Dark Before the Rising Sun (7 page)

“Most likely the good innkeeper come to assess the damage,” Dante predicted, beginning to think he would never again have a moment's privacy with Rhea. “Sorry, my love.”

A slight smile curved the corners of Rhea's mouth. “I am not going anywhere,” Rhea promised. “Besides, there is always tomorrow,” she told him, making herself comfortable before the fire while Jamaica yawned and curled contentedly in her lap. “And I am a very patient person.”

“Damned if I am,” Dante cursed as he went to the door.

Rhea held out her hands to the fire while the conversation of the innkeeper and the serving girls droned on, but soon their voices faded and Rhea's thoughts drifted far from London. She stared hypnotically at the flames dancing in the hearth, and suddenly she saw a peaceful valley where the wild iris and daffodil blossomed in the woodland, and the meadows were covered with bluebells. The crystalline reflection of swans floating across a sylvan lake was disturbed only by a soft breeze rippling the surface.

And in the distance, on a gently rising knoll, was Camareigh, its golden-hued walls basking in the warm glow of a somnolent late-summer afternoon.

That was the Camareigh she remembered, though it had been autumn the last time she saw her home. Almost a year had passed since the dawning of that fateful day when she had been kidnapped. The innocence of her life had vanished that autumn day redolent of rain and wood smoke. Her destiny had been changed forever.

The girl who had ridden her mare, Skylark, along that narrow country lane with carefree abandon was no more. Rhea wondered how different it would be when she saw her family again. During those long months at sea aboard the
London Lady
, when she had known such a desperation of mind and spirit, she had despaired of ever seeing them again. How they must have suffered on her account. How many hours into days into months had they agonized over her fate, wondering perhaps if she were even still alive?

She was home, but had yet to see her family. She was so close, yet still so far. She had wanted to let her family know of her safe return immediately upon her arrival in London. But out of concern for Dante and the awkward position he was in because of her, she had waited, acquiescing to his wish to clear himself of the kidnapping charge before he faced her family.

Besides which, he had added with that mocking smile of his, she was his most important witness, and the only one who could completely prove his innocence. She didn't want to see him gallows-bound, did she? he had asked.

Dante could be most persuasive when he wanted something, and he presented his last argument quite convincingly. Would it not be better to travel to Camareigh and be reunited with her family there, rather than send an impersonal letter informing them of her arrival? Why make them travel to London, where the long-awaited reunion would have to take place among strangers? Surely they would come as soon as they heard the news. And, of course, the rest of her family would still be at Camareigh, and what kind of celebration would that be?

Rhea, never one to suspect ulterior motives, had believed in his sincerity, and had been touched by Dante's consideration for her family. It would not be until later that she would fully understand the deeper emotions conflicting within Dante. Houston Kirby would not have been so easily gulled, for he knew the captain too well not to question his actions, especially when they seemed wholly innocent. That was when it was best for a person to be on guard.

But Rhea was unsuspecting. And uppermost in her mind was the reunion with her family. She was anxious to return to them, and to Camareigh. She was homesick for the familiar sight of their faces and the sound of their voices. There was so much to say, so much to explain.

Rhea frowned slightly as she anticipated that reunion. Suddenly she was afraid of not being the same Rhea Claire they had once loved. So many things had happened to her. Would they think her too changed? Would they be able to accept what had happened? Could they accept the fact that she…?

“Rhea?”

She turned her head, her mind still miles away.

“Rhea? Are you ill? You're so pale,” Dante asked sharply.

Rhea gave a guilty start. She had momentarily forgotten her whereabouts, and with a look of surprise she noticed that the room was empty except for the two of them.

Dante was sitting at the table, cleared of cutlery and china. Spread out before him were several sheets of foolscap. A quill pen was held poised above one of the sheets already partly filled with neat lines of script.

“I am feeling quite well, thank you,” Rhea replied politely. “I was just thinking about something.” And still caught up in her private memories of Camareigh and her family, she didn't realize that the vagueness of her reply seemed to exclude Dante.

The scratching of the quill pen continued for a moment longer, then Dante carefully replaced the pen in the inkstand before methodically sprinkling fine sand from the pounce box over the slanting black letters.

“What are you thinking about?” he inquired casually while folding the parchment into a neat packet. Melting the sealing wax, Dante pressed his signet ring into the soft resin spreading across the two folds and firmly affixed his seal to the document.

Rhea sighed, shrugging. “About my family. About going home,” she admitted, and to the man watching her, the soft smile of remembrance curving her lips bespoke a secret she was sharing with herself.

When Rhea became aware of Dante's fixed gaze, her smile widened to include him, but he didn't return her smile. In the flickering shadows of the firelight his expression seemed brooding, and for an uncomfortable instant Rhea felt as if she were staring into a stranger's face again.

Suddenly Dante smiled, and Rhea found herself letting out her breath, unaware that she had been holding it. To break the tension she felt growing between them, she glanced over to the letter.

“To whom have you been writing?” she asked curiously, thinking that Dante had few friends in England. “To someone in the colonies?”

“No,” Dante answered, momentarily startled as he, too, stared at the letter. “It is to a business acquaintance. There are certain business transactions which I must conclude before 'tis too late.”

His reticent response did not surprise Rhea, for there was much about Dante she did not know. If she had known everything she would probably not have understood, for they were as different as night and day.

“But let us not concern ourselves with business. I have a gift for you,” he said as he got up and walked over to where a brown cloth greatcoat lay across the chest at the foot of the four-poster.

“I was going to present this to you tomorrow, but what better time could there be than now?” he asked as his hand disappeared into one of the deep pockets, reappearing seconds later with a small, flat leather case.

“You have already spent far too much on me,” Rhea protested, genuinely concerned by his extravagance. It was so unnecessary. “I wish you hadn't ordered so many new gowns from Madame Lambere's. She is the most expensive dressmaker in London, and since her popularity has increased, so have her prices.”

“Of course she is the best. Do you think I would buy anything but the best for you?” Dante asked. “You do not care for the gowns? Are they not up to her usual standard? If not, then I'll certainly have a word or two to say to her when—”

Rhea shook her head in amused exasperation, for Dante suddenly reminded her of a small boy whose surprise had been spoiled. “No, it is not that at all. Indeed, I think they are the most beautiful gowns I have ever seen, but—”

“My only concern is that you be pleased. Price is of no consequence,” Dante interrupted, thinking he had put an end to her objections.

“It is just that I do have several wardrobes full of gowns at home, gowns I have scarcely worn. I just do not want you to waste your money, Dante,” Rhea told him, trying to catch his eye in order to convince him of her sincerity. “My parents have seen to my every need. I have never wanted for anything, and I am certain that all of my possessions are still in my bedchamber at Camareigh. So, truly, you do not need to buy me anything, Dante.”

The expression in Dante's eyes was unreadable, but his body suddenly tensed. He stood staring down at Rhea, his narrowed gaze lingering on the pure gold of her hair and the way the firelight seemed to be a living part of it.

“Your parents need no longer bear the responsibility for you, Rhea. Whatever you need, I will buy. Those possessions of yours are from another life. I want you to wear only what
I
have purchased for you. From the satin slippers on your feet to the velvet ribbons in your hair, I want everything you wear to have been bought by me and by no one else.” His voice was implacable.

Rhea stared at him in amazed incomprehension. “I do not understand. You wish me to forget about my family and the life I lived before I was kidnapped from Camareigh?” Rhea spoke quietly, but there was a look of unease in her eyes when she met Dante's.

“My dear, you misunderstand me,” Dante said quickly, realizing too late that he had gone too far. “What I meant was that I had no intention of returning you to Camareigh dressed as you were when aboard the
Sea Dragon
, despite the charming picture you made. Perhaps if you seem little changed, then your parents will be less suspicious of me,” Dante speculated. “Perhaps your father will even allow me the opportunity of explaining before he tries to blow my head off. Not that I could truly blame him. If I were in his place and a gentleman of so disreputable a character came calling with my daughter on his arm, I would certainly waste little time in dispatching him to the devil,” Dante added with a humorless smile.

“Oh, Dante,” Rhea whispered, a smile of relief banishing the shadows from her eyes. She knew then why Dante had been so difficult of late, and why he'd been so determined to lavish her with gifts. He felt that he needed to buy her loyalty. And if she did not love him so much, she would have been offended. “For a man who is very clever, you can also be very foolish,” she said softly. “Have I not convinced you yet that I shall always love you? And you needn't worry about my family, for they will welcome you into their hearts as soon as they meet you,” Rhea predicted without hesitancy, forgetting her own doubts of only moments before.

“'Tis true, then, that love is indeed blind,” Dante murmured with a smile of bitterness as he wondered how long it would be before Rhea was influenced by others and began to see him in a less than kindly light.

But until then…

Dante held out the slim case, just out of her reach. He grinned. “Perhaps you are correct, my dear, and I have been spending too much money on gilding a lily. Well, I am in a quandary, for I doubt that I can return this, or even trade it in on some good horseflesh. I suppose I shall be forced to find someone more appreciative. You wouldn't be able to suggest anybody, would you, my dear?” Dante asked, looking thoughtfully expectant. “I don't suppose you have a sister who is blond and blue-eyed, and avaricious enough not to mind trading her favors for a pretty bauble or two?”

Rhea lifted the sleeping Jamaica from her lap and, without causing a break in his purring, resettled him on the vacated seat. “As a matter of fact, I do have a sister. I believe I have mentioned her. Of course, the type of bauble she would be interested in would make your hand sticky. She is only two. No,” Rhea corrected herself with a disbelieving shake of her head, “she is now three years old, and loves codlin tarts dripping with cream. No, I do not believe she will do at all, my dear. However,” Rhea continued, looking quite serious even as she smothered her chuckle with a cough, “there is always Caroline. Yes, I can see that she will do quite splendidly for you, Dante. She is blond and blue-eyed and, unfortunately, quite avaricious. Shall I arrange introductions? She is from a most respectable family, and the daughter of my father's dear friend, Sir Jeremy Winters.”

“She is the girl who was with you the day you were kidnapped?”

“Yes, and until yesterday I hadn't known if she was even still alive. As far as I knew, she could have died, as I thought Wesley Lawton had.”

“Ah, yes, Wesley Lawton, the good and proper Earl of Dindale. If I remember correctly, you were quite concerned about him and quite relieved to hear of his miraculous recovery. You were going to wed the distinguished gentleman, were you not?” Dante asked, his voice too casual to be anything but sarcastically intended.

“He is the Earl of
Ren
dale,” Rhea corrected him, knowing full well that Dante remembered the earl's proper name. “And he was nothing more than a family friend. Of course,” Rhea added, not above a bit of teasing herself, “the thought had crossed my mind that he could become much more than that. In fact, had I not been kidnapped, I probably would have seriously considered marriage to Wesley Lawton.”

“Indeed? Odd, isn't it, how one man's misfortune can turn into another man's good fortune,” Dante commented, not overly concerned about the unfortunate trick fate had played on the pious Earl of Rendale. “However, this Caroline sounds promising,” Dante continued with a glint in his eye, unwilling to let Rhea get away with her last remark. “Is she your size?” he inquired while his gaze raked Rhea's figure. “I should really hate to have to spend any more money on gowns, ribbons, or satin slippers.”

Rhea's laughter was beginning to get the best of her. “I would not wish Caroline on even you, m'lord,” Rhea conceded, thinking of that very determined young woman in hot pursuit of Dante, his marquis title warming the cockles of Caroline's heart. “I do think it wise not to introduce her to Alastair. Now that he is a gentleman of fortune, he would never have a chance.”

“'Tis a pity, but I do not think this Caroline, despite the charming picture you paint of her, is the person I am in search of. Do you have anyone else in mind?” Dante asked softly, holding out his gift enticingly.