Cherished

by Elizabeth Thornton

  Swinging on his heel, he made to leave her. His path was blocked by Leon. How long he had been standing there, negligently propped against one of the pillars, was uncertain. The tension was palpable as Leon straightened and both gentlemen faced each other, standing their ground, each carefully taking the other’s measure. Though both were of a similar height and build, and both were darkly handsome, Emily would never have mistaken one for the other. Where William made her think of strength and determination, like the British bulldog, Leon brought to mind a sleek jungle cat, unpredictable, sometimes playful, sometimes fatally dangerous.

  When a smile edged his lips, she let out a shaky breath. No word was spoken as William brushed past Leon and strode from the room.

  “You told him.” Leon’s voice was oddly without inflection. It told her nothing.

  “Of course I told him. What else could I do?”

  He shrugged carelessly. “What a thousand other women in your place would have done.”

  “Which is?”

  “Lie in their teeth.” He caught her chin and held her face up for his inspection. Her eyes were swimming. “That’s what I like in you, Emily. You are as honest as the day. I shall never have to wonder whether or not you are telling me a pack of lies. As a husband, I am to be envied.”

  She shook off his hand. “I won’t return the compliment, since we both know I would be lying.”

  “Your meaning escapes me.”

  “What I mean is that you are a master of deception. You lied to Sara when you told her that I was the one you always wanted. You lied about that woman in New York, Belle…Belle…”

  “Courtney,” he supplied helpfully.

  Goaded, she hissed, “Do you deny that you lied?”

  Something came and went in his eyes, but he merely remarked, “I thought I told you I didn’t want you within a mile of Addison.”

  “I never agreed to that! What did you expect me to do? Write him a letter? Simply ignore him? He loves me! I told him I would marry him when I was free. It would have been cowardly not to tell him to his face.” A choked sob escaped her. “It was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I never want to go through anything like that again. And before you hand me my halo, let me tell you that my actions were not completely disinterested. I was counting on William to find a way out of this muddle I am in.”

  “Ah! And did he?”

  She flashed him an angry look. The more patience he displayed, the more her annoyance grew. The panther, it seemed, was in a playful mood. “You know very well that he did not.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “You should know,” she retorted. “You were eavesdropping.”

  His eyes gleamed brightly with laughter. “I came in at the end, you know, when he was swearing his undying love.”

  “I see nothing to laugh at. He was hurt. Can’t you understand that? Have you no heart? It would not have surprised me if he had hit me.”

  “And it would not have surprised me if he had challenged me to a duel.” There was a note in his voice that Emily did not care to hear. She tightened her lips and said nothing.

  “I said it would not have surprised me if he had challenged me to a duel!” His tone was low and savage. “Answer me, damn you!”

  They were in the lower vestibule. He had crowded her between two Corinthian columns with her back to the wall. A stream of people were coming and going from the gardens to the main staircase. The din was rising, blotting out their own heated exchange.

  “Why…why should William challenge you to a duel? He is not like that. He is not like you.”

  “No, he is not like me, for if our positions had been reversed, if I had loved you, I would have called him out.” There was a leashed violence about him that made her tremble in her shoes. “Love!” he went on in the same savage tone. “What do you know about love? What does he know? Doesn’t the man have red blood in his veins? If he loves you, as you say, how can he permit you to come to me without a fight? Does he suppose that I shall respect your virginal scruples?” He made a derisory sound. “He knows better than that! He doesn’t love you, Emily. I knew it when he backed away from my unspoken challenge not five minutes ago. And think on this. If Addison and I were to fight a duel over you and he killed me, your troubles would be over. That is one sure way of extricating yourself from a marriage you say you do not want.”

  He didn’t understand. She didn’t want men fighting duels over her. She hated violence of any description. A duel would solve nothing.

  He was studying her so queerly. What did he expect to see? Moistening her lips, she said, “I would never forgive myself if such a thing happened.”

  “On the other hand,” he said, “I may yet challenge Addison. I’d be within my rights, if he does not keep his distance from my wife.”

  “I won’t encourage him,” she said hurriedly. “I won’t see him again, I promise you.”

  He was standing over her, looking down at her, a slow sardonic smile beginning to tease the corners of his mouth. The anger that had stirred him was gone. “So…I have my answer. You don’t love Addison any more than he loves you. If you did you would not give up so easily.”

  He moved aside to let her pass. She wished more than anything that she could hit him, or spit on him, or do something to wipe the cool mockery from his handsome face. Lady Emily Devereux could do none of those things.

  “Violet eyes,” he whispered tauntingly, ushering her through the arch to the staircase.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked with what she hoped was icy dignity.

  “You may remember that you sent me to find Sara.”

  She had forgotten about Sara. “Where is she?”

  “Well on her way to Gretna Green, I should say.”

  “What?” Her mouth fell open. She could not believe that she had heard aright. Leon did not seem to be the least bit affected.

  “Your sister,” he said, “eloped some hours ago with Peter Benson.”

  Chapter Ten

  Within a few hours, Sara was to discover that she had made the biggest miscalculation of her life. It had never seriously occurred to her to tie herself irrevocably to any man who was not Leon, especially not Peter Benson. Her uncle had impressed upon her the unsuitability of the match. She had no doubt that Rolfe would catch up with them long before their carriage reached the Scottish border. There would be a scene. There would be the devil to pay and she would be brought home in disgrace. But the whole episode would be suppressed as though it had never happened. And everyone would be sorry for the slights she had been made to suffer. Especially Leon. And especially Emily. If there was one thing on which Sara was intent, it was to teach Leon and Emily…She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to teach them. She only knew she wanted them to suffer as much as she had been made to suffer.

  But it hadn’t worked out as she had foreseen. Everything had gone wrong. Peter had mismanaged the whole affair. From the moment she had entered the chaise, she had smelled the liquor on his breath. To her sharp query, he had uttered something about “Dutch courage.” He had not wanted to elope with her. Even then, with her portmanteau sitting on the opposite banquette, he had tried to dissuade her.

  “In less than a year, you will come of age,” he told her. “This is absurd. When you are one-and-twenty, we can marry without your guardian’s consent.”

  “If you don’t love me enough to brave my uncle’s wrath, then say so now and we need never see each other again.”

  Her words had given him an unpleasant jolt. “Sara, you don’t mean that.”

  “Try me, and see if I don’t.”

  He was seeing a side of her that she had been at some pains to conceal. Fearing that she had gone too far, that he would back out of it, she had resorted to tears. She was so unhappy, she told him. He must join his regiment. He could be sent anywhere! There was no telling what might happen. She could not bear it if they did not have this time together.

  Finally, he relented, and
as the coach rattled over cobblestoned streets, she settled into a corner and let her thoughts drift. She was using him. She had no desire to marry him. Peter Benson wasn’t the man for her. The best she could say about him was that he was an amusing, attentive escort. He was not precisely handsome, but he was pleasant to look upon, if one had a taste for fair-skinned gentlemen with nondescript fair hair. Sara preferred something different. Leon’s face flashed into her mind.

  Before the night was over, her uncle would catch up with them. She had made sure of it by leaving farewell notes for them all. When her guardian found her, she would never be permitted to see Peter Benson again.

  The small twinge of conscience was easily quashed. Though she was quite sure that Peter imagined himself to not exist. He thought she was like all the other delicately nurtured females of his acquaintance, such as his mother and sisters. But she wasn’t like that, not one whit. Few women were. It was a pose, a courtesy to convention to permit men to cherish the illusions which were dear to their hearts. In her experience, limited though it was, men did not understand the first thing about women, and knowing this, women were afraid to show their true colors.

  It was just as well that she and Peter would be forced to part. They could never be happy together. He was weak. In a battle of wills, her stronger will must naturally prevail. She could never respect a man who allowed her to rule the roost. When she measured him against Leon, Peter fell far short.

  He was younger than Leon by a year or two. She judged him to be in his late twenties. His background was impeccable. Peter was the younger son of an earl, and though the tide and the estate had gone to his elder brother, Peter, on reaching his majority, had come into a handsome competence—and had soon lost it. Like most young men of his generation and class, he led a life of indolence. He was a gamester. Money slipped through his fingers.

  Though Sara would never have countenanced a match with Peter Benson, for her purposes he would do as well as the next man, better, in fact, for at any moment, Peter would have a posting in His Majesty’s Service that would take him out of England and her orbit. He would soon forget her. It was for the best.

  She had fallen asleep and had a rude awakening. Just outside Islington, their coach ran off the road and into a ditch, almost overturning. Peter had taken a nasty crack on the head and had slipped into unconsciousness. She was forced to take charge.

  Ever afterward she was to wonder why she had not told the landlord of the Queen’s Head that she and Peter were brother and sister. With no chaperone and no maid in attendance, she was forced to concoct some plausible story. Mr. & Mrs. Smith was the best she could invent. It wasn’t exactly that she was panic-stricken, but she was alarmed. Peter was unconscious and a physician must be sent for. She must engage a private chamber if only to keep them both out of the public eye. Unfortunately, the Queen’s Head appeared to be a popular hostelry. There were more carriages in the inn’s courtyard than she would have wished.

  From the moment of the physician’s arrival, the events of the night took on the aspect of a nightmare. Peter was not injured but was as drunk as a lord. Dr. Mearle was incensed, having been dragged from his bed for no good purpose, and Sara could not blame him. He had hardly taken his irate departure when the door burst open. Three dandies filled the doorframe, three leering, tipsy louts who ogled Sara shamelessly. Only later would she learn that they had recognized the chaise in the inn’s courtyard. It bore the crest of the earls of Latham. As was his wont, Peter had borrowed his brother’s chaise, and his cronies had known it. Unhappily for Sara, those same cronies moved in her circles. By morning, the story would begin to circulate that Mr. & Mrs. Smith, better known as the Hon. Peter Benson and Lady Sara Brockford, had spent the night together in an inn just outside London.

  By the time Rolfe and Leon had tracked them down, Sara had taken refuge with the landlord and his wife. One look at her guardian’s stern face and she knew there was no persuading him. This time, she must face the consequences of her folly.

  It was noon of the following day before the dread interview with her uncle took place in his bookroom. Peter was sober, but far from well. Rolfe was as grim as Sara had ever seen him. She could not bear to look him in the eye.

  “You do realize,” said Rolfe, addressing Peter, “that if I were in a mind to stir things up, I could have you court-martialed for this little debacle.”

  Peter straightened in his chair. His expression was as grim as Rolfe’s. “I don’t see how, sir.”

  “This is conduct unbecoming in an officer of the British Army,” flashed Rolfe. “You know regulations as well as I do. You are obligated to obtain permission from your commanding officer before you marry. In this case, that did not happen.”

  “But I wasn’t getting married, sir.” At the look of surprised indignation which crossed Rolfe’s face, the younger man hastily interposed, “I was taking Sara to my mother. I didn’t know what else to do with her. She was in one of her strange takings. Well, you know how reckless and impulsive she can be. If I had said no to her, she would have run off with some other gentleman. I could not let that happen. I was going to send word to you as soon as we reached Barnet. Damn! I don’t know how everything could have gone so wrong! That’s a stupid thing to say! I…I’m afraid I made too free with my brandy flask. I became inebriated. It was inexcusable.”

  “And perfectly understandable!” Suddenly conscious that he had voiced the stray thought, Rolfe shrugged and went on lamely, “My nieces can do that to a man. Ask me. Ask Leon. Ask anyone who tries to order their lives.” Both gentlemen exchanged a weak smile.

  Sara’s bosom was heaving. They were making fun of her. They weren’t taking her seriously. Her life was in ruins and they were treating the whole thing as a huge joke. Her voice was scathing when she addressed Peter. “You said you wanted to marry me.”

  “Well, of course I did. I do. But not in that irregular fashion! You would not listen to reason. I thought, I hoped, that a few days with my mother would calm your temper and no harm done.”

  Sara was on her feet. Rolfe sank back in his chair and placed his laced fingers on the flat of his desk. He was staring at Peter Benson as though he had never seen the young man before. When Sara stamped her foot, his eyes reluctantly moved to his niece.

  “How dare you toy with me!” she cried out, her mouth moving convulsively. “I know my own mind! If you didn’t want to elope with me, you should have said so.”

  “I did say so! I told you that we should wait till you came of age. You didn’t want to marry me. Don’t you think I knew that? You were using me for your own purposes.”

  The silence which followed this heated exchange was long and profound. It ended when Sara ran from the room and slammed the door behind her.

  “Almost,” said Rolfe, eyeing the dejected slump of his companion’s shoulders, “almost, I can feel sorry for you both.” He reached for the brandy decanter and poured a liberal measure into two glasses, then offered one glass to the younger man.

  Though he accepted the glass, Peter made no move to bring it to his lips. “She doesn’t want to marry me,” he said morosely. “She never did!”

  Rolfe had a fleeting impression of déjà vu. As on another occasion, he used the exact same words. “Her wishes are immaterial, as are yours. It’s gone too far for that. You must marry at once, and there’s an end of it.”

  Without thinking, Peter bolted half his drink. He groaned, and pressed one hand to his aching temples. “I never meant it to end like this. I hope you believe me.”

  “What exactly did you intend? If you knew Sara had no thought of marrying you, what did you hope to gain in the long run?”

  “But I didn’t know she had no thought of marrying me, or if I did, I wouldn’t admit it to myself…that is…” He emitted a long sigh. “Sara is not the girl I thought she was.”

  The occasion was anything but amusing. Nevertheless, Rolfe had to bite down on a smile. He knew exactly what his young companion was getting at.
Sara, like her sister Emily, was not made from the common mold. Gentlemen expected the softer sex to defer to their opinions, to their superior knowledge of the world. Ladies Emily and Sara thought themselves the equal of any male. Few men would have known it. Rolfe’s nieces gave every appearance of observing the unwritten codes. It made life easier. It was only when they were challenged or crossed that each girl betrayed a will that was far from becoming in a female—at least in the eyes of gentlemen.

  Rolfe frowned, thinking that there was something here with Sara that gave him cause for unease. Self-will was one thing, and easily curbed. Any man worth his salt would soon tame his female to his hand. No woman respected a man who allowed her to ride roughshod over him. And so he would advise Peter Benson. But this escapade went further than that. Sara had used Peter Benson for her own ends, uncaring of the young man’s affections. It betrayed a self-regard, an egoism, that he would not have believed of Sara.

  So unpalatable was this train of thought that Rolfe immediately began to search his mind for excuses to exonerate Sara’s conduct. He fastened on his own culpability in the affair. He had made no attempt to conceal from Sara his contempt for the young man. He had given her the impression that young Benson was a profligate whose only interest in her was her fortune. He should not be surprised if Sara showed herself unscrupulous with a man whom she had been led to believe cared not a fig for her feelings.

  Without giving the appearance of doing so, Rolfe studied his companion. Peter Benson, he supposed, was no better or no worse than others of his station. He had made it his business to probe into the boy’s background. He had wanted something more for Sara, not merely because young Benson was up to his ears in debt, but because the boy lacked ambition. He was a younger son, and must make his own way in the world. Peter Benson had been content to drift with the tide. It was his brother, the earl, who had purchased his commission.

  That thought led to another. “My niece may be an heiress,” Rolfe began carefully, “but before this marriage goes forward, I insist that her fortune be tied up in such a way that—”