Touched by Fire

by Kathleen O'Reilly

  “Not in this household.”

  Giles crossed his arms over his chest, a mutinous gleam in his eye. “There are expectations, sir. Even of you.”

  “I’m not a host.”

  Giles smiled. “No, but with proper training, we can turn you into an acceptable facsimile of one.”

  Training? Giles expected him to transform into a damnable fop? Probably. “I shudder at the prospect.”

  “We all do, sir, but somehow we shall persevere.”

  Why were there so many rules? He had no patience for nonsensical precepts. Yet this was the world he had to live in now. “I have to do this, aye? Very well, make whatever arrangements you need to.”

  “It’s already arranged, sir. The invitations are being delivered even as we speak.”

  Why had he even thought otherwise? “Who did I invite, Giles?”

  “Miss Elizabeth Cumberland-Smythe and her mother, Mrs. Eleanor Cumberland-Smythe; Mr. Stephen Mackenzie; Mr. and Mrs. Jasper Lambert, and their daughter, Catherine; Miss Jane Hammersley and her mother, Lady Murray; Sir Peter Harwood; Miss Anne Melbourne and her mother, Mrs. Augusta Melbourne; Mr. Samuel Lawson; Miss Sophia Whitcombe and her companion, as yet unnamed; Miss Charlotte Wardle and her mother, the Duchess of Morden; Mr. Richard Perry; and the ever-jovial Sir Jason Tarbuck.”

  “That many? It seems far more than necessary. I only need one wife.”

  “You’ll do fine, sir. Now, if you would be so kind, I need your approval on the menu.”

  Giles needed his approval for nothing. They both knew that. Colin tugged on his boots, ready to leave. “Bloody hell, I don’t care what you serve.”

  “Sir! If you knew how hard I worked to—”

  “Yes, yes.” Colin surrendered. “What are you serving?”

  Giles cleared his throat. “Dinner will be served promptly at nine. We’re havingles filets de volaille à la maréchale, la fricassée de poulet à l’Italienne, la côte de boeuf aux oignons glacés, and for dessert, the pièce de résistance—”

  “It sounds lovely, Giles. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  The butler brushed his small moustache with a satisfied smile. “Thank you, sir. There is nothing like an elegant table to turn one’s attention to the matters of the heart.”

  Matters of the heart.That was one area he did not want to consider, not now. Instead, he called for his carriage. Today he had a dragon to slay, and he was looking forward to the contest. Those were the rules that he understood best.

  • • •

  Owing to the ongoing disquisition in the newspapers regarding her financial affairs, Sarah was pleased to discover the fortune hunters had, at least for the moment, abandoned her door stoop. Obviously they believed the stoop, and all inside, were now the property of the earl, as if the man had swooped in to claim the winnings from his wager. Nothing could be further from the truth; in actuality, she was alone. She studied the books from Alcyone’s, played cards, but nothing would fill the emptiness inside her. She needed a purpose. Perhaps something charitable or philanthropic. No more mooning about a man with sherry-colored eyes. She was a woman now, no longer a child with foolish dreams, and she should act as a woman in command of her own destiny.

  However, before she could map out her strategy, Iris flung open the doorway and swept to the floor. “My lady, an emissary from the earl of Haverwood, Mr. Giles, is here to see you.” She raised her head an inch, looked at Sarah, and winked.

  Sarah’s heart tripped for just a moment, but then she realized there was no reason for rejoicing, no reason at all. She watched carefully as Mr. Giles strode into the room. “Thank you, Iris.” She pointed to the door. “That will be all.” She would make short work of the man and send him on his exacting way.

  “Would you be needing tea, mum?”

  “Iris. That will be all.”

  Iris moved slowly toward the door, sighing extravagantly. “Yes, mum.” She tried one last time. “I’ll be right outside. Just call. It will only take me a moment to appear. Anything you need.”

  Mr. Gileshmmphed in a disapproving manner, and Iris narrowed her eyes and emitted something that could have been a growl. Finally, she turned on her heel, her skirts swishing, and slammed the door behind her.

  “Now then, Mr. Giles. What it it that you need?” Sarah elected to stand, wanting her intentions clear. This visit would be blessedly brief. She would play no more games. This was a game she could not win, and she only played to win.

  “I came with an invitation from the earl.”

  Sarah merely cocked an eyebrow.

  “He’s having a dinner party.”

  She tapped her foot, not believing it for a moment.

  “Many guests will be there. Sixteen in all.” He smiled in a gratuitous manner. “Including yourself, and the companion of your choosing of course.”

  Sarah spoke slowly. “Mr. Giles, I’m afraid I must decline the invitation. There is nothing I can do to help you. It would be cruel of me to mislead you.”

  “Miss Banks, you should have heard the way he talked of you this morning. Singing and whistling. I’ve never seen him in such good spirits.”

  Didn’t he realize that his impudent lies hurt her all the more? She needed to forget the earl, not to carry on as she was, receiving invitations to social functions that she had no business attending. “Mr. Giles, I’ve noticed your perceptions are slightly variated from my own.”

  “I’ve known the earl all his life, Miss Banks. No one knows him as well as I do.”

  She moved closer to the door. “That may be true. But it is time for you to abandon your ridiculous plan. If the earl chooses to marry Miss Lambert, that is his right.”

  “You’d let him succumb to such a nefarious, shifty-eyed succubus?”

  The thought was ridiculous. “Miss Lambert is none of those things.”

  “She only wants to marry the earl for his money.”

  Sarah smiled tightly, her short supply of patience gone. “Why do you think my intentions would be any more honorable?”

  “I’m not a fool.”

  Sarah opened the door and nodded politely. “Then with such insight into the human heart you can surely discern that I’m not one either. Our business is at end, sir. I wish you the best of luck.”

  The little man dug in his heels. “But, Miss Banks—”

  “No more, sir.” Sarah could take no more. “Iris!” The maid appeared instantly.

  “Yes, mum?”

  “Show Mr. Giles to the door.”

  “Miss Banks, will you listen to me?”

  Iris took the man’s arm and began to tug him into the foyer. “Now you heard the mistress. Are you going to move along here, or do we have to throw you out into the street?”

  Mr. Giles pulled his arm away and dusted his sleeve. “You’ll do no such thing. I can see myself out.”

  Iris folded her arms over her chest. “Good day to you, sir.”

  Sarah closed the parlor door firmly behind the two; Iris had the situation firmly in hand. Mr. Giles wouldn’t return.

  Iris watched the little toad mince his way toward the door, his back stiff as a poker.

  The man turned, his hands on his hips. “Do you really think that it’s best that she abandon the earl so easily?”

  He stared at her intently, as if he were interested in what she thought. What a bit of rubbish. “Miss Sarah knows her own mind well enough, she does.”

  “He really is taken with her.”

  “I’m sure he is. Why wouldn’t he be? Miss Sarah can turn any man’s head.”

  “She’s taken with him as well. She looks miserable.”

  Iris had heard Miss Sarah’s tears, watched as she played cards hour after hour. She knew well enough when a woman’s heart was broken and she knew just as well whose fault that was. “And he’s responsible,” spat out Iris, making not attempt to hide her contempt.

  Mr. Giles’s eyes sharpened. “What happened? Did she tell you that?”

  “No, but there’s
no need for her to spill her heart. A woman knows these things.”

  He sucked in his stomach and straightened, the superior little toad once more. “Then you know they should be together.”

  “I know no such thing,” she snapped.

  “He’s a good man. The very best.”

  Iris tossed her head. “She deserves nothing less.”

  “With only one small nudge, she could be happier than she’s ever been.”

  Iris frowned, wishing the toad were right. Miss Sarah had been alone for so long. “Is he as handsome as they say?”

  “In a forbidding, brooding, morose manner.”

  Iris didn’t know what that last bit meant, but it sounded as if the earl was sad. “Are his eyes really the color of sherry?”

  Mr. Giles snorted. “Sherry? I always considered them brown. Although rather a golden-brown color. I suppose with a bit of imagination, one could say they were sherry colored.”

  “Really?” Iris perked up. “He’s not one of those natty toppers, is he? Miss Sarah can’t tolerate that.”

  Mr. Giles’s moustache bobbed. “Oh, no. He’s, um, his own man. Follows his own dictates, no one else’s.”

  Iris paused, considering the man’s words. Could the earl really make her mistress happy? More importantly, would he? Iris felt herself weakening. “She has been rather lonely after her father died.”

  “The earl has been that way all his life. Snapping and bellowing and burying himself in his books. He needs something. He needsher. ” The man’s blue eyes softened, and Iris realized how much he cared about his employer. “Please.”

  She wrung her hands together. “I couldn’t betray the mistress.”

  “But don’t you see that you wouldn’t be betraying her at all. You’d only be helping her follow her heart.”

  And what could she say to that? “I don’t know what you expect of me. I’m just a maid, Mr. Giles.”

  “Ah, Iris—may I call you, Iris?—you must never underestimate the power that lives belowstairs.”

  So, the man thought she could do something to put a smile back on Miss Sarah’s face? It was a tempting idea. A very, very tempting idea. She made up her mind. “I still don’t like you, Mr. Giles, but I’d do anything for Miss Sarah. Come around to the kitchen. We can talk there without being disturbed.”

  That afternoon Colin stood in Mrs. Stoutland’s overblown entrance hall—it had taken little effort to find where the frigate was docked. He fingered the gambling markers in his pocket while her butler announced him. Sarah might be willing to forgive the stupid woman so easily, but Colin would not let such a cut go unremarked.

  The drawing room was ostentatious and overdone, exactly like its owner. Gold and gilt dripped from the walls and every corner was filled with small ornaments that served no purpose at all.

  He looked up when Mrs. Stoutland toddled in and she gestured for him to be seated.

  “Lord Haverwood.”

  He nodded. “I believe we have a small matter to settle.” He saw her flicker of fear and smiled slowly.

  “I’m not aware of any outstanding need for discussion.”

  He pulled out the markers and shuffled them in front of her. “It seems your husband has been busy at the tables.”

  “My husband is a fool.”

  Her husband, Colin thought to himself, was an inordinate fool to have married such a razor-tongued dragon. “A very poor fool, as it were.”

  Mrs. Stoutland blanched slightly at that remark but continued nonetheless. “What is it that you want, Lord Haverwood?”

  Colin crumpled the markers in his hand. “Your behavior last evening was abominable. You will treat Miss Banks with the respect she deserves.”

  “Ihave treated Miss Banks with the respect due her,” Mrs. Stoutland replied. “The very little respect due her.”

  So the dragon chose to fight? Why was he not surprised? He blew out his breath slowly, fighting for control. “You forget who is holding the cards. I did not come to argue.”

  She snorted and glared. “You have chosen your path, and now you must live with her legacy.”

  “Her legacy is not at issue. I expect you to forget it as well.”

  “Forget it? She’s a wench from a gaming hell. She had a father who was a chiseler, who wagered his daughter like she was a whore. Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Lord Haverwood?” Her voice spiraled in volume, and she ended his name with a roar.

  A red haze clouded his sight and he fought a powerful urge to destroy. He stood and began to prowl about the room, yanking at his collar. “She is not a whore, nor is she responsible for her father’s sins. You’ll not speak of her in such a manner.”

  “She has you fooled, hasn’t she?” The woman’s tone pitched low, wheedling. “I bet she’s beside herself at the thought of such a fine match. You should have taken her in a back alley; that’s where she belongs.”

  Colin leaned low and snarled. “You will leave her alone.”

  “If you choose to become her protector, then you’d best accustom yourself to living with her sins.”

  He raised a hand, tempted. Moving closer still. “I have never had such a desire to strike a woman, but I have yet to meet a woman who deserves it more.”

  “I will not allow such insolence in this house, no matter your rank . . .”

  For so long he had lived in fear of his own rage. And now, as he watched the harridan in front of him, he clenched his fist, aching to erupt, knowing the fire that blazed inside him was a father’s legacy to his son.

  “ . . . as is this folly you are pursuing . . .”

  He slapped his palm on her filigreed table, sending empty teacups flying.

  “Silence!”

  The woman shrank from him, her piggy eyes glistening with fear.

  He rubbed his head, struggling to regain his composure, and yet she remained undeterred.

  “You are new to the ways of the city, Lord Haverwood, so it is quite understandable. You’re not the first gentleman to be overtaken by his lust and a clever woman who spreads her legs so easily.”

  All thoughts of control were snatched away. He grabbed the crystal decanter that sat upon her table, his hand curling over the elaborate lines. Far beyond words, he smashed it against the mantelpiece, the glass shattering into shards.

  “You double-poxed bitch,” he stormed. “Words like that will get you dead.”

  He heard the sound of her whimper, felt the pull of the dragon’s realm.

  Dear God.

  He stared down at the ornate carpet, the pieces of scattered glass winking in the bright sunlight, beckoning, pulling him toward the man he pretended to be. As he viewed the remains of his destruction, he wondered what he would have done if she had not stopped. He tugged at his cravat, not willing to examine the question further.

  With a quiet calm, he faced her again, the DragonSlayer once more. “You will not speak ill of her again.”

  “Of course, Lord Haverwood. As you wish.” There was respect in her gaze, respect overlaid with fear.

  He ran a finger over the remains of the crystal he held in his hand, eyeing the scarlet blood that emerged. His father’s blood. “I could ruin you, you know. You are lucky I don’t ask more.” He moved toward the door, the air stifling. “Good day, madam. Don’t make me return.”

  • • •

  Since the year her father had opened the club, Sarah had never graced the outer floor at Alcyone’s when the club was open, instead hiding in the kitchen, or paying bills in the offices upstairs. A true gentleman’s establishment was no place for a female to be seen. That had been her father’s rule, and she had accepted it. Dinner and drinks were served by men, to men. It was the way of things, and Sarah did not quibble.

  When the club was closed, however, she would run her hands over the fine leather furniture, the green baize tables, searching for rips or stains, and sometimes simply savoring the feel of the power and energy that remained behind.

  This morning, she had aw
akened, wanting to bury herself in her pillow and drown out the noise of the world with her sobs. Last evening had been a mistake. Now she needed the comfort Alcyone’s had always provided her. It was the place where she felt closest to her father. So, instead of subjecting the household to a great multitude of mournful wails, she got dressed and went to do her business at the club.

  After taking care of the previous day’s accounts, she settled back in the small chair she used in the office and picked up the large, leather-bound volume that held the whims and caprices of the club members bets and idly flipped the pages. Pages of silly wagers, wagers of drinking contests, and lovesick conquests. Men were such fickle creatures.

  With a disgruntled sigh, she closed the book with a thump and wandered through the empty rooms. A leather chair needed a new covering, a table was scratched far beyond repair. Her father had given her his club as her legacy, yet the familiar satisfaction she got from Alcyone’s winnings brought her no joy. Money was no comfort now. Finally, unable to concentrate, she departed for home.

  When Sarah arrived, she was greeted by a house full of flowers. Daylilies, roses, bluebells. A burst of color and scents that would have cheered up even the most dour of persons.

  “Iris!”

  Iris burst into the room, the deep blue blossoms of a violet peeking from under her mobcap. “Oh, Miss Sarah, you’ve just missed him.”

  Him.Surely not. Surely it was Mr. Giles that Iris was referring to. “Who?” Sarah asked the question quietly, her voice quite calm, in spite of her thundering heart.

  “The earl.” Iris brandished his card like it was a royal summons.

  Sarah refused to touch the card. She would not believe this. “He was here? You saw him? What did he want?”

  “He asked you to dinner, mum.”

  Oh, this was sounding very familiar. Sarah put her hands on her hips. “Iris. You’re in cahoots with that man!”

  “What man?”

  “Mr. Giles.”

  Iris looked shocked. “Oh, no, mum. Not that peacock! How could you accuse me of such perfidery?”