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Whisper To Me of Love

Page 20

by Shirlee Busbee


  His good humor momentarily restored, he took another sip of his wine. Well, since he couldn’t bait the Earl with knowledge about Morgana, at least not yet, he was going to have to concentrate his energies on extracting a suitable punishment from Royce Manchester for interfering with his plans, and also, more important to him at present, on wresting Pip away from the American. Again the thought of having Royce murdered crossed his mind, and he supposed that if Manchester continued to be such a thorn in his side, he really would be forced to have the man killed. Arranging the American’s death would be childishly easy, and he spent several moments considering various assassins who would carry out his wishes if the need became imperative. Pip, however, was a different matter.

  She was proving to be most annoyingly stubborn, he concluded slowly as he sipped his wine and smoked his cheroot. Pip’s open aversion to him presented quite a problem, not that her aversion bothered him—at the first opportunity, he would take a great deal of enjoyment in breaking her to his will, but in the meantime, he had to think of a way to get her out of the American’s clutches. Short of ordering Manchester’s death, that was turning out to be far more difficult than he had originally envisioned. He had been almost certain that Manchester would leap at the opportunity to be rid of Pip, considering all the gossip and malicious speculation going around London. But such had proved not to be the case. Manchester had been furious about what had happened—that had been patently obvious from the scene in the dining room! The man had been enraged, almost to the point of violence, which seemed to indicate some sort of attachment between him and Pip.

  Taking another sip of his wine, he frowned darkly. When the time was right, and that time was rapidly approaching, forcing Pip to accept him as her husband was going to be difficult enough without her having conceived some silly passion for the American. A thought struck him. Perhaps, he decided slowly, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, after all.... If Pip really was enamored of Manchester, he might be able to turn her emotional involvement to his advantage. Besotted women were notorious for sacrificing themselves for the ones they loved, and if he could convince her that by marrying him, she would be saving Manchester’s life ... He smiled. Mayhap he wouldn’t have Manchester killed—at least not immediately. If he could use the man as a weapon against Pip ... use the continuation of Manchester’s life to control her ... Of course.

  Pleased with a possible solution to one of his problems, he considered it further. If Pip was halfway in love with Manchester, it gave him a very powerful weapon. He didn’t even have to scheme to get her out of the house—she would come to him on her own ... to save Manchester! Smiling broadly, he took another sip of his wine. There were still some obstacles to be removed, but overall, he was very pleased with his deductions. He was a little concerned, though, that he might have misread the situation between Pip and Manchester, and concluded that it might be wise to observe them more closely a bit longer before he made definite plans. Now, it occurred to him, might be the time to speak with the spy he had placed in the Manchester household and see if the man had observed anything useful.

  He sat there for several more minutes mulling over his conclusions, going back over everything that had happened lately, carefully making certain that he had not overlooked any clue that might point to danger for him, or might reveal that he had drastically misread the situation. While he was generally quite satisfied with his speculations, Jacko and Ben’s failure nagged at him. They should have been able to find Pip that night and ferret her away! He believed their explanations, but the suspicion that they might be lying to him had returned more than once the past few days to irritate him. That was something else he could discuss with his tool so snugly encased in the Manchester household. Carelessly flicking the ash from his black cheroot, he stared unseeingly at the curling blue smoke that wafted in the air. If Jacko and Ben were lying ...

  If Jacko and Ben were lying, it was going to make the next few weeks extremely unpleasant, he thought slowly. And possibly dangerous for him. He had little doubt that he could outwit them, but they were clever—he would grant them that—and they could prove to be annoying, if unworthy, opponents.

  But if they were lying, why were they lying? Because they didn’t want to see Pip in his possession? Or was there some other, more sinister, reason behind their lies ... if they lied? Did Manchester have anything to do with their failure to bring Pip to him? It was nearly inconceivable to him, but briefly he considered the disturbing possibility that Manchester and the Fowlers might have joined forces. Now, that alliance would be exceptionally dangerous, and while he didn’t seriously believe such a thing had happened, on more than one occasion, his very survival had hinged on his habit of speculating on the wildest and most improbable situations.

  He held Jacko’s life in his hands, so he didn’t really fear Pip’s oldest brother, but it might behoove him to gain some hold over Ben—besides his brother’s life, of course. Yes, it would be wise to bring young Ben to heel—nothing as spectacular as the murder he had arranged for Jacko’s benefit, but something that would strongly remind Ben where his loyalties lay... .

  Jane’s two sons had never interested him overmuch, and a bored yawn escaped him. Deliberately he turned his thoughts to other things, such as his proposed removal from the city. London was beginning to get a little thin of company, and he was almost looking forward to a change of scenery—about this time of year, most of polite London deserted the city for the delights to be found at the seashore or, in some cases, at various country estates. He hadn’t quite made up his mind yet whether he would follow the Regent’s lead and stay at Brighton, or accept one of the many invitations he had received to stay at one of the more palatial country places. Inhaling again on his cheroot, he thought about it awhile, briefly even considering a stay at his own sumptuous estate in the country. It all, he finally decided, depended on the situation with Pip... .

  Coincidentally, he was not the only one that day speculating on plans for the removal from London. Royce and Zachary, just rising from an excellent repast prepared by Ivy Chambers, were discussing the very same topic.

  “You’re going to be staying with Julian Devlin?” Royce asked in some surprise. “I realize that you two have settled whatever differences lay between you, but are you certain you want to spend several weeks in the country with him?”

  Zachary smiled sheepishly. “I know it seems odd, but once we put aside our posturing and stopped trying to get the better of each other, we discovered that we have many interests in common.” His eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “Julian says that there is great fishing at St. Audries and that we can do some real riding and driving, not just those tame gambols in Hyde Park that pass for riding in London. It seems forever since I have had a bruising good ride! Everything is so restrained here. I am most eager to leave the city, I can tell you!”

  Zachary’s statements were not great revelations to Royce. He had been fairly confident that at first Zachary would be utterly fascinated by what a wicked city like London had to offer an enterprising youth, especially an enterprising youth who had never been to a city larger than the sleepy little town of Baton Rouge on the Mississippi River in Louisiana, and he had been prepared for his young cousin’s interest to wane once the initial impact of London had faded. Aware, too, of the dearth of company to be found in London as the summer progressed, Royce had been considering several invitations they had received to visit various relatives and friends in the country. He had made no definite commitments as yet, and Zachary was old enough to make his own plans, so Royce had no real objections to his young cousin’s proposed stay with Julian Devlin ... except the Earl would no doubt be in residence, and Royce was concerned that Devlin might make Zachary’s visit extremely uncomfortable.

  Glancing across at Zachary as they entered the salon, Royce asked thoughtfully, “And the Earl? Have you forgotten him?”

  Zachary shook his head. “That was my first question to Julian, but he says his father seldom stays at St
. Audries Hall. Says it has too many painful memories for him.”

  Royce’s left eyebrow rose skeptically. “Painful memories? The Earl?”

  “Hmm,” replied Zachary as he threw himself down on the sofa. “Julian says the Earl was very devoted to his sister-in-law, and when she died, he discovered he couldn’t bear to remain in a place that reminded him so much of her tragic death.”

  His face wearing an expression of sardonic disbelief, Royce retorted, “We are talking about the same man, aren’t we? The seventh Earl of St. Audries, Stephen Devlin? A more haughty, arrogant bastard I have never met! And you are trying to tell me that he actually suffers from tender sensibilities? Now, I can’t imagine why I have trouble believing that!”

  Grinning, Zachary said, “Well, according to his son, it’s the only tender emotion the Earl has ever expended on anyone other than himself! Supposedly it is the Earl’s excessive attachment to his deceased sister-in-law that caused the final rift between the Earl and his Countess.” Zachary’s grin faded just a little as he added, “I understand that the Dowager wasn’t your usual old dragon—she was reputed to be charming, very young, and very lovely—and Lucinda apparently made it abundantly clear that she was not the least bit unhappy when the other woman died in childbirth. Of course,” he added bluntly, “she wouldn’t be—the Devlin fortune of which Lady Lucinda is so quick to mention came from the Dowager Countess. If the poor little thing hadn’t left all of her worldly goods to the Earl, the Devlins would be poor as church mice!”

  Interested in spite of himself, but unable to suppress the teasing comment, Royce drawled, “My, but you and Julian really seemed to have covered a great deal of family history in a very short time!”

  Flushing slightly, Zachary answered quickly, “Oh, it’s not Julian who told me everything. Leland’s mama and Lady Lucinda are bosom friends, and it is Leland and Jeremy who explained everything to me when I commented once on the coldness between Julian’s parents—it is very obvious, even to a stranger like me, that there is no love lost between them. Leland swears it is because the Earl had fallen in love with his brother’s widow and that Lucinda could never forgive him for it. According to Leland, Lady Lucinda has an exceptional memory, and even after nearly twenty years, she is still full of envy and hatred for her dead sister-in-law. Leland’s mama claims it is because Lucinda really wanted to marry the Earl’s older brother, the sixth Earl, and that Lady Lucinda hated his young widow simply because he chose to marry her over Lady Lucinda. He evidently was nothing like Julian’s father! Leland says that everyone thought that the present Earl’s brother was a smashing fellow. They called him the ‘Dashing Earl,’ and he was very well liked amongst the ton. From what I’ve seen, I’ll wager that Julian is more like his uncle than his father!”

  A fascinated eye on Zachary’s face, Royce replied faintly, “How, er, enlightening. I cannot tell you how ... overcome I am to hear all this positively riveting information about the Earl and his family.”

  Zachary shot him a suspicious look, and seeing the amusement twinkling in the topaz eyes, he laughed. “Leland is a good gun, but he will go on and on!”

  “Yes,” returned Royce dulcetly, “and you seem to have picked up the same habit!”

  Zachary smiled ruefully. “Well, you can’t deny that it really is an absorbing story. I mean, the dashing Earl marrying a great heiress half his age, and then, just when everyone expected him to settle down into obscurity in the country with his young and beautiful bride, he was murdered! And then the bereft young widow was consoled by his brother, who inherited the title and who, incidentally, was known to hate him, and then she dies, and her baby daughter with her—it’s like something Shakespeare would have written!”

  “And since when,” Royce asked dryly, “have you become such an ardent admirer of the bard? If I remember correctly, you flatly refused to accompany me to the theater a few weeks ago to see Othello performed.”

  Zachary pulled a face. “Oh, that! It’s not the same,” he said in a dismissing tone.

  They conversed idly for a few moments longer, and then, as usual, Zachary disappeared, intent upon his own pursuits. Royce was thoughtful after his cousin’s departure, and wandering about the elegant salon, he considered the information that Zachary had just imparted to him. It was history, many of the main characters dead for over twenty years, and yet Royce found it strangely riveting. Was it because Stephen Devlin had inherited a fortune from his brother’s widow that he was so quick to resent others who had acquired wealth in more traditional manners? Could these long-ago events explain the Earl’s aversion to him? He doubted it, but Zachary’s words kept spinning through his mind ... especially that part about the infant daughter who had died at birth....

  If Royce found the Earl’s history interesting, Pip would have been fascinated by it. After all, Zachary had been talking about her family, even if her relationship was on the wrong side of the blanket!

  In the days since she had come to the house on Hanover Square, she had almost managed to push aside the knowledge that she had actually seen the man who had fathered her. Jacko and Ben didn’t even know that she had discovered her father, and while errant thoughts of the tall, haughty gentleman she had seen that fateful day flitted through her mind, there was little she could do to find out more about him. From his clothing and bearing, she knew him to be a gentleman, but beyond that, she knew absolutely nothing about him. She didn’t even know his name, and though she was certain Royce would tell her if she asked him, she was oddly reluctant to do so. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious—she was, almost insatiably so, and she would have hung on every word that Zachary had uttered about the dead Earl and his wife—but there was something about the man she believed to have fathered her that made her distinctly uneasy. Something in the cold gray eyes and the forbidding set of his mouth that made Pip not precisely enthusiastic about furthering her acquaintance with him. And being of a somewhat practical mind, she didn’t think that knowing more about him would change her life in any appreciable manner. He had obviously put Jane from his mind a long time ago, and his only emotion upon learning that a daughter had resulted from his liaison with a high-flyer he had once kept would probably be annoyance.

  In spite of being the newest and lowliest servant in the household, her days spent rushing about from one task to the other, constantly at the beck and call of all the other servants, Pip did have moments of quiet in which, when images of Royce did not dominate her brain, she had thought about the gentleman whose features were so like her own. It was true she was not particularly eager to get to know the man she believed to be her father, but it was also true that she could not help the occasional little fantasy in which, upon learning of her existence, her father swept her away to a marvelous life of ease and luxury where she was his much-doted-upon daughter.

  Far too often for her liking or peace of mind, however, she had other, more vivid, fantasies, and these were invariably centered about her large, handsome employer. As in the daydream involving her father, Royce, too, swept her away to a life of ease and luxury, but there was nothing paternal in the way Royce treated her! Nearly every night, in the privacy of her cramped room as she lay on her hard little bed, memories of the way Royce had kissed her would insidiously invade her mind no matter how hard she fought against them. Just remembering how it felt to have his strong arms around her, his mouth hard and seeking on hers, would cause her body to react wildly, and in mere seconds she would be moaning with frustration as wave after wave of intense desire would sweep over her.

  Pip tried desperately not to dwell on what had happened that evening in the library when Royce had taken her in his arms and kissed her, but in spite of all her good resolutions to the contrary, the memory would not go away. If anything, it became more powerful and more insistent, until her young body was almost constantly in a state of yearning arousal, burning with the need to have Royce’s muscled length pressed against her, to feel again the savage possession of his mouth on hers
.

  She had not slept well since that evening, her nights spent in restless tossing on her bed, and her sleeplessness was beginning to be noticed by the others. By Tuesday she was pale and wan, the purple shadows under her eyes giving her the appearance of a starving waif. That morning, as the servants were hastily eating breakfast in the big kitchen, Ivy worriedly expressed the concern that they were giving her too much to do. Afraid that someone would realize that it was sleepless nights spent longing for their employer’s embrace that caused her wan look, Pip had felt her face flame with embarrassment, and she had quickly assured Ivy that such was not the case. To prove her point, she worked tirelessly that day, hoping that perhaps she could exhaust her slender body so that when night fell, she would not once again be tormented with images of Royce making love to her.

  Unfortunately, no matter what she did, she was still beset with the most erotic thoughts and fantasies imaginable and she tossed fitfully on her bed, her body aching for the touch of one man. This must have been how my mother felt that first time, she thought miserably as she stared unseeingly at the ceiling overhead. Had Jane lain awake night after night so bedeviled by the longings of her flesh that finally she could bear it no longer and had given in to the urgings of her body? Had the hunger for one particular man been her mother’s downfall? And was she on the point of making the same mistake?

 

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