A Scandalous Situation

A Scandalous Situation Patricia Frances Rowell Her past was a dark countryAnd Iantha Kethley was trapped at its borders, never quite able to escape the one defining moment of her life. Until the day she held Robert Armstrong at gunpoint–and he offered her a future she'd never dared imagine!Rob Armstrong, Lord Duncan, swore he'd not be mere protector of Iantha Kethley, but true partner as well, for this sweetly vulnerable woman had a spine of surprising steel–a necessary attribute to face the danger that stalked her still. Her need drew him to her; her courage held him by her side–where he'd willingly remain, bound by honor, passion…and love! “So I am chosen—already damaged goods.” “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again!” At the thunder in his voice, Iantha jumped and stepped hastily back. His lordship did not move, but his voice softened. “Forgive me. I did not mean to shout. But I am serious, Iantha. Do not allow them the victory of seeing yourself that way. Do not allow anyone to do that to you.” Iantha stared down at her shoes. He was right, of course. “I try not to, but it is very hard.” “I’m sure it is.” She sensed him reaching for her, then dropping his hand to his side. She didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that he hadn’t touched her. Perhaps he didn’t want to. She lifted her gaze to his. The expression in his eyes surprised her. There was a wanting in them. Could he possibly really want her? Praise for Patricia Frances Rowell A Dangerous Seduction “Rowell creates a wonderful Gothic atmosphere, using beautiful Cornwall and its history of smuggling and shipwrecks to enhance her story.” —Romantic Times A Perilous Attraction “…promising Regency-era debut …a memorable heroine who succeeds in capturing the hero’s heart as well as the reader’s.” —Publishers Weekly “Ms. Rowell has a nice touch for penning likeable characters…a relaxing, romantic read.” —Romantic Times A Scandalous Situation Patricia Frances Rowell www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) This book is for my talented sons— Andrew Nathaniel, James Houghton and John Adam Annand. We grew up together, didn’t we, guys? And for grandchildren Amber Niccole (because I spelled her name wrong the last time) and Aidan Thomas (because we didn’t have him the last time). And for Johnny—always my hero. ACKNOWLEDGMENT My thanks to Paul D. Ware, M.D., and Jean Cason, MSW, who taught me how people recover from trauma, and many other important life lessons. Contents Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Epilogue Author’s Note Prologue Just North of London, 1801 I must be dying. She could no longer feel the pain. Then again, perhaps the agony had simply increased to the point of numbness as she lay on the frozen ground, drifting in and out of the blackness. Death would be better. They were still there. She heard them moving about. And she smelled them. A strange smoke. The odor of nervous and excited men. She fought to control a shudder. She must not move, not even breathe. Perhaps they would believe she was dead. Oh, God, please let them believe that! Let it be so. Then surely they would not do it again. Against the background of her closed eyes distorted images swirled. Heads swathed in crimson masks. Eyes glittering through the eyeholes. Hot breath pouring through the mouth openings. Gleaming blades. Pain. Pain everywhere. Mask after mask after mask. The blackness sought her. She reached for it, welcoming it. Suddenly a loud, braying laugh, the sound of a hand striking flesh and an angry, hissed whisper snatched it away. “Quiet, fool!” She held her breath. The creak of leather. Horses galloping away. Empty silence. The smell of blood. The cold. And blackness. Chapter One Cumberland, England, 1807 C areful not to move, he sat astride his bay stallion with his hands in the air and concentrated on the pistol pointed at his heart. A pistol held in the steady, gloved hands of a lady. Not a large lady, true. Dainty, rather, and delicate. But a lady wearing a very determined expression. He could probably disarm her. Probably. A sudden charge. A quick grab. It would work. Probably. Of course, he always stood the chance of getting either himself or his horse shot. Robert Armstrong was not a man who liked probably. Not with a pistol leveled at his chest. No, for the moment discretion definitely appeared to be the better part of valor. He did his best to sound soothing. “Ma’am, I assure you I mean you no harm. If you do not allow me to get down and help you free your horse, the next mass of snow that slides down that mountain will bury not only your gig, but you and the horse as well.” As if to punctuate his words, a small cascade of frozen chunks tumbled down the hill and landed at the feet of the very determined pistol-pointing lady. She flung a quick glance upward, then steadied the pistol. “I fear you are correct. Your assistance would be most welcome. You may dismount.” Rob raised one sardonic eyebrow. “Much obliged to you.” Feeling not at all welcome, he swung himself down from his mount and waded through the deep snow to the overturned conveyance. The woman stepped away cautiously, keeping the pistol trained on his back. A spot between his shoulder blades began to itch. He shrugged uneasily. Surely she wouldn’t shoot him in the back while he was extricating her from her predicament. Would she? Murmuring softly to the frantic cob, still harnessed to the gig trying desperately to keep his feet, Rob took hold of its bridle and surveyed the situation. The small snowslide had knocked the carriage into the drifts on the far side of the road, turning it half on its side and all but engulfing it. The very determined lady could count herself fortunate indeed to have been thrown clear. The far shaft had broken free of the body of the gig, and the off-balance horse had stepped over it with a hind leg, thus jamming itself firmly between the splintered stub and the near shaft. “Got yourself into the very devil of a scrape, haven’t you, old fellow? We’d best get you out before you’re much older, or I’m likely to find myself in the same case.” Rob studied the hillside above him with narrowed eyes. Not very high, but very steep and almost devoid of vegetation, the escarpment was crowned by a long, sheer rock precipice. The surprisingly mild day had softened the snow, causing the slide, but soon it would freeze solid once more. He could feel the temperature dropping. The rising wind blew sparkling flurries from the crest against a mounting backdrop of blue-gray clouds. Another storm. Matters were going from bad to worse. At any moment the wind might trigger another small avalanche. Rob pulled the knife out of the top of his boot. At a sharp hiss of indrawn breath behind him, he looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” The lady’s already pale face had gone deathly white. The previously steady hands that held the pistol now trembled. Not a good sign. Rob straightened and frowned. “Ma’am, please. Lower your weapon. I have no wish to end this misadventure with a bullet lodged in me. I must cut the straps loose from the shafts, and I have no time to waste dealing with frozen buckles.” “I…” She took a deep breath and stilled her shaking. The pistol wavered, finally pointed at the ground. “Yes, of course. Please proceed.” Rolling his eyes skyward, Rob went back to his task. What ailed the woman? Fear was writ in every tense line of her slender body, her clenched hands, her taut face. Surely he had done nothing to inspire it? Except… Yes, he had drawn his knife. Until that moment she had been merely wary, but now she looked terrified. Why? Tabling that question for a more opportune moment, Rob turned back to the task of calming the small horse and delivering it from its entanglement. This he accomplished with a few efficient strokes of his blade. Pausing only long enough to sheath the knife and pick up the handle of a rectangular leather case that had spilled out of the gig, he led the badly limping cob toward its mistress. “I’m afraid your horse has strained a tendon. He will not be able…” A deep rumble and a faint vibration of the earth were all the warning he had. Rob dropped the reins of the cob and launched himself at the woman. Neither thinking nor pausing, he scooped her up across his shoulder and ran, his powerful legs slicing through the soft snow. The pistol went flying and discharged with a loud crack. Both horses galloped ahead of him, whinnying in fright. A wall of rocks, earth and half-frozen snow roared down the slope, picking up speed as it came. Rob doubled his effort, desperately traversing the hillside, trying to get them out of the main path of the slide. Suddenly, he tripped, and both of them went sprawling. He flung himself over the woman, trying to hold the leather case over his own head. A rock struck it and bounced away. Another. A clod of dirt and ice hit his shoulder and icy slush filled his boot and trickled inside his collar. Great God! Were they buried? Time seemed to stretch interminably as the roaring mass came ever closer. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the roar came to an abrupt halt. Near panic, Rob thrust himself upward. To his untold relief his head and upper body emerged into a startling silence. Carefully he sat up and looked around him. And shuddered. He lay just beyond the edge of a huge pile of debris that now filled a section of the shallow valley. The overturned gig could no longer be seen at all. The road disappeared under the heap of snow and dirt. Rob pulled his leg free of the mass and turned to the still-recumbent lady. “Ma’am, are you hurt?” She lay as if frozen, her eyes tightly shut, her skin completely devoid of color. For the first time Rob had the opportunity for a close look. She was younger than he had thought. The silvery hair peeping from under the hood of her ermine coat had misled him. She had the unlined face of a very young woman, no older, surely, than her mid-twenties. She didn’t move. “Miss? Miss!” Alarmed now by her pallor, he shook her shoulder gently. Had he knocked the breath out of her? “Miss, can you speak?” Her eyelids fluttered and Rob found himself staring into eyes as deep a violet as the mountain sky. Their clarity took his breath away. And his voice. “Uh… Uh, miss…” He cleared his throat. “Are you injured?” She took a long breath and swallowed. “No… No, I do not believe I am.” She struggled to sit and Rob quickly got to one knee and offered his hand. She regarded it gravely for a moment, then put her fingers in his and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet as he stood. She glanced about, looking bewildered. “What happened to my carriage?” “I’m afraid it is now completely buried.” “And my pistol?” Rob shrugged. Just as well to see the last of the pistol. “I have no idea.” He stamped the snow from his boots and brushed it off his clothes, gazing around for the horses. “But I believe it is best that we make haste away from here.” “But where…?” The lady turned in a circle, searching the buried road. The strengthening wind molded her damp coat to her slight frame, and she shivered. A few flakes of fresh snow danced around her. “My home is there, atop the cliff.” Rob indicated, a little distance away, the outline of an old fortress against the growing clouds. The lady’s eyes widened. “The Eyrie? I thought it unoccupied.” “It has been for some years. I have just recently returned from India. I’m Robert Armstrong.” “Baron Duncan?” “The same.” “I see. I…” She lifted her chin proudly. “I am Iantha Kethley.” She did not offer her hand. Nor did she smile. Ah, well. Not exactly the reward the gallant rescuer of a beautiful maiden in distress might wish for. At least, she might be a beautiful maiden had she deigned to smile. Whistling for his bay, he retrieved the cob from where it stood forlornly a few yards away and ran his hand expertly down its leg. “We will both have to use my horse. Your poor pony is considerably the worse for two narrow escapes. Let me mount first, and I will lift you up before me.” “Uh…” The fear flickered once more in those remarkable eyes. “No. That is… I prefer to ride behind you. I will mount first.” “But the road is very steep. You will likely slide off. It would be far safer—” “I will ride behind.” Her lifted chin took on a stubborn tilt. Rob sighed. “As you wish. We have no time for argument.” He glanced at the lowering sky and got a face full of snow for his trouble. “Whatever we do, we’d best do it soon. That storm will be upon us in earnest very shortly.” As he was about to lift her, she stopped him again, backing away from him. “My paints.” She pointed to the leather case. “I will carry them.” “Your paints?” Rob smothered a snort of exasperation. “Very well. As soon as you are seated.” He caught her before she could make yet another objection, his broad hands all but encompassing her fragile waist. She seemed almost to float upward as he set her sideways behind the saddle. Handing up the case when she had settled herself, he gathered up the cob’s reins and mounted his own horse awkwardly, swinging his foot over the animal’s head. The bay sidled, signaling his annoyance at this unorthodox procedure. Rob settled into the saddle, only to be jabbed between the shoulder blades by something sharp. Now what? Turning, he realized that his damsel in distress had placed the paint case between herself and his sturdy back and was trying to hold on to him around it. That was the outside of enough! “Give me that!” He unceremoniously yanked the case out of her grasp and balanced it across the saddle in front of him with one hand. “Now hold on to me. We have no time for this nonsense.” Urging his mount across the escarpment below the towering cliff, Rob made for the old castle by the shortest route. The wind howled around them now, the snow blowing sideways, stinging their faces. More drifts were already forming across what was left of the road below them in the valley. It would be of no further use to them, but his path would take them directly to the trail that led up to his home. His bay might have made short work of the trip had not the lame cob held him back, but they should still safely reach shelter. As the laboring horses struggled up a sharp incline, Rob heard a strangled squeak, and the small arms around his waist abruptly disappeared. The bay reared slightly as his load shifted. Rob steadied him and looked back in alarm to see his passenger sitting in the snow, legs stretched before her and her skirts above her knees, exposing white leather knee boots. And another pistol strapped to the top of one boot. Great heavens, the woman went about armed to the teeth! To his relief she looked startled, but not stunned. She scrambled hastily to her feet and came to where Rob waited aboard his mount, nobly forbearing to say I told you so. She at least had the grace to appear chagrined, two rosy spots coloring her cheeks. He extended a hand. “Put your foot on top of mine and push as I lift you.” She obeyed this command without a word and, giving her the paint case to hold, Rob pulled her up into his arms and set her in front of him. His arm tightened around her waist as he dug his heels into the bay’s sides. Immediately her whole body went stiff. He frowned, puzzled. What was wrong with her? It wasn’t as though he were kidnapping her. He was rescuing her, for God’s sake! He pulled the horse in. “Miss Kethley.” She did not respond. He couldn’t see her face. She set it resolutely ahead, like a prisoner going bravely to meet her fate. He grasped her chin and turned her toward him. He gazed into her face, baffled. “Miss Kethley, please tell me what I have done to offend you so.” She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again. “Have I offered you any harm, any insult?” She swallowed and shook her head. “N…” She moistened her lips and tried again. “N-no.” “Nor will I.” Rob shut his mouth grimly and set off up the mountain. As they made their way up the slope, Iantha sat in the shelter of the baron’s body and willed herself to think, to remain calm. She would control her fear. The man had done nothing to provoke it. He had done nothing but what was right and proper—gallant even. Yet when he had fallen across her, she had thought her heart would stop. Even the roar of the snowslide had been drowned out by the roaring inside her mind; the fear of being buried alive paled beside the fear engendered by the weight of his body on top of hers. If only she could banish those hateful images from her mind, she would feel relieved that she no longer had to fight every moment to keep her seat. And with her rescuer’s bulk blocking the wind and snow, the cold didn’t bite into her as it had been doing. Even so, her fingers felt frozen to the handle of her paint case, and she could no longer feel her toes. Sitting thus, she realized that his lordship was much taller than he had seemed when he’d stood some distance away. The breadth of his muscular shoulders had made him appear much shorter. He was a big man. Strong. Yet, she reminded herself, he had used his strength only to aid her. She must think about that. Use it to bridle her rebelling emotions. Control. Control was her fortress. She would maintain control. Just when Iantha thought the cold and the wind blasting along the escarpment would go on forever, they encountered the road that ran between the valley and the castle. Several switchbacks later they found themselves in the enveloping silence and welcome warmth of a large stone stable. Iantha straightened her aching shoulders and looked about. A stockily built groom with grizzled hair was hurrying toward them. “Me lord! You’re home safe at last. Burnside and me was just debating should we mount a search.” He reached up, squinting at her, and took the paint case out of Iantha’s stiff fingers. “And who might we have here?” Setting the case on the ground, he lifted his arms again, and Iantha slid off the saddle into them. He put her down, careful to keep a steadying hand on her arm. It was well that he did. Her half-frozen feet and legs threatened to fail her. She took hold of the saddle with her other hand. “Have you ever known me not to show up intact, Feller?” His lordship swung himself down easily, smiling at the groom. “Nay, me lord, saving that time in Orissa. You wasn’t by no means intact on that occasion.” Feller grinned. “I told Burnside, I did, ‘Just you watch. He’ll turn up like a bad penny, he will.’ And here you are.” “And here I am,” agreed his lordship. “This lady is Miss Kethley. As you can see, she and her cob suffered a mishap on the road.” “That I do see.” Feller turned to examine the sturdy horse, frowning. “Poor old mate here is a mite bunged up.” He released Iantha’s arm, moving to her horse. As he did, Iantha felt her knees give way and clutched again at the saddle. “Careful, now!” Lord Duncan stepped quickly to throw a supporting arm around her waist. “Are you faint?” “No.” Iantha shook her head. “Just cold and stiff. I will be fine in a minute.” “Perhaps.” He scowled doubtfully. “Shall I carry you?” “No!” The denial emerged much more sharply than she had intended. “I mean…thank you. That isn’t necessary.” “Let me help you, then.” His lordship still looked doubtful. “We need to get you to a fire. We’ll go up through the old castle, to avoid the wind.” He tightened his arm around her and guided her toward a door at the side of the stable. Close. He was much too close. Iantha shut her eyes, drew in a long breath and forbade herself to pull away. If she did that, she would surely find herself sitting on the ground. She could endure his proximity for a few minutes. Control. He led her through the stable door and up a flight of steep spiral steps. At the top they wound through a series of short passages with narrow doors, each facing a different direction. “This is the portal to the original castle,” he explained. “The turns were designed to keep out an invading force. This section was abandoned long ago, but we still use it to come up from the stable when we wish to avoid the weather.” They emerged from an empty stone chamber through a newer door into a wide entry hall. Lord Duncan removed his shallow-crowned hat and knocked the snow off it against his leg, revealing a thick thatch of rich brown curls. “Here is the new building.” He grinned. “Relatively speaking. The old part was built in the fourteenth century, the new part in the early 1600s. It is considerably more comfortable than the original structure ever was, although it does have its share of eccentricities.” He tugged at a bell rope. “Burnside! Burnside, where are you?” Iantha winced at the sudden shout. His lordship’s vocal vigor, however, was rewarded by the prompt appearance of a wiry man of middle years. “Aye, me lord?” The newcomer stopped abruptly at the sight of Iantha and looked questioningly at Lord Duncan. “Miss Kethley was caught in the storm and will be staying with us. Please ask Thursby to go and make up a fire in the dowager’s bedchamber and fetch Miss Kethley some hot water.” “Oh. Aye, me lord, right away. There be a fire in the library now if Miss Kethley would like to…” “Ah, very good.” His lordship turned to Iantha. “May I help you with your coat?” “Thank you.” Iantha allowed him to remove the garment, using the opportunity to step away from his supporting arm. As the hood came off, she braced herself. But surely he was too much the gentleman to comment on her silvery hair. And, of course, he was. After assisting Lord Duncan off with his greatcoat, Burnside departed as quickly as he had come, taking the wet wraps with him. His lordship opened the door to a comfortable room off the entryway. Books lined the walls, and more books and scrolls lay in piles and in crates. Some of them displayed covers of soft leather with exotic art, but a few had no covers at all. “Forgive my disorder. I am in the process of integrating my own collection with my father’s library.” He set a chair near the fireplace and ushered her to it. “I have found many interesting volumes in the East, some of them very old. I have been studying the various languages in order to read the texts.” He pulled up a chair for himself and sat, extending capable-looking hands to the fire. Iantha clasped her own hands together in her lap and cleared her throat. “Lord Duncan, I feel I should say… Please forgive me if I have seemed ungrateful for your help. I found the situation very…very disturbing.” His lordship raised one eyebrow. “Apparently.” “I am appreciative. Truly I am.” She looked into his face—which displayed a hint of a wry smile and a twinkle in his coffee-brown eyes. A very good-natured response, indeed, to what she’d put him through. “What I would have done had you not arrived when you did, I don’t know. I had not realized that there was so much snow in the fells—and certainly not that another storm was brewing.” He nodded. “A deceptively mild day. I succumbed to the temptation to get outside myself. Very unusual to have so much snow this early in the year.” Iantha mustered a smile. “And I am very sorry to impose on you.” “Not a bit in the world, Miss Kethley. My only concern is for your comfort. This is a very awkward situation for you. I regret that I do not even have a housekeeper, let alone a maid, to assist you at present. I returned somewhat earlier than my agent expected, and he has not yet assembled a permanent staff. Fortunately, he had already ordered a thorough cleaning, so at least you will not be choked with dust, and there is food aplenty stored in the cellars.” He turned as the door opened. “Yes, Burnside?” “I thought the lady might be the better for a cup of tea.” Burnside edged through the door and awkwardly set a large tray with teapot and cups on a table. “Very well thought of. Thank you.” Lord Duncan swiveled to face his henchman, grinning. “And what is offered for dinner? I’m expecting at least three courses.” Burnside winked at a very startled Iantha. “Me lord is only funning. He knows that from me he gets plain fare—good hearty north country cooking with a few Indian tricks added in.” He bowed to his employer, heading to the door. “The fire is made upstairs, me lord, and hot water on the hob when Miss Kethley is ready.” “Thank you. We will wait a bit until the room warms.” Burnside departed and his lordship turned back to Iantha. “Burnside’s cooking is plain, as he said, but quite good. At least you won’t starve.” His lordship eyed the tea tray askance. “Would you do me the favor of pouring, Miss Kethley? I’d very likely make a mull of it.” What a strange establishment! Feeling a bit bewildered, Iantha picked up the pot. “I’d be happy to. Milk?” “No, thank you.” She passed him the cup and poured one for herself. As they were treating the situation as a social occasion, and conversation was the inevitable accompaniment to tea, Iantha made a strong effort to marshal her thoughts. “How long did you live in India, my lord?” “Thirteen years.” “With the East India Company?” “No, I went as a private merchant. The Armstrong fortunes had fallen on hard times, and my father felt even going into trade justified by the circumstances.” “I see.” Iantha pondered this information as she sipped the warming tea. An unusual step for a nobleman, but better, no doubt, than genteel poverty. “Did you not care for it there?” “Oh, aye. It suited me very well. So much to see, to hear, to smell and touch.” He smiled at her over his cup, eyes crinkling at the corners. He really had a very engaging smile. “The Orient is a veritable feast for the senses. New foods, new textures, bright colors. More new experiences every day than the English mind can conceive.” “But you came home.” He stared into the fire for a heartbeat before looking at her. “One always wants to come home.” Finding nothing to add to that, Iantha sipped in silence. Lord Duncan drew a deep breath. “There were other reasons, also.” He paused, then went on, leaving Iantha with the impression that he had left something unsaid. “For one, profit has become too dependent on the opium trade with China. The East India Company holds the monopoly on cultivation only in Bengal, but I could not stomach selling it in any event. If you could but see the poor devils… Er, excuse my language, but enslavement to opium is indeed a damnable condition.” He set down his cup and stood. “But I can bore on forever about India. Have you finished your tea? I’ll escort you upstairs.” Iantha followed his example, and after only a second’s hesitation, took the arm he offered, walking as far from his side as the arrangement allowed. His other hand closed over the sleeve of her dress. “I fear your gown is still wet. You will need a change of clothes.” Iantha glanced down at the muddied hem of her white wool dress. “That would be a great relief, but I don’t see how it can be accomplished.” “I believe there are some clothes in the bedchamber we are preparing for you, but they belonged to my grandmother.” He looked down at her and grinned as they made their way up two broad flights of stairs. “She was quite the fashionable lady in her day, but alas, that time is a long way in the past. She was also very thrifty—kept everything. You should find something clean and dry, but you will hardly be a model of mode.” For the first time since the heap of snow had inundated her vehicle, Iantha chuckled, but then the full realization of her situation dawned. At all appearances she would be here for an extended stay. Great God in heaven! How would she survive it? How could she tolerate a whole household of men—strangers—for so much time? Control. She must rely on her control, her intellect. Chapter Two A fter a prolonged struggle with the buttons up the back of her bodice, Iantha finally slipped out of the soiled dress with a sigh. Gratefully dipping a cloth into the warm water, she smoothed it over her arms, face and neck, relaxing the tense muscles. What a comfort to her chilled skin and somewhat battered body! A full, hot bath would have been heaven, but she could hardly request one under the circumstances. Lord Duncan had been more than courteous, and she did not want to create a problem for his small staff. Or find herself completely naked in a house full of men. The bedchamber to which his lordship had conducted her, decorated in feminine pastels and smelling of old wood, had but two doors, both provided with working keys. After a quick peek into the adjoining sitting room, Iantha firmly locked both, imposing strict control on her uneasiness. Her petticoats had fared no better than her gown, and she let them fall to the floor with it. Her tightly fitted boots presented more of a problem, but after a brief tussle, she got them and her stockings off. Never again would she take the services of a maid for granted. In fact, she would make it a point to give Molly a nice gift when she got home. If she ever got home. The briefest glance at the window revealed nothing but blinding snow and the wind crying at the casement. They were extremely fortunate to have made the shelter of the stable when they had. Calming her panic with a deep breath, Iantha opened the wardrobe and concentrated on its contents. It did, indeed, contain a welter of silks and satins. She pulled out a gown of pale blue brocade with falls of white lace and spread it out on the bed. Truly lovely. But of a style that required a large hoop. That wouldn’t do. She would never be able to get into it by herself, let alone manage hoops. Iantha replaced it and drew out a soft lavender silk that would reflect her eyes and complement her delicate features and fair skin. Much better. The fitted bodice laced up the front, so she could fasten it herself, and the square neckline did not reveal as much bosom as current dinner gowns. Further search revealed enough petticoats to hold the full skirt out sufficiently so that she would not trip. Luckily, the former Lady Duncan seemed to have been a bit shorter than Iantha. She donned the gown and replaced the hidden pistol under her skirts. A short session with the comb found on the old-fashioned dresser got the snarls out of her shining hair, and she arranged it simply, with her own silver combs holding part of it high on her head. The rest fell in soft curls. At least when it had lost its color, it had not lost its curl. Feeling rather as she had as a child playing dress-up in her own grandmother’s clothes, Iantha opened the door and peered into the corridor. Seeing no one about, she set off down the hall in the direction she thought she had come with Lord Duncan. She had almost decided that she had come the wrong way when she turned a corner she did not remember and almost collided with the most astounding apparition. Iantha gasped and jerked back. The apparition did likewise. And then it bowed. “Forgive me, madam. I have startled you. I am Vijaya Sabara.” Iantha found herself staring at a slender man of medium height, his head wrapped in an elaborate silk turban, and a neat black beard covering olive cheeks and chin. A huge sapphire fixed to his headdress dangled in the middle of his forehead. And his clothing… She could only gaze in wonder. So colorful. So rich. So… So barbaric. “I…uh… How—how do you do?” So utterly inept! The man would think her a fool. Iantha flushed. “Very well, thank you.” His brow wrinkled in puzzlement. “I did not know we had a lady in residence.” “Lord Duncan rescued me from the storm. I am Iantha Kethley. Can you direct me to the dining room?” “Ah. Please allow me to guide you. You are going in quite the wrong direction.” The apparition did not offer his arm, but with a sweep of his hand indicated that she should retrace her steps. She turned and accompanied him back the way she had come. What a sight the two of them must make, she in her antique dress, he in his soft, jewel-adorned silks. Like guests at a masquerade. Iantha’s head spun. She seemed to be losing her grip on reality, rather like the heroine in a penny dreadful. She felt the storm had swept her away from her own time and place to…to what? Would she next encounter a specter with its head under one arm? Heaven forfend! A sigh of relief escaped her as she beheld the stalwart frame of Lord Duncan coming up the staircase. At least he looked English and familiar and ordinary in buckskin trousers and a neat coat stretched across broad shoulders. Reality settled once more into place. “There you are, Miss Kethley. I was just coming to escort you to dinner. One can easily lose one’s way in this great pile.” Just as he started to offer his arm, Iantha placed a hand on the banister, pretending not to notice. “Yes. I had done just that.” She smiled. “I seem to require much rescuing today.” His lordship grinned. “Our pleasure. I see you have met my friend Prince Vijaya. He has come from India to England with me to learn more about our country on behalf of his father, who is a maharaja in the district of Orissa.” At the door of a small dining parlor the Indian bowed again. “Your servant, Miss Kethley. If you will excuse me?” With no further explanation he disappeared down the corridor. Iantha looked questioningly at his lordship. “Vijaya prefers to eat alone.” Rob ushered her into the room and held a chair for her, then sat across from her. “Many Indians regard eating as something that should be done in private. Considering the table manners of some of our best people, one can see their point.” A smile softened her delicate face. He had been correct in his earlier assessment. His distressed damsel was beautiful when she smiled. Extremely so. And the old-fashioned dress seemed to suit her. “That gown is very becoming to you. You make me think of the younger portraits of my grandmother with her powdered hair.” Her smile faded, and she looked down at her folded hands. Hmm. Obviously he had erred. The lady must be sensitive about her hair. “Forgive me. I seem to have been less than tactful, but I think your hair is lovely. Do you dislike it?” The lady wrinkled her dainty nose, but looked him in the eye. “One hardly wishes to appear so old at the age of four-and-twenty.” “Old?” A bark of laugher escaped him. “My dear Miss Kethley, you could not look old if—” He broke off and shook his head. “Not under any circumstances whatsoever. You are much too beautiful.” “Now you are flattering me.” She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows, but the smile hovered around the corners of her mouth. Rob grinned. “Do you perceive me as a man who is skilled in flattery?” She considered him thoughtfully. “No,” she said at last. “No, you seem rather to be a man given to plain speaking.” “That I am, a plain man, and I am plainly stating that I find you unusually striking. May I serve you a glass of wine?” “Thank you.” She nodded her acceptance of the wine, if not the compliment, but a small frown replaced her smile. “I know the storm is raging, but… Is there no way to get a message to Hill House, to my parents? They will be frantic with worry. I did not even tell them….” “That you were going out? I wondered who allowed you to come up here alone.” Rob’s own smile faded. “I’m sorry, but I cannot set out into that blizzard. I would be dead in an hour.” “Oh, no! I do not ask that. I only hoped…” She sighed. “I was being foolish. Forgive me.” Rob started to reach across the table to clasp her hand, but just as the impulse struck, the slender hand slipped from the table into her lap. Hmm. It had not escaped his attention that when he had placed his hand on her back to guide her to her chair, she had quietly stepped away after the briefest contact. Nor had she taken his arm coming down the stairs. Apparently his rescued damsel remained a bit wary of her rescuer. And under the circumstances… Well, perhaps time and better acquaintance would cure that. “Nay, not foolish—understandably concerned.” He poured himself a tankard of ale from a pitcher. “It is certainly a very bad situation, but I see no way to remedy it tonight—and possibly not tomorrow. So you reside with your parents? Since you answer to ‘miss,’ I collect that you are not married?” “No. I am not.” She took an infinitesimal sip of wine. Little danger of this cautious lady becoming fuddled by strong drink. “I live with my family. My father is Viscount Rosley. I have two younger brothers and a sister still at home. I also have an older sister, who has married Lord Rochland, and an older brother in the cavalry.” “A hopeful family, indeed. Do you often drive out alone?” “Yes, frequently.” “And your parents do not object?” A slightly impish smile brightened her serious face. Charming. “I did not say they do not object. But they understand….” She sobered. “There are times when Isimply must be by myself. And I cannot bear to stay inside for long periods. So I take my paints and come into the fells and find something spacious and uplifting to paint. I had been driving for about an hour when the mishap occurred. I intended to paint the Eyrie in the snow.” “Ah. Now I understand the paint case. So painting is your favorite pastime?” “Yes. And I sometimes write a bit of poetry…and other things.” At that moment Burnside appeared with a large tray. He set it carefully on the sideboard and began awkwardly to place dishes on the table. “You’ll have to excuse me, miss. I ain’t no dab hand at this. We’ve been eating in the kitchen till the butler shows his front.” “Oh, my. I am sorry to be putting you to so much trouble. I would have been happy to eat in the kitchen.” “No lady is going to eat in the kitchen in my house,” Rob interjected firmly. “It is well enough for a rough fellow such as myself, but for you… No.” “Rough? Not at all. In fact, you have been the epitome of a gentleman.” Blushing a little, the lady laughed. A quiet, pleasant laugh. “In spite of a rather inauspicious meeting.” “I must admit I have never before been introduced to a lady at pistol point. A novel experience.” He grinned. “The experience has induced me to be on my best behavior, but that is bound to wear off.” But not too rapidly, considering the second pistol she probably still wore under her petticoats. The pistol notwithstanding, he saw something sad in the lady’s twilight eyes. Something that made him want to gather her into his strong arms and comfort her. To shelter her. But not tonight. Considering the pistol. He lifted the cover from a platter, revealing large rolls stuffed with sausage. “May I serve you some of Burnside’s excellent fare? And some stewed apples?” “Yes, thank you. What is that in the tureen? It smells very interesting.” She leaned forward and took a deep breath. “Lamb curry.” He lifted the cover. The aroma of meat and spices filled the room. “I am not sure you will care for it. It is very highly seasoned, I warn you.” He spooned some rice onto her plate and added a very small dollop of the curry. “I suggest you approach it carefully.” He ladled a large serving onto his own plate. She picked up her fork and took an appropriately dainty nibble. “Mmm. It is very good… Oh, my.” She gasped and reached for her wine. Rob hastily clasped her hand, stopping her from sipping. “The wine will only increase the effect of the peppers. Better you should have a bit of roll.” She nodded and quickly followed this advice. “My goodness.” She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I have never tasted peppers so hot. But the dish has a delightful flavor. Perhaps it is an acquired taste.” “One must certainly become accustomed to it.” Rob laughed. “Are you all right now?” He took a large bite of his own serving. “Oh, yes. I was just taken by surprise.” She tried another minute morsel. A brave lady. “Perhaps Burnside can mix some curry powder for you with less pepper. I don’t want my first guest to go away with a blistered mouth.” “Nor do I.” She quickly took another bite of bread and very precisely blotted her lips with her napkin. “I believe that is enough for now, but I would like to try it again sometime—perhaps with less pepper.” “You seem surprisingly adventurous. You look so…so fragile.” She stared pensively at the fire. “Perhaps I would like adventure. Fragility can become very tiresome.” Rob pondered that response for a moment. The lady was definitely involved in an adventure now, one from which she would not emerge unscathed. “Miss Kethley, I am afraid that this particular adventure is going to be very damaging to your reputation. I think we should discuss—” She turned her clear violet gaze on him. “Lord Duncan, I assure you that damage to my reputation is not a problem at all.” And try as he might, he could not persuade her to say one more word on the subject. The storm rampaged through the night and into the morning, and although Iantha had a pleasant conversation with Lord Duncan over breakfast and spent some time with him in the library examining his books, she became aware of a growing tension in herself. The need to get away. To get out of the place. To put some distance between herself and his lordship’s overwhelmingly masculine presence. He had done nothing—nothing at all—to cause her alarm. He observed every courtesy. He took pains to provide her every comfort. He did not touch her. Yet he seemed to fill up the room with his big body and his big voice. And…and with something else. A robust energy emanated from him, taking form in his ready grin and his hearty laughter. His enthusiasm for his library. His wholehearted enjoyment of life. Try as she might, she could not shut his lordship out. She did so very successfully with most people. Her barriers, built of intellectual conversation and control of her emotions, were well constructed and well maintained. She kept even people whom she liked outside of them. But with Lord Duncan… Even while discussing old Hindu manuscripts and his study of the various languages in which he engaged with Vijaya, she found herself more aware of the man than of the subject. She needed to go home. Shortly after they had eaten a light nuncheon, the wind died and the clouds rolled themselves up behind the mountains, leaving a blinding brightness in their wake. Iantha peered out a window. “At last! Now I can return to my parents and relieve you of an unwanted guest, Lord Duncan.” His lordship strolled to join her at the casement. “Never unwanted, Miss Kethley.” Iantha smiled. “You are very gallant, my lord, but at the very best, I am an uninvited guest. Will you provide me with a horse? I fear I cannot leave the same way I arrived.” “I fear you cannot leave at all, Miss Kethley. At least, not for a while. Nay, wait.” When she would have protested, he held up a restraining hand. “Just because the storm has abated does not mean the roads are open.” “But I must get home. My poor parents—” “I am sure they are extremely worried. But that will not clear the drifts. After a blizzard of this magnitude, they will be frozen in place.” Iantha’s heart dropped to her slippers. She must go. He couldn’t make her stay. He wouldn’t. She drew herself up and bestowed a frosty glance on his lordship. “Nonetheless, I must attempt it. May I make use of a horse or not?” His lordship snorted. “Something tells me that if I refuse, you will set out walking. Very well, Miss Kethley. Please get your coat and meet me in the entrance hall.” Iantha raced up the stairs and struggled back into her own clothes and fur coat. In a very few minutes she rejoined Lord Duncan in the hall. He had donned his greatcoat and hat. Without a word he led her back into the old part of the castle. But instead of continuing down to the stables, he turned and started up a spiral staircase of worn stone. Iantha stopped, scowling, and gazed up the aged steps. “My lord, where are you going?” He returned her scowl. “To the battlements, Miss Kethley.” Panic began in Iantha’s breast. “No! I am not going to the battlements. I am going home. With you or without you!” Before she could dart through the old castle’s portal, he jumped down the last few steps and seized her arm. “Miss Kethley, you try my patience. If you are determined to leave, at least first look at the situation you face. Then if you still believe you can travel, I will accompany you.” He turned and towed the unwilling Iantha up the first few stairs. After several steps she yanked her arm out of his grasp, glaring at him. “Very well. If you insist, I will go up.” His lordship said nothing, but moved aside, gesturing for her to precede him. The old castle was bitterly cold. Iantha wished she might thrust her gloved hands into the pockets of her heavy coat, but had to use them to hold up her skirts. Her nose threatened to drip. She could only sniff as unobtrusively as possible. Finally they reached a heavy wooden door. Lord Duncan reached past her and pulled it open. Iantha stepped out into a dazzling landscape. When her eyes had adjusted from the dark of the old keep, she gazed about her at a sparkling fairyland. Against the dark clouds, snow covered all but the highest wind-scoured peaks. From many of them, where springs near the summit had frozen in their leap into the valley, diamond cascades of ice glistened. Everywhere the sun struck the hills at an angle, rainbows sprang up. Iantha stood transfixed. Lord Duncan stood beside her silently, apparently captive to the beauty of the sight himself. Together they began to walk the battlements, where the parapets had shielded the path from snow, pausing occasionally to appreciate a particularly breathtaking view. When they had traversed three sides of the castle, they stopped at the foot of another stone staircase. Less than three feet wide, it rose in dizzying flight from the battlements to the top of the tallest tower. Neither handrail nor barricade protected the climber. The drop fell sheer into the valley. Today snow and ice festooned the steps. Iantha moved toward them. “Oh, look! How beautiful. What is up there?” His lordship seemed a bit alarmed. “Only the lookout tower. But please do not attempt the stairs, Miss Kethley. They are not safe at any time, let alone when covered in ice.” “Yes, I can see that, but perhaps one day I may climb them. I have a very good head for heights.” “Which is more than I do. I could not permit it.” “Very well.” Iantha shrugged and gazed around her, brows puckered. “But where is the road?” “Where, indeed?” His lordship turned in a full circle. “If I am not mistaken, it lies just below us there.” He pointed. Iantha squinted down the hillside. “Where? I do not see it.” “Neither do I. But if you believe you can find it, it will be my honor to escort you home.” His lordship folded his arms across his chest, looking insufferably smug. There was no kinder word for it; he looked smug. Iantha bristled at this display of male arrogance. “Well, I won’t know until I look, will I?” “Nay. You won’t.” His expression softened, and he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Kethley, I sympathize with your desire to relieve your family’s anxiety and your desire to remove yourself from a situation that can be nothing other than uncomfortable for you, but you can see for yourself—it would be the height of folly to try to set out today.” Tears threatened to shatter Iantha’s firm control on her emotions. She willed them away, concentrating on the problem at hand. She would not succumb to a womanly excess of sensibility. She must think, rely on her intelligence. Stepping back from his comforting hand, she nodded. “You are correct, of course. Forgive me.” His voice sounded gentle and kind. “Perhaps tomorrow, if it is warmer.” Iantha nodded and took several sustaining breaths, gazing around her once more. “I believe, my lord, if you do not object, I would like to bring my paints up here and attempt to capture this remarkable scene.” “I don’t object, precisely, but I fear you would freeze.” Glancing around her, Iantha spied a small guardroom. “I could sit in the doorway there, out of the wind. I am warmly dressed. With your permission?” Lord Duncan sighed. “If I cannot dissuade you. Come, I will show you a way directly from the old castle to the floor where your bedchamber is found. Your paint case is there, I believe.” “Thank you.” Iantha followed him partway down the stairs and through a connecting door. Several more turns brought her back to the door they sought. It took only a few minutes to locate what she wanted, and follow his lordship back to the older building. He left her there, and she hastened to find just the prospect she wanted to paint. Quickly lost in her work, she started when a red-haired young man she had not seen before appeared at her elbow. He bowed politely. “Good day, miss. I’m Thursby. His lordship asked me to make you a fire in the guardroom.” Suiting the action to the word, he dumped coal and tinder into a brazier stored in the room, and pulled a rickety stool from the shadows and dusted it, setting it behind Iantha. Lost in the magic of the setting, trying fervently to transfer it to her paper, Iantha never heard him go. She worked on through the afternoon, pausing to warm her hands at the brazier only when her fingers became too cold to hold her brush, or to melt another small cup of snow for the watercolors. Or when the colors froze in her brush. Heedless, she worked on. Her spirits soared like the mountains surrounding her, like the towering clouds. Space and air. Light and shadow. They liberated her as nothing else could. The walls fell away. No longer was she a prisoner in a strange place, nor a prisoner of her own emotions. As the light began to fail, she worked doggedly, hoping to get as much recorded as she could. To finish, she would have to rely on the pictures in her mind. On the enchantment stored in her heart. She was striving to catch the effect of the last rays of light when Lord Duncan appeared before her, arms folded across his chest. She looked up, startled. He moved very quietly for so solid a man. “Will you stay here all night, Miss Kethley?” “Only a little longer. I need to use the last of the sunlight….” He reached out and plucked the brush from her numb fingers and rinsed it in the crystalizing cup of water. Before Iantha could protest, he laid it in her case and pitched the water over the parapet. “I have come up several times these past three hours, but you seemed so absorbed in your painting, I had not the heart to stop you. But now it is getting colder, and I must call a halt. You will become ill. You have even taken off your glove.” He took her bare hand in both of his, scowling in disapproval. “It is very difficult to paint with a glove on. Indeed, I don’t remember when—” Automatically Iantha tugged on the hand, but he did not let her go. Then the warmth of his strong grasp became so welcome, she did not want him to. She began to shiver. “I d-did not realize how c-cold I was getting.” Her teeth rattled against one another. “I b-became so immersed in the p-painting….” His lordship pulled her to her feet. “The only thing you need to be immersed in at the moment is a tub of warm water. I fear you may have frostbitten fingers—or toes. Can you feel your feet?” Iantha wiggled her toes. “A little. I don’t think they are frostbitten.” “Come then. I will send Thursby to fetch your paints. I left Burnside filling a bath for you.” He took her elbow and steadied her steps down the rough stairs. She could feel his energy coursing through her arm and into her fingertips. She simply could not shield herself from him. Chapter Three S he floated down the stairs, a wraith made solid by the desire of the beholder. Rob almost held his breath for fear that she would disappear. Did her feet even touch the floor? She had chosen another of his grandmother’s gowns, this one a deep sky-blue. A shawl of silver lace lay across her shoulders, and silver slippers peeped from under her skirt. Around her neck, completing the ethereal effect, lay a fine silver chain with moonstones depending from it. In spite of his better judgment, even knowing she would evade him, he extended a hand to help her down the last step. She allowed him to assist her, then gently reclaimed her hand. “Good evening, my lord.” “Your servant, Miss Kethley.” Rob bowed, continuing to regard her appreciatively. “You quite take my breath away. Have you gotten completely warm?” “Most of me has. I hope you don’t mind my making free with your grandmama’s wardrobe. Her things are so beautiful. I found this necklace in a chest on the dresser.” She smiled up into his eyes. “I am quite enjoying my masquerade.” Rob was obliged to take a deep breath. God, she was lovely. “Of course. Whatever is there is at your disposal. Come into the library for a moment. I had Thursby bring your painting there.” He held the door for her, and she glided past him, stopping before the easel, her head tilted, a critical expression on her face. At last she sighed. “One never quite achieves the aura that nature bestows. Of course, it is not completely finished.” Rob shook his head, smiling wryly. “I suppose that is the hazard of being a talented artist. They are never finished, are they? I find your painting exquisite.” “Do you really?” Her face brightened. “Indeed, I do. The delicate detail…like that snow piled on the twisted tree, or the subtle colors of the ice cascades against the dark clouds. I see those things in nature, but I would not know how to recreate them on paper.” She nodded seriously. “You have an appreciative eye. You have described the very challenge. Do you think the background too dark?” Rob considered gravely. “Nay, it sets off the detail.” “Yes, I think so. I do like the effect, although I usually use light, airy colors. I am a great admirer of Anne Vallayer-Coster, but I find her backgrounds too dark. Do you know her work?” “I’m not familiar with it, but I have heard her name. She was Marie Antoinette’s painter, wasn’t she?” Rob moved a chair nearer the fire, and his guest sat. “Yes, painter to the court, and one of only four women admitted to the French Royal Academy of Painting and Sculpture.” Miss Kethley sighed. “She is in eclipse since the advent of the revolution, but she was fortunate to have her genius recognized. It is so difficult for women.” Wondering if her own talent had been belittled, Rob nodded sympathetically. “I fear that is so.” “And not only in art—in writing, also. Many female writers use men’s names in order to have their work published. And female dancers are reduced to…” She blushed. “To such a low status that… Well…” Rob took pity on her embarrassment. “That they are little better than prostitutes,” he finished for her. “You are right. It is not fair at all.” Still blushing, she smiled. “Plain speaking can be very useful.” “I have always found it so.” He grinned. “But here is Burnside attempting to announce dinner.” Over another excellent repast of ham with Cumberland sauce, Iantha studied her host. Again, he did not wear evening clothes, but remained at his ease in buckskins, with a simple cravat tucked into an unadorned waistcoat. A plain man, as he had said. But quite handsome for all that, with a square face and a strong, cleft chin. The fire struck reddish lights in his rich brown curls, and lines from laughter seemed always to crinkle his dark eyes. A very likable man. Just…just a little overpowering. He had done nothing to create that impression. He just was. Very broad, very strong, very physical. Perhaps that quality accounted for her feeling overpowered. She could not ignore it. Not that he stood too close or touched her more than courtesy required—except when she had been a bit… Well, perhaps a bit difficult. Even then he had been only slightly impatient and concerned for her welfare. But he exuded… What? Power. Yes, he exuded a subdued, but confident, power. But he was speaking. “I’m sorry, my lord. I was not attending. You were saying?” “I suggested that you try a bit more curry. Burnside made this especially for you—chicken, I believe, this time.” He ladled a portion for her over rice studded with almonds. “Why, thank you. How kind of him.” And of his lordship. His kindness grew more apparent each hour she knew him. “Ooh. It is quite delicious. Just the right amount of pepper, but so exotic. English food is so dull and predictable. I have never tasted anything like this.” “No, the ingredients are not usually found in England. I had them shipped back ahead of me.” As he spoke a few discordant strains of music drifted up from the lower reaches of the castle. “Aha! Feller is tuning up his fiddle. Perhaps we can persuade you to join us for a little entertainment after we have eaten.” “Why…why that sounds delightful.” At least it did at first. She enjoyed music. But then again, as she thought further, Iantha realized she’d be the only woman among several men…. That did not sound so delightful. Just as she opened her mouth to make an excuse, his lordship took the decision out of her hands, declaring a fait accompli. “Very good. We’ll gather in the library shortly. Feller plays only folk tunes, but they are lively and will relieve for all of us the boredom of being snowbound.” Rob waited a moment to see if see she would demure in spite of his intervention. She looked a bit distressed, but went back to her chicken curry without saying anything else. The fact that she ate with a good appetite pleased him. He could not abide women who picked at their food. Because she was so delicate of body, he had expected her perhaps to be too thin, but when her ruffles fell back, he could see that her arms were only slender, not bony at all. He wondered about the rest of her, but dared not stare at her body. Hiding behind the act of cutting his ham, he risked a glance at her breasts. Full, round, well shaped. Nice. Yes, very nice, indeed. This elusive lady intrigued him. Like the wraith she resembled, he felt that he could see her, but not feel her. Her emotions emerged for only moments at time; she allowed the small touches of courtesy only until they had accomplished their purpose. Then she subtly moved away, never rudely or abruptly. Very politely. Very firmly. His determination to breach her barricades, to discover what lay behind that reserved exterior, deepened. At first he’d believed she simply distrusted him, but now he thought the matter more complex. Surely he had proved himself trustworthy now. Perhaps with a little time and patience he could win through her reserve. He did, after all, have an excellent reason to do so. With dinner complete, the small company assembled in the library, bringing with them a pitcher of ale. Only one. Rob had decreed sobriety as the order of the evening. He could trust his men to behave themselves, but nonetheless, he would not take a chance of offending Miss Kethley. Or of frightening her. She was too wary by half as it was. The party consisted of all the current residents of the castle—Burnside, Feller with his fiddle, the young, redheaded Thursby and of course, Lord Duncan and Iantha. And, unexpectedly, Prince Vijaya. He appeared quietly as they were gathering and pulled a chair close the fire. Thursby had brought with him a tea tray, which he set on a table between Iantha and the Indian. Iantha had not spoken with Vijaya since the night before. His dress was no less resplendent than it had been on that occasion, consisting of a soft satin shirt and trousers, with an open robe over all. They glittered with rich embroidery worked with jewels. The sapphire resting against his forehead called attention to eyes astonishingly blue in the dark face. The air of unreality again began to grow in Iantha, and the tension of confinement. And yet, she chided herself, what could constitute a more intriguing adventure than to listen to border folk music in the company of three sturdy north countrymen, an English border lord and an eastern prince? She studied the scene, recording every detail in her mind’s eye to transfer to paper at her first opportunity. As the only woman present, apparently the duty of pouring tea remained hers. “Who will drink tea?” She glanced around the room as, one by one, all the men but Vijaya declined in favor of ale. After pouring two cups and passing one to the prince, Iantha leaned back and sipped her own. Remarkable. She rolled the unfamiliar flavor over her tongue. Smoky and exotic. If only she might include the flavor in her painting! Feller drew his bow across the strings, and after two exploratory chords, launched into a familiar tune. At the end of a second tune, Iantha reached for another cup of tea. “Do you enjoy the tea, madam? It is my own blend.” Iantha regarded the Indian with surprise. He had been so quiet she had almost forgotten him. “I like it very much, your highness. Thank you for sharing it with me.” “My pleasure. It is herbal in nature, designed to relax one. As I do not drink alcohol, I find it useful.” He extended his own cup, and Iantha took it and refilled it. At her other side Lord Duncan sipped his ale and kept time with a toe tapping against the carpet. He smiled at her, but addressed his factotum. “Come, Burnside, give us a jig.” “I don’t know, me lord.” The man grinned with an obviously spurious show of reluctance. “It’s been a while since I danced for a lady.” “Oh, please do, Burnside.” Iantha leaned forward in her chair. “I would love to see a jig performed.” The adventure improved by the minute. What a story to tell her baby sister! And perhaps also… Yes, she must make notes tomorrow. Burnside grinned and, setting his tankard aside, got to his feet. “Well. I guess I could do it for you, Miss Kethley. But someone has got to keep time.” His lordship laughed. “We will all furnish that. Get to it.” Feller stuck up the tune, and Burnside set his lean frame in motion, defying gravity with his agility. Lord Duncan and Thursby began to clap, and Iantha could not resist joining them. Music moved her as very little could do, but most of the musical occasions she attended were all too dignified in nature to clap time. She laughed aloud at Burnside’s antics, and even the reserved Vijaya rapped rhythmic fingers against the table, smiling. The music rose to a rousing finish, and Burnside bowed to his appreciative audience, wiping sweat from his brow. He nodded at his employer. “Your turn, me lord.” “Mine?” His lordship took a long draft of ale. “I can’t keep up with you.” “Ha! That will be the day. But no need to. I’m plumb used up.” Burnside fanned his face with his hand. “Well, if Miss Kethley will take into account my advanced years…” Lord Duncan set his ale on the floor by his chair and stepped to the center of the room, his thumbs hooked into his belt and his foot already beating a cadence. He proved to be amazingly light on his feet. Iantha would never have thought so large a man could move so fast. As the speed of the music increased, his booted feet almost blurred, and the muscles of his thighs rippled beneath the tight buckskin trousers. The rest of them clapped harder and harder. At last, on a resounding chord, he flung up his hands and shouted, coming to a complete stop. Iantha began to applaud. Surely he must be the only peer of the English realm who would dance with such abandon. He bowed to her and took a seat beside her, breathing hard. “Thank you, Miss Kethley. Your approval makes my efforts worthwhile.” “Your advanced years, indeed! I have never seen anyone dance like that, my lord. Where did you learn?” “Here, of course, before I left for India. I used to love to go to the village dances.” “Similar dances exist among the older tribes of my country.” Vijaya surprised Iantha by speaking. “But I have never learned them.” “A pity.” His lordship took a restorative swallow of ale. “We would have had you up to demonstrate.” Vijaya simply shook his head and smiled. “Then we shall have to fall back on Thursby. I’m told you do an excellent sword dance, Thursby.” The youth’s fair-skinned face flamed. “Tolerable, me lord.” “Then by all means, let us see it. We will forgive you your Scots forebears.” “And I’ll forgive you your English ones, me lord.” Amidst hoots of laughter and approval from the party, Lord Duncan went to the wall and removed two very old swords. He laid them in a cross in the middle of the floor. “Perhaps in these close quarters we should dispense with the sword exercises. When you are ready, Thursby.” Still blushing, young Thursby walked to the swords, and Feller started a Highland tune. The group watched in breathless attention as the young man’s feet flew around, between and over the blades, missing by a hairbreadth, but never touching them. He finished in good order, and this time everyone applauded in earnest. “Thursby has joined us since we returned from India,” his lordship explained. “But Feller and Burnside went with you?” “Aye. They have been with me since I was a lad.” He turned the full force of his smile on her. “It is your turn. Will you honor me with a country dance?” Alarm filled Iantha. “Oh! Oh, no. I couldn’t. I have not danced since…in several years.” “But there are only us country fellows here tonight. A misstep will never be recognized.” Iantha shook her head firmly. “No, my lord. I couldn’t.” His lordship sighed loudly. “Now what’s to be done? Will you force me to dance with Burnside?” In spite of the moment of panic, a laugh burst from Iantha. “I have no doubt that you will do it, my lord.” Shaking his head sadly, Lord Duncan rose and bowed to his henchman. With a simper, Burnside curtsied. A whoop of laughter burst from Thursby, and Iantha giggled. Even Vijaya chuckled. Feller began a Cumberland reel and the two men set about the steps of the dance, much tripping and tangling of feet contradicting their previous adroit performance. After several minutes Burnside made an awkward turn and sprawled on the floor. He got up, rubbing his injured member, and grinning, appealed to Iantha. “Miss Kethley, you just naturally got to do it. I ain’t cut out for to do this part.” Iantha’s eyebrows rose. “What a fudge! Burnside, I fear the truth is not in you.” “He makes a poor partner, I must attest.” His lordship knelt on one knee before Iantha’s chair. “Come, Miss Kethley. Rescue me from this humiliation.” She could not help laughing aloud. “Like master, like man! My lord, you are as sly as he is.” He extended a hand. Before she had time to think, Iantha placed hers in it and found herself drawn to her feet. “But, my lord.” The protest escaped even as he led her to the floor. “We cannot do a Ninepins Reel with only one couple.” “We will improvise, Miss Kethley.” And improvise they did. It proved to be a most original version of the reel. Lord Duncan guided Iantha from position to position with no more than the lightest clasp of his fingertips on hers. Caught up in the laughter and buffoonery, she discovered that she had relaxed and was truly enjoying the first set she had danced in six years. Not until the last strains of the music sounded did he catch her around the waist for a final spin. By then she had lost her breath from laughing, and he released her so quickly that she barely glimpsed the triumphant gleam in his eye. The moment she awakened the next morning, Iantha sprang out of bed and ran to the window. To her great relief the sun poured through the casement, and she saw not a cloud in the sky. She hastened to the breakfast table to find Lord Duncan finishing off a generous serving of beef and eggs. He quickly stood and held a chair for her to be seated, displaying his infectious grin. “Be of good cheer, Miss Kethley. Later this morning I intend to investigate the condition of the road. If I think it safe to proceed, this afternoon we will escort you to your anxious family.” “Oh, thank you, my lord. They must be beside themselves with worry. I would be very grateful to you for their sake.” And for my own. This morning his lordship’s masculine energy seemed to flow from him in waves. Even as he relaxed over morning coffee, it set an unfamiliar sympathetic vibration rippling through Iantha as never before. Try as she might, she could not wall him out. Perhaps the camaraderie of the evening before accounted for the increased difficulty. She had relinquished her control, and she could not regret it, but… His lordship had undeniably breached her walls. He had made her laugh. Genuinely laugh. She had even danced with him. But now… Now she felt vulnerable again. Afraid. She finished a scone and hastily excused herself. Rob tapped politely on the bedchamber door and mustered his patience for what seemed an unnecessarily long wait. At last his guest opened the door a crack and peered cautiously around it. Rob sighed. His evasive lady had once again fled. He had cherished hope that the relaxation of the previous evening would have a more permanent effect. Ah, well. He pushed lightly on the door, and she stepped back enough to allow him into the room. At least his news should please her. “I believe that we may attempt the journey, Miss Kethley, if we go on horseback. I will take Feller and Thursby with us to help break the way and assist should we encounter any difficulties. Burnside and Vijaya can hold the keep.” A relieved smile brightened her face. “Thank you, Lord Duncan. I am more indebted to you than I can ever repay.” Rob studied her for a heartbeat. If she recognized what the inescapable consequence of this situation must be, she gave no sign of it. “No repayment is needed, Miss Kethley. I am happy to be of service to you. However, conditions are likely to become difficult. Can you manage one of my horses, or would you prefer to ride with me?” She didn’t hesitate a moment. “I will ride alone.” “As you wish.” What other answer had he expected? He just hoped she did not overestimate her strength and skill. They did not make the trip easily. Although the sun had softened the snow enough for the horses to push through, it required several hours of hard going for both men and beasts to cover the distance his charge had driven in an hour two days before. In places they were obliged to leave the drifted roadway completely and take to the boggy, windswept hillside, jumping the small freshets of melting snow. When at last the tired party trotted up the drive of Hill House, all of them showed signs of wear, but Miss Kethley still sat her saddle with a stiff spine. No, she was not nearly as fragile as she looked. They had not yet reached the door when a tumult of people and voices spilled out of the house to surround them. “Miss Iantha!” “Annie, Annie!” “Oh, my dear! Iantha.” Rob had no opportunity to help Miss Kethley from her mount. A dozen hands reached for her before he had his feet on the ground. A tall, slender youth sporting extremely high collar points lifted her down and enveloped her in a bear hug, oblivious to the damage to his elaborately tied cravat, while a younger boy hovered nearby. She kissed the cheek of one and tousled the blond curls of the other as she stepped back. “Thank you, Thomas. Don’t look so solemn, Nathaniel. I am quite well.” At that moment a small whirlwind of ribbons and petticoats launched herself into Miss Kethley’s arms. “Oh, Annie! Where have you been? We have been so worried. I prayed and prayed….” Great tears coursed down the pink cheeks. Her sister enfolded the girl in a quick hug and then set her away and wiped at the tears running down the young cheeks. “Do not cry, Valeria. I had an accident, but Lord Duncan saved me from the storm.” She turned to the lady of middle years with hair as silver as her own. “Now do not you start to cry, Mama.” The older woman satisfied herself with a brief embrace and released her daughter, wiping a tear from her own violet eyes. “I am just so relieved, Iantha. I have been quite distraught.” Miss Kethley turned to Rob. “May I present Lord Duncan, Mama? My parents, Lord Duncan—Lord and Lady Rosley.” “Your servant, ma’am.” Rob bowed to the lady and, shifting to face the tall, thin older man who had just come up leaning on a cane, bowed a second time. “Lord Rosley, your servant, sir.” “Duncan.” His lordship nodded, his eyes narrowed, but immediately swiveled toward his daughter. “Iantha, is everything well with you?” “Quite well, Papa. A small snowslide struck the gig and almost buried it in the drifts. A shaft broke, and poor Toby was hurt. Lord Duncan arrived to extricate us just as the storm broke. We were fortunate to have been near his home at the Eyrie. I am unhurt—only very sorry for the anxiety I have caused you.” “Humph. As you should be, minx.” Lord Rosley sniffed, cleared his throat and pinched her cheek. “Well, let us not stand here in the cold. All of you come in. You cannot return tonight.” “Thank you, my lord.” Rob handed his reins to Feller who, followed by Thursby, led the horses away in the direction indicated by the Hill House grooms. Rob followed his host. “If I may, Lord Rosley, I would like very much to have a word with you in private.” His lordship favored him with another hard stare. “Yes, I should think you would.” Her mother took one look at her bedraggled state and hustled Iantha up the stairs to her bedchamber. Having gently, but firmly, evicted young Valeria with a promise to let her sit with Iantha later while she changed clothes, she turned to her older daughter. “Are you truly all right? You have not been harmed in any way, or frightened?” Iantha smiled reassuringly. “No, Mama. Truly, I have not. Of course, I was frightened, to be in such a situation….” She paused and took a deep breath. The fear she had felt two days before had begun to fade. Thank God. “But Lord Duncan proved a very kind gentleman—a gentleman in every way.” Her mother sank down on the bed with a relieved sigh. “Oh, I am so glad. I couldn’t bear for you to have been hurt again—or even threatened.” “Nothing of that sort occurred, Mama.” Iantha sat beside her. “I was never in any danger of harm except for the snowslides.” And my own difficult emotions. Iantha patted her mother’s hand. “Snowslides.” Lady Rosley raised her eyebrows. “Never tell me there was more than one!” Her hands flew to her heart. Oh, dear. She had said too much. Iantha quickly shook her head. “No…well, yes, Mama, but Lord Duncan plucked me out of the way of the second one.” “It seems we have much to thank him for.” Her mother looked at Iantha with narrowed eyes. “Yes.” Iantha studied her hands. An uncomfortable thought had occurred to her. “Mama… What do you think he and Papa are discussing?” “Why, dear, Lord Duncan is asking your father for your hand in marriage, of course.” Chapter Four R ob followed Lord Rosley into his library, uncomfortably aware of the latter’s suspicious manner, but not overly concerned. Of course the Viscount was worried about what had happened to his daughter over the last two days—and would be more worried when he discovered that she had been the only woman in the house. But Rob knew exactly how to make allaying the older man’s fears a simple matter. He had given it a great deal of thought in the last day or two. As a gentleman who had carried a young, unmarried lady into a compromising situation, he would be expected to offer for her. And that certainly was to be preferred to finding himself facing one of her male relatives across pistols at dawn. But was he ready to do that? Did he want to marry this particular lady? Or might that prove a disaster for both of them? On balance, he decided that it would not. He felt a need for a companion. A great many marriages were contracted on no acquaintance at all. And he found Miss Kethley a very interesting companion—talented, intelligent, beautiful. He was a bit troubled about her habit—apparently a very persistent habit—of wandering about the fells alone. But perhaps if he provided her with some of the adventure she craved, she would tolerate him as an escort. And he had given a great deal of thought to the fact that she seemed to avoid being touched. A wife with such an aversion might make for a rather chilly bed. Not something with which he wanted to saddle himself for the rest of his life. He hoped he wasn’t thinking like a cockscomb to believe that he could overcome that prejudice. Rob smiled to himself. After all, he had succeeded in getting her to dance with him. Surely he could succeed in… He just hadn’t wanted to marry again yet. But Lord Rosley was speaking. “Take that chair, Duncan.” His lordship eased himself into a similar chair and carefully lifted one slippered foot onto a low stool. “May I offer you some Madeira? I’ll ask you to serve yourself.” He winced. “Damned gout!” “Thank you. May I serve you some as well?” Rob went to the desk and lifted the decanter. Was that a growl issuing from his prospective father-in-law? “Might as well. The curst quacks say it aggravates the curst gout, but I can’t see that it makes a curst bit of difference to leave it off.” Rob poured two glasses. Hmm. Not a propitious moment to be attempting to mollify a distrustful father. A man suffering the agony of gout was not likely to be amenable to reason. But then again, neither was he likely to call one out into a snowy dawn. Rob handed a glass to his lordship and returned to his chair. Time to resort to plain speaking. “My lord, please allow me to reassure you as to your daughter’s welfare. On my honor, she took no hurt at my hands. Nor was she injured in the snowslides. She must have had bruises, but she did not complain of them.” “No, she wouldn’t.” Lord Rosley shifted his limb on the footstool and grimaced. “In her way she is a very strong young lady.” “I noticed that.” Especially while she was pointing a pistol in my direction. “Her appearance is deceptive. One would not think…” “There are many things about Iantha that one would not think.” Her father stared thoughtfully into the fire for a moment. “The thing is…” Rob cleared his throat uneasily. This was the tricky part. “I believe that the most difficult circumstance of the situation for her was that I have only just returned from India and have not even a housekeeper to act as my hostess. Of course, we showed her every courtesy, but she seemed very distressed.” “I can imagine.” Rosley sipped his wine, giving Rob a calculating glance over the rim of his glass. “Then you are not married?” “No, sir. I am a widower.” There it was. The marriage hint. Rob drew a deep breath. “I would, however, be honored to make Miss Kethley my wife.” “As you should be.” His lordship stared at him silently for several heartbeats. Now what exactly did he mean by that? Rob sipped his own wine and awaited a further response. It was not forthcoming. He frowned. “I realize, of course, that my title is not the equal of yours and that I have engaged in trade for the last few years, but I can keep your daughter in comfort. I feel certain you would want my man of business to call upon yours to assure yourself of that fact.” Lord Rosley waved a dismissive hand. “No, no. You misunderstand me. I daresay you can keep her, not only in comfort, but in luxury. Rumor has it that you are coming home a very wealthy man—a nabob, in fact. And your family has carried your title longer than mine has been in possession of ours. I have no objection to a man’s engaging in honest trade. All of us invest in various enterprises. Don’t know why we quibble at trade.” He turned to gaze again into the fire. Rob waited. At last his lordship sighed and looked at Rob. “I meant only that any man should be honored to have Iantha for a wife. She is a fine young woman.” He moved his foot again, using both hands this time. “And I am comforted by your willingness to act as a gentleman and do the proper thing. I would be extremely happy to see her married to a man of your caliber.” “But…?” Rob raised his eyebrows. “But there is a circumstance you should know. I will understand, of course, if you wish to withdraw your offer.” Rob’s eyebrows climbed higher. “I’m listening.” Rosley nodded, then continued with the air of a man speaking between clenched teeth. “When Iantha was eighteen, she was attacked by a gang of…” His fist struck the arm of his chair. “I know no word foul enough for them. But not to wrap it up in clean linen—she was raped by several masked men. She does not even know how many.” “My God!” Rob’s lips drew back in a snarl. “The… You are correct. No word filthy enough for them exists. No wonder she cannot endure the touch of a man.” “Nor of anyone else. She even draws back from her mother when she seeks to comfort her. She shows physical affection only to her younger sister and brothers, but even with Thomas, since he is becoming a man…” Lord Rosley shook his head sadly. For a moment Rob sat stunned by the enormity of the incident. That explained the proliferation of pistols. How had such a slight lady even survived? His own fist came down on his chair arm as a dark fury welled up in him. Had he but five minutes alone with each of those bastards…! But he would not have that. Rob took a long breath and let the anger flow out of him. “How did this happen?” Rosley took a fortifying sip of wine. “It was the fall before she was to come out in the spring season. My oldest daughter, Andrea, was expecting a baby, and of course, Lady Rosley intended to go to her. But as bad luck would have it, Valeria and Nathaniel were both taken ill with the measles and needed her care. Complications developed. The children were very sick.” He paused in his tale, deep feeling marking his face. “Iantha had already had the measles, so was in no danger of communicating them to Andrea, who had not. She wanted to see the child and London—get a feel for town before her come-out. So I consented to her going to help her sister. I would have accompanied her, of course, but I have never had the damn measles, either. Still haven’t had them. To be safe, I sent her in our own coach with a coachman, a footman and two armed outriders. And her old nurse as her chaperon.” He stopped again, his voice choked with emotion. Rob waited silently and respectfully. After a time his lordship again took up the story. “They shot all four men from ambush and tied them to the wheels of the coach. One of them died. The nurse they killed out of hand.” Now he ceased speaking altogether, bowed his head and covered his eyes with one hand. Rob’s heart ached with sympathy, and he wiped a tear from his own eye. “Lord Rosley, I can only imagine what you feel, but I believe I have some idea. I lost my daughter to illness.” “Then perhaps you can comprehend.” The older man lifted his head. “To be laid by the heels here while those devils tormented my sweet Iantha… A day does not pass that I am not consumed by guilt.” He closed his eyes, his jaw tight. What a horror for a father! Rob well understood the guilt, too, and the helplessness of not being able to save his child. It always seemed that there should have been something he could have done. He gave Lord Rosley a moment to compose himself, and then asked, “The authorities have never apprehended these villains?” Lord Rosley shook his head. “Strangely, they have not. I hired Bow Street to pursue the matter, but they made no progress at all, even though they tell me that several similar incidents occurred at different places around the country that same year. I suspect the detectives’ lack of success has to do with the fact that the gang had all the accoutrements of—” he sneered and spat the word out “—gentlemen. They are not the ordinary rascals with whom Bow Street usually deals.” “The runners are limited in whom they can question.” “Exactly. Iantha has since received threatening and gloating letters couched in the vilest language. Thank God that she did not completely understand the words and thus brought them to me.” Rob’s brows drew together as anger rose again in him. “What! Does she still receive them?” “I’m not sure. I suspect she does and destroys them because they distress her mother and me. I have sent the ones that came into my hands to the runners, but they cannot trace them.” It seemed the horror had no end. Now Rob understood the sadness in the lady’s eyes. Not only the sanctity of her body, but her security and, indeed, her whole future had been ripped from her just as the bud of her womanhood was opening. How had she endured it at all? What unbelievable strength! His desire to comfort her, to shield her, grew. He could not bring his family back, but he could protect this gallant, injured wraith. “Have I your permission to speak to her?” “Of course, if you still wish to.” Rosley shook his head sadly. “But she won’t have you.” Iantha gazed at Lady Rosley in the dresser mirror while she lovingly arranged her hair. Iantha knew that her mother performed that service as a way of being near her. “But Mama…I can’t. You know I can’t. I could not stand it, and it wouldn’t be fair to Lord Duncan.” “Please, Iantha. Do not refuse the offer without giving it a chance. I would so like to see you established in your own home. You are too fine a woman to dwindle into an aunt, and you know that—” Lady Rosley broke off and glanced at her youngest daughter, who sat on a footstool, leaning against Iantha. “That I will never have another opportunity.” Iantha stroked her little sister’s hair. “I suspect that I will not have this opportunity, either, Mama. Papa is bound to have told him.” “Told him what?” Valeria looked up at her mother. “What are you two talking about?” “Nothing that would interest you, dearest. But look, you have a spot on your dress.” Lady Rosley patted the girl’s shoulder. “Go and ask Miss Harrington to help you change, and you and Nathaniel may sit in the drawing room with us before dinner and visit with Lord Duncan.” Valeria skipped out of the room. When the door had closed behind the child, her mother directed her attention to Iantha. “Of course your father will tell Lord Duncan about your…situation. It would hardly be honorable not to do so.” Iantha grimaced. “No, one cannot honorably deal in damaged goods without revealing their defects.” “Oh, Iantha, darling!” Lady Rosley dropped to the footstool vacated by Valeria and clasped one of Iantha’s hands, gazing intently into her face. “Don’t say that! Please don’t. You are not d-damaged goods. You are not! You are good and sweet and…” Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama. That was unkind of me. I did not intend to wound you so.” Iantha tightened her jaw and willed her own tears to remain unshed. “But we both know how men feel about this…situation.” Her mother patted her hand. “I do know, dear. But I have a very good feeling about Lord Duncan. He seems…different somehow. I do not believe he will fail you.” “But I would fail him.” Iantha shook her head. “Even if I were willing to trap him into marriage with the excuse of the last two days—which I am not, Mama!—I would not be able to perform the duties of a wife. You know I could not.” Lady Rosley sighed. “Iantha. What can I say to you? I do understand your hesitation. But, dear…” She paused for a moment, apparently choosing her words. “But, dear, the duties of a wife, as you called them, need not be unpleasant. In fact…” To Iantha’s astonishment, her mother’s face turned deep rose to the roots of her silver hair. “In fact, the marriage bed can be a great source of pleasure and comfort to…to both parties.” She gazed earnestly into her daughter’s face. “I would like for you have that comfort for yourself.” What a great effort that admission had cost her reserved mother. Iantha smiled at her fondly. “Thank you, Mama. I will speak with him.” In the unlikely event that I have that opportunity. Rob sat in the drawing room listening to Thomas, resplendent in an elaborate cravat and a shockingly puce waistcoat, explain how it was that he had been sent down from Oxford until after Christmas. “It was a silly prank. I can’t think how I allowed myself to become involved.” Rob nodded, suppressing a smile. How mature the young man sounded. Now. After the damage was done. “I myself found it discouragingly easy to become involved in silly pranks. Some sillier than others.” The smile crept up the corners of his mouth. “Some very silly, indeed. I’m afraid I accounted for a large number of my father’s gray hairs.” “Well, yes, I suppose I have done my share for Papa. But I have apologized, and Papa says that my allowance will resume next quarter day, so that my pockets will not be quite to let when I go back.” The boy sighed. “No doubt a mistake on my part,” drawled Lord Rosley. “I am, in all likelihood, funding more mischief.” “Oh, no, Papa. I have promised not to get sent down again before summer. Honor of a Kethley. Besides…” The look the young assume when they believe they have been unfairly used invaded his face. “I have not done so nearly so often as John did.” “God be praised.” At Lord Rosley’s dry rejoinder, Rob’s ready laughter escaped him in a loud burst. “I see that rearing sons is a challenging undertaking.” At that moment the ladies entered, and all three gentlemen got to their feet, Lord Rosley with some effort. He subsided gratefully into his chair as soon as his wife and daughter had been seated. A few steps behind them, the schoolroom party arrived under escort of Valeria’s governess. Rob came to his feet again and made a bow as Lord Rosley presented his youngest progeny. “Your most obedient servant, Miss Valeria. Nathaniel.” Rob shook the boy’s hand and solemnly kissed the girl’s petite fingers, smiling at the ensuing blush. “Would you like to sit here?” He pulled a chair forward and placed it beside his own. Not to be outdone in honor, Nathaniel quickly drew his own seat near. Rob studied the young lady perched demurely at his side, her eyes fixed shyly on the hands in her lap. Her honey-blond hair contrasted sharply with Laki’s long black curls, but the long thick lashes rested on her cheek just as his own little girl’s had done. Rob missed his little daughter. How old would Laki have been by now? No need to calculate. He knew to the day. Only seven. The familiar lump rose in his throat. Five years was much too short a life. While her mother conversed with Thomas and her father tried in vain to achieve a comfortable position for his afflicted foot, Iantha watched Lord Duncan quietly from her place across the room. First he engaged Nathaniel in a lively discussion of hunting. A very manly conversation, indeed. One that Thomas could not resist joining, but his lordship gave the same grave attention to Nat’s opinion of Peel’s hounds as he did that of his big brother. Iantha smiled as her youngest brother swelled almost visibly with increasing importance. Lord Duncan certainly knew how to make a friend of him! Then, by some means or other, he drew Valeria into the conversation. From her giggles and blushes and a few overheard words, Iantha deduced that the subject now had to do with prospective beaux. Even a few scornful comments from Nathaniel did not seem to dim the girl’s pleasure. Unmistakable signs of incipient hero-worship blossomed on both the youngsters’ faces. Yes, his lordship could definitely win children. But she detected no sign that he felt any differently about damaged goods than any other man. The dinner party quickly took on the air of a quiet celebration for the return of the lost. Even Lord Rosley managed a quip or two. His lady beamed at all of them. Rob did his jovial best, but his gaze persisted in traveling to Miss Kethley, who smiled silently and bestowed her attention on her food, presenting little clue to her thoughts. The interesting companion with whom he had dined at the Eyrie had retreated behind her wall of mannerly restraint. What made him think she would entertain an offer from him? Perhaps he would be better advised to let the matter drop. But if he did that, she would certainly believe that he had changed his mind because of her misfortune. He despised that sort of thinking. He would never hold against her something over which she had no control. Men who were themselves the worst sort of rake seemed always the first to condemn women. Rob did not intend to count himself in their number. But her father had said she would not have him. Well, they would see about that. At last Lady Rosley rose from the table, and she and Miss Kethley turned to leave the room. Rob stood and cleared his throat. “If Lord Rosley and Thomas will forgive me for not sharing their port, I would like to have a few words with Miss Kethley, if I may.” “To be sure.” His lordship nodded. “The sawbones says I can’t drink port now, in any event, and Thomas will be the better for tea. We will join Lady Rosley.” He struggled to his feet, reaching for his cane. Rob offered Miss Kethley his arm, and she, with her usual hesitation, took it and directed him to a small parlor adjacent to the dining room. He could feel tension radiating from her body through her slender arm. He patted her hand comfortingly, but did not speak until they were ensconced before a cozy fire. He would have preferred to share the sofa with her for this occasion, but she moved immediately to the chairs flanking the fireplace. Rob pulled the chairs closer together—near enough to face her across a much shorter distance. Deciding against taking her hand, he leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. “Miss Kethley, I feel sure you know what I wish to discuss with you.” She held up a hand, palm outward, her expression serious. “Please, Lord Duncan. There is no need for this conversation. I appreciate your willingness to act as a gentleman, but I would not ensnare you simply because you had the ill fortune to save me from a storm. I have told you—my reputation is not at stake.” She glanced at the fire, then down at her hands. “And I…I am sure my father told you…” “About the terrible outrage you endured? Aye, he told me. And I have no desire to further the injustice done to you afterward.” She raised her eyes to his. “What do you mean?” “That I see no justice whatever in denying you the home and family you deserve simply because a set of blackguards chose to work their perverted will on you.” “Plain speaking, indeed, my lord.” “And why not? Their actions confer no shame on you.” Iantha again retreated into staring at the fire. “Mama also says that. But as you are well aware, Lord Duncan, most of the world does not share that opinion.” “Most of the world be damned! Will you allow yourself to be held prisoner in the wilds of Cumberland by narrow minds?” A frown drew his lordship’s dark eyebrows together. “I am not a prisoner, my lord. I go into society occasionally—to small neighborhood affairs. And Mama entertains. My parents have urged me to visit London, but… I… I do not want to go. Word of the incident spread like wildfire through the ton. Everyone knows. And beside that, it is very difficult for me to be with a large group of people.” How could she make him understand? The suffocating. The bodies brushing against hers. The constant struggle against panic. Iantha shuddered. And of course, there were the hushed whispers and the occasional snicker. And the looks of sympathy. Suddenly the anger began to rise. She fought it back until she could say, quite evenly, “I do not require your pity, Lord Duncan.” “And I, therefore, do not offer it.” He looked her steadily in the eyes. “Then why are you so insistent on making this proposal?” He sighed and leaned back in the chair. “I am not sure. A large part of it is that I hate injustice. I have an ardent desire to correct it. But…” He grinned suddenly. “I believe that a larger part of my determination stems from the fact that I have recently made the acquaintance of a most fascinating female. One who is not only lovely, but who is intelligent and talented and adventurous. I have a strong need for adventure myself—and for someone to share it with me.” “But you returned from your great adventure in India. Did you tire of it?” Lord Duncan sobered. “No. No, I finally realized that part of my life is over.” He took a turn at gazing into the fire. Iantha waited for him to gather his thoughts. “You see, I married there—a lovely Indian lady. She died two years ago.” “You are still grieving.” “In a way I suppose I am. I will certainly never forget her. But more than that, I am lonely. I miss them….” He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. “I also lost my little girl to the same fever.” His voice wavered. “The Indian climate is the very devil for fevers.” He cleared his throat and surreptitiously dabbed at the corner of his eye. “It is for my daughter that I still grieve.” Iantha pushed back a wave of sadness. “I’m so very sorry. Losing a child must be terrible.” “Aye, it’s that.” He took a long breath. “And since they died, I have encountered no other lady who took my interest. Until you pointed that pistol at me.” His grin returned. In spite of herself, Iantha blushed. “I do apologize. It is just that—that…” “You have no intention of repeating your earlier experience.” “Exactly.” She looked up, startled. “Yet I simply cannot stay within doors all the time. Nor can I abide being followed around by a groom—always cautioning me and hurrying me. Besides, I had four men with me before. The gang shot them all. Had I had a number of pistols in the coach, the story might have been different.” If nothing else, she might have shot herself. A decided improvement over what had actually happened. The skin between Lord Duncan’s eyebrows once again pulled into a frown. “I cannot hear the incident mentioned without wanting to do those fellows a severe injury.” “I appreciate your indignation on my behalf.” Iantha leaned forward. “But don’t you see, Lord Duncan? It is not only my body they hurt. My spirit is wounded. I may never again be whole.” He leaned toward her in turn, this time taking her hand. “I would like to heal that hurt. I would very much like to see you whole.” Could that ever be? Iantha started to withdraw her hand, then subdued the impulse. If only he knew how much effort it cost her. His nearness stirred tremors deep inside her, profound, disturbing. Confusing. “I might never be able to give you another daughter. I’m afraid I could never be a true wife to you.” “I know that it would be very difficult for you, but it would not be necessary at first. I believe that together we can slowly overcome this dreadful fear.” He smiled. “After all, Miss Kethley, learning to make love is one of life’s greatest adventures. Share it with me. Let me help you. Step by step, touch by touch. Starting with allowing me to kiss your hand.” He lifted her fingers and brushed his lips across them, then returned the hand to her own keeping. She rubbed the spot that his mouth had touched. A home. Perhaps children. Children were the only humans with whom she now felt at ease. How comforting it would be to have her own. And someone to share adventures with. Life’s greatest adventure. Was it still possible? “Might we first have a long engagement?” “As long as you need.” “You are indeed willing to make so great an effort?” “Aye.” Iantha’s mouth firmed. “Then I can but equal it.” Chapter Five T he spirit at breakfast was even more celebratory than that of the previous evening. Mama was jubilant—very quietly and discreetly, of course, only her sparkling eyes betraying her. Papa looked as if the weight of the world had been removed from his back. Lord Duncan seemed excessively pleased with himself. Iantha fought for control. What had she done? Even at her own family’s table his presence flooded her with unaccustomed sensations, tightening every muscle in her body. And then he would say something that made her laugh in spite of herself. And turn his warm smile on her. And she would forget for a moment. Perhaps he was correct in believing that he could help her become whole. One thing was certain—she would never again have the opportunity he offered. She would make the attempt. With every fiber of her being, she would do her best to put the past behind her—to become the woman she had once hoped to be. Lest the terror again sweep over her, Iantha forced herself to think about the conversation at hand. Her mother was speaking. “I believe we should announce the betrothal at Christmas. That is such a lovely time for a joyous occasion, and people love to come to the country for the holiday. I shall begin making a list at once. We must have all our acquaintances. But of course, Iantha, dear, if you would prefer—” Iantha shook her head. She had much rather put off any announcing until she felt more sure that she had made the correct decision. But her mother’s face positively glowed with anticipation. “Perhaps a small party, Mama. I…” Lady Rosley’s face dimmed. Iantha could not bear to disappoint her. “But I will defer to your judgment. You will know best what to do.” “I believe Christmas is a first-rate idea, Lady Rosley.” Lord Duncan set down his fork. “But may I suggest a slight alteration to the plan? There is something I have been wanting to do, and I would welcome your help with it.” Lady Rosley raised her eyebrows. “Why of course, if I can assist you with anything…” “The thing is, I would like to make my return to England more widely known. I have been thinking of having a house party at Christmas myself to reopen the Eyrie. I’m sure my aunt, Lady Dalston, would be willing to act as my hostess, but she is rather elderly, and I need help with the guest list and other arrangements. Those matters are beyond my ken.” He gave the lady the full effect of his winning smile. “If you would be willing, as a favor to me, to allow me to host the affair and help me with it, Lord Rosley might make the announcement then.” Very delicately handled. Now why did his lordship really want to host the party? Iantha aimed a questioning glance in his direction, but he contrived not to see it. “Having an affair to announce your return is well thought of.” Lord Rosley considered as he added cream to his coffee. “I’m sure you will wish to continue to pursue your business interests. You will want to renew acquaintance with certain influential people.” “Exactly. What do you say, Lady Rosley? Do you think we can make the Eyrie sufficiently festive for such an occasion?” The gleam of challenge appeared in Lady Rosley’s eye. “I’m sure we can, my lord, although I have not visited there in many years. It has been kept up?” “Yes, ma’am, by my agent. But it could use a lady’s hand.” Her ladyship warmed to the subject. “Christmas in a castle. Oh, yes. We must use evergreen garlands, of course, lots of them, and have musicians who can perform suitable music—carols and lays and—” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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