Dangerous Joy (13 page)

He knew his breathing had changed. Yes, he was showing off like a village boy flexing muscles for his chosen wench, but surely that look in her eyes wasn't artifice? Where was Gardeen when he needed her?

"Oh, Miles, I wish—"

"Oh, Miles, I wish you weren't my guardian?" he asked softly.

But the moment passed. She looked away. "I certainly do. You are making my life very difficult. Do put me down."

He lowered her slowly, wishing for that moment back, at least to savor, perhaps to analyze, perhaps to exploit. Well, they'd have a few days at his home without Dunsmore or Kieran to complicate matters. Perhaps then he would be able to think straight.

She stepped away from him and fussed with her habit. "I think I could use some tea before we go on. It's turning clammy."

He glanced at the darkening sky. "It's getting late, but we can afford a half-hour."

It would mean the light would be going as they neared Clonnagh, but he knew the country here so well he could ride it blindfolded, and Argonaut could find his stable without guidance. The truth was that they seemed to have fallen into a fairy journey, where reality faded to mist and the impossible seemed likely. The look in her eye, the response in his heart, could not be real or practical, but it was precious.

The small inn had no private accommodations, but was empty at this hour. The old woman there was happy to provide tea and buttered scones as well as a saucer of milk for Gardeen. The small, low-ceilinged room lit only by a blazing fire was the stuff of fairytales, too. Weren't there stories of people who took fairy meals and were trapped forever?

"Tell me about your home," she said.

Miles shook his head and pushed away his mad musings. He obliged with a monologue about Clonnagh and his childhood there, with frequent reference to his two sisters and one brother.

"But none live at home anymore?"

"No. Ellen and Moira are both married, and Declan is a naval captain. Bold with lace and growing fat on prizes."

"What about your mother? What sort of woman is she?"

"A fine woman, a strong woman. She trained us all in the highest standards and never had any time for idleness."

Felicity, feet tucked under her on a big settle, wrinkled her brow. "I don't wish to offend but she doesn't sound the ideal wife for Uncle Colum."

Miles laughed. "You'd think not, wouldn't you? But she's blooming. With her children grown and her first husband dead, she needed someone to manage."

"Poor Colum!"

"Devil a bit. He worships the ground she walks on and revels in her managing ways, though I notice he still only does what he wishes to. They also clearly enjoy the intimacies of marriage." Then he wished the words unsaid. He'd relaxed too far to blurt out such a matter like a raw youth.

Felicity stared at him. "But they're as old as Annie!"

He almost laughed at her astonishment, and in pleasure at her na‹vet‚. "Such matters aren't just for the young, you know."

"Such matters shouldn't be for the young at all," she said sharply, then looked as if she, too, regretted her words. He came alert. What was behind this?

"How would you define young?" he asked.

She looked away, color high, but not just with embarrassment. "Children. Younger than I."

"You're twenty. Many girls are married at that age. But I agree that marriage is not for children."

Still seeking a reason for her distress-for it was not too strong a word-he wondered whether Dunsmore had sunk so low as to threaten to harm his son in a sexual way. "It's illegal for children to marry," he pointed out, choosing his words with care. "And those who mistreat children in an intimate way are subject to the law, too."

She stared soberly into the tea in her cup. "If any complaint is ever laid. Everyone is so concerned about reputation. Even an innocent child is smirched by such matters." She put down the cup and uncurled to her feet. "We should be on our way. The light's going."

He rose more slowly, though it was true. They had lingered longer than intended. They would have to return to this discussion later, however. If Dunsmore were using such a threat, it was even less reason for marriage and it could be handled in other ways.

Miles was beginning to develop a strong desire to handle Dunsmore with his fists and make sure the man never threatened child or woman again.

It was dusk and misty-chill, and as they set out, Miles felt strangely as if they were riding out of enchantment. The winding lane ahead of them faded into a uniform gray, melted by sea-mist from the nearby coast. The tang of salt was in the air, and curlews cried not far away.

They could go no faster than a walk, but the leisurely pace gave Miles time to think about Kieran and Dunsmore.

He could understand Felicity's dilemma. For her to refuse to sacrifice herself for the child would seem selfish indeed. It would be a problem even if the child were a stranger. Her willingness to sacrifice herself was one of her many virtues.

Miles tried to imagine what he would do if called upon to choose between his own life and that of a small child. How could anyone not choose to save the child? It might be the act of a friend, however, to stop such a sacrifice.

The problem was that in less than a month Felicity would be able to give herself and her fortune to Dunsmore without hindrance, and she would do it unless she could be persuaded it was folly.

The best eye-opener would be for her to fall in love. She certainly didn't love Dunsmore. Miles ran through the friends they might encounter in Melton, seeking one able to attract Felicity.

Stephen Ball, perhaps. No. Stephen's interests were political-and urban, not rural. Miles could not see Felicity as a political wife.

Con Somerford. Now, he was more likely. A sound man with a pleasant nature and wide estates. But Felicity said she wished to marry an Irishman.

Which led, as he'd known all along, to himself...

`Halt!"

Miles snapped out of his musings to see two cloaked horsemen training pistols on them.

"What the devil—" He'd never heard of highwaymen in these parts before.

"Come along, Felicity."

Then Miles recognized Dunsmore's voice. He turned to stare at his ward.

"I'm eloping." Her straight back and raised chin spoke defiance, but she couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"Oh no you're not."

"You can't stop me."

He kicked her horse in the gut so it reared, unsettling her, then grabbed her around the waist, hauling her off Cresta and in front of him.

`Damn you!" She writhed and flailed with an earnestness that infuriated him. No unwilling bride, this. He thumped her on the back hard enough to knock the breath out of her and set Argonaut to circling so the men couldn't be sure of a shot. It wasn't easy to reach down for his right pistol while managing the horse and a squirming woman, but he got his hand to the butt, then felt something press against his groin.

"Be very still," she said.

Miles calmed Argonaut and went very still indeed.

She'd drawn the left pistol from its saddle-holster and was pressing it damn close to his balls. He didn't know if she'd cocked it, or even knew how, but he wasn't willing to gamble on it.

"Felicity—"

"Enough of that. This is where your tyranny ends. Denzil!"

Dunsmore was holding back, but the groom came forward, leading Cresta. Soon his pistol was close enough to Miles that it was impossible that he miss.

"You can get down now, Miss."

Miles heard the safety cock back down. He should never have doubted that Felicity knew pistols. Damn her for a canny, ruthless, headstrong, dangerous jade.

She slithered off, landing unsteadily, but gathering herself. Then she looked up at him. "Get off."

"Go to the devil."

"Get off, or Denzil will shoot Argonaut."

He had a great desire to kick her in the teeth.

He obeyed, however, and swung off his horse. Felicity led Argonaut over to a tree and tethered him. "We wouldn't want him running back to his stable and raising the alarm, now, would we?"

She walked back to her horse and looked at Miles. "Help me mount."

He wanted to tell her again to go to the devil, but Denzil still had his pistol angled toward Argonaut. He'd wondered what he'd do for a child. It appeared he would do a lot for a horse. But Felicity wouldn't get away with this.

He walked over to her, looking for uneasiness or remorse and finding none. He linked his hands.

"Don't do anything foolish," she said before putting her booted foot into his hands. It certainly was tempting to hurl her right over the horse's back, but he tossed her efficiently into the saddle.

She nodded.

He thought it was with approval, but then he knew no more.

Chapter Eight

God, but his head hurt.

When Miles tried to put his hands to the pain, he realized they were bound behind his back.

He muttered a stream of curses into muddy grass and promised that Felicity Monahan would pay with interest for every ache and cramp.

He was lying face down beneath the hedgerow and found it impossible to roll over. The struggle to do so, however, showed that the rope around his wrists had been hastily tied. There was give to it. It took longer, almost, than he could bear, especially with every movement causing his head to pound as if freshly hit, but he managed to work first one hand free, then the other.

He pushed stiffly to his knees, and then to his feet, which caused his head to pound like a bass drum and his vision to cloud. But he saw the bulk of Argonaut nearby and staggered over to rest against his solid warmth.

"Thank God they didn't hurt you."

The horse whiffled in what might have been equine concern.

After a few moments, Miles decided he wasn't going to throw up, which he supposed was a blessing. And if he stayed very still, the pain in his head was merely a solid ache. Gingerly, he felt the back of his skull and found a large lump and the stickiness of blood. Since he was alive and moderately alert, however, he supposed he'd avoided serious damage.

No thanks to Felicity Monahan.