by Jo Beverley
He doubted he'd get much out of his ward by direct questions, but it would be interesting to see how Dunsmore behaved, and how everyone acted toward him. Miles had the feeling that Kieran's father might be an inconvenience in his life.
It would be surprising if Dunsmore were completely accepted, being a foreigner. But unless he was an outright proven scoundrel people would be civil.
Of course, Dunsmore might not attend. He must realize he was unpopular, and that the whole area would be enjoying the tale of his trouncing by the Farmyard Boys.
* * *
On the full-moon night of the ball, however, Rupert Dunsmore turned up, coolly arrogant toward his more hearty neighbors. Miles noted that he was practically ignored by the local people but treated more warmly by some of the imported hopefuls. Perhaps they were hedging their matrimonial bets.
Miles didn't at all like the look in Dunsmore's eyes when he greeted Felicity, though. It was almost proprietary. Oh no you don't. You are not getting your hands on another heiress!
Not that Miles could blame any man for being attracted by Felicity Monahan tonight. She normally favored serviceable garments, but she clearly had finer clothes in her wardrobe. He had been staggered by the first sight of her this evening, adorned as she was by a cream sarsenet creation, the bodice of which did not truly cover her endowments.
As if unaware of its effect, the minx had cheerfully said, "I know grandfather's death was rather recent, but he hated mourning. I stripped some trimming from this to make it plainer."
"So I see." The trimming, he suspected, had filled the low neckline.
"And I am wearing mother's jet beads."
Indeed she was, and wearing them in what was called the "Greek manner," which meant that the long row of square beads was clipped to the edges of her short sleeves and to the jet brooch which nestled intimately between her breasts. It gave the alarming impression of being solely responsible for keeping the dress from falling off her.
And of being inadequate for the task.
Annie had exclaimed at how fine Felicity looked and, indeed, with her hair elaborately dressed, and a black-and-silver silk shawl draped elegantly over her elbows, she was fine enough for Dublin. Miles, however, felt a powerful urge to order her to her room to change into something more suitable.
She's twenty years old, he reminded himself. Many women are married by then. Besides which, his brief tenure as guardian hardly required him to manage her wardrobe. The issue was settled, anyway, by the arrival of the first guests. Miles couldn't help wondering whether Felicity had timed her late entrance with that in mind.
Just what was she up to?
Seeking to attract Dunsmore?
Surely not.
Seeking to melt the resolve of her guardian?
Probably.
She'd love to be able to twist him around her lovely fingers. He still didn't know what her master plan was, but he did know that his intent to take her to England threatened it.
And he was determined to take her to England, no matter how beautiful and seductive she was.
Stepping carefully around the cats which continued to attend Annie, Miles went to greet Dunsmore and draw him away from Felicity toward the punch bowl. A soft brush near his ankles told him he had his own small, black attendant.
Damnation, he'd locked Gardeen in his bedroom.
"Cavanagh," Dunsmore acknowledged, with a smiling nod, though the smile didn't reach his eyes and looked more like a sneer. Either he did despise his present company or he had a most unfortunate facial tic.
Miles kept a cheerful smile in place and picked up Gardeen before she was trodden on. "I've had the good fortune to meet your son, Dunsmore. A fine lad."
At the sight of the cat, Dunsmore stepped back. "Kathleen and I were very fortunate to have such a son." Miles noted then that he was warily tracking the various cats as if he expected them to attack him.
One of the men by the punch bowl passed Dunsmore a glass. "The Lord smiled on you indeed, sir. Without the child, Loughcarrick would have gone to Kathleen's cousin, Michael."
"True," Dunsmore agreed, though his jaw twitched.
That could be because of the cats, however, rather than the comment. Gardeen had established herself on Miles's shoulder, from where she was eying Dunsmore as if he were an intruding but juicy mouse.
The smiling men had similar expressions. Doubtless they did resent an outsider and an Englishman having at least temporary possession of one of the area's finest estates.
Miles made sure everyone's glasses were full. "I don't think I've met a Michael Craig. Does he live in this area?"
"No. In Liverpool." Dunsmore's gaze swept the hostile group. "So, no matter what happens, Loughcarrick will be in English hands."
"Ah, now, it's blood that counts," someone remarked.
"Indeed, it is," Dunsmore replied. "And I am proud to be of English blood."
Miles—quite sure Gardeen had just hissed—gave the man credit for courage and none for discretion. "Kieran actually holds the estate, though, and he's half-Irish, born and bred here. So all will come right in the end. Now, I hear the music starting up for dancing. I hope some of you gentlemen will come to partner the ladies, or we have card tables set up in the library."
That brought about a satisfactory dispersal of the group. Miles saw Dunsmore look longingly at the card room, but then turn toward the hall where the dancing was to take place. He must be a desperate gamester, indeed, to be drawn to penny-point whist with people who disliked him.
When Miles saw Dunsmore capture the first dance with Felicity, however, he wished the man had settled for cards.
Foy Hall was not a large house, but it boasted a spacious, open entrance hall and this had been prepared for dancing. It could hold two sets with comfort and three if necessary. It even had a kind of minstrels' gallery on the upper floor, and two fiddlers and a flute player were doing their part there.
Unfortunately, there were more ladies than gentlemen interested in dancing. Miles wondered if Felicity realized she should ensure they all had their chance. It was really Annie's job, of course, but she was in the drawing room with friends and cats, talking about friends and cats.
Miles plucked a small black feline off his shoulder and held her nose to nose. "I can hardly dance with you up there, little one. Nor can you run around the floor with all this twirling and hopping going on. I think you should go back to the bedroom."
This time the hiss was unmistakable.
"I suppose it's the music that appeals to you. If I put you in the gallery, will you stay there and behave yourself?"
Taking the twitch of a tail and the lack of a hiss as assent, Miles carried the cat up to the little balcony and placed it by the flute-player, who grinned understanding.
"There. You can even guard me from here and leap down if necessary to rescue me from the toils of some other determined female."
The cat immediately leapt onto the balcony ledge and took up what looked like a guarding pose.
Kitten couchant.
Miles returned below, convinced Foy Hall was finally driving him mad. Not mad enough to haunt his seductive ward, however. Instead, he did his duty by asking the plainest wallflower to dance.
Chapter 6
Nuala Yeates was a sturdy girl and rather dull in conversation, but she danced with vigor and enjoyment, so Miles was not displeased. When the dance ended, he made sure to stand and chat with another couple so that when he asked that lady to dance, her partner had little choice other than to ask Nuala to honor him with the set. Beyond that, she would have to take her chances.
He worked in this conscientious manner until supper was served and felt he had earned his refreshment.
A glance showed him Gardeen still patiently on watch, which Miles assumed to mean that he hadn't done anything too foolish yet. Then he shook his head at his nonsense and went off to enjoy duck, roll-mops, shrimp, and delicious cakes.
After supper, his willpower failed and he sna
red Felicity for a dance. She let herself be captured, but then said, "Do you know, I am far too stuffed with pickled herring and cake to romp for a while. Why don't we sit and talk?"
There were no seats in the hall and so he moved toward the drawing room, but she grasped his sleeve. "Not in there." She led the way to the wide stairs curving up from the hall, and he saw a number of couples sitting there. Felicity found a space and subsided in a swirl of cream sarsenet and rose perfume, one he remembered all too well.
"You don't have parties like this at your home?" she asked.
"My parents held dinners. A ball was rare. Why do you ask?"
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "You're working too hard."
"I beg your pardon?"
"You seem to think people need organizing. I don't know what it's like around Clonnagh, but here people just need food, drink, and music and they'll make their own enjoyment. You, dear guardian, are being extremely Sasanach tonight."
Miles didn't appreciate the rebuke. "Is it English to be kind? If I hadn't asked Miss Yeates to dance, she'd doubtless have been standing by the wall all night."
"Nuala? Nonsense. Everyone likes Nuala. She was just waiting her turn. Now, if you're feeling noble, you could befriend Miss Hill and Miss Manning."
To his irritation, Miles realized that the two prettiest girls—two of the imported beauties—had been sitting out most of the evening.
He looked a question at Felicity and she said, "They're strangers, and they think a great deal of themselves. I've coerced some men into doing the pretty, but enough is enough."
"Very well, I'll dance with the pretty wallflowers, but only if you dance with me first."
Felicity flicked open her jet fan and peeped over it coquettishly. "But sir, is it proper?"
"Assuredly. I'll be protecting you from baser men."
"Baser? But they've been friends since I was a child."
"Believe me, Felicity, that gown could turn your closest friend into the basest villain known."
"Really?" She swept the fan down and aside, looking at the revealed flesh as if surprised—thus drawing his eyes to follow the same path until he realized it and looked up again.
To see laughter in her eyes.
"Damnation," he said without heat. "What are you up to now?"
"Amusing myself."
At that moment, Gardeen arrived and leaped into Miles's lap.
On guard? But guarding whom?
Felicity raised the fen again so only her eyes peeped over the top. "Perhaps I'm husband-hunting, guardian dear. If I want control of my money before thirty, I must have a husband."
Miles stroked Gardeen, hoping she was a talisman against rampant lust. "Let me take you to England, then. There's more selection there."
The dark eyes turned watchful. "I wish to marry a local man."
He looked down at the dancers. "If this is the best the area has to offer, cailin. Your choice is limited. There's few enough who are single, and it's clear why they are languishing on the vine."
She closed the fan with a snap, playfulness done with. "Better the devil I know."
"Better no devil at all. Felicity, let me guide your choice."
"I don't think so." Then she spread her fan again and peeped over the lacy edge. "Are you sure you don't want to marry me yourself, Miles Cavanagh?"
In a deliberate imitation, Miles raised the cat and peered between silky ears. "Yes."
She flushed and lowered the fan. "Why not?"
"Are your feelings hurt? Perhaps I want a better housekeeper."
"Then you should hire one!"
Her eyes were bright with anger. It would be interesting to see those eyes flashing with warmer emotions....
Miles lowered the protective cat and stroked her. "Ah, but I'm a penny-pinching fellow, my dear, and would prefer to get one free through marriage."
"In that case, I'd think an heiress would be of great interest."
Miles turned Gardeen and addressed her. "Faith, but I think the woman is after me in truth! First, she flaunts that creamy bosom. Now, she flaunts her wealth." He looked back at his red-faced ward. "Try me again when you're of age, my dear, and I'll consider the offer."
She closed the fan and rapped it hard across his knuckles. "Oaf!"
But she immediately controlled herself, which was both interesting and alarming. He wasn't sure he knew the real Felicity, or what game she was playing.
The music paused and she rose. "You requested a dance, sir, I believe." Without looking back, she headed down to the hall in a swish of silk. Miles returned his feline protector to the music gallery and then followed at his leisure.
Felicity awaited him, her foot tapping with impatience.
The music started for a line dance, and they joined in. Perhaps because of the trace of anger still in Felicity's eyes, Miles was struck again by her beauty. She was certainly no milk-and-water miss. She was strong, brave, clever, kind....
Desirable.
Perhaps he should have kept the cat to hand.
If Felicity had planned to stir his lustful attentions this evening, she was being completely successful.
The dance involved a lot of swinging, and he soon found himself touching Felicity more than he had since that first night. Then he realized she was using the dance to press and rub against him. With another type of woman, he'd think he was being primed for a night of pleasure, but Felicity wasn't that type.
Or was she?
He remembered Joy.
Angered by her behavior, he crushed her tight against him and nipped sharply at her earlobe. Spinning her free, he said, "Don't play with the animals, cailin. They have sharp teeth."
She was angry, but she was also shocked. That convinced him of her fundamental innocence. Devil take it, she had to be stopped from playing these games before some man took advantage.
The dance over, he saw her safely partnered with a middle-aged man and asked the beautiful Miss Hill to be his partner. Despite physical perfection and a determined effort to please—and the fact that she was doubtless highly trained in domestic management—Miss Hill did not stir his interest at all.
Miles stole a look up at Gardeen's ledge to see the cat cleaning herself. Obviously, Miles was safe.
Faith, if he kept up this fancy, he'd be believing it!
But when the set ended, Miles realized Felicity was no longer in the hall.
At first, he was not concerned, for there were doubtless many tasks requiring her attention. Even so, he needed to know where she was.
She wasn't in the drawing room with the older ladies and cats, or in the card room. She wasn't in the refreshment room or on the stairs. She wasn't dealing with some domestic emergency.
There was a sharp frost, so she would hardly be in the garden.
There were few remaining possibilities, and one alarmed him.
He went to her bedroom door.
Miles had never been in Felicity's bedroom and hesitated to intrude. As he debated it, however, Gardeen appeared and wove around his ankles, miaowing. Taking that as a sign, Miles knocked. When there was no answer, he turned the knob and walked in.
Felicity was there, standing far too close to Rupert Dunsmore. They turned, both wearing insolently disdainful expressions.
"What the devil are you doing here, Dunsmore?" Miles asked.
"Miss Monahan invited me," the man replied, taking out a gold snuffbox and inhaling a pinch of the powder.
"Felicity?"
She tossed her head. "Heavens above, Miles, are you going to play the grim guardian? I wanted to talk to Mr. Dunsmore about Kieran, that's all."
"In your bedroom?" There was no evidence, but Miles would bet Argonaut that these two had kissed in this room. Felicity had invited Dunsmore here and let him kiss her?
His hands became fists.
She sighed with impatience. "The house is full of people and we wanted privacy."
"I'm sure your discussion could have waited until tomorrow." Miles stepped back
from the door. "I believe you wish to leave, Dunsmore."
Dunsmore eyed him with considerable hostility. "But that would leave Felicity here alone with you, sir."
"I am her guardian."
"A laughable conceit."
"Not at all. It is both full and legal. And as her guardian, I might rethink my tolerance of your improper behavior and make this a matter for pistols."
"Well, really!" Felicity exclaimed.
"Be quiet," Miles snapped.
"I might welcome that," said Dunsmore icily.
"I certainly would."
Felicity stepped forward. "I won't be quiet. I forbid you to fight over me!"
Miles ignored her, keeping his eyes on Dunsmore. He wanted the man absolutely certain that if he took one more irregular step with Felicity, he'd die.
Perhaps Dunsmore understood the message, for he wet his finely shaped lips. "Since Miss Monahan does not wish any fuss, I will avoid it. This time."
"Very wise."
As Dunsmore walked toward the door, Gardeen leaped onto the back of a nearby chair and hissed. The man jumped with alarm, then snarled back at the cat before hurrying on his way.
Miles closed the door and faced his ward.
"This is most improper," Felicity said, color high. "To be in here with the door shut..."
"It was even more improper to be in here with Dunsmore."
"I'd trust him rather more than you!"
"And what have I done to deserve that?"
"You bit me!"
"That was a warning, not a seduction."
She looked at him with troubled eyes. "You want me."
"No—"
"Don't deny it! I can sense it." She ran her fan nervously through her hand. "It... it unnerves me."
She was right, damn it. "Dunsmore wants you, too."
"Not in the same way."
Had she been in here with Dunsmore because she felt safe with him? She needed some wits shaken into her.
"Felicity, you're a very attractive, very rich woman, and many men will want you. Yes, in a sense I want you, but I won't attack you. I won't even try to seduce you. I wouldn't say as much for Dunsmore."
"He won't attack me either."