Edith Layton (10 page)

“Naught but rabbits, sir,” one quavering voice put in after a long moment of silence had fallen over the room.

“Pheasants,” ventured another.

“And ducks,” someone said from the back of the room.

“Well, good,” Drum said, rising to his feet and stretching his long limbs. “Ah, this fresh country air. Makes a fellow sleepy. Much as I’d like to stay and chat, I fear it’s to bed for us, if we want to visit the Fords first thing in the morning.”

Drum stood too. He looked across the room at Clyde. “The Fords are friends of mine,” he said in a clear, cold, carrying voice. “I’ll be visiting them now and again. I’d hate to hear a lady’s name bandied about by those who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

The crickets outside and the fire in the hearth were
the loudest sounds in the room as the two gentlemen climbed the stair to their rooms.

“See?” Rafe said with bitter triumph when he reached the door to his room.

Drum nodded. “But see how effectively we silenced them?”

“For now. Made me look like a loon, though. I’ve a temper, but I’m not a madman. Why didn’t you simply speak truth?”

“Because Reason never stopped gossip,” Drum said blithely, “But terror does.”

“Do you plan to live here for the rest of your life and keep terrorizing them?” Rafe scowled. “It’s worse than I thought. I’ve got to marry her.”

“Don’t be so quick to be a human sacrifice,” Drum said. “Didn’t you hear them? Where there’s smoke, my dear friend, there’s often fire. And it seems the lady has a fair share of that. They said she’d already lost two lovers.”

“They also said she stripped herself naked in my hall. I’d like to have seen that,” Rafe said scornfully.

“I thought that was something you didn’t want to see,” Drum said as he opened his door. “She may be innocent in this, but I think you might consider the other things they mentioned.”

“That she was fond of the lad she was going to marry?” Rafe asked. “You’d expect her to be distant from him? That she went to India and was jilted? What of it? I met her, Drum. My life’s depended on my estimate of a fellow’s mettle in the past. I pride myself on my ability to judge men. Are women so much different?”

“Oh, very much,” Drum laughed. “But that’s not for us to argue tonight. Go to bed. Tomorrow we’ll see how the land lies. Gossip can only do harm if it’s listened to. Let’s find out what the Fords have heard. It may be this is nothing but thunder that will blow over, leaving it to rain somewhere else, in someone else’s life.”

I
t was an old, rambling rose brick house, U-shapedin the Elizabethan style of the days when it was built. The fields around it were filled with blue cornflowers, asters, goldenrod, and marigold. The gardens were brimming with late roses, red on one side of the house, white on the other, because everyone knew how unlucky it was to have the two growing together. It was a comfortable looking place for all its size, as it lay dreaming amidst flowers and grasses.

There wasn’t a sign of life as the two gentlemen rode up the drive to the front door. The crunching of the horses’ hooves on the gravel alerted someone, because a youth came running from the stables in back, buttoning his jacket as he ran. He halted and stared up at the two men.

“Is your master or mistress about?” Rafe asked.

“They’re visiting,” the lad said, looking at them with interest. “But Lieutenant Eric and his sister be walking in the gardens. Want me to fetch him? Or do you want to go in?” he asked belatedly. “The butler’s there.”

“We’ll just join the lieutenant,” Rafe said, dismounting. He handed the boy his reins. “In the back, you said?”

The boy nodded, fascinated by the pair of elegant gentlemen.

“They don’t seem to get much company,” Drum commented to Rafe as they walked down the crushed shell path that led to the gardens in back of the house.

“Or no one’s coming to visit them these days,” Rafe muttered.

The knot garden was empty; the lawn beyond only held rooks and robins. They strolled toward a pond they could see glittering in the sunshine beyond that. As they came to a gentle rise in the land, they finally saw two figures standing by an old willow that was dipping its green fingers into the pond.

Drum recognized Eric Ford by his height, broad shoulders, and bright gold hair. His gaze arrowed to the slender lady Eric stood with. She wore a gown blue as the water behind her, and her sleek midnight hair was so dark it shone with hints of blue in the sunlight. She looked up and saw her visitors.

Rafe stopped. He straightened his shoulders. “There she is,” he muttered to Drum.

“Rafe! And Drum!” Eric shouted. “This is a surprise!”

His sister said nothing. She only stared at Rafe as though he were visiting from the dead.

“
That’s
your ‘Bren’?” Drum asked, for once shocked out of his usual urbanity.

Rafe didn’t answer. He only strode forward, then stopped a foot from Brenna and stared at her.

Drum stared as well.
This was Rafe’s “calm, sensible, steady, respectable woman”?
he thought in astonishment. The calm, steady, and sensible parts remained to be seen. She might be respectable too. But it would take work on her part to remain so. She was exotic as a houri and just as erotic looking. She didn’t notice Drum staring because she only had eyes for Rafe. Drum saw the eagerness leap into those raven depths before she quickly concealed her delight, and then her dismay.

Rafe looked as if he’d just suffered a blow to the head. Drum felt it too. Annabelle was tasty, and no mistake. She was a comfit, a confection, a charming, dainty, little, extravagantly expensive pastry. But Brenna Ford? The woman was a heady liquor, a feast of spices, with a sensual pull strong as the full-moon tide in an estuary. Of course Annabelle was jealous and her mama vindictive. He’d invented the story of their spite for the locals, but saw he hadn’t had to. It could only be true. That was why Rafe was so conflicted! Drum turned his head to look at his friend. Rafe was still staring.

No wonder!
Drum thought.
To lose the anticipated treat of a sweetmeat and discover yourself with such a full plate anyway? Oh my poor Rafe! What a delicious predicament you’ve got yourself in.

Rafe knew he should speak now, at least to introduce Drum, but couldn’t frame a word.

He was surprised at how glad he was to see Brenna. She’d become a friend in a very little time. It was more than that. It was broad daylight; she was fully and properly dressed. But she looked every bit as sensual as she had that shocking morning in London that had sealed their fate. The reality of the future he would face with her hit him hard.

He didn’t like having his hand forced. He wasn’t sure he was ready to give it to anyone but the woman he’d lost. But he couldn’t have that woman, and this one had been slandered through no fault of her own. And she was a friend’s sister. There was the fact that she was bright and good-hearted. And there was no denying this insistent attraction. But she wasn’t a choice so much as a duty, and he had to come to terms with that.

He could do worse. She
would
do worse without him. That in itself should be enough for him. She needed him. That was something he could address himself to. He straightened his shoulders. He could bear this burden. He might not get what he’d wanted most, but he was used to that. A man had obligations that transcended his own needs. He always had, and now it looked as though he always would.

His heart had been heavy as he’d traveled to see her. But the shameful secret he was reminded of now was that at the mere thought of her, other parts of his anatomy had grown heavy too. Not with sorrow. The truth was, he’d felt a languor; a deep and abiding expectation had risen in his loins whenever he’d
thought of who he was riding to see. It startled and bemused him.

At the inn last night, they’d said she’d been engaged to be wed. They’d joked about her past. He didn’t doubt she had one. It explained much. She fairly radiated sensuality. So she wasn’t a virgin. She’d loved before. She was beautiful, she was of age, she’d been engaged. He could understand it. He didn’t expect a virgin bride anyway; he’d never been first in anything, and it wasn’t a concern of his so long as she’d be faithful in future.

Not for a minute did he believe she’d tried to trap him. For one thing, there was no way she could have known who was at the door that morning. Even if she’d heard of Annabelle, she’d never seen her, and could hardly have nipped into the bath, flung a robe over herself, and appeared at the door so quickly. For another, and more important, why would she want to? Why would she want
him?

He didn’t know her very well. But in truth, and he was ruthlessly truthful with himself, he didn’t know Annabelle that well either, did he? He’d make the best of it. He was relentlessly practical. He’d had to be. His heart might have been cracked, but a man could put his heart away and make a good marriage anyway. There would be compensations. His were obvious. She had a good mind in a fine body, and he was a man who knew how to divorce his mind from his body. He’d do the best he could for her in turn.

He realized he’d been standing stock-still staring at her for far too long. “I came to see how you were faring,” he blurted.

“I feel much better, better every day, thank you,” Eric said in amusement. “Kind of you to come so far to ask.”

Rafe shot him a glance “One look at you told me that.”

“Oh, did you look at me?” Eric asked sweetly. “Brenna, here’s the earl of Drummond, the ‘Drum’ I told you so much about. We met in Spain.”

Drum bowed to Brenna. “So pleased to meet you, Miss Ford. How are you, Lieutenant? I hear you had a bad time of it in India. But I thought you’d your fill of the army when we left you in Spain.”

“I should have,” Eric said ruefully. “I ought to have left when Rafe did. But I thought India might be interesting. It was worse than Spain for me. There was no war on, but I found an enemy. The fever. In Spain I could at least see what my problem was. A gash or a gunshot’s visible. But fever’s an invisible wound. It made me nervous, I admit.”

“Speaking of invisible wounds…” Drum said slowly, with a significant look at Rafe.

“Has the gossip reached you?” Rafe asked Brenna, never taking his eyes from her pale face. “I mean, there was some in London.” He paused. “Some” was a lie and he was uncomfortable with lies. “I came to be sure it wasn’t affecting you here,” he said quickly.

“I’ve heard nothing,” she said as quickly.

Eric’s golden eyebrows swooped down in a frown.
“Brenna!”
he exclaimed.

Dusky rose appeared high on her cheekbones. She picked up her chin and stared at her brother. “Well, nothing to trouble Rafe. And I haven’t exactly
heard
anything. It’s more like knowing something’s being said,” she said defiantly. “Anyway, it will pass.”

Her brother shook his head. Rafe did too. Brenna looked from one to the other and smiled a tight smile.

“It’s like being at a convention of noddy dolls, isn’t it?” she asked Drum. She held her head high. “So there’s gossip. And so what? I’ve endured it before. I will again.” She saw Rafe’s expression. “I was engaged to be wed once upon a time,” she told him tersely. “I lost my fiancé in the wars. I seemed to have lost my reputation then too. We were young and fond. People assumed we were more than that. Small villages often hold small minds. But I regained my reputation in time. As I will again. I had a beau, in India. He shied off. I came home to a less-than-palatable reputation because of it. That will pass too.”

“Not this time,” Rafe said. “This time I’m part of the problem.”

“No,” she said firmly. “I told you, you shouldn’t be punished for my mistake. I did a foolish thing. You did nothing but try to be a true friend to Eric. You will
not
be penalized for it, my lord. Never think it for a moment.”

“I ought to have arranged things more carefully,” Rafe said tersely. “I invited you to my home without making the right preparations. I was the one who left you open to insult. Never think I’ll allow you to suffer for my mistake!”

They squared off against each other.

“Don’t be foolish,” Brenna said, staring up at him, her eyes darkened with emotion. “You’re a gentle
man and a kind one. But I am not your responsibility, sir.”

“You were, and I mishandled it,” Rafe said adamantly. He knew his responsibility now too, knew she was making a sacrifice, but also knew whose sacrifice it had to be. “I can’t let it go.”

“Oh, can you not? I believe you will have to,” she said through clenched teeth. Men and their honor! She’d had enough of it. She wouldn’t let him ruin his life for the sake of a few rattling tongues. The man was prepared to give up his love for the sake of her honor? He was too decent for that, and so was she. They weren’t in London now. This was her home, and her life. She’d manage it herself. “Why, look at the time!” she exclaimed with patently false surprise. “Teatime, unless I miss my guess. Will you join us, gentlemen?”

“You don’t have a watch,” Rafe said curtly.

“I do have a sundial,” she said, gesturing to the garden behind her without looking back at it. “So will you join us?”

“I will,” Rafe said, “and we’ll talk this over some more.”

“I think not,” she said, and marched back toward the house.

“I believe we will,” Rafe said, falling in step beside her.

Drum strolled behind the pair, with Eric. “This,” he told Eric in a soft voice, “should be interesting.”

“Oh yes,” Eric agreed, “You see, I know Brenna too.”

R
afe and Drum acted like guests with nothing on their minds but a visit, and wound up fighting an old battle all through tea.

“I suppose I might as well have been talking about the Fall of Troy, not a fort in a backwoods in the New World,” Colonel Ford finally said as he sat back and surveyed the table he’d turned into a battlefield, where napkins had become forts, spoons were cannon, cups and saucers opposing forces. “It seems like yesterday to me. I was barely into manhood, and look at me now. Still, the American wars must seem like nothing to you who fought on French and Spanish soil.”

“War is never nothing, sir,” Rafe said. “I found your experiences fascinating.”

“Agreed,” Drum said.

“Warfare hasn’t changed that much,” Rafe said. “It won’t until we find a better way to resolve disputes or invent ways to end them faster. It’s still a matter of a man and his weapons. And his nerves when he confronts the enemy—or himself alone in the night.”

“Well said,” Drum mused. “Though I didn’t fight on any battlefield, it seems that way to me.”

“You fought our enemies on just as dangerous ground,” Rafe said. “He fought with his wits,” he explained to his host, “and saved thousands, not just his own skin. Though he risked that often enough.”

“A spy?” the colonel asked with interest.

“‘Agent’ is the word they prefer,” his son said with a smile, remembering what he’d been told when he’d met Drum in Spain.

“Just so,” Drum said. “But now, as for that battle on the night of seventy-seven, sir, might I ask—”

“You may not,” Maura Ford put in quickly. “I deprive my guests nothing, but it’s too beautiful an afternoon to waste fighting old wars. After dinner when you gentlemen are snug with your port, you may rake up old conflicts. You
are
staying to dinner?”

“We’d be delighted,” Drum said.

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble?” Rafe asked, after a look at Brenna’s thunderstruck expression.

“It isn’t. Never mind my sister. She was weaned on sour apples,” Eric commented.

Brenna colored. “We’d be pleased to have you to dinner,” she said haughtily. “You’ve traveled a long way. It would be rude to send you back without at least a dinner to show for your trouble.”

Eric bent so his mouth was near his sister’s ear. “We’ve been charmingly civilized, feeling our way,” he whispered, “but now it’s your turn. Time to face him, Bren. I suggest you and Rafe take yourselves outside and have the thing out now.”

“Thank you for a lovely afternoon,” Drum said, rising. “We’ll be back for dinner.”

“Miss Ford,” Rafe said as he stood, “if I may have a word with you, before I go?”

“Of course,” she said with a jerky nod. Head high, she left the room with him.

“Nice lad,” Colonel Ford commented.

“Very,” his wife said wistfully, watching her redheaded guest walk from the room at her daughter’s side. “Bright yet unpretentious, with excellent manners.”

“Salt of the earth,” the colonel said. His wife and son paused. That was his highest praise.

“Yes, Drummond’s a good fellow,” Eric teased.

His father shot him a glance from under frowning brows. “You know who we mean. Think he’ll mend matters as he ought?”

“Alexander!” his wife gasped. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything to Lord Dalton until Eric has a chance to discover his intent!”

“I won’t,” the colonel grumbled. “Just wanted to know if the fellow would think of doing the right thing on his own.”

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” she protested.

“I think the difficulty lies in the fact that he
is
trying to do the right thing,” Eric said sadly. “But you know Brenna.”

“Ah,” her mother and father said at the same time. With equal sorrow. Because they did.

“The idea’s ridiculous,” Brenna said. “Just ridiculous,” she muttered as if to herself, though he was right beside her.

They sat on a stone bench in the garden, beneath a towering weeping beech tree. She seemed composed. But Rafe saw her hands knotted in her handkerchief in her lap, those hands with their poor ragged nails that made his heart clench every time he saw them.

Much about her spoke to him on levels he didn’t comprehend. He gazed at her and tried to understand this powerful attraction he felt for her. He hadn’t forgotten Annabelle; he never could or would. But whatever chance he’d had with her was gone. A man had to know when to stop campaigning, war or peacetime, or lose more than his life. Without honor, a life wasn’t worth much.

But what would his life be now? He knew what he had to do. He wished he knew the woman he had to do it with half so well.

He looked at Brenna as she sat in the sunlight. She wasn’t the most beautiful female he’d ever seen. But she was possibly the most erotically appealing one. There was something powerful in her reserve, in the supple lines of that body she tried to hold so aloof, those small, high breasts, that swanlike neck. Her presence made a man’s nostrils flare like a stallion’s when a mare approached. Whatever it was, it was certainly in those eyes of hers, the curved mouth she
kept in a prim line now. He couldn’t help but think of all the fine textures of the female form when he saw her, of warm, smooth, satiny skin, sliding limbs, the moist, secret, silken places hidden within a woman’s warm and welcoming body.

Was her reputation in the village well earned? But he’d no other choice but to court her. Besides, he had to trust his perceptions or lose belief in himself forever. And he’d run out of time. His senses applauded that conclusion, even if his sensibilities didn’t. It was all he could do not to snatch her up in his arms to find the truth of it. Could his mind accept her as readily as his body wished to? Would his heart ever find room for her at all? But a man could distance his mind and body from his heart, he thought with sad cynicism. He’d still be a virgin if that weren’t so.

He braced himself. Now he had to speak with more persuasion than he usually did. He’d lost Annabelle, but she wouldn’t suffer. If he lost this poor lady, she would, and he’d the strangest feeling that he would too.

“Not ridiculous,” he answered her now, “necessary. I’ve ruined your reputation. A woman can have looks, brain, and good family. All of which you do. But without her reputation, she has nothing. I’ve taken that from you. I’m merely suggesting I give it back.”

“Merely?”
she asked, appalled. Her eyes were wide and dark as she fixed them on him. “Are you mad? There’s nothing ‘merely’ about it. You settle your fate so easily? It means your whole future, man!” She tried to calm herself, and held up one
hand so he wouldn’t speak before she could. “It means your entire life,” she said, “your…everything. Think about it. Marriage may not mean that much to you.”

“It does,” he said.

“But if it does—to throw away future chances…Or is it that you don’t expect to be faithful? Because if you don’t, I hasten to assure you marriage means fidelity to me, if not to you.”

“It means it to me too,” he said.

“And children…” She fought for words to explain it.

“Them too,” he said.

“But—but you
have
a lady you love.” She saw his eyes grow cold. “I never meant to presume,” she said hastily. “It’s just that I heard…”

“You heard right,” he said simply. “And you may presume as much as you want. I presume to settle your entire future, don’t I? Now, as for the lady…” He took a breath. “No sense pretending she doesn’t exist. But I don’t—at least not so far as she’s concerned now. I called on her before I left London. She refused to see me. And won’t in future. ‘Not today,’ her butler said, “nor tomorrow or tomorrow or tomorrow.’”

“Well, after what she saw, and the way her mama feels, it will take time—” Brenna began to say.

“No,” Rafe said, cutting her off. “No, in fact, it shouldn’t take that much time. I didn’t do anything.”

He rose, paced a step, and faced her. He was all in tones of brown today; it suited him, she thought. The color subdued the red in his hair, turned it to chest
nut and made the blue in his eyes flare. He was fit and trim, all polished bronze. She’d always thought army men were taller, stronger, kinder, and more sensible than other men, as her father and brother were. Dragoons had to be taller, that was true. The rest she knew was her own prejudice, but dear Lord! Raphael Dalton was a superior sort of man. She listened carefully, hardly daring to believe what he was saying.

“I don’t give myself airs. Anyone can tell you I don’t think much of myself either. But I have some opinion of my worth. Even if I didn’t, it seems to me a man’s a fool to pursue a woman who doesn’t believe in him. I expect a male friend to trust me. I expect no less from a female. I fancied her. That’s true. I had a lady in mind. I no longer do. Now I’m proposing marriage to you.

“I can see advantages for you in it, “he added, when she didn’t speak, but only sat staring at him. “I’ve funds. Plenty. I invested wisely. My brother will inherit, but I’ve a name too. A town house in London, a small estate in Kent. I don’t get drunk. Or gamble above small stakes. I’ve a terrible temper, that’s true. But don’t worry, it’s only shown in words to females. I’ll try to rein that in too. I offer you my name. Your brother’s my friend. I can be a friend to you, and will try to be a good husband too. We can make something of this, Bren.

“Now, if you’ve another man in mind or foresee a better offer, I’ll understand. If you don’t, I think I must insist. Come, I’m no Adonis, I know. I’m a closemouthed fellow with more faults than merits, if
it comes to that. But I’m trustworthy, all say. I’m a better bargain than spinsterhood, aren’t I? Well, if you don’t think so, then please tell me why.”

“‘A better bargain than spinsterhood’?” she said, stung, sitting up straight. “I assure you I don’t have to marry. I could do many things, I promise you.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “so many occupations open to a female who can’t marry. You could watch other people’s children, as an aunt or a schoolmistress. Wouldn’t it be better to watch your own? You could do charitable work and…Damme, I’m making mincemeat of this. But I mean the best for you.”

“And for you?” she asked sadly.

“I’ll be well pleased,” he said. “You want me to write sonnets? I’m not that sort of man. I think you’d make me a good wife. I need to settle down sooner or later. Why not sooner? When there’s a need for it? Why not you?”

He looked serious, and frustrated. Very somber too, she thought. And why not? He was bargaining his life away for the sake of friendship. He was such a good man, and so very attractive. And so muddleheaded. She’d been impressed with him in London; she was nearly overwhelmed by him now. She suddenly knew she’d never get an offer from a better man. It almost broke her heart to refuse him. But she was convinced it would eventually break his if she accepted. Her father had taught her honor too. She rose to her feet and faced him, head high.

“You offer me everything but love,” she said, “and I fear I must have that.”

“Oh,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “But I can give you that too.”

Before she could ask him how, he moved. He took her in his arms. Before she could protest, he bent his head to hers and she felt his lips on hers.
So soft,
she thought in surprise,
so gentle,
she thought in astonishment. So sweet and warm and good.

His kiss was courteous. Then less so as she relaxed against him. He opened his mouth against hers and she felt the touch of his tongue against her own. She caught her breath, then sighed at the sweet, dark thrill of it. His hand skimmed along the curve of her waist, to her breast, to her throat, in gentle inquiry. She answered by pressing closer. Long-suppressed yearnings sizzled along her spine and spread to every starved intimate part of her body. Her breasts peaked against his chest. She loved the strength she sensed behind his gentle touch, by the very scent of him, clean linen and sunshine. She put a hand on his hard chest to distance herself, but was lost when she felt the rapid beating of his heart underneath it.

He tenderly cupped her cheek in one big hand. Her eyelids fluttered open. He looked down at her with something intent and unreadable in his blazing blue eyes. Then he kissed her again, more thoroughly than before.

When he drew away, she felt his breath hitch in his chest under her hand when he spoke. “Your answer, Bren?” he asked.

She gazed at him solemnly. “Is that love, Rafe? I think it was something else.”

“It’s a beginning,” he said. “And so?”

“You can’t pretend to love me,” she said, hoping he’d lie, hoping he’d tell her a truth she didn’t dare believe.

He didn’t. “No,” he said. “I don’t pretend. But I do know it’s the right thing to do for both of us. We respect each other. As you see, we can find pleasure in each other. You’re doomed to years of disgrace if you don’t, and even if you can live with that, I can’t.”

“You don’t want to know more about me?” she asked defiantly. “Even if you didn’t hear the gossip, you heard what I said. I was engaged to be wed once, and almost was again.”

“Are you telling me you’ve had lovers?”

“No,” she said, “I’m telling you the truth.”

“You loved them?”

“I loved my fiancé,” she said. “I was attracted to Spencer’s kindness at a time when I needed a friend. There have been no other men in my life.”

“I thought as much,” he said calmly. “So you were engaged to marry. And so? You’re four and twenty, and very lovely. I don’t expect you lived under a hedge. I’m almost a decade older. I doubt you expect innocence of me. The only thing I need to know is if you love someone now. I can’t expect you to have honored a pledge to me when you didn’t know me. I’d expect it in future, though.”

“Well, of course!” she gasped. “I said I’d never be unfaithful!”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“You’ve agreed.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she protested.

He looked down into her eyes. “Didn’t you?”

His gaze was clear, so candid, she had to look away. “You could do better,” she said weakly, giving him a last chance to be free.