The Diabolical Baron (25 page)

Caroline gasped and turned red. Cold as steel,
Richard’s voice cut across the silence. “I assume that
you wish to rephrase that comment, since there can be
no reason for you to wish to insult a lady you have only just met.”

Reggie shot him a startled glance, suddenly
reminded that Army officers needed more than polite
ness to maintain order amongst rowdy soldiers.

“Of course no insult was intended,” he said
smoothly. “I fear that Jason Kincaid and I have been ac
quainted any time these last thirty years, and have dis
liked each other a bit more each time we have met. My
envy of his finding such a lovely lady misled my
tongue.” 

He sketched another bow, staring at Caroline in
frank admiration. The light muslin day dress clung to
her slim waist and soft curves.
She seemed unaware of her comeli
ness, adding to her charm. And she was Jason’s. How
delightful it would be to seduce such innocence while
serving an old enemy a backhanded turn. Pity he
wouldn’t have the opportunity; young misses were
usually so heavily guarded. Chaperones were the bane
of his existence.

While Reggie was mentally licking his chops,
Richard stepped forward and offered Caroline his arm.
“Shall we adjourn to the music room?” She took his
arm gratefully and they turned to leave.

‘‘It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Davenport,” she
said uncertainly. “Perhaps I will see you again soon.”

As they entered the music room she gave way to the
shudder she had held in check. “What an unpleasant man! His eyes seem to leave slimy tracks like slugs.
Perhaps it is just as well that... that I won’t be able to
come here as often now.” She ended her words in a
rush, looking at Richard with wide, unhappy eyes.

He disengaged his arm and said gently, “Lord Rad
ford has returned?”

She nodded. “Yes, late last night. I expect I will be
more busy now. Perhaps we can still play together some, but. . . there won’t be as much time.” And it
won’t be the same. She didn’t say the last words out loud
but she could hear them hanging in the air between
them. She looked up at Richard’s face, studying it care
fully as if to memorize it.

He looked less tired and
drawn than when they met. It had been hardly more
than a week, yet she felt she had known him forever.
These last few days she had drifted in a happy haze,
never thinking how quickly it must end. The intent
hazel eyes were looking more green than gold today.

She noticed with mild surprise how handsome he was;
he had seemed so familiar from the very beginning that
she hadn’t studied his face closely. For the first time she
saw a faint hairline scar along his left cheekbone. She
put her hand up and touched it, lightly as a butterfly
wing. “How did this happen?”

“A piece of shrapnel at Badajoz. A very minor thing.”

She shuddered. “An inch higher and you would
have lost an eye, yet this is ‘a minor thing.’ What is war
like?”

He led her across to the benches where they often sat
and played. He looked thoughtful as he took his guitar
and absently tuned it, finally saying, “That’s a difficult
question to answer. Why do you want to know?”

She said shyly, “I want to make music about it, and I…I can do that only if I understand. I have led such a quiet
life. There is so little I truly know about that it limits
what I can create.”

She paused, then added in an almost inaudible voice,
“I am just beginning to think of myself as a composer. I
never dared do that before. But if I am a real musician, I must reach out to learn more about the world, if only
through others.”

Richard settled against the back of the bench, uncon
sciously straightening his bad leg out in front of him.
“For someone of limited experience you have already
created great depth in your music. But if you wish, I
shall try to explain war,” he said musingly. “It’s a day-
to-day business of boredom and discomfort, looking
for whatever small way you can improve your lot. It’s terror so intense it ceases to have meaning. It’s going
forward knowing that many of your company will
surely die, and all that keeps you moving is a fear of
disgracing yourself that is stronger than the fear of
death.”

As he talked, he plucked chords from the instrument
in a counterpoint underlining his words. As she lis
tened she could see the mad exhilaration of a battle charge, the desolation of the field after the
last shot had been fired
, the loneliness of the night watches, the dis
eases that killed more men than the bullets, the intense
companionship, the awestruck wonder of survival, the
inexpressible thunder of the guns.

She never knew how
long he spoke, but when he finally ended with a last
haunting minor-key chord she found herself with tears
in her eyes.

“‘Thank you’ seems inadequate, I feel you have
taken me to another world.” Beyond that, she felt he had shown her a glimpse of his soul, but she knew no words to say that. “Will you sing with me?” she said impulsively. “I have thought our voices would blend well.”

She couldn’t judge how they would sound to others,
but she had never loved singing more. His beautiful
dark velvet voice supported and harmonized with her
clear tones. Once again they seemed to share the same
musical taste and rhythms. They sang old songs from
all over the British Isles, modern Italian duets, French
ballads. As the afternoon drew to a close, Richard light
ened the mood with a series of playful Spanish songs.
After hearing one verse, she could harmonize without
words. She would try to guess the song’s meaning
from the music; then he would translate it for her.

“The one we just sang was about... Sorry, I had bet
ter not translate that one!” he said with a laugh after
the fifth or sixth Spanish tune.

“Is it improper?” she asked, making her eyes huge
and innocent.

“Most improper,” he said firmly. “Now that I think
of it, I believe I have exhausted my supply of Spanish
songs that can be sung in mixed company. Shall I play some of the Spanish dances for you?”

An hour later they walked slowly back to Wilde
haven, reluctant to end the afternoon. Caroline had the
heavy feeling that it was her last free, unconstrained
time with Richard. Lord Radford’s forceful energy
seemed to be engulfing her; from now on most of her
time would belong to him. She wondered if it would
matter to the captain. He seemed to enjoy her company,
but he had never said anything indicating a stronger
feeling.

She determinedly pushed speculation from her
mind; there would be time enough for brooding later.
For the moment, she still felt free, and alive with pas
sionate Spanish rhythms. As they entered a flower-
floored glade where the slanting sunshine gave a
strange, magical glow, Caroline paused and said, “I’ve always felt this would be a place where the Small Folk
would dance. Whenever I come through, I feel like join
ing them.”

“Why don’t you?” Richard asked with a half-smile.
“I’m sure they wouldn’t object. Sometimes you seem to
be half-fairy yourself; they should welcome you.”

She looked up with an eager glance, then paused,
unable to avoid a quick look at his damaged leg.
Richard saw the direction of her eyes and said quietly,
“I’m afraid my dancing days are done. You shall have
to do it for both of us. Go ahead, Caro.”

It was the first time he had used the diminutive of
her name; it felt astonishingly intimate. She gave him a
slow sweet smile, then moved into the center of the
glade. Closing her eyes, she reached out with all her
senses, absorbing the leafy scent, the small bird sounds,
the slight breeze that caressed her cheek and rippled
her thin muslin gown.

Her whole life had been lived to a background of
music, like a great river flowing through her spirit,
highs and lows blending into magical rhythms she
could never quite express aloud. Often she would let
them run free in her mind when she played or dreamed
or composed. Now for the first time she let the torrent
she felt in her soul run free in her body.

She began a slow swaying, then started to glide and
turn in a dance as natural and graceful as eiderdown
on the wind. Her eyes were open but unfocused as she
listened to music only she could hear. All she had
known of joy in her life was bound together with a pro
found new emotion coming from the center of her
being. Her voice sang a wordless accompaniment to
her dance, the crystalline tones filling the clearing like a
sorcerer’s incantation.

At the end she drifted across the grass and swept
into a deep formal curtsy in front of Richard, one hand
lifted toward him. She realized now what she had
danced: it was the most ancient of mysteries and its
name was Love.

As Richard moved toward her she studied the bright
brown hair; the wide hazel eyes, a little remote now; his
handsome face, inexpressibly dear. The broad-shouldered figure moved smoothly in spite of the limp that
kept him forever earthbound, unable to dance his soul
as she had just done. All thoughts of propriety had van
ished as she danced in the clearing, and she wished
with every fiber of her being for him to kiss her.

Instead he took her hand, his strong brown fingers
enclosing hers. Even that simple contact affected her
more than she would have dreamed possible, and she
wondered if she were visibly trembling. Could he feel
it too, the slow fire that spread from her fingers and
through her body?

He said gently, “Come, Titania. I must return you to the lands of men.”

She rose from her curtsy and shook some twigs from
her hem, too moved by her newfound feelings to at
tempt speech. If she had known how, she would have told him of her love. Even if he didn’t return her feel
ings, she knew he would be kind, be she ever so much
a fool.

There has never been anything important in my life
that I have been able to find the words for, she thought wretchedly. The logical part of her mind said it would
be wrong to speak of love. She was bound past re
demption to another man; and no lady would behave
so forwardly. But I’ve never been a logical creature, she
thought with wry humor. Any number of people have
told me so.

With all of her emotional nature she wanted to tell
him how she felt because she feared there would never
be another chance. It seemed unbearably cruel that
such an intensity of caring would never see the light of
day.

She was still mute as they reached the clearing
around Wildehaven. As was the custom of these last
days, he waited at the edge while she crossed alone to the great house. She stood at the side door and looked
back at the brown figure in the shadows of the wood until he turned and vanished, feeling the tightness in
her chest of a grief too deep for words. If she couldn’t
speak in the aftermath of that ancient mystery dance,
she would never find the courage in the future. Her
face was set in the remote lines of a Greek statue as she
returned to her chamber to dress for dinner.

* * * *

Richard walked in the woods for hours before re
turning to Wargrave, his emotions in a tumult. From
the moment he had first seen Caroline glowing with
sunlight, to this afternoon’s fey dance of unearthly
beauty, she had touched realms of his heart entirely
new to him. He had never wanted anything or anyone
as he wanted Caroline, yet she was pledged to another
man. It had been madness to spend these last days to
gether, oblivious of her commitment and the world’s
possible censure.

He smiled without humor; if Radford found out and
took exception to their intimacy, he would be within
his rights to call Richard out. That was no great worry
in itself, but the repercussions for Caroline could be
devastating.

He had studied her carefully these last days and seen
no sign that she was in love with Radford. If he were
absolutely sure of that, he would be courting her
openly. Not the act of a gentleman perhaps, but social
conventions were a thin facade compared with the primal emotions Caroline aroused in him.