The Diabolical Baron (26 page)

He felt he knew her, perhaps better than she knew
herself—the sensitivity, the innocent clarity of spirit,
the stunning musical talent. Being with her was pure
joy—the sound of her light rippling laughter, the sweet
dreaminess, the unexpected flashes of dry wit. He loved them with as much intensity as he desired to
touch that delicate face, as fine-grained as a rose petal.

Yet it would be the act of a vandal to force unwanted
attentions on her. She was happy in his company, but
perhaps it was just the pleasure of their shared love of
music. She was as unconscious of her loveliness as a
flower; he doubted if she had any idea of the effect she
had on him.

He found that he was whistling “Greensleeves.”
Alas, my love, You do me wrong, To cast me off so discourte
ously ...
Not entirely appropriate, perhaps; but the
melancholy sweetness of the ancient tune haunted him
the way her graceful movements did.

He was limping badly when he returned to War-
grave, his leg aching from the long walk and the chill
evening air. He knew he must speak to her, and soon,
before time ran out. He would never forgive himself if
he lost her through inaction. And hadn’t he fought
other forlorn hopes in the Army?

* * * *

Richard was unusually quiet that night, even for a
man who had been known to say that few things im
prove on silence. Apart from asking the butler, Somers,
for any mail from London, he seemed lost in thought.
Reginald wondered idly if the captain were sulking over the scene at lunch, but decided not. The man cer
tainly had nothing to say for himself.

Already growing bored with life in the country, Reg
gie tried various conversational gambits but his com
panion seemed singularly uninterested in on dits,
boxing matches, wenching, gaming, and every other
interesting topic that was introduced. Having spent
much of the afternoon drinking, topped with a bottle
and a half of hock with dinner, the Despair of the Dav
enports was in a surly mood by the time the captain
pushed back from the table to leave.

“You’re a dull dog, Dalton,” he said pugnaciously.
“Or perhaps a cow, chewing your cud.”

Richard raised one eyebrow, his attention finally
caught. “Surely ‘bull’ would be more accurate than
‘cow’?”

“ ‘Gelding’ would be better yet,” Reggie said with an
ugly glint.

Disconcertingly, his quarry laughed with genuine
humor. “Come now, Davenport, you disappoint me.
Schoolboys make insults about eunuchs. Surely a man of the world like you can do better than that.”

Volatile as always, Reggie felt a certain reluctant respect for someone so impervious to attack. “What does
it take to anger you, Dalton? I can’t believe the Army
didn’t teach you something about fighting.”

Richard smiled. “I’d best not tell you my weak
nesses, for you would feel compelled to test them. And
then I might have to kill you.”

Angry again, his cousin spat out, “You and how
many friends? There isn’t a man in England I can’t beat
in any fair fight, pistols, swords, or fisticuffs. I’ve
beaten Jackson himself at his salon.”

“Ah, yes. That is one of the places where men of fash
ion play at fighting.”

“Play?”

“I don’t know what else to call it. You’re right that I
learned something in the Army. Avoid unnecessary
battles. But when you fight, fight to win.”

Dispensing with the formality of a glass, Reggie took
a swallow direct from his latest bottle of wine. “I was
going to invite you to a mill near Bristol tomorrow, but
no doubt you would consider that too much like play.”

“Alas, yes. I’m a working man and can’t take time for
the treat.” Richard made only a token attempt to look
disappointed. Really, his cousin was the most unac
countable man, full of idle malice, yet so desperate for company he would extend an invitation to someone he
was doing his level best to provoke. It would be no loss
to have him away for a day or two.

Rising from the table, he said with unimpaired good
humor, “Enjoy your mill, but don’t put your blunt on the Cornishman. The word is he’s off his form.”

Reginald was left to stare at the closed door as the
captain limped out. Where had the damned man
learned who was boxing in Bristol? Shrugging, he
reached for a new bottle of wine.

* * * *

The evening seemed interminable. Jason looked at
her with a slight frown and Jessica shot occasional puz
zled glances. Caroline refused to let her aunt catch her
eye, excusing herself as early as possible on the
grounds of an all-too-real headache.

In the safety of her room she reached for her lute
rather than her night robe. Singing softly, she plucked out many of the old ballads she had sung with Richard earlier in the day, so intent she never saw Jessica open
the door.

I know where I’m going, And I know who’s going with me,
I know who I love, and he knows who I’ll marry
... She
sang the words with the feelings she had been unable
to express earlier. Her aunt listened for a few moments,
then silently withdrew.

The clock was striking midnight when Caroline’s
songs were done, but she knew that sleep was still out
of the question. Instead, she reached for her pen and
her blank music paper. It was nearly dawn when she fi
nally closed her burning eyes. One long night was
over. There was still a whole lifetime to get through.

Chapter 11

T
he corridor past the guest rooms was still gray in
the dawn half-light. Jason walked softly, telling
himself it was perfectly logical to go to the stables by
this route, and there was no reason to suppose that Jessica would be going out to ride this early. Even though
their paths had crossed in the stables for the last three mornings and they had gone riding together, it wasn’t as if they had arranged any of the meetings.

Nonetheless, he was listening closely enough to
hear the muffled curse coming from behind her door. He paused, then tapped gently at the oak panels. Mo
ments later, Jessica opened the door, dressed in her
skintight breeches and a white shirt that strained
across her breasts.

“Oh! I thought it would be one of the servants,” she
said as she looked up at the master of the house. He
smiled at her smoothly, carefully keeping his gaze on
her face rather than her all-too-revealing clothes.

“I heard what sounded uncommonly like a cavalry
oath. May I offer any assistance?”

She smiled “You are exactly what I need. Come in.”
Apparently oblivious of the implications, she stood
back and let him enter her bedchamber. Walking to the
massive four-poster, she waved her hand at the
canopy. “There is the problem.”

Jason looked up and blinked, wondering if it was
earlier than he thought. His initial impression was
confirmed when the triangular orange patch opened a
surprisingly large pink mouth full of needle-sharp
teeth and said, “Mrro-o-o—o-wp!”

“He’s gotten himself up there and can’t seem to get down. I’m not tall enough to reach him and I’m reluc
tant to stand on your brocade chairs. If I leave him
there, he’ll either fall and break his neck or spend the
day shredding the silk canopy.”

“Allow me,” Jason moved to the edge of the bed and
reached up. The little cat seemed disposed to be skit
tish, but stood still after hearing “Wel-l-l-le-s-l-e-y,” ut
tered in a warning tone.

Jason lifted him down and stroked the soft head
carefully. His reward was a high-pitched purr of de
light. “He certainly gets into a quantity of trouble,
doesn’t he?”

“Indeed he does, my lord,” Jessica said with a smile.
“He is excellent preparation for having a child. Never where you expect him, able to move incredibly fast, and can charm you out of your irritation when you’d
like to wring his neck.”

“You have the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen,” Jason
said involuntarily as he looked down into her shining
morning face.

She dimpled at him. “Then you can’t have looked
closely at Wellesley.”

He smiled in reply. It was so very hard to stay on his
guard with Jessica. “You have the greenest eyes I’ve
ever seen on a human, then.” They really were most
remarkable, not the light olive shade usually called
green but a clear true emerald with a dark rim around the iris. Eyes to drown in.
...

He snapped his concentration back with an effort.
“Since you appear to be ready for riding, would you
care to join me?”

“I’d be delighted.” She slipped on a worn brown
jacket against the morning chill, then hustled her host
into the corridor. Widows were relatively scandal-
proof but it wouldn’t be at all the thing for her niece’s fiancé to be seen coming out of her bedroom. It was
even less the thing to know she didn’t want him to
leave.

As they walked outside, she darted a quick glance at
him out of the corner of her eye. Why did he have to be
so very handsome? The irresistible smile lurking be
hind his dark eyes, the rangy athlete’s body, designed
to make a tall lady feel fragile and feminine ...

She turned her attention forward as they entered the sta
bles.

“Come down here. I want to show you something.”
Jason led her to the left, away from the area where
most of the riding horses were kept. At the end of the passage he stopped in front of a large box stall. “What
do you think?”

Jessica drew her breath in with delight, then reached
out to the dappled gray mare. She was an exquisite
creature, with huge dark eyes and dancing hooves.
She trotted over to Jessica and gently pressed her vel
vet muzzle into the shoulder of the brown jacket.

“She seems to like you,” Jason commented.

“Say rather that she smells the carrot in my pocket. I
was going to give it to the roan I’ve been riding, but
this beauty has talked me round.” Jessica produced the
treat, then stroked the glossy neck as the mare daintily
nibbled. “She is mostly Arabian, isn’t she?”

Jason nodded approvingly. “Quite right. She was
just delivered yesterday afternoon. I think she is the
finest mare in England, and have been after Lord Hud
son to sell for two years now. I may give her to Caroline as a wedding gift.”

Noticing Jessica’s doubtful look, he said dryly,
“Surely your niece does ride?”

“Of course she does! She is a very pretty rider
when ...” Jessica’s voice trailed off.

“You are going to have to complete that sentence, you know,” Jason said. “Particularly if it helps me to understand my elusive bride any better.”

Jessica smiled with a trace of embarrassment.
“There is no great mystery. Caroline tends to be a bit of
a woolgatherer, as you may have noticed.”

“The matter had not escaped my attention.”

“Well, we have always made sure she has placid
horses. She has gotten thrown several times by paying
insufficient attention. A spirited horse like this would
have her in the hedgerows constantly. She is always
quite cheerful and apologetic about her lapses, but
there is a risk of serious injury.”

Jason sighed, “Perhaps the pianoforte will be a bet
ter gift.”

“Without question. Meanwhile, what is this little lady’s name?”

“Cleopatra. A fit mate for my Caesar.” Jason noticed Jessica’s doubtful look, and asked, “Does that not meet
with your approval?”

“We-l-l-l. . . remember that Caesar and Cleopatra
did not make a match of it. Perhaps she should be
named for Caesar’s wife rather than his bit of muslin.”

Ignoring the strangled snort from her escort, she ran
her fingers through the dark gray mane. “And like
Caesar’s wife, this one is above reproach.”

Jason laughed suddenly. “How did an introduction
to a horse turn into a lecture on the classics? If you pre
fer, I will call her Calpurnia rather than Cleopatra, She
needs some exercise today. Shall I saddle her for you?”