Dedicated Villain (37 page)

“I know!” Elizabeth hugged her, trembling. “I cannot get it out of my mind. I was—so terrified, Fiona—so very frightened!”

“Well, we were spared, praise God! We must not think of it anymore. Beth—Thaddeus is such a fine man. Now that the decision is made—you must be very happy.”

Elizabeth smiled. “I thought I was—until I looked at you! Oh dearest, do you know how often you sing to yourself? How often you smile at some secret thought?” And trying not to betray her fears for her cousin's future happiness, she asked, “Is it not wonderful that love has come to us both at once? Has Captain Mathieson offered yet?”

“No.” Fiona picked up the gown she wore aboard the pirate ship and hung it on one of the clothes trees that had been provided for the purpose. Carefully arranging the voluminous skirts, she said, “I've scarce had a word alone with him since yesterday afternoon. Is very difficult, you know, when—” Sensing a difference, she glanced up. Elizabeth had gone.

A gentleman stood beside the hall screens, watching her. A tall gentleman, rather portly, but dressed with great elegance. An elaborate periwig was upon his head, the long curls hanging down on each side of his face and flowing to his shoulders. His complexion was florid, his lean features marred by a sinister scar stretching from his left eye to his chin. A half-moon patch adorned his right cheekbone, and another, diamond-shaped, was beside his mouth. He made her a fine leg and when he straightened she saw that the diamond-shaped patch was quivering suspiciously and that the eyes he had kept modestly lowered now watched her and that they were exceedingly handsome eyes, black, and alight with laughter.

“Roly!” she squeaked, clapping her hands, and dancing over to him. “La, but I scarce recognized you!”

“I should hope not.” He surveyed her through an ornate quizzing glass. “I am neither Roly, nor Captain Jack, but—” He leaned closer and hissed malevolently, “Sir—Roger! Beware pretty maid!”

“Splendid!” Ignoring this advice, she took his arm. “But—where is your cane?”

He reached to a long be-ribboned staff that was propped against the screen. “
Voila!
Madam—will you walk?”

“No, for you should not! And how you will essay the duel, I cannot guess. Even without your damaged ankle, that—er, protuberance would get in the way of your sword, I'd think.”

“We are going to have to manage without a duel. Furthermore,” he drew himself up, “can it be that you refer to my manly physique, ma'am?”

“No.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously at him. “To your monstrous stomach, sir. Roly, I know you cannot play Firebrand tonight, but why must you make yourself so silly-looking, when—”

He drew her towards the side door that led to the churchyard. “Because I mean to make Sir Roger into a really despicable villain—as only I know how. I can scarce blame your reluctance to trust yourself to stroll among the gravestones with such a menace.” His lips curved into a leering smile, but his eyes were a caress.

Fiona's heart began to beat very fast. She glanced nervously to the stage, but they were already concealed from view by the curve of the curtains. “We should not,” she said, without a great deal of resolution. Then added with her beaming look, “But I suppose that is no obstacle for a ‘really despicable villain.'”

“Oh, none.” He opened the door and bowed. “What they say about forbidden fruits is all too true.”

“Just for a minute then, Sir Roger. But I would not have you think 'tis my practice to be so naughty.”

“Whatever your practices, dear my Mite, I cannot but adore them.”

She drifted beside him, her hand confidently on his arm. How the cloak came about her shoulders, she did not know, but when they walked in silence to the side steps he contrived
to lift the hood over her head. She turned to smile up at him, and his answering smile seemed to kiss her heart.

The rain pattered lightly onto the flagstones of the path they followed. The sullen wind had no power to chill them. Neither spoke, yet each was blissfully content. Limping along beside her, Mathieson scarcely felt the ache in his ankle, but when he drew her to a halt, Fiona scanned his face with an immediate anxiety. “Are you all right? You must be very tired. Perhaps we should—”

“I am all right until you look at me like that.”

“Oh,” she said, blushing and lowering her eyes.

“In fact,” he went on, “were you any other lady, I would certainly have kissed you by now.”

“Oh. Well—well, I grant 'tis bold in me to walk out alone with you, but this
is
a public place, and—”

“And this particular public is so—buried in its own concerns …” Her enchanting little laugh sounded. He said, “Only look at that obligingly large angel on the pink marble pedestal. Now—an you dare risk a few more steps beside me, my sweet—”

“Captain Mathieson!” she exclaimed with a prim mouth and dancing eyes.

“Sir Roger, Miss Bradford.”

The tall angel offered an excellent screen. Mathieson tossed the staff down and took Fiona in his arms. “My most adorable sweeting,” he said, low and huskily.

“Wicked creature,” she chided, joying in the nearness of him. “Oh! This horrid cushion!”

He laughed and began to unbutton his waistcoat. “I will remove it at once.”

“No! Roly—they will see us!”

“Much we care!” He cupped one hand about her blushing cheek. “Besides, we have a guardian angel.”

“Of course we care. Foolish boy, do not pretend to scorn the proprieties, when you have so often lectured me upon my lack of them.”

“I was a fool indeed,” he breathed, running his lips down her temple. “You should have paid no heed to my nonsense.”

How gentle, yet inexpressibly thrilling was the soft touch of his mouth … Fiona seemed to float; her senses reeled to an ecstasy she had never known before. He loved her. He was too honourable a man to say such things, to embrace her like this and not love her. And, dear Lord, but she loved him so very much! What a glory to surrender passionately, completely, to so adept a lover …

“My dearest darling girl,” he whispered in her ear, “what am I to do? I must either run mad—or kiss you.”

“Well,” she gasped, “I certainly would not wish to be accused of causing you to run mad, sir …”

Even as she spoke his arms became steel bands that crushed her tight against him. Her pulses leapt. Without a trace of maidenly modesty she lifted her face, and his lips found hers.

Mathieson's boast that he had never forced an unwilling girl was largely true. Only once, inflamed by desire, had he kissed a lady against her will, and she had not only refused to kiss him back, but had soundly boxed his ear for his pains. Thus, with this girl alone had he known the kiss of innocence. The soft, yielding body, the tremblingly inexperienced lips, the shy sweet eagerness, wrought on him to such effect that when he lifted his head he was as dazed, as enraptured, as she. “Fiona,” he gasped, and with an unparalleled lack of originality, “Oh—Fiona …” He bent to her again.

After a blissful interval, she found the strength to push at his chest. “Roly—my dear, I
must
go back.”

“Another moment—I beg you. We so seldom have a chance to be alone together.”

“I dare not. We will be missed and—and I know you'd no more hurt my dear papa or my grandmama than you would shame me.”

He sighed and let her go, asking wistfully, “Do you feel shamed because I dared to kiss you, beloved?”

“No, ah no!” She stretched out a hand which he promptly
seized. “Proud, rather,” she said. “Though I dare not guess what your obliging angel must think of us.”

He had been pressing more kisses into that warm pink palm, but at this his head lifted, and he stared rather blankly at her. For another instant her eyes, soft with love, gazed into his, then with a swirl of petticoats she had turned and was running quickly back up the path to the Vestry Hall.

Mathieson stood staring after her. Then he sat on the angel's marble pedestal and gazed numbly at a small golden leaf that floated on a nearby puddle. How wonderful, how incredible, that he had found her. That of all the many places in this great world where he
might
have been, he had instead been so blessed as to have ridden through that miserable storm and found the one, the only lady he would ever love … Stretched out at his feet and covered with mud.

He stood and began to wander slowly back to the church, smiling fondly to himself. He must have been blind not to have seen, mud and all, how exquisite she was. He
had
been blind. A blind fool. It was all ignorance—ignorance and arrogance combined! Not long ago he had laughed at the heartbreak of a friend whose lady had left him. “You're the type wants one woman for eternity,” he had sneered. “From which may the good Lord deliver me!” Well, the good Lord had instead sent that imp Cupid after him, with a whole quiver-full of arrows marked with his name. A fine marksman was the imp, and he was caught for all time, even as Muffin had warned.

Lady Clorinda knew Muffin. She knew him well enough to know that the task she had set was impossible of achievement. Mathieson's jaw hardened. She was a brave and resourceful woman, and one he could not but admire, but she had underestimated her opponent. He had every intention of keeping his vow; of helping these people achieve their goal, of becoming a more honourable man, for the sake of his precious lady. But also he would fight for his happiness and resort to whatsoever he must to ensure it. A sneer crept into his eyes and his lips curved to a smile that was not pleasant. He had beaten my lady
at her own game. Nor had he been obliged to break his word to her. Not exactly. All he'd done was kiss Fiona. He chuckled. A girl of her upbringing and moral beliefs would consider that they had plighted their troth with that kiss. She would wait. Whatever Lady Clorinda Ericson or Mr. Mervyn Bradford, or anyone on the face of this earth said. She would deem herself betrothed, and she would wait.

A faint voice whispered, “Despicable!”

Alarmed, he jerked his head around. He was alone in the cemetery, save for a few grieving angels and a cluster of impudent sparrows who perched on the statuary and scolded him for having come calling without breadcrumbs.

He must, he thought, have imagined that horrid whisper. Still, he
was
on hallowed ground, and he'd not put it past St. Thomas to come frippering around just when he wasn't wanted. He hastened his steps and limped rather hurriedly from among the angels.

For as long as she lived Fiona was to remember St. Peter's Church in the village of Sandipool. The sanctuary was not large and on this rather chill and drizzly afternoon she was the only occupant. She had felt too overwhelmed with emotion to return at once to the Vestry Hall. She knew her cheeks were hot, and suspected that her eyes must reflect her happiness. She needed a quiet time to compose herself before she faced Elizabeth and Moira, either one of whom would be sure to notice her flustered state. There could be no formal announcement yet, and she was not ready to share her wonderful secret. She had crept into the sanctuary, therefore, and now sat quietly in the back pew, wrapped in the peace and tranquillity of the old church, her radiant gaze taking in the beautiful carvings of the pulpit and choir loft, the richness of the stained glass windows, the cross and the unlit candles on the altar. To her nostrils
came the faint scents of flowers and furniture polish. Faintly, she could hear voices and laughter from the Vestry Hall. She wondered if Roland was among them now. She wondered if he felt as exhilarated as she; if he was as proud and awed by this new feeling of completeness, of commitment.

She had reached a turning point in her life. She was betrothed. Now and for all the years to come she belonged to the man of her heart, and that knowledge brought her a deep sense of gratitude. Sometimes, when Freemon had been particularly persuasive she had worried, wondering if she was throwing away the chance of a good life with a good man only because of her romantical longing to care for the man she would wed.

She smiled tenderly. Thank heaven she had waited. There were no doubts now. Fate had sent a gentleman to her who was everything she had hoped to find, and she could ask no greater joy from life than to place her future in his hands. It occurred to her then that she knew very little of his prospects. He had said he was a poor man. Much that mattered, she thought defiantly. She had her inheritance which may not be enormous, but would be ample for their needs.

What would Grandmama say? Some of the sparkle left her eyes and she frowned worriedly. Grandmama had warned that Roland was a rogue; a soldier of fortune; that he was not for her. Surely, she could not think so now, after all he had done for them? He was highly born, that was obvious, but if he was not received by the
ton
for some reason, why that was of little moment; she and Papa and Francis had never been much ones for going into Society, after all. Francis would like Roly, she was sure of it, despite his hopes that she would choose his friend for a husband. How proud she would be to introduce Captain Roland Mathieson as her affianced to all the members of her family … How very blessed she was.