Tempest

by Sandra Dubay

  "Miss?" Charlotte had returned.

  "Did Tilden tell you anything?" Dyanna demanded. Does she know when her mistress is planning to leave?"

  "She said she did not know," Charlotte told her. "She said Miss Naysmith had planned to stay only a day or two, but that Lord DeVille asked her to stay longer."

  "That's impossible!" Dyanna snapped, refusing to believe that Justin was not as anxious for Caro's departure as she, Dyanna, was.

  Charlotte lifted her shoulders. "I'm sorry, miss. That is what she told me."

  "That may be what her mistress told her, but I know better."

  Charlotte said nothing. There was nothing to saynothing, at least, that Dyanna would hear without growing angry. From a pocket in her skirt, the maid drew a letter.

  "This came for you, miss."

  Dyanna took it. Turning it over, she recognized the familiar seal. "It's from Geoffrey. I'm surprised Justin did not see it in the morning post."

  "It came by messenger. I happened to overhear him asking for you when one of the maids answered the door."

  Listlessly, Dyanna broke the seal. Geoffrey had begun showering her with letters once more after the Barkleighs' Ball. She wondered, suddenly, why she had treated him so cavalierly. After all, at least he did not ignore her in favor of some simpering woman to whom he'd been attached since childhood.

  Her eyes skimmed over the letter's contents. Meet him in the park, he entreated. They would walk and talk or, if she preferred a more private setting, go driving.

  "I'll go," she decided. "I'll go and be damned to Justin DeVille and his fine Miss Naysmith!"

  At precisely two o'clock that afternoon, Dyanna entered Hyde Park. Her face was shielded by a broad-brimmed straw hat and by a fringed silk parasol held aloft on a slender bamboo handle. Since receiving Geoffrey's letter, she had further fixed her determination to be agreeable to him. Justin had graciously agreed to take Miss Naysmith to the theater in Covent Garden that night. Of course Dyanna could not go, he'd decreed before she'd even had the chance to ask. As with all other things, her much-vaunted mourning precluded her appearing anywhere as frivolous and public as the theater.

  "Dyanna?" A voice hailed her from the lane that ran through the park. "There you are! You came!"

  Geoffrey was conservatively dressedfor Geoffrey. His suite of gold moiré was worn over a scarlet-and-white striped waistcoat and scarlet-and-white striped stockings. His cravat was of silk edged with delicate lace.

  He bent low over Dyanna's hand as he reached her side. I did not dare hope," he declared fervently. "I have pleaded for your company so many times."

  "I know, Geoffrey," she admitted. "I have treated you badly."

  "I have put much of it down to DeVille's influence," he told her. "He can be very . . . persuasive."

  Dyanna looked away. "Don't let's talk about Justin, please."

  "Nothing would please me more. Shall we walk?"

  "I would prefer to ride, if you don't mind."

  Ever obliging, Geoffrey offered her his arm and walked with her to the lane where his carriage waited.

  With Charlotte somewhat precariously settled next to the driver, and Geoffrey and Dyanna seated side by side on the tufted leather squabs within, the carriage set off. Geoffrey turned to Dyanna and said:

  "They say your guardian has a houseguest. He has been seen squiring her about town."

  "Yes," Dyanna admitted. "Miss Naysmith. Caroline. She is, I'm told, a neighbor of his from Devonshire."

  "Caroline Naysmith! I'd say there is a deal more to their relationship than mere neighborliness."

  "What do you mean?" she demanded.

  He fixed her with a reproachful look. "Dyanna, Dyanna, do you pay no heed at all to the things I say to you? Have you been so fascinated with the dashing Lord DeVille that you have not spared me the slightest bit of attention?"

  "I'm sorry, Geoffrey," she murmured, blushing. "I admit I have been preoccupied with Justin and what is happening at DeVille House. Tell me again about why the name Naysmith should be familiar to me."

  "That first night, at Surnmersleigh House, when we were in the library, I told you that Sebastian DeVille's mistress was named Georgiana, Lady Naysmith."

  "That's right! I racked my brain trying to think of where I had heard the name. I should have remembered. Forgive me, Geoffrey."

  "How could I not? But now, Lady Naysmith's daughter is a guest in Lord DeVille's home. It looks to me as though, since the mother could be no more than the previous Lord DeVille's mistress, the daughter is intent upon becoming the present Lord DeVille's wife."

  "It certainly would appear so," Dyanna agreed wanly.

  "And how will that make you feel? What if Caroline Naysmith becomes mistress of DeVille House?"

  "It would be intolerable," Dyanna told him honestly.

  "Then do something about it."

  She eyed him curiously. "What can I do?"

  Geoffrey sighed. "You know what you can do, Dyanna. I'm sure I've hinted at it a thousand times, but you willfully choose not to understand me."

  Seizing her hand, he pressed smacking kisses onto the back from her fingers to her wrist. "I love you, Dyanna, and my love makes me bold; it gives me the courage to ask you to marry me once again. You can see now how your life is with DeVille. He keeps you a virtual prisoner. And if he marries Miss Naysmithdear Dyanna, consider what I offer you. I will make you the belle of London, society's darling. Please, please say yes."

  "I must consider, Geoffrey," she hedged. "After all, what you propose is an elopement. An illicit, backstreet affair."

  "How sordid you paint it," he scolded. "I will procure a special license and find a proper clergyman. There will be witnesses. We will find the most beautiful country church we can. All will be as perfect as we can possibly make it. I do not mean for this to be a squalid business of which you will have to be ashamed. I mean it to be a romantic adventure of which you will be proud to tell our children and grandchildren."

  "I will consider your proposal," she promised. "Truly I will. Of one thing I am positive; I cannot go on the way things are."

  Amidst promises that she would seriously consider Geoffrey's proposal and that she would not wait too long before giving him his answer, Dyanna was let out in a street near Piccadilly. With Charlotte following, she slipped back into DeVille House only moments before Justin's carriage turned off Piccadilty and rolled up to the front of the house.

  "Dyanna?" Justin's voice echoed along the corridor outside her sitting room.

  Positioning herself on the window seat, an open book in her lap, Dyanna assumed an air of complete innocence.

  "In here, Justin," she replied, looking for all the world as if she had not stirred from her rooms all day.

  He appeared in the doorway, tall and golden, dressed in a crimson coat with a buff waistcoat and oyster breeches. Dyanna felt a twinge of longing, of yearning, of desire at the sight of him. The memory of that night at the Barkleighs' was like a cloying ache in her very soul.

  "Dyanna?" Justin repeated. "You're not listening to me."

  "I'm sorry." She flushed, glad he could not know where her thoughts were straying. "What were you saying?"

  "I was saying that I have decided to go to Devonshire to see how Wildwood is progressing. I had intended to go there as soon as I'd returned from America. But then all this business with your father's will and your guardianship cropped up. Now that all that is settled, I want to go."

  "Devonshire!" Dyanna's smile was radiant. "Oh, Justin!" Casting aside her book, she ran to him and threw herself into his arms. Not noticing how he paled at the sudden contact of their bodies, she went on:

  "I'd love to see Devonshire! And I'd love to see Wildwood! It must be beautiful! I just know it is!"

  "Dyanna . . . Dyanna!" Justin interrupted, gently but firmly disengaging her arms from about his neck. "Dyanna, listen to me."

  The smile faded from her face and Dyanna stepped back though her wrists were still imprisoned in
his grasp. "What is it? What's wrong?"

  "I didn't mean that we were going to Wildwood. I mean that I was going to Wildwood. I think it would be best for you to remain here in London."

  "Stay here? To keep Caro company, I suppose?"

  "No. Actually, Caro is leaving with me. She is returning home and she suggested I come see how Wildwood is getting on. It seemed sensible and"

  "I see." Dyanna jerked away from him. "You and Miss Naysmith are going to Devonshire. But I may not go. I must remain here, in this prison you call a home. In my plush gaol"

  "Dyanna," he sighed. "I don't know if the house is habitable yet. I may have to stay in rather primitive surroundings. I may even have to stay at Naysmith Court temporarily."

  Dyanna turned her back to him to hide her emotion. "You must do as you think best, of course," she murmured.

  "Don't take this badly. I"

  "Is there anything else you wished to tell me, my lord?" she asked coldly. "Because if there is not, I have a headache and I should like to lie down."

  "No, there's nothing else. We'll be leaving on Friday."

  "I see."

  Faced with her cool silence, there was nothing for Justin to do but leave the room. The moment the door closed behind him, Dyanna called for Charlotte.

  "Bring me paper and a pen and ink," she ordered. "I've a letter to writea letter to Geoffrey Culpepper. You can deliver it to Culpepper House, Charlotte. I'll think of some excuse for you to leave. And then, after you come back, we'll have to begin planning what I will take with me."

  "With you, Miss?" Charlotte asked.

  "When I elope. Wish me well, Charlotte, I've decided to become Lady Dyanna Culpepper."

  The maid started to leave the room, but Dyanna called her back. "Oh, and Charlotte? Find me that bookthe one Geoffrey gave me about Lord Lucifer Wolfe. I've a mind to read it."

  Chater Seventeen

  It was mid-morning of the following Friday. Dyanna, ensconced in a chair in her sitting room, closed the book she had been reading. She was tired of reading of the life and crimes of Lord Lucifer Wolfetired of wondering if the cruel, ruthless man portrayed in the book was actually Sebastian DeVille, tired of wondering how much like his scandalous father Justin might actually be.

  A door slammed downstairs and Dyanna sighed. She knew without looking that the two traveling coaches drawn up before the house were being loaded in preparation for Justin and Caro's departure. She had not been downstairs that morning; she did not intend to go downstairs until her guardian and his beautiful traveling companion had left.

  She was hurt by his callous dismissal of her, wounded by his unwillingness to take her with him. That he did not care for her company was obvioushadn't he taken pains to spend time without her since her arrival at DeVille House? But then, she wondered, if he did not find her a pleasing or interesting companion, if he could not, as seemed the case, be comfortable in her presencewhy did he not simply relinquish his guardianship to the Marquess of Summersleigh? She refused to believe it was her money he lusted forhe seemed to have money of his own in abundance. It could not be her persondespite her certainty that he had seen through her disguise at the Barkleighs' Ball, he had given her no hint that he knew she had been Madame LaBrecque. He had not come to her, not sought her out, not touched her. Their conversations had been so impersonal that a stranger overhearing them would never had suspected the intimacies that had passed between them in that shadowy bedchamber in Kensington.

  Of course, she reasoned to herself, Caroline Naysmith had appeared first thing the next morning. Perhaps, if she had not come to stay . . . if Dyanna and Justin had been alone . . .

  ''No, he wouldn't have come to me,"

  Dyanna muttered, resigned. "It would not have mattered a whit if Caro came or not. The simple fact is that Justin does not know I was Madame LaBrecque. I was simply a woman he lusted after and took." She glanced down at the closed book in her lap. If, as Geoffrey said, the story of Lucifer Wolfe was truly little more than an exposé of Sebastian DeVille's sins, then Justin DeVille's father's infidelitiesprimarily with Georgiana, Lady Naysmith, Caro's motherhad driven Justin's mother, the tragic Lady Barbara DeVille, to an early death. Whether she died accidentally, took her own life, or was pushed from the high tower of Castle DeVille, the fact remained that her husband's cruelties had made her life a hell on earth.

  "There is much of Justin's father in him, I am sure. Much of that wickedness, those vices, that made them call Sebastian DeVille the Wicked Earl. I am, no doubt, fortunate that Justin does not love me. In that way I may escape the fate that befell Justin's mother. At least if Justin covets neither my fortune nor my person, history will have no chance to repeat itself with Justin, Caro, and me."

  Leaning her head against the high back of the chair, she slipped off into a troubled doze, haunted by dreams of herself, poised at the window of a high, windswept tower. Footstepsslow, measured, threateningapproached on the winding stone steps; Dyanna held her breath, waiting, watching, terrified, knowing that her fate hung in the balance, that her very life was in peril. And then, there he wasJustin, diabolically handsome in black velvet, the glow of bloodlust in his golden eyes. He approached, a slow, evil smile curving his lips. Dyanna backed away, pressing herself against the sill of the gaping window. She felt the cold wind at her back and knew, as he reached out to her, that he meant to kill her. His fingers brushed her arms, seized her, pushed her back . . . back . . .

  "Dyanna?"

  Dyanna awoke with a scream. Justin's face was above hers; his fingers dug into her shoulders.

  "Let me go! Leave me alone!" she screamed. Scrambling out of the chair, she pushed past him.

  "Dyanna," he said, laughing, "You were dreaming."

  "You were . . . we were . . ." She pressed a hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath and noticed that Justin, dressed in brown and oyster, his black jackboots shining, had his hat clutched in one hand.

  "You're leaving?" she said softly.

  "I thought you would come down to say good-bye," he said, his golden eyes moving swiftly over her frilled, beribboned gown of jonquil satin before returning to her face.

  "Come down to wish you a pleasant sojourn?" she countered. "Surely with such delightful company you will have no need of such wishes."

  "Dyanna," he said, with more gentleness than she might reasonably have expected, "there are reasons for my leaving you behind . . ."

  "Pray, my lord," she said, forcing a laugh she hoped sounded airy and carefree, "do not concern yourself. Don't forget, I spent all my life in the country. I am not so eager to return to itparticularly not to such a wild and remote part as Devonshire."

  If he was at all taken in by her brave words, Justin made no sign of it. Instead, he merely shrugged, saying:

  "I see you are in no mood to discuss this matter calmly. I'm sorry. I don't like for us to part with hard feelings between us. But I see it can't be helped. Goodbye, Dyanna."

  Taking her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it, his mouth lingering warmly, caressingly, on her skin as his eyes gazed deeply into hers.

  A shudder shook Dyanna and she drew her hand out of his grasp. For a moment a look passed between them, a look that shook her to her very core. Before she knew what was happening, Justin bent and kissed her quickly, passionately, on the lips.

  Then he was gone and Dyanna stood there, fingertips pressed to her lips. She did not hear the clacking of the horses' hooves nor the rumble of the wheels as the two carriagesCaro's carrying Caro and Justin, and Justin's carrying the bulk of their luggage, Bertran, and Caro's talkative maid, Tildenrolled out of the yard and disappeared into Piccadilly.

  Charlotte was at the door almost immediately. "They've left, miss," she announced breathlessly, knowing what was arranged for an hour hence.

  "Yes, I know," Dyanna murmured, her mind still full of Justin and his all-too-brief, bittersweet kiss.

  The strange tone of her voice alarmed the maid. "You haven't changed your mind, h
ave you?" she asked, her voice filled with apprehension, terrified at the thought of being cheated of the adventure of a lifetime.

  Have I? Dyanna wondered. Has Justin, with that simple kiss, destroyed my resolve? Could he have such power that, with such a simple gesture, he could make me abandon the plans I have made with such deliberation? She closed her eyes. It's a trick! No doubt he senses something afoot and thinks that with a single kiss he can bring me back under his spell. Well, it won't work! I'm not poor Lady Barbara DeVille to be held in the thrall of some sensuous sorcerer!

  "No!" she declared. "I haven't changed my mind. Are the bags packed?"

  "Not quite. I didn't want to finish them until his lordship was safely away."

  "Well, finish packing. I want to write Justin a note so there is no mistaking what has happened to me. By the time someone finds it and sends it on to him in Devonshire, Geoffrey and I will be married. There will be nothing Justin DeVille can do about it."

  Relieved and excited, Charlotte went about the last of her packing. In an hour they would be on their way. In an hour, Dyanna would set her feet on the path toward becoming Lady Dyanna Culpepper and, one day in the futurethe far future, she amended out of loyalty to the kind, elderly gentleman of Grosvenor Squareshe would be the Marchioness of Summersleigh. It was a glittering prospect; it certainly dazzled Charlotte, who expected to accompany her young mistress on every step of the way.

  When an hour and more had passed with no sign of Justin's returning, Dyanna placed the letter she'd written on her dressing table, where someone was sure to find it and forward it to Justin. Then, each carrying a carpet bag with their night things and a change of clothes, Dyanna and Charlotte set out.

  With the master away, the atmosphere at DeVille House was one of easy informality. The staff, which normally bustled beneath the watchful eyes of Ipswich and Bertran, went about their chores with a lackadaisical air that made it easier than usual for Dyanna and Charlotte to slip away unnoticed.

  "What if they miss you right off?" Charlotte asked as they slipped through the little-used gate in the high wall that had come in so handy on previous excursions.