Dangerous Joy

by Jo Beverley

  Miles shook his head. "It's like trying to stop up a volcano. You'll always find some way to explode into disaster."

  Felicity hadn't thought of it that way, but he was right. Her energy seethed, stirred by her fears for Kieran, heated by her desire for Miles. If it didn't find outlet, it exploded unpredictably. "I can't help it. I've never been good at inactivity and waiting."

  "Anything else is damn dangerous at the moment. Go to the breakfast room and stay there. Please."

  Felicity was happy enough to slip into the relative calm of the breakfast room and take tea with Beth, Blanche, and an ever-changing small group of men. She wondered if they were taking turns out of courtesy or truly welcomed a brief respite from the noise and horseplay in the rest of the house.

  Because she had a strong taste for high-spirits, there were moments when Felicity wished to go out and join in, but she had sense enough to know that this was no mixed-company Irish festivity fueled by music and dancing. This was men involved in one of their own strange pagan rites.

  Miles never visited the ladies at all.

  She suspected he was getting drunk, and worried about the effect of alcohol on male desire. It would not suit her, once she went to his room, to find him out cold and sodden.

  As it was, for her the evening was a prelude to passion, and she spent it like a puppet. She smiled and talked, and even played a few hands of cards while white-hot desire raced down her veins and sparkled back up her nerves, causing her to shift in her chair to try to ease the restless ache between her legs.

  It was as well Miles didn't come. She'd probably throw him down on the Axminster carpet and rip his clothes off.

  Eventually, blessedly, the first men began to leave and others soon followed. Felicity went out into the hall with Beth and Blanche to wave them off. There wasn't a completely steady step among them, and some had to be hoisted half-conscious onto horses and escorted by a groom.

  There was still no sign of Miles. Damnation, she'd bet he was out cold under a table somewhere.

  As the last ones were being steered in the right direction, Felicity slipped away to find him. If he were soused, she'd throw a bucket of water over him!

  She found him alone in the billiard room, in his shirtsleeves, rumpled but potting balls with a skill that did not suggest a fuddled head. He looked up and frowned. "Do you want to play?"

  "Yes." But she made no move to pick up a cue.

  When he understood, color touched his cheeks. "No," he said and turned to send a red slamming into a pocket.

  He missed.

  Felicity left, and though she would dearly have loved to see his reaction, she didn't look back. If he were of a mind to be nobly stubborn, there was no point in fighting him head-on.

  The house was subsiding restlessly as Felicity headed to her bedroom. Distant clatters told of servants tidying the place. Half-eaten food and half-empty glasses stood as ghosts of merriment. Like ghosts, the excitement of the party still wove through the air, and she suspected that everyone felt the same restlessness that she did.

  Though hopefully not all in the same way.

  Hal passed her with a smiling "good night," heading for the room he shared with Blanche. Felicity suspected his restless energy was very like her own.

  She rang for Harriet and prepared for bed but, once ready, she had nothing to do but wait. As she had said, she was not good at waiting; nor was her restless body. She roamed the room, watched by an impassive cat.

  Once, Gardeen had stopped Miles from attacking her. Would she prevent Felicity from attacking Miles?

  All she heard from the next room was silence. Drat the man. Was he going to stay downstairs all night missing billiard shots? She pulled on her robe, intending to go in search of him, but stopped herself.

  That assuredly was not the way.

  Because she was listening, she heard Beth and Lucien come up together, talking together softly and laughing once. How wonderful it must be to head toward a loving bed in a leisurely manner, in perfect accord and anticipation.

  Then she heard Miles's door close. Someone had entered the next room, but it could be Hennigan. She ran over and put her ear to the adjoining door, trying to interpret the faint sounds.

  Then the door closed again and she heard voices. Good. Now she had her bearings. They were both in there. She leaned against the door, for once waiting patiently until sounds told her that the valet had gone.

  Now the time had come, her simmering desire was soured by pure fear. Apart from that night at Clonnagh, when she had at least been invited, she had never approached a man in her life.

  Well, Joy had, perhaps, but that had been acting. Tonight was no time for acting. It was a time for honest lust.

  When she entered his room, Miles's first reaction would almost certainly be that same flat "no." She had to decide how to proceed from there.

  Weeping?

  Reasoned arguments?

  Attempted rape?

  With a wry smile at that thought, she studied herself in the mirror. Her high-necked, long-sleeved, flannelette nightgown and plaited hair tucked into a nightcap were hardly the equipment of a seductress.

  The cap could go for sure.

  Then she undid the plait and brushed her hair out.

  The next question was, naked or not?

  Sure and a naked body was supposed to drive any man mad, but whatever burned between herself and Miles could sear away plate armor if it had a mind to.

  Could it break down the resistance in a man's mind, though? Miles was determined to be the good guardian and even protect her from herself.

  She was damnably tired of being protected.

  Before her fears could overwhelm even the power of her need, Felicity turned the key and opened the adjoining door.

  Miles looked sharply at her. He was standing by the fire, finally drinking something golden from a glass. His brown-velvet banjan was only loosely cinched at the waist and left no doubt he was naked beneath it. Whether a woman's naked body could drive a man mad or not, a glimpse of this man's naked chest was having a powerful effect on her.

  As if he knew, he pulled the edges together and tied the belt more tightly. "What do you want?"

  "You."

  She could almost see him assume resistance like armor. "What new game is this? You don't want to risk pregnancy. Or have you thought of a way to use another child in this battle?"

  "I'm not using Kieran!"

  He shook his head. "No, of course not. I didn't mean that. But he's being used." Gently, he added, "We don't want another child at risk, surely. And I told you. I'm sorry, but I cannot promise to be as noble as I was at Clonnagh."

  "It doesn't matter." It did, but the wild need was driving her. It was a hunger like to that of starvation, taking no heed of sense or caution.

  His hand on the mantelpiece became a fist. "It matters to me. I know I may not be able to hold you. I won't increase the risk that you'll take my child when you go."

  She stepped forward. "Can't we at least touch, kiss? If you knew how I ached..."

  He stepped back. "Oh, I know. How can you think I don't?"

  "Faith, I love you!"

  "And I love you, but we're not talking about love. We're talking about lust. The love won't die, and the lust will wait. There'll be better times than this."

  "What if there aren't?" Desperate in the face of his resistance, she began to undo the mother-of-pearl buttons at her throat.

  He strode over and seized her hands, imprisoning them in a bruising grip. "I will not be seduced." True anger flashed in his eyes. "It's insulting, in fact, that you think the sight of a breast will move me from my course. Do you think you're the only one with any willpower?"

  She snatched her hands free. "God, do you know how tired I am of being lectured?"

  "Perhaps you should change your ways, then."

  "Devil a bit." Before he could prevent it, she slipped her hand inside his dressing gown to stroke him. "Try telling me, Miles Cavanagh, th
at you're not burning for me."

  He moved well out of range. "I've already admitted it." Suddenly he turned away. "Hell and the devil, Felicity, apart from the risk of a child, I'm still your guardian, and I'm trying to do the right thing. If you seduce me—and you could—do you really think it will leave us any the better off?"

  "It would give me something..."

  He turned, suddenly alert. "When you leave? What are you planning?"

  She hastily gathered her wits. "You can't expect me to tell you my plans, now can you?"

  "Yes. We're not enemies."

  Guiltily aware of Rupert's note, Felicity struck out. "We might as well be, for all the good it does me!"

  It was as if she'd hit him. His voice was expressionless when he said, "Felicity, go back to your room and leave the key on my side of the door. I clearly need it more than you."

  She'd lost.

  She stared at him, seeking another way, a way that would break him. But then she realized at last that anything achieved at such a price would be mere ashes, never flame.

  Once in her room, Felicity heard the key turn in the lock. Then, a moment later, she heard her door to the corridor being locked, too. So, she thought wearily, we are back to war. But at least if she weakened and thought of going to Rupert tonight, she couldn't.

  She scratched a hole in the frost on the window and looked down the dark driveway to where a coach was doubtless waiting with Rupert growing more and more furious within it. As long as he didn't have Kieran with him, he could choke on fury and she'd be glad of it.

  But his rage tonight would be paid for later if she ended up in his power. And she would be in his power unless the Rogues' plan worked. She sent an earnest prayer that by some miracle it would.

  Then she shed her wrap and climbed into bed where she relieved her burning body for herself.

  It was a poor substitute.

  Chapter 21

  The next day everyone seemed to be suffering the aftereffects of the celebrations—or in the case of Miles and Felicity, of other things. There was a meet, however, so the men gathered for breakfast in their hunting pink, looking forward to a day spent riding despite a light drizzle and the gloom of a heavy sky.

  Felicity, Beth, and Blanche were there, and when the post-bag contained no word from Miles's mother, the gloom entered Felicity's soul. Or rather, given her nature, a roiling, threatening storm built there.

  "Surely we should have word," she demanded of Miles.

  He looked up from the two-day-old copy of the Times that had just arrived. "Not necessarily. It says here that there was a storm in the Irish Sea the day after our crossing. All ships, even the mail packets, were held in port, some for an extra day. Doubtless Dunsmore was delayed by it. Or, even better, caught in it." He smiled. "You can enjoy the thought of him casting up his accounts."

  Felicity wished she could. She wished she could tell Miles about the letter. She felt as tangled as a knotted rope. But if she told him, he'd be more on his guard. He might even lock her up day and night.

  "What's the matter?" he asked. "I thought you'd like that picture."

  "At the moment, I don't much care where Rupert Dunsmore is, as long as he doesn't have Kieran with him."

  "Tomorrow," he said. "I'm sure we'll have news tomorrow."

  She dropped her knife and fork onto her plate with a clatter. "And what will we do if there isn't news? Dear heaven, why did you have to drag me so far away? Even if I knew Kieran was in danger, it would take me days to get to him!" Frightened by her own outburst, Felicity covered her face with her hands. Beth came to put her arms around her.

  Miles's voice was hard, however, when he said, "If I'd left you in Ireland, you'd have married Dunsmore. Neither you nor Kieran would be better for it."

  Felicity regained control and uncovered her face. "I'd be near him."

  "I understand your fears," Miles said gently. "But your son is safe, and we will have news—either a letter from my mother or Dunsmore turning up."

  With enormous willpower, Felicity prevented herself from sharing a glance with Beth.

  The horses were announced, and Miles rose with the other men, putting aside the paper. "Can I trust you to be here when I return, Felicity?"

  Felicity picked up the paper to conceal her indecision. What if another message came, one that in some way forced her hand?

  Beth squeezed her shoulder. "On a day like this, only mad Meltonians would step outside. I assure you, we are not going anywhere."

  Felicity understood and almost wept with relief. If she stayed in the house, Rupert could never contact her. She looked up at Miles and even smiled. "Yes, I'll be here when you return."

  He nodded and picked up Gardeen from by his feet, placing her in Felicity's lap. "Make sure she stays close, too."

  "Why? Do you think she's in danger?"

  "It's time for Dunsmore to turn up, and he seems to like hurting cats."

  She stroked the sleepy cat. "That's because he's afraid of them."

  "What a poor specimen he is."

  She glanced up. "Do you think there is nothing to fear from cats?"

  "Nothing more than a scratch or two."

  "Ah, Miles, at times I wonder about you. But off you go to hunt the truly harmless fox."

  As soon as the men were on their way, Felicity headed for the comfort of the piano and spent the next hour honing her skill with scales and exercises. Beth and Blanche came in and sat to read.

  Felicity looked up, her fingers still running up and down the keyboard. "Isn't the library or drawing room more cozy?"

  "Not particularly," said Beth. "And we're guarding you. If word is getting out to Toad Dunsmore, we don't want him to hear that you are free to do as you please. It might stir even his sluggish intelligence."

  "He's not particularly stupid."

  "I'm just being malicious. He is, of a surety, a toad."

  "No," said Felicity, contemplatively rippling an arpeggio. "A weasel. He has a rather sharp nose and keeps his belly close to the ground. Toads are fine animals, after all. Very useful in the garden."

  Beth laughed. "Surely weasels have their virtues, too. Be that as it may, we will call him the weasel. And for his twitching nose, we will appear to guard you."

  "Thank you. It will doubtless be tedious."

  "Only if you insist on playing scales all morning."

  Felicity took the hint and moved into a Bach piece which still provided plenty of discipline for her fingers.

  The room settled into calm, with only the occasional crack from the logs in the big fire to disturb the harmony. Inside, however, Felicity felt as calm as the volcano she'd been likened to.

  Beth had been right when she'd said there was nothing outside the long windows to tempt anyone but an avid hunter, but it called to her anyway. She found herself looking down the windswept drive, expecting to see something or someone coming, probably Rupert with Kieran by his side.

  As her fingers moved with discipline over the keyboard, her mind scrambled to imagine what the weasel might be doing and planning. Would he believe she was a prisoner, unable to obey his instructions? That should hold him in check for a while.

  If he realized she was planning to thwart him, he would doubtless return to Ireland to secure his trump card, Kieran. Willpower couldn't make her believe Kilgoran impregnable.

  She needed news from Lady Aideen.

  She needed the proof of Rupert's fraud, perjury, and theft.

  She needed action.

  Miles promised a letter from Ireland tomorrow, but how soon could they expect to hear from Cheltenham? Not for a few more days at least.

  They were going to be very long days....

  Beth came over to lean on the piano. "Are you all right?"

  "Of course. Why?"

  "You've been playing the same piece for over half-an-hour, faster and faster. I'm amazed your fingers can manage."

  At that point, Felicity's automatic working of the Bach Prelude collapsed into discord
and she rested her hands on the keys. "I'm not good at waiting."

  "You need distraction. Would you like to play billiards?"

  "No!" But then Felicity regretted the exclamation for a number of reasons. "I can hardly play the game," she said. "Miles taught me a little at Clonnagh." Such images and sensations swamped her that she couldn't continue.

  "Clearly a disturbing time," Beth said. "Well, then, we could play cards."

  "No." Felicity rose and closed the piano. "Billiards is an excellent idea. Does Blanche play?"

  "Too well. Don't let her set the stakes. Billiards, Blanche?"

  The actress immediately looked up, bright-eyed. "Lovely idea. This novel is remarkably tedious. If people have a mind to preach, they should write sermons."

  As she led the way to the billiard room, Beth said, "I told you to try Sense and Sensibility."

  "It sounded so dull, but it can't be duller than Coelebs In Search Of a Wife. Did Beth warn you, Felicity, that I'm rather good at billiards?"

  "She did. And not to lay wagers with you over it."

  "Bother." As they entered the room, Blanche lit the lamps. "I was hoping to win your white rosebuds."

  "Are you entitled to them?" Felicity asked with a grin.

  Blanche winked. "I've not been entitled to white rosebuds since a child. The contrast is part of my allure." She took a cue, lined up the three balls, and neatly sent one red into a pocket. "I'm sure you can't be attached to those trimmings. They don't become you."

  "They aren't supposed to. They're to warn off invaders. Aren't you afraid they'll work?"

  "I can warn off invaders in any number of ways. And anyway, these days, I only have one, he's already aboard, and he's more than enough for any woman."

  "I gather he wants to marry you."

  "He's a mad romantic and thinks he can shape the world to suit his rosy vision."

  "That seems to be a Roguish tendency."

  "Don't discount it," said Beth, coming over with her own cue. "As a group they can command the evil power of rank and money."

  "Speaking as a member of one of Ireland's oldest families," said Felicity, "and the owner of a ridiculously large fortune, I see nothing wrong with rank and money at all." She turned to Blanche. "Of course I'll stake those silly rosebuds. But what would you wager against them?"