by Jo Beverley
Until last night, of course.
She turned red at the thought and covered her cheeks with her hands. Jesus and Mary, what must he think of her, acting the strumpet like that? She'd virtually thrust her half-naked breasts in his face. She'd let him...
The memory of his hand on her breast started a tingle there all over again.
She spun away from the mirror. She wasn't a wanton. She wasn't! She'd been playing a part to help her friends because they had been trying to help her.
And she hadn't liked a single moment of it.
She hadn't.
She'd only played that game because an innocent man had been caught in the net she'd laid for Dunsmore and she'd felt she must set him free without endangering her friends. It had seemed a good idea at the time to befuddle him with lust, and Denzil and some others had been close by in case of trouble...
She gave up on Peggy and twisted to undo the buttons down the back of her gown.
She'd been confident last night that her status made her safe from English tyranny, but she had to admit that Miles's warning made sense.
Why, not many years before, when some Irish had tried to side with the French in the war, hadn't the English flogged and tortured innocent people—including women—just to squeeze out fragments of information that might lead to the capture of the insurrectionists?
She stopped struggling to reach the middle buttons, wondering what it would be like to be tied to a tree, stripped to the waist, and flogged.
It was beyond her, and she prayed it always would be.
Then Peggy hurried in and set down a jug of warm water. Ignoring Felicity's scold for taking so long, she quickly unfastened the rest of the buttons and stripped off the blue gown. "Master Kieran's just arrived, miss, as fine as ever."
Felicity forgot servant discipline and hurriedly washed, reminded of why she must persuade her unwelcome guardian to leave her here in peace. By heaven, she wished her life were as simple as it had been two months ago. Before Kathleen died. Before Dunsmore returned to make everyone miserable. Before her grandfather changed his will.
She couldn't leave Ireland when it meant leaving Kieran to his father's uncertain mercies. She simply couldn't!
For Kieran Dunsmore was her own son.
She heard his voice in the hall and let Peggy toss her beige gown over her head and tighten the laces. Then she tied her hair back with a ribbon and ran down the stairs.
Chapter 5
In the spacious entrance hall, Miles tossed a soft ball back to young Kieran, surprised to find himself enjoying the lad's company. At the sound of light footsteps, he looked up to see Felicity flying down the stairs, face aglow with joy. Her beauty staggered him, but such radiance should not be summoned by another woman's child. It was a path to sorrow.
A few days ago he had not known Felicity. Now her welfare was a pressing concern. Did all guardians come into their responsibilities so forcefully?
As they took tea and enjoyed crisp ginger fairlings, he observed Felicity with the child and strengthened his resolve. He must get her away from Ireland and Kieran Dunsmore.
Even if Felicity had promised to watch over the child, she shouldn't devote the best years of her life to him. After all, she could do nothing practical for Kieran. If Dunsmore mistreated his son, she was powerless.
Then he thought of the attack the night before. Had that been Felicity's response to some cruelty of Dunsmore's? A shiver went down his spine. If so, she wasn't entirely powerless, but what risks she ran!
He studied the lad, who was happily building with some blocks of wood. He was rosy-cheeked and ready with a laugh and chatter. Clearly he was coming to no great harm.
Gardeen had taken advantage of Miles's thinking to curl in his lap. Miles removed her, resolving to take Felicity away from Foy, away from the Dunsmores, and away from danger. Forcibly if necessary.
Before resorting to force, however, he would try reason and charm, even though it would mean staying at Foy longer than he'd intended.
* * *
So, over the next few days, Miles said no more of his plans to take Felicity to England. Instead, he played the amiable houseguest, but in a way that meant they spent time together.
When Felicity rode out on business, Miles accompanied her to see more of the area. When she walked to the village, he carried her basket. He tried not to give the impression that he was guarding her, though that, too, was part of his plan.
As he hoped, it proved impossible for Felicity to maintain her artificial coldness.
They shared a passion for horses, after all, and spent much of their time in the stables supervising the management and taking part in the training. As he'd heard, when working with horses, Felicity wore breeches and rode astride.
"There's devil a bit of use in training these beasts to be lady's mounts," she said when he mentioned it. "It's not what Foy is known for."
In breeches, Miles discovered, Felicity behaved more like a man. She strode about briskly and rarely watched her tongue. He rather welcomed it, for it made it easier to ignore the shape of her in tight-fitting leather. She did not have a shape one would call boyish.
Most evenings, they sat together after dinner. He discovered, as expected, that she was skilled at chess. Her style was clever attack, his more careful strategy, but they were evenly matched.
They also shared tastes in reading, both the modern philosophers and humorous novels. Sometimes they would read to one another, taking parts. They also enjoyed music. She was skilled on the harpsichord. He could hold his own with a flute.
It was dangerous, though, this casual closeness, for Annie was not a scrupulous chaperone. She either nodded off by the fire or took herself off to bed entirely. Generally a cat or two would remain behind, and little Gardeen hardly left Miles's side; but despite the fact that Gardeen meant little guardian, the cats could hardly be depended upon to protect Felicity's virtue.
Of course, a young lady's guardian could be expected to do that, but when the guardian was only a few years older than the ward, and when he was potently aware of said ward's charms, it was not at all proper.
Miles liked and enjoyed women in all their aspects, but he couldn't remember ever responding to one as he did to Felicity. He enjoyed her company, and if she were absent, he missed her. When she was around, however, her physical presence disturbed him.
He couldn't help but be aware that she didn't favor strong corsets. In the evenings, when she leaned forward to move a chess piece, her decently covered breasts swayed slightly, begging to be touched. Memories immediately arose of those breasts only half-concealed by threadbare linen, of the weight and warm softness of them in his hands.
He wished to Hades she'd confine temptation beneath a few sturdy layers of linen and buckram.
When she stood close against the paddock fence discussing a horse's paces, he was aware of her body next to his as if they were naked. When she turned to him with a smiling comment, he was often hard-pressed not to drop a kiss on her full red lips.
He began to avoid touching her because he could not be sure one touch would not lead to more.
Miles's initial impulse to reject the guardianship had been selfish, but now he lay awake at nights thinking that an honorable man would back out of this situation before he behaved improperly. He couldn't help thinking, too, that having done so, an honorable man would be free to pay proper court to his one-time ward. He could kiss those tempting lips, if she'd permit it, touch that sensuous body...
But the same arguments held. By the time the legalities were sorted out, Felicity would have come of age anyway. And he couldn't leave her affairs in limbo now he knew the dangers surrounding her.
No wonder Leonard had changed the guardianship at the last moment. Colum would be no hand at this.
In his saner moments, Miles told himself he'd no desire to court Felicity Monahan anyway. True, she had the power of Deirdre and Grania, Irish beauties who had driven men mad. She also had the added attraction
of intelligence and humor often missing in those ancient heroines. But she was so damnably willful and inclined to plunge into danger.
And, after their first encounter, he very much doubted she was as pure and innocent as she should be. The future Countess of Kilgoran should be above reproach.
Add to these problems Felicity's possible involvement in Irish sedition, and a wise man would flee to the Antipodes before becoming involved with the wench.
Tossing and turning in the night, Miles convinced himself that his best course was to get Felicity to England and hope a firm-handed but fair Englishman would marry her and keep her there, well out of trouble's way.
So, walking on eggshells, Miles spent two weeks teaching Felicity to trust and like him, while watching her carefully to be sure she wasn't plotting with the Farmyard Boys or any other unruly elements.
Kieran visited most days, inevitably causing Felicity to melt into almost motherly delight. At least there was no evidence of any brutality by his father, though Miles heard rumors in the village that Dunsmore was back at his old tricks, threatening rent-raises and refusing to pay tradesmen's bills.
Miles shrugged such matters off. Let the Farmyard Boys handle it if they wanted, just as long as they didn't involve him or Felicity again.
Once it became known that Miles was in the area, the local gentry paid calls and left cards. Soon there were invitations, too, and evenings spent at local houses. These bucolic affairs were not precisely to Miles's taste, especially as there always seemed to be a large number of bright-eyed misses waiting to be introduced to the heir to Kilgoran.
Driving home in the carriage one night, Miles said to Felicity, "There do seem to be a remarkable number of pretty young ladies in this locality. Is it something in the water?"
Annie snored contentedly in the corner, her bonnet skewed one way, her frilled cap the other.
Felicity chuckled. "Sure, it's something in Foy Hall, not the water! Hasn't every family in Ireland with a connection in the area sent their prettiest contender to visit? One day soon, you'll be finding a lost slipper on the steps, Prince Charming, and be expected to go around searching for a foot to fit in it."
"Lord save me! Just as long as they don't start chopping off their toes in the cause."
"And here I was thinking you men enjoy seeing women torture themselves for your sake."
It was the first time she'd expressed her supposed antipathy to men. "Now why would you think that?"
She looked away, out at the dark countryside. "Isn't it true?"
"Not in your case. You're a grand heiress. Men will chop off their toes to win you."
She looked back then. "Would you?"
He couldn't read the meaning of the challenging question. "You forget. I'm your guardian."
"I don't forget." It was the merest whisper. After a moment, she added, "I wish I were not so rich."
"Wealth is not a burden if used well. It can be used to benefit others."
It was as if she shook herself out of melancholy. "Yes, of course. That's how I intend to use my fortune. And very soon."
"You don't have free use of it until you're thirty," he reminded her.
"Or until my marriage."
"But it will still be under the terms of the trust your grandfather set up, with your husband as trustee. What is it you are so keen to do? I'm sure money could be released now—"
"It will wait."
Miles had the distinct feeling that he would not approve of these good works. What did she have planned? The financing of an armed rebellion?
"I'm not an unreasonable man, Felicity. Why not tell me what you want to do? Don't marry just to get access to your money. A man you think would make a malleable husband and trustee could surprise you."
She looked at him across the shadowy carriage. "Nothing men do could surprise me."
It hardly seemed an appropriate comment for a proper young lady.
* * *
Eventually Felicity had to carry through on her offer to hold an entertainment at Foy Hall in Miles's honor. "We might as well make it a grand one," she muttered rather ungraciously one evening, "and hold a ball. You are, after all, the heir to Kilgoran."
"And it's a true albatross around my neck, I assure you. Why not just have a small dinner?"
It was one of the dangerous occasions. Annie had retired to her room straight after dinner, and Felicity was curled up in a big chair, her hair entirely loose around her shoulders, a big black cat in her lap. There was only the light of two candles and the fire to break the intimacy of darkness. Miles wanted, with alarming power, to take her on his lap and ravish her.
He rather hoped the cat was there to oppose such an act.
She appeared unaffected by their situation. "A small dinner?" she echoed with a grin. "But that would deprive all those imported hopefuls of the opportunity to dance with you! No, Prince Charming, we'll clear out the hall for dancing and turn the whole house upside down in your honor. The cats will hate it." She lifted the one in her lap to face her. "Won't you, Neill?"
It miaowed, eerily as if in answer.
Miles found the Foy Hall cats rather disturbing. "Then don't try to pretend it was my idea. Since the felines rule this place, I'd doubtless be found delicately shredded one morning."
"I wouldn't say they rule it exactly, but it's true they have their say. You should get Gardeen on your side. She'll protect you."
Miles looked down at the small black cat curled by his boots. After the first day, Gardeen had made no attempt to climb on him, but like the most patient courtier, merely followed him everywhere, occasionally offering gifts—a feather, a scrap of silk, and once half a scone which she'd found under the sofa.
At least she had more taste than to bring him dead birds.
"The others would eat her," he said.
"Oh, I doubt that. Gardeen is special. For one thing, Annie doesn't seem clear where she came from. She does generally know all the cats, and who their mothers are."
Miles looked down. "A stray, eh?" On impulse—perhaps a protective one—Miles picked up the cat.
Immediately, the silver eyes opened and a quite ferocious purr began. How did a small body make such a loud noise? Gardeen so radiated triumph that Miles hadn't the heart to put the animal back on the floor. After a moment, he placed her on his lap.
Felicity chuckled. "She's won you over at last, has she? A persistent female will always win, you know."
For the first time, Miles wondered whether Felicity was stalking him just as Gardeen had. Perhaps these disingenuously intimate evenings were no accident at all.
"Don't bet your all on it," he said, enjoying the warm silkiness of Gardeen's fur. "I merely took your advice and recruited a feline ally."
Felicity smiled in a strangely cat-like way. Miles reminded himself that she claimed to be a dangerous woman, and he believed her. It would be a serious mistake to forget that fact.
* * *
The next day, Felicity was not at breakfast. Miles was alarmed until he heard she had eaten earlier and was now in the library. After taking his own meal, he went to find her, trailed by a smug little cat who pranced along, jaunty tail announcing to the household that she'd caught a particularly fine prey.
Females!
In the library he found Felicity at the desk looking unusually flustered. Her long hair was escaping in coiling tendrils around her flushed cheeks and her fingers were inky.
He picked up Gardeen and strolled over. "You look like a schoolgirl slaving over a primer, cailin."
She scowled up at him. "This is all your fault, Miles Cavanagh!"
"Now how do you come to that conclusion?" He picked up a paper and saw it was a letter of invitation, carefully written in reasonably neat handwriting. The problem, he assumed, was the number of discarded efforts scattering the floor.
"Faith, did you never go to school?"
She threw down her chewed pen. "I had a governess."
"Whom you bullied, as you've bullied every
one else in your life, so she never taught you anything useful."
She surged to her feet. "Bullied? Why, you wretched man, if there's a bully here, it's you. If you don't care for my penmanship, why don't you write the things yourself?"
He nudged her out of the way and took her seat, placing Gardeen on the desk, safely away from the ink. "Very well. But don't think you've been as clever as this little puss. You aren't escaping scot-free. Play to me while I scribe for you."
She swept a curtsy. "My pleasure, sir. You see, Miss Herries did teach me something useful. She just didn't place great weight on calligraphy." She sat at the harpsichord and began a sparkling performance. Three cats ran in, as some always did when she played, to leap onto the instrument and enjoy the music, tails almost seeming to sway in rhythm.
Gardeen stayed on the desk, but her tail swayed as well.
With the fire crackling merrily and music filling the air, this was one of the dangerous moments when Miles began to think fondly of living this way for the rest of his life.
He shook his muddled head, trimmed the battered pen, and began to write out the letters of invitation.
All was well until he came to one name. "You're inviting Dunsmore?"
Her clever fingers missed only one note. "It would be impolite not to."
Miles supposed that was true, but he wondered if she wanted to invite the man. He realized he'd been avoiding the subject altogether, hoping it would go away.
"How is Dunsmore regarded by the other gentry hereabouts?" he asked, writing the invitation. "I haven't encountered him in anyone's house."
"You know how it is. No one has a choice in neighbors, so everyone rubs along. Which doesn't mean one has to arrange to meet them all the time." The music flowed smoothly from her fingers.
"And was Kathleen more acceptable?"
"Kathleen lived here all her life."
"So, as her husband, Dunsmore was accepted everywhere?" It was like pulling nails out of oak.
"He spent most of his time in Dublin or England."
Miles gave up and moved on to the next invitation.