach from lunch yesterday.

  After she was certain her sickness had passed, she collapsed against the hardwood floor and welcomed the early-winter chill from the bare wood that seeped into her cheek. The tiredness she’d felt on the balcony last night and then in the parlor was nothing compared to the bone-deep weariness that gripped her now.

  She squeezed her eyes shut as the door to her bedroom creaked.

  “Audrey, dear, are you in here?” her aunt called.

  Oh, thank heavens it wasn’t Richard. “Down here,” Audrey replied, too tired to move just yet.

  Her aunt’s footsteps padded across the floor and stopped just above Audrey. Skirts swished and her aunt’s knees cracked and popped as she knelt. She pressed a warm hand to Audrey’s forehead. “Oh, dearest,” her aunt murmured. “I was afraid your brother’s ghastly behavior would send you back into your bedchamber.”

  Audrey cracked her eyes open, her vision blurry from crying and lack of sleep. Slowly, she turned her head to take in her aunt’s concerned face. “Richard is right in saying I make him ill. I make myself ill.”

  “No, dearest. Richard is wrong and angry. You did not kill your father.”

  Audrey swallowed. “My actions did.” When her aunt inhaled sharply as if she would argue, Audrey shook her head. “Please do not try to convince me otherwise. My actions killed him, and what is worse, I don’t miss him,” she whispered. “I’m wicked.”

  Her aunt leaned over her and hugged her. “You are not wicked.”

  Audrey’s body sagged with relief and she blinked in surprise, not realizing how afraid she had been that her aunt might agree with her. “I don’t wish him dead,” Audrey rushed out, wanting to confess all, “but I can’t say there isn’t the smallest part of me that isn’t relieved he won’t be throwing me from the house today because of last night.” Warm tears trickled out of her eyes and down the sides of her face to trail along her neck and pool at the back of her hair.

  “Oh, my, you poor dear,” her aunt soothed and gathered Audrey into a tighter hug. Audrey grasped Aunt Hillie’s back and allowed herself to be pulled into a sitting position. Shame heated her face and clenched her belly. She buried her head in her aunt’s fragrant hair. “He was right,” she blurted. “There’s something wrong with me.”

  “No, shush. He was wrong. He just had a hard time appreciating you. You are kind and intelligent and independent. The independence scared him, I do believe.” Aunt Hillie rocked her while patting her hair.

  Audrey hiccupped with tears. “Maybe if I hadn’t been so opinionated and headstrong?”

  “I do not think so, dear. Your mother was neither of those things and he never could relate to her either. We must not be harsh. Who knows why he was the way he was.”

  Audrey’s heart constricted. She untangled herself from her aunt’s warm embrace, pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin there. “I never understood him and he never understood me. And now it’s too late.” Her eyes suddenly stung once again. She would not cry anymore. There was no time. Blast it all. Tears began to leak, despite her furious blinking and willing herself to be strong.

  The look of pity on her Aunt Hillie’s face made matters worse. Audrey struggled to breathe deeply but her efforts turned to racking sobs that went on so long her head pounded in time with her heart, and her nose became so stuffed she had to breathe through her mouth. All the while, Aunt Hillie ran her hand up and down Audrey’s arm and made soothing sounds. Once the tears stopped and her breathing returned to normal she forced herself to focus, as well as she could in her state. “The time for crying is over.”

  Aunt Hillie nodded, the seven feathers secured in her hair bobbing as she patted at her own moist eyes.

  Audrey sat up straight. “I need a plan to repair the damage I’ve created.”

  “A stich in time saves nine,” Aunt Hillie said.

  Audrey smiled. “Who said that?”

  “Thomas Fueller. I do believe he meant if you act immediately when a problem occurs the problem will
require fewer actions to fix.”

  “Yes.” Audrey nodded as her belly clenched. “I need to stop the duel between Richard and Lord Davenport.”

  “And get Lord Davenport to offer for you.”

  “Aunt Hillie,”Audrey said in a dark warning voice.

  Her aunt frowned. “All right. Let us work on what we agree on, which is stopping the duel. I think you should go to Lord Davenport and ask him to try to reason with your brother and get him to call off the duel.”

  “Yes.” Audrey nodded. “I was thinking the same thing, though I doubt he will have any effect. He already tried to reason with Richard. If that does not work, then perhaps Lord Davenport can simply not show for the duel. I would rather Richard feel I am dishonored by Lord Davenport than Richard be dead. He is a terrible shot and I happen to know from Lord Davenport’s cousin that he is a renowned shot with a pistol.”

  She met her aunt’s gaze. “I wish Richard would come to his senses. I truly do not wish to see Lord Davenport.”

  “Quite understandable, dear. The man has wounded your pride by not offering marriage.”

  He’d done more than that, but Audrey remained quiet. Her broken heart paled in comparison to her father’s death and Richard’s impending duel. “How will I escape the house? Richard will never let me visit Lord Davenport. For one thing, we’re in mourning. Beyond that is the obvious reason that an unmarried woman has no business calling on a bachelor like Lord Davenport.”

  Her aunt looked contemplative for one moment. “If your brother’s drunkenness last night is any indication of how he plans to handle your father’s death, then slipping away unnoticed tonight shouldn’t be that difficult.”

  Audrey sighed. “You’re right. Richard will likely be in his cups not long after dinner.”

  “I’ll be ready to depart,” her aunt said.

  Gratefulness washed over Audrey, followed by a realization. “No.” She shook her head. “I need you here on the chance Richard comes looking for me. You stay in my room and tell him I’m sick.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t like the idea of your going alone.”

  “I will not be alone. Mr. Barrett has always had a fondness for me. I’m sure he will agree to take me to Lord Davenport’s and keep my secret as long as I explain the situation.”

  “Excellent. It’s all settled. What shall we do now?”

  “I’ll go talk to Mr. Barrett. You go about your normal routine. We don’t want Richard to become suspicious.”

  “All right,” her aunt agreed.

  Audrey moved to stand, but her aunt caught her hand. “Dear, when you go to talk to Lord Davenport do try not to look so forlorn. He may realize just how much you love him.”

  Audrey’s breath caught in her chest. “Loved him,” she corrected, though it was a lie. If he told her today he loved her and was sorry she knew she would fly into his arms.

  Aunt Hillie smiled up at her. “Have I ever told you my take on the proverb that says you can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it drink?”

  “No, Aunt.” Audrey hoped she didn’t look as irritable as she felt. What in the name of all that was holy did a proverb about a horse have to do with her?

  “I think any horse can be made to drink if a person simply makes the horse realize he’s thirsty.”

  Audrey frowned. “Aunt Hillie, I don’t understand what this―” Heat flushed her neck and face instantly as realization dawned. Audrey gaped at her aunt. “Is Lord Davenport the horse in this instance?”

  “Of course.”

  “Am I to take it that the water is equivalent to marriage for the sake of this conversation?”

  “Clever, clever girl.” Her aunt clapped her hands. “Just make him realize he’s thirsty for marriage. It’s plain by your face that you love him. Do not forsake happiness for pride.”

  There was no point repudiating what her aunt knew. Audrey squared her shoulders. To try to deny it would only make how she felt more obvious. “Lord Davenport made it clear he couldn’t marry me.”

  “Did he say he didn’t want to marry you?”

  Audrey started to beg her aunt to drop the matter, but she stilled. Her heart skipped a bit and her chest foolishly filled with hope. He’d never said he didn’t want to marry her. “Well, no. He said he couldn’t.”

  “Then you’d be a fool not to want to find out why. Maybe it’s something silly you can help him solve. Like a ridiculous fear. Men are bursting with foolish fears they feel the need to stoically hide like ninny hammers. My own dearly departed Frank didn’t want to marry me at first, because he was sure he’d be destroying my life by taking me away from my family’s wealth.”

  Audrey’s heart pounded in her chest. What if her aunt was right? What if Trent really loved her but feared something from his past? She knew, according to Whitney, that he had regrets about a woman he’d known in France. “How did you convince Uncle Frank otherwise?”

  “Simple, dear.” Her aunt grinned wickedly. “I merely showed my horse that he was parched and would perish from thirst without me by his side.”

  “I do not think I can do that, Aunt Hillie. I think I may be too hurt and as much as I hate to admit it, I am scared he will simply tell me he does not love me.”

  Her aunt hugged her close. “Those are valid fears, yet I beg you to think on what I’ve said.”

  “I will,” Audrey promised before leaving her aunt to find Mr. Barrett.

  Trent had passed the day in a bloody foul mood, pretending not to be home when Whitney, Gillian and then Sutherland called on him. He knew what they wanted. They wanted him to go to Audrey, but he could not do that. To see her would make matters worse for both of them. His mood worsened throughout the day as the reality of what his loss of control with her had set into motion. By the time evening fell and the darkness of the sky deepened to the black of gaining night, he headed to White’s and was shocked to see that Audrey’s brother was there with some other addlepated dandies.

  Trent took a seat on the far side of the room in a dark corner and contemplated what this could mean. If he could get Cringlewood―ah hell, correction, the man was now Bridgeport―if he could get Bridgeport alone, maybe the man would be more willing to be reasonable tonight than he had been last night.

  Three hours later Trent gritted his teeth as Bridgeport raised his hand to order another drink. Damnation. The man had been here for hours consuming one whiskey after another. It took every ounce of self-control Trent possessed not to simply stalk over to him, grab the man by his coattails and force him outside where they could speak privately. That wouldn’t serve his purpose, though. Personally, Trent thought a well-placed bullet might be just the thing to snap Bridgeport out of his drunken, self-indulgent behavior, but then Audrey would be hurt and protecting Audrey was the sole reason Trent was still here.

  When Bridgeport suddenly stood, Trent let out a hefty sigh of relief and allowed the man a few seconds to stumble toward the door and collect his coat. When none of the marquess’s addlepated mates followed, Trent ambled out of the room toward the exit as if he hadn’t a concern in the world.

  He stepped into the dark night and smiled. Finally, he was getting a bit of good luck. Audrey’s brother was leaned against the side of the building, retching up the contents of his stomach. Trent waited for a moment, until it seemed the deed was done, and then strode to Bridgeport. He didn’t turn or acknowledge that he heard Trent approaching, though Trent made sure to walk loud enough his presence would not be a surprise.

  “Bridgeport, might I have a minute?”

  Audrey’s brother swung around, swayed dangerously to the right, then steadied himself by throwing his arms out. A comical smile came to the man’s face. “Thought I was going to fall on my bloody arse, didn’t you?”

  Hoped was more like it. “No,” Trent replied, examining the marquess’s trembling hands still splayed haphazardly in the air. Hell, the man had the shakes that came with drinking far too much. The situation was worse than Trent had thoug
ht. Bridgeport would be no match in a duel. The man would be lucky if he could shoot an immobile object right in front of his face. “I’d like you to call off the duel tomorrow.”

  “You’re scared!” Bridgeport bellowed.

  Trent almost nodded. He was scared. Scared he’d kill Audrey’s brother right here and now, devil take the idiot. “Lower your voice, man. Would you have everyone knowing you think your sister’s honor has been impugned?”

  “It has,” Bridgeport raged.

  A noisy crowd of men had gathered at the front door of White’s. Trent eyed the group and prayed they’d quickly go inside, or else his hope of talking sense into Bridgeport was going to have to be abandoned. He couldn’t risk him making the situation worse for Audrey by alerting half the ton to the duel. “Listen carefully to me, Bridgeport.” Trent purposely lowered his voice, hoping the fool would do the same. “I admit I took liberties I ought not have, but your sister’s innocence is well intact. I’m in no position to marry her, as you demanded, but I vow to stay far away from her and do everything in my power to see she makes a respectable match.

  “Your power!” Bridgeport roared. “We’ll see how powerful you are come tomorrow.”

  Disgust ripped through Trent’s body, leaving a trail of singeing heat behind. The group of men at White’s door had grown quiet and a few had taken a few steps in their direction. “Think of your sister, man. This duel could ruin her, no matter how it turns out. If word somehow got out, or worse, you died.”

  “I’m thinking of my sister,” Bridgeport yelled.

  Trent furiously shook his head and yanked Bridgeport to him by the lapels of the man’s coat. Once they were face-to-face, Trent spoke. “I’ll meet you tomorrow, because you’ve left me no choice. But if you’ve any real love for your sister, you’ll shut your bloody mouth and keep our meeting to yourself. There are people watching us.” Disgusted, he shoved Bridgeport away and strode toward his waiting coachman.