Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

"I'm sorry," she whispered. He thought it was a general repentance, but then she drew something out of her capacious pocket.

  One of the dogs whined.

  Of course. He'd forgotten Gardeen.

  She placed the small cat in Miles's hands, and only then did he realize it was a limp, cold form.

  "He killed her," she said.

  As a deadweight, the young cat weighed scarcely anything.

  Miles looked at Felicity. "Why?" It encompassed more than the death, but that was all she answered.

  "She scratched him."

  Then she turned and limped up the stairs.

  Likely as not, he thought, all the tears she'd shed had been for this little life snuffed out. He stroked the black fur, hardly able to believe that the cat wouldn't stir back to life again.

  Poor Gardeen. And poor Dunsmore, for there would be vengeance for this senseless act.

  Then his stepfather was there.

  "A cat? Poor thing. What happened to it?"

  "Like many guardians, she fell with honor in her task."

  "A guardian of the guardian, eh? Plato would not have approved. Where did she come from?"

  "She's one of Annie's brood."

  Colum's eyes widened. "St. Bridget defend us, then, for she'll not be happy at this. And nor will the one who caused the death." He flapped the fine linen serviette in his hand and draped it over the corpse, then rang the silver bell on the table. When a footman appeared, he said, "I think your master would like the small creature buried."

  Miles felt strangely reluctant to surrender the body, but he could hardly wander the house carrying her. He folded the serviette around the cat and handed her over. "See her laid softly, Gerald. By the sundial, I think. In the herb garden."

  "Yes, sir." Gerald O'Farrell carried the corpse away with the respectful majesty only an Irishman could offer a dead cat. Miles let his stepfather steer him into the dining room.

  "Kidnapping, did you say? In this area?"

  "I think they were from elsewhere. Don't forget she—Felicity—is a considerable heiress."

  "Even so. Terrible thing, terrible. And how did the little cat come to be involved?"

  "She adopted me."

  "And one of Annie's, you say? Oh dear, oh dear." And for once, Colum did seem struck to somberness by an event. "She will be in a state over it. And it's rare indeed that one of her little ones takes to a stranger. Oh dear, oh dear."

  "I suppose I should write and tell her."

  "Only if you want her ire directed upon the malefactor."

  "I'd like nothing better." Unfortunately, Miles could not imagine Annie Monahan's ire amounting to much. His own could, however. He now had a personal grudge against Dunsmore, and began to contemplate a number of ways he could make the man's life thoroughly unpleasant. He'd start by checking out his creditors.

  "But come and eat," said Colum. "Come and eat. Oh, don't worry about your dirt. Your mother won't mind."

  Miles thought his mother would mind a great deal anyone's sitting on the new satin seats when covered in mud, and eating with foully dirty hands. He wondered at what point the glow would wear off and his mother and stepfather would come to blows.

  "I'd rather clean up a bit, Colum. I'll be down again shortly."

  When he left the dining room, however, he was drawn outside again, needing to be sure his little guardian was being suitably treated. Accompanied by Donn and Dubh, he went to the herb garden where he found Gerald had already dug the small grave, despite the frosted ground, and was laying the cat in it. Donn and Dubh sat on either side of the grave, strangely as if on honor guard, and stayed there while Miles and Gerald filled the hole and built a cairn of white stones over it.

  Miles sent the man back to his proper duties and stood for a moment in the winter-bleak garden to mourn an unlikely friend and protector. And to vow vengeance.

  Then Miles went to his rooms and found Hennigan waiting for him. The valet clucked with distress over the considerable amount of Irish earth adhering to his master's garments and began to strip layers off him, placing them carefully on the wooden floor beyond the edge of the Axminster.

  Miles was down to his drawers and shirt before he thought of something. Telling his valet to prepare a bath, he washed his hands, pulled on a clean pair of pantaloons, and went quickly down the corridor to knock on the door of the best guest room.

  There was no answer.

  Alarmed, he threw the door open—to find Felicity sitting despondently on the bed in her knee-length shift. She immediately straightened, pulling a corner of the coverlet over her bare legs. "Get out!"

  Miles continued in and shut the door. "If you'd answered my knock, even to telling me to go away, I wouldn't have intruded."

  "Go away, then."

  "Too late now. I'll leave as soon as I have your word that you'll not leave the estate without my clear permission."

  She closed her eyes. "Oh, when will you stop bullying me?"

  "When you're of age."

  She opened her eyes, but only to stare at him miserably.

  He went closer to lean on one of the bulbous posts of the bed. "Believe me, Felicity, I'm even more determined now to prevent your marriage to that villain. If necessary, I'll tell the whole household what's going on and keep you under lock and key."

  "Oh, damn you." But it was more of a hopeless whisper than a cry of defiance.

  "And, in case you have hopes, Dunsmore won't be riding up to the door like Lochinvar to carry you to freedom. He's on his way to Scotland."

  "What? He's gone without me?" It rang with shock and outrage.

  Miles thumped the post so the bed rocked. "Damnation, Felicity! How can you still want to marry a man who would kill a defenseless cat?"

  "Perhaps because he could kill a defenseless cat."

  He understood a little, then.

  "You weren't able to stop him," he pointed out ruthlessly, "and Dunsmore's wife or not, you won't be able to stop him from harming Kieran."

  She closed her eyes for a revealing moment, but made no response.

  Miles sighed and sat on the corner of the bed, well away from her. "Dunsmore will be gone for near a week, Felicity. It'll be a day and a half before he gets to Scotland, and longer before he's back. I've told Tooley not to bring him back himself."

  "A week." It was whispered, but as one might say, "Fairy gold."

  It told him so much about her situation that it nearly broke his heart.

  "We both need this time. Give me your word that you won't leave Clonnagh without my permission for a week."

  She appeared so exhausted he wasn't even sure she was capable of a coherent response, but then she said, "You have my word, Miles. But just a week. No longer."

  "At the moment, cailin, a week seems like heaven."

  His anger had drained away and he wanted to hold her, but she'd doubtless reject all comfort.

  She'd keep her given word, though, so Miles felt safe in leaving her there alone.

  * * *

  When Lady Aideen came to tell her niece that her bath was ready, she found Felicity asleep, collapsed on the bed like a rag doll dropped by a child. She smoothed tangled black hair from the girl's forehead, aware that more was in hand here than a simple attack on the road.

  In another case, she'd think a man to blame, but there were few men on earth less likely to distress a woman than Miles.

  Did he have a romantic interest in Felicity? There was something between them, she'd swear it. For one thing, Miles wasn't in Melton. Anything that could overwhelm hunting in his mind was significant.

  And if Miles had a romantic interest in Felicity, how did Felicity feel about it?

  Aideen knew the girl wasn't a conventional miss, and she rather thought she wasn't much interested in men. That was what Colum said, anyway. But Colum hadn't told all. Aideen respected her husband's right to keep his counsel about his family's affairs, but if it were becoming an issue in her family it was a different matter entirely.

&nbs
p; And what of that cat? She'd never known Miles to be fond of cats—he was a horse-and-dog man—and yet he'd looked at the sad creature as if it were a dead child.

  "He killed her," Felicity had said. "Because she scratched him."

  Who was this unpleasant "he?"

  Aideen summoned a maid to help her tuck Felicity in bed, looking forward to a juicy tangle to sort out.

  Chapter 9

  As Hennigan shaved him the next morning, Miles reflected upon the changes since he'd last been shaved in this way in his home.

  His peaceful life was now in turmoil.

  He was heading for a confrontation with Rupert Dunsmore which might well result in bloodshed.

  His head still felt cracked.

  And so did his heart.

  The last thing on Miles's mind a few weeks ago had been marriage. If he'd given the matter any thought at all, it was that in a few year's time he'd look for a sensible, well-bred young woman whom he found congenial, someone suitable to be Countess of Kilgoran.

  He had not intended to become overly fond of a dark-haired, poorly-raised jade who racketed from one headstrong disaster to another.

  And who was devoting her considerable will to marrying another.

  It seemed Felicity had managed to crash her way into his heart, however, and was lodged there quite firmly. He found hope in some of their encounters, but then remembered her stating clearly that she wished to be on the boat to Scotland.

  "Sir! My apologies!"

  Miles's sudden movement had caused the valet to nick him. As they stanched the trickle of blood, Miles marked down another wound to Felicity Monahan's tally.

  She'd claimed to be a dangerous woman and was proving her words true.

  A wise man would flee someone like that. Miles, however, was legally bound to her for four more weeks.

  As he buttoned his shirt, Miles reflected that at least he'd have one week of peace. He could trust Felicity's given word. Surely in a week he could convince her that marriage to Dunsmore was impossible.

  He laughed out loud, causing his valet to flash him a startled look. But the thought of convincing Felicity Monahan of anything was ludicrous, particularly now Dunsmore had succeeded in putting the idea in her head that he would break Kieran's neck as easily as he'd broken Gardeen's.

  He might, too. That was the rub. Though at heart a coward, Dunsmore had all the mean ruthlessness of the true bully.

  Miles decided he needed his mother's help.

  He completed his dressing, then went to knock on the door to Aideen's sitting room. He waited cautiously for permission to enter, for these days one never knew what one would find. His mother was alone, however, sitting at a small table by a window, attending to correspondence.

  "Come in, my dear! I am just writing to Ellen. You must add a few words. Such a fretful mother as she is becoming. It's so droll! Here she is lamenting little Hugh's addiction to climbing trees when she once attempted the rose trellis on the west wall!"

  He grinned as he kissed her cheek. "You needn't convince a horse-breeder that qualities pass down the line."

  "Felicity seems to have avoided the amiable indolence of the Monahans."

  Trust his mother to bring matters straight to the point. "Since she arrived here in a state of exhaustion, I can't see how you know whether she's indolent or not."

  "Don't be foolish, dear. The way she gritted her teeth was far from indolent. Or amiable, for that matter. What have you been doing to the poor child?"

  "Has she been blackening my name?" he demanded. "I've been trying to save her from disaster, that's all."

  "She said nothing, my dear. It is all my own interpretation. So, what disaster looms?"

  "It's complicated."

  "A man," Aideen stated. "Is there a girl born who does not at some point fix her heart on a scoundrel? But you must have handled it badly."

  Miles threw himself into a chair. "Don't be thinking this is some simple infatuation, Mother." And he told her the story.

  His mother nodded thoughtfully. "One can see how heavily the welfare of a child would weigh on a warmhearted girl. It's a shame those farmyard creatures didn't kill this Dunsmore."

  "What a bloodthirsty woman you are. Anyway, it would have been disastrous. Warts and all, he's an Englishman. The military would have been down on the place like a blight."

  "Unfortunately true. Dunsmore will be back soon, though, and up to his old tricks. Short of a dungeon, it will be impossible to keep Felicity here against her will. And how can we be sure the vile man will not harm the child if thwarted?"

  "We can't. That's the most damnable part of this." Miles rose from the chair to pace. "I'd like to think Dunsmore would hesitate to hurt his own son, but that's stretching my faith to breaking point. I do think, however, that he'll hold his hand if there's no point to it."

  "You mean if Felicity were out of reach, he might leave the boy alone?"

  "I think so."

  His mother tapped a finger thoughtfully on the glossy burled walnut. "It would be even better if the boy were under a watchful eye."

  "Wonderfully better. But how could we arrange that?"

  She winked at him. "Leave that to me. You attend to your willful ward Try to convince her to abandon her plans. If not, you'll have to take her to Melton by force."

  "Good Lord, I was joking when I said that!"

  "What alternative is there? If she remains determined, she'll soon be off again. You presumably wish to be in Melton, not here trying to prevent the inevitable. Take her with you, and Dunsmore will have much more trouble contacting her. Involve those Rogues of yours and it will be close to impossible. Since it's obvious that the man is deep in debt and has run to the limit of the money he can squeeze out of his son's estate, there's always hope he'll come to a dreadful end without your intervention."

  Miles shook his head. "Whatever became of the notion of the weaker sex?"

  "It has only ever been a convenient fable, my dear."

  * * *

  Felicity awoke, aware almost instantly of being in a strange bed. Since it seemed an effort to open her eyes, she lazily analyzed the strange aromas—lavender and rose, and a wood rather than a peat fire. She noted a lack of the dusty, musty smell which was normal to her, the smell of Foy.

  Then she remembered everything and raised heavy lids to see the gracious elegance of Clonnagh.

  Miles's home was not large—only a little larger than Foy, in fact—but it was of more modern construction and greater elegance. Long windows and light interiors gave the impression of greater space, and excellent housekeeping was apparent. Felicity was sure she'd find no dust in even the most awkward corners of this room, no mildew near the windows, no worm in the wood.

  She sighed, knowing her mind was dancing over trivialities, trying to avoid deeper matters.

  Such as the sound a pistol butt made when it knocked a man insensible.

  Or the sight of Miles sprawled unconscious in the mud.

  Or the look on Rupert's face when he broke Gardeen's neck.

  She flung an arm over her eyes.

  It had all seemed so easy in the planning. Since clear reason said she had no choice but to marry Rupert Dunsmore, and since his threats against Kieran had intensified, she had decided to get it done. With Miles watching her so closely and the local people disapproving, she'd not wanted to try eloping from Foy. Once Miles proposed a journey, however, she saw her way. Somewhere along the road they could immobilize him, and once at sea, no one could catch them.

  She hadn't counted on the sweet intimacy of a lazy journey, or on the reality of what it would take to stop her unwelcome guardian from guarding her.

  Both her unwelcome guardians.

  She pushed herself up in the bed to study the raw spots on each heel. Damn that Dublin boot-maker. That was the last time he'd have her custom. And yet, in a way, she was glad of the punishment. Without it, she wouldn't be able to face Miles today.

  Even with wounds to soothe her conscien
ce, she still wasn't looking forward to their next encounter. He'd surely be angry at the trick she'd played and the injury she'd caused him.

  If he'd put all that aside, he'd blame her for Gardeen's death. With reason. She should have remembered the cat and left her safe with him.

  If he could forgive her for all that, he'd still be after answers to questions. Answers she didn't want to give.

  And, if he didn't press her for answers, he'd be acting the friend again, making the passing hours sweet with understanding and laughter.

  Weakening her resolve.

  She sank her head in her hands. Each day made it harder to turn her back upon the warm sun of Miles's friendship and give herself to the cold wind and frost of Rupert Dunsmore.

  What's more, Miles tempted her to foolishness.

  Foolishness like telling him all.

  She launched herself from the bed, as if movement could shake off such thoughts. Seeing the appalling state of her hair, she began to attack it with the brush.

  What good would the truth do, when Miles was powerless to change the way things were? She was no damsel waiting for the gallant knight to rescue her. If a way out existed, she'd have found it for herself.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she assured herself they were from the pain of her knotted hair.

  The simple fact was that Kieran was Rupert's son. Nothing could change that.

  She could, if she wished, prove the boy was her child, not Kathleen Craig's, but that would achieve nothing other than to lose him Kathleen's fortune. Kieran would still be Rupert's son, and Rupert would still have all the legal power over him.

  There was always the option of killing Rupert, but she'd found there was a place in her that balked at taking human life. She held the idea to her, however. If her sacrifice did not keep her son safe, then somehow she would find the strength to take that final, dreadful step.

  Killing Rupert before the marriage was pointless, though, for Kieran would pass into the care of Kathleen's cousin.

  Would it improve matters to explain everything to Miles, including that she contemplated murder?

  She laughed bitterly. He'd have her clapped in a madhouse.

  She rang for a maid and, to please Miles, had herself arrayed in the illusion of a well-bred young lady. She discovered with relief that her soft slippers did not rub the blisters on her heels, so she didn't have to limp down to the breakfast room.