The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  Her faded blue eyes widened as she examined him closely. “Who are you?” she breathed as wonder dawned on her face. “Is it possible ... ?” She stopped, unable to continue.

  Richard completed the thought for her. “I am the son of Julius Davenport and Mary Rankin. And you are the grandmother I never knew I had.”

  She gasped and pressed her hand to her heart. “Merciful heaven!!” Her expression turned wry. “If I hadn’t been too vain to wear my spectacles, I would have known you before. You are very like your father, but I see my Mary in your face as well. Tell me about her. Tell me everything.”

  He described the life they had shared across Europe, the sailing death in Greece, ending with, “She was the happiest woman I ever knew, with love to spare for everyone who crossed her path. It is possible the unusual closeness she had with my father was born from the pain their marriage began in. They both had the gift of living in the present day. I can understand now why she had no wish to look back, but I would swear on the sanctuary Bible that she had no anger or resentment against you.”

  The old lady closed her eyes, a sparkle of moisture on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I want very much to believe that.”

  “And you, young man,” she continued, her eyes now open and worldly, “are the new Earl of Wargrave.”

  “Not yet, and probably never. I am nearly decided to take a small estate near the south coast, and leave the rest to my cousin Reginald Davenport. He wants it, I don’t. I can’t say that consequence and money seem to have made any of my relations very happy”

  “But...” she started to protest, then smiled dryly. “The lesson of minding my own business is one I must teach myself over and over. You will stay in England? I don’t have so many grandchildren that I would wish to lose any.”

  He smiled. “I promise you I shall stay in touch, no matter what transpires. In return, I ask you to keep my secret from everyone except your husband and son until matters have been resolved. In fact, I would ask a favor of you. I came here to ask permission to use the organ. Not for myself, but a ... friend of mine might wish to soon.”

  “That’s easily arranged,” she said briskly as she rose from the chapel railing. “There is an extra key to the organ loft in my husband’s office. I’ll get it for you now.”

  She stood on tiptoe, placing her hands on his shoulders and brushing his cheek with her lips. Her voice was soft again as she said, “Thank you for bringing my Mary back to me.” She turned and was quickly gone.

  After receiving the key, Richard headed back to War-grave Park. Halfway through the home wood he stopped, found a tree trunk to sit on, and loosed the fury he’d suppressed in front of Lady Helen. The thought of his gentle, loving mother raped by a vile old man . . .

  He took a fallen branch and methodically broke it to pieces with explosive violence. The one consolation was knowing his father had been amply qualified to avenge the crime.

  Julius had been a brilliant swordsman and often taught the art to young sprigs of the nobility in cities where they had lived. Though Richard much resembled his father physically, his disposition was more like his calm, slow-to-anger mother’s.

  But on a few memorable occasions he had lost his temper with a violence and thoroughness that would have done justice to his intense and volatile father. It was always instances of innocent people being threatened that roused his fury; perhaps on some unconscious level he had sensed what happened to his mother. In this, his rage was thirty years too late.

  After a few minutes of giving vent to his anger, he threw the fragments of wood away and drew a deep calming breath. It would be some time before he came to terms with what he had just learned; turning branches into flinders did not begin to release the rage he felt. But his parents had learned to live with the past, and he could do no less.

  At the moment, it was more pertinent to consider his new relatives: a grandmother of distinction, worthy of respect and eventually love; a step-grandfather of saintly disposition; an unknown uncle and cousins he would surely like.

  The Davenport side of the register was less prepossessing, but even Reginald had his worthwhile moments. After three years of being absolutely alone in the world, it was strange to think a whole network of people and relationships were waiting for him. But cousins or even grandparents were not what concerned him now. What he really wanted was a wife.

  * * * *

  Caroline pushed herself back from the writing desk, checked the clock, and stretched her cramped fingers. It was time to make her escape. For the last three days, Lady Edgeware had kept her busy writing invitations to the ball and making lists of things to do. If Lady Edgeware was a general in the social wars and Caroline was a line trooper, Jessica at least qualified as a major. Many of her ideas on refreshments and decorations had been reluctantly accepted as worthy.

  Caroline was as amused to listen to the genteel skirmishing as she was appalled to realize she would be expected to participate on a future occasion. At the moment they were discussing whether it would be paltry to have a mere twenty dishes in each course of the dinner that would be served before the ball.

  On the previous day, Caroline had received a note from Richard, inviting her to the Wargrave parish church to play some organ music he had found in the music library. She had not felt like discussing the note even with Jessica, so now she said a few vague words about going for a walk as she wafted out of the room. Her gift for slipping away unnoticed stood her in good stead; they barely noticed she was gone.

  She was so eager for the meeting that she was halfway to the church before noticing that the long spell of fair weather seemed about to end. The sky was filling with dark clouds while the air hung heavy and motionless.

  She shrugged; if she went back for a cloak, she would be late, as well as running the risk of being caught again in the party preparations. It wouldn’t hurt her to get wet, and every moment spent with Richard was precious because it might be the last. He was coming to the ball in four days, but that hardly counted; as guest of honor, she could do little beyond greeting him. Propriety and marriage would be catching up with her very soon, and she would no longer be free.

  He was sitting on a bench by the side door when she reached the church. When he rose and gave her his warm, intimate smile, she wished time could stop right there, holding her in this moment of happiness. It was easy to pretend he felt as pleased to see her as she was to see him.

  “I’m glad you could get away,” he said as he took her hand. “I wanted to give you the publisher’s agreement and the bank draft for your compositions. Mr. Chelmsford and I have devised a way for you to handle all your business through him without exposing your identity. You may choose another business representative if you like, but you know Mr. Chelmsford and he is an honest man. Is he acceptable?”

  She let go of his hand reluctantly. “That will be fine. I liked him very much. I never thought to make money from my work, so anything is a bonus.” She paused, then continued shyly, “Is there really any organ music or was that a ruse to get me here?”

  “Not at all. Look what I found.” He handed her several sheets of music. She knit her brows and asked, “Johann Sebastian Bach. Is he related to Johann Christian Bach?”

  Richard nodded. “His father. Apparently there have been many generations of Bach musicians in the Germanic states. Johann Sebastian is not so well known in this country as his son, but if this sounds as I imagine it, he is surely as fine a composer.”

  She studied the score with rising enthusiasm. “Toccata and Fugue in D Minor. Not an exciting title, but it looks wonderful. Let’s try it!”

  After unlocking the organ loft, Richard went behind the instrument to pump the bellows that produced the necessary volume of air. Caroline forgot his presence as she warmed up, gaining a feel for the splendid instrument the last Countess of Wargrave had donated.

  After a few minutes, she attacked the music—and “attack” was surely the best word. It began with a magnificent
explosion of sound that caused every stone in the old church to vibrate in harmony. She had always loved the organ and frequently played at services in the parish church in Wiltshire. It was immensely satisfying to let her performing instincts loose on a work of such incredible power. After the splendid climax of Mr. Bach’s masterpiece, she moved into an equally dramatic rendition of Handel’s “Messiah,” and ended her concert with “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” She was in a mood for the Church Militant, and the energy of the music left her in a state of exhilaration.

  Leaving the loft to join Richard, she stopped halfway down the stairwell in shock. An audience had collected in front of her, and they looked as if they would have applauded if they were not in a church. The elderly vicar was nearest, with a distinguished-looking older woman at his side.

  Several women dressed as servants were in the back of the church, plus half a dozen people who might have been passersby drawn in by the music. She was blushing and considering the options for flight when the vicar stepped up to her and said, “Thank you, child. I am not sure whether that was man talking to God, or God talking to man, but it was a blessing to hear. I hope you will come and play here often.”

  She murmured a few words of thanks, nodded at her audience, and took Richard’s arm with relief as he came forward. “Do you wish to escape?” he asked understandingly.

  “Please!” She didn’t fully relax until they were a quarter-mile from the church. “I’m sorry to be so idiotish,” she said with an apologetic shrug as they walked toward Wildehaven. “I hate being the center of attention, especially so unexpectedly.”

  Richard chuckled at her expression. “You don’t find it gratifying to be regarded with awe?”

  “No, I really don’t,” she said slowly. “If I have any special musical gifts—”

  “Which you do, to a remarkable degree.”

  Ignoring his interruption, she continued, “Any special gift I have is something I was born with. I no more deserve credit for that than I do for having blue eyes. It makes me uncomfortable to be regarded as superior for what is an accident of nature.”

  He reached out to guide her around a branch that she nearly walked into as she expounded. “All the talent in the world would be meaningless if you hadn’t worked hard. How many thousands of hours have you spent studying, practicing, and composing?”

  “But that was not work,” she protested. “I enjoy it.”

  “In other words,” he said with a twinkle, “we deserve esteem only when we have suffered?”

  “It does sound a bit silly when you say it like that.” She laughed. “But I do feel the honor belongs to a higher being than I. Do you understand what I am trying to say? I have never tried to put this into words; I just know that I dislike being singled out.”

  He nodded. “I think I understand. And I also think you are a remarkably unegotistical young woman, Caroline Hanscombe.”

  “Now, don’t be too impressed with that!” she said. “It is something else I was born with.”

  Absorbed in their conversation, neither had noticed how the sky was darkening. Now a thunderclap broke almost directly over their heads, accompanied by a torrent of drenching rain. Richard took a quick glance around, then said, “There’s a gamekeeper’s hut just over there. We can take shelter until this is over.” Taking her hand, he led her down an embankment to the left.

  Laughing and trying to brush wet hair from her eyes with her free hand, Caroline paid little attention to her footing. When she tripped on an exposed root, she lost her balance and stumbled out of control down the bank. Richard turned quickly and scooped her out of the air before she could fall, catching her against his chest to steady them both.

  Still laughing, she looked up into the face inches above hers. Suddenly breathless, she locked her gaze into his searching hazel eyes.

  Moving with slow tenderness so she could retreat if she wished he bent and claimed her lips with the thoroughness of a man who had too long suppressed his desires.

  Her only experience of kisses had been Jason’s chaste salute on their engagement and the clumsy experiment of a neighbor boy when they were both thirteen. This was totally, unequivocally different.

  She gave a small gasp of pleasure, instinctively opening her mouth beneath his and pressing the whole length of her body against him. She could feel the pounding of his heart against her breast, and the contrast between his burning warmth and the chill of her saturated muslin dress was unforgettably erotic.

  She slid her arms behind him, reveling in the feel of his broad shoulders, the hard muscles rippling as he enfolded her more tightly. One of his hands was doing indescribably wonderful things along her spine while the other cradled her head. Leaving her lips, his mouth moved across her cheek with leisurely skill, kissing away the raindrops.

  She exhaled sharply in delight when he reached her ear and delicately ran his tongue along the edge. Brought back to reality by the small sound, he loosened his hold, stepping back while keeping her within the circle of his arms.

  “Please, don’t stop,” she entreated. Her senses were completely focused on this moment, the fury of the rain echoing the rising passions of her own body. The physical intensity was completely new to her, and it possessed her as utterly as the blazing needs of her music would sometimes possess her mind. Her identity as Caroline, her engagement and family obligations, were not so much forgotten as meaningless. The two of them seemed alone in the world, as primal as Adam and Eve.

  “If I don’t stop now,” he said with a shaky laugh, “I don’t think I will be able to. Then we will both be in the suds. If we don’t drown first. Come along, lady mine.”

  He inclined his head and touched her lips in a kiss as full of promise as the previous ones had been full of passion. Pulling off his jacket, he held it above their heads as he quickly guided them the last fifty yards to the hut. The unlocked door opened to a room simply furnished with a wooden table and bench, plus a storage cabinet and a small fireplace. The rain battered the thin roof and coursed down the one dim window.

  Steering her to the bench, he draped his coat around her, then scooped her onto his lap. His encircling arms protected her from the damp chill and created the greatest sense of warmth and security she had ever known. She laid her head on his shoulder, as mindlessly happy as a kitten cuddled against its dam.

  Silence and harmony reigned until Richard tenderly brushed the wet curls from her face and said, “We must talk, Caro. The rain won’t last too long, and there is much to be said.”

  She gave a purring sound and burrowed closer to his chest, reluctant to face the problems that lay just outside the shelter of his arms. He traced the line of her jaw with his forefinger and said softly, “Each man carries an image of his perfect love in his heart. When I first saw you, I knew you were my own impossible dream come true. I have loved you from that moment.

  “At least,” he said with an involuntary chuckle, “I fell in love with you as soon as I determined that you weren’t an angel.”

  She straightened up in surprise. “You thought I was an angel?”

  He smiled reminiscently. “It seemed possible. You were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, golden-haired, surrounded by a halo of light, and playing a harp. Much too lovely and ethereal for the mundane world.”

  Stroking her cheek, he continued, “And unless I have totally misunderstood the sonata you wrote for me, you love me, too.”

  She looked at him shyly, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones without flinching. “I do. It was impossible for me to say it aloud, so I spoke my heart in the way I know best. I... I love you more than any of my words can say.”

  He pulled her to him for another kiss that disrupted rational conversation for some minutes. It ended when he lifted her again and deposited her on the bench a foot away from him,, saying, “We will never get anywhere at this rate! I asked you out today primarily because it seemed bad manners to propose to you under your fiancé’s roof.”

  She look
ed up at him, the happiness seeping from her face as the impossible situation returned to her. He touched her lips with a gentle finger and said, “The only solution for us is that you break your engagement to Lord Radford. I watched you from the beginning, and I saw no sign that you loved him. If anything, you seemed wary. Has he been unkind to you?”

  “Oh, no! No!” she said quickly. “It is true that I was frightened of him at first, but that was my own foolishness. He has never been anything but generous and honorable. But... but...” She stopped, unable to continue, her eyes drowning pools of anguish.

  “What is wrong?” he asked quietly.

  “I can’t break my engagement. I must marry him!”

  Richard’s face was very still. “Why?”

  “It...it is the money,” she stammered.

  “It is true that I haven’t the fortune Lord Radford does, but I promise I can keep you in comfort. I think I will be acquiring a small estate on the south coast. It would be the quiet life of a country squire, but there should be money for an occasional trip to London and perhaps the Continent to see what other musicians are doing.”

  Her gaze held his as she said quietly, “I could ask no happier life than what you would offer me. But it is not only my desires that count. My father is ... in great financial difficulty. Lord Radford made a settlement that takes care of his problems and ensures the future of my younger brothers and sisters. And ... my father would have forbidden my sister Gina’s marriage to the man she loves if I didn’t accept Lord Radford’s offer.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand sympathetically. “My poor little love! I suspect your own needs have always given way to others. Is Lord Radford in love with you?”

  A furrow appeared between her brows as she frowned slightly. “I don’t know. I suppose he must be, for there would be no other reason for him to have offered. But I do not understand him at all. I have never felt love from him.”

  Richard was silent. He had known of rich men who were collectors, acquiring rare and precious objects for the simple joy of possession. Such a man might easily want Caroline, for her delicate beauty and talent. It could be considered a kind of love, but not one to warm the heart or soul. He had seen Caroline blossoming in these last weeks. If Radford were the sort to consider his wife a bloodless treasure, she would dwindle to a pale and unhappy shadow.