Leslie Lafoy (10 page)

Desperate, his knees quivering, he tossed the other glass after the first, grabbed her shoulders, and pushed her away. “Jane,” he said firmly as she gazed up at him in hurt and confusion. He cleared his throat and pasted a reassuring smile on his face. “I can’t remember ever having a lover of your awesome skills and selfless desire to please, but we must break off our—”

The gasp startled him, and for a long second his brain worked with an odd, disconcertingly slow clarity. The sound of shocked outrage came from the doorway. Which of course meant that someone had walked in on them. A female someone. Making it a decidedly awkward situation. Unless, of course, there was a male with her, a male who would take her by the elbow and spirit her away before there was any chance of the shock deepening to the point of him having to stammer through an apology. Hoping for the best, he glanced toward the door in the same instant that Lady Baltrip did.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered on a lilting giggle.

He withered in Lady Baltrip’s hand and his stomach dropped to the soles of his feet. “Uh…” he managed to say as he looked into Fiona’s tear-filled green eyes. And then she was gone, a blur of pale green silk and bobbing blond curls racing for God only knew where. Her dark-haired companion apparently wasn’t inclined to follow her. Actually, if he had to hazard a guess, he’d have to say that she was more inclined to kill him on the spot. Slowly and brutally. And he couldn’t say that she was overreacting all that much.

Lady Baltrip laughed softly from her position at his feet. “There’s no reason to be so angry, Simone. If Fiona doesn’t know the most basic facts of life by this point, it’s high time that she did.”

The woman’s eyes sparked with cold fire as she looked between the two of them. “Fiona is well aware of the facts of life, Aunt Jane,” she said crisply. “Her shock and my outrage comes from walking in to find you with the man who just this morning asked her to marry him.”

Lady Baltrip started and cried, “What!” as she looked up at him, horrified.

“That’s what I’ve been trying—”

The rest of his explanation evaporated in an excruciating bolt of white hot pain that shot from the apex of his thighs to his brain only half an instant before it set every fiber of his being on fire, buckled his knees, and obliterated the rest of the world.

*   *   *

A flash of lightning turned night into day even as the thunder rattled the rain-streaked panes of her bedroom window. As darkness returned, Fiona pulled the bed coverings to her chin and glared up at the ceiling. She’d known the instant she’d walked into the Miller-Sandses’ ballroom that something bad was going to happen, but to walk in on Aunt Jane and Ian Cabott in the midst of a tryst … God, she hadn’t even considered the possibility of something like that.

And then, in the horrible moment of discovery and realization, she’d turned into an utter ninny and run away in tears, her heart wailing that he didn’t love her. Of all the ridiculous, absolutely groundless fantasies … He’d told her in the parlor that morning that they’d likely have a marriage in name only, that he had no real intention of putting any genuine effort into developing a loving relationship with her.

She’d told herself after that conversation that she would find a way to be content with whatever kind of marriage they managed to build together. Apparently she’d been lying to herself. Obviously, given her hurt at finding him with Aunt Jane, she, in her heart of hearts, believed in fairy tale happily ever afters. In love being able to conquer all. She was nothing more than a stupid, dreaming fool.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room. The window panes rattled again as the tree limbs outside groaned in the fierce wind. God, in hindsight, she should have let Simone run him through. But no, she’d lifted her chin, claimed that she didn’t care enough about Dr. Ian Cabott, the Duke of Dunsford, to be bothered with retribution. And Aunt Jane … sobbing and begging for forgiveness, claiming she hadn’t known about the proposal …

Fiona closed her eyes and clenched her teeth.
Always nice Fiona. The Good Sister who overlooks slights and shortcomings and always forgives. Fiona who believes that people are, at their core, kind and don’t intentionally hurt others. Quiet Fiona who never says a word when others disappoint, abuse, or wound her. Fiona who rolls her shoulders and disappears within herself so they can’t hurt her anymore.

Tears rolled out of the corners of her eyes and down into her ears. Sniffling, angry with herself, she sat up and used the corner of the sheet to mop away the evidence of her pointless self-pity. Why she couldn’t be angry with other people when it might actually have a positive effect …

Shock and anger had propelled her out of the Miller-Sandses’ library. Pride and anger had been at the root of her forgiveness of Aunt Jane and her refusal to let Simone exact justice on her behalf. Indignation and anger had carried her away from the ball and all the way home. Anger alone had gotten her upstairs to her room and into bed. But had she bothered to turn so much as a scrap of her outrage and anger at Ian? At the cause and source of her turmoil and anguish? Her abiding embarrassment?

Her heart pounding and her breathing quick and shallow, Fiona flung herself back down into the feather mattress as the mantel clock quietly chimed the arrival of the fourth hour of the new day. A new day. Perhaps, she mulled, it was the day for a new Lady Fiona Turnbridge to be born. A Fiona who wasn’t quite so nice, quite so innocently and freely giving. Maybe it was time for her to put her own happiness before that of everyone else on earth.

And in the spirit of her newly adopted selfishness she ought to announce first thing at breakfast tomorrow morning that not only had she changed her mind about marrying the Duke of Dunsford, but that he could take a flying leap under the nearest set of speeding carriage wheels for all she cared. Caroline and Drayton, interested only in her happiness, would be understanding and respectful of her decision. And they’d most definitely appreciate that she’d called off the engagement before they’d spent a fortune on an announcement ball that wasn’t going to be one.

Although, come to think of it, Carrie and Drayton weren’t planning an engagement ball from scratch; they were simply modifying the purpose of a gala event they’d long ago scheduled. They could easily make it
not
an engagement ball again.

Fiona arched a brow as a bolt of lightning lit up the world and thunder shook the foundation of the house. A not-so-nice Fiona wouldn’t let a cad like Ian Cabott off the hook quite so neatly and easily. No, she’d delay rescinding her acceptance of the duke’s proposal until the very last possible moment. And then do everything within her feminine power to make sure that, between this moment and that final one, he came to truly appreciate the wonder and joy he was going to lose.

And if that didn’t work … Well, then she’d have to see how Simone felt about running him through.

Chapter Six

The next morning arrived clear and bright, all traces of the storm gone and the world washed clean. Fiona sat at her dressing table, staring at her reflection in the mirror and pondering the course of the resolution she’d made in the midst of the tempest. Just exactly how did a woman go about weaving her feminine wiles? she wondered. She considered each of the women in her life and how they had … well, for the lack of a better word,
captured
their husbands.

Caroline had been thoroughly competent and efficient, making over Drayton’s country house from top to bottom in record time and then graciously entertaining all of Lady Aubrey’s idiot friends. Simone had thrown a knife into Tristan’s back. Yes, there’d been considerable intrigue in their relationship leading up to that moment, but as defining moments went, it was quintessentially Simone. As for Aunt Jane … Sex. Freely given. It really wasn’t any more complicated than that.

Wondering just what skills she might have, Fiona glanced around the room, her gaze coming to rest on Beeps lying in the center of the feather comforter, diligently cleaning his face and ears. Her heart filled at the sight of him so contentedly going on with his life after having come so close to losing it. If it hadn’t been for Ian’s compassion …

Clenching her teeth, Fiona struggled against a tide of guilt and second thoughts, reminding herself that the esteemed Dr. Ian Cabott hadn’t been willing to help Beeps until she’d pointed a gun at his chest and given him only one other choice. Then he’d let her fall asleep in his surgery so that she was in a compromised position when she finally woke. The ever so businesslike marriage proposal counted against him, too. And the affair with Aunt Jane … a good meter of icing on the huge cake of his shortcomings.

No, all things considered, Ian Cabott, the Duke of Dunsford, deserved to be taken down by at least a dozen pegs. How to do it, though …

She didn’t have any particular skills. She couldn’t design and sew as Carrie could. Despite having pointed the gun at the duke, her skills at creating mayhem and physical injury weren’t anywhere near those Simone possessed. She’d been absolutely desperate; Simone did such things as a matter of instinct and usual course. As for freely giving her body à la Aunt Jane … Well, that was a bad idea for any number of reasons, not the least of which was that as a virgin she didn’t have a well of expertise from which to draw, and since the whole goal was to make the duke regret losing her … No, better to let him imagine what could have been rather than risk having him utterly relieved at being shed of an awkward, novice lover.

Skills … She could read and write in three languages and do advanced mathematics. Hardly the sort of activities that made men fall to their knees in gushing worship. Beyond those dubious abilities, the only other skills she truly had were those necessary for taking care of injured animals. Of course her family were the only ones who considered those abilities laudable. Everyone else considered them to be proof positive of a simple mind and a wildly eccentric character. The latter view being the one she’d already amply proven for the duke.

With no answers and weary of futile thinking, Fiona sighed and rose from her seat. She checked Beeps’ food and water bowls, the bandage on his leg, and then gave him several long reassuring strokes before heading down to breakfast and the looming inquisition.

Well, perhaps
inquisition
was too strong of a word, she allowed as she glided down the stairs. Caroline and Drayton were concerned about her, about her feelings, and wanted only to help her cope with the nightmare she’d inadvertently walked into. She’d evaded the issue last night by promising that she’d be prepared to fully discuss the ramifications of the “unfortunate Aunt Jane incident” over the morning meal. It was hard to imagine that they’d approve of her plan to be an Evil Fiona, so maybe the best thing to do was to let them do the talking and just nod a lot while looking contemplative.

Fiona barely had a foot over the dining room threshold when Caroline looked up from her plate, smiled, and said softly, “Good morning, Fiona, dear. How are you feeling?”

Confused, angry, and uncertain.
“Fine, thank you,” she replied as she stepped to the buffet and picked up a warm plate.

Drayton didn’t bother with either the pleasantries or a preamble. “Do you want me to call on Dunsford this morning and rescind your acceptance of his marriage proposal?”

And punch him in the nose while I’m at it,
she silently finished for him. Smiling as she helped herself to sausages, she chose her words carefully as she replied, “It’s kind of you to offer, Drayton, but I think not. At least not today. It seems to me that such important decisions are best mulled on for a while. I’d rather not act rashly out of shock and pure emotion.”

“A very mature point of view,” he allowed, sounding, to Fiona’s ears anyway, both suspicious and amused.

She turned to carry her plate to the table and saw a quiet, knowing approval in her sister’s smile, a surprisingly appreciative twinkle in her eye.

“So,” Carrie asked sweetly, reaching for her cup and saucer, “how long do you intend to let him stew, as they say, in his own juices?”

She should have known that Carrie would see right through her. And since she had, there was no point in pretending otherwise. “I haven’t decided.”

“But,” Drayton responded, his brow cocked, “you
do
intend to break the engagement in the end.”

Well, there was no doubt as to the course Drayton thought she should take. “I’m willing to give His Grace a bit of time to make an attempt to redeem himself. If he does so in a spectacular sort of way, then we’ll go forward. If he doesn’t…” She shrugged. “My heart isn’t going to be broken.”

Carrie nodded, sipped her coffee, and then said, “Well, as scandals go, having been seen leaving his house yesterday morning has decidedly paled against last night’s fiasco. Don’t feel obligated to go through with the marriage simply for the sake of appearances.”

Everyone in London knew about the unfortunate Aunt Jane incident? It wasn’t bad enough that she’d been mortified at walking in on the two of them together, but now she got to see the pitying looks from everyone she met? Wonderful. Just wonderful. The only reason she was going to leave the house in the next week was if it were on fire. And then it was going to have to be a huge fire.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Graces.”

“Yes?” Drayton said as Fiona looked up from her plate to see the footman standing in the doorway, a paper packet in his gloved hand.

“This has just arrived via a courier, Your Grace,” the man replied, advancing to the table, “and to your immediate attention.”

“Thank you.”

The footman bowed and left as Drayton cocked a brow, broke the seal, and opened the folds. Reading, his brow inched ever higher.

“So?” Caroline prompted. “Are you going to tell us what it is? Or make us guess?”

“It’s from Dunsford,” Drayton answered, still reading. “The settlement offer for Fiona’s hand that he and I discussed yesterday. At least it bears a vague resemblance to what we decided.”