Dair Devil (36 page)

He shook his thoughts free of his contemptible father and his last letter, poured out the final drops of pear cider and put the tumbler before Rory, saying as conversationally as he could manage,

“Should we have tea, too? It would be a shame not to use Cousin Duchess’s teapot…”

Rory looked across at him then, and such was her despair it took all Dair’s will power to remain inert and not rush to her side to take her in his arms.

“I-I apologize,” she said glumly, a catch to her voice. “You must think me woefully childish.”

“What I think is that you have never before been in a situation such as this, and you were momentarily frightened by the unexpected. That is perfectly natural.”

“Is it? How many other whey-brained virgins have you had to reassure—No! I should not have asked—”

“Only one. Lil. And she, like you, is not whey-brained. Though I possibly was, and am. We were both virgins when we embarked on our springtime romance. Since? None.” When she frowned he smiled to himself, adding gently, “You did say it was important to be truthful.”

“Yes. I did. Thank you for telling me.”

“But of course, being truthful doesn’t make it less hurtful…”

“I am not hurt by that knowledge. I would have been surprised had you confessed to bedding virgins. And, to be perfectly frank, disgusted. I never took you for a man who preyed on the innocent for sport. I had always assumed you conducted your affairs with females who knew what they wanted and could give you the same pleasure in return.”

He inclined his head with a smile, but volunteered nothing further.

Rory clasped her hands tightly in her lap and forced herself to look into his brown eyes.

“I apologize, but none of that is reassuring to me—here.”

“Rory, we are in this together. You have nothing to apologize for. I am the one at fault. I should have realized—”

“No! Don’t! Don’t
you
apologize for my behavior. I wanted you to kiss me. I wanted to kiss
you
. I want us to make love. It’s just that I-I don’t want—I don’t think I am ready for you to-to—”

“Rory, if you are not ready for me to touch you
everywhere
, then you are not ready to make love.”

The calm even tone of his mellow voice should have reassured her. All it did was make her feel even more awkward and unsure of herself. He was right. Perhaps she was not ready… Oh, but the way he made her
feel
. The way her body reacted to his touch… When he kissed her; when his hands were on her skin; when he suckled her breasts… The throbbing between her legs had been almost unbearable, and now, just thinking about making love with him made that sensation return. Her face flamed with embarrassment, and she drank down the pear cider in one gulp, unaware of its taste or that she had drained the tumbler and set it down without thinking.

Perhaps he was right. She needed a cup of tea. It would settle her nerves. It would be best to talk about something—
anything
—else until she could find the words to explain herself… And then she sat up tall, as if struck forcefully by an idea, and she looked at him with narrowed eyes and a mutinous puckering of her mouth. How had it come to this? They had been discussing
his
fear of still water, and now, by some trickery, he had managed to turn the subject, and before she had satisfactorily concluded their discussion on how best to help him overcome his vexatious childhood memory.

She was confident she could help him, even if it was merely to enable him to row a boat without being anxious by such an innocuous activity. She smiled to herself. She was certain she knew the place where she wished him to row. It was only a short distance from the jetty. A man of his strength could row there in fifteen minutes. It was the most magical place, a place where she could forget her own shortcomings, and where she always imagined she would make love for the very first time: The temple grotto on Swan Island.

Her mutinous expression was replaced with a dazzling smile as she formulated her plan.

“I can help you overcome your dread of still water, if you will let me.”

Dair’s smiled doubtfully.

He was enchanted by her confidence, and not insensible to her adeptness at returning their conversation to an episode in his childhood that he still found difficult to discuss. His embarrassment at having confided his weakness to her—after all, soldiers did not admit to having any fears—made him sound supercilious.

“Let me hazard a guess,” he drawled. “You intend to lure me to the jetty and when I am not looking, push me in, hoping I will be instantly cured?”

She ignored his flippancy.

“If it were that simple, I would do it. No. Promise to meet me at the jetty tomorrow morning, and I will tell you then what I propose.”

“Perhaps we can help each other?” he suggested, extending his hand across the table. When she smiled shyly and took hold of his fingers, he added with a smile, “I’ll be there, but you have to leave your shadow behind.”

“Edith?” Rory let out a small sigh of sympathy. “Poor Edith. She is under orders never to leave me alone for a minute. Grand has turned positively medieval since you punched Mr. Watkins in the nose. He is recovering, by the bye, but his nose will never be straight again. Thank you for asking after him.” She dimpled when he laughed out loud at his own lack of interest in the fate of Weasel Watkins’ fine nose. “Grasby told Grand everything, of course, and now Grand is furious with Mr. Watkins. Yes. I thought that would please you. But you can stop looking smug that no one caught you kissing me! I am certain Grasby suspects, but it is not the sort of conversation one has with one’s sister.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“Oh, I wasn’t warning you. You can look after yourself, and Grasby will forgive you anything. Indeed. He took your side and not Silla’s regarding the whole Romney Studio imbroglio, which has sent her into a farouche. Nothing and nobody can lighten her mood.”

“I am not surprised. Grasby should not have taken sides. And he should be loyal to his wife, always.”

“I thought you had no time for Silla…?”

“I don’t. But I’m not married to her. Grasby is. That means he must do his duty by
her
, not me.”

Rory regarded him for a moment, blue eyes keen, and said what was on her mind.

“Interesting you say that now. I’d wager fifty pounds that at the moment you and my brother dropped through that window into Mr. Romney’s studio, you didn’t give a tuppence for Grasby’s marriage, or any other gentleman’s marriage, truth told—” She paused when he shook his head and laughed, then continued in the same blunt tone. “All you cared about was your performance, and causing an almighty hullabaloo amongst a clutch of shrieking, barely-dressed dancers, worthy of newssheet ink.”

He smiled thinly with a raise of an eyebrow, as if punctuating her assessment with an exclamation mark. She was dead on the mark, and he wondered if she had any idea that if he and Grasby had not dropped through that window, they would not now be having this conversation. Did he believe in fate? Before that night he would have rejected the notion as fanciful. Now, he was not so dismissive, particularly since Miss Aurora Talbot was the catalyst that had made him question his world view. He now saw it through a whole new lens. It was as if his life had been smeared across one of Jamie’s small glass plates, just like a drop of blood, and slid under the lens of a microscope for intense scrutiny. And just as he had peered through the eyepiece of his son’s birthday present and adjusted the lens, a whole other world appeared before his eyes, one he never knew existed or thought possible. It thrilled and alarmed him.

Rory had the same effect on him. With her, his life came into sharp relief. She made his heart beat a little too hard and his chest to ache. He was not one for deep thought or rumination, but he was confident this young woman seated across from him with the light of triumph in her eyes had forever changed the way he viewed the world. He could think of no one else with whom he wished to share his life’s journey.

“Wager?” he managed to calmly enquire. “Be careful, Rory. Have you forgotten my moniker?”

Rory laughed. “Not at all. And I advise you not take up the offer because you’d lose!”

“Yes. Yes I would.”

“I have no idea why Grand thinks my virtue needs guarding
now
,” she prattled on because he was looking at her intently, the look in his eye new and unsettling. “Two months ago he gave no thought to leaving me with Mr. Pleasant unattended in the Pinery for a whole afternoon. Admittedly Cedric was helping me prepare pineapple pots ready for embedding in troughs of tanner’s bark. Not even Crawford was there…” She cocked her head and grinned, wrinkling her little nose. “I suppose Grand thought having our elbows deep in horse manure was not conducive to a romantic interlude.”

“It wouldn’t have stopped me kissing you.”

“Now who is being the romantic!” she teased.

“Did the manure stop Cedric?”

The serious tone of his question surprised her. She was incredulous.

“Don’t be a silly head, Alisdair! Mr. Pleasant kiss
me
? Me kiss
him
?” She gave a little shudder. “Cedric is a dear heart but I consider him a second brother.”

“I am sure a sister is not what he considers you; besides, he already has eight of those.”

Mr. Cedric Pleasant’s feelings for her was news to Rory, and it sounded in her voice as she shifted along the cushions to the end of the table where the teapot rested on its pedestal, a lighted candle under the base to keep the water in the pot at the correct drinking temperature.

“Truly? How odd that I never thought so…” She dimpled. “Then again, I never thought of
you
as a brother… Please stay seated and allow me,” she ordered when he rose up off the cushion to assist her.

He had been determined to lift the teapot from its stand for her, a job normally performed by a butler or footman because of the heaviness of the silver, particularly when filled with hot tea. But he did as requested and resettled on the cushion.

“I may not have the same strength in both my legs, but I do have strong wrists and arms, and that is from the swimming I do at home, in the Thames, and here, on the lake,” Rory told him as she arranged three Sèvres porcelain cups on their saucers. “Grand insisted I learn from a young age, determined I strengthen my body and prove the physicians wrong. I cannot take exercise in long walks or dancing, and though I use a sidesaddle, I find that long rides do not agree with my ankle. But swimming—”

She lifted the silver teapot and expertly poured tea in each cup without spilling a drop and set the teapot back on its stand.

“—I love to swim! I wish I could do so all year round.”

She next used the silver sugar tongs to select a small sugar lump from the porcelain sugar bowl that was in the same pattern and color as the tea service, and dropped this into one of the teacups. Placing a silver spoon on the saucer she stood there for a moment holding the teacup and smiled down at him. “

“When I was a little girl I desperately wanted to be a bird, so I could fly free. I observed that birds with a broken foot, or with only one foot, were still able to soar high into the air. But swimming is an excellent substitute for flying. When I am in water, I feel free and-and
graceful
…” She gave a tinkle of laughter, shrugged her shoulders and said teasingly, “Perhaps I am a mermaid after all? Perhaps when I am in water my legs transform themselves into one long fish tail. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow morning to discover that for yourself. No, Edith. Please stay where you are. I will bring the tea to you. You look to have run all the way back from the house, and in this heat need something to revive you.”

Dair’s head snapped round, just as surprised at seeing Rory’s maid, as Edith was of being noticed by her young mistress.

E
DITH
HAD
COME
UP
the pavilion steps panting, and adjusting the pins in her disheveled hair, from running most of the way down the winding path that led up to the big house. She was late but full of news. The dower house was a hive of activity. The servants were buzzing from room to room, arms full of linen, trays of polished silver and glassware, carrying endless buckets of water up stairs, and firewood was being set in every fireplace ready for the cool of the evening, though that seemed unlikely given the unusually stiflingly hot weather over the past week, day and night. The large kitchen was heavy with the mingling of delicious smells, of cooked pastries and breads, of roasted lamb being turned on the spit. The French chef was shouting Gallic obscenities at his two busy assistants (Edith was sure the words were unfit for a female’s ears, for why else would he be yelling in French?). No one had a minute to spare for Edith, a maid from the Gatehouse Lodge, who was an interloper and in the way with their illustrious mistress returned home.

Edith followed a group of upper servants to the wide-open front door, and stood just inside the portico in time to witness a large traveling coach, black-lacquered doors covered in dust and pulled by six grays, now spent, come to a halt in the circular gravel drive. Four liveried outriders who had accompanied the carriage dismounted and stripped off their riding gloves, stable boys rushing to their horses’ heads. A second carriage with a further two outriders followed. This carriage was almost as splendid, but was weighed down with luggage, strapped to its roof and stacked inside so high that hatboxes and parcels blocked the view from one of the windows. Four upper servants piled out of this carriage, shook out their crushed petticoats or the skirts of their frock coats, and immediately went indoors, leaving the occupant of the big carriage to be attended to by her lady-in-waiting, who had made the journey with her mistress. So, too, had two spirited whippets, one black, the other white and tan, who were taken in hand by a footman, who snapped leads to their diamond studded chokers and led them away.

Edith knew she had now left Rory alone too long with the handsome Major, but she could not tear herself away until she had seen the mistress of the house, the Duchess of Kinross, a noblewoman known to her only by reputation, and by the thread of connection with her young mistress. She was not disappointed.