Midsummer Moon

by Laura Kinsale

  "I'm safe! I'm here, aren't I?"

  "Yes. And much good you'll be when you fall off that damned cat's seat of yours and kill yourself!"

  She glared up into his eyes. “Is that what you're angry about?"

  His fingers shifted on her arm. “What?"

  She saw the way his look faltered, just for an instant. “The cat's seat!” She tore herself out of his grasp. “You're angry because of the cat's seat! Why? Are you too dignified to have any fun at all?"

  "Don't be ridiculous."

  "I only wanted you to have a chance to understand! To see what it's like."

  His face grew still and peculiar. The look he gave her was ferociously cold. “Oh,” he said, “I saw what it was like. Never fear."

  She bit her lip. Merlin was no match for that intensity; she knew she wasn't. It was one thing to battle an equation on a piece of paper and another entirely to face down a living, breathing duke who'd been born and bred to command the awe of lesser beings like herself.

  He made no move to catch her back, but her arm still throbbed where his fingers had bruised her. His instant of weakness had vanished; impossible even to imagine now as he regarded her with that golden chilly gaze. Merlin felt her resolve begin to wither under it.

  "It's not fair,” she mumbled yet again, unable to think of anything more persuasive when he was staring her down like that.

  "The devil take fairness,” he said.

  Merlin plopped down in her chair. She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes. Once again tears threatened. She struggled with them a moment, unwilling to surrender her pride, but then recollected that tears could be quite effective with Theo and Thaddeus when she wished to bend them to her will. She lifted her face, feeling one warm drop slide down her cheek.

  For a moment Ransom's expression seemed to change, just the faintest relaxing of his mouth, the slightest clouding of his eyes. Merlin added a loud sniff for effect.

  His brows lowered instantly. He straightened up from his position against the desk and produced a handkerchief with a brisk move. “Save yourself the trouble. I can get a much more professional performance from Jaqueline."

  Merlin slumped back in the chair. She rubbed her eyes with the crisp linen and then balled it in her fist. Clearly, there was no coaxing Ransom out of his sudden decision. None that she could manage, anyway. But the tears had given her another notion. Perhaps she could not fool Ransom in front of his eyes, but he could not be everywhere all the time. This schedule he'd had made up for her—it only included him for a few hours a day. The rest of the time...

  "Well,” she said abruptly. “I suppose I have no choice."

  "None whatsoever."

  Merlin stood up. She squared her shoulders and glared up at him. “If I ever get to be a duke, I won't be as big a bully as you are, I can tell you that!"

  "Since you are exceedingly unlikely ever to get to be a duke, I don't think we need concern ourselves with the prospect."

  "One just never knows, does one?” She held out her skirt and turned from him with a flounce. When she reached the door, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “And if I should, I shall expect you to address me properly. It will be ‘Miss Duke’ to you, you may be sure!"

  A half hour later, in the sharp, slanted light of an early sun through the saloon windows, Merlin faced her troops. They were a sleepy and out-of-sorts collection, but she had no time for patience. At half-past seven, Woodrow and Mr. Peale looked reasonably alert, but if she'd waited until Shelby, Quin, and Jaqueline would normally have arisen, she'd have been halfway through her riding lesson and a day behind, lost to Ransom's crazy whims.

  "We must take emergency measures,” she announced. “Ransom has locked the ballroom."

  Shelby yawned, lounging in one of the needlepoint chairs with his leg thrown over the gilded arm. “Well, so he said he would. Can't you talk him out of it?"

  "I tried. He gave me this."

  Shelby took the sheet of paper that she waved under his nose. As he scanned it, his fine eyebrows lifted. “He must be serious indeed.” Then he scowled. “I suppose this is some plot to whip you into proper shape to be his duchess."

  "Duchess!” Merlin echoed. “Is that like being a duke?"

  Quin stretched deeply and lowered himself onto the foot of the chaise where Jaqueline reclined. “Female duke, as it were."

  "How do I get to be one?"

  "By marrying my brother.” Shelby appeared to be engrossed in some scene outside the saloon windows as he spoke, but his mouth tightened when Quin moved his hand so that it brushed against Jaqueline's ankle. With a twist of his lips, Shelby added, “Not a state I would recommend entering into with anyone. Least of all a Falconer."

  "With respect, my lord,” Mr. Peale intoned, “the holy state of matrimony is twice blessed."

  "Hah,” Shelby said.

  "Twice blessed?” Merlin cocked an interested look at the reverend.

  "Yes, Miss Lambourne. And not to be entered into without the most rigorous thought and prayer concerning the object of one's hopes. I myself have spent many hours examining the character of my beloved, whose pure spirit and gentle character are not to be improved upon—"

  "Yes, but—could I order everyone about then, like Ransom does?"

  "Everyone except Ransom,” Jaqueline said languidly, “who would then have the legal right to order you about, and do whatever he pleased with all your earthly possessions."

  Shelby slanted a look toward her, his blue eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

  "He already orders me about,” Merlin said.

  "Does he now? I'd call in the constable, darlin',” Quin said.

  "What for?"

  "Why, to have him arrested! There's men enough in Parliament to see that the rogue went to the scaffold for his crimes, I'll wager."

  "Aye,” Shelby said darkly. “I know a few myself."

  "Arrested for what?” Merlin cried.

  "Ah, you're too modest, me love. For kidnapping your sweet self, dear. For stealing your flying machine and various other instruments of great scientific value. I don't doubt all those fellows in Parliament who'd like to see the last of him could come up with a few more hanging offenses."

  Merlin gasped. “Hanging! Are you saying they would hang him for kidnapping me?"

  "Naturally.” Quin was watching Shelby as he spoke. “They're not likely to be showing mercy to such a villain as Damerell. All you have to do is call in the law."

  "Hang him,” she said. “I won't allow that!"

  Shelby threw back his golden head and laughed. “What a capital farce. The Duke of Damerell, arrested and finally brought to book for running other people's lives!” He glanced toward Jaqueline, and the laugh distorted into something less pleasant. “Time and past. Hanging's too good for ‘im, I say."

  Quin stood up. “I'll ride into the village to send for the authorities right now."

  "No!” Merlin cried. “You can't do that! I'll lie! I'll never admit Ransom kidnapped me! I'll say I gave him the flying machine, and everything else!"

  Quin paused. He looked toward Shelby with a questioning lift of his brows.

  Shelby waved his hand. “For God's sake, you can't think we're serious. Do sit down.” His tone was pleasant, but he gave Quin a very queer look, a quick, penetrating glance that reminded Merlin very much of Ransom for a moment.

  "Major O'Shaughnessy,” Mr. Peale said, “may well be too much given to odd fits and starts."

  "Among other things,” Shelby said sourly. When Quin winked at Merlin and sat down again near Jaqueline, Shelby's face became a handsome mask. He tapped the chair arm, his fingers picking out a careless, complex rhythm. “Perhaps there's some less drastic way to allow Merlin access to her flying machine."

  "Yes,” Merlin said. “That's why I wanted to talk to everyone.” She whisked Ransom's schedule off the floor where Shelby had dropped it. “It says here that I'm free between the hours of eleven at night and nine in the morni
ng. If I can find a way into the ballroom, and someone can keep Ransom well occupied for that time, then I can keep working without his ever knowing."

  "Well occupied between the hours of eleven and nine,” Quin mused. He grinned lazily at Jaqueline. “Now—I wonder who in heaven could manage that?"

  "You Irish bastard!” Shelby came up out of his chair with one swift shove. “Just what do you mean to imply by that comment?"

  Quin looked startled. “Nothing whatsoever, my lord. It was just an idle speculation."

  "Then I'll thank you to keep your eyes off my—off of Lady Jaqueline when you're making insinuations."

  "Really, Shelby,” Jaqueline said. “You do not have to defend my honor, my dear. You never did so when we were married."

  Shelby turned away sharply, resuming his stare out the window. “Of course,” he snapped. “I forget myself. Do forgive me. Call her a sailors’ doxy if you damn well please, Major. I'm sure it's no business of mine."

  Merlin looked from one to another with knitted eyebrows. She blinked at Jaqueline. “Is there really something you could do to engage Ransom all night?"

  Jaqueline laughed softly. She took Merlin's hand and gave it a motherly pat. “Nothing another woman could not do."

  "Oh,” Merlin said. “Oh, you mean ... that."

  "Quite."

  Merlin touched her lower lip. “I don't think I care for that idea.” She chewed her nail, trying to imagine Ransom lying in bed with someone else, touching some other as he had touched and caressed and loved her. She twisted the schedule in her hand. “I don't think I care for that idea at all."

  "Guileless child!” Jaqueline said. “But about me, dearest Merlin, you must not concern yourself. The duke and I are not at all likely to become lovers. He's far too toplofty and I'm far too spoiled for that."

  For once, Merlin found herself rather glad of Ransom's toploftiness. She said diffidently, “Do you have any other ideas, then?"

  Quin stood up and sauntered over to the door. He bent and examined the engraved brass lockbox and shining knob. “As for breakin’ into the ballroom—by my sainted mother's blood, you may consider that problem as good as solved."

  "I might have guessed you'd be a lock-pick!” Shelby exclaimed, swinging around to face them. “Why the devil is a rogue like you hanging about the Mount, anyway?"

  "You owe me money, my dear fellow. If you will recall."

  "Oh, I do, do I?” Shelby retorted sharply. “The world's full of my duns, but they don't all haunt my house and call me their dear fellow, by God!"

  Merlin blinked, taken aback by the sudden transformation of Shelby from his usual amicable self into a man who looked rather dangerously aware of the consequence due to him. Quin inclined his head in instant submission.

  "Allow me to apologize if I've been overly familiar, my lord."

  "Too damned familiar by half. I suggest you take your insolence elsewhere!"

  Quin kept his eyes focused on the floor near Shelby's boots. “Forgive me, my lord, but I'm not here at your invitation."

  Shelby snorted. “What, am I supposed to swallow the notion that my brother wants you here? I find that unlikely in the extreme, but if he should do, I'm quite willing to convince him otherwise."

  "My lord.” Quin lifted his eyes. His usual cocky grin had vanished, and he looked more serious than Merlin had ever seen him. “Accept my humblest apology. I've overstepped my place."

  Shelby grimaced and swung his arm in an impatient gesture: “Oh, for the love of God, you'll gag us all on this sudden syrup. You won't do yourself any good hanging about here, for I haven't a feather to fly with now and well you know it. Just take yourself off."

  "My lord—” Quin took an unsteady breath. He pressed his lips together. His green eyes left Shelby and rested an instant on Jaqueline.

  Shelby stiffened visibly. He looked at Jaqueline. She was stroking one slim finger across the back of another with every evidence of intense interest in the operation.

  "Oh, of course!” Shelby threw his hands wide in a mock bow. “Why ever didn't I guess? He's here at your invitation, is he, my lady Jaqueline? My apologies again. My profound regrets for thinking to spoil your affaire—"

  "Shelby,” Jaqueline said. She made the barest sketch of a warning movement with her hand in the direction where Woodrow stood silently near Merlin, drinking in every word with his grave and wide-eyed attention.

  Shelby drew in a savage breath. He shut his mouth.

  "Miss Merlin,” Woodrow said after a moment. “It will have to be me who helps you. All they are going to do is argue, I think."

  Merlin nodded. “Yes. I can see that!"

  Shelby, Jaqueline, and Quin all began to find something singularly interesting about the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. “Now, darling,” Jaqueline said at last, “you know we only nip—"

  A gasp from Mr. Peale interrupted her. “He didn't stutter!” the reverend exclaimed. “The boy didn't stutter!"

  Woodrow turned scarlet. “I da-da-da ... I ... yes, I'm sa-sa ... sure I da-da-did, sir."

  "You blockhead,” Shelby said to Mr. Peale.

  The reverend's mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but I'm certain—"

  "No one gives a fig for what you're certain of,” Shelby snapped. “I can't fathom what my brother is thinking, to have the bunch of you in residence! A bigger collection of gudgeons and loose screws I've never seen."

  "But that is the answer, of course!” Jaqueline sat up, smoothing her skirt. “If we wish to distract the duke, we have nothing to do but convene without dear Merlin's flying machine to occupy us. The shouting alone must be enough to drown out her construction noise."

  Chapter 11

  "Have another blueberry muffin, Miss Lambourne?"

  Merlin started awake, to find the muffin already on her breakfast plate. Ransom offered the butter dish, watching her from beneath lazy eyelids.

  Merlin cleared her throat, blinking rapidly. “Yes, please,” she said, unable to muster a refusal on short notice.

  "Did you have a restless night?” he asked mildly.

  It was not one sleepless night, but weeks of them that made her eyelids so impossibly heavy. She broke the muffin and buttered a bite of the steaming bread without answering.

  "Excuse me, Miss Lambourne,” the duke said. “Perhaps you didn't hear my question? I asked if you had not slept well."

  Merlin and Woodrow exchanged looks over the delicate green and yellow porcelain flowers that adorned the lid of the Meissen chocolate pot. She should have known Ransom would not allow it to pass. A “social solecism,” he would call it, taking her to task in that abominably pleasant way of his for not responding to a civil inquiry. After ten days of her new regime, she recognized the signs.

  "Forgive me,” she said with a trace of belligerence. “It must have been that the full moon kept me awake."

  "Ah. You didn't think to draw the bedcurtains?"

  She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “No. I didn't.” She set her lower lip, staring mulishly at the crystal that sparkled in the morning sun. She might have liked these leisurely breakfasts, sitting at a small table in the pretty cornflower-blue room and listening to the pleasant, unruffled tones of Ransom's conversation about everything from the weather to Bonaparte's military strategies to the duke's plans for refurbishing some abandoned lodge on the far edge of the estate. Instead, working on three hours’ sleep, stuffed with His Grace's idea of a proper breakfast and feeling the cool morning breeze drifting through the open windows, she always found herself unbearably drowsy in the long minutes while awaiting dismissal.

  He did it on purpose, she was sure, pouring himself more coffee and sipping it with maddening slowness. He asked Woodrow about his lessons in that agreeable, interested way—as if it were only idle chatter, when both she and Woodrow knew that the boy was being grilled and his progress measured with merciless accuracy. It always made poor Woodrow stutter so that he could hardly finish a phrase, but Ransom seeme
d to have infinite patience to wait while his nephew stammered out an answer in complete and coherent sentences.

  Merlin thought she would have found some way to escape this torture, except that Woodrow was so pathetically glad to have her there. Not that she ever protected him—not that Ransom ever scolded the boy or even said a cross word—but she well knew that a third person was a welcome buffer to the potent focus of Ransom's interest.

  "Yes,” the duke was saying in response to some description of Woodrow's Latin lesson. “And that is the root of the word astral, of course."

  "And as-tronomy,” Woodrow said, wrapping his tongue around the word with painful effort.

  Ransom nodded. “A subject Miss Lambourne undoubtedly finds fascinating."

  Merlin sat up straighter, catching this signal that she was expected to participate. Woodrow, well-drilled in his lessons on polite conversation, addressed his next comment to her. “Do you know our family's ma-ma-ma-motto, Ma-Ma-Ma ... Miss Lambourne?"

  "No,” Merlin said, obediently taking her turn. “I don't believe that I do."

  "Ad as-ta-ta-ta ... as-tra pa-pa-per aspera,” Woodrow said.

  Merlin hesitated a moment, searching out the words from the stammer. Then she broke into a surprised smile. “Ad astra per aspera. ‘To the stars by hard ways'! Oh, I like that. I like that very much. Perhaps I'll make that my motto, too."

  "No, you ca-ca-ca-can't, I don't think. It ba-ba ... belongs to us, don't it, Uncle?"

  "'Does it not,'” Ransom corrected.

  "Does it not,” Woodrow repeated. “I'm sa-sa-sa ... sorry."

  "I think I should be able to adopt it as a motto if I like,” Merlin challenged before Ransom could have a chance to get back to the subject.

  He slanted a look toward her. “As you please."

  "No,” Woodrow protested. “It's on our ca-ca-coat of arms and everything. How ca-ca-can it be our ma-ma-ma-motto, then, if sa-sa ... someone from another family ca-ca-can have it?"