A Heart in Jeopardy

by Holly Newman

  "He still does," retorted David Fitzhugh. "Always was a wonder how he survived those battles in Spain."

  "The French never had a chance to see me. The sparkle from your polished buttons reflected the sun back into their eyes," Deveraux drawled.

  "This conversation reminds me of my brothers' altercations. They tended to last indefinitely. I think, before you two gentlemen become thoroughly enjoined, I should remind you that the horses are waiting," Leona said dryly. Without pausing to see if they were coming, Leona and Lucy swept out of the room and on outside to where a grizzled old groom and a couple of stable boys held the horses.

  Not to Leona's surprise, the two gentlemen followed them out. She smiled to herself. Deveraux came up behind her to toss her into the saddle of a prancing dappled-gray Andalusian.

  "Managing again?" he growled as he settled her on the sidesaddle. He steadied the horse with a quick pull on the bridle.

  Leona gathered her reins, hooked her knee around the pommel, and straightened her skirts before answering. "I see it as relieving what promised to be a long session of unrelenting boredom."

  "Based upon your own vast experience."

  She inclined her head, then pulled on the reins to turn the horse away.

  A chilly smile curved up the comers of Nigel Deveraux's lips. Miss Leona Leonard was far too independent and clever for her own—or anyone else's—good. It was all the fault of those worthless brothers of hers. Edmund Leonard he knew more by reputation, but Captain Charles Leonard he personally knew too well. He was a parasite. He quite happily took everything anyone did for him as if it were his due, the thought of returning the favor never entering his head. No doubt Leona managed Lion's Gate without compensation. Deveraux wagered she also invested what little of her own principal she had on the assumption that when she turned the financial status of Lion's Gate around, her brother would reward her for her efforts. Deveraux doubted that eventuality. Any money Leonard gave out would be to tradesmen to supply his own wants. Of course, if the news Jack Randall— Damnation! He must remember to think of Randall as Lord Keirsmyth now. It was difficult to do, for almost as much as he, Randall hated inheriting his title. Every day Deveraux prayed for Brandon's recovery for he feared inheriting his brother's place. He did not want it. He wanted his brother to live, damn it! The duty his brother set on his shoulders weighed his spirits, but he was duty bound.

  With a smile he remembered Randall's inventive and colorful swearing on learning of his cousin's passing. They had all steered a wide path around his tent. Now he was Marques of Keirsmyth and head of the family to what he less than affectionately termed parasites. Though he sold out, he spent much of his time yet abroad—far from his encroaching relatives. If the news Keirsmyth passed on in his last letter from Brussels was true, Leonard was about to get leg-shackled to a wealthy Belgian widow. With Leonard flush in the pocket, where would that leave his sister if he decided to sell out—which, with the change in fortunes, Deveraux was sure he would do, and do it before the Iron Duke came up against Boney on the battlefield.

  It would be like Leonard to return to England, take up residence at Lion's Gate, and proceed to lord it over the neighborhood leaving his sister to find her own way or to play the role of unpaid housekeeper. Dash it all, she probably would, too, for it seemed the clever Miss Leonard was quite blind to her brother's faults. But of what use would it be to try to tell her that? Talking wouldn't pay the toll, not with Leona. She was like a young horse given her head too often. With the bit firmly between her teeth, she was not likely to respond to overtures to stop her headlong gallop to heartache. There had to be someone else to whom she could turn over the responsibility for Lion's Gate before she was thoroughly abused. A family solicitor, a retired estate agent, a relative, someone!

  He kicked his horse into a canter to catch up with Leona, determined to draw her out and get some answers.

  Leona loved the wind's caress and the warmth of the sun. She cantered easily down the cart track that led from the manor park toward the river that she'd seen in the distance from her bedroom window. The countryside was fresh from yesterday's rain, the smells of wood and grass and damp earth heavy in the air. Tall beech trees lined the track, their branches majestically bare of leaves. In summer, the little road was no doubt a shady avenue relieved only by patches of dappled sunlight filtering through the tall trees.

  The sound of the rhythmic clump-clump of the horse's hooves as they hit the damp ground was soothing. It invited emptying the mind of cares and joining with nature.

  Leona smiled. Then suddenly she was laughing with a heady, joyous feeling of complete freedom. The feeling took her by surprise. It was freedom from responsibility and duty. It was freedom from the burden of caring for others. Those were the cornerstones upon which she built her life. She should have felt bereft. Instead she felt light and incredibly happy. She didn't understand it, but neither could she stop smiling.

  At the sound of her laugh and the glimpse of her smile, Deveraux spurred his horse on to come even with hers.

  "Race you to the dovecote!" he shouted, pointing toward a broad circular tower in the next field.

  Without acknowledging his challenge, Leona turned her horse toward the tower, then glanced over her shoulder to grin and nod agreement.

  Deveraux swore good-naturedly and set off after her.

  Leona's answering laughter wafted back on the wind, spurring Deveraux's race.

  Leona liked baiting Deveraux. She didn't know why that was, but she enjoyed their battles of will and wit. She enjoyed it as much as she enjoyed the wild, headlong ride down the track. There was a freedom between them that she'd never experienced before with another man or woman. It was the same reckless freedom she experienced riding Lady Talavera.

  She pulled up before the large gray stone dovecote and slid from the horse's back, Deveraux right beside her. She tethered her horse to a scraggly bush, then threw herself down on the damp ground, her back resting against the sun-warmed stone walls of the old building. The heat flowed deliciously through her body. She closed her eyes to savor it.

  Deveraux moved more slowly, taking time to dismount and tether his horse. "You look like you'd purr if you could," he observed as he lowered himself to the ground next to her. "Good lord, woman, this ground is still wet. Do you want to drench your habit and catch a chill?"

  "It will dry fast enough in this heat," she replied laconically, never opening her eyes. "Where are Lucy and Fitzhugh?" she asked self-consciously, though caring little.

  "They've gone on down toward the mill by the river, I would presume. Why? Are you afraid of your virtue, being alone here with me?"

  "How shall I answer that?" she asked whimsically, opening her eyes to turn her head to look at him. "If I say no, you might be insulted, and I might rile you into attempting to prove otherwise. If I said yes, you would be insulted. As neither course is advisable, I shall keep my tongue firmly between my teeth."

  "Ah-hh, a flash of prudence. I would not have thought that your forte, Miss Leonard."

  "It isn't," she agreed with equanimity, "but it does have its uses."

  "An intelligent woman."

  "Did you doubt it?" challenged Leona, a martial gleam in her hazel eyes.

  "Hmmmm. Now, how shall I answer that? I won't. . . Miss Leonard, I do, however, confess to something puzzling me."

  "Yes?"

  "Don't you have a sister? I seem to recall Captain Leonard mentioning two sisters."

  "Yes. Rosalie. She's the eldest. She married George Sharply thirteen years ago. They live in Bedfordshire."

  "Then why, if coming here was so repugnant to you, did you not simply go to Bedfordshire to stay with your sister? And do not think to gammon me by saying your promise forced you to Castle Marin. If you could have avoided this recourse, I'm certain you would have!"

  Leona grimaced. "Truthfully, sir, my erstwhile brother-in-law and I do not get along."

  "Why? Excuse me, but he hasn't made improper adva
nces to you, has he?"

  Leona's laughter rang out across the empty meadow. "Hardly. No, George Sharply is, if anything, too circumspect. A little of his society and I feel the need to enter a convent for some freedom!"

  "That bad, is it? I find that hard to believe. Perhaps the two of you just do not understand each other."

  ‘Truer words you've probably never said. We are like oil and water. I find him irritatingly officious and self-serving. The man's ego is immense. He refuses to acknowledge that I might, just might, mind you, have a brain underneath this lion's mane," she said, waving a gloved hand toward her hair. Just the thought of George Sharply brought her jaw forward, high color to her cheeks, and a hard, knife-edged sparkle to her eyes.

  "Is your sister happy with him?"

  "Yes!" she exclaimed. She shook her head, mystified. "And I tell you truthfully that is something I've never been able to understand."

  "I'm surprised he has not attempted to wrest control of Lion's Gate from you."

  She looked out across the fields and laughed at the memories in her head. "Oh, he has, but the family solicitor who handles the estate paperwork does not get along with him either, so he will not tell him anything, however much George tries to snoop. And Charlie, bless him, positively detests the man!"

  "What is your sister's reaction to this running family battle?"

  Leona smiled softly. "Poor Rosalie, she's caught in the middle. She merely wrings her hands and looks pained. She has ever been a quiet creature. Not at all like me, I'm afraid!" she said with wry humor.

  "Leona! Nigel!" called out Lucy, galloping toward them. She reined in just short of them, clods of dirt spraying up from beneath her horse's hooves. "And here I thought you two were to be our chaperones! I see I was wide of the mark!"

  Deveraux rose to his feet, pointedly brushing dirt from his buckskins.

  Leona blushed. "I'm too old to need a chaperone," she protested, struggling to her feet, ignoring Deveraux's outstretched hand.

  "Ha! It didn't appear so to me, seeing you so cozily together there."

  David Fitzhugh reined in beside his fiancée and looked at Leona roguishly. "An attractive woman needs a chaperone all her life, no matter her age."

  Leona laughed. "Thank you. ... I think."

  "Oh, let's all stop blathering. Nigel, throw her up in the saddle. I want to show Leona some more of the estate before it gets too late."

  "There's no need. There's a large rock over there that I can use," Leona said, untying Lady Talavera.

  "Nonsense, Miss Leonard. You heard my sister. I dare not disobey." He grabbed Leona about her waist and lifted her up.

  Through the thick wool of her riding habit, Leona's skin burned where he touched her. The sensation struck her by surprise, sending her mentally reeling. She knew her reactions to Nigel Deveraux were strange, but never had she felt them so intensely. Tingling radiated from the burning areas at her waist and shot down her legs and up to her head.

  "Thank you," she managed breathily when he released her and stepped back. She fought to maintain a calm and serene mien. It was not an easy battle. Deveraux nodded curtly at her before turning to gather the reins of his own horse and mount. Strangely nervous, Leona turned her horse's head to follow Lucy, her back turned resolutely to Nigel Deveraux.

  Nigel raised a dark brow as he watched Leona and Lucy engage in a lively conversation. The color was still high on Miss Leonard's cheeks. So, the little witch could be discomfited. He smiled at the knowledge that might be a way to control her. He glanced down at his hands. He could still feel the span of her waist between them. He shifted in the saddle as a familiar pressure built in his loins. Definitely a little witch, he thought sardonically.

  He set his heels to his horse to urge it into a comfortable canter and settled down to consider all that he had learned about Miss Leona Leonard. It struck him as singularly unfortunate that Leona and her brother-in-law did not get along. It was most likely caused by a silly misunderstanding. Deveraux could not imagine that the man could be as truly reprehensible as she described him, not if her own sister was happy in her marriage. That silly misunderstanding, whatever it was, was costing Leona dearly. She should not have to feel the burden of duty. It was too heavy a weight for anyone to bear. He knew that full well. He found a curious desire in him to ease Leona's burdens, to allow her to live her own life. Perhaps if he effected a reconciliation with her brother-in-law on neutral ground, like Castle Marin, the two of them would mend fences. Yes. The more he thought of the idea the more he liked it. That would be the best way he could help Leona, the best present he could give her to thank her for her efforts to help Chrissy: to effect a reconciliation between her and Sharply and then lift the yoke of duty from her shoulders and transfer it to Sharply's. That should make Leona very happy and, inexplicably, that was the one thing Deveraux desired.

  March was a fickle month, Leona mused as she stood on the wide stone steps before Castle Marin.

  Some days were wintery, others warm with the hint of summer. It had been warm today. Now as the night sky darkened revealing the stars one by one, a freshening breeze reminded her that winter was not gone. Leona shivered and wrapped her wool shawl closely about her shoulders. Truthfully she didn't mind the cold. She hoped its bite would waken her sluggish mind. She wished something would. She was confused. She didn't know what to think any longer, what to believe, or even what to feel. The only thing she did know was that she felt useless. That, perhaps more than anything else, bothered her. She wasn't accustomed to uselessness. It stripped her of her purpose, her strength. She wandered aimlessly within Castle Marin without purpose. There were no problems to solve, questions to answer, estate books to handle. Nothing. There wasn't even the ball to help Lady Nevin with, for Maria Sprockett happily took up those duties. And she was much too restless a person to idly sit and watch Lucy be fitted for her wedding wardrobe.

  Leona was free to pursue ladylike endeavors such as sewing, art, music, or reading. Unfortunately, reading was the only accomplishment she possessed, and now her eyes were weary from hours spent with a book in hand. She did sew well enough for mending, but Castle Marin was equipped with a seamstress for those chores, and sewing would not be any easier on her eyes.

  Horseback riding and baiting Nigel Deveraux were the only relief she had from a growing and unremitting ennui.

  She rode for an hour or two every day, but the remaining waking hours fell heavily on her. She was curious regarding some of the farming practices of the tenant farmers, but they were too deferential to her to permit a free exchange of ideas. Then, too, whenever she asked a question within Deveraux's hearing, he would laugh and remind her she was at Castle Marin for a relaxing visit and not to tax her mind with estate matters. His patronizing attitude riled Leona. Lacking a proper conduit for her restless energy, she turned it toward baiting him.

  To do him justice, he did not disappoint her. He could give as well as he could take and he had no hesitation to do so. Leona reveled in the verbal sparring between them. She found herself looking forward to each confrontation and planning—during those times he was busy with his horse cosing activities—their next encounter.

  Leona sighed and, descending the steps, wandered down the drive toward the paddocks. The breeze played with her neatly styled coronet, pulling strands of hair free to dance in the wind. It molded her dinner gown to her body and colored her cheeks a bright pink. She stopped next to the paddock, leaning against the top railing.

  Sometimes, just sometimes, she found herself wishing to repeat the comfortable conversation she and Deveraux had that day when they sat with their backs to the dovecote, letting the heat of the old stone warm their backs. There seemed to be an easy camaraderie between them that day. He had understood her, perhaps for the first and only time of their acquaintance.

  She looked toward the old dovecote in the distance, reveling in the memories.

  But she shouldn't have been able to see it. Not on this dark a night. Noneth
eless she did see it as a dark silhouette against a golden glow. She straightened, curious, and stared hard at the dovecote. It shouldn't look like that. It shouldn't—It was on fire!

  Leona grabbed up her skirts and ran toward the manor house. She stumbled up the stairs, ripping a hole in her gown and scraping the skin off two knuckles as she tried to catch herself. She recovered and scrambled on, throwing open the great carved door with a resounding bang.

  "Miss Leonard!" began Purboy disapprovingly as he strode out of his butler's alcove. "What—"

  "Deveraux!" Leona gasped, ignoring the butler as she ran toward the drawing room where everyone was gathered for cards. "Deveraux! The dovecote! It's on fire!"

  Deveraux and Fitzhugh immediately threw down their cards and ran past her. Lady Nevin, Maria, and Lucy babbled questions at her, but she ignored them as she turned to follow the men. Lady Nevin was quickly on her feet to follow, as were Maria and Lucy.

  In the hallway, Leona ran past Jewitt who was just descending the stairs. The woman shook her head and pursed her lips in disapproval. In her hands she carried a wool shawl which she thrust into her mistress's arms as Lucy followed Leona. Lucy slowed to flash Jewitt a thankful smile before she flung the shawl around her shoulders. The countess and Maria followed more slowly while Purboy fetched them wraps.

  From the stable came the sound of men shouting and cursing as the fire wagon was hitched. It burst out of the stable yard driven by Deveraux with Fitzhugh at his side. They were, closely followed by a motley crew of men riding sturdy Devon work horses, only a few of which were saddled.

  The ladies followed as best they could on foot, stumbling over the rutted track. They watched in silence as the conflagration consumed the wood-shingled roof and gutted the inside. Tears ran down Lady Nevin's cheeks. She swiped them away.

  "It's only an old dovecote," she muttered angrily.