He caught sight of her and scowled through his coughing. “You have no business up here. Get down where you belong.”
“Why, of course, your mighty lordship,” Dillian replied with all the sarcasm she could summon through waves of relief. “I’ll go down with all the other peasants waiting to watch you fly through the roof of your own accord.” And with that retort, she scrambled backward until her feet reached the new ladder, and she climbed down and out of his sight.
The man holding the first ladder gave his lordship’s scarred, scowling face a single look and moved backward also. “Reckon I’ll do the same, your lordship.” As he reached the roof’s edge and safety, he grew a little bolder and added, “But if that’s your lady down there, my lord, you’re a braver man than I am if you come down anytime sooner than dawn. She has a tongue to blister the fur off a cony.”
To the astonishment of those waiting below, the black scarecrow of a figure on the roof erupted in pealing tones of belly-deep laughter.
* * * *
“You didn’t have to tell them I was a war hero recovering from my injuries,” Gavin groused as they rode their mounts into Arinmede’s stable.
“No, I could have confirmed their fears that you’re a vampire who walks the night and sucks their blood.”
Gavin shot her an evil look as she climbed from the horse on her own. The glance showed him how her damp shirt clung to her tempting curves, and he had to turn away to work on his saddle.
Damn and blast the male reproductive instincts, he cursed as he slid the saddle off. They surged to the forefront at the most inopportune times.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. Where do they get tales like that?” Their running argument was the only thing saving his sanity at the moment.
“What should they think?” Dillian asked indignantly. “You hide up here for months on end. No one but your servants ever see you, and you barely speak to them. You live in a crumbling pile already reputed to have ghosts. You don’t introduce yourself to society. Your only contact with the village is with the money you send down for supplies. I can’t think of a more effective means of breeding suspicion.”
“As long as it means I’m left alone, I don’t care what they think,” he answered curtly.
The emotions of the evening had affected him more than he could wish. The hysterical cries of the young mother, the whimpers of terrified children, and Miss Whitnell’s frantic screams chased around and around in his head, and he couldn’t be rid of them.
Her concern had shaken him. No one but Michael had offered any concern for him in a long time.
“Well, just fine and dandy,” she retorted. “You keep skulking around this monstrosity, and they’ll keep thinking you’re a vampire. Some night they’ll march up here with burning torches and try to put a silver bullet through your heart.”
Gavin watched her savage attempts to groom his horse. He might do better to save the horse’s hide and drag her out of here. “Leave the horses. I’ll call Mac to finish up.”
He noticed she didn’t argue with this command. Grooming horses apparently didn’t come under a lady’s list of accomplishments. She put the curry comb back and strode off toward the manor, her hips swinging furiously beneath the damp tunic. Gavin nearly swallowed his tongue watching the rhythm of the sway.
“You have no reason to worry over my eventual fate, Miss Whitnell,” he responded catching up with her. He had to end this madness once and for all. “You and Lady Blanche will be nowhere in sight should it happen.”
She stomped up the steps and tried opening the massive door. When it didn’t budge, she beat upon it. Gavin leaned over her head, wrapped his fingers around the edge, and gave a mighty pull. Ancient oak creaked and heaved outward. Even the damned doors in this place were backward.
She didn’t thank him for his assistance but glared at him as he followed her into the darkness of the hall. “I suppose you’ll insist on throwing us into the streets again. It’s no matter to you that we’ll all be burned in our beds.”
“No, no more than it is no matter to you if the citizens of the whole damned town come after me with torches. You have your problems, I’ll take mine.”
“You are the most impossible, irritating man! We can’t possibly leave until Blanche is safe. I categorically refuse to leave. I’ll clean your kitchens, repair your draperies, pacify the villagers, whatever you want in exchange for our residence here. Make your choice, but don’t even think about turning us out.”
Gavin wouldn’t have been half so amused had she pleaded instead of yelling at him. As it was, he found the turn of the conversation quite stimulating. He had half a mind to tell her what he required in exchange for her residence here, but a shadow beneath the stairway emerged before he could voice his lecherous thoughts.
“I wouldn’t answer that one if I were you, my lord,” the shadow spoke, entering the puddle of light from the candle at the foot of the stairs. “She’s like to skewer you with her tongue if you try.”
“Will you quit that ‘my lord’ business, Michael? It irritates the hell out of me. And what are you doing lurking in the shadows at this hour? Where is Lady Blanche?”
Light danced off the reddish glints of his brother’s hair as Michael leaned against the newel post and regarded both of them. “The two of you look like bats fried in hell. Did they burn down the Grange, too?”
Gavin wiped at his face with his handkerchief while Miss Whitnell scrubbed hers with the back of her sleeve. She left more smudges than she removed. He had an overwhelming desire to scrub her face for her, but he conquered it by concentrating on Michael. “No, just a house in the village. Miss Whitnell, why don’t you go up and wash and check on Lady Blanche?”
He could see her eagerness to do so as she took a step toward the staircase. Something in the atmosphere must have given them away, however. She shook her head, crossed her arms, and turned her glare on Michael. “What’s wrong? Why were you waiting for us?”
Michael raised his eyebrows and turned back to Gavin. “What’s wrong with this picture? You’re supposed to seduce the duchess, not the she-devil.”
As much as he loved his younger brother, there were times Gavin could easily strangle him. Actually, he thought he could strangle him more often than he could love him. He didn’t have to do either at the moment. Despite her evident exhaustion, his companion practically went up in flames beside him.
“She’s not a bloody damned duchess, and if I have any say about it, she never will be! If anyone tries seducing her, I’ll personally see their throats severed!”
Gavin couldn’t remember being so amused in a long time. The daring Miss Whitnell barely reached his shoulder. Her thick curls had fallen in damp ringlets about her very feminine neck, and her monstrous tunic clung to a figure too slender by half. And she threatened two men twice her size and strength. Not only did she threaten them, she used damned foul language in the process.
Idly, without giving his words much thought, he said to Michael, “Obviously, a military background there, wouldn’t you say?”
To his surprise, she turned white as a sheet and started for the stairs.
Michael skewered him with a sharp look as Dillian hurried upward. “I think you just hit her sore toe with a sledgehammer.”
He may have wished upon occasion to silence her quick tongue, but Gavin had never meant to hurt her. For the first time in a long time, he felt someone else’s pain, and an awful guilt that he had caused it.
He remembered Dillian’s anxious, soot-blackened face peering down from the thatch of a burning cottage as she foolishly tried to rescue him. He heard her screams of terror as he fell through the roof. Not once had she ever looked at him as a monster or treated him as anything else but another human being.
Even his title meant little to her. She’d left him a rose, for pity’s sake. And he’d done nothing but gripe and complain and slam her feelings into the ground. He’d kept to himself for so long, he’d forg
otten how to respond to the concerns of others.
He was an ass, but he was helpless to do anything about it. He didn’t even know what he’d said that had sent her fleeing. With resignation, Gavin turned back to his brother. “All right, what’s the bad news?”
His usually overconfident, ebullient brother looked unusually uncertain as he listened to Miss Whitnell’s footsteps hurry down the upper hall. It occurred to Gavin that Michael and Miss Whitnell would make a very good pair. The thought thoroughly depressed him, but he didn’t stop to consider why.
“I think we’d best discuss it together,” Michael answered. “The ladies may provide more enlightenment than I can.”
“I don’t suppose it can wait until morning?” Gavin asked wearily.
Michael shook his head. “You don’t think the she-devil will wait until morning to see the duchess, do you?”
Of course not. Both women would be awake way into the night catching up on the wrongs committed by a couple of useless bachelors, scheming how best to keep the manor as their hiding place.
He must have baked what was left of his brains to let Michael bring the women here in the first place. They’d be damned lucky if a couple of fathers didn’t show up with shotguns.
“You are going to get them out of here?” Gavin demanded with suspicion.
Michael looked resigned as he glanced upward. “Not easily.”
* * * *
Dillian barely knocked at Blanche’s door before entering. She found Blanche sitting at the table in darkness, her eyes unbandaged as she stacked a deck of playing cards into a swaying card house. A gust of air caused by the door opening toppled the cards.
“Drat it, O’Toole! Must you choose now to make a grand entrance?”
Momentarily amused, Dillian glanced around for Verity. The maid wasn’t in sight. Frowning again, Dillian answered, “I’m sorry if my company disappoints you. I left O’Toole downstairs arguing with the marquess.”
Blanche leapt from her chair and ran to hug her, stopping only when she caught some glimpse of Dillian’s disarray. “My stars! What have you done to yourself?”
Immense relief swept through Dillian as she realized Blanche could see her, even in the darkness. “Your eyes! They’re undamaged, then?”
“Even if they weren’t, my nose never lost its sense of smell.” Blanche sniffed and picked fastidiously at the damp tunic clinging to her companion. “You’d better go wash and find clean clothes.”
Clothes. She hadn’t packed clean clothes. She’d been so damned afraid the marquess would leave without her, that she had completely forgotten anything but a suitable disguise for following him. Dillian sighed. “I don’t even have my boy’s clothes. I left them at the Grange. I’ll fetch that dress I found.”
“Let me call Verity for some warm water. You can just wear one of my robes for now. Tell me all about it. I’m so horribly bored sitting here like a turnip. Is it safe for us to leave yet?”
“I doubt it.” Dillian watched with interest as Blanche tapped on the door between hers and the next room. Had Blanche expected O’Toole and told Verity to leave? That didn’t make good sense. She didn’t inquire as the maid answered the rap. The idea of warm water and scented soap wiped all other thoughts from her head.
“Couldn’t we light a lamp in here?” Dillian inquired as Verity hurried to fetch the requested water.
Blanche drifted toward the window. “O’Toole thinks I should wait until my eyes have healed more. He makes me bind them in the daylight, although he’s given me the prettiest scarf to use instead of those awful bandages.”
All Dillian’s protective instincts reared up, but she said nothing inflammatory. She would watch and see for herself first. “How much can you see like this?”
Blanche shrugged. “Probably as much as you can. What do you see when you look around?”
Dillian hadn’t thought of it that way. The moon shone faintly through the windows, creating more shadows than it illuminated. She could see the outlines of the bed, dresser, table, and wardrobe. She could see Blanche silhouetted against the glass. She could guess at the other odd shapes scattered across the furniture.
“I see what you mean. If you could see those cards you were stacking, you’re seeing about everything I am.”
Blanche let out a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I worried Michael lied to me. It’s hard to remember how much one can see in the dark. I felt like I moved through a shadow world.”
“It is a shadow world.” Dillian gratefully took the pitcher of water Verity carried in. Within instants, she had the filthy tunic and breeches off and scrubbed her skin with the delicately scented soap Blanche used. She wondered if Verity had thought to bring this with her clothes or if Blanche had requested it of O’Toole, but she didn’t ask.
She regarded the relationship between her cousin and the footman warily, but she knew better than to tread on uncertain ground without looking before she stepped.
They discussed the events at the Grange as Dillian washed and donned the robe Verity found for her. Neither of them indicated any surprise when the peremptory knock echoed on the bedroom door.
“Here comes our eviction notice,” Dillian sighed as Verity hurried to let in the marquess and O’Toole.
Chapter Sixteen
Carrying a candle, Gavin nearly retreated from the bedchamber and slammed the door on the seductive sight within. If nothing else proved he had wandered too long from civilization, his reaction to one extremely feminine figure in a silken robe did. Not only did blood rush to his groin, but his palms broke into a sweat and his heart raced with an unseemly beat. He blew out the candle.
It didn’t matter. He still could focus only on that one slender beam of white in the darkness. He smelled the soap she had used to wash, damn it all. His mind had taken leave of his senses.
He’d had his share of women in the past. There had once been a time when he could have just crooked his finger and had any number of them at his feet. Their heady perfumes hadn’t loosed his brains, but one whiff of this termagant’s soap, and he was ready to crawl on hands and knees and beg for more.
That thought didn’t appease his already black mood.
“All right, Michael, have it out. Our agreement was to check the security of the Grange and send the ladies home. Once we verify the guards at the gate are doing their job, the Grange should be safe enough. You can accompany their carriage to reassure yourself, if that’s the problem.”
Gavin noticed with interest that Lady Blanche had drifted to the corner closest to Michael, but he didn’t speculate on that. Michael had never shown much interest in women, and they generally returned the favor.
The lady no doubt sought to get as far from Gavin as she was able, and in so doing ended in Michael’s corner. If he thought she could see his scowl, he would turn it on her and drive her screaming from the place. With any luck, the noisy baggage she called companion would follow.
With only two chairs and a bed for seating, they were one too many. Michael gallantly offered Lady Blanche a chair while Dillian appropriated the bed.
Gavin could scarcely tear his gaze away as he realized she meant to sit cross-legged among the covers, pulling the thin silk of her robe around her. He couldn’t keep from staring at the juncture where her legs must meet beneath the robe.
She darted a gaze in his direction and more discreetly curled her legs under her. For good measure, she tugged a blanket around her waist. Gavin gave a mental gasp of relief but refused the remaining chair. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched Michael lean back against the table in his favorite storytelling posture.
As Michael spoke, Gavin contemplated the thickness of the rope and the number of turns he would make in it as he wrapped the noose around his brother’s throat and hung him from the highest yardarm. The situation Michael had embroiled them in was tense enough without complicating it further.
“My lady,” Michael nodded respectfully in Blanche’s direction, “you will forg
ive me for questioning your companion, but if I am to protect you, I must know the truth.”
When Blanche offered no objection, he turned toward Dillian. “Miss Reynolds Whitnell?”
The figure in white merely stared at him, waiting for more.
“The servants call you Miss Reynolds, but your employer calls you Whitnell. I assume both names are yours?”
“Assume what you like,” Dillian replied.
Gavin sensed the tension forming in Michael’s seemingly idle posture. His brother played the part of devil-may-care Irishman to the hilt, but he was no more Irish than he was careless. Their lives had often relied on Michael’s keen wits and acting ability.
Gavin doubted if anyone ever saw the real man beneath his brother’s facade. Sometimes he doubted if he even knew him. That might be the reason he’d never strangled him.
Michael stared at the ceiling as he spoke. “I will assume both names are yours through your family. Since Whitnell is the one you hide, I assume that is the one most people would recognize. Lady Blanche’s mother was a Reynolds.”
Gavin had the amazing feeling the air in the room had just frozen to ice. He watched both women. Neither moved an inch. Neither responded. Michael continued as if he hadn’t expected a response.
“Lady Blanche’s father had a bosom companion in the military, a certain Colonel Whitnell. From all reports, the two men were so inseparable that they died together at Waterloo.”
Perhaps he imagined it, but Gavin thought he saw the termagant’s shoulders wilt just a little. Having kept himself absent from company for so long, perhaps he had become alarmingly sensitive to the moods of others. The ice in the room seemed to drip with sorrow.
Michael turned to Lady Blanche. “I am trying to help you. Your secrets won’t go beyond this room. But if I’m to stay one step ahead of your enemies, I must know more than they do.”
Lady Blanche began to speak, but Dillian overrode her. “What can a mere footman do? Don’t be presumptuous. We’re perfectly fine here. We will pay our way if the marquess is willing to wait until the funds are available. You need not know anything else.”
The Marquess Page 16