The Elusive Flame (3 page)

An elated titter erupted from Sybil, and she clapped her hands in eager delight, like a child enthralled with a puppet show. “That’s telling her, Al! Just oo’ does ’at chit think she is, anyway?”

“Obviously Miss Kendall thinks she’s a lady of consequence,” Alistair mocked, setting aside the shepherdess and advancing upon Cerynise with gleaming black eyes.

Instinctively Cerynise backed away. She didn’t know the man well enough to make any clear judgment as to what he might be capable of doing if angered, but she was certain he was no gentleman and would likely become violent if vexed. To her dismay, the settee halted her retreat, and she was forced to stand and meet his wildly gleaming eyes as he smirked at her.

Recognizing her fear, Alistair felt a surge of power. “But Miss Kendall is wrong again,” he said almost softly. “She’s no one at all, just a little beggar who has been coddling up to my aunt all these years for the purpose of extracting whatever favors she could from the old woman, like this gown she’s wearing.”

Reaching out, he grasped hold of the white lace lining the high ruff and gave it a jerk, wrenching a startled gasp from the girl as he ripped it free.

“Take your hands off me!” Cerynise cried, her rage kindling her courage as she flung away his arm. “You may own this house, sir, but you most certainly do not own me!”

Alistair’s lips angled upward in a confident leer as his dark eyes dipped caressingly to her bosom. She was, after all, such a tempting little thing. It would be a shame not to taste her. “That can change, my pretty little peach.”

“Al?” Sybil was instantly alert to his prurient imagination. She wasn’t at all acceptive to the notion that she
might have to share him with a young wench who made her feel like a dumpy toad, for there was always the chance that he’d come to prefer the fresher tidbit over the one that had grown stale from use. It wasn’t that she cared for the roué overmuch. She was far more interested in how rich he was going to be. She pranced across the room and, with a little wiggle, wedged herself between the dueling glares of the two who stood toe to toe. She snuggled up against Alistair, reminding him of her generous curves. “Don’t bother yerself with that scrawny li’l milkweed, lovey,” she cooed, her bright red lips curving invitingly. “Yer Sybil is here just itchin’ ta make ye happy.”

Alistair chortled vindictively as he thought of a way to repay Cerynise for her haughty disfavor. Slipping an arm around his mistress, he smiled down into her heavily painted eyes. “How would you like some new clothes, Sybil?”

Her elated squeal would have been answer enough. “Oh, Al, do ye mean ye’re gonna buy me some?”

His bony shoulders slipped upward in a blasé shrug.

“Why should I buy you any when there’s a whole wardrobe awaiting you upstairs in my lady Cerynise’s chambers?”

Sybil’s face crumpled in disappointment. “But, Al! We ain’t the same size,” she complained. She couldn’t bring herself to openly admit that nearly everything about the younger woman, except her height, was either slimmer or smaller. “She’s too tall for li’l ol’ me.”

“Well, find her room upstairs and see what fits,” Alistair urged. “Surely, with what my aunt spent on the chit, there has to be something in her chambers you can wear. Now go!”

Accepting this logic, Sybil fairly twittered in glee as she flew out of the room. Her high heels clattered on the stairs, echoing throughout the house until the sound of doors being opened and slammed finally ended in an ecstatic screech.

Alistair was rather pleased with himself for having conceived of the idea. That fact was blatant on his face as he faced Cerynise. “Why, I do believe Sybil has found your bedchamber, m’lady.”

Cerynise gave him a coolly disdaining smile, the sort a mother might bestow upon a naughty child, deftly squelching his cocky arrogance. “When Sybil is done, may I be allowed to pack my belongings and leave? I’m sure I’ll be able to find a room at an inn until I can secure passage to the Carolinas.”

“You have no belongings!” Alistair railed. “Everything in this house is mine!”

“I beg to differ,” Cerynise replied stiffly, lifting her chin in growing obstinance. For all that she had led a sheltered life under Lydia’s supervision, she wasn’t without experience dealing with bullies. Her beloved father had been a schoolmaster, and while sitting in on more than a few of his classes, she had confronted a goodly share of immature males who had thought they could run roughshod over anyone younger, smaller, or weaker than themselves. Many had been spoiled by affluent parents and were wont to play mean, vicious pranks. Alistair Winthrop was definitely of that class. “My paintings are certainly my own and so is the money I earned from those that were sold.”

Rudd interjected with the confidence of an attorney who had recited his arguments well in advance. “When you painted, young lady, you used materials that were purchased by Mrs. Winthrop. She enlisted the aid of an instructor to teach you all the nuances of that field, and no doubt paid a hefty price for his service. In short, you were living under her roof, she was your guardian, and you were underage. It was she who arranged to exhibit your paintings, argued for the best price, and banked the resulting funds. Why, the paintings weren’t even signed with your name, merely CK. I know, because the exhibitors refused to shed any light upon the artist’s identity when I went to see them, saying only that Mrs. Winthrop had
arranged for everything.” He paused briefly to wipe his glistening brow before he summed up his arguments. “Therefore, the actual owner of the paintings, as well as any profits from them, was none other than Mrs. Winthrop.”

Cerynise flushed in rising indignation. Regrettably, the man was right about everything but the last. It had been her talent that had merged the colored paints into realistic scenes of people going about their daily affairs in seascapes, landscapes and interiors. Oils and canvas were only that until an artist made something of them. Lydia had been mindful of the fact that the work of a mere girl would never have been taken seriously by wealthy patrons and had insisted that Cerynise’s identity remain a carefully kept secret. That had been her
only
reason for keeping everyone in the dark.

“Lydia was merely holding that money for me,” Cerynise declared hotly, but even to her own ears, her defense sounded feeble. “There was no reason for a separate account, and if I hope to sail home to Charleston, I’ll need the funds to buy passage on the next available ship.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered if there had been a separate account,” Alistair retorted. “My aunt was your guardian. Everything you have belonged to her.…” He smiled tauntingly. “And now it belongs to me.”

“Oh, look at this!” Sybil squealed in delight, racing back into the room. She was wrapped in an evening cloak of heavy pink moiré silk, richly embroidered with garlands of rosebuds around the edges of the deep hood and the front opening. “Ain’t it a beauty?” Though she was in danger of tripping over the hem, Sybil whirled around to show off her new acquisition. She only wished that she would have been able to fit into the matching gown, but that had been impossible. “There’s a whole dressin’ room full o’ all kinds o’ pretty things. Why, I ne’er in all me born days seen the like. Bonnets! Slippers! Gowns galore! Pretty li’l lacy things ta wear underneath.” She tossed a
laughing warble over her shoulder as she preened for Cerynise’s benefit. “How do I look in my new cloak?”

Cerynise couldn’t resist giving the rude hussy a suggestion. “Perhaps you’ll be able to patch the seams on the gown once you let them out.”

“
Al!
” Sybil cried, stamping her foot in outrage. “Ye gonna let her talk ta me like that?”

Alistair was decidedly guilty of having entertained similar thoughts after observing the plump strumpet prancing around in front of them. Her bright lips and rouge seemed to overwhelm the delicately hued garment, and as much as he had wanted to exact revenge on the girl for being so uppity, he was of a mind to suspect that, without major alterations, only her cloaks and outerwear could be utilized by Sybil.

His dark eyes wandered back to the prim beauty and casually caressed the soft, enticing curves that the mourning garb gently molded. Her back was straight, her head elevated, conveying an undaunted pride. She looked for all the world like a pale-haired goddess, and as much as he might have wished otherwise, it was a hard fact that Sybil suffered badly in comparison.

Cerynise’s nape prickled as she felt the weight of Alistair’s stare, and she peered up at him in sudden wariness. His wide lips twisted upward in a confident one-sided grin that made her skin crawl. Even before he paced forward with his strange disconnected gait, she had begun to suspect that his thoughts were not the sort a proper lady would invite.

“You needn’t distress yourself overmuch, Cerynise,” Alistair cajoled, reaching behind her head and freeing the thick knot of hair that she had hastily secured. “I can let you stay here in some capacity. I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out between us. Perhaps we’ll even become intimate friends.” Despite the coldness in the hazel eyes that watched him intently, he swept the curling length forward, allowing it to veil a rounded breast before his hand stroked downward over its silken strands.

Cerynise’s outrage reached its zenith, and with a snarl she raised both arms and shoved him away from her with all of her might. “You disgusting viper! Do you actually think I would consider being on intimate terms with you? You dare come here, prancing about like some handsome lordling who deserves all of this? Why, you’re nothing but a worm crawling out of your dark, dank hole to eat the flesh of poor innocents! I’ll rot before I stay here under your authority!”

Alistair’s eyes flared at her insults, and his face darkened to an ugly, mottled red as he hauled back an arm to strike. “I’ll teach you who is lord here!”

Howard leapt forward with a startled gasp and grasped his companion’s wrist. “Mark the girl, and she’ll have something to show the authorities when she goes to complain,” he cautioned anxiously. “Best to send her on her way without causing a stir, don’t you think?”

Alistair gave no indication that he had even heard the solicitor as his whole body shook with rage. It was a long moment before he regained some measure of control over himself and jerked free of Rudd. “
Get out, bitch!
” he bellowed. “You’re not worth the trouble it would take to teach you some manners!”

Cerynise could scarcely breathe as she whispered, “Most willingly. I’ll pack a few things and then be gone—”

“
No, you won’t!
” Alistair barked. “
You’re going now!
”

Seizing hold of her arm, he whisked her out into the main hall. Jasper was there, having kept a distant vigil. The butler glanced from one to the other in blank astonishment before he ventured haltingly, “Sir, I beg you…”

“I’m master here now!” Alistair asserted at the servant’s attempt to intrude. “If anyone disputes that, then he can go the way of this baggage.” Yanking open the door, he hauled Cerynise around and shoved her out of the portal with enough force to send her stumbling down the granite steps. He held the door aside in open invitation
as his words further assailed the butler. “But consider well before you do! Positions are damn hard to come by, and not one of you will receive a reference!”

The dark eyes turned their blazing fury upon Cerynise, who blinked back at him against the driving rain. “Now get out of my sight while you still can, chit! Or I’ll have you arrested! Or better yet, sent to the madhouse!”

“Don’t think he can’t do it!” Rudd interjected, peering around the edge of the door. “He’s a man of property now, respected and all. You’re no one. Unless you want to find yourself in Bedlam, you’d better be off.” In the next instant the solicitor gasped in surprise and yanked his head back out of harm’s way as Alistair clasped the heavy portal and slammed it shut with a loud crack of finality.

Cerynise huddled against the crisp wind and wrapped her arms about herself as she sought to find some meager warmth and protection from the elements. Here she was, literally thrown out of the only home she had known for the last five years and threatened with worse consequences if she remained. As cold as it was and without a wrap to ease her misery, she’d likely suffer frostbite before she reached a place of shelter. Having taken her art seriously, she had never spared the time to culture close friendships with women her own age. Most had been far more interested in attracting husbands than she had been. As for Lydia’s friends, they were much older and probably incapable of coping with the sort of violence that Cerynise had just experienced. And who could actually say what Alistair Winthrop might be tempted to do if anyone intervened in her behalf. After her insult, she had glimpsed a wrath that had given her cause to fear the man. During that moment he had actually seemed to waver on the border of insanity. Whoever helped her would likely elicit similar reactions and no doubt severe repercussions. As much as she yearned for solace from an acquaintance, Cerynise couldn’t imagine involving anyone who would be susceptible.

Alistair might well have crossed over into an area of
madness already…one had to consider that possibility. Yet, in this matter, he had the law on his side. As Lydia’s heir, he had every right to dispose of the Winthrop property in any manner he saw fit, including laying out a list of those who could or could not reside under his roof.

Dismally Cerynise stared up at the house, but her vision was now impeded by a mixture of tears and rain. Her grief over Lydia’s passing, coupled with her recent lack of nourishment and sleep, left her exhausted and little prepared for what would undoubtedly be a long walk through the city.

“Better get started,” she gritted dismally through lips already stiff from the cold. Unable to control her shivering, she began trudging down the street, knowing where she must go. With the rain and the deepening cold, it would be difficult, yet she had no other choice.

She had progressed only a short distance when the sound of running footfalls made her turn and look behind her. Bridget was clearly out of breath by the time she reached Cerynise. Before leaving the house, the parlor maid had paused long enough to sweep a heavy shawl around her. In her arms she carried her own woolen cloak, which she wrapped around the shivering girl.