Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (21 page)

Watching him jump the gate in the hedge surrounding the next field, Lady Jersey shook her head. “My goodness me, but men are sensitive. You must go after him, Susan dear, and soothe his lacerated feelings. The soft, comforting touch of a female, you know, can work wonders on the beasts. Only ask Jersey if that is not true.” She grinned saucily at her husband, then cried, “Come on, everyone! We will go tell Seacourt that Deverill was quite mistaken. The horse is clearly a brute.” And with a last tinkle of laughter, she rode after Seacourt, followed by her husband.

Susan had been staring at Deverill as if she were not certain what to make of him, but now, looking down at Daintry in disapproval, she said, “How could you let him do such a thing to poor Geoffrey? I am most displeased with you.” And on these words, she rode after the others.

Daintry turned to Lady Catherine, who had said nothing at all since Sir Geoffrey’s fall. “Are you angry with me, too?”

“Good heavens, no. Why should I be angry? Geoffrey will be in a pet, of course, but there are any number of others to talk to, and even to dance with. Geoffrey’s moods are nothing to me, I’m sure. Charles, Alvanley, shall we join the others or remain here to play propriety to these two?”

Alvanley, exchanging a look with Deverill, said, “We will go on, I think, Lady Catherine.”

Deverill said to the groom, “You ride on, too. Lady Daintry and I will follow soon enough, and since we are in plain view of the house, I think I can assure you I will do her no harm.”

The groom looked at Daintry, and though she wondered why Deverill was sending him away, she nodded, whereupon he handed the gray’s reins to Deverill, mounted his own horse, and rode off in the wake of the others.

Watching them go and not at all certain what to expect next, Daintry hesitated even to look at Deverill. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and isolated, as though she were being abandoned. At the same time, she was only too well aware of his presence. She thought that so strong was his personality and his intrinsic determination to dominate her that she would be aware of his nearness even if she had not known he was there.

“Will Seacourt try to make trouble for you?”

The gravity in his voice made her turn at last. “I don’t know,” she confessed. “He has never done so before.”

“He lives very near you, after all.”

“Yes, but he does not visit. Even Susan does not visit often. We see more of her in London than we do during the rest of the year. We invite them, of course, and although the distance by road from Seacourt Head is absurdly long, it is much shorter to ride around the bay, and I was used to visit them frequently. From some cause or other, the habit died, but as I told Susan, now that Charley and Melissa have become friends, I daresay we will visit more frequently. In any event, as you see, I doubt that Geoffrey will carry tales of me to my father.”

“He will not have to carry tales. Your brother saw as much as he did.” He moved nearer. He was standing right in front of her now, looking down at her.

“Charles won’t say anything,” she murmured, looking at the middle button of his waistcoat. She let her gaze drift upward past his broad shoulders and strong chin to his face. His jaw was taut. His lips were pressed together in a straight line, but as she watched, they softened. His nostrils flared. His eyes—

She saw his intent, but it was too late to stop him. Later she would ask herself, more than once, why she did not resist, but at that moment, caught in his strong embrace, it did not occur to her to do so. And when his lips touched hers, she dropped the reins she was holding, put her arms around his neck, and pressed her body against his, savoring the sensations that coursed through her, delighting in his taste, his strength, and the way his kisses sent hot flames rushing through her veins.

She was aware of his hands moving over her body, caressing her, pulling her closer, and she knew she ought not to allow such liberties, but she did not want to stop him. No other man had ever dared treat her to such a display of passion, not the men to whom she had been betrothed, or any other. Then, as if her body had taken command of her good sense, her lips suddenly parted beneath his, and she could feel him tasting her, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She had not known such sensations existed, had never suspected that a man might wish to learn what the inside of a woman’s mouth tasted like. But without giving the matter another thought, she pressed her tongue against his, teasing him, then pushing his tongue away so that she might thrust hers between his strong white teeth, to learn why—

Deverill set her back on her heels with a thud that jarred her entire spine, and looked down at her in consternation.

“Either you’ve had more experience than I thought, sweetheart, or I am the worst scoundrel unhung.” He drew a ragged breath. “Damn, I deserve to be flogged.”

Staring at him, paying little heed to his words, she wondered what on earth had possessed her to submit to his embrace in such a wanton manner, particularly when—not an hour before—she had declared herself more than a match for him. A lowering reflection, to be sure, since not only had she submitted, she had responded. But more lowering still was the undeniable awareness that she very much wanted him to do it again.

G
IDEON WAS SILENT ON
the way back to the stables, and he was glad that Daintry made no effort to draw him into conversation, for he needed to think. The guilt that had nearly overwhelmed him as a result of her instant response to his kisses was a new experience for him. Having had little to do with innocent young ladies in his years on the Continent, and accustomed as he was to casual flirtations with women who understood the rules of the game as well as he did, he had been completely unprepared to meet with such passion. He realized that he had begun to relax with her in the same way he had with his more experienced friends, and in his wish to prove he could overcome her independence, he had in fact taken base advantage of her innocence.

Escorting her back to the house, he kept up a flow of small talk, hoping to avoid any discussion of what had occurred until he had had time to sort out his feelings. She seemed to have withdrawn, and he was sorry for that. If he were any sort of a decent fellow, he would apologize for the whole and let her think he had simply let his detested male urges get the better of him. The problem was, he didn’t think it had much to do with basic urges. It had seemed so natural to kiss her, not a game at all. Lord knew, he had wanted to do it since the day Penthorpe showed him her miniature. But what kind of a fellow would he be to try to attach her interest before he had sorted out his own life?

The damned feud was the least of his worries. Before Jack’s death it might well have been a major impediment, but he could not believe that even St. Merryn would deny his daughter the opportunity to become a marchioness. Jervaulx would prove more of an obstacle if the feud were not laid to rest, but if worse came to worst he was of age and could do as he liked. Still, to offer for any young woman before he had come to terms with his place in the new order of things would be unfair, and in truth, he was not ready to put his belief that she cared for him to the test. He had seen enough of her to know that she would not let herself be led by any mere physical attraction to believe she was madly in love. She blew hot and cold, and he thought it would be far wiser to scout the territory ahead with care before he committed all his resources to an uncertain victory.

They parted in the entry hall, and he spent the afternoon riding out with a shooting party. At dinner, he was seated again beside Sally, whom he knew from her visits to the Continent during the peace celebrations before Bonaparte’s escape and to Brussels before Waterloo, and whose flirtatious manner amused him. When the dancing began, he made a point of searching out another old acquaintance for the first set. Later, he danced twice with Daintry but saw by the distant look in her eyes that she was holding herself aloof, and, understanding that she was protecting herself, he made no effort to break down her shell.

Daintry was mystified by her own behavior and not a little confused by Deverill’s. The incident in the field had caught her off her guard, for she had never expected to react to any man’s kisses in such a passionate way, and she had spent the afternoon trying to make sense of what made no sense at all.

He had kissed her as if he really cared about her, but when she responded, he had stopped and had even talked as if he wished he had not done it. Well, she too wished it had never happened, or if not that precisely, at least that it had not affected her the way it had. Clearly he had singled her out for conquest and then had experienced second thoughts once he suspected that she might be developing strong feelings for him. And thanks to her faithless passions, she had behaved like a fool.

He had certainly proved he could stir those passions as no man had ever done before. But did she have feelings for him, or was she being fooled by her own love of a challenge and the lure of forbidden fruit into suspecting she had them?

Dinner brought a reminder of his past when he flirted outrageously with Sally Jersey—whose husband clearly lived under the cat’s paw—and afterward he had asked several other women to dance before he had asked her. Moreover, when they danced, he had treated her with extreme civility. Had he already gained what he wanted from her? Had he wanted only to prove he could attach her interest, and now wanted nothing more to do with her?

She looked for Susan but did not see her, although she saw Sir Geoffrey dance with several women, including his cousin. He seemed to be behaving with all his customary charm again, but Daintry was not even tempted to ask him about Susan, for she was certain he would enjoy nothing so much, after his humiliating afternoon, as to snub her soundly.

She went up to her bedchamber earlier than had been her habit at Mount Edgcumbe, stopping along the way to bid good-night to Lady Ophelia in the card room, and to tap at Susan’s bedchamber door. There was no response, and when she tried the door handle and found it locked, she decided her sister must have also decided to retire early.

The following morning, although she and the other members of her family were ready to depart early, they discovered that the Seacourts had gone even earlier. There was no sign of Deverill either, and as the carriage rolled away down the gravel drive, Daintry fought to keep from looking back at the house in hopes of catching a glimpse of him. Instead, she looked across the bay, at Plymouth, where rays of sunlight through gray clouds gathering overhead glistened on marble buildings and slate roofs, making the town look as if it had been frosted with snow.

As their journey progressed, Daintry waited for Davina to mention the previous day’s incident, even to scold her for allowing Deverill to single her out in such a manner for his attention, but Davina was uncharacteristically silent, replying in monosyllables to those conversational gambits initiated by Daintry or Lady Ophelia. She had not even objected to taking the forward seat, which she generally disdained to occupy, deeming it fit only for servants, children, or Daintry.

Charles rode alongside the carriage, and even when it began to drizzle some distance from Tuscombe Park, he insisted that he preferred to ride. Daintry thought there must have been a falling-out between her brother and his wife, but she was too preoccupied with her own affairs to think much about theirs.

The more she thought, the more confused she became, but one perception stood out from the rest, that so long as she continued to wonder if Deverill’s interest in her stemmed from the fact that he was forbidden to approach her—or if her interest in him might stem from that same fact—there could be no progress in their relationship. Thus, the feud was now an encumbrance that must be removed. But if she could disarm it, what then?

It was possible, of course, that she might discover their attraction to be a mutual and lasting one; however, it was more likely, particularly in view of his past and the faults she had already discerned in him, that the same whimsy of fate that had resulted in three broken engagements would cast its shadow again. In any event, she decided, staring out at the mist swirling down from the moor to envelop the carriage, if she were to keep her distance and concentrate on resolving the mystery of the feud, she would be giving her thoughts a more proper direction, and although Deverill might continue to view her as an objective, at least the path to the future would be less cluttered.

Abruptly, she said to Lady Ophelia, “Have you kept a journal all your life, ma’am?”

The old lady had been watching the descent of the mist outside the window. Turning, she said, “Not my entire life, certainly. One generally does not attempt such things until one has been released from one’s leading strings.”

“You know perfectly well what I meant. When did you begin?”

“Oh, I suppose I must have been about Charlotte’s age when I first decided to keep a journal. Mostly foolishness then, what I wrote, but very earnest and self-important. I had not yet come to realize at that time that my prospects for a brilliant future were limited. I have no particular gift for writing, so I did not aspire to become a second Eliza Haywood or Fanny Burney.”

“But you tell stories as delightful as theirs, ma’am. It seems a great pity that more people cannot enjoy them.”

“They would not be the same written down. I talk better than I write, for I am able to judge the effect by watching my listener’s face. When one writes, one must hope one’s readers understand, and I never had much faith in them. Indeed, that is one thing I always admired in Harriet Deverill. She had no gift either, you know, nothing that made her work stand out or even that made anyone desire to publish it—and of course Tom Deverill would not—but she did try. I became a student instead, and should have done very well at Oxford, I expect, had it occurred to anyone to allow me to enter there.”

Daintry chuckled at the thought of her formidable aunt assailing the hallowed gates of Oxford University, but she did not want to dwell on that topic. Gently, she said, “Would you object if I read your journals? I know I would be fascinated.”