Storm (15 page)

* * * *

On the evening of dinner at Roscarrock, Flynn was to spend the night with his new friend—Sam Smith. The two boys were excited by the prospect, and Kate tried not to worry.

"You behave yourself, young man," she warned her son.

He beamed. "I will, Mama."

"Do I get the same warning, madam?" Storm inquired.

"Yes."

Her son had already embarrassed her by commenting loudly on the fact that she wore her best gown for the occasion and telling Deverell, "Look after her. She don't know how to swim and you know how she don't listen to good sense so don't let her be drowneded."

This last remark came about because he had heard Storm say he was rowing them over to Roscarrock in a boat.

Kate was equally anxious about this mode of transport. "Do we really have to go in a boat?" she asked her escort as he led her down the cliff path in the moonlight that evening.

"When the tide's in there is no other way, Duchess."

He helped her into the waiting vessel and then pushed her out into the water.

"I feel rather foolish all dressed up and sitting in this little boat," she exclaimed, fidgeting with her long white evening gloves and looking down to see if her slippers were getting wet.

"But you look lovely," he assured her with a grin.

She scowled.

He stepped into the boat with her, picked up the oars and proceeded to row them toward the dark lump of island in the distance.

It wasn't merely her dress that worried her, or the rocking boat. Kate was extremely nervous about meeting his entire family. A few months ago she could never have imagined herself dining at Roscarrock with the infamous Deverells.

How her life had changed since she managed to get herself stuck in that river. It was remarkable when she paused to consider how fate had intervened that day. If she had never encountered Storm Deverell— due to her own reckless impatience— what might have happened to them?

She raised her fingers to the butterfly choker and traced the shape of its wings. "Why did you think of me when you saw this?" she muttered.

"Because you
are
a butterfly."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't make me tell you how beautiful you are again," he groaned, pulling hard on the oars. "It doesn't seem to get me anywhere and you'll just tell me it's not proper."

She put her hand down, knitting her fingers together in her lap. "Butterflies die if you touch them."

"No they don't, Duchess," he assured her. "That's not true. But one has to be very, very gentle so as not to damage their wings. A man can't be clumsy, or impatient, or reckless with a butterfly."

"Oh." What else could she say to that? He had a habit of leaving her speechless.

Chapter Thirteen

A dour-faced butler met them at the grand, studded door of the manor house and took their coats. Kate felt her pulse quicken, but kept her composure.

"Most of the family waits in the drawing room, sir. Except for your father and Master Ransom, who came down from London this afternoon. They are in the library at present but will be out shortly to join you."

"Thank you, Sims." Storm glanced at her. "Ready to meet the tribe, Mrs. Kelly?"

He had already told her he thought she was very brave to do so, but had only said that as they were crossing the water in that worrisome little boat— when it was far too late for her to change her mind anyway.

"Of course," she said haughtily. She could do this. It would be a performance like any of those she once gave as Kitty. Pretending to be something she was not came easily to her. More easily than being herself, she'd discovered.

As they passed the foot of the stairs she glanced up at a life-size portrait, presumably of the master of the house, although it was a missing a face.

"That's my father," Storm confirmed. "His wife, Lady Charlotte, in one of her more pleasant moods, once aimed a crystal decanter at it— thus the hole and the wine stain."

"I see. Why does he keep it there?"

"To remind him of past mistakes, he says. Although he and Olivia are having another painted after the wedding to replace it. Come on, let's get this over with."

The drawing room door opened and a blast of light consumed them both as they crossed the threshold. So many candles lit at once! The expense must be enormous. Her next concerned thought was that she hoped it didn't show up all the frayed spots on her gown, or the missing beadwork and the stitches that had patched it up over the years. Whoever had worn it before Kate must have put that gown through quite a gauntlet, she'd always thought. But it was, as Flynn had said, her finest gown.

One must always put one's best foot forward.

She would have worn the armor of her blue riding habit if it was at all appropriate for dinner. Sadly it was not.

"I'm not certain where to start," her escort murmured, as all the faces turned to watch them enter the room.

But he was saved the trouble of deciding, for one of the young men came over to them at once.

Storm introduced her. "This is Rush Deverell, the baby of the family."

"Baby? I'm seventeen!"

"And this is my father's adopted son, Bryn, who is the same age as Rush. The two of them are inseparable." On their way across to the island Storm had given her a brief summary in preparation for the evening, so she knew that Bryn was a mute, found by True Deverell on the moor five years ago and taken into the family as if he was one of their own.

Rush was the third and final child from their father's marriage to Lady Charlotte Rothesey. From the way the young man had been described to her during the boat ride, she guessed he was one of Storm's favorites.

"Rush has always been the voice for Bryn," he'd told her. "Seems to understand him when no one else can."

In return, apparently, Bryn— big for his age and fearless despite his mute state— defended Rush against those who would have bullied the slender, sensitive boy at school.

Next they moved around the room to the brothers born of his father's affair with another mistress. "This is my half-brother, Justify Deverell...
Captain
Deverell now, I understand," he proudly introduced the handsome lad in the Naval uniform. "And Damon, his younger brother, who currently excels at Oxford."

Damon bowed over Kate's hand. "Mrs. Kelly. It's a rare pleasure to meet one of Storm's ladies. He so seldom brings any of them to Roscarrock when we are all here."

"Because meeting all of you is a horror few could withstand," Storm replied tranquilly. "Mrs. Kelly, however, is not in the least faint-hearted."

"But since she's with you, can she be entirely sensible?"

"Don't mind Damon," Storm steered her across to where his sister sat with Olivia by the fire. "He's at that tiresome age of eighteen, when a young man thinks he knows everything and may say whatever he wants without repercussions. No one has yet slapped him down to size, but they will. Eventually."

As they approached the sofa, his sister's dark, doe-like eyes inspected Kate with no effort to conceal her curiosity. "You're not what I expected at all," she said.

"That's just what your brother said when we met. And what I said to him too."

"But what on earth are you doing with him?" Raven's smile widened wickedly. "You're much too elegant for Storm. Somebody said you were supposed to be his housekeeper and you don't look like one of those either."

Before Kate could give any reply, Olivia got up to kiss her. "You must have a sherry. Sims will get you one."

A space was made for her on the sofa between the two women and Storm stood nearby, talking with his brothers.

Well, she'd made it this far. It wasn't so bad, after all.

Raven was quite beautiful, but not in the manner of a typical English rose— rather as a rare orchid such as those Kate saw painted in a book once, with black, velvety petals, lush and sensual. She sprawled against the arm of the couch, rather than perch on the seat as a lady should, but no one was likely to correct her, it seemed. Not even Olivia.

"I wish we had something stronger than sherry," the girl remarked at one point, "and I'd love a cigar."

Kate was quite certain she did it for shock value. No one commented. Raven sighed gustily and toyed with the large red poppy she'd taken out of her black hair.

So that was what Olivia did with Flynn's gift. Kate smiled to herself. She'd always known it was too bright a decoration for the tidy Mrs. Monday. But it suited Raven Deverell. In fact, it was perfect for her.

* * * *

Storm felt relieved. In the back of his mind a worry had lurked all day— that Kate might decide not to go and make up some excuse at the last minute. He knew she didn't like leaving her son, and, after all, his family had a certain notoriety. In truth, he wouldn't have blamed her if she resisted being introduced to the entire litter at once.

But there she was, not at all cowed by the experience. Looking stunning in that rose silk gown and his butterfly choker. He was exceptionally fortunate, he realized, that she ever wandered onto his land.

Finders keepers.

"I hear that blousy barmaid from The Fisherman's Rest went missing," said Damon suddenly. "What was her name? Suzy something. A friend of yours wasn't she, Storm?"

"Sally White," Raven snapped, rolling her eyes.

"Yes. Wasn't she one of yours?" Damon persisted, eyes smug as he sipped his sherry.

Storm sighed. "She isn't missing, and she isn't one of my anything. Sally was in debt with Joseph Dowty, and I advised her to leave for a while."

"Oh, good lord," his sister drawled, stretching languidly over the arm of the sofa. "When will you learn not to get involved in other people's problems? Women like Sally White will never change. They're hopeless. And she won't thank you for it."

"Perhaps not, but somebody has to try and help her."

"Sir Galahad," Damon muttered.

"No, that's Ransom," Storm replied calmly. "He always played Sir Galahad and I was Sir Gawain." When they were children, spending their school summer holidays on the island at Roscarrock, True's sons had played Camelot, imagining their father as King Arthur.

Just as he said that, the drawing room door opened and his father came in with Ransom.

It had been a while since the two eldest brothers had seen each other. Storm wasn't sure how long, but apparently it was a greater space of time than he'd realized for Ransom had, at some point between then and now, grown into a man. He was almost his father's height and looked more like True than ever, but without the natural warmth in his eyes.

How old was he now? Storm tried to recall. Couldn't be more than twenty-four, but he looked older. That must be what London did to a man, he thought.

When he first entered the room Ransom appeared stern, annoyed about something. Clearly he'd been arguing with their father again. At least he hadn't pulled a gun on the man this time. But when he saw his elder brother across the room, Ransom's face lost some of its sharper angles. "Storm. It's been a while." He came across with a hand outstretched.

And then his gaze discovered Kate on the sofa. His expression changed yet again and his hand, when it met Storm's, seemed to have forgotten what it meant to do.

"Ransom. It's good to see you." Storm grabbed that hand firmly and shook it hard. His brother's eyes, having swept the woman on the sofa, finally focused on his face, but Storm suffered the distinct impression that they weren't seeing him at all.

"Yes. Indeed."

Suddenly reluctant to introduce Kate, he was beaten to it anyway by Olivia.

"This is Mrs. Kelly who recently moved into the Putnam house on the moor. She's become a very dear friend of ours already."

Ransom dropped his brother's hand as if it was burning and snatched up Kate's white-gloved fingers instead. "Mrs. Kelly. I'm delighted. What a pleasant surprise." He bent smoothly to kiss her glove, his eyes still pinned to her face. Then, inevitably, his gaze wandered to her bosom, which nestled becomingly in a swath of some sort of... foggy material. Storm didn't know the bloody name for it, but Ransom probably would.

He might have known better than bring her into this lion's den, he thought morosely. He couldn't compete with Ransom's polite London manners and gentlemanly good looks. The man was dressed in a dark suit of clothes that fairly screamed money. He smelled just as expensive thanks to whatever soap he used to shave, or put in his black hair.

The suave charmer was giving Kate his full attention and Storm didn't dare look at her face to see how she was taken in by it. He turned away, swigged his sherry and gestured to Sims for more.

* * * *

She was frozen, a silent scream racing through her.

Kate knew this man. Or rather, Kitty knew him. She'd seen him at the Music Box several times, watching her performance, applauding from the shadows.

It was him, without a doubt. She couldn't forget those eyes.

If Ransom Deverell had recognized her too he could expose the truth about her past in London. It felt as if the blood had drained out of her. She couldn't breathe. Nor could she utter a word.

Or had she spoken? Kate didn't know.

No one else present seemed to have sensed anything wrong.

"Dinner is served," the butler announced somberly.

Still she couldn't move. The others walked toward the door.

"Oh, you spilled your sherry!" Olivia exclaimed. "It will stain your beautiful gown."

Moving stiffly, slowly, Kate set her glass down on the little table.

"Perhaps Mrs. Blewett has something in the kitchen to get the stain out before it sets," Olivia added, helping her up off the sofa with one hand under her elbow.

Relieved, able to breathe again, she let the other woman take her out of the drawing room.

"You've gone dreadfully pale, Kate. Are you alright?"

"Yes, of course."

"I'll show you to the kitchen." Olivia told the others to go on into the dining room. Storm hesitated, but she shooed him off. "This is something women know more about than you. Now go! We'll join you shortly."

* * * *

Ransom sat across the table from him, eyes narrowed and thoughtful. "So where did you find Mrs. Kelly then?"

"On the moor."

His brother chuckled. "Good lord. Everybody finds things on the moor these days. First father stumbles across young Bryn out there and now you dig up the very lovely Mrs. Kelly. I might have to wander up there myself and see what I can find."

"She is too good for you, Storm," Raven interjected with a teasing grin. "Much too ladylike and refined. You always said women like her were too dainty and shockable, you preferred the easy sort, game for anything and not likely to try pinning you down. Like the affectionately generous Sally White."

He let them all laugh. What did they know? "Mrs. Kelly and I are merely friends, so you needn't think anything more of it. She's a decent widow, and I'll thank you all to treat her with respect."

"I thought you were seriously reconsidering your bachelor status, brother," Damon exclaimed from further down the table. "I would never have believed it possible, I must say, until I saw her."

"Storm is entitled to bring a lady friend to dine without all of you speculating on his intentions," Justify broke in sternly. "It's really none of our business."

"Brother, you've become entirely too stuffy and serious," Raven complained. "Just because you're a Captain now, doesn't mean you have to turn into a massive bore, I hope. You used to be fun!"

Justify smiled slightly. "I'll try not to disappoint you, Raven, by becoming a responsible adult. I know it's not the done thing in this family, if it can be helped." He shot a sly glare down the table to where their father sat at the head of it. "But sooner or later we do have to get old. Even True Deverell has to grow up now he's marrying Mrs. Olivia Monday, who won't pander to his whims."

They all went silent while the soup was served. Or perhaps because they were all waiting for their father to say something. But True apparently wasn't listening. He seemed preoccupied, and Storm wondered what he and Ransom had discussed in the library before dinner. Whatever it was, it hadn't pleased their father. Probably something to do with "Deverells" which Ransom now managed for him in London.

Storm had no interest in the family business. He didn't like gambling. It was a bad habit for the rich
and
the poor. True Deverell had made a fortune from it, of course, but that didn't mean Storm had to approve.

"What the devil is that thing?" Ransom sputtered, glaring at Raven's hair, which was arranged this evening with a large red flower over her ear.

"Olivia gave it to me. I thought it was rather sweet of her."

"Looks very Spanish," Justify commented. "Very pretty."

Ransom snorted. "Spanish? She looks like a tuppenny tart."

His sister retorted sharply, "I suppose
you'd
know what one of those looks like, brother dearest."

He picked up his wine glass and emptied it, still glaring at the flower as if its presence offended him mortally.

After another lengthy pause Damon ventured, "I saw that fine new curricle of yours on the mainland, Ransom. Extremely smart with those burgundy wheels. Must have cost a fair penny."

His brother waved a hand dismissively. "It doesn't ride smoothly, very temperamental. The axle is off and the wheels veer to the right. It's been nothing but trouble."

Their father glared down the table and snapped, "I daresay it needs a more careful driver. One who doesn't drink to excess."

Ransom didn't meet his father's eye, but scratched his upper lip nervously and shook his head at the salmon as Sims brought it round the table.

So that was what it was about, thought Storm with a sigh.

He knew Ransom had been expected at Roscarrock long before he actually deigned to show his face this time. In typical disrespectful fashion he arrived when he wanted to, when it was convenient for him. As if his time was so much more important than anybody else's. The young man seldom left London these days, and Storm was somewhat surprised that he'd bothered to turn up for their father's wedding at all. He supposed that much later than expected was better than never.

"I wouldn't mind trying that curricle," Damon exclaimed. "Perhaps I could take it off your hands for the right price."'

"You'll have to wait until it's repaired. It's not safe to drive anywhere at the moment."

"But it got you here in one piece."

Their father grunted scornfully down the table, "Eventually. In his own time."

Another quiet period followed and then Storm became aware of Ransom watching him again. He'd never been the target of so much interest from that quarter. His brother, he suspected, thought of him as a dull-brained country oaf most of the time. Someone barely worth noticing. If not for the father they shared they would have nothing in common.

"Perhaps Mrs. Kelly will sing for us after dinner. What do you think, Storm?" he slurred. "I do love a good entertainment in the evening."

"Olivia said she sings like an angel," said Raven.

"Yes, she looks as if she might. Do ask her, Storm, won't you?"

Storm glared across the table at his brother. "I'll ask her, but I can't guarantee she will. She always stops singing the moment she knows anyone's listening. Seems highly unlikely she'd want to sing before a room full of people. She's not that sort."

Abruptly Ransom choked with laughter. His eyes turned smoky as he held a napkin to his lips, but whatever he found so humorous apparently he didn't care to share it with Storm.