For Love Alone (45 page)

“It sounds very much like the Chevalier Ledoux,” said Roxbury with a frown. “He is not a true chevalier—he merely styles himself as such. His name has come up from time to time, but until now we have never seriously considered him a danger. He will bear watching.” He suddenly smiled. “Hmm, I think perhaps we will let him run free for a while and see who his friends are....”

After Roxbury left, Ives and Sophy remained in the small study. Having seen his godfather out, Ives returned to his seat beside Sophy. Taking her hand in his, he dropped a kiss on the back of it.

“Happy?” he asked, his green eyes caressing her face.

She looked thoughtful. “I think if you were to put down your brandy snifter ...” And as Ives followed directions and carefully set down his brandy snifter, she added, “And if you were to put your arm here ...” She gently placed his newly freed arm around her waist. “Now then, if you were to put that other arm right here ...” she murmured. Ives dutifully complied.

Encircled in his strong embrace, she glanced up teasingly at him from beneath her extravagantly long lashes and a tiny smile curved her mouth. “And, now, if you were to kiss me and tell me again how much you love me, I think that I would be, oh,
most
happy.”

His arms tightened and his mouth came down on hers. “I am,” he said several pleasurable moments later, “a most obedient husband, am I not?”

Sophy gave an enchanting laugh, her golden eyes glinting. “Indeed you are not, but oh, Ives, I
do
love you!”

“And I,” he said softly as he enfolded her even nearer to him, “adore you!”

There was no more conversation between them; each knew what was in the other's heart. Except for the soft, inarticulate murmurings of the two lovers, it was quiet in the small room for a
very
long time.

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“
D
id you see that gown? And to wear it to Lady Oakhurst's charity bazaar of all places! It was a shock, I can tell you, when I first laid eyes on it—cut so low, I didn't know where to look! And the color! As close to orange as I ever hope to see! You'd think at
her
age—why, she must be at
least
five years older than I, and I am not considered a green girl any longer—that she'd know better.” Hester Mandeville, her lively face full of outrage, barely paused for breath before she went on in heated accents, “Her brother, Randal, not dead a year and Athena is already flaunting herself in a garment that I would not hesitate to stigmatize as fast!”

It was a summation that would have done a woman twice her age proud, but Hester's comment lost much of its moralizing impact by being uttered with a note of such open envy that her niece, Tess, had to choke back a gurgle of laughter. While Tess had been startled to see Lady Athena, the earl of Sherbourne's older sister, wearing “colors” before the year of mourning was up, the gown hadn't been quite that bad. It had been cut rather daringly, it was true, but the shade had been more of a rich antique gold than orange!

Sending her pretty aunt, normally the most tolerant of creatures, a look of affectionate amusement, Tess murmured, “But aren't we also beginning to wear some color again? You can't have forgotten,” Tess went on with a sudden catch in her throat, “that Sidney died just eleven days after Lord Sherbourne.”

Moral outrage over Athena Talmage's clothes was instantly suspended as both women were assailed by a wave of grief. Each dabbed at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. Hester said fiercely, “Those wretched Talmages! There was no excuse for that wicked, wicked duel! It was done out of spite! Randal knew that Sidney was no swordsman....” A tight, unhappy smile curved Hester's soft mouth. “It must,” she added in a husky voice, “have come as a most unwelcome shock to the great earl of Sherbourne that my brother was not quite the novice with the blade that he had supposed.” She took a shaky breath and blurted out, “I'm glad Sidney was able to kill him first. And I don't care if I am being uncharitable!”

For several seconds there was silence in the well-sprung coach as it bowled smoothly along the road toward Mandeville Manor, the home of the two ladies. Ordinarily it was a pleasant, if longish, ride from the small town of Hythe, on the coast of Kent, to the gracious welcome of Mandeville Manor, some twenty miles inland. Ordinarily, too, the women would have enjoyed the lovely October day—the sky was a brilliant blue with only a few clouds on the horizon, the sun still warm, the leaves of the oaks and beeches barely revealing a hint of the brilliant color they would display in another month. But neither lady was aware of the passing countryside—each was remembering the terrible tragedy that had shaken the very foundations of their comfortable life some ten months ago.

Staring blindly out the coach window, Tess felt the tears filling her eyes and she took a deep steadying breath, willing herself not to cry. Oh, but it was hard! She had adored her uncle. Sidney, the fifth Baron Mandeville, had been a high-spirited, sunny-faced individual, a handsome man with a merry charm. He'd always had a smile and a kind word for nearly everyone, and despite the fact that he had been a reckless gambler who had helped bring the family closer to ruin, Tess's deep affection for him had not lessened.

Tess's mother had died a few weeks after her birth some twenty-one years ago, and her father had lost his life in a hunting accident before she was four years old, so she had no clear memory of either of her parents. Before she had even been old enough to realize the tragedy that had struck her at such a young age, her father's sister, Hester, and his brother, Sidney, had ably filled the breach, showering her with warm, unstinting affection. Tess hadn't viewed her late father's siblings as parents precisely. Sidney had been only twelve years her senior, while Hester, seventeen years older than Tess, was a mature thirty-eight. Yet no one seeing her aunt's lovely, laughing face and slim form could possibly think of Hester Mandeville as matronly!

Tess sighed heavily as she continued to stare out the coach window, an errant shaft of sunlight suddenly turning a stray curl of hair from beneath her silk bonnet to flame. The death of her uncle Sidney had been doubly tragic—not only had she lost the nearest thing to a father she had ever possessed, but Sidney's death had brought the despicable Avery Mandeville on the scene and
everything
had changed!

Her generous lips thinned. She didn't really begrudge Avery his inheritance; she didn't mind so very much that Mandeville Manor and its broad acres were now his and that she and her aunt lived in their old home at his sufferance; she didn't even mind that he was constantly in and out of the manor, dividing his time between it and the London town house—they
were
his by law, after all. What she minded, and what brought a militant sparkle to her striking violet eyes, was his persistent and decidedly unwelcome pursuit of her hand!

At twenty-one, Tess Mandeville was an arrestingly beautiful young woman. Her rich red hair and black-lashed violet eyes were a stunning combination, and with her delicately sculpted features and trim, lithe body she was undeniably a tempting bundle of femininity. She was also, from her mother's side of the family, a sizable heiress, and while she suspected that Avery had no objection to her comely form, she was more than certain that it was her fortune that interested him the most!

It was common knowledge these days that the Mandeville fortune was sadly in need of repair and that poor Sidney had been haphazardly looking for an heiress to marry before his untimely death. The Mandevilles were not destitute by any means. They could, with a few economies, easily maintain a comfortable way of life; but they certainly could no longer spend money without thought of the future. Receiving word of Sidney's death, Avery, the newest heir to the barony and a distant cousin, had immediately resigned his captaincy in the infantry and returned to England, eager to claim his title and fortune. Upon his arrival from the continent, where he had been fighting under Sir Arthur Wellesley against Napoleon's troops on the Iberian peninsula, he had been greatly displeased to learn that while he could now style himself Baron Mandeville and claim the elegant rooms of Mandeville Manor and the equally sumptuous rooms of the London town house, there was very little ready money with which to support the luxurious lifestyle he felt was his due. It had been swiftly borne upon the new baron that marriage to an heiress was definitely needed. And who should be there right beneath his nose but Tess ... lovely, unmarried, and so very suitable for his needs. Tess with her greed-inspiring fortune, at present and until she either married or attained the grand age of twenty-five held in trust for her—and excellently guarded from scheming individuals—by one of her mother's younger brothers, Lord Rockwell.

A little smile suddenly flashed across her expressive face. Tess may have lost her parents at an early age, but happily she had been blessed with caring relatives on both sides of her family. Not only had she enjoyed the unstinting affection of Hester and Sidney, but she was also, albeit carelessly, doted upon by her mother's two brothers. Thomas, the current Lord Rockwell, and Alexander, as handsome and as charming a rogue as one would ever meet. Tess seldom saw either of her maternal uncles, which was hardly surprising since Thomas and Alexander were several years her senior and both were well-known, much-in-demand men about town who seldom strayed from the wickedly exciting environs of London. It was true she was infrequently in their company, but she was always aware of their affectionate concern for her.

Her gaze narrowed. A letter from her, containing just a hint of the new Baron Mandeville's increasingly distasteful wooing, and she knew her tall, broad-shouldered uncles would swoop down from London and with brutal efficiency teach Avery a much needed lesson.

Catching a glimpse of the fierce sparkle in her niece's eyes, Hester asked, “What makes you look so, my dear?”

Smiling across at her aunt, Tess said lightly, “I was just imagining the expression on Avery's face if Thomas and Alexander were to pay him a visit.”

A hint of color surged inexplicably into Hester's cheeks, but her voice was determinedly casual as she said, “I'm certain that Alexander wouldn't hesitate a moment to take him to task if you breathed just the merest hint of your difficulties with Avery. Alexander is the kindest, most considerate gentleman I know, and he simply would not allow you to be badgered—especially by the likes of Avery! Both of your uncles are very protective of you and rightly so.” She smiled faintly. “Their interest would certainly put Avery on the horns of a dilemma, wouldn't it? He wouldn't know whether to fawn upon them, hoping to gain their good graces, or whether to puff with outrage that they suspect him of ungentlemanly activities.” Hester's smile faded and she asked quietly, “Has he been particularly unpleasant? Shall I speak to him?”

Tess shook her head. “No, you know we dare not do anything that might impel Avery to demand that we leave Mandeville Manor—Aunt Meg would be devastated.”

Since Sidney's death it was a complicated situation in which Tess found herself. Actually, her situation wasn't terrible at all; she was the possessor of a fortune and two fond uncles who would move heaven and earth to keep her happy—she could escape from Mandeville Manor any time she chose to. It was Hester's fate and that of her great-aunt Margaret that kept Tess chained to the manor house in which she had been born.

It was odd, Tess thought, how many of the troubles of the Mandeville family seemed to go back almost seventy years ago, to the 1740s, to Gregory, her great-grandfather, and his despicable abduction of Benedict Talmage's bride-to-be, the Dalby heiress. Theresa Dalby had possessed the red hair and violet eyes that Tess herself had inherited. A tremor of unease suddenly quivered through her as she wondered if she might share her great-grandmother's fate—marriage to a man she did not love.

It was an old, sad tale. Once upon a time there had lived in amiable harmony, as neighbors and friends, the Talmage family, earls of Sherbourne; the barons of Mandeville; and the Dalbys. While the Dalbys could not style themselves as lords of the realm, they were of aristocratic birth and breeding and possessed an immense fortune. The last holder of the Dalby name had been knighted and so could call himself Sir Arthur Dalby. It was Sir Arthur's only child and heiress, she of the flame red hair and dancing violet eyes, who had been Tess's great-grandmother and for whom she had been named. The Dalby lands had been situated between the Sherbourne and Mandeville estates, and when it became obvious that Theresa would be the last Dalby and would inherit everything, it wasn't so surprising that the earl of Sherbourne and Baron Mandeville should cast appraising gazes in that direction. Especially so, since each man had an unmarried son ... a son who as Theresa's husband would gain all those broad acres and all the immense wealth of the Dalby fortune.

An intense rivalry broke out between the earl of Sherbourne's heir, Benedict, and Baron Mandeville's eldest son, Gregory, as both men competed furiously for the hand of the heiress. It had seemed, when Theresa's betrothal had eventually been announced, that Benedict had won the contest and that Gregory would have to retire gracefully from the fray. Unfortunately, Gregory Mandeville was
not
a gracious loser; barely a week before Theresa Dalby's marriage to Benedict Talmage was to take place, Gregory cravenly abducted her from her home.

Despite the Dalby fortune, it had been a love-match between Benedict and Theresa. By stealing his hated rival's bride-to-be, Gregory had not only struck a powerful blow to Benedict's pride, but he had also grievously wounded his heart. Painfully aware of what means Gregory would use to force Theresa's compliance, Benedict searched frantically from one end of England to the other, knowing that when he found the pair that he would be too late to prevent the unthinkable—Theresa's brutal ravishment by Gregory. Benedict's unceasing, desperate quest came to naught. It was not until nearly a year later that Gregory dared return to Mandeville Manor with his new wife
and
their newborn son.

Gregory certainly hadn't taken any chances, Tess thought with a grimace of distaste. Not only had he abducted another man's bride, but he had kept her well hidden until she was not only pregnant by him, but had borne his child. A wave of pity swept through her as she imagined Theresa's anguish. Abducted, raped, and forced to bear the child of a man she loathed.

“Do you think that Great-Grandmother Theresa ever felt anything but hatred and disgust for him?” Tess suddenly asked Hester.

Understandably confused by the question, Hester blinked at Tess, obviously attempting to gather her thoughts. “Are you referring to Gregory and Theresa?” At Tess's quick nod, Hester shrugged. “I don't know. I mean, it's not as if it were something I could ask her about, was it?”

Tess's mouth twisted. “I suppose not. I've just always wondered how she coped. It must have been horrible for her.”

Perfectly willing to discuss the matter, but totally mystified about why Tess should be interested in something that had happened so long ago, Hester said quietly, “Well, she didn't have to cope for very long—remember, she and Benedict disappeared together three or four years later.”

A dark look on her face, Tess muttered, “I know, but before
that
she had to endure Great-Grandfather
and,
don't forget, watch the man she really loved marry another. They both must have been utterly miserable—she married to a blackhearted scoundrel and Benedict finally forced to marry for the sake of his title. It must have been bitterly heartrending for her when Benedict's son was born. I don't doubt that every time she looked at her own son she didn't think that, except for dear Gregory's perfidious actions, the baby would have been hers and Benedict's.”