The Passionate Prude

by Elizabeth Thornton

  “You seem remarkably well informed of my movements, St. Jean,” he said with a calm that deceived no one. He ignored his wife but was aware of her slight movement as she turned away from him and into Armand’s arms. “I’d like to know who it was who gave you that piece of misinformation.”

  Armand ignored the query, but addressed himself to Caro. “I’ll get word to you somehow. Remember, he can’t force you to marry anyone. Wait for me. Everything will work out.”

  “And how to you propose to support a wife?” Rathbourne jeered.

  “He can have Marcliff,” interposed Deirdre quickly, voicing a thought which had taken hold in her mind for some weeks past. “It’s a good living, Armand,” she added when she saw her brother shake his head.

  “It’s not that. Dee. It’s simply that—”

  “It’s simply that Marcliff belongs to me,” finished Rathbourne silkily.

  Deirdre looked at him as if he had just crawled out from under a stone. “It belongs to me,” she stated unequivocally.

  “That was before our marriage. When you married me, everything you owned became mine, even the clothes on your back. You weren’t very wise, Dee. You should have insisted on settlements and so on before our marriage. You have nothing. You are in fact a pauper, a suppliant dependent on my good graces.” He added very softly, “It were wiser for you if you remembered that fact, and learned to be more conciliatory.”

  Guy Landron, who had witnessed the scene with growing impatience, suddenly burst out, “Gareth! Why are you doing this? You know that’s not—”

  “Quiet!” thundered the Earl. “When I want your opinion, Landron, I shall ask for it. I don’t need anyone telling me how to manage my wife.”

  “Let us go, Rathbourne,” said Deirdre in a voice that was devoid of feeling, no mean achievement considering that she was reeling from a rush of emotions she had yet to examine and identify. “Marcliff means nothing to you. You don’t need it.”

  He moved to take the reins of his mount from Landron’s hand. “Get her under lock and key,” he said curtly, indicating Caro with a slight movement of his head. He turned back to brother and sister.

  “Oh no!” he said, addressing Deirdre in a voice as soft as velvet. “You are carrying a burden which is significant for the House of Cavanaugh, or had you forgotten? Once you are relieved of it, then we shall see. You stay. As for St. Jean, he will be out of here just as soon as I decide what to do with him. Meanwhile, O’Toole can take him in hand. He can move his things into the stable quarters and eat with the grooms. But let me catch him once more with my sister, and I’ll thrash him to within an inch of his life.”

  He swung into the saddle and wheeled his horse to face her. “Don’t think to coddle him or protect him from my authority. And Dee, if you’re not inside the walls of Belmont in five minutes, you won’t like the consequences.”

  As he disappeared from view behind the trees, the starch seemed to go out of Deirdre and she collapsed against Armand. She was past tears and recriminations. She rested her head against his shoulder and felt unexpectedly comforted. Never once in her memory had Armand been the one to offer solace. Her head lifted, and she looked at him curiously. His eyes were shadowed with concern.

  “He found you with Caro,” she stated.

  “And thought the worst,” he added, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

  “Was he wrong?”

  “He was wrong,” Armand answered forcefully. “But he never believes any good of me.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  Armand lifted his shoulder and gazed off into space. “I suppose I had come round. He’s not the man I was led to believe. In many ways I admire him. I thought he was warming to me. If only Caro were not so hot at hand, things might have been different.”

  “She’s a headstrong girl.”

  “I’ll tame her.”

  He was so young, yet so sure of himself. But Rathbourne would never permit it. In the past, she had always contrived, by one means or another, to put things right for Armand. Suddenly, she felt helpless, without the resources to take care of her own life let alone manage the affairs of another. She moved restlessly away from him, and went to sit on the dry stone wall which enclosed the graveyard. He followed at a leisurely pace.

  “What’s to be done?” she asked, in a small, forlorn voice. With Marcliff gone, there was no place they could call home. She went on a little desperately, “I must have time to think.”

  “No, Dee. I’ve already decided what’s to be done. There are one or two avenues open to me when I reach my majority next month. I can always take up Uncle Thomas on his offer to find me a post in the diplomatic corps. And Uxbridge once said something about a military career. I rather enjoyed being a Hussar.”

  “That takes money. You heard Rathbourne. We’re paupers.”

  “I could earn enough in one night at faro to buy my commission. Don’t look like that, Dee. Really, I have no interest in gaming now.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, as if she was seeing him with new eyes, and her spirits lifted a little. “Aunt Rosemary always said it would take something catastrophic to bring you to your senses. She was right.”

  He laughed. “I suppose that’s one way of describing Caro. She’s certainly turned my life upside down. I can’t say as I am sorry though. Quite the reverse.”

  A thought came to Deirdre. “Mrs. Dewinters,” she blurted out, “how did you come to hear that she was in Paris?”

  “Tony wrote to me. I’m truly sorry, Dee. I’d call Rathbourne out, but he would never accept my challenge.” He kicked a loose pebble viciously with the toe of his boot.

  “Don’t even think of it!”

  “No, seriously, I wouldn’t like to put paid to the life of Caro’s brother, whatever the provocation. But I could, oh yes I could. I’ll send for you once I’m settled.”

  “No. It’s too late for that. He’d never let me go. You heard him.”

  “But Dee…”

  “No!” she said flatly. “You have your own life to lead. You’ve told me that often enough. I can’t help you now. So make something of yourself and make me proud of you.”

  “I intend to. Keep an eye on Caro for me. This will be hard on her.”

  She looked at him consideringly. “Armand, is this going to last? I mean, you’ve been in love so many times before.”

  “Oh no. I’ve never been in love before,” he said simply. “I only thought I was. Trust me, Dee. This will last.” His tone was quietly confident.

  She almost smiled, but the effort wrinkled the raw cut of Rathbourne’s crop across her cheek and she put up her hand gingerly. The violence to her own person was easily forgotten. He had never meant to hurt her, of that she was certain. But his vicious attack on her brother was another matter. If she had not put a stop to it, there was no saying how far his vindictiveness might not have taken him. And he had not disputed Armand’s allegations that Mrs. Dewinters had been with him in Paris. And then there was Marcliff. Her mind could not take everything in. How was it possible for the intimacy they had shared only hours before to suddenly be shattered, like some fragile glass ball that a willful child had carelessly tossed from the castle ramparts? A sound caught her ear and she turned.

  Her eyes were drawn to a poste chaise and four which came bowling along the drive. It slowed to take the incline toward the castle walls but it was soon lost to sight in the trees.

  “Visitors,” observed Armand. “What timing! We’d better not dally. Rathbourne’s temper is on a short leash. For myself, I don’t give a rap. But if he cuts up at you again, I’ll do something no doubt I shall regret.”

  When they entered the Great Hall, they heard Rathbourne’s sardonic laughter. He caught sight of Deirdre and strolled toward her. His eyes held hers with a tawny intensity that belied his easy assurance.

  “We have guests, my dear,” he drawled smoothly, and put a proprietary hand on her elbow, ignoring her slight resistance as he broug
ht her forward. Deirdre recognized the tall figure of Tony Cavanaugh in conversation with a woman. The cloying scent of carnations tickled Deirdre’s nose. She stiffened.

  “Look whom Tony has brought for a visit,” said Rathbourne somewhere between spite and mockery.

  Deirdre’s chin lifted a fraction and she held out her hand. “Mrs. Dewinters, hot foot from Paris! We are honored. Welcome to my husband’s home.” She managed a creditable smile.

  Mrs. Dewinters’s eyes swept up and met Deirdre’s. They traveled to Rathbourne. “Paris?” she asked innocently.

  “Deirdre knows,” said Rathbourne with a malicious smile, and turned aside to give directions to two footmen who had been called to dispose of the baggage which the porter had deposited in the hall.

  Conversation became general though a trifle awkward, and Deirdre soon took her leave with the excuse that one of the stable cats had inadvertently scratched her and she must attend to the wound before blood poisoning had a chance to set in. She took Armand’s arm and swept from the hall as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Tony soon wandered off and Rathbourne turned on Mrs. Dewinters.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” he asked coldly.

  She stripped the gloves from her fingers, patted him commiseratingly on the cheek, and said mildly, “There, there, Rathbourne. I’ve ruffled your feathers. But it really was imperative that I speak to you. Shall we repair to your study, or somewhere private? I bring you a message from our lord and master.”

  “Grant sent you?”

  “The same.”

  Without a word, he led the way out of the Great Hall and along the west wing till they came to an open door. Mrs. Dewinters entered ahead of him and looked around the large room with interested eyes. The green painted paneling on the walls with its intricately carved molding picked out in gilt was a perfect background for the matching coffered ceiling. On the floor was a crimson Aubusson with a border in green and gold, and crimson damask curtains and chairs upholstered in the same design were placed against the walls.

  “Impressive,” she said softly, and plumped herself down on a newly upholstered chair. “This room belongs more properly in a palace.”

  Rathbourne settled himself behind a massive, leather-topped desk. “You wouldn’t have thought so a month or so ago, before Deirdre took charge. What that girl has done is beyond belief.”

  “Oh, I believe it. You forget, I was with her at the Hotel d’Angleterre when it was turned into a hospital. It was she who organized the whole thing and arranged the watches so that someone would be on duty to look out for our patients all through the night. Do I detect a note of pride in your voice?”

  “And if you do?”

  “I could have sworn that you were at daggers drawn only a moment ago. D’you know, I had the strangest feeling it had something to with my being in Paris when I was supposed to be in London. Was I wrong?”

  “What message do you bring from Grant?” he asked, pointedly ignoring the question. He poured himself a shot of brandy from a decanter on his desk.

  She took the hint and said without preamble, and in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m here to warn you. Grant came across some documents in Paris after you left. It seems that the person who betrayed your identity to the French when you were in Brussels passed the information along through a French network in London.”

  “Interesting. Go on,” he said, and absently sipped his drink as if her words were of little import.

  It was impossible to tell from his shuttered expression what he was thinking. Grant had warned her that Rathbourne would minimize any threat to his person, though she had known that already. She sighed inaudibly and tried again. “Gareth, you must take this seriously. The informant was English, and a considerable sum of money changed hands. You must know what that suggests.”

  “Certainly. I was not betrayed for a cause but for profit by someone who was either in my confidence or close enough to divine the truth about me. I still don’t see why you had to create difficulties for both of us by coming out here to tell me in person.”

  She flushed a little at that, but said evenly, “It wasn’t my idea. It was Grant’s. He thought my word might carry some weight with you. I told him not to rely too much upon it, but as you see, he wouldn’t listen.”

  At the faint reprimand in her words, the color under his skin heightened. “Yes, well, Grant doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does about my private life.”

  “You mean, he didn’t know that you used me in Brussels to make Deirdre jealous? Oh you needn’t scowl at me like that, Rathbourne. I knew what you were up to, whatever you might pretend to the contrary. It suited me to acquire an aura of respectability, otherwise I would have sent you to the roustabouts.”

  Under Rathbourne’s watchful gaze, she painstakingly pleated and unpleated a fold of her peacock blue silk skirt. Her eyes lifted and looked frankly into his. “Gareth, I want the rumors of our pretended liaison scotched before they have a chance to circulate in London.”

  “It’s a bit late for that now,” he answered impatiently. “And your coming here like this will only aggravate matters.”

  “Perhaps I’m putting this badly. Let me explain. I have taken steps to exonerate your good name and mine. You may expect to see an article in The Times in the very near future applauding our work as agents in His Majesty’s Service. Our liaison will be seen for what it was—a cover for our activities.”

  “The devil I will!”

  “The devil has nothing to do with it. Grant himself is breaking the story to the press.”

  “With what object?”

  “I thought I told you. I want to be respectable.”

  He gave her a shrewd look from under slanted dark brows. “Would this craving for respectability on your part have anything to do with Roderick Ogilvie?”

  She was aware of a slight easing of tension across his shoulders. That one involuntary gesture spoke volumes. It told her he was relieved that she had transferred her interest to another. She stifled a last pang of regret and forced a smile.

  “It has everything to do with Roddy. I hope we may be married by the end of the month.”

  “Hope?” One questioning brow shot up.

  “He hasn’t asked me yet. But I think he will.”

  “May I wish you happy? Deirdre will be pleased,” and, he thought privately, his wife’s pleasure could not exceed his own by half at this welcome intelligence.

  “Will she?”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Oh nothing much. Just that some women hate to lose an old beau. Roddy paid Deirdre an excessive amount of attention at one time.”

  “So I noticed,” responded the Earl dryly, and took a long swallow of the drink in his hand.

  She thought it wise to ignore this faint jibe. “To get back to the reason I came here in the first place,” she said with decision.

  “Yes? Is there more to tell?”

  “Grant’s nose! It’s been troubling him of late.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He thinks that someone still wants you dead—that there was more to your betrayal than the thirty pieces of silver that exchanged hands. Can you think of anyone who wants you dead, Gareth?”

  “A score of people. I have never been one to cultivate a vulgar popularity.”

  “But no one in particular?”

  He seemed to consider. “Several I could name right off the bat. What are you suggesting?”

  “Nothing at all. Grant merely wants to put you on your guard. If I’ve done that much, I’ve done my duty. Oh yes, there was one other thing. Have you had any brushes with death in the last year or so when you were on English soil?”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. But those were accidents.”

  “Were they? Are you sure?”

  “Even if they weren’t, there were plenty of spies in England who could have put a period to my existence, and very easily too.”

  “Possibly, but Grant says that the French only
discovered your identity when you were in Brussels. You were safe from their agents before then. Think about it, Gareth. Who hates you enough to want you dead?”

  Rathbourne did think about it. Grant’s intuition, he knew from experience, was not to be lightly sloughed off. It had saved his bacon and that of his agents in the field on numerous occasions. A new and sinister significance was suddenly revealed in incidents which he had, in his innocence, formerly regarded as merely annoying misadventures. And if there was a perpetrator behind these acts, he deduced that it must be someone whose enmity he had incurred within the last year? Only one name came readily to mind.

  Dinner that evening was an awkward affair, though Rathbourne gave every evidence of having recovered his spirits. Only one eye he studiously avoided, and that was Guy Landron’s. Rathbourne was still smarting from the altercation which had taken place before dinner in his study. Damn if he would put up with the impertinence of others telling him how to manage his affairs! And how in Hades did Deirdre contrive to win the loyalty of others so effortlessly—his mother, his sister, his steward, his servants. It was uncanny! Only O’Toole remained loyal to his master. What he wouldn’t give, though, to be first in her loyalties! He watched covertly as she played his hostess with consummate skill, and his eye softened.

  His one inept attempt to reestablish himself in her good graces, however, was met with reproachful eyes and a cold shoulder. Thereafter it was Mrs. Dewinters, a little surprised, but a good deal gratified nevertheless, who came under the full force of his considerable charm. His attitude, thought Deirdre darkly, was like that of a felon who has decided he might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. In her mind’s eye, she began to construct the scaffold from which she would gladly see him dangle.

  The Dowager, characteristically of late taking her cue from her daughter-in-law, retreated behind a wall of glacial politeness, and spoke to her son only when directly addressed. She wondered at Caro’s and Armand’s absence from the table, but could not bring herself to voice the question, so incensed was she to see a son of hers blatantly neglect a sweet innocent like Deirdre for a woman of dubious reputation. It was only from a wish to please Deirdre, who hated ill-bred displays of the family’s dirty linen, especially in public, that the Dowager resolutely put her tongue between her teeth and bit down on it.