Between the Devil and Ian Eversea: Pennyroyal Green Series

by Long, Julie Anne

  He reached for it.

  From out of nowhere a blur appeared and spanked his hand lightly.

  He yelped.

  It turned out to be Mrs. deWitt.

  “Ow! Why the beating? You hurt my feelings gravely, Mrs. deWitt.”

  She laughed softly. “As if anyone could ever do that! Ach, dinna touch that, Master Ian. That there be for Miss Danforth.”

  Even scones were held in thrall for the girl?

  “That particular scone is for Miss Danforth? Why, pray tell?”

  “Yes, ’tis ’er favorite, and one does like to spoil ’er a bit, now, ye see.”

  “One does,” he said, but Mrs. deWitt missed the irony. “Surely, then, there’s another very similar scone for me.”

  “Not until after the baking this afternoon.”

  “I’ll give you a shilling for this one,” he said childishly.

  She snorted. “ ’Ave some cheese.”

  “I want a scone. I want that scone.”

  “Ah, now, Master Ian, and will ye be marryin’ a duke, now, or some such, someday? Are ye all alone in the world now? Did ye win a trophy today?”

  “Probably not, no and no,” he conceded.

  “Well then,” she said, as if this decided everything.

  Imagine that. Defeated by the cook. He wasn’t child enough to snatch it from her anyway, though he was sorely tempted.

  “Let me find ye a lovely piece of cheese, Master Ian,” she pacified.

  “Very well.” He’d decided to be gracious in defeat. He settled at the table and irritably shoved aside a vase full of flowers.

  “Those be for Miss Danforth,” the cook said proudly, as if it were her own accomplishment.

  “Shocking,” Ian said.

  He eyed them critically. They were from someone who possessed a hothouse, which could be nearly anyone with money in Sussex. He was irritated suddenly, wondering precisely who it was.

  “But she gave them to me, sweet girl she is. And she had the rest taken down to the churchyard. And she gave toy soldiers to little Jordy! She has a heart of gold, she does.”

  It was all Ian could do not to choke.

  Then again, he didn’t suppose he’d given much thought to Tansy Danforth’s heart. Or hearts, as he should say, given that she’d gone on a campaign to steal them from nearly every man she encountered, including possibly the one he would not allow her to have, and that was Landsdowne’s.

  What went on in her heart? She could be hurt, that much he knew. She’d reacted like a wild thing prodded with a spear when he insinuated she might be hurting someone he loved.

  He felt a little minute jab in the region of his solar plexus then. Sympathy, or guilt, he wasn’t sure. Suddenly he wished he could unsay it. He found the notion that he might have hurt her feelings surprisingly distasteful.

  Mrs. deWitt slid cheese and a slab of bread slathered in honey in front of him. The honey was a peace offering.

  “How did you know this scone was Miss Danforth’s favorite?” he asked.

  “We have a visit of nights, and we’ve a bit of a bite to eat when we talk.”

  He nearly choked. “You . . . ‘have a visit’?” He was bemused. “Of nights? You and Miss Danforth?”

  “Aye, Master Ian, she’s but a young woman still and I think she’s a wee bit lonely. We chat a bit in the kitchen sometimes at night. Not every night. Sometimes very late. I leave one out for her, and if it’s gone in the morning I know she had trouble sleeping. She’s a young girl alone in the world. And here you all be, a big comfortable noisy family, and you know everyone you see and all the land, too. She’s a bit lonesome, aye?”

  “She’s lonely because she’s alienated all the women in Sussex and bewitched all the men into injuring themselves and each other on her behalf.”

  Mrs. deWitt laughed indulgently. “Ah, now, surely you exaggerate Master Ian, and wouldn’t that be just like you.”

  “No, I mean it!”

  Mrs. deWitt just chuckled some more at what she likely suspected were his antics. “Ah, ye always did have a fine wit, Master Ian. Think of it. ”

  “Lonesome? Her constitution is made of iron. If she’d been born another gender, she’d give Napoleon a run for his money in terms of campaigns. She’s shameless.”

  But even as he said it he could feel doubt encroaching.

  “Of course her constitution is iron, Master Ian. She’s alone in the world, what choice has the girl? I dinna ken about shameless. I for one believe she’s as sweet as an—”

  “Don’t say angel!”

  “Oh, I suppose she’s just not for the likes of you, Master Ian. Ye never did take to the angels.”

  But she winked at him with great affection.

  Ian sighed. “No, I never did.”

  Lonesome. He recalled her expression when he’d asked her whether she knew a bit about being a frightened little girl. As if he’d seized the collar of her dress and yanked it clean off. Stripping her of some critical disguise.

  And yet it had all been for her own good, of that he was certain.

  Why, then, did he feel a sudden uncomfortable urge to apologize?

  His curiosity got the better of him.

  “But what do you talk about?”

  “Aye, just a bi’ of talk between women, right? Budgets and cooking and the like. It wouldna interest ye in the least.” She said this quite inscrutably.

  Just a day ago she would have been absolutely correct.

  TANSY MANAGED TO convincingly sparkle through the rest of the afternoon.

  But the day had gone on too long, and the supreme effort it took to charm had given her a headache, as if she’d drunk too much champagne, which she hadn’t. She suspected it was a bit of a spiritual hangover, which had rather a lot to do with Ian Eversea’s brutally accurate summary and dismissal of her.

  She sat down hard, propped her chin in her hands and tried hard to hate him, but all she could muster was a sort of resigned, honest misery. She felt rather like a shoddy magician whose secrets had been exposed. She couldn’t fault him, not really. She in truth rather admired it, which added a bit to her misery, given that she was fairly certain he now didn’t like her at all, if he’d liked her just a little before.

  But . . . though there had been a moment when he helped her shoulder the gun, where the air seemed to go soft and dense as velvet, and she could have sworn their breathing had begun to sway at the same rhythm, like two rivers joining, and she’d strangely never felt safer or more peculiarly imperiled. And she’d wanted time to stop then, to freeze the two of them the way the entire crowd had frozen, so she could lean against him, because that’s where she’d always belonged, or so it seemed. And to just see what that moment was all about.

  And at the recoil he had pushed her upright as if she’d been something aflame.

  She thought about this. And decided she unnerved him, too. At least a little.

  It cheered her, but it made her uneasy as well.

  You mean because they like you when you do it?

  Aargh. Her cheeks went hot again.

  Know a bit about being a frightened little girl, Tansy?

  She dropped her hot cheeks into her hands. But then she raised her head slowly and took a long steadying breath. Because regardless of what he thought of her, it was strangely a relief to be known.

  Oddly, she wasn’t tempted to throw her slippers at the wall this time.

  The thing was, there were things she now knew about Ian Eversea that he probably didn’t even know he’d revealed. That he might not even know about himself. There was a certain advantage to being underestimated, at least for a time, and the advantage was that she could surprise him into a flare of anger—disconcerting as it had been to be in the path of those blazing eyes—because she’d prodded some sore place in him. She took no ple
asure in hurting him, but there was still a little bit of a thrill.

  And despite her resolve, she found that the hunger to know him had in no way diminished.

  He might not have the slightest interest in Richard III, but she’d found a way into Ian Eversea, anyway, quite inadvertently.

  Tansy gazed at the wall.

  She unfolded her sheet of foolscap and spread it out neatly and read it to herself. And then, because she was fundamentally honest, she added to the bottom:

  Fiercely loyal to those he loves.

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON Ian stopped in at the Pig & Thistle for a pint of the dark, which he’d been dreaming about for the last hour as he hammered nails into a decrepit paddock fence. Surely he’d purchased his way into Heaven with all of this work lately. Though his cousin the vicar assured him it didn’t work quite that way.

  He pushed open the door of the pub and saw Landsdowne sitting by himself, enjoying what appeared to be a steak and kidney pie and a pint of the light. Landsdowne looked up, saw Ian and beckoned him over.

  Ian pulled out a chair and reflexively raised a hand. When Polly didn’t appear in a heartbeat, he swiveled his head to look for her.

  He didn’t see her, but Ned noticed him and without asking brought Ian a pint of the dark.

  “I give Polly a bit of time off during the day, Captain Eversea. She goes off for a bit, but she should have returned by now.”

  “I’m certain she’ll be here any minute, Ned. She’s a good girl.”

  Ned brightened. “Aye, that she is. That she is.”

  Polly Hawthorne was quite simply Ned’s heart, Ian knew. And he reflected again on the dangers of loving. Anyone. The thing that allegedly made life worthwhile quite had the power to destroy you, too. Interesting irony, that the thing that made you strongest was also what made you weakest. Altogether more dangerous than war, love was.

  “How goes it, Eversea?” Landsdowne offered laconically.

  “It goes quite sweatily. But we’re close to having a new roof on the vicarage.”

  “Admirable. Every building deserves a roof.”

  Ian gave a short laugh.

  There was a silence between them. Ian drummed his fingers, wondering how to begin.

  “What else is on your mind?” Landsdowne said politely, with a certain dry amusement.

  “My sister . . .” He hoped Landsdowne would pick up the thread.

  “. . . is magnificent.” Landsdowne completed this almost grimly.

  Ian launched his brows and waited for more.

  It wasn’t forthcoming.

  So he decided to be blunt. “Do you still think so?”

  Landsdowne gave a soft laugh. “Ah. Did you come here to ascertain my intentions, Eversea? I should have thought my intentions are quite clear by now.”

  “And your intentions remain . . . unaltered in their course? Despite recent gifts sent to another young woman?”

  “Are you perchance alluding to a certain blond angel who has lately alit upon Sussex?”

  Good God, even Landsdowne talked like a fool about her.

  Angel, my left hindquarter, he thought. He had enough of the gentleman left in him that he thought he would leave it unsaid, and he wasn’t about to enumerate what he considered her secret vices.

  Unbidden came an image of that bare, vulnerable little crescent of fair skin between the collar of her walking gown and her bonnet, and the delicate blades of her shoulders, and her clear eyes staring back at him, wide and as shocked as if he’d struck her when he demanded the reason his opinion meant anything at all to her.

  That peculiar impulse toward protection rushed at him again. Fierce and quite irrational.

  He understood then that she was only truly awkward around him.

  No. He would keep her secrets. Though he could not say quite why.

  Landsdowne sighed. “It was merely a friendly gift, Eversea. I meant nothing by it, truly, other than hoping to make her feel more welcome in Pennyroyal Green. But . . .” He leaned back in his chair. “. . . can you imagine what your life would be like, Eversea, if you awoke to her every morning? To eyes full of admiration instead of challenge? To simplicity and charm and innocence and that restful beauty?”

  Ian nearly choked. This, however, was too much. Simplicity? Restful?

  It was a moment before he could speak.

  “If you intend to divert your attentions from Olivia in order to court Miss Danforth, you may find yourself part of a stampede,” was all he said. Very carefully.

  Landsdowne smiled a little. “I’m aware.” He sounded entirely unaffected. After all, he was the man who had found a way into Olivia Eversea’s seemingly impenetrable good graces and turned the ton’s betting world on its ear. “And you don’t intend to join the throng?”

  Ian gave a short humorless laugh. “Ah, no. I’ll be sailing soon for a half-dozen exotic ports of call. I can think of very few women who’ll consent to be dragged along on a journey like that.”

  “Well, then. What would you do if I did tell you I intend to abandon my suit? To throw over Olivia for Miss Danforth? Will you call me out? What would that accomplish?”

  “It would accomplish,” Ian said thoughtfully, “the setting of an example. For if I shot you, odds are very good no one would throw over Olivia again.”

  Landsdowne grinned swiftly at that. “You’re likely right.”

  A brief little silence felled, during which Ian silently compelled Landsdowne to explain himself. He certainly wasn’t obliged to do it, but he was a man of honor.

  “Here is the thing.” Landsdowne sighed. And then his mouth quirked humorlessly. “I don’t know if Olivia will ever love me. And yet . . . the more time I spend with her the more I can’t do without her.”

  Lyon Redmond was indeed fortunate he’d disappeared, Ian thought. Because he would have strangled him on the spot had he reappeared just now. He’d left so much unhappiness in his wake, and the unhappiness rippled out to include people like Landsdowne, who didn’t deserve it.

  “And yet . . . I often think I would be happy to settle for simply her . . . esteem. To live with only that for the rest of my born days. For her. Olivia Eversea’s mere esteem is worth more than the love and devotion of a dozen women. I cannot currently imagine a day without her. And it isn’t my intention—I give you my word of honor—to pursue Miss Danforth. Does that answer your concerns with regards to your sister?”

  He said it flatly.

  It was as raw a declaration of love as Ian could imagine, and he felt a brief twinge of shame for cornering Landsdowne into it. He nearly pitied the man. He knew a brief surge of anger for his stubborn, prideful sister. He was a good man, a worthy man, and he deserved better than esteem. Olivia’s pride had surely caused at least some of her own unhappiness.

  But Ian’s loyalty was to his sister.

  He nodded shortly. “Thank you, Landsdowne, for telling me. Rest assured you have my utter discretion. And my apologies if I seemed intrusive. But I imagine you understand.”

  “I do. I, too, have sisters.”

  “I hear Miss Danforth is all but promised to de Neauville’s heir, anyway.”

  It was a lie.

  Because he’d just decided right then to write to the Duke de Neauville’s heir to tell him about Miss Danforth. He was young, a good shooter, handled the ribbons well even if he drove a bit recklessly, wanted the best of everything, was an otherwise inoffensively uninteresting young man, and the de Neauvilles owned property in Sussex. Surely if anything could turn Miss Danforth’s head and keep it turned, it was a handsome, fledgling about-to-be-a-duke. And that was the sort of marriage she was destined for, anyway, wasn’t it? He would be doing everyone a good turn in writing to the duke’s son.

  “Far be it for me to intrude upon another man’s territory,” Landsdowne said wryly.

  Which was
when Ian noticed his ale still hadn’t arrived.

  And it looked as though ales hadn’t arrived at many of the tables. Woebegone faces were craning toward the bar, gesturing with empty tankards. Murmurs were beginning.

  Ned rushed over to him.

  “Captain Eversea, I’m worried now. Polly would never leave for this long without asking or without telling me where she’s gone. I’m afraid something’s amiss.”

  “Do you want me to help you look for her? Do you have someone to mind the pub?”

  “I’ve been meaning to hire someone for some time, but things are so busy I just haven’t yet gotten round to it. Jemmy can do it in a pinch, but he’s a bit slow. We’ll have a riot on our hands if we’re gone long.”

  Perhaps an exaggeration, but not by much. They looked around at the yearning faces of the men in the pub, all very unused to being denied Ned’s light or dark when they wanted it.

  “We best hurry, then. Far be it for me to cause a riot.”

  Chapter 15

  IT HAD BEEN DAYS before she was able ride out on her own again, but Tansy had seized the opportunity the minute the duke and Genevieve departed to inspect another property available for purchase, a good two hours carriage drive away. A little too far for Genevieve’s preference, and just far enough from the Everseas, as far as the duke was concerned, and this was a source of more or less good-natured bickering.

  Tansy had charmed the groom—who surely knew better, but had just as much trouble refusing her anything she wanted as nearly every other man in Pennyroyal Green—into saddling her mare and allowing her to ride off alone again, since it was to be such a very short ride on such a beautiful day.

  She wanted to take a look at her handiwork.

  She was parallel to the stream when she pulled her horse to a halt.

  Someone was staggering toward her—a woman, she saw, when the wind whipped out a long dark skirt—who then dropped again to her knees with a squeak.

  Tansy’s heart lurched.

  “Polly!”

  She trotted over, scrambled almost gracelessly down from her horse, dashed over and knelt next to her, placing a hand on her arm.