Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03]

by Dangerous Illusions

  Gideon agreed, but she had given him cause to think. He did not know yet exactly what to make of the Seacourt ménage, but he was becoming concerned about Penthorpe. Though he had not been out and about much for a number of days, he had had visitors, and more than one had mentioned the viscount’s betrothal and his obvious affection for more members of the Tarrant family than just the one he was to marry. Gideon had also spoken with Penthorpe himself, and while that young man still had given no indication that he was anything other than determined to proceed with his wedding, it was clear that he had managed to be a good deal in Lady Susan’s company and was developing rather more concern for her well-being than for that of his betrothed.

  He left the assembly soon after restoring Daintry to her mother’s side, for although he would not have admitted it, his head was aching from the noise and bustle. He despised weakness in himself but did not doubt that Dr. Kingston had been right in warning him either to heed the signals of his body or be willing to reap the consequences of ignoring them. Much though he detested forced inactivity, he was sensible enough not to push himself too hard.

  Returning to Jervaulx House, he went to the library in case his father should still be up. Entering the room, he discovered the fire still crackling on the hearth, sending a golden glow through the room, and the lamp on the desk still lit. Jervaulx dozed in a wing chair by the fire, a number of papers from his lap having slipped to the floor.

  Gideon moved silently to pick up the papers and stack them on the desk. Glancing at others scattered on the desk top, he saw that the marquess, as usual, had been attending to business pertaining to the estates in Gloucestershire and Cornwall, as well as to Parliamentary matters. Shaking his head, and wishing, not for the first time, that Jervaulx would entrust some of these affairs to him, and that he could begin somehow to take Jack’s place in his father’s respect if not in his affection, he turned to ring for assistance to get Jervaulx to bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  He turned to find that the hard gray eyes were open, glinting at him with their familiar enigmatic look. “I was going to ring for someone to help you to bed, sir.”

  “That is not necessary. There is still much to be done. A brief nap, to restore the faculties, was all that was required.”

  “Father, really, you must—”

  “You are in no case to be giving advice, Gideon,” the marquess said brusquely. “You lack color, and the lines of pain in your face make it clear to the meanest intellect that you were ill-advised to venture out so soon after your injury. Go to bed, and take one of those powders Kingston left for you. According to that fellow Shalton, you have been neglecting to take them.”

  “Really, sir,” Gideon said, torn between resentment and a strong desire to tear Shalton limb from limb, “I am no longer a child and can certainly decide for myself—”

  “Your age appears to have had little effect on your powers of rational thought, dear boy, or you would recall that it is of little use to argue. You will do as you are bid.”

  Gideon’s head was pounding, so he gave up, for Jervaulx was right about one thing. It was never of the least use to argue with him once he had given an order. He considered telling Shalton and Kibworth to go to the devil when he discovered them both waiting for him, jealously vying with each other to see him safely into bed, but in the end he even accepted the glass in which Shalton had stirred a packet of Kingston’s powders, knowing it was far easier to drink it than to face his father’s chilly reproofs when his servants had reported his recalcitrance.

  “Which I’d do in a pig’s whisper,” Shalton informed him, “for it’s put to bed with a shovel you’ll be if you don’t look after yourself. That lump on your brainbox weren’t nothing to snap your fingers at, if I might take the liberty to say so.”

  “Watch yourself, Shalton,” Gideon said, feeling the effects of the powders already, “you’re beginning to talk like Kibworth.”

  He fell asleep on his henchman’s indignant retort, and woke feeling much refreshed the following morning. He did not get up at once, for it was clear from the lateness of the hour that he would be left alone until he rang, and he wanted to think.

  He found himself wishing, yet again, that life might simply sort itself out to fit the pattern one most desired. But even if that were possible, how, he wondered, did one go about sorting things so that everyone had what he wanted most? For himself he would provide a lady with dusky tresses, rosy cheeks, and an irrepressible mind of her own, who would give as good as she got, and he would also arrange a position in life for himself that suited him and felt comfortable.

  Though he had regretted leaving the army, he did so no longer, for although it had certainly suited him in wartime, he thought the peacetime army might well prove to be a dead bore. He would be far wiser to learn the duties that would one day be his, but that, too, was boring when it was merely a matter of attending to Barton’s instruction. He wanted to do things, to have the power to make decisions based upon what he learned. But it was useless to let his mind dwell on that, for he could imagine no way in which Jervaulx would allow him to insinuate himself into what the marquess regarded as his private affairs.

  The fact of the matter was that his wishes did not fit the patterns laid out for anyone else. If he were to follow his instincts and pursue the lovely Daintry, kissing his hand to the feud, to the tattle-mongers, and to Penthorpe, he would be making more trouble for her than she would likely forgive.

  He thought she cared for him; he knew he cared for her and that he could stir those smoldering passions of hers; but whether she would welcome any attempt to rearrange her life was another matter altogether. Moreover, it was utterly wrong to interfere, just as it would have been wrong to interfere between Seacourt and Susan. No matter how he looked at it, it all came down to that. He had no business to make Daintry’s life more difficult than it was. In fact, if he really wanted to do her a service, he would keep Penthorpe on the straight and narrow, and prevent him from making a cake of himself over Lady Susan at least until they were all safely out of London. If there was anything to be done to sort things out, it certainly couldn’t be accomplished under the eagle eye of that city’s busy prattleboxes.

  With these good intentions in mind, he spent the next week doing his best to watch over Penthorpe and to avoid seeming to single out Daintry for his own attentions. His first task was not difficult, for it was plain that Penthorpe, too, had heard the muttering and was doing his best to curtail it. He was seen everywhere with his betrothed, attentively waiting upon her and seeing to her comfort. If Susan was often in the vicinity, it could scarcely be thought remarkable in view of her relationship to Daintry, and if Penthorpe danced with Susan, or walked in Hyde Park with her for a time during the social hour, it was always in company and always in full view of the lady’s watchful husband.

  Indeed, there seemed to be nothing in Penthorpe’s behavior to cause comment; nevertheless, Gideon soon observed that Seacourt had begun to view the viscount with disfavor. Daintry seemed heedless of her betrothed’s interest in her sister, but Seacourt was not, and on the twenty-sixth, as Gideon dressed for the St. Merryn ball he felt a tingling of anticipation such as he had not felt since last preparing to go into battle. As Kibworth shrugged him into his tight blue coat, and Shalton tucked his watch and fob into the respective pockets of his waistcoat, he wondered suddenly if he was really concerned about Penthorpe or only about what his own reception at St. Merryn House would be.

  Not until he emerged from his carriage and stepped onto the red carpet that had been laid from door to flagway did he reach for his watch and realize that Shalton had slipped one of the ubiquitous packets of powders in with it. Smiling, he wondered if Kibworth had managed to conceal another in the lining of his cape or under the rim of his hat. The thought put him in an excellent humor, and he was smiling as he handed hat, gloves, cape, and stick to the waiting footman, and allowed the butler to direct him toward the line of guests entering the
stair hall.

  The drawing room and the two saloons behind it had been thrown together for the ball, and they were rapidly filling with guests. It was not yet a crush, for he had come early in order, he told himself, to lend his support to Penthorpe, but the family and those guests who had been honored with dinner invitations had emerged from the dining room, and at the first landing, the Tarrant family was lined up to receive their additional guests.

  Bracing himself to meet the earl’s displeasure, Gideon mounted the stairs behind a fat dowager and her wiry spouse, made his bow to Lady St. Merryn, greeted Daintry and Penthorpe, and held out his hand to the earl. “Good evening, sir.”

  “Upon my word,” St. Merryn grumbled, glaring at him, “you’ve a nerve to set foot in this house, sir. By God, you have.”

  “I have an invitation, my lord, so I hope you won’t order me thrown out,” Gideon said calmly.

  St. Merryn seemed to be of two minds about that, but their conversation had given the stout lady and her husband time to pass farther along the line, and just then, Davina, standing between St. Merryn and Charles, said loudly enough to be overheard, “It is really no concern of yours who gave it to me, Charles, so stop hissing at me. How do you do, Deverill? How daring of you to set foot in the lion’s very den! Do not speak to Charles. He is being a beast.” She fingered a pretty diamond brooch at her décolletage and fluttered her lashes at him.

  Next to her, clearly goaded, Charles said, “Look at that thing, Deverill! If your wife suddenly turned up wearing such a dashed expensive spray of flowers, wouldn’t you wish to know who the devil was so curst impudent as to give it to her?”

  Sparing Gideon the need to reply, Susan, at Charles’s other side, said, “Hush, Charles, you are drawing attention and holding up the line. Good evening, Deverill. Pray, pay him no heed.”

  Next to her, Seacourt said, “Susan, the orchestra is tuning up for the grand march. You will remain here with Charles to support your mother and father when Daintry and Penthorpe go in to lead it, and when you are released from your duties here, you will please be so good as to look after Catherine to be sure she is well entertained.” Barely waiting for her stiffly murmured agreement, he added, “Come, Davina. Since Charles and Susan must remain to do their family duty, you will stand up with me for the first set of country dances, will you not?”

  Davina laughed and fingered her brooch, casting a mischievous look at her husband. “To be sure, Geoffrey, I have been looking forward to dancing again with you this age. Come along, Deverill, we will find you an eligible partner.”

  Gideon had no objection, but he soon saw that although Seacourt apparently had no objection to indulging Davina’s blatant flirtation, or to flirting with other pretty women, including Lady Catherine, the moment that the other members of the family appeared, his attention shifted to his wife. He did not dance with her, but he certainly watched her, and when Gideon claimed Daintry’s hand for the first waltz, he saw that Seacourt was watching Penthorpe through ominously narrowed eyes.

  “Geoffrey is making me nervous,” Daintry confessed as she placed her hand in his and let him swing her into the pattern of the dance. “He keeps watching poor Susan like a hawk about to swoop down upon a rabbit.”

  “His own behavior leaves little room for him to complain, I should think,” Gideon said, seeing Penthorpe lead Susan into the dance and hoping that he was right and Seacourt would not make a scene. A moment later, seeing that Seacourt was once more dancing with Davina, he began to relax and enjoy himself.

  Daintry, too, had relaxed. “You have more color in your face tonight, sir. I trust you are completely well now.”

  “Oh, I think so,” he said, smiling down at her.

  She twinkled. “Do your servants still supply you with remedies, or do they too believe you have recovered?”

  Chuckling, he said, “If you will glance down at my waistcoat pocket—the one with my watch in it—you will see that I am still well provided. The one thing that keeps me from knocking their fool heads together is that they both forgot them yesterday.”

  She laughed. “I think they must care for you, sir, and want to keep you healthy. Or perhaps you just pay them very well.”

  “I do.” He guided her through an intricate pattern before he said, “You did not seem surprised to see me tonight.”

  “No, for Aunt Ophelia told me that she had sent you an invitation, and so did Penthorpe. He said I should look after you in case my father decided to cut up a little rough.”

  “Very pretty language,” he said, grinning at her.

  She looked surprised. “Good gracious, did it shock you? I merely repeated what he said, though I daresay I say such things on my own account frequently enough.”

  “No, it does not shock me in the least. You need not ever curb your tongue on my account.” He gazed down into her eyes, and it seemed to him that something stirred there, a memory of other times, perhaps, and he wanted to take her in his arms right then and there and kiss her. The music stopped and he glanced hastily around, certain that his feelings must be apparent to everyone within a dozen feet of them. Taking her by the arm he escorted her back to where they had left her mother and aunt, to find Lady Ophelia sitting by herself.

  “Letty’s gone to bed,” she said with a twinkle. “Felt a spasm coming on when she saw St. Merryn glaring at the pair of you. You needn’t fret about him either,” she added when Gideon looked quickly around. “He’s gone to look after the guests in the card room, which means we shan’t see him again tonight.”

  Gideon did not linger, certain now that he would be wiser to keep an eye on Penthorpe, and certainly the viscount was in a restless humor. He danced the cotillion with Daintry, but his attention was clearly divided, for he seemed to be keeping an eye on Seacourt and Lady Susan, who danced in the same set. Watching them, Gideon decided Seacourt was spoiling for a confrontation, and decided to do something to prevent it. Hurrying to the refreshment table, he demanded two cups of punch from a footman, and when the dance ended, he intercepted Penthorpe just as he and Daintry returned to her great-aunt’s side.

  “Thirsty work,” he said casually, handing one cup of punch to Daintry and the second to Penthorpe. “Thought you’d like to wet your whistles.”

  Smiling her thanks, Daintry sipped her punch.

  Penthorpe’s gaze swept distractedly over the crowd. “Much obliged to you,” he said. “Mighty thoughtful.”

  “Drink up, lad.”

  “Deverill,” Lady Jerningham said, appearing as if by magic at his side with a rather plain young woman in tow, “allow me to present you to Miss Haversham.”

  Moments later, dancing a Scotch reel with Miss Haversham, he looked around for Penthorpe but did not see him. His sense of relief was short-lived, however, for when the dance ended, he saw the viscount claim Susan’s hand for a waltz. Cursing under his breath, he looked swiftly for her husband. Seacourt seemed safely occupied, since he was dancing again with Davina, until Gideon saw Charles Tarrant moving purposefully toward them with a look on his face that boded ill for the continued merriment of the gathering. Muttering more curses, Gideon moved to intervene.

  “Not now, Tarrant,” he said firmly when Charles tried to brush past him. “This is not the time or the place, lad.”

  Charles looked at him in surprise but reacted just as Gideon’s military subordinates had reacted to that tone. “Yes, sir. Guess I forgot where I was, but dash it all, she’s got no business to be dancing a third time with that damned Seacourt. Bad enough he makes my sister’s life a hell. What can Davina—Here, what’s o’clock?” he demanded, staring past Gideon. “He’s taking my wife into that private parlor yonder, damn his eyes!”

  Gideon, following the direction of his gaze, saw at once that Seacourt’s eyes were blazing with fury as he strode toward the parlor and that Davina was trying to hold him back rather than to avoid going with him. He could not see Penthorpe or Susan anywhere, but just as he was trying to decide whether he would be wiser
to follow Sea-court and Davina or to attempt to keep Charles from doing so, he saw Daintry making her way quickly toward the parlor and the question was no longer at issue.

  Leaving Charles several paces behind, he moved through the crowd as hastily as he could without drawing the eye of everyone in the room. As he reached the parlor, he heard Daintry cry out, “Don’t you dare to touch her, Geoffrey! Don’t touch either one of them! It was not what you’re thinking at all, for I saw them. Susan was feeling faint, that’s all. She has not been in spirits all evening, and it was plain as a pikestaff—No, don’t!”

  Gideon now saw that Penthorpe, who had apparently been seated beside Susan on a small sofa, had leapt to his feet to stop Seacourt, but Seacourt had shaken free of Davina’s clutches and clearly intended either to knock Penthorpe down or thrust him aside to get to Susan. He was able to do neither, however, for Daintry dashed in front of him.

  “Stop where you are, Geoffrey,” she snapped. “You will bully no one in this house, do you hear me?” But her words ended in a sharp cry when Seacourt, clearly in a blind rage, backhanded her hard enough to send her spinning into a heap on the sofa.

  Before Penthorpe could react, Gideon covered the space between in a few long strides, grabbed Seacourt by the shoulder, spun him around, and felled him with a right to the jaw.

  Behind him, Charles exclaimed, “Well done, by God! Now pick the bastard up and give him to me, for I’m going to finish the job. First my wife, then my sister. By God, I’ll murder him!”

  “Charles, no,” Davina cried. “You mustn’t!”