Ariadne's Diadem (19 page)

“Would that I could be so sure.”

“I know she feels a great deal for you.”

“Yes, she does, but can she be induced to admit it? We are another Beauty and Beast—our tale cannot have a happy ending until she breaks the spell, but because I’m forbidden to tell her the truth about myself, she will continue to believe that choosing me will mean turning her parents out of Llandower. She is far too loving and loyal a daughter to ever contemplate that, and so we will remain trapped, I fear.”

“Something will happen to put everything right,” Penelope said earnestly.

Gervase softened then and drew the nymph’s little hand to his lips. “You’re far too good for that obnoxious faun,” he murmured.

Sylvanus glowered and pulled Penelope away. “There isn’t time to dillydally on all this nonsense—we should be looking for the diadem,” he said huffily.

Gervase was further annoyed. “And when you’re struggling for a way to induce my cousin to willingly hand it over, I will make a point of being as helpful and understanding as you’ve been tonight.”

“I
have
been helpful and understanding!” Sylvanus cried, his tone threatening to become a bleat of considerable ire.

The faun’s reaction caused Gervase much satisfaction. “Well, at least ‘getting someone’s goat’ is now a phrase to savor!” he declared with alacrity.

Penelope spoke up swiftly. “Stop it, both of you—allies shouldn’t fall out. Now then, Sylvanus, you and I will go to the White Boar without further delay and leave Gervase to handle his meeting with Anne in his own way.” Taking the faun firmly by the arm, she steered him out of the rotunda.

Ally? Sometimes Sylvanus seemed more hindrance than help! Gervase calmed down a little as soon as the fractious faun had gone. He tried to concentrate on the more important obstacle of Anne’s sense of right and wrong. The coming minutes presented him with what might be his last opportunity to be alone with her. At any moment she might to return to the castle, where the watchful Mrs. Jenkins would be immediately at hand. He drew a deep breath, for in one thing at least Sylvanus was right—there wasn’t time to dilly-dally. Taking a deep breath, he followed the faun and nymph out of the maze.

Chapter Twenty

Anne didn’t see Sylvanus and Penelope slipping away toward the Peterbury road bridge, nor was she aware of Gervase approaching across the park. The night air was scented with flowers, and high above, myriad stars glimmered in an indigo sky. The Wye washed softly against the jetty, and the light breeze rustled the willows and reeds, familiar and comforting sounds to someone who’d spent her entire life in this one beloved place.

Lying back in the rowing boat, she trailed her fingers in the water and stared up through the willows. It wasn’t the stars she saw, but the light in Charles Danby’s eyes! And it wasn’t the gentle breeze that stirred the little curls framing her face, but his fingertips brushing through them as he caressed her! She closed her eyes in a vain attempt to quell the tumult of emotion, but nothing could defend her from the assault that was battering her poor heart. Why had fate to be so cruel? Why couldn’t he have come into her life before now?

She tried to remind herself that she knew nothing of him, that his conduct thus far had at the very least been open to question, but it made no difference, for the effect he had upon her was so piercing and intense that it was as if her whole life hitherto had been meaningless. She tried to think of Hugh instead, but in comparison he was a pale shadow. Charles Danby was her first love, and would remain her greatest.

Suddenly, Gervase spoke. “Anne?”

She gasped, and the boat swayed a little as she sat up to see him standing on the jetty.

He stretched out a reassuring hand. “Please don’t be alarmed...” he began.

She stared mutely at him, but then found her tongue. “I thought it was still understood that you would send word in advance of your next intention to call; yet here you are, and at night again too. Your dishonorable motives are only too clear, sirrah!” Her voice trembled with feeling.

“I think too highly of you to harbor dishonorable motives,” he replied.

“Oh? Then why have you come straight here to me like this? Why didn’t you go to the house?”

“Are you so sure I didn’t?”

“Yes, because Mrs. Jenkins would
never
permit you to come out here to be alone with me.”

He met her eyes. “Very well, I admit that I didn’t go to the house, but came straight over when I noticed you. I know that the duke has arrived,” he added.

“From which I take it that you have returned to the White Boar?”

He ignored the question. “How impressed are you by His Grace, the ninth Duke of Wroxford?” he asked.

“That is no business of yours.”

“He has an easy way with him, although some might say it’s too easy by far.”

“It ill becomes you to speak like that of one of your firm’s most important clients.”

“There is a great deal you do not know about him.” Gervase was dismayed. Was she defending Hugh? Did she feel warmth toward him?

“I’m sure there is, just as there’s a great deal I don’t know about you—except, of course, that you are not a gentleman.”

“So you approve of the duke?” He couldn’t help pressing, for the fear that Hugh might succeed with her after all was almost too much to bear.

“He has revealed himself to be a thoughtful, charming, and amusing man.”

“Without blemish, I suppose,” he said acidly.

“So far, yes. We are to celebrate my birthday tomorrow by going on the river in the moonlight—with Mrs. Jenkins, of course.”

“Who approves entirely, no doubt.”

“Why do you dislike him?”

Gervase’s unease intensified. She
was
defending Hugh! His anxiety made him rash. “I dislike Hugh Mowbray because he is a maggot of the first degree!”

She was shocked, not only by the words, but by the vehemence with which they were uttered. “I doubt very much if Mr. Critchley would approve of his junior partner expressing such sentiments,” she said, wondering why he despised Hugh so much.

“Critchley isn’t here.”

Something struck her then. “How did you arrive? I heard no horse.”

“I rode slowly; maybe the sound didn’t carry.”

She didn’t reply.

“Anne, we must talk—” he began.

“Please don’t use my first name, Mr. Danby,” she interrupted.

“How can you ask me to be formal when we—?”

“Don’t speak of it!” she cried, rising agitatedly to her feet. The boat lurched alarmingly, and she would have lost her balance if it weren’t for Gervase’s swiftness. He reached down to catch her hand and pull her up to safety. Her carefully pinned hair caught in the willows and tumbled down in profusion around her shoulders. As soon as she was on the jetty, she pulled angrily from him. “Please leave, Mr. Danby!”

“Not until we’ve spoken properly.” Her shawl had fallen, and he bent to retrieve it.

“There is nothing to say.”

He didn’t return the shawl, but glanced down at the beautifully knotted fringe. How like her to make even a simple shawl so very much her own, he thought absently, but then looked at her again. “Nothing to say? On the contrary, there’s a great deal. Please, Anne, can’t we at least discuss how things are between us?”

“There is nothing between us,” she insisted.

“That is a patent untruth, and we both know it.”

“Very well, what I’m saying is that there
cannot
be anything between us,” she corrected.

“So you do admit to feelings for me?”

“I admit nothing.”

“Oh, Anne, we’re alone, so why can’t you at least be honest with me?”

“Because I have given my word that I will marry the Duke of Wroxford, and I mean to stand by that word.”

“Even though
I
am the one you love?” He held his breath, but still she didn’t say the words he needed.

“My decision was made before I met you, and nothing will change it.”

He was anguished. “Oh, Anne, what have I done that you have not shared?”

“That was ill said.”

“Maybe it
was
ill said, nonetheless it was the truth. We
shared
those caresses, Anne.”

She was in turmoil. “Why are you doing this? What possible good can come of your interference?”

“Interference? That word suggests a lack of sincerity, and—”

“Sincerity? Well, since you mention it, I do still wonder what your purpose really is, because if you are directly responsible for preventing me from marrying the Duke of Wroxford, you will certainly forfeit your partnership in Mr. Critchley’s firm, and thus, presumably, your livelihood. You also know that the ending of my betrothal will mean impoverishment for my family and the loss of this estate, yet
still
you importune me. Neither of these things suggests true honor or sincerity, and since you are not a fool, sirrah, I have to conclude that you still have some ulterior—and probably dishonorable—motive.”

Oh, if only he could tell her he was the real Duke of Wroxford, and that none of her fears would be of any consequence at all if she would say only she loved him!

She met his gaze. “Please leave, Mr. Danby.”

“Anne—”

“Leave me alone!” she cried then, her agitation so great that she could have burst into tears. Her emotions were tugging in such opposite directions that she felt as if she would tear in two, with one half of her wanting to be in his arms, conceding her heart with every kiss, the other half bidding her keep her distance for the sake of the match that she had to put before all else.

“Oh, Anne,” he whispered, putting his hand to her cheek.

“Just go,” she breathed.

“No.”

“Then I will.” She began to walk past him, but he dropped the shawl in order to catch her wrist and force her to face him.

“I’m not going to let you do this, Anne. There is something between us that neither of us can ignore!”

“I can, and I will!” she cried, struggling to wrest herself free.

“No, Anne,” he replied, tightening his hold and pulling her toward him. “I’m going to
make
you admit the truth,” he said, putting his other hand to her chin and raising her lips toward his.

“Please, don’t. Please...” she begged tearfully, for she knew her weakness only too well.

“I must, don’t you see?” he murmured, and his mouth brushed hers as he spoke.

Her body was taut and anxious as he slid an arm around her waist, and his kiss allowed her no quarter at all. Never before had he used his experience so passionately, or so deliberately. He didn’t merely
want
her to respond, he
needed
her to, and he resorted to every sexual wile to achieve his aim. His relentless lips teased and caressed hers with warm yearning, and his desire enveloped her like a cloak. The sensuous onslaught was skilled as he held her against him in a way that left her in no doubt as to the extent of his arousal.

The tears were wet on her cheeks, but although she tried not to give in, she could feel her resistance deserting her. She was again consumed by the passion that had kindled from that first moment she’d seen him. Dismay failed to douse the riot of desire that tingled bewitchingly through her, and with a soft moan she gave in, returning the kiss in a way she knew was wrong. His hands moved lovingly over her, and she instinctively stood on tiptoe to link her arms around his neck. As she stretched up, he eased his hips forward so that his masculinity pressed urgently against her. New, more imperative sensations caught her up, sweeping her along on the current of pleasure she’d always longed for, but hadn’t known until this man.

He lifted her gently from her feet, so that she sank against him even more intimately, and as he kissed her again, he could feel a new softness in her lips, a new warm pliancy in her body. He felt the ripples of ecstasy that passed through her and heard her gasp as the sensations continued for several long, sweet seconds. His own need was great, but his only thought in those seconds was of her pleasure, and when at last he set her gently down on her feet again, he took her face in his hands and kissed her once more. She was warm and almost drowsy, still in the tender grip of gratification, but her lips responded with the natural ease that told of the absolute perfection he could share with her.

But gradually the carnal shackles fell away, and the truth stared her in the eyes again. Her cheeks were wet with silent tears as without another word she caught up her skirts and fled toward the house.

“Anne! Come back!” he called.

But she didn’t look around, and he knew it would be wrong to pursue her. He picked up the shawl again and inhaled her lingering perfume. “Oh, Anne,” he whispered sadly, the softness of his voice lost amid the rustle of the willows and reeds.

Chapter Twenty-one

Sylvanus and Penelope crept toward the White Boar, but suddenly the faun stopped to sniff the air. “There’s a goat somewhere nearby,” he whispered.

Penelope was already wrinkling her nose. “One doesn’t need to be a faun to realize
that!”

Sylvanus was put out. “Are you implying that goats smell?” he demanded.

“I’m not
implying
it—I’m stating it as a fact,” she replied.

“Then you think
I
smell?”

“Fortunately, you smell of human.”

At that moment the goat in question reared up on its hind legs to peer out of the stable about six feet away from them. Penelope gave a start, but Sylvanus greeted the startled animal in its own tongue. After a moment the faun exhaled with some satisfaction. “I now know exactly where to find the man called Hugh,
and
the woman with him,” he added meaningfully.

“Woman?” Penelope asked quickly.

“It seems Gervase’s horrible cousin is with someone supposed to be his sister, they have adjacent rooms on the second floor, and are calling themselves by the name of Oadby.”

“Adjacent rooms? Well, maybe she
is
his sister.”

“Gervase told me his cousin was an only child.”

The main door of the inn opened just then, and a rather drunken farm laborer staggered out before the faun could dodge out of sight. The man stared, then hiccuped and grinned. “By God, Harry, I didn’t recognize you! That’s a spanking good fancy dress you’ve got there; reckon you'll be a riot come May Day!” Chuckling approvingly, the man wove his unsteady way up the road toward the lights of a cottage.