She could hear the rain on the conservatory as she rode into the quadrangle. The enclosing walls seemed to accentuate the noise of the storm, making the wind’s noise howl around the battlements and through the ruined stones of the old abbey. She hadn’t noticed Felix’s traveling carriage preceding her, but now she saw it as it drew to a weary standstill by the porch. She reined in in dismay, for Felix was one person she had no desire to see.
The steward emerged from the porch, a large umbrella in readiness, and the bedraggled footmen, their livery soaked by the rain, climbed down from their perch to open the carriage doors. In the second before they did so, they exchanged wary glances which caught Bryony’s attention, and as Felix at last alighted she saw that his face was dark with brooding anger.
He stood there for a moment by the carriage, the rain spattering his excellent coat in the second before the umbrella was raised above him. He looked very elegant and handsome, but his appearance was marred by the dissatisfaction twisting his mouth and by the angry coldness of his eyes.
One of the footmen stepped unwisely close to him, splashing his boots, and with a furious oath Felix rounded on him. “You clumsy oaf!” he cried. “I’ll ... !” He broke off then as he suddenly noticed Bryony. For a long moment he stared at her, a mixture of emotions crossing his face, but then, quite unexpectedly, he smiled. Suddenly careless of the effect of the rain upon his clothes, he stepped from the shelter of the umbrella and strode through the gathering puddles toward her. “Good morning, Miss St. Charles, how very good it is to see you again.”
Astonished at this sudden change, she gazed down at him. “Is it?”
“Is it a good morning? Or is it good to see you?” He was all charm and good humor, as if they had parted the best of friends.
She didn’t trust him. “I would hardly have expected such a warm greeting from you, not after the way you spoke to me when last we met.”
His smile became a little rueful. “My conscience weighs heavily, Miss St. Charles. I’ve suffered considerably from the knowledge that I behaved quite despicably toward you before I left. I must ask you to forgive me.”
“And if I do, will you then turn upon me again?”
“No, Miss St. Charles, I will not, although I can hardly blame you for not believing that.”
“Good, sir, for I do not.”
He raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful then. “How very changed you are, something momentous has evidently happened during my absence.”
“You are getting very wet, sir. Should you not be going inside?”
He smiled again. “Now I know something has been going on. Will you not tell me?”
“Oh, I think not, sir, for I rather imagine the duchess would like to tell you everything herself.” She slipped down from the horse before he had time to assist her.
He caught her hand suddenly. “Miss St. Charles, I am truly repentant and I would very much like to forget how I behaved before.”
“So would I, your grace.” Oh, how winning his smile was and how easy his charm, but she thought him as false as ever. What would he say if he knew that her match was at an end? Would he then be as sweet and amenable? She doubted it very much.
But what did it matter anyway? Let him behave as he chose, for within a day she was almost certain to be on her way home to Liskillen. Salt-sharp tears came into her eyes again and she thrust the reins into the hands of a waiting groom, who immediately led the horse away.
Felix looked curiously at her, and then took her hand, raising it gently to his lips. “If I have yet again said something out of place ...” His voice died away on a note of calculated sympathy.
She snatched her hand away. “I assure you that my tears have nothing whatsoever to do with you!” Gathering her skirts, she hurried away toward the porch, where an anxious Sally was waiting.
Felix’s face became still as he watched her go. For a moment he remained where he was; then he returned to the carriage, where the footmen were unloading his baggage. He beckoned to the waiting steward, indicating the footman who had splashed him.
“That fellow’s services are no longer required. He goes without recommendation.” Then he strolled on toward the house, his coat soaked through and his boots muddied almost beyond redemption.
* * *
Bryony felt strangely calm as she dressed for dinner that night. Outside, the storm still raged, although there was no thunder now, but the dressing room was warm and still, illuminated by several candles because the daylight had faded so early. She did not know why she decided to wear Madame Colbert’s organdy muslin gown, she only knew that if she did not wear it tonight then she might never have another chance. Tomorrow was another day, but tonight she was still the future Lady Sheringham and she would show them they had been wrong about her.
She sat at the dressing table while Sally pinned up her hair, adorning it with pearls and little white satin bows. The maid caught her eye in the mirror. “I don’t think dinner will be very easy tonight, Miss Bryony.”
“Oh? Why?”
“His grace is in a very bad mood. He dismissed Tom Penmarrion’s brother earlier for splashing his boots.”
Bryony stared at her. “He dismissed him? Merely for that?”
“Yes, Miss Bryony. His valet, Frederick, says that when he was up in London he lost very heavily at the gaming tables. That always puts him in an ill humor, and things are very bad here when he’s like that. He and the duchess have had words since he returned and he seems to be very angry with her.” The maid paused. “I think it was about the letter her grace wrote to Sir Sebastian.”
Bryony nodded. “Yes, it probably was.”
Sally put down the comb. “There, Miss Bryony, you look lovely.”
“Thanks to your efforts.”
“No, Miss Bryony, you look lovely because you are lovely.”
“Will I hold my own tonight with Lady Delphine?”
“Oh, yes, in fact you’ll outshine her.”
Bryony smiled. “You are good for my morale, Sally Anderson.”
“Miss Bryony?” The maid lowered her eyes self-consciously. “If ... if you do go back to Ireland, will you take me with you?”
Bryony reached over and gently put her hand on the maid’s. “But what of Tom Penmarrion?”
Sally blinked back sudden tears. “He doesn’t want me, he’s still making eyes at the innkeeper’s daughter at the Royal Charles. Well, if that’s what he wants, then it’s all the same to me. Please, can I go with you, Miss Bryony?”
“There may not be much to return to, Sally, for Liskillen will not be in my family for much longer. You would be more secure here at Polwithiel.”
“But I wouldn’t be happy. I’m happy with you, Miss Bryony, and I want to serve you for as long as I can. Please, won’t you at least consider my request?”
Bryony smiled. “Of course I will.” She glanced through to the clock in the bedroom. “I think it is time for me to go to the solar.”
For some unknown reason, there were no footmen positioned outside the solar doors as she approached, so that she heard the argument inside the room without anyone realizing she was there. She hesitated, not wanting to walk in on such a heated moment, but as she lingered discreetly outside, she could not help hearing what was being said.
The duchess’s voice shook a little. “I still say that I was justified in writing to him. He had every right to know what the wretched creature was up to,”
“I strictly forbade you to interfere, Mother,” replied Felix, “and you defied my wishes. The days when you were in charge of this house ended with my father’s death two years ago, madam. I am the master here now, and I would thank you not to forget it in future.”
“Please, Felix,” said Delphine anxiously, “there is no need to be so angry. I’m sure Mother did not mean to—”
“Oh, yes, she did,” he broke in. “She meant to defy me, and thought she would hear from Sebastian before I returned.”
He turned to his mother. “But you had second thoughts when you heard nothing, didn’t you, dear Mama? You’d so far given in to your loathing for the prospective bride that you’d confined her to her rooms and sent a highly embroidered account of events to Sebastian. It isn’t like you to surrender to such a base human emotion as hatred, Mother, but then we all know why it has happened in this particular case, don’t we?”
Delphine gasped. “Felix, that was not called for!”
“I don’t give a damn whether it was or not, and I certainly don’t give a damn that Mother’s hopes were dashed where you were concerned, for I will never accept Sebastian Sheringham as my brother-in-law, of that you may be sure. Nor will I contemplate the likes of Toby Lampeter, before you think the omission of his name might signify some hope.”
“When I am of age, your wishes will not enter into it.”
“We’ll see about that when the time comes,” he replied coldly, “but as to this St. Charles business, I will not have any more interference, is that clear?”
“Why do you want the marriage to take place?” asked the duchess. “The creature is hardly suitable, no matter what my personal views are.”
“I do not need to give you my reasons, Mother, but I do expect you to abide by my wishes from now on.”
“I always have abided by your wishes, Felix,” she replied, “but I think that where this St. Charles creature is concerned, the matter is anyway at an end. When Sebastian receives my letter, which nothing can unwrite now, he will end matters immediately.”
“He has received the letter, Mother, he received it as soon as it arrived in London. He chose not to act upon it.”
There was an amazed silence, and then the duchess spoke again. “That cannot possibly be so. I received a letter from his man—”
“The fellow wrote what Sebastian told him to.”
“How do you know?” asked Delphine.
“I have my ways. Suffice it that what I say is true.”
Outside, Bryony listened in astonishment. How could Felix say that? Sebastian had not known anything about the letter when told of it earlier in the day. Or had he? Suddenly she thought of the way he had responded. He hadn’t denied knowing about it, nor, now that she considered the matter a little more, had he seemed surprised at mention of it. But why? Why ignore such an important communication?
Delphine was still unconvinced. “I don’t believe you, Felix, for if he had received the letter he would certainly have done something about ridding himself of such an apparently dreadful woman.”
“You think so? You don’t know your Sheringham, sister mine. He is—and for this I’m thankful—unique.”
Delphine’s laugh was brittle. “Your mood really is foul tonight, isn’t it? You should stay away from the gaming tables, for they bring out the very worst in you and you always return to us like the devil incarnate. All this arguing and fault-finding tonight has nothing to do with Mother’s letter, but it has everything to do with your being a poor loser.”
“And what would you know of it? Were you there with me in Town?”
“No, but I know you well enough, my dear Felix.”
“On this occasion I think not. I admit that luck is not always my constant companion, and if I lose fairly then I do not mind, but I will not stand idly by and watch a damned sharp lift my money from under my nose.”
The solar was suddenly silent, and then the duchess spoke again. “That is a very serious charge, Felix, especially when you cannot back it up with any proof.”
“Maybe I have no proof, but I still know what was done, and I will have my revenge.” He gave a cold laugh. “And I know the very way to do it. But I will not be defied in this house again, is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” replied Delphine acidly.
“Mother?”
The duchess must have nodded, for he said no more. At that moment Bryony heard the footmen approaching to take up their positions, and she had no choice but to go on into the room.
Felix was standing with his back toward her, but both Delphine and the duchess saw her immediately. The duchess looked quite taken aback as she saw the silver organdy shining softly in the candlelight. Delphine stared too, seeming almost shaken by the transformation brought about by the gown. Felix became aware of her presence, turning to look at her. For a moment he seemed nonplussed, and then a quick smile softened his features again and he came to meet her, taking her hand and raising it gallantly to his lips. “My dear Miss St. Charles, you look absolutely glorious. Doesn’t she, Delphine?’’
Delphine seemed to recover a little. “Why, yes, yes, of course she does.”
Felix smiled into Bryony’s eyes. “You’ll take society by storm,” he said softly, “and I trust that I will be there to watch.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and then at his mother and sister, before she gave a slight smile. “Why, thank you, your grace, you are too kind.”
The few minutes spent in the solar before proceeding to the winter parlor were very awkward, with the duchess looking stony and Delphine quite out of sorts. Only Felix seemed relaxed, with once again no hint of his dark mood. He spoke easily, exerting his charm and being everything that was agreeable.
Watching him, Bryony found it hard to believe that he had so lightly dismissed Tom Penmarrion’s brother, especially when the cause of it, a mere slight splashing of his elegant boots, had been more than lost in the subsequent soaking he had received of his own volition by standing to talk with her.
When they adjourned to the winter parlor to dine, there could not have been a more perfect host than Felix, Duke of Calborough. The duchess and Delphine were poor company, but their reticence did not seem to matter, for he carried the evening without them, giving his attention almost exclusively to Bryony. It was almost as if he truly did regret his previous conduct. She was perplexed by him, and inexplicably she was reminded of something he had once said:
Our reflection will be in every golden mirror in every fashionable drawing room, and each reflection will be trying to catch your eye, will be calculating your charms, flirting, whispering sweet words, and preparing to assault your poor defenses. Nothing less than complete capitulation will satisfy us.
Her breath caught. Felix had embarked upon her seduction! Staring at him, she knew that her instinct was right. But why? Why would he do it? What purpose would it serve? That there had to be a purpose was obvious, for Felix was not a man to do anything unless it was of some benefit to himself.
Her face revealed nothing, and she smiled a little to herself, wondering if Felix would still be exerting his charm upon her if he knew that she was definitely no longer going to marry Sebastian, or that she expected this to be her last night at Polwithiel.
After dinner they returned to the solar for a while, until Bryony could not endure the duchess’s heavy silence a moment longer and announced her intention to retire to her room. Felix immediately said he would walk her to her door. She smiled at him. “There is no need, your grace.”
“Would you deny me the rights of the host?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then I shall walk with you,” he said, offering her his arm.
Outside, the wind still howled around the house, and when they reached the gallery, the rain was washing down the windows, distorting the scene outside, so faintly lit by swaying lanterns in the quadrangle.
They reached her door and she turned to face him. “And what is your next move, your grace?”
“Move?”
“Come now, I am not a fool and I know that tonight you have set out to charm me. Why?”
“Perhaps it is simply that I desire you.”
“I do not believe that, sir.”
“Am I fated never to be believed again, Bryony?”
“I gave you no leave to call me that.”
“No, so I am taking it without permission,” he said softly.
She smiled a little wryly at his tone. “You should not have warned me so eloquently, your grace, for now I am wise to your tactics.”
“You seem so very sure that you have the measure of me, but can you really be that sure?”
“I think so.”
“Your voice lacks conviction.”
“Only because I suppose there is conceivably an element of doubt.”
“There is indeed, for nothing I have said or done tonight, no look I have given you, has been false in any way. When I saw you earlier in the rain, I did not lie when I said it was good to see you again. And when you entered the solar tonight, looking so very beautiful, I knew for the first time that I envied my cousin.”
“My lord duke,” she replied, “I should imagine that on a scale of one to ten, that last effort would have earned you all of eight points.”
“It should have earned me ten, for I meant every word.”
She smiled. “You’re never at a loss, are you?”
“I admit to having had a great deal of practice.”
“I do not intend to provide you with another hour or two of that practice, sir.”
He gave a short laugh, seeming not at all offended by what she said. His eyes did not lose their warmth, and that same lazy smile still touched his lips as he leaned back against the wall, his arms folded, the diamond pin in his neckcloth glittering in the lamplight.
“It seems that my sophisticated talk has brushed off on you, Bryony St. Charles, for you are fast becoming as much mistress of the swift riposte as any fine London lady.”
“I learn my lessons well.”
“I am finding that out.” His dark eyes moved slowly over her face. “So what can I do to convince you that I am in earnest?”
“Oh, you do not need to convince me of that, sir, for I know it well enough; it is the form that that earnestness takes which concerns me, and the reasons behind it.”
“Reasons? Well, I am sure that medical textbooks do sometimes define such base urges, but that would take away a little from romance, don’t you think?”
“I think that romance has very little to do with this, my lord duke.”
“Tut-tut,” he reproved, shaking his head. “That will not do at all. To play the tease, one must tantalize, not pour extremely cold water upon the proceedings.”
“I am not playing the tease, sir,” she replied quietly.
“No, nor am I,” he said softly, “and if words will not convince you, perhaps actions will.” He pulled her suddenly into his arms, ignoring her struggles as he pressed her close, his lips warm and seductive over hers. She tried to pull away, but he was too strong, his fingers curling luxuriously in her hair, loosening it from its pins so that it tumbled down over his hand.
At last she managed to thrust furiously away, her face flushed and her eyes angry. She dealt him a stinging blow across the cheek. “You’ve convinced me of nothing other than that you are a rake and a blackguard, sirrah! I despise you, my lord Duke of Calborough!”
He rubbed his cheek, but he still smiled at her. “Oh, Bryony,” he reproved gently, “methinks you protest too much.”
“If you believe that, sir, then you are fooling yourself.”
“I want you, Bryony St. Charles, and I intend to have you.”
She turned and went into her apartment, slamming the door behind her.
He smiled again, but his eyes were very dark. “Good night, Bryony,” he murmured. “Sweet dreams.” Then he strolled slowly away, whistling softly to himself.