by Farr, Diane
Lilah’s eyes felt as if they would pop from her head with astonishment and wrath. “You must be demented!” she gasped. “My father is a respectable, upright man, not a—a lecher!”
His lip curled in a sneer. “His daughter, naturally, knows nothing about it! I have it on excellent authority that Chadwick has spent the past seven weeks persecuting a certain young lady—a lady of birth, but no prospects. Since she is an orphan, I daresay he thought she had no one to protect her, no one to defend her from his unwelcome advances. He is about to learn his mistake.”
Lilah, relieved to discover that Drake had simply been misinformed, uttered a trill of scornful laughter. “Well! You could scarcely be farther off the mark. I have just received word that my father is about to contract a marriage. Now, how could find time to court my future stepmother if he were busy seducing a young girl?”
Drake looked startled, but only for a moment. His scowl became fiercer than ever. “Marriage!” he ejaculated, straightening as much of his spine as the low compartment would allow. “So that’s the way of it. He has used his title and his fortune to turn Eugenia’s head. Well, I have a piece of Spanish news for Sir Horace Chadwick! I have a better title and a bigger fortune, and I’m jolly well going to marry her myself.”
Lilah felt the color draining from her face. “Eugenia?” she said faintly. “Eugenia Mayhew?”
Drake looked sharply at her. “That’s the name. My second cousin, once removed. I’ve meant to marry her since I was fifteen years old.”
“But—but—no, we cannot be speaking of the same person! How old is your Miss Mayhew?”
“Six and twenty. What’s the matter?”
Lilah pressed her palms to her cheeks. “Merciful heavens.” The scenario she had dreaded, of being placed under the thumb of a powerful crone, was being replaced by a new, even worse, nightmare: the vision of finding herself subordinate to a young bride.
She turned to Miss Pickens, blinking in bewilderment. “Picky, did you hear? Miss Mayhew is quite young. Can that be possible?”
Miss Pickens flushed uncomfortably and tugged at her gloves, a nervous gesture so habitual to her that every pair she owned had been stretched out of shape. “Yes, my love, I heard. Well. Not what you expected, I daresay. But she will be a most amiable lady, I’m sure, if Lord Drakesley vouches for her—”
Lilah could scarcely comprehend what Miss Pickens was saying. Her brain was awhirl, adjusting to this new set of circumstances. “Oh!” she interrupted, tears stinging her eyes. “My unfortunate Papa! He must have taken leave of his senses. He’s a modest man, a reserved man. Why would he make such a figure of himself? The dreadful creature has ensnared him somehow, luring him with her wicked wiles.”
“Eugenia has no wiles, wicked or otherwise,” said Drake hotly. “She is a gentle, dignified lady—utterly without pretense, and completely free from odd humors. She is, in fact, a paragon of every feminine virtue.” He looked pointedly at Lilah. “Unlike some females I could name! I’ve known Eugenia since she was twelve years old, and she’s never once argued with or contradicted me.”
Lilah gave a disdainful sniff. “If she fails to argue with you, she’s either a simpleton or a prig. Why would any man wish to marry such a bore? Especially my father. Why, he might marry whomever he pleased.” Drake’s bark of disbelieving laughter caused Lilah’s cheeks to heat. Her voice rose in anger. “My father, I’ll have you know, is a prince among men! Gentle, chivalrous and thoughtful, always considerate of others. He would never dream of bullying or browbeating a woman.” She jabbed her finger accusingly at Drake. “And those are the qualities a lady truly admires in a man, whatever some of you men may think.”
“He sounds a perfect milksop,” snorted Drake. “That’s not the kind of chap to appeal to Eugenia—or any other woman with an ounce of spirit.”
“Much you know about it!” cried Lilah, furious. “You have never even met my Papa.”
“And you have never met my Eugenia. You may take it from me, she is the last woman in the world to cast out lures to an old man.”
“Papa isn’t old!”
Miss Pickens covered her ears with her hands. “Oh, stop! Pray, stop it!” she pleaded breathlessly. “I cannot bear to hear another word.”
Drake and Lilah were concentrating so completely on their battle that Miss Pickens had been utterly forgotten. Caught, Lilah felt ashamed of herself. She quickly hugged Miss Pickens’s thin shoulders and begged her pardon, blushing. “I don’t know what came over me,” she confessed. “Shouting like a fishwife. Your poor head! Truly, Picky dear, I am sorry.” She caught a glimpse of Drake out of the corner of her eye and her expression darkened. “Although, you must admit, the provocation was extreme.”
Miss Pickens mumbled and sniffed into Lilah’s shoulder, then sat up, straightening her bonnet and fumbling for her handkerchief. “I’m sorry to be such a wet-goose,” she gulped. “My lord, I don’t know what you will think of me. It’s just that I—I never could bear to be around any kind of argument or strife.”
“Good for you,” said Drake unexpectedly. “There’s no excuse for us, Miss Chadwick. Let us beg Miss Pickens’s pardon at once.”
“I have already done so,” said Lilah stiffly.
“Then so do I.”
He gave the distinct impression that his apology was conditional, and that he offered it only because she had offered hers first. Lilah struggled to quell her indignation. Miss Pickens’s lacerated nerves were more important—at the moment—than putting Lord Drakesley in his place.
Whatever his faults, he did not seem to nurse a grudge. Lilah’s feathers were still thoroughly ruffled, but Drake appeared admirably calm, even sympathetic, as he addressed Miss Pickens. “It reflects well on you, madam, that you are sensitive to the sound of quarreling. Don’t be embarrassed. Your interruption was an excellent thing; I applaud it. In the heat of the encounter, Miss Chadwick and I lost sight of the most important point.”
Lilah looked askance at him. “And what, in your opinion, is the most important point?”
“That you and I are allies.” He almost smiled at her. “It is absurd for us to bicker when we are, in fact, in agreement. Your father’s marriage to Miss Mayhew must be stopped.”
Lilah immediately felt guilty. “Oh, dear,” she said faintly. “You go too fast, my lord. I had not thought that far ahead. Not to actually oppose the marriage—at least, not irrevocably. I had thought to meet Miss Mayhew before making up my mind. I wanted to see how the land lay, as it were—”
“Well, you see how the land lies,” said Drake reasonably. “You were picturing an older woman for your father. You doubtless hoped he had chosen a motherly soul who might, if all went well, take a fancy to you. Such a woman might actually have been acceptable to you. In some ways, she might have made your life easier.”
“Yes,” Lilah admitted. “Although I would never dream of encouraging Papa to marry, simply to make my life easier.”
“Be that as it may, you will instead be saddled with a stepmother barely older than yourself. This is an entirely different kettle of fish.”
Lilah’s forehead puckered with puzzlement. “But this is exactly why I think there must be some mistake!” she exclaimed. “I can understand, upon reflection, why Papa might wish to remarry. I have often thought that he missed the companionship of someone his own age. But to marry a woman so much younger than himself—no, I cannot understand that. Unless—” She bit her lip.
“Unless?” Drake prompted. Laughter lurked in his voice.
Lilah twisted her hands together in her lap. She turned anxiously to Miss Pickens. “Picky, do you think it might be my fault? It occurs to me that I may have let a few ill-considered remarks drop—complaining about the servants and so forth. Do you think I led him to believe I feel overburdened by my responsibilities since Mama died? Do I complain too often of boredom, or loneliness? Perhaps he thinks I would welcome the companionship of a girl near my own age.”
Miss Picke
ns did not reply. For some reason, she even looked a little embarrassed. But Lilah brightened, warming to the idea. “Why, I daresay one frank conversation with Papa will scotch the whole scheme. I will tell him that I enjoy tending to the household’s needs, and that you provide the only companionship I require. He need not marry on my account. If he wishes to find a truly suitable lady, someone to give him mature companionship, he may take his time and do so. A widowed lady, perhaps, with years of experience in managing a large household. A bride in her twenties would be as out of her depth as I am. More, in fact, since she would be completely unfamiliar with Chadwick Hall. What can Miss Mayhew do that I cannot?”
Miss Pickens fluttered and murmured, and Drake uttered a bark of jeering laughter. “She can give your father an heir,” he said rudely. “A young wife is uniquely able to do that.”
Seeing her charge stunned into silence, Miss Pickens hurried into speech, blushing and blessing herself. “My dear Lilah, I fear that Lord Drakesley is quite, quite correct—all very natural, of course, but so distressing! I own, it was the first thing that occurred to me. A common reason to remarry, you know, for a man with only one child, and that child a girl. A pity that poor Sir Horace could never quite like his uncle’s oldest boy. What was his name, my love? Reggie, I think. Or was it Richie? At any rate, I always thought him a trifle wild as a boy, and now that he’s grown he’s scarcely better, and Sir Horace never approved of—well! They do say boys will be boys, but, really, they only seem to say that about a certain type of boy, and one hardly likes to think of a boys-will-be-boys type of boy, which Reggie certainly is—or, I should say, was—inheriting an estate, let alone a property one personally cares for. Wickedness rewarded! Nothing could be more distasteful.”
Beneath the flow of Miss Pickens’s gentle chatter, Lilah had had time to recover her poise. “There is nothing wrong with Reggie,” she declared crossly. “Once he has sewn his wild oats he will doubtless settle down and make a good master.”
Miss Pickens patted Lilah’s knee sympathetically. “I hope you are right, my dear. Although, if he does—or when he does—what will become of you? Well! We mustn’t think about that. No sense in borrowing trouble. And, of course, if your father should marry Miss Mayhew and produce an heir, your position will be equally precarious. So, as far as you and I are concerned, it’s really six of one and half a dozen of another, isn’t it?”
Lilah stared blindly at Miss Pickens’s kindly, worried face, feeling as if her blood were turning to ice water. Perhaps it was the jolting of the carriage and the lingering smell of onions that was making her feel so sick. She swallowed hard. “What nonsense you are talking,” she said, a bit unsteadily. “I will always be first in Papa’s heart.”
Good heavens. Was that pity she saw flickering in Miss Pickens’s eyes? Intolerable! Lilah braced herself against the swaying of the coach and tried to appear calm. She had had a shock, but she would recover. The notion of one’s father marrying to produce an heir was, naturally, repugnant—but understandable. At least it meant that Papa had not, as she had first feared, become enamoured of a scheming hussy. He was contracting a marriage of convenience. He had neither lost his wits nor been trapped by some Machiavellian female. This was not, could not be, a love match. He was marrying because he needed an heir. Perfectly sensible. Utterly practical.
For a moment, she felt slightly better—which told her, more clearly than any argument would have, how much of her initial reaction had been simple jealousy. She had feared, on some primal, unconscious level, that Miss Mayhew would supplant her in her father’s affections. It would be terrible indeed to find oneself relegated to second place, after so many years of being the center of Papa’s universe. What a relief, to realize that he was contracting a loveless marriage.
Except that Miss Pickens had just uttered a terrible truth. Miss Mayhew was the least of Lilah’s worries. Papa would, if he could, sire a son. Any man might, eventually, become disenchanted with his new wife. But a son? A son would take precedence over the wife and the daughter. Immediately. Permanently.
Her fears stirred again, stronger than before. Alarm rushed through her like a shot of brandy, making her feel hot and sick. Drake was right. She must, if she could, put a stop to the marriage. Perhaps it was ignoble of her—well, it almost certainly was—but she had no choice. Females had so little power in the world. She had to hold onto whatever portion she had, however she could.
She became aware that a silence had fallen while she wrestled with her demons. Drake’s eyes were on her, watchful and shrewd. He seemed to guess the direction of her thoughts, for a wry smile twisted his mouth. “An unpleasant prospect, isn’t it?” he remarked. “I’d offer you my sympathy, but I’d rather offer my help. What do you say, Miss Chadwick? Shall we put our heads together?”
The suggestion was appealing. Too appealing, when a tiny voice within her whispered that it was probably wrong. Anger and confusion rushed through Lilah. “Wild horses could not persuade me to team up with you,” she snapped.
Drake rolled his eyes piously toward the ceiling. “May I remind you, Miss Chadwick, that it is dangerous to speak without thinking.”
Despite his apparent solemnity, she could see he was laughing at her. Lilah flushed with mortification. He was right. Her unruly emotions had led her to blurt out something uncivil. Now she looked like the rudesby! Why did this dreadful man rattle her so? It cost her something, but she managed to incline her head and mutter, “I beg your pardon. I did speak without thinking.”
His self-satisfied grin made her wish she could retract her apology. “Thank you,” he said smoothly. “Now I hope you will think for a moment. We must convince Sir Horace and Miss Mayhew, singly or together, to break their engagement. It’s a tall order, but it seems that you and I share—ah—forceful personalities. Working alone, either of us might prevail. But together, Miss Chadwick—together, we almost certainly will.”
Miss Pickens fluttered in protest. “Oh, my. Dear sir, do you think it wise? Really, I don’t think I can condone any actual interference. It would be most improper. Unseemly! We must not insert ourselves into such a delicate matter—and one that is really none of our business.”
Drake bowed courteously toward Miss Pickens. “I was not suggesting, ma’am, that you involve yourself in this.” His eyes gleamed as they met Lilah’s. “Miss Chadwick, what say you?” he asked softly. “Shall you and I join forces?”
Looking into the deep-set amber eyes across from her, Lilah felt a strange spark of exhilaration. It was unsettling, but undeniable. This terrible man, of whom she thoroughly disapproved, brought something out in her—something primitive. Something the civilized part of her mistrusted and disliked. Just being around him somehow turned her into a shrew, and now ... now he was deliberately appealing to the darkest part of her nature, the corner of her soul that she admired least.
And she was responding.
She could feel the tug, as if her internal moorings were straining against a sudden, strong tide. Would they snap? She didn’t know. They had never been tested before.
Her mouth had gone strangely dry. She had to swallow before she could speak. “I promise nothing. I will ... I will think on it,” she said unsteadily. She did not want to give him even that much, but it seemed the best way to avoid further argument. She needed a little space in which to think.
Preferably, a space that did not contain Lord Drakesley. His presence seemed to addle her wits.
Chapter 4
No one noticed when the rain began. So long as its pattering was covered by the creak and rumble of travel, the interior passengers were unaware of how wet the weather had become. What they did notice, through the leather flaps covering their two small windows, was the gathering darkness. The light coming through the chinks had gradually grayed and gone dim.
“How gloomy it is,” Lilah exclaimed at last. “It can’t be that late, can it?” She reached to unfasten the curtain beside her and peer out.
“Wait!�
� warned Drake, but too late. She had pulled the flap loose. Water instantly poured in and sluiced down the side of the compartment to the bench where she sat. With a startled exclamation, Lilah leaped from her seat and across the aisle, landing in the only available spot—the place beside Drake.
Her move had been purely instinctive. Anyone in her position would have done the same. And when Drake reached past her with his long arms to refasten the curtain, he had no choice but to lean against her while his fingers wrestled with the catch. After all, she was in the way. There was nothing improper in his touch. There was no meaning attached to their forced intimacy.
So why did Lilah feel as if someone had unexpectedly punched all the air out of her?
Once, when she was about ten years old, she had fallen out of a tree. She would never forget the frightening sensation. The world had spun and the breath left her lungs with a whoosh, leaving her stunned on the ground, helpless and dizzy. With Drake’s body crushed against hers, Lilah stopped breathing and, for a confused moment, could not remember how to begin again. The sensation was similar to that long-ago fall from the tree—she felt as shocked, as helpless. And nearly as breathless.
But, no, this was different. She had never experienced anything quite like this. Crazy thoughts jostled in her brain. Every nerve jangled. She was acutely aware of the weight of him. The heat of him. She felt his body press hers from shoulder to thigh, branding her.
A monstrous idea reared its head. Was she attracted to him? Impossible! She couldn’t be. But then—if not, what was the matter with her?
Oh, this was terrible.
It was also the most thrilling feeling she had ever experienced.
Could she keep it to herself? Merciful heavens—she mustn’t let him see how strongly his touch had affected her! How embarrassing. Why, she didn’t even like the man. What would he think of her, if he knew he had bowled her over simply by fastening that silly curtain? He’d think she was demented. Or worse! Wanton. Contemptible. Oh, he did bring out the devil in her. What to do? What to do?