Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] (45 page)

“You told me yourself that Tom Deverill was thought to be a Jacobite. He risked losing Deverill Court if such an accusation was laid before the authorities, did he not?”

“Oh, that might be true enough,” St. Merryn admitted, “but as to any plot to throw Ophelia into your grandfather’s hands, that must be nonsense, for no such thing ever happened.”

“No, sir, but it might have if she had not been so set upon remaining unmarried. At all events, surely you see that we have got to end it now.”

“Upon my word, girl, why should we do any such thing?”

“Why, it was founded on a lie, sir. It cannot be allowed to continue. You simply must speak to Jervaulx.”

“Pooh, nonsense, it was none of our doing, even if this stuff you’re prattling has any truth in it. A Deverill began it, so only a Deverill can end it, but if you think you can get that stiff-necked Jervaulx to apologize for anything—particularly for something you’ve got out of some damned romantical book—you’re fair and far off, my girl. He won’t listen to you now any more than he did when you made a fool of yourself in his courtroom.”

“But if you went to him and explained, surely—”

“Upon my word, what will you say next? I shan’t go near the fellow. Didn’t I just tell you it is not my business to do any such thing? They began it; let them try to end it.”

“Then I shall talk to Deverill.”

“You will not. I’ve never heard of anything so improper! You are to marry Penthorpe, my girl, and you’ll be making no assignations with anyone else until you’re safely riveted. What you do after that is Penthorpe’s business, not mine.”

She did not give up easily, but he soon lost his temper, and when he ordered her out of the room, she went to seek solace of her great-aunt. Lady Ophelia heard her explanation of what had occurred more than sixty years before and agreed that Daintry had interpreted the novel in the most likely way possible.

“But who would have thought Harriet had such spite in her?” the old lady said. “Still I suppose the size of my fortune did lend credence to any tale she might have whispered to Tom.”

“Papa says he does not believe a word of it.”

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised if the money don’t add into that as well,” Lady Ophelia said with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “He won’t mind if it goes to Penthorpe, but his enmity has become so familiar to him, I doubt he’ll relinquish it easily.”

Daintry was still trying to sort this out in her mind when Lady Ophelia added bluntly, “What are you going to do about it?”

She sighed. “I do not have the least notion. Perhaps if settling the feud could make a difference to my future, I might decide more easily, but it will not affect me in the least. Papa insists I am to marry Penthorpe, and I did give him my word.”

“You do not want to remain single,” Lady Ophelia said gently. “That has long been perfectly obvious to me.”

“Has it, ma’am?” Ruefully, she added, “It has not been so obvious to me until recently. If I were more like you, perhaps the single state would do very well for me, but I have come to believe that I am singularly unsuited to it. I know you must think me a sad disappointment—”

“Merciful heavens, child, why should I think anything of the kind?” Lady Ophelia demanded indignantly.

“I should be failing your teaching quite miserably.”

“You would be doing nothing of the kind.”

“But you’ve always wanted me to be an independent woman!”

“I still want that,” Lady Ophelia said matter-of-factly, “but just what do you think the term means, my dear?”

“Why, one who lives on her own, of course, and who can look after herself and be quite contented doing so. What else could such a term possibly mean?”

“Do I live by myself?”

“No, but you could do so very well, ma’am. Of that I have not the least doubt.”

“Nor do I, but although I choose to live under your father’s roof, I am nonetheless independent.”

“But I do not want to continue living under Papa’s roof. I want an establishment of my own just as badly as Davina does. I want to be my own mistress, to make my own decisions, and to control my own life, but since practically none of those things is likely to occur unless I break my word to Papa and insist upon living alone or with a lady companion, I must accept what is available, which is marriage to Penthorpe. At least as his wife, I shall be mistress of my own establishment, and I do not think he will prove to be a difficult husband, do you?”

Lady Ophelia did not answer at once. Instead, she subjected Daintry to a long and searching look. Then she said, “Do you love Penthorpe, my dear?”

Daintry said quietly, “I have come to the conclusion that to care deeply for a man leads only to a constant pulling of caps, which is no good way to live and does not lead to independence of any sort whatsoever. Penthorpe is kind and he says he wishes to marry me. In good conscience, there is no more to be said, for I cannot cry off from this betrothal even if I wished to do so, which, I assure you, I do not.”

“An independent woman, my dear, is one who makes her choices freely and has the luxury to choose what will make her happy. That does not mean that she fails to heed the requirements or wishes of those who are dear to her, or that she ignores either her sense of honor or her deepest feelings. She takes all such matters under consideration. You expressed the thought earlier that I might be disappointed in you. I tell you now to your head that the only way you can disappoint me is by settling for second best when true happiness lies right within your grasp.”

Daintry swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you? Then perhaps you had better consider the matter a bit more carefully. I must go and change my gown. Lionel Werring is going to dine with us this evening, and he has invited me to drive into Bodmin with him and back beforehand so that I can select a book from the subscription library there.”

Feeling a sudden, strong need to get away from the house, Daintry sent an order to the stable to have Cloud saddled, went to her bedchamber to change to her habit, and was halfway down the stairs when she thought of Charley. Realizing the little girl would think herself ill-used if she were to discover her aunt had gone out without her, Daintry went back upstairs.

When she entered the schoolroom, Miss Parish looked up from the atlas she was perusing and said cheerfully, “Good afternoon, Lady Daintry. Here is your aunt come to visit you, Charlotte.”

Charley got up at once from the bench by the schoolroom table where she was working, and Daintry said, “I wanted a gallop, so I came to see if you would like to ride with me.”

“Oh, yes!”

Miss Parish coughed behind her hand and said apologetically, “I’m afraid not today, my lady. She has got a little behind in her work, you see, and must make up the lessons she missed.”

Grimacing, Charley plopped back down on the bench by the long table, saying crossly, “Papa came up here this morning! Can you credit it, Aunt Daintry? It must be the first time he has ever set foot in the schoolroom, and it had to be today. He is no longer here, of course, for he and Mama have gone to Plymouth to look for their house for the summer, but before he left, he came to see me, and why? Just to blight my life, that’s why.”

Daintry chuckled. “You have no one to blame but yourself, darling, but if I remember correctly, you have complained any number of times that he pays no heed to you. I should think you would be grateful for his attention.”

“Not this kind of attention,” Charley said. “I’d have liked it much better if he had taken me to Plymouth to help look for a house, but of course, there was no reason for him to think of any such thing, and when I told him I wanted to go, he just said such matters were no business of mine. So here I sit.”

“Well, if you get caught up today, we can ride tomorrow,” Daintry promised. She left at once, just as glad to have the time to herself, and was soon lost in her own thoughts.

When she returned, refreshed by the exercise but without having come to any acceptable decisions, she found Charley at the stable feeding carrots to Victor and talking with the stableboys. Learning that it was nearly dinnertime and remembering that Sir Lionel Werring was to dine with them, Daintry did not wait for her but hurried inside to change her dress for dinner. She had no more opportunity to be alone with her thoughts until she lay in bed that night, but though she had meant to sort things out then, she was much too tired to do so, and soon fell fast asleep.

The dream began in darkness with a sense of someone touching her cheek, a weight pressing into the bed beside her, and the terrifying, breath-stopping memory of Seacourt’s attack. Panic-stricken, she could not see at first, nor could she scream, for no sound came out when she tried, but the terror ebbed almost as swiftly as it had come. There was no reek of brandy, and the fingers touching her cheek were gentle, unthreatening. The weight beside her shifted and she went perfectly still, but she knew now that there was no cause for alarm.

A finger moved toward her lips, and she remembered Seacourt again and the way he had clamped his hand against her mouth, but though she still could not see, she knew the presence in her bed had nothing to do with Seacourt. The finger touched her lower lip, and as though the touch had somehow been a signal, a golden glow began to fill the room, moving from the walls toward the bed in a way that no light she had ever seen before had done. She still could not see the face beside hers, but she knew its features as well as her own, and when the glow finally touched his hair, revealing reddish highlights, she was not the least bit surprised. He shifted his weight, moving over her to kiss her, and she felt herself respond, her whole body leaping to meet his.

His lips were gentle, soft, and tender, tasting her mouth, her cheeks, and even her eyelids, and then she felt his hand on her shoulder, moving toward her breast. Instead of fear, she felt longing, and moved her own hands to caress his body.

He was naked. His skin felt smooth to her touch, and warm, but even as she became aware of those sensations, his fingers touched the tip of her right breast, and she realized that she was naked too. Her nipples tingled, but the caressing hand moved lower, to the tangle of curls where her legs met, and then he was touching her where she had once thought no one but a villain would touch her, but instead of recoiling, her body moved to meet his fingers and the warmth that spread through her was as nothing she had ever experienced before.

She moaned. The sound was audible, and his lips moved back to capture her mouth. His tongue plunged inside, and the fingers of his roving hand moved inside her too. She lost all sense of what she had been doing to him, too enthralled by the sensations he stirred in her, for his hands were everywhere now, caressing, possessing, and arousing her tingling nerves to ecstasy.

When his hands stopped moving, her body stirred of its own accord, and his hands moved again. The next time they stopped, she encouraged him with caresses of her own, and suddenly, almost overwhelmingly curious, she began to use her hands to explore his body, savoring the hardness of his muscles, his broad chest, his flat stomach, the tightly curled hairs of his—

She awoke sitting straight up in bed with sweat streaming from her body. The room was darker than it had been in the dream, and she knew that she was completely and utterly awake. Just thinking of the dream made her tremble, for she could still feel his caresses and her body still felt naked and vulnerable, although her nightdress covered her from neck to toe. Her breath came in sobs, and she wondered what on earth had possessed her to dream such wanton things, but one thing was perfectly clear. Under no circumstances could she marry Penthorpe.

Her sleep after that was fitful, but when she awoke the next morning with the smell of hot chocolate filling her room, she could remember no other dreams but the one she was certain she would never forget. Stealing a look at Nance, who had moved from setting down the tray to open the curtains, she wondered if the woman would sense any difference in her. Daintry was certain that she ought to, since she felt as if everything that had been done to her and that she had done ought somehow to be imprinted upon her for all the world to read.

“So you’re awake, are you?” Nance said. “Let me straighten them covers for you, my lady.”

She stayed very still, watching Nance, but the woman appeared to see nothing amiss, merely asking if she had learned some new way to drink her chocolate that would allow her to do so lying down, or if she meant to sit up like a Christian.

She sat up hastily, causing the newly straightened blankets to slip, which stirred a tingling in her breasts that made her feel as if she had been caressed again. It was as if Deverill had suddenly appeared in her bedchamber. Her cheeks burned at the thought, and as she took her chocolate from Nance, the woman put a hand on her forehead.

“Look a mite feverish, you do, miss,” she said. “Are you feeling quite the thing?”

“Oh, yes,” Daintry said, surprised that her voice sounded normal. “The room is a trifle warm, don’t you think?”

“Don’t feel it myself,” Nance said, “but then, I was just at that window, and there’s a bit of a breeze blowing across the moor and black clouds gathering overhead. Don’t feel much like spring this morning. Will you be getting up at once, miss?”

“Yes, please. I’ll want some writing paper, ink, and wafers, too, Nance, if you will send for some.”

“Lady St. Merryn ordered gilt-edged cards for your wedding invitations, Miss Davies told me. Ever so pretty they must be.”

“Well, they are not here yet, and I want to write a letter in any case, not invitations. And it will do you no good to pry, Nance, because I do not mean to tell you any more than that.”

But when the materials were brought to her, it occurred to her that her task would not be as easy as she had hoped. Though she had decided her best course lay with writing to Penthorpe and being as candid with him as she could be, she had no idea where to direct her letter and dared not ask her father. The most she could do was to write to Deverill and tell him she had discovered the key to the feud. But that course, too, carried with it certain difficulties.