"— quite, quite, lovely. Yes, marriage will do her a great deal of good. Children, too, of course —"
"— Lord Lennox, of all people. I always said there was something a bit too polished about that fellow —"
"— the Devil of Trafalgar, don't you know? But the man looks to have settled down at last. Not that that bride of his will let him kick up much of a dust. Be a regular fool if he did, anyway, with a woman like that waiting for him at home —"
The duchess sniffed sharply, reaching for her handkerchief with one hand and brushing her eyes swiftly with the other. Suddenly a blurred image of shining black boots swam before her averted eyes.
The white square was lifted onto her shaky fingers.
"If I may be so bold."
Slowly the old woman straightened, her eyes narrowing on the tall, blond man who stood before her, his broad shoulders eased into a bottle-green jacket topping charcoal breeches.
"Your Grace." His keen blue eyes swept her face quickly, missing nothing.
"Wretched thing." The duchess's opprobrium left it unclear whether the handkerchief or the man was the object of her censure. With a defiant little sniff she pushed the white fabric back into her reticule. Then her head tilted back, and she studied the man before her thoughtfully. "Tony Morland — you young scapegrace!"
The man before her winced. Only a few people in England dared address him in such terms, but the Duchess of Cranford was one of them.
And she knew it.
A shrewd smile lit the old woman's gaunt features. "I don't believe I've seen you since that lackluster affair at Lady Harewood's last year. Dreadful bunch of people. But my nephew didn't tell me you were coming." Her tone made it clear that Morland ought to have presented himself to her directly upon his arrival.
"I arrived only last night, I'm afraid." The earl coughed slightly. "Urgent business, you understand."
The old woman snorted. "Came down for a last farewell fling, eh? Good burgundy and bad women, most like." She tried to look stern but failed lamentably, ending up looking like an old and very frail fairy godmother.
Morland smiled, then turned to slant thoughtful eyes on the new viscountess's retreating back. "I believe that Ravenhurst has found all the woman he can handle right there. And as for celebrations, it was no more than a shared bottle of brandy and a slow, savored cheroot." His smile broadened. "Be glad you were not there, Your Grace. A filthy habit, I assure you."
"Which one, the women, the tobacco, or the brandy?" the duchess shot back. Her eyebrows rose suddenly. "And speaking of bad habits, weren't you dipping rather deep at faro at Lady Harewood's?"
"It was piquet, as a matter of fact. And the place was Lord Lemmington's."
The duchess waived her hand airily. "Close enough. You won a great deal of money from me that night, my boy."
"Three hundred and sixty-one pounds," Morland murmured.
"So you've a head for cards, have you? And for other things, too, unless I miss my guess." Shrewd lapis eyes studied Morland for a moment. Why had the boy never married? the duchess wondered. "The sort of things with long legs and a copious quantity of blond curls. Do you continue to play today?"
Morland's expression was all innocence. "At which? The women or the cards?"
"The cards, you impudent young jackanapes."
"I might consider a game. If the stakes were right, of course."
"Cheeky brat." Suddenly the duchess took Morland's arm. "But I've nothing better to do today, as it happens." Already she was marching down the walk, her expression bright, her confident posture restored. "I'm certain that that clever Hobhouse can scare up some cards and a dealing box for us."
Morland slanted a secret smile down at her white-haired head. "I dare say."
The old woman's pain and loneliness had not been lost on him, nor her fierce attempts to conceal them. Watching the laughing bride and groom disappear around the corner, Morland rather thought he understood the duchess's sentiments exactly.
Some fleeting emotion skittered across his lean face. Then he shrugged slightly and turned keen eyes upon the duchess. "Very well, Your Grace. But I play to win, I warn you."
"Of course you do, boy. Why else would one play, except to win?"
The duchess's eyes narrowed as she studied her companion's chiseled, handsome face, her mind already busy at its calculations. Yes, it was high time that the earl married and produced an heir. That father of his had been a very ramshackle sort, but this young man was made of sterner stuff, she decided.
Let's see, she thought, there was the eldest Stedfield chit. Lovely figure — he would like that. But no, the creature was insipid in the extreme. This man would never tolerate boredom in a wife.
There was the season's current incomparable, of course, the dark-eyed Amelia Egremont. Very taking little thing, and could converse on any number of topics. Still, there was a certain coldness about the girl that might put a man off.
Her mind happily absorbed in a host of matrimonial speculations, the Duchess of Cranford allowed her tall companion to slip her hand more securely into the crook of his arm and steer her off toward Mermaid Street.
Yes, it was a lovely day for faro, the duchess decided.
* * * * *
"Marry in haste, repent at leisure!" a shrill voice cried as Dane and Tess turned down West Street.
Gaudy green wings lashed the air, and a moment later Maximilian dropped to his perch on Dane's shoulder. His sharp face slanted, the bird peered up at the viscount. "Needles and pins, needles and pins," the macaw screeched companionably. "Let a man marry and his troubles begin."
Ravenhurst threw back his head, laughter thundering from his chest. "By God, you've the right of that, Maximilian!"
Green sparks flashed from Tess's eyes. "I believe I see Edouard now. He's proposed adding roast pigeon to the Angel's menu, but I think I shall suggest something more tasty. Something with green wings and crimson breast, you wicked bird!"
Feathers ruffled, Maximilian stamped upon Ravenhurst's shoulder. "Bloody Frenchman!" he screeched, then swept off, a blur of color against the dark, tiled roofs.
Laughter tumbled from Tess's lips. "Impossible creature," she murmured, shaking her head. "He was Jack's bird, you know. They were very close. I feared for a while that he would never spring back after — after Jack died. It's strange, but sometimes I almost think —"
"No, don't tell me," Dane muttered. "I don't think I want to hear."
Tess's eyes searched his face. "But if it hadn't been for Maximilian getting free when he did and coming out to Fairleigh ..."
Dane's fingers tightened on her waist. "Don't think of it, me kalon. All that is finished. Lennox is gone and his wretched sister has fled in disgrace. I think she knew only a small part of what her brother was doing, in fact. But none of that matters. Yes, now there will be only sunlight and laughter for us, I promise. And no more need for you to sleep by candlelight, I hope."
Tess smiled tremulously, imagining how she would love and grow with this man through the long vista of happy years lying golden before them. Fighting, sharing, caring, their hearts bound irrevocably — even when it hurt to care so much.
Yes, Tess could think of no better way than this to spend the next sixty years of her life. Although she decided not to tell her imperious husband that.
Not yet, at least.
"Tess!"
At just that moment Tess's brother crossed toward them from the far side of the street.
"Soon the whole town will be dogging our steps," Ravenhurst muttered, pulling Tess to a halt and clapping a semblance of a smile on his face.
But this meeting was important, the viscount knew, feeling the sudden tension in Tess's arm. And if the young whelp hurt her, by God, he'd —
"Bloody lucky I caught you! That wretched Tredwell woman cornered me on the steps and wouldn't let me go. Before that, there never seemed to be the time to ..." Ashley's eyes narrowed, studying Tess's face. "I'm a bloody fool, Tess. After all you've do
ne ... I ... I don't know how to ask you to forgive me."
But I do, Ravenhurst thought. Very quickly. So I can be alone with my wife. But he said none of these things, for he could see Tess's lip quiver.
"I understand now," her brother continued gruffly. "About our — about Edward Leighton. About Jack. By God, he was a trump, wasn't he just?"
Tess smiled at Ashley, only a hint of sadness in her eyes now. For Jack would always be with her, she knew, always the brash silver-haired smuggler who'd captured her heart ten years ago.
"So he was, Ashley," Tess said softly, giving her brother's hand a quick squeeze, immeasurably glad that their fighting was over.
"Now go on with you," the elegant young man ordered. "And whatever you do, be happy. For once." His eyes searched out Ravenhurst's. "You'll see to that, won't you, my lord?"
If I could ever find a minute alone with her, I would, Dane thought irritably. But the smile he turned on Tess then was full of warmth and an infinity of promise. "That I will, Ashley," he said softly, never taking his eyes from Tess's face. "That I will."
"Very well, I'll be off then. You both must be wishing me at Jericho."
Beneath his fingers, Dane felt Tess's arm begin to relax. He smiled as he heard her sigh. Now, if only his own problems could be solved so easily.
Suddenly his eyes hardened. He growled a low curse.
"What is it?" Tess asked worriedly.
"That bloody Tredwell woman! With her bloody son and her bloody husband. Heading this way. By God, if she says one word, I'll —"
Tess's eyes flashed to the left and a secret little smile played about her lips. "Follow me," she ordered, pulling her husband into the narrow mouth of the alley before them.
"What —"
"Hush, or they'll see us."
There in the lee of the fine summer wind, she pressed her back to the cool, shadowed wall of the Needles passage and pulled her husband into her arms, drawing his head down to meet her kiss. "Kiss me, Andre Le Brix. Or have I given my heart to a fickle man?"
A frown worked its way across Ravenhurst's handsome face. "What are you up to now, woman?"
Tess smiled vaguely, then slanted her lips across his.
The next moment Ravenhurst forgot his question and everything else but the warm softness of his wife's lips. With a groan he buried his fingers in her hair and crushed her to his hard chest. "Ah, gwellan-karet, how I've missed you. I told you we'd have no more of this before parson had us firm in his mousetrap, for I wanted no chance of your escaping me again. But now ..." His strong fingers curved over Tess's back, smoothing and stroking, rediscovering the thousand joys of merely touching her.
Dazed with a need of her own, Tess let her head fall back, her eyes dreamy on her husband's bronzed face. "But I don't want to escape, my love," she breathed unsteadily. "And now that we are married ..." Her head tilted, she studied him beneath lowered lashes. Her pink tongue swept gently across her soft lips.
Ravenhurst growled, feeling desire twist through him like a burning blade. "The thought of all the things I'm going to do to you is adding inches to my anatomy, bihan. Very painful inches."
Tess shifted her hips, confirming the awesome heat of his arousal.
"No more, woman," he rumbled warningly.
With a laugh, his green-eyed wife spun out of his grasp and darted down the passage.
"What in the name of —" Dane's angry voice echoed loudly as he plunged into the shadows after her.
With a clang, Tess freed the concealing brick and raised the hidden trap door to her tunnel, sweeping up her skirts and slipping down into the darkness.
Her husband dropped beside her a moment later, a scowl upon his face. "So this is how my soot-faced urchin eluded me. I thought it must be something of the sort. You're too clever by half, witch." Ravenhurst's eyes darkened as Tess stretched out her arms to him, a sweet hunger burning in her radiant eyes.
"It was the shortest route, my love. And I find I am become most terribly wanton and wish to spare no seconds until I can do all the things I've been dreaming of."
With a raw groan, Ravenhurst pulled the door shut, then walked slowly toward his wife. "Is this what you want, sea gull? Truly?"
"Of course, I have been meaning to open the old chimney as Jack instructed. My mother left a diary there for me, you see. I suppose we could go upstairs and —"
With a fierce oath, Ravenhurst hauled her against his hard body, his eyes hot and devouring. "Bloody blazing hell, woman. You would try the patience of a saint! You know very well what I meant."
"Do I?" Tess eye's darkened with sudden uncertainty. "You could have had your pick of the ton, Dane. I'm sure there must be dozens of well-bred females desperate to have you. I wouldn't have stood in your way, you know." Only the faint tremor in her voice betrayed these fine sentiments.
"Stood in my way? Stood in my way?" the viscount roared. "I don't want anyone else, by God! One green-eyed, brandy-haired temptress is all I can handle. More than I can handle, I begin to think." His eyes narrowed to dark slits. "Has that Tredwell woman been at her meddling again? Has my aunt —"
"No, none of those things, my love. It is only that —"
With a smothered oath, Ravenhurst hauled his wife close and silenced her in the same way men have silenced their women since time immemorial. His lips hard and hungry, he took her mouth beneath his, parting her with his tongue, groaning when he felt her soft heat feathering over him in answer. "Gwerhez Vari, but you're sweet. More, bihan. Let me die of this sweetness!"
His deft fingers began to probe the row of tiny buttons at her back. At the same moment Tess attacked the perfectly starched folds of her husband's neckcloth. Satin rustling frantically against crisp broadcloth, they fought to free each other, hungry for the touch of skin against naked skin.
"My sweet love," Tess breathed.
"Si douce," Ravenhurst muttered.
Right there in the cool tunnel, with his elegant jacket wadded into a shapeless mass and ground into the dust, Ravenhurst took his wife beneath him and filled her with all the fire and fierceness of his love until she dug urgent fingers into his back and whimpered.
"Yes, sea gull. That way ... ahhhhhh ... I'm dying!"
"Sweet heavens, Dane, I — ohhhhhhh, please!"
And there, too, in the shadowed tunnel, the hard-faced hero of Trafalgar finally came home, finding all the sweet welcome he had ever yearned for. Guns, traitors, and vessels forgotten, he whispered dark Breton love words against Tess's ivory skin and discovered that his tormenting memories were gone, burned away by the luminous fires that glowed in his wife's eyes as she shuddered and convulsed beneath him, taking them both plummeting into the storm's whirling vortex.
Drowning in love.
Thanking their Creator for giving them a second chance.
* * * * *
Hours later, just as the moon unfurled silver sails and slipped over the horizon, old Thomas made a final trek to inspect the shaky remains of the ruined priory wall.
The servant stiffened, his bushy brows knitting in a frown. There it was again, the sound of laughter, up near the white garden.
He spun about, his eyes narrowed. But he saw nothing, just as he always saw nothing.
Pulling off his battered hat, the old man scratched his head irritably. Bloody bunch of nonsense, this talk of voices and light.
'Twas only the wind soughing through the oak grove, of course. Aye, no more than the old stones echoing beneath stray pieces of fallen gravel.
With a little shrug, Thomas turned down the hill toward his cottage.
Queer place, this, he thought for the thousandth time. At least the young mistress was married now, and that sea captain of hers would give her little time to be prowling about up here in the shadows. Aye, a marriage long past due, the old servant thought, a smile lighting his grizzled face.
His eyes busy searching for the lantern in his window, Thomas did not see the faint shimmer that seemed to rise over the top of the hill.
"Padrig and the crew of the Liberte sent you this, along with their regrets that they could not attend the ceremony. 'Twould have been a bit too dangerous even for such rogues as they."
The moon was drifting through a cloud-swept sea as Tess and Dane crossed the green lawns below the priory's ruined wall, hand in hand, the caressing summer winds soft upon their faces.
Her eyebrows raised, Tess took the leather box Dane held out to her. Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson velvet, she found a repousse pendant strung from a heavy silver chain.
"Qui voit Groix voit sa joie," Dane read. " 'Who sees the Isle of Groit sees his own joy.' Not even Danielle's tricks will take this from us." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "My aunt told me of that talk about a child. Simply another lie, in her great arsenal of lies. You know that, don't you, my heart?"
Tess smiled up at Dane. "The duchess told me something of the sort, although she found it devilish hard going. I do believe it was the first time the old dear was ever tongue-tied in her life."
Dane's lips curved with laughter. "I only wish I might have been there to hear."
"Impudent young puppy," Tess scolded, capturing the duchess's tone exactly.
"What joy you bring me, bihan," her husband said huskily as he carefully lifted Tess's glinting hair and slipped the silver ornament around her neck. "And these, too, are yours," he said softly, pressing two tortoiseshell hairpins into his wife's soft palm. "I'm afraid I had to repair the one you dropped in my bedroom. But it seems you are prodigal in your gifts, my love — you left your tokens for two men." His eyes darkened. "And both of them offered their hearts in return." His fingers tightened, crushing her hand within his. "They are both me, I'm afraid, Tess. At sea I am alive and happy, but too often I grow restless kicking up my heels on land. Yes, ashore I become a monster, me kalon. And soon the Admiralty will come knocking once more, with some urgent business or other or perhaps the offer of a new command. Will it be too much to ask for you to join me?"
The Black Rose Page 49