The Dragon's Bride

by Jo Beverley

  “So what are you doing now?”

  “Playing messenger. You’re commanded to dine with the lord and master.”

  Alarm shot through her. “Alone?”

  His brows went up. “Of course not. Is he bothering you?”

  “No.” She tried to make it believable, which should be easy because he wasn’t. Yet still she was bothered.

  “I’m to eat with the earl and Mr. de Vere?” she asked, wondering what was behind the order.

  “And me. Sorry if you don’t like it, love. I probably caused it by saying it might be awkward to eat at the earl’s table while my sister acted the servant. Come on. You used to dine with the old earl and me sometimes.”

  “I know, but I wore ordinary clothes when I was secretary. . . .” She gestured at her plain clothes.

  “You must have something suitable up here.”

  Dress in a pretty gown for Con? A shiver of alarm collided with a stab of eagerness. The invitation was as good as a command. Or perhaps even a challenge.

  So she would take it up boldly. Con had only seen her in schoolroom dresses, in men’s clothing, and in housekeeper gray. Perhaps it was time to remind him that she was a lady.

  “I do have a couple of finer dresses here,” she said, adding with a smile, “mainly to stop Amelia from borrowing them.”

  “She’s six inches shorter.”

  “But the same size around. She stitches up the hems but the gowns are never quite the same afterward.”

  “Can’t you stop her?”

  “Not when I’m up here and the gowns are down there. I brought my favorites to preserve them.” She smiled. “She’s welcome to borrow the rest.”

  She looked at the wine. “Would you help out by decanting the wine and spirits and taking them to the dining room?”

  “Get him to hire a butler,” he said rather haughtily, and she reflected again on how comfortable he was in his role as gentleman. Why couldn’t she be the same?

  He set to work, however, and Susan hurried off to her rooms, calling for Ada to help her.

  She needed the maid’s assistance with her fashionable corset. She could get into her working ones on her own, but the one she needed for her best dresses required back lacing. Once the corset was snug and supporting her breasts at a fashionable height, she had Ada help her on with her ivory muslin dress.

  It had been through a number of changes over the years, but it was still her favorite. The upper layer, embroidered with white and just a touch of golden brown, veiled an underskirt which she had recently retrimmed with deep, pointed Vandyke lace—smuggled, of course. Since she’d cut eight inches off the underskirt to allow for the lace, it had created a delightful veiled effect around her ankles.

  Was it too risqué? Too suggestive? Her only alternative other than her working clothes was a deep pink silk, which was much too grand, and a blue day dress with long sleeves and a high neck. Was there time to send down to the manor for her peach cambric? It was an altogether better choice for an informal dinner. . . .

  But no, there wasn’t time.

  She plucked anxiously at the low front. It revealed a considerable amount of her breasts, which were thrust up by the corset. She’d worn the retrimmed dress a few months ago without a quiver of alarm—but then she hadn’t been about to face Con.

  As Ada worked on the pearl buttons Susan fought panic and pure excitement. The dress became her, she knew that.

  It was suitable armor for a coming battle.

  Had Con felt like this before battle—afraid, afire, eager?

  Eager for what?

  Her goal should be simple. Find the gold and leave. But another goal was stirring.

  She couldn’t recapture what they’d had all those years ago, and Con had found happiness with another woman. She didn’t want to leave Crag Wyvern, however, leave this area, without trying to get to know him a little, the man he had become.

  And she ached to heal him. Whatever the causes of the darkness around him now, some were her fault. They had been friends once. Could she reach out now to help a friend?

  She looked in the mirror and grimaced at herself. She might think noble thoughts, but in truth she was excited to be looking her best, to be able to show him that she was a woman able to attract men.

  Attract men?

  By the stars, she’d worn this dress six years ago when she’d let Lord Rivenham seduce her! It had been higher-necked then, sans lace, and with a trim of golden ribbons, but she’d been wearing this dress.

  The next day, when he’d taken her for a drive to a conveniently private place, she’d been in pink jaconet, but the day before at the Bath assembly, it had been this dress.

  Oh, what folly that had been.

  Ada finished with the tiny buttons, and Susan sat so the maid could brush out her hair. She couldn’t stop dwelling on past follies.

  She’d been in Bath with her aunt and cousins. Her aunt had been advised to take the waters, and she’d taken her two oldest girls, as she always called them, along to enjoy society there. Cecilia, at twenty-one, had met her husband in Bath. Susan, at twenty, had seized an opportunity to try to drive Con Somerford from her mind and heart.

  It hadn’t been frightening or unpleasant. Lord Rivenham had been some years older, married, and a known rake. He was not an honorable man, but skilled. He’d even brought a sponge soaked in vinegar and shown her how to insert it.

  It had all been very interesting, especially the contrast between Con’s ignorant enthusiasm and Rivenham’s expertise. It hadn’t been an improvement, however, except in the simplest mechanical sense.

  When they were leaving the rooms, strangely back to normal after that brief tumult, he’d asked, “Get what you wanted, pet?”

  She could remember the moment as if someone had pinned it in a frame for eternity. Her face had burned, but she’d met his curious, cynical eyes and said, “Yes, thank you.”

  He’d laughed. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever know what brought you here today, but I hope you find the man you want for more than an afternoon.”

  She hadn’t exactly lied to him. She’d wanted to wipe Con from her mind, from her skin, and she’d failed at that. But she had gained in knowledge, and not just about preventing babies.

  This matter between men and women could simply be an act, but it wasn’t always. What had happened between her and Con had been both less and more. It had been different because of the feelings involved. It hadn’t caused the feelings; the feelings had caused the effect.

  Therefore, she had set herself to fall in love. Cecilia and even young Amelia and most of the young women she knew seemed to find it easy to fall into love with handsome gentlemen and dashing soldiers. And just as easy to fall out again.

  So she stirred herself into tremulous excitement about Captain Jermyn Lavalle in his dashing Hussar uniform. When she’d let him make fumbling, hasty, unsatisfying love to her in the gazebo of his colonel’s country villa, however, she’d been used without care or even appreciation.

  Too proud to protest, or scream, or weep, she’d known she was a mere physical convenience to him, and a trophy as well. She’d parted from him, chin high, terrified that he’d boast of it to his fellow officers, and knowing she was on a course to insane disaster.

  At least Con wasn’t a Hussar. She remembered thinking that, as if it were the crucial point.

  The encounter with Lavalle had not made a scrap of difference to the secrets of her heart, but it had changed her behavior. She’d recognized at last that life would not be forced into the channels of her choosing, but must be lived with honor as it came.

  Play the hand that was dealt her, as apparently Mel Clyst had put it. She wished she’d known her father better.

  She’d spitefully wished Captain Lavalle dead in his first battle, but she’d overcome that too, and even managed to be glad when she saw notice later of his making major. She’d prayed, however, that their paths would never cross again, and that he would keep their assignation se
cret.

  As Ada began to sweep her hair up, Susan adjusted the low bodice of her gown. At least she hadn’t been wearing this dress with Lavalle. He’d thrown up the skirts of a pink dress trimmed with rosebuds. Immediately afterward she’d spilled blackberry cordial down it so it would have to be thrown out.

  Ada screwed the hair up into a knot and jabbed in pins. Susan winced. Ada was no lady’s maid, and Mrs. Gorland would be fuming that she wasn’t out in the kitchen. In this gown, however, Susan couldn’t reach up to arrange her hair for herself. In truth, fashion for women could be a kind of prison, but then, some men’s tight jackets and high shirt points trapped them, too.

  Not Con, unless he dressed very differently for fashionable affairs.

  Finished at last, Ada added a slender bandeau decorated with golden brown ribbon and tiny silk rosebuds. Susan thanked her and sent her back to her work, then put on her pearl earrings and necklace.

  The pearls had been a gift from her father. She’d forgotten that. They’d been sent to her just before she was to make that trip to Bath. David had received a handsome set of pistols on his twenty-first birthday.

  She touched the large pearl that hung in the center of a cluster in the front, thinking of David’s words about Mel Clyst. Bitter because of her mother, she’d made no attempt to know her father. Maybe he had kept his distance because he’d seen his children bettering themselves through his wife’s family.

  But why in heaven’s name hadn’t he married Lady Belle? The union would still have been a scandal, but not so much of one if it had been blessed. Had it simply been so that his children would be Kerslakes rather than Clysts?

  She sighed and put the matter aside. If he’d meant well, it was far too late to acknowledge it now. It was probably too late for everything. The past happened. It set like concrete and must be lived with.

  She stood and slipped on the silk slippers that went with the gown, raising her foot to the chair to tie the golden brown ribbons, thinking again of veiled ankles.

  Would Con notice? Would he care?

  She pulled on long gloves, draped a gauzy scarf over her arms, then reviewed herself again.

  Elegant and ladylike. Not a bit like the housekeeper, or like the young girl scampering over the rocks and shore. Shorter tendrils of hair were already escaping around her face, however. She reached to repin them and found she couldn’t. After a moment she decided the effect was becoming—in a wanton kind of way.

  So be it. In fact, she’d go further.

  She took a pot of rouge out of a drawer and subtly deepened the color of her lips, then added a touch on her cheeks. There. That completed the effect. With a laugh she thought of the warrior tribes of Africa and America who went into battle with their faces painted. Apparently it was supposed to frighten the enemy.

  She hoped it made her dragon shake in his shoes.

  Chapter Twelve

  David was waiting for her in the kitchen, chatting to the servants. “Lovely, but a little grand, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t have anything in between,” she said, linking her arm with his.

  As they walked along the corridor he said, “You’re not thinking of trying to marry him, are you?”

  She wondered whether rouge hid or enhanced a blush. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “I can’t imagine,” he said dryly. “What are you up to? I always thought you might have fallen a little in love with him that time. You were strange for a while afterward.”

  “I didn’t think you noticed.”

  “Of course I noticed. I don’t want you hurt, love.”

  She tried to find a joke, to find any response that made sense, but then said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “As bad as that, is it?”

  They’d taken the outer corridor toward the dining room. She stopped and faced him. “Perhaps there was a bit of love, but it was a long time ago and we were very young. We didn’t part on good terms, though, and this invitation is a kind of challenge.”

  “What caused the falling-out?”

  “None of your business.”

  “In other words, you were in the wrong. Would it be asking too much for you to say you’re sorry?”

  The idea appalled her. “After eleven years? What is all this to you anyway? Not still hoping I can turn him to your cause? Believe me, David, I can’t apologize. It wouldn’t help.”

  “As bad as that, is it?” He tucked her arm back through his. “Why do I feel you’re ready for battle? Honey would serve the cause better than vinegar.”

  It was almost a command, and she narrowed her eyes. “Being Captain Drake is going to your head.”

  “Being Captain Drake is a real and demanding responsibility. I don’t want things snarled by some petty disagreement between you and the earl.”

  “Petty!”

  “You admit there’s a disagreement.”

  “I admitted that we parted on bad terms. I will be civil as long as he is.”

  “I’m sure he will be,” he said with confidence that made her want to throw something at him. “Come on, then. Let’s advance together.”

  Con and de Vere were in the drawing room, and to Susan, walking into that conventional room seemed shockingly like walking into another world. The two men had both changed, but not into formal evening wear, probably because David would still be in day clothes. She was slightly overdressed, but she’d known she would be.

  She noted Con’s sharp attention before he looked away, however, and it was reward enough.

  One glance at Susan was almost enough to knock Con off his feet. This was a Susan he’d never seen before—the beautiful, elegant lady. But at the same time it was the Susan he’d expected to see here. There was no clear connection to the coltish girl in rumpled schoolroom clothes, and yet the essence was the same, and it ignited the same urgent response.

  He’d wondered if she planned to seduce him again, and now he saw that she did. He tried to be outraged, but something inside growled like a hungry tiger.

  He managed a calm smile as he greeted her. “Mrs. Kerslake, I’m pleased you could join us.” He gave thanks for the Mrs., which reminded him of the Susan in gray and white, and set her slightly among the married.

  However, Kerslake said, “I think my sister should be Miss Kerslake for this occasion, my lord.”

  Susan seemed as startled as he was. “David, that’s not necessary.”

  “I think it is.”

  It was as if Kerslake had read his thoughts. Or perhaps he was an ally in the planned seduction. Con’s sense and senses steadied. He would regard their hopeless efforts as an amusing show.

  “Of course. Miss Kerslake, may I offer you sherry?”

  There were no servants in attendance in the room, so he poured the wine himself. As he passed it over, their fingers brushed, and it took all his discipline not to start. It was like touching hot iron.

  Even with control, he’d come close to knocking her wine down her lovely dress. Her lovely dress that revealed far too much of her round breasts, much fuller now than they’d been back then . . .

  He snared his wits and stepped back. “If I am to be here for any length of time, it will be necessary to hire a footman. To serve wine, among other things.”

  He saw her eyes flicker to his with understanding, and her cheeks color. But then he suspected a touch of the rouge pot on those cheeks. She’d definitely come here all guns to the ready.

  “And a butler, my lord,” Kerslake said. “My sister had to recruit me to wine duty.”

  “My apologies,” Con said dryly. “But in the chaos left by my predecessor, we all have to make do. It would seem excessive to engage a butler when I will rarely be here.”

  “I think the ladies of the area hope to persuade you to stay, my lord.”

  “Really?” Con shot Susan a look.

  Her color deepened, but she was otherwise composed as she said, “Everyone hopes you will stay, my lord.”

  “Even th
e smugglers?” he asked.

  He hoped Kerslake would have to answer, but Susan’s brother looked admirably as if smuggling were a matter of scant interest. It was Susan who said, “That rather depends on your attitude to the Freetrade, my lord.”

  “And what is your attitude, Miss Kerslake?”

  Her look told him that she thought that an unfair blow. “I cannot approve of any illegality, my lord, but in truth, the taxes levied by London are criminal themselves. And of course, I am the daughter of a man transported for smuggling.”

  A bold attack. A warmth that was almost tenderness spread through him. She was as brave and direct as she’d always been.

  He turned to Kerslake. “And you are his son, Kerslake. Does the association cause you much trouble?”

  “Very little, my lord. And of course he is no longer here.”

  There was a spark of mischievous humor in the young man’s eyes that he’d do well to conquer. It cracked his otherwise excellent act.

  “So there must be a new Captain Drake, I assume,” Con said.

  But Race joined the conversation then. “Captain Drake. Called after Sir Francis Drake?” Eyes bright and alert, he was, as he’d promised, acting like an audience at an enjoyable play.

  No, he’d said farce.

  Con let the silence ride, and it was Kerslake in the end who said, “Yes, but also from the associations with dragons here. A drake is another name for dragon, of course, as is wyvern.”

  “A two-legged winged dragon who eats children,” Con contributed. “The earls of Wyvern do seem to have sealed their fate, don’t they?”

  “We can only hope it is not unfixably attached to the title, my lord,” Kerslake said smoothly, then added to Race, “Have you visited Dragon’s Cove yet? A guide to the area described it as a quaint fishing village. . . .”

  Con watched with admiration as Susan’s brother steered the conversation to local points of interest and other innocuous subjects. A young man of remarkable talents.

  Susan smiled at David’s comment, but her mind was buzzing with the effect of Con. That one, sizzling look had speeded her pulse, had alerted her to him in a way she’d not experienced before.