Anita Mills (17 page)

“I know you risked your life to come to see her.”

“To what end? She did naught but complain of it.”

“She is your mother, Dominick.”

Her words seemed to hang between them for a moment; then he looked away. “You give a man naught to save himself with, Annie, do you?”

“ ’Tis not his words, but rather his heart that saves,” she said softly. She reached out to him, touching his hand where it lay on the table. “I’m sorry—I did not mean to overset you.”

He pulled away. “You know what you are, Annie?” he demanded almost furiously. “You are a damned conscience!”

“I said I was sorry.”

“You get into me, and you will not let me go!” He rose, nearly oversetting his chair. “Why did you come?” he asked, his back to her.

“I told you—I’d hire a solicitor to plead for you.”

“No.”

“But—”

He swung around. “I don’t need another mother, Annie. I got myself into this, and I mean to get myself out of it.”

“I sent for Lord Trent.”

“Damn!”

“I thought you would wish it.”

“Well, 1 don’t. I am seven-and-twenty, you know, and I’d not hide behind his coat.”

“Well, I’m sorry for that also, Dominick Deveraux!” She felt her own anger rising, but she didn’t care. “What was I to think? You asked me to take care of things for you, you know! And you were here, and … and I had no way of knowing ‘twas like this! I thought you were in a hole somewhere, that you would wish out of it!” She rose and started for the door, calling, “Guard!”

“No … Annie!” He caught her from behind and held her. “Where the deuce did you get the bonnet?” he muttered. “Cannot see around the damned thing.”

“ ’Tis Meg’s.”

His fingers loosened the ribbons beneath her chin, then slid upward to dislodge the hat. Before she could catch it, it fell to the floor.

“You’ll ruin it, and I cannot …”

Her words died as he turned her around. There was no mistaking the warmth in his blue eyes. His hands moved to cradle her head, and his face blurred before hers. This time, there was no gentle brush of lips against lips. He crushed her to him, and his mouth possessed hers eagerly, shocking her. For a moment she stiffened, then gave herself up to the sheer pleasure of his kiss. Her arms slid around his waist, holding him. She was breathless when he released her.

“Been wanting to do that since I bade you good-bye, you know,” he murmured huskily.

She’d behaved like the veriest trollop, and she knew it. Blood rushed to her face, heating it. “Meg’s bonnet,” she said lamely.

“I’ll buy her another—’twas worth the price.”

“Time’s up!” the guard called through the door.

“Damn,” Dominick muttered. He leaned over to pick up the hat, then placed it on her head. His fingers fumbled, making a lopsided bow beneath her chin. “You know, I was wrong earlier—you are deuced pretty.”

“ ’Tis the hat,” she managed, trying not to look at him. “It hides my hair.”

“ ’Tis you, Annie.”

The door opened and the guard said gruffly, “Got to go, miss.”

This time Dominick ducked beneath the brim to kiss her lightly. “Until we are met again, Annie,” he said much as he’d said at the Haven. “Good-bye, my dear.”

She started to follow the guard out, then turned back briefly, “Meg was right, you know—you are volatile, Dominick.”

He bowed slightly at that. “At least I am not a dull fellow.”

Bertie was pacing the outer room impatiently, but stopped when he saw her. “He all right?”

“Far better than I expected,” she muttered.

“You all right?”

“No. We are returning to the Haven, Bertie.”

“Thought you was looking for a solicitor. Had it from the keeper as there’s this fellow—”

She cut him off. “Dominick Deveraux has no wish to be managed by an interfering female.”

“He tell you that?” he asked incredulously. “Of all the ungrateful … Dash it, but we swam mud to get here!”

“Well, we are swimming mud back again.” She swished past him into the street. “He can hang before I offer anything again.” But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. As her companion handed her up into the coach, she sank back against the squabs. “Bertie, do you think anyone could count me pretty?”

He tripped over her feet and righted himself with the pull strap. “Eh? Why’d you ask a thing like that?”

“Well, do you?” she persisted.

“With or without the hat?”

“Never mind.”

He leaned back and looked at her for a moment. ‘“Course I do, Annie—almost as pretty as Miss Mitford, in fact.”

“Thank you, Bertie,” she retorted sourly.

Turning her face to her window, she stared out, seeing not the dirty, muddy street but rather Dominick Deveraux, and hearing not the shouts of drivers maneuvering in the road but rather his voice again.
You know, I was wrong earlier— you are deuced pretty…. Been wanting to do that since I bade you good-bye….
And she could not help wondering if he’d meant any of it. Stop it, she told herself fiercely. He was but a rake and a rogue, and no doubt he paid lavish court to every female he met. With that lowering thought she decided that as soon as Charlotte Deveraux showed sufficient improvement, she had to leave the Haven before she lost her heart. She had no wish to be anybody’s ladybird. She caught herself again. Well, not a ladybird, anyway, and anything else was about as likely as an offer from the Regent.

Charlotte Deveraux improved steadily over the next few days, much of her progress being owed to Anne’s stubbornness. When the old woman would not try to help herself, Anne alternately cajoled, pushed, and downright bullied her until ‘twas easier simply to do it. It was a clash of wills, Meg told Bertie with awe, that Annie simply refused to lose.

As Charlotte’s speech returned, she became more and more reluctant to use it, for her words were slurred worse than a drunkard’s, she complained to Annie. As for her coordination, it was poor also, partly because of lingering paralysis on the right side of her body.

Deciding that the time for wholehearted sympathy had passed, Anne gave orders to everyone that if it was at all possible, Mrs. Deveraux was to do for herself. And she meant it. When she fed the woman, she would give her one bite, then make her take the next herself, eliciting a great deal of grumbling.

“Uh … uh … unnn-fee … ling,” the woman managed to pronounce.

“You have to learn to do things again,” Anne murmured, putting the spoon in her hand again, much in the manner of one dealing with an uncooperative child. “If you miss, I will wipe it up. Now, come on, and when we are done, we shall get you bathed and into a fresh nightrail,” she promised. “And then I shall read to you until you are ready to sleep.”

The woman’s eyes flashed defiantly for a moment; then a shadow of defeat crossed her face. “Ca-aaan … ot.”

“Of course you can. This
will
pass.”

“No.”

“Did I ever tell you about Mrs. Cokeham?” Anne asked, knowing very well she had
ad nauseam.
“Well, she was in the same case as you, you know, and within a month she walked. Not well, at first, I admit, but she walked. And before the year was out, she got around quite proficiently with a cane.”

“Don … Don’t wa-aant …”

“Believe me, after a month in this bed, you will positively relish the thought.” Guiding the old woman’s hand, she managed to tip the spoon between her lips. “There. Now ’tis my turn.”

“Staaarve.”

“Not if you do your part.” Anne dipped the spoon into the custard and carried it to her mouth. “Open.” Leaning over her charge, she did not hear the door open across the room. “That’s better. Here—you will need a drink to wash that down, don’t you think?” She paused, waiting for an answer, trying to force the woman to speak. “Tell me what you want.”

“W-wine.”

“Very good.” Slipping an arm behind her, Anne raised her and held the cup to her lips. “A small swallow.”

He stood there watching her care for his mother, thinking she had the patience of a saint. He’d been greeted below by nearly everyone in the house, and each vied with the other to tell how she’d saved Charlotte Deveraux’s life. And by the looks of it, she meant to win the battle for the quality of that life now. Even as she coaxed his mother, she seemed a restful, caring person. And God knew he needed that. He was certainly tired of the other. He knew he could do a lot worse.

He cleared his throat. “I am come home.”

Anne nearly dropped the cup. Turning in her chair, she tried not to betray die surge of elation she felt. How …?”

He crossed the room and leaned over his mother. “Feeling more the thing, are you?”

“No.” Her eyes sharpened when she saw him. Rolling them toward Anne, she uttered, “A-a-bominable. Tortures me.”

“Somebody ought to.” He looked to Annie and favored her with his oddly twisted smile. “You are not the only liar, my dear.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I am released on my word as a gentleman—and one hundred and fifty pounds to the magistrate. He wouldn’t take the word of a rogue, you see.”

“You bribed the magistrate?” she asked incredulously.

“I posted bond, my dear. I am to travel to London next month, where the matter will be resolved.” He reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope. “By the by, this ought to be of as much interest to you as to me.”

Mystified, she opened it. “ ’Tis from Lord Trent.”

“Yes. He rather thought I ought to let you know Ellie was safely delivered.”

She scanned the bold handwriting. “ ’Twas a daughter named Anne Amelia Caroline,” she murmured. “And he says your second, upon hearing of your arrest, has come forward.”

“A stroke of luck,” he acknowledged, his mouth quivering at one corner. “But do go on, my dear.”

She continued to read, then reddened. “Well, I shall not expect you to refine too much on the rest of it.”

“The part about what an unexceptionable wife you would make me?”

She dropped her gaze to the floor, fixing her attention on one of the roses in the rug. “Yes.”

“My dear Annie, for all that he would do it, I have not the least intention of letting Trent run my life.” He turned to his mother again. “Trent has a daughter named for Annie.”

“Not for me, surely,” Anne protested.

“You certainly impressed him. Full half of that page extols your virtues, my dear.”

“I assure you I said nothing to warrant his regard.”

“You did not have to.”

He was too close to her, too real. “Unless you have a wish to be private with your mama, I should like to finish her meal.”

“I’ll wait.”

“I cannot think you would wish to. I mean, you would have quite enough time to get dressed for dinner ere I am done.”

“Can you believe this, Mother? My betrothed cannot rid herself of me quickly enough, ’twould seem. Very well, Annie, but after dinner I shall not be fobbed off so lightly.” In full view of his mother, he leaned to peck Anne’s cheek. “Buck up, my love,” he murmured, grinning.

She sat still as stone until she was quite certain he’d left. Then, aware that Charlotte Deveraux’s bird-bright eyes were on her, she hastened to assure her, “Tis no such thing, you know, and I cannot think why he would wish to overset you …” Her color deepened with the realization of what she’d said. “That is, I hope you will not think me unspeakably fast, ma’am, but ‘twas the only way I could see him in jail. Oh, dear, I am making a mull of this, am I not? Perhaps I ought to tell you the whole. And then you must try harder to help me, for I do not think I ought to stay here much longer.”

In the upper hallway, Dominick encountered Meg stealing out of Annie’s bedchamber. She glanced furtively one way, then back to him. “Oh! You startled me, sir.” As she spoke, she whisked something behind her. A piece of green silk slid to the floor. “Oh, dear.”

He bent to pick it up. “You are sneaking cloth from Annie?” he asked, lifting his brow.

“Not cloth precisely.” She looked down guiltily. “ ’Tis what is left of her dress. We thought … that is, Betty and I thought that perhaps in the excitement of your return, she might not note it was missing. And by the time she does, ‘twill be quite burned on the trash heap.”

“You are stealing Miss Morland’s dress? Why?”

“She keeps sewing on it—and ‘tis hopeless! ’Tis time she got another. Even Bertie says so,” she finished almost defiantly. “But she will not do it. I do not believe she has spent anything of the money you gave her. There—I have said it!”

“You seem to have discovered your tongue, Miss Mitford,” he observed dryly.

“I have had to. Now, if you will pardon me, I must get this out before I am seen.”

Remembering how Annie had run back toward the Red Hart, he shook his head. “No.”

“ ’Tis naught but a rag, sir.”

“I know. I’ll take it.”

“You, sir?”

“Yes. What were you going to do when she looked for it, by the by?”

“None of us were going to admit seeing it.”

“See that you don’t.” He reached around her to take the piece of silk. Rolling it into a ball, he started toward his own chamber.

“But—”

“I will tend the matter, Miss Mitford. But do tell Bertie I should like a word with him ere we sup.”

Everyone was already down by the time Anne made her way to the dining room. For some perverse reason, she’d taken longer than usual to dress, and she’d even allowed Betty to try her hand at the curling tongs. The result was a riot of short curls that made her feel ridiculous, but by then there was no time to soak them out.

“Oh, Annie—your hair!” Meg breathed when she saw her.

“Perhaps I ought to go back for the cap,” Anne decided.

“Oh, no! It looks lovely, doesn’t it, Bertie?”

“Looks like that Greek,” he declared gallantly.

“What Greek?” Anne asked suspiciously. “I am not aware of any Greek noted for her hair—except Medusa, and I don’t believe she was a Greek precisely.”

“That’s the one.”

“My dear Bertie,” Dominick murmured with a straight face, “Medusa had snakes growing out of her head.”

“That settles it. I am going back for the cap.”

“Wasn’t Medusa,” Bertie insisted. “Can’t remember her name, I guess.”

“Perhaps you are talking of Medea. Sit down, my dear. You actually look quite fetching,” Dominick said, holding her chair for her. “Word of a Deveraux.”

“Do,” Bertie agreed. “Meant you was like one of them statues.”

“I think perhaps you ought to cease complimenting me while I am still speaking to you.”

“That’s what I like about you, Annie,” Bertie declared sincerely. “You ain’t one of them females as expects a man to be on ceremony with you.”

She sighed. “It would not help if I were. Somehow I cannot imagine you as my gallant, you know.”

“Well, I think Mr. Bascombe is quite”—Meg groped for a word—”quite accomplished!”

“You do? Egad.” Nearly overcome, he lapsed into momentary silence; then he could not resist asking, “In what?”

“Well … that is …”

“Knew it was a hum,” he muttered.

“You make people feel comfortable around you,” she blurted out finally.

“A rare talent,” Anne agreed, smiling. “And you have a kind heart.”

“Me? No, I don’t. Surely not.”

Dominick poured the dinner wine into the glasses. Picking one up, he offered a toast. “To kind hearts.” As the others drank, he looked to Anne and grinned. “And to my betrothed.”

“Oh, Annie!”

She choked and nearly strangled on her wine. “ ’Tis no … ‘tis no …” Unable to go on, she fell into a fit of coughing.

“I own, my dear, I should have rather chosen somewhere besides the Nottingham jail for the announcement, but I accept the rather peculiar circumstances.” He lifted his glass again. “To Annie—a most unexceptionable female,” he said softly.

“To Annie!” Bertie cheered. “Best gel I know!”

“To Anne,” Meg murmured with a sudden lack of enthusiasm.

Still coughing, Anne grabbed her napkin and ran from the room. Bertie set down his glass and exchanged an uneasy glance with Dominick.

“What the devil ails her?”

“I fear I am about to be jilted. Er … if you will excuse me …”

“Looked downright queasy, didn’t he?” Bertie observed to Meg. “Makes a man not want to cast his hat over the windmill . Ain’t seen one yet as did not make a cake of himself.”

“Is she engaged to him?” Meg demanded. “She never said a word to me. Whenever did he ask her?”

“Eh?” Bertie shifted in his seat uncomfortably, uncertain what to say. “Must’ve been in Nottingham.”

“Aunt Charlotte is going to be mad as fire,” Meg decided, warming to the idea. “You know, at one time I thought Annie was trying to fix your interest.”

“Me? Lud, no! Where’d you get a bird-brained notion like that? Just friends, that’s all.”

Dominick found Anne sitting before the fire in the library, in the very chair where he’d drunk himself into a stupor that night. Closing the door quietly, he crossed the room to stand over her. Ignoring him, she pulled the plaid wool shawl from the back of the chair and wrapped herself in it.

“Annie—”

“How could you?” she demanded furiously. “Betrothed indeed!”

“It seemed like a good idea to me.” He grinned crookedly. “So I accepted. Come on, Annie—am I that hard to take? ‘Twill be all over Nottingham within the week anyway.”

“I never asked you. ’Twas a ruse to get into the jail, and well you knew it.” She looked up at him. “You scarce know me, and you cannot even pretend to love me. Besides, everything is a jest to you.”

“I admire you more than any other woman I have ever met.”

“I want more than that.”

“What
do
you want, Annie? What would you have me say to you?”

She wanted to shout that she wanted passion, that she wanted romantic love, that she wanted to be wanted, but she could not do it without sounding like a wicked wanton. Instead she lowered her head and stared unhappily into the fire. “If I told you, ’twould serve no purpose. You would give me my words rather than yours.”

Given his experience with all the women who’d cast out lures to him, her attitude was unexpected. “Annie, we should suit. You are good and kind and sensible—all the things I am not. You rein in my wilder impulses,” he argued.

“And you think that is what I wish to do?” she asked incredulously.

“You have nowhere to go. You don’t want to be a companion to my mother while you wither, and I’d not ask it of you. Let me repay you for what you have done here.”

If she had wavered at all, that decided her. Of all the reasons to be wedded, the worst she could think of was gratitude. “You saved me at the Blue Bull, sir, and therefore we are even. And like you, I have no wish for pity.”

“Annie—”

“As for having nowhere to go, I think I should finally like to meet my grandfather. No doubt he will not wish to further the acquaintance, but at least I will have seen him. After that, I will go back to London.”

“And do what? Feed pap to elderly females? I’ll say one thing for you, Anne Morland: you certainly know how to give a man a set-down.”

“ ’Twas not meant as one.”

“ ’Twas so taken. Very well, if my suit is repugnant to you—”

“Not repugnant precisely. Not that.”

“You will hear no more on that head from me. I had but thought to make life easier for you, that’s all. But I can see you think me merely a frivolous fellow.”

She heard the door slam behind him, and it was as though every recess of her mind cried out, “Fool” to her. As much as she’d tried to deny it, she’d cherished silly, romantic notions of him almost from the first. If only he’d said he cared for her, she would have closed her eyes and followed him almost anywhere. But he hadn’t. He was merely grateful.