Duel of Hearts

by Farr, Diane

  But she didn’t tell him that anything hurt, and he still went on touching her.

  Scarlet-faced, Lilah eventually gritted her teeth. “Put my foot down.”

  His hands stilled. “There’s nothing broken,” he said, his voice sounding strained.

  “Of course there is nothing broken. I told you I wasn’t injured.” She knew she shouldn’t snap at him, but anger was all she could cling to in this impossible situation.

  He flushed a dull red. “I’m not taking liberties, if that’s what you think,” he said sharply. “I have a little knowledge in this area.”

  “From diagnosing horseflesh, no doubt.” She tossed her head with a sniff. “I am not one of your fillies, to be handled at your whim.”

  He returned her foot to the ground and rose, his fists clenching at his sides. “I don’t know why I tried to help you,” he said disgustedly. “I should have known you’d bite my head off.” He leaned over her, eyes gleaming. “I wish you were my filly. I’d break you to bridle, and that right speedily.”

  Lilah gave him an over-sweet smile. “If I were your filly, I’d run away.”

  The gleam in his eyes burned hotter. “I’d offer you sugar and you’d come to me sweetly. You wouldn’t suspect a thing, until it was too late. I’d have the halter on you in no time.”

  Lilah’s chin came up. “Nonsense. I’d see right through you,” she said softly. “You’d not get near enough to lay a hand on me.”

  “Drake,” interposed Eugenia’s calm voice. “Offer Lilah your other arm. She should not be walking on this uneven ground unsupported.”

  Drake straightened hastily. It seemed that he, like Lilah, tended to forget Eugenia’s quiet presence. “Right,” he muttered. He held his right arm toward Lilah—a bit stiffly. She took it—a bit warily. Eugenia took Drake’s left arm, and the threesome strolled forward again. Slowly.

  The ground really was uneven, and the thick grass was deceptive. One never knew when one’s foot might land in a hole, or hit a hidden rock. Conversation flagged while they minded their steps. “Heavens,” said Lilah at last. “I call this dangerous. No wonder the owner has left it to his flocks. One couldn’t possibly plow this field.”

  “Oh, stop grumbling,” said Drake. “Don’t you hear the siren call of history?”

  “Is that what it is? Sounds like sheep bleating.”

  His shoulders shook. “You find fault with everything. I never saw a more fascinating place in my life. This field is chock-full of antiquities.”

  Lilah tried not to laugh. “I knew it was chock-full of something. I can smell it.”

  Miss Pickens’s voice called excitedly from the other side of a series of hillocks. “I have found a denarius!” She held up a tiny object pinched between her thumb and forefinger, waving it with enthusiasm. “Do you suppose I might keep it?”

  “If it doesn’t bite,” murmured Lilah.

  Drake almost grinned. “A denarius is not a creature. It’s a coin.”

  Lilah peeped up at him, feigning intense admiration. “How wonderful it must be to have a classical education.”

  At that, Drake laughed out loud. This pleased Lilah enormously. Really, it was marvelous to have someone to joke with. She would miss him when she went home with Papa.

  That turned out to be an unfortunate thought. Home had never seemed less inviting. Plunged into gloom, Lilah fell silent. She had just recognized the source of her crankiness. When Eugenia’s letter brought Papa hurrying back from Uxbridge, there would be a frightful row. She didn’t mind the row so much, but she knew it would end with her immediate departure from Wexbridge Abbey.

  Papa would drag her back to Chadwick Hall—a place which, until now, had always been her favorite place to be. Now, her beloved home would seem sadly flat. She very much feared that her thoughts would turn to Drake far more often than was good for her. In just a few short days, she thought resentfully, the exasperating earl had completely cut up her peace.

  Her mood did not improve. Wandering through the ruins, admiring the view, peering at weathered stones while assuming an interest she did not feel, Lilah was, by turns, exhilarated and miserable. When engrossed in conversation with Drake she tingled with awareness of him, forgetting everything but his exciting nearness. When rudely recalled to the present, usually by Eugenia intruding some remark that reminded Lilah of her existence, Lilah’s heart sank into her shoes. It was the most unsettling morning Lilah had ever spent.

  She welcomed the call to luncheon with relief, hoping it would provide a break from her emotional turmoil. It did prove more interesting than the Roman ruins. The Peabodys’ idea of a picnic was a lavish spread of dainty edibles, trucked in by cart and served by members of their staff. The party sat on pristine linens spread on the ground beneath a tree, and ate off china plates handed them by footmen. The fine weather held, and a pleasant breeze kept flies at bay. All in all, the meal was a huge success.

  The only difficulty was, Lilah grew increasingly nervous as the meal wore on. She feared that her attraction to Drake, and his to her, was becoming glaringly obvious. Try as she might, her attention was drawn to him again and again. He would keep staring at her, and it seemed that every time she lifted her eyes they met his. She was uncomfortably aware that Aunt Polly was watching them, with a sphinx-like expression that gave no clue to her thoughts.

  She dreaded speaking with him alone, fearing that it would only add fuel to the fire, but his marked attention to her was making her frantic with embarrassment. While the servants were gathering up the gear, Eugenia and the Peabodys moved away to give them room and Lilah seized her chance, plucking urgently at Drake’s sleeve.

  “You must stop looking at me,” she told him, in a furious whisper. “It’s impolite. And besides, you’re embarrassing me.”

  “I’m not looking at you,” he snapped. “You’re looking at me. Every time I glance in your direction, I catch you watching me. What the devil do you mean by it?”

  The injustice of this remark fairly took her breath away. “Oh! You—you—why, I don’t know a name bad enough to call you! How can you sit there beside Eugenia and stare me out of countenance? I hardly knew where to look. It’s rude to both of us. It’s more than rude, it’s vulgar!”

  She saw the muscles jump in his jaw as he fought for control. “Was I looking at you?” he said, through gritted teeth. “Very well; I was! If you don’t like it, then stop being so bloody interesting.”

  “What? How dare you use such language—”

  “If you don’t want me to stare at you,” he interrupted, “I suggest you keep out of my sight. For whenever you’re in view, I swear by all that’s holy, I cannot tear my eyes away.”

  She stared at him, completely flummoxed. In another man’s mouth, that assertion might have sounded flirtatious. Drake sounded enraged, as if her mere presence had goaded him past endurance. He was motionless beside her, but his stillness somehow gave the impression that he was holding himself on a very tight leash. There was a tenseness about his body that suggested restraint. And his eyes burned like a madman’s as he gazed down at her.

  “You are driving me insane,” he told her, still through clenched teeth. “I am counting the moments until your blasted father takes you away from here. If I am to survive until then, you are going to have to keep your distance. For God’s sake, Lilah—have a little mercy. Stay away from me.”

  “How can I?” demanded Lilah, stung. “It’s impossible. We are guests here. We must endure each other’s company as best we can. Besides, what is the matter with you? You told me you wanted to marry Eugenia. Now that she’s accepted you, you’re ignoring her—and, if you ask me, behaving very oddly.”

  Drake looked ready to explode. “Of course I am behaving oddly!” he exclaimed. “I can’t keep my eyes off you—I can’t think about anyone but you—I try to escort Eugenia like a dutiful fiancé and you end up on my other arm—I cannot escape you!” As usual, he thrust his hand wildly through his hair, careless of the destruction
he wrought. And, as usual, the gesture tugged peculiarly at Lilah’s heartstrings.

  “Don’t do that,” she ordered, distracted. “It makes you look a fright.” Without thinking, she reached up and smoothed his hair back into place.

  Oh, dear. She should have worn proper gloves instead of these lace mitts. Her bare fingers were in his hair, and the sensation was sinfully delicious. Drake’s hand shot up and caught her wrist, holding it in a grip that was almost painful. “Lilah,” he said hoarsely, as if goaded almost beyond endurance. “I’m begging you.”

  He didn’t need to finish the thought; she knew what he meant. Lilah discovered that she was trembling. She took a ragged breath and tried to smile. “Sorry,” she whispered. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. “I wasn’t thinking.”

  Aunt Polly’s prosaic voice cut into the moment, causing Drake and Lilah to jump like startled hares. “Time to go,” called Polly cheerily. “I rather fancy a storm is coming.”

  The darkness on the horizon had nothing to do with the electricity jolting through Lilah. As far as she was concerned, the storm was already here. And raging.

  Chapter 17

  This night’s after-dinner gathering was far more sedate than the previous evening’s had been. Part of the reason was that the vicar and his wife were present, so a noisy game of commerce seemed vaguely unsuitable. And part of the reason was the weather. The wind whistled and moaned, rattling the shutters and blowing occasional gusts of smoke into the room from the fireplace. This seemed to subdue the spirits of everyone save Lilah. She actually felt calmer and more cheerful than she had earlier. The weather matched her mood, making it seem as if Mother Nature herself sympathized with Lilah’s plight. She felt less necessity to vent her feelings while the storm expressed them for her.

  Wexbridge Abbey, like many old buildings, was exceedingly drafty. On a night such as this, inexplicable breezes blew and eddied in the rooms. This was uncomfortable for everyone, but torture for Miss Pickens. The unfortunate woman believed in spirits. Despite her best efforts to hide it, she grew more and more skittish as the wind worsened. Several times during the course of the evening she whirled fearfully round, clapping one hand to her neck as if feeling ghostly breath upon her. Shortly after the clock chimed eleven, the candle on the table beside her suddenly went out. Miss Pickens gave a terrified gasp, her hand clutching wildly at her throat.

  “Tis the wind,” said Lilah soothingly. “Naught but the wind.”

  “Oh! Of course. So silly of me,” said Miss Pickens, trying to laugh. “There is no earthly reason for a Christian woman to be fearful on a night like this, is there?” She glanced nervously at the vicar.

  He gave her a thin, disapproving smile. “None whatsoever,” he said repressively. “I am always a little astonished at the power of a mere rainstorm to overset the nerves of suggestible persons. We ought to know better, oughtn’t we? We are not children.”

  Miss Pickens flushed to the roots of her hair, too ashamed to reply. Lilah’s eyes sparkled with anger as she lifted her chin at the clergyman. “People of all ages dislike storms,” she said coolly. “I am not overfond of them myself.”

  Drake was sitting across the room, studiously avoiding contact with Lilah. But she saw a flash of approval in his eyes and a grim smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “I don’t like them, either,” he said shortly. “Never have.”

  Lilah’s heart warmed. It was good of him to champion Miss Pickens. She knew perfectly well that weather was a matter of complete indifference to him; in the short time she had known him, she had seen him out in weather of all sorts. His remark must be motivated by pure kindness.

  Beside her, Miss Pickens breathed more easily and her embarrassed flush faded. She slipped a grateful arm beneath Lilah’s and squeezed it. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Perhaps, as I am not entirely myself this evening, I should go early to bed.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” said Lilah stoutly. She knew Miss Pickens must dread going down the dark and drafty passages to her bedchamber alone. She also knew that her old friend would be heartily embarrassed to let a servant see her to her room, since she would hate for a stranger to witness her fear.

  Polly looked up. “Miss Pickens need not stay if she doesn’t feel up to it. But, Lilah dear, must we lose you so early?”

  “I will return,” Lilah assured her, smiling. “But if I do not see Miss Pickens safely to her door, I will spend the rest of the evening fretting about her.”

  Drake rose lazily out of his chair. “I’ll escort you.” Lilah must have looked as startled as she felt, for he added, “To see you safely back to the drawing room, Miss Chadwick.”

  “Oh,” said Lilah, nonplussed. She could hardly argue with him in front of the vicar and everyone, but it seemed strange that he would offer his escort. He had been avoiding her ever since their brief argument at the picnic spot. “Very well,” she said at last, not wishing to appear ungracious. She gestured to the table beside him. “You might bring that lamp.”

  They formed a well-lit group as they walked toward Miss Pickens’s bed chamber; Drake carried the lamp and the women each held a candle. The strong light, and being flanked by two supporters, seemed to ease Miss Pickens’s jumpiness. “Thank you,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I know I should not be afraid of storms, but I cannot seem to help it. It was on a night like this that I saw—” She broke off with a shudder. “Well! I had better not think of that experience. I shan’t sleep a wink as it is.”

  Drake raised an eyebrow. “What! Did you see a ghost?”

  Miss Pickens gulped and nodded. “I was a mere child,” she said faintly, “but I never shall forget it. A white shade, floating across the lawn. Horrible!”

  Drake’s eyes met Lilah’s over Miss Pickens’s head. She looked a warning at him, and he quelled his amusement. Instead, he looked down at the governess on his arm and said bracingly, “If I saw something floating across the lawn tonight, I’d think someone’s laundry had blown off the clothesline. A nightshirt, or a pillowslip, or something of that sort. But that’s the advantage of seeing through an adult’s eyes. Daresay a child wouldn’t even think of that explanation.”

  Doubt and surprise flitted across Miss Pickens’s features. It was clear that that explanation of what she had witnessed had not occurred to her—then, or at any time since. “Gracious!” she murmured, looking dazed. “Do you suppose…no, no. There was something indescribably eerie about what I saw.” She shuddered again. “I have been afraid of ghosts ever since.”

  Drake assumed a philosophical air. “Well, if you see any shades tonight, Miss Pickens, you may send ‘em along to me. I’m three doors down the hall from you. They are welcome to float across the lawn, or rattle my shutters, or whatever takes their fancy. Won’t bother me a bit.”

  Miss Pickens actually smiled at this. “It does sound foolish, doesn’t it? To be afraid of something that merely floats across a lawn.”

  Drake’s eyes crinkled slightly as he looked at her. “Miss Pickens,” he said solemnly, “I wouldn’t dream of calling you foolish.”

  They had reached the door to her bed chamber. Drake pulled it open and, with Miss Pickens’s permission, strolled across the small, cold room and checked the window latches. Pooh-poohing her suggestion that they ring for a servant, Drake kindled the fire for her with his own hands, lit the small lamp at the side of her bed, placed her candle on the mantelpiece to give her an additional source of light, and bowed. “All’s safe,” he promised her.

  Miss Pickens was pink with embarrassment and gratification. “Oh, my lord, you are too good,” she stammered.

  “Nonsense,” he said, seeming surprised. “It was my pleasure.”

  Lilah had watched the scene from the open doorway, leaning against the door jamb and smiling in spite of herself. Drake seemed utterly unaware that it was unusual for a man of his rank to wait on a governess. There was a task to be done and he did it, soothing Miss Pickens’s alarms and seeing to her comfort with no mo
re fuss than if she were a cherished aunt.

  She was still puzzling over why she found this quality so endearing when she looked up to see that the moment was over; Miss Pickens was bidding them goodnight and Drake now stood beside her, closing the door. Lilah straightened hurriedly. She was about to be alone with Drake, and her wits immediately began to scatter. She swallowed hard, then, as the door before her shut tight, she sneaked a peek at his face.

  Drake had one hand on the doorknob while the other held the lamp high, its circle of mellow light keeping the darkness of the passage at bay. His eyes glinted down at her. Their expression made her heart race with excitement—and an overpowering sense of danger. “I hope,” he said softly, “that you are in no hurry to return to the drawing room.”

  At his words, Lilah’s hand shook and her candle suddenly jumped and wavered. Drake took it from her, blew it out, and set it on the low table beside Miss Pickens’s door. Lilah knew what was coming. She knew it in her bones. She made one last, feeble attempt to forestall the inevitable.

  “I thought you had decided to avoid being alone with me,” she said. Her voice came out suspiciously weak and quavery.

  His eyes met hers squarely. “I changed my mind.”

  And then, as she had hoped—as she had feared—he pulled her roughly to him with his free hand and kissed her, his arm encircling her waist, holding her fast. Holding her up, for surely she would have sunk to the floor otherwise; her knees seemed to melt like so much sealing wax. All of her, all of her was melting. She moaned and sagged against him, limp and delirious, while he kissed her as if he had all night to do it, all night to kiss her senseless.

  But it wouldn’t take him all night to kiss her senseless. She had obviously lost her mind already.

  Helpless tears spilled down her cheeks. When he tasted salt he groaned and murmured, “Lilah. Lilah, don’t cry. Don’t cry, sweeting.” He kissed the tear-tracks with a gentleness she had not glimpsed in him before. Then he pulled her, one-armed, down the passage to a tiny, windowed alcove. The rain drummed against the mullioned windows, muffling their conversation from any listening ears. Drake set the lamp on the window bench and took Lilah silently into his arms.