Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (51 page)

“Any woman would,” he agreed, but the bleakness vanished.

“She would be a pitiable creature, but she would not be your wife, Antony.”

“I don’t think you understand how much my past—”

“Oh, piffle, Antony, as if I had not heard all that before. You needn’t look daggers at me, either. I know you hate being interrupted. Like that stupid Petruchio, you’d prefer a wife who would pledge such duty to you as a subject pledges to his prince, but I could never be such a wife, and I will
not
listen quietly to such fustian.”

“Fustian, is it?”

“It is.” She stood up, moving to face him, and he felt amazement again at how much presence she had. Although she had compared him to Petruchio, he had no wish to change a hair on her beautiful head. She was still glaring at him.

She said, “Antony, the world—even the polite world—has changed. In those days, when your father behaved so cruelly, Englishmen favored liberty over order, ignoring reality. One cannot enjoy freedom without order. It was simple masculine idiocy to think England’s greatest enemy would abide by our ancient notion of courtesy. When your opponent refuses to abide by rules of fair play, for you to stick to them buckle and thong simply gives him an absurd advantage.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Don’t argue with me,” she snapped. “You will find that you are mistaken about the reception you will receive in London. In fact, Antony, I begin to believe the Fox Cub has turned coward.”

“Now, just a damned minute!” He stepped toward her, pausing only when he saw that her eyes were twinkling in anticipation. “So I’m a coward, am I?”

“Perhaps that’s a bit harsh, but you cannot have thought it out logically. Not all of your friends deserted you. There is Harry Livingston, for example.”

“He is a fool. It was he, apparently, who added a note to the letter he wrote for the Duke to my father, telling him the French had turned
Le Renardeau
into some sort of folk hero. We learned over the port that Alfred had read that note, found more tales of
Le Renardeau
on his own, and used his knowledge to start the rumors that have plagued me. He swears he meant no harm, but Harry believes he hoped the Fox Cub would be captured and put down by the authorities.”

“He cannot have wanted you killed,” Charley said, growing pale again.

“I choose to hope not, but although he put on a good show of remorse when Harry took him to task, in the course of it, he admitted that he was pretty certain of my identity when he heard me quoting the Bard. Said he had often heard of my habit of spouting the stuff, and it gave him a turn. As I recall, the rumors began only after I arrived here at Tuscombe. Still, it would not suit me to see my brother clapped into prison.”

“He certainly has much to answer for,” Charley said, “but you won’t divert me so easily. What of Wellington? Is he also a fool?”

Antony was silent but not for the reason she doubtless believed. After years of loneliness, to know now that the woman he loved was fiercely determined to fight his battles, even if she had to fight him, was a pleasure he did not want to interrupt.

She shook her head at him. “My dear sir, when your idiot father—yes, idiot, and I will not apologize for calling him one. When he gave you the cut direct at Brooks’s, Wellington was not in England. Now your father is dead, and the Duke is Prime Minister. You have money and vast estates—at least, I hope you intend to claim the estates. You cannot leave Alfred here.”

“No, I won’t,” Antony said with a smile. “I’ll settle one of the lesser Tarrant estates on him. Grandfather Foxearth’s, I think. That will do for him and Edythe.”

“Foxearth is your mother’s name?”

“Yes, I adopted it because it was not my father’s.”

“I see, but that brings us back to what I was saying.”

“I think I have heard enough,” Antony said, stepping nearer. “There is only one more thing I want you to tell me.”

“What do you want to know?” Her voice was soft, and he heard a catch in it.

“I want to know if you still hold men in such aversion that you could never bear to remain married to one.” He heard a catch in his own voice then, and it was all he could do to hold her gaze until she answered him.

She smiled and reached out a hand to him, saying, “I expect it was never the men I disliked so much as the way they made me feel about myself. They give off such an air of superiority, even the least of them, and try to control the women they meet. But I tried to control things, too. You were right about that, and so was Rockland, in everything he said when he tricked me into marrying you. I used feminine wiles to manipulate him, and other men like him. But he was like clay in my hands, so he brought out the worst in me. Since he seemed not to mind the way I treated him in return, I never knew he cared how I behaved toward him, or others, and he never did care enough to stop me when he disapproved.”

Antony grinned. “Do you think he could have stopped you, my little shrew?”

She laughed. “He said the same thing, and in truth, I doubt that he could have. He certainly would never have been as rough and ready as you were.”

“Perhaps not, but one can scarcely blame him for avoiding that temper of yours.”

“I know. I like myself much better since I married you.”

“And me? How do you feel about me, angel?”

Looking suddenly and uncharacteristically shy and unsure of herself, she bit her lip, then said, “You’ve changed, too, you know.”

“I know,” he said tenderly, “and I also like myself better. I have, ever since I was trapped into marriage with a naughty angel.”

“You were not trapped. You knew perfectly well what Rockland was up to.
I
was the one who was trapped.”

“Kate the curst,” he murmured, adding gently, “You can be free at once if that’s what you want, angel. As I said, I am a man of my word.”

“You said you would never lie to the bishop,” she reminded him, color flooding her cheeks again. “W-we have consummated our marriage.”

“I decided last night that if you want to be free, I will do what I must.”

“You will?”

“I will, unless—You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

His blunt question clearly caught her off guard, and he knew she had not considered that she might already be bearing his child. The thought warmed him. It warmed him more when she smiled mischievously and said, “I think maybe I am.”

Summoning up a heavy frown, he said warningly, “Kate the liar.”

She shrugged, looked away, then said innocently, “How can I be certain?”

“Easily. I won’t touch you again until you know.”

Charley moved toward him. “You lie now, my lord.” She placed one hand against his chest and looked up into his eyes.

“Can you
swear
that you won’t touch me? Not the littlest, tiniest touch of your smallest finger? What if I refuse to make a similar promise? What if I touch you here, or here, or—”

“Madam, enough!” He caught her hands and pulled her closer. Looking right into her eyes, he said, “I love you. Now, do you want the damned annulment or not?”

“Not,” she said, and with that one word filled him with a joy greater than any he had ever known. Then she bit her lip again, and said earnestly, “You don’t think I’m saying that just because I want to be Countess of St. Merryn, do you?”

“I do not.”

“Good.” She leaned against him, adding, “Because now that I’ve got a properly trained husband, I do think it would be foolish to turn him loose again.” Freeing one hand, she slipped it between them, clearly intending to torment him further.

Stifling laughter, he said, “Angel, I’m warning you. Stop that.”

“What will you do if I don’t?”

“Put you over my knee.”

“I don’t think so. Your bed would be so cold and prickly tonight.”

“Cold I understand, but prickly?”

“Thistles.”

“I see.” Without more ado, he scooped her into his arms.

“Antony, put me down! Where are you taking me?”

“To a bed, angel of my consolation, that I know is neither cold nor prickly, to teach you how to submit properly to your husband.”

“Are you going to throw Cousin Charley in the pond again?” Letty asked from the doorway. Jeremiah sat on her shoulder, watching them inquisitively.

Antony chuckled. “What an excellent notion!”

“You dare,” Charley murmured.

“No annulment?”

“No annulment,” she agreed, “but the independence you promised me is quite another matter, sir.”

“Great-Aunt Ophelia says independence is important for a female,” Letty said, “because it teaches her to make decisions in matters that affect her life.”

“I was referring,” Charley said sweetly, “to a more tangible form of independence, to money, in fact. In my name, sir, at Drummond’s Bank.”

“Some men,” Antony said thoughtfully, “would call that extortion. Others would call me a fool for letting my wife control any money, since I should then be unable to control her.”

“That, sir, is precisely what Great-Aunt Ophelia means by independence.”

“Tell me you love me first.”

“Now
that’s
extortion.”

He laughed and bent his head toward hers, murmuring, “Kiss me, Kate.”

Her eyes danced. “Well, I will, but only because I have been wanting to do so these past twenty minutes. Oh, and I
do
love you, Antony, so much!” When she could speak again, she said with a wicked twinkle, “But may I have the money?”

“You may.” He began to kiss her again, thoroughly, forgetting Letty’s presence.

The child said, “You called her Kate, sir, but I have read
The Taming of the Shrew,
and I don’t think Petruchio would approve of her asking for money, do you?”

“Petruchio,” Antony said, chuckling, “never knew your Cousin Charley.”

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed
Dangerous Angels.
Regarding the historical background, although there were several attempts to assassinate the Duke of Wellington while he was Prime Minister and before, none of them took place at a cathedral consecration in Truro. The Seraphim Coffer and the sacred vessels from the abbey on the River Tamar are likewise products of the author’s imagination.

The details about the Metropolitan Police Bill are as accurate as I could make them, as are Wellington’s political positions and actions (except for his participation in the cathedral consecration). The House of Lords passed the Police Bill the week after this story ends, and it became law in September 1829. Only recently have British police officers begun arming themselves with more than a nightstick.

John Knill was indeed a mayor of St. Ives who was suspected of running a gang of smugglers; and the activities of the Cornish smugglers are taken from actual events, as is the treatment of Annie, Jenifry, and the other apprentices.

If you have not encountered Charley before, and would like to know more about her, she appears as a child with her cousin Melissa Seacourt in
Dangerous Illusions
and as a young woman—likewise with Melissa—in
Dangerous Games.
I hope you will also watch for
Highland Secrets,
coming in October 1997.

Sincerely yours,

A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the
USA Today
bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by
Library Journal
with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for
Lord Abberley’s Nemesis
, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1997 by Lynne Scott-Drennan

cover design by Mimi Bark

978-1-4804-0644-5

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