The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  “Jessica does. She says there is no reason she can think of why a woman can’t be a composer. And my music teacher, Signore Ferrante. He thought I should publish some of my work, but of course I couldn’t.”

  “Why not? If you are shy or don’t want to be judged as an oddity, you could use another name. It seems a pity to deprive others of the beauty of your work.”

  She glanced at him sideways. “Do you truly think my work is good? Signore Ferrante always said it was, but he was too kind to say anything that would hurt me.”

  Richard said seriously, “The sonatas are splendid and could hold their own against the finest composers of Europe. I can’t play the quartets by myself, but they appear to have the same freshness and power. I would like to copy some of your work for my own use.”

  He smiled at her starry-eyed look; he had seen the same expression on the face of a mother whose child had been sincerely praised. “There is a spot in the second movement of the D Minor Sonata I had trouble with—I’m not sure what cadence you intended. Could you be persuaded to demonstrate?”

  His diversion worked perfectly. All the tears were gone and she looked happier and more confident than he had yet seen her. “I would love to.”

  As she played the composition in question, Richard’s attention was divided between the glorious music and the sight of her performing. As he had suspected from their duets, she was an extraordinary pianist. For all her look of small-boned fragility, her long slim fingers had unusual strength and dexterity. He rather thought no one else could bring quite the same feeling to a work as its composer.

  When she had finished, she turned to him, seeking approval while quietly confident of receiving it. For all his intentions of moving carefully with her, he was impelled to take her right hand and kiss it. “Thank you,” he said in his soft, deep voice. “Again you have shown me a beauty undreamed of.”

  Caroline reddened slightly but was in no hurry to retrieve the hand he held. She felt a sensation of warmth spreading through her, a warmth that seemed an integral part of this man with his quiet strength and deep-set eyes. A lifetime of anxiety over her unladylike hobby had dissipated after a few minutes of his appreciation and acceptance.

  While she had always been shy, she had never had much sense of the proprieties. Some moments passed before she realized how forward her behavior was. The thought did not disturb her overmuch, but she did let go of his hand, still feeling the imprint of his lips tingling on her fingers.

  “I really should leave now,” she said. “I just came to collect my music case. If you like, I will leave it here so you can copy some of the pieces.”

  Richard escorted her home as a matter of course. It was only when she was alone in her room before dinner that she permitted herself to think of that sweet moment after he had kissed her hand. Her fingers curled unconsciously as she remembered.

  If only Jason were more like Captain Dalton! He was so easy to be with, so understanding. She didn’t feel awkward and tongue-tied with him; there seemed no end of interesting things to discuss.

  He had told her marvelous stories of some of the people and places he had seen—not just in Spain but Vienna, Ireland, Italy. Most of Europe, in fact, as well as a brief spell in North America before Waterloo. Perhaps that was why he was so relaxing to be with; he had seen so much, and seemed quite willing to accept people on their own terms.

  It was a refreshing change; sometimes it seemed to Caroline that everyone she knew had a different plan for how she should be. She never managed to satisfy her parents. And Jason seemed to see her primarily as raw material for molding into a comformable wife.

  For a few minutes she let herself dream of what it would be like to meet Richard Dalton if she weren’t engaged, if her family had not been in such dire financial straits. Underneath her dreaming was a thread of rebellion; why was she the sacrificial lamb for the rest of the family?

  She had a mental image of herself bound and bleating on a stone altar before a frowning pagan god, and started giggling. She was sure that Lord Radford would not appreciate the metaphor—but he did make an excellent angry pagan god!

  Chapter 10

  Jason awoke at dawn and indulged himself with a satisfied leonine stretch. It was good to be home in his own bed after ten days’ absence.

  He had intended to return sooner, but some genuine business had cropped up and delayed his return. He’d collected George Fitzwilliam in London and they had arrived late the night before, after the rest of the household had retired. Knowing George’s habits, he didn’t expect to see him before ten o’clock even in the country.

  He rose and looked out at the brightening sky. The dawn chorus of birds sang industriously and the Cotswold hills lay partially garbed in a pastel-tinted haze. It had been one of the fairest summers in his memory. The farmer in him wondered if there had been sufficient rain for the crops, but he firmly quashed the thought while he donned his riding clothes.

  When he reached the stables his good mood was threatened by the absence of his favorite horse, Caesar. This early, even the stablehands were not stirring; certainly it wasn’t a normal hour for exercising the stallion.

  Perhaps one of the younger lads was stealing a ride on the horse generally reserved for the master or the head groom. Making a mental note to check into the matter later, he saddled a large roan gelding he was schooling as a hunter.

  The morning fulfilled its promise as he cantered east into the sunrise. He drew a deep breath of Wildehaven air, thinking how surprised his London acquaintances would be to know how much he enjoyed being home in the country.

  Though it was amusing to play the bored man of fashion in the city, that was only a facade, suitable for short stretches of time. He felt a fierce sense of connection with his own land and could easily imagine defending it to the death in an earlier, more barbaric century.

  He was reveling in his pride of place when he saw a horse cresting the hill above him. Caesar was readily identifiable by his size and gait, but he didn’t recognize the rider silhouetted against the rising sun.

  The slim figure appeared to be one of the stableboys. Jason called out and urged the roan uphill. Caesar’s rider reined back, apparently torn between fleeing and staying in the face of Radford’s obvious desire to intercept.

  The rider stayed. Had he sought to escape, it would have been difficult to catch him—Caesar was the fastest animal on the estate and didn’t appear to be carrying much weight.

  The windblown red hair gave her away. Slim and boyish, she was simply dressed in breeches and shirt with her hair tied back by a scarf. As she eyed him with the wariness of a lad caught in mischief, she looked even younger than the seventeen years she had when first they met.

  Still feeling expansive, Jason hailed her cheerfully. “Good morning! I trust my favorite horse pleases you?”

  Jessica looked defensive. “You did give me the freedom of the stables, my lord.”

  “A freedom you have taken advantage of,” he said with a pointed glance at her costume.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I would never knowingly offend someone in his own home,” she said formally. The effect was undermined when she couldn’t resist adding, “Your absence was lengthy enough that I was in danger of forgetting just whose home this is.”

  He grinned. “I take it you are chastising me for my failings as a host. Will you be pacified if I plead guilty on all counts? I had not intended to abandon you and Caroline for so long. I am not offended by your breeches. My grandmother often told me ladies had more freedom in her day and riding astride was commonplace. She found our modern manners tedious and hypocritical.”

  “Really?” Jessica said with interest. Then she remembered her formal role and said neutrally, “It is not my place to chastise you, my lord.”

  “While I appreciate your awareness of my exalted rank, it is not necessary to say ‘my lord’ with every breath you draw,” he complained.

  “No, your lordship,” she said meekly, while her eyes sta
rted to dance.

  “Very well, madam,” he said with resignation. “I see that formality is to be the order of the day. If Mrs. Sterling has had her fill of riding, would she consent to accompany Lord Radford back to his humble abode?”

  Jessica finally gave in to her laughter. “There is nothing the least bit humble about either Wildehaven or its owner! But I will be happy to accompany you in the hope of an early breakfast.”

  The horses fell into a leisurely pace as they rode side by side. Jason eyed her uneasily. He had thought absence would steady his nerves; there had been ample time to reflect on her cruel and unfathomable behavior so many years before.

  Admittedly it was a shock to see her so unexpectedly, but he had returned thinking himself immune to her undeniable charms. Now he found her presence was unraveling the previous ten days of work with shocking speed.

  That lovely face looked so young and guileless that he was in danger of forgetting the intervening years. The same enchanted delight he had felt at the age of twenty-one was beginning to steal over him again. He knew she had grown and changed in many ways over these past years, but he sensed that her essential spirit was unchanged.

  As was his.

  Fearful of forgetting his obligations, not least of them to this woman’s niece, he said coolly, “You would be better advised to choose a different horse. Caesar is not what one would usually consider a lady’s mount.”

  Jessica laughed, refusing to take offense. “I am not what is usually considered a lady.”

  Jason said sternly, “You should not talk so of yourself.”

  She shot a surprised glance at him. “Why ever not? I have been called a good deal worse by any number of people. ‘Fast,’ ‘loose,’ ‘strumpet,’ ‘keeps her husband under the cat’s paw,’ ‘hoyden,’ ‘hanging out for a rich husband—’”

  “Stop!” More calmly he said, “I am sorry if you have been the target of too many old cats. I expect they were jealous on behalf of their plain daughters.”

  Jessica shrugged. “I am used to it. I found that I could do nothing right, so I gave up trying. Fortunately, men have usually been more tolerant of my failings.”

  “I have no doubt of it,” he growled.

  She reined her horse in, causing him to pull up. “You know, this is the most peculiar conversation. I think we are fighting, but I am not sure why.” She looked at him earnestly. “We will be related soon. It would grieve me greatly to be at odds with Caroline’s husband. Can we not cry friends?”

  He looked at her with remote black eyes. “I never wanted to be your friend.”

  She shrank a little under his gaze but persevered. “Once we were a great deal more than friends. I was young and foolish beyond measure and destroyed all our might-have-beens. The past is beyond repair, but will you not accept that I wish you all possible joy in the future?”

  He could not deny that earnest plea. He reached his right hand across to her. “Friends.”

  She took his hand gratefully. “As a friend, may I speak frankly?”

  He smiled reluctantly. “Do you ever speak any other way?”

  She blushed and shook her head. “Alas, no. I am afraid the good Lord was out of subtlety the day he assembled me. I expect that is why so many women find me alarming.” She hesitated, then said, “I am not sure how to begin, but pray remember that I speak as a friend, and as an aunt.”

  His eyebrows drew together forbiddingly. “You wish to discuss my affianced wife with me?”

  “Yes. It is ... greatly to your credit that you have fallen in love with Caroline. She has such a sweet and loving nature, and a great talent as well. There is no malice or anger in her. She has always been an example to me of what I should strive toward.”

  “I will allow that she is a paragon if you will tell me where this is leading,” he said dryly.

  Jessica bravely soldiered on. “While she has a great wisdom in some areas, her experience of men has been limited and ... not such as to give her confidence. If you can be patient and move slowly with her, she will be the most loving wife a man could wish for.”

  “And if I forget myself and unleash my vile animal passions, I will terrify the wits out of her?”

  By now Jessica was wishing she had never begun this wretched conversation, particularly as it was impossible to be with Jason without thinking of how much she had loved his “vile animal passions.” “I would not use quite those words, but it is near enough to what I meant.”

  They were approaching the stables now and would have only a few more moments of private conversation. He said, “No doubt you mean well. It would take a more hardened rake than I to force her against her will. I’ve no wish for a wife who quakes in my presence. Your daughter has already warned me that I would have her to deal with should I mistreat your niece.”

  “Linda did that?”

  He glanced at her. “In your London town house, before you came downstairs. I was told in no uncertain terms to behave or I would suffer her wrath. The women in your family appear to have a uniformly poor opinion of me.”

  Jessica closed her eyes with a mortified sigh. “Lord in heaven, we have been hard on you. Can we just forget this last five minutes of conversation and go back to being friends? Without me acting like an anxious nanny goat?”

  “Perhaps that would be best,” Jason didn’t speak again until they were in the stables. He alighted from the roan, then went over to help Jessica dismount. “I mean her no harm, you know,” he said softly.

  She looked up at his dark eyes, only a foot away. “I never thought that you did.”

  He stepped back, his gaze traveling from the jade-green eyes to the ripe curves of her body. He hadn’t counted on the erotic impact of seeing her in the tight breeches, her beautiful face earnest and unself-conscious.

  He deliberately made his voice jocular as he said, “I have trouble believing I mistook you for a stableboy even from a quarter-mile away.”

  She answered in the same light tone. “Perhaps I’d best resurrect my riding habit so there will be no question in the future.”

  “That might be better in company, but suit yourself when you are out alone. I doubt anyone would dare criticize you as long as you are on my land.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The improbably long lashes swept down over the sparkling eyes. It sounded like the lord of the manor was back in charge.

  “You called me Jason once.”

  She raised her eyes to his. “That was at your invitation. I doubted whether the invitation still stood.”

  He resisted the temptation to brush a strand of wayward auburn hair from her cheek. “If we are to be friends, I would rather you named me as one. Or I warn you,” he added wickedly, “I shall start calling you ‘Aunt Jessica.’”

  She choked back a giggle. “Very well. . . Jason. I yield in the face of superior force. But you must call me Jessica. After all, I’ve known you since my salad days.”

  “Which are decades in the past.”

  “Long, long ago,” she said firmly. “You will become convinced of my dignified years when I start wearing my dowager caps.”

  “No, you wouldn’t!” he said with a horror that was only partially feigned. If she was middle-aged, what did that make him?

  “You’ll see,” she warned. “Meanwhile, where is that breakfast you promised me?”

  * * * *

  Contrary to expectations, George Fitzwilliam made an appearance in the breakfast parlor before they had finished a relaxed meal. He was rubbing his eyes and his elegant clothing was perhaps a trifle less impeccable than usual.

  “I say, Jason, can’t something be done about those wretched birds?”

  His host looked up in surprise. “Good morning, George. What wretched birds?”

  George waved his hand irritably. “I don’t know ‘em by their first names! Those dreadful creatures that were squawkin’ in the tree outside my window. Demmed bad ton they have.”

  Jason said gravely, “My most sincere apologies. I sha
ll notify my housekeeper to see if she can procure birds of better breeding who will keep more fashionable hours. In the meantime, I fear you will have to consider the present lot as one of the hazards of country living.”

  George nodded in satisfaction and turned to the sideboard to select a surprisingly hearty breakfast. Jessica was watching, much diverted.

  When he turned to the table and saw her for the first time, he was rendered almost speechless. She had changed to a cream-colored muslin gown before eating and looked a picture of modest womanhood. Watching George’s mouth make small fishlike movements was almost too much for her gravity.

  “Oh, I say!” he said reverently. “Who is ... ?” He stopped abruptly and stared at his friend.

  Surely Jason wouldn’t have brought one of his fancy pieces to stay under the same roof as his fiancée? She didn’t look like a bit o’ muslin, but the very best ones didn’t. His confusion effectively destroyed any possibility of coherent speech.

  Caroline entered the breakfast parlor in time to catch the tableau. Since poor George’s transparent expressions seemed to be affording Jason and Jessica too much amusement to wish to enlighten him, she moved to the rescue.

  “Good morning, Mr. Fitzwilliam. It’s good to see you again. I believe you haven’t met my aunt, Mrs. Sterling.”

  George gulped and said with disbelief, “You mean this is the dragon?”

  At that, even Caroline had to laugh. “Indeed it is. But I promise you, she is a very nice dragon and scorches only those who deserve it. Jessica, this is George Fitzwilliam, who first introduced me to Lord Radford.”

  Mr. Fitzwilliam pulled himself together and executed a bow of exquisite grace in spite of the platter of ham, trout, and biscuits in his left hand. “Beg your pardon, Mrs. Sterling. Delighted to make your acquaintance. Not at all dragonish. Beauty and charm obviously common in Miss Hanscombe’s family.”

  Jason rose and went to Caroline. “Good morning, my dear. You are in looks today.”