Gentlemen Prefer Mischief (10 page)

And there was the wager. According to its vague terms, he might capture the Woods Fiend any way he liked, the most obvious way now being to get Lily to reveal him, but he’d failed so far at that, and now he didn’t even have the journal for leverage.

Though none of these were the main reason he couldn’t sleep, which was that he couldn’t stop thinking about Lily. He’d wanted to kiss her again today while they were walking to Thistlethwaite, despite everything she was saying to him.

She was so different from other women he knew, with her purposeful ways and her plans and her lack of interest in diversions. And her primness, her strangely fascinating collectedness that made him want to probe what was beneath it. He’d glimpsed a bewitching inner fire when he kissed her.

In many ways she had more courage than any woman he’d ever met—except in this: she wanted to pretend that she didn’t want him just as much now as she had four years before. And she would not own that the person she’d been was part of her.

But what did he intend where Lily was concerned? She was a very
good
young lady of good family.

He didn’t deserve such goodness.

That’s all you’re ever after, isn’t it?
she’d said when he kissed her
. An amusement for the moment. Something to kill the boredom of having everything you want or need already.

She had a way of cutting to the heart of things.

He found himself thinking of a place he’d visited during the war, a Spanish monastery where he and some of his men had taken shelter for two nights. The monks observed a vow of silence, and he’d at first felt intensely restless in his little monk’s cell. But then, as the hours passed, the restlessness that was always with him had started to flow out of him, as if the silence were a sharpness that pared away all the residue of action and pleasure with which his life was filled. Who he was outside the monastery walls mattered not; he was simply a man there.

He had also been relieved to leave after two days.

But lately he’d been thinking he might welcome the bracing experience of confining himself to a monastery for a month. Which was ridiculous, because he could never sit still that long. He’d never been good at order and expectation; it was one of the things his father had most disparaged about him.

It’s lucky for us that Everard was the firstborn
, his father would say whenever another of Hal’s sins had come to light.
If
it
had
been
Hal, the whole viscountcy would have come to ruin
. And Hal had been glad, too, that Everard was the firstborn. His brother didn’t need to get drunk, or stay up late, or ride his horse too fast, or overspend his allowance.

The sheet had become tangled around his legs and he kicked it off impatiently and pushed aside his thoughts. He might as well get up and get some work done in his library.

As he stood by the window pulling on his shirt, the moon was but a thin crescent. Across the dark land, something caught his eye. A flicker.

Light.

He grabbed his boots.

Taking the stairs by twos, he passed through the doors to the terrace and vaulted over a row of bushes. Running across garden paths and then the open field to the west, he kept his eyes trained on the glimmer in the woods. The sound of an owl hooting softly several times registered as slightly odd, but he didn’t realize why until the light in the woods began to jiggle and then went out.

A warning for the Fiend, dammit.

And though he tried to cut the Fiend off by going around the north end of the woods, by the time dawn was breaking Hal had to admit defeat again.

Fuming, he turned for home. As he passed by the rocky thicket that stood off from the woods, something caught his eye, fluttering among the branches of a thorn bush, and he pulled it free: a scrap of fine blue fabric. He held it to his nose.

Violets. Lily.

So he knew, at least, the identity of the Fiend’s sentinel.

He put the square of cloth in his pocket, so frustrated—so very
teased
—by her. Turnabout, he admitted reluctantly, being that he was accustomed to being the teaser. She was leading him a merry chase—and one he wouldn’t allow to continue.

Rule number one in his strategy book was to completely unsettle the enemy so they lost faith in their plans.

***

Lily closed her bedchamber door behind her and sagged against it. She’d warned Nate that someone was coming and then fled her hiding place, ripping her dress in the process. But at least she felt confident that he would have gotten home safely. Gray dawn light was spilling into the room as she took off her torn gown and hid it in her wardrobe.

She fell asleep tormented by thoughts of strong shoulders and blue-green eyes, and woke up hours later, feeling rather poisoned, to a vigorous knocking. Delia burst exuberantly into the room.

“Oh! You’re still in bed? With the Mayfield ball tomorrow? It’s so unlike you to sleep late.”

Lily mumbled something about how it wasn’t going to take her a day and a half to dress.

“But you don’t have a day and a half, because Roxham just sent over an invitation for us to join his house party!” Delia’s eyes sparkled far too brightly for so early in the day. “And Rob accepted! Oh, isn’t it wonderful?”

Lily sat up. “Wonderful?”

“Yes!” Delia said, missing the note of dismay in her sister’s voice. “We’re to go after lunch today. Rob says it’s a perfect opportunity to reacquaint ourselves with society.”

She flopped back on the bed so that her head came to rest next to Lily’s on the pillow. “Ivorwood will be there, and I can’t wait to meet him after all Eloise has said about him.”

Delia propped her head up on her hand. “I wonder who the other guests will be. I imagine everyone will be marvelously elegant. Oh, how merry we will be!”

“Merry,” Lily repeated numbly. “You don’t suppose Rob would be pleased if I declined?”

“Decline? Why on earth would you want to do that? And when we’ve had no chance of anything like this for simply years! Anyway, that would look like a tremendous snub, you not coming. And why?”

Delia finally paused to breathe and Lily hid a smile.

“I… thought I might work on a new dye.”

“A
dye
? Don’t be absurd. You can fool with your dyes any old time.” Delia frowned. “You’re not going to get moralistic about this, are you, and say it’s a waste of money or time or something? That we ought not to associate with aristocrats because they have no souls?”

“Nor do they.”

Delia groaned. “Oh, get up, Lil! We have packing to do, and there’s no time to lose!” She skipped out of the room.

Lily made herself get up. Hal was up to something, inviting her family to stay, and she had a good idea of what it was: he wanted to keep her under his thumb so she wouldn’t be able to help the Woods Fiend.

Bowing to the inevitable, she put out her things for the house party at Mayfield. She also sent a note to Nate at the farm, telling him he should wait to try again in the woods, if indeed his efforts the night before had been unsuccessful. With the extra people who would be roaming the Mayfield property for the next few days, he couldn’t afford to be in those woods.

And then, while her siblings were seeing to various other details, she took Buck and headed for the yarn house.

She took the stone path through the garden, where the last of the yellow roses bloomed alongside Michaelmas daisies. The fresh autumn air swept away some of her lethargy. Beyond the edge of the garden, the paving stones sank at odd angles in the lawn, softened by time and moss, and she hopped across them with renewed energy.

At the yarn house she dusted and tidied, then pulled a chair outside into the shade of the old apple tree and sat with Buck curled at her feet, working the yarn just for the pleasure of it. When had she last done that, with no urgency to make the shawls faster and achieve her goals for the school sooner?

Her life was here, amid the yarn and sheep, dreaming of new ways to use color and patterns, and making plans for the school. She
mustn’t
lose this path she’d claimed for herself. She wasn’t made for lighthearted romps, and if she allowed herself to be seduced by pleasures she was used to denying herself, who would she be?

The Teagardens arrived at Mayfield in mid-afternoon. While Lily saw to the unpacking of her things in the grand bedchamber she’d been assigned, shouts drifted in her open window, drawing her attention.

Looking out, she saw two gentlemen on horseback racing hell for leather across the open land to the east. They were neck and neck, but approaching a hedgerow as tall as a man, which must force them to go around.

As she watched, one rider—a fair-haired man who could only be Hal—went straight at the impossible obstacle and jumped over, the horse’s back legs brushing the top of the brambles. It was a mad, unnecessary thing to do, and she was still standing there incredulously when Delia knocked on the door a few minutes later.

“Hurry up, Lily, we’re missing all the fun. Ian and Rob have already gone down to the terrace.”

The race was apparently over; she could see the horses coming in at a trot, and she’d no doubt as to who’d won. As if she wanted to go down and listen to Hal’s praises being sung. But she could hardly hide in her room.

Eloise saw them as soon as they emerged onto the terrace and came rushing to welcome them. She was wearing a silky, sapphire-blue gown the exact shade of blue her eyes were, and her glossy brown hair had been arranged in an elaborate, pretty style.

“Darlings! Here you are, and just look at your beautiful shawls!”

Lily’s shawl was an apple green made from foxglove dye, a bright accent against her cream gown, which had tiny gold embroidered flowers. She hadn’t worn the gown since she was sixteen, and it had been tight in the bosom when she’d tried it on, so she’d inserted panels under her arms. Delia’s shawl was the soft cream of Rosemary’s wool, a pretty complement to her dark yellow morning gown.

Delia thanked her and said they were Thistlethwaite shawls.

A shadow of concern passed over Eloise’s pretty features. “I do hope the Woods Fiend will be found soon.”

“I’m sure,” Delia said, “that with the viscount and the earl on the hunt, it can’t be long before the problem is resolved.”

“Exactly!” said Eloise. “My brother is nothing if not tenacious.”

She shot Lily a look of concern. “Though I don’t want him to be tenacious about that journal of yours.”

“Actually, it’s been returned to me.”

“Oh, good,” Eloise said, looking very relieved. “I’m so glad he gave it back.”

Lily just smiled.

“Can I see it?” Delia said.

“I’ve always wished I would keep a journal,” said Eloise, whose expression suggested she’d like to see it as well. “It must be fascinating to read years later.”

“It’s not fascinating,” Lily said. “Let us say that it was never meant for anyone else’s eyes.”

“Oh, very well,” Delia said, “but I feel deprived.”

Eloise linked her arms through each of theirs, and they started walking toward where a cluster of gentlemen stood talking and calling things to the riders, who were approaching the terrace.

“You won’t believe this,” she said, “since hostesses are forever short on unmarried men, but with all the single men my brother knows, there’s almost nothing but gentlemen here for the house party.”

Delia’s eyes danced. “But this is terribly interesting!”

“It would be,” Eloise said, “if some of them had any conversation. But mostly they want to discuss The Thrill of the Hunt. Of course, Ivorwood doesn’t participate in such oafish behavior.
He
,” she said in a lowered voice, “is all that is divine.”

“I can’t wait to see him,” Delia said.

“He’s just a man like any other man, Delia,” Lily said.

“Oh Lily,” Delia said exasperatedly. “You’d probably want him to do an act of charity before you agreed to talk to him.”

As they walked out into the garden, Lily wondered what Delia would think if she ever learned how easy it was for her older sister to be reckless, at least where Hal was concerned. She hated being at the whim of her emotions—it made her feel like a person adrift in a small boat on the open sea. The foolhardy, dreamy girl she’d been years ago
wasn’t
who she was now, and even if being in his arms had felt thrilling and each sight of his golden smile made something turn over inside her, she still didn’t accept that that passion-drugged, irresponsible person was who she truly was. She didn’t
choose
to be that person.

Eloise pointed Ivorwood out to Delia. Now that she had a chance to consider him properly, Lily had to admit that Eloise didn’t exaggerate his appeal. He was tall, his build a bit larger than Hal’s, and he had glossy black hair and a large, commanding nose.

But it was Hal, whose horse stood at the edge of the terrace, to whom her eyes were drawn. Sitting astride his black charger, his gold hair shining in the sun and a maroon coat gracing his broad shoulders, he looked magnificent, and it was but a small leap to imagine him in his scarlet uniform, ready to lead his troops into battle.

Eloise tugged them toward the group of gentlemen standing near him. Diana and Mrs. Whyte sat at a stone table nearby with small plates of cake, apparently enjoying the entertainment. Mrs. Whyte giggled loudly and called out comments to the men.

Hal caught Lily’s eye as she walked toward the edge of the terrace near where his horse stood. The height of the terrace meant that her shoulders were above his knee, and she could easily see the gleam of delighted triumph in his eyes.

“Aren’t you going to congratulate me, Lily? I’ve just bested Donwell here.” His racing companion, an auburn-haired man, sat astride a chestnut horse several feet away, smiling ruefully.

“You took an enormous risk jumping that hedgerow,” Lily said to Hal. “Most horses couldn’t handle it.”

“Ah, but Emperor can.”

Smug titters echoed around her. Mrs. Whyte called out, “No one has a better seat than Roxham.
Seat
, ha ha!”

There were shouts of
hear, hear
, and more laughter, and Hal gave the pretty widow a jaunty salute.

Rob shot Lily a glance. “Lily,” he said, “Roxham knows what he’s about.”

Emperor took a few small, prancing steps, coming closer to Lily. “It’s risky and you know it,” she said to Hal. “That’s why you did it.”

“Are you expressing concern for my well-being, Lily?”

“Not at all,” she said and smiled. “I’m merely pointing out that if you maim or kill yourself, it will have an effect on those who depend on you. But perhaps they would prefer John as viscount anyway.”

Whoops of masculine laughter greeted this comment, and Lily turned away from him, a little pleased with herself.

From behind her she heard, “For that, Lily, you will have to pay.” And the next instant a strong arm encircled her waist and pulled her neatly backward and up as she yelped in surprise. And then she was sitting sidesaddle in front of Hal, with everyone on the patio shouting and laughing in approval.

Through clenched teeth Lily said, “Put me down.”

“Not on your life,” he said, his arm still snug around her waist. Emperor took off.

Lily shrieked and thrust her arm around Hal and clutched the back of his coat.

“Let me down!”

He only laughed and spurred Emperor into a gallop.

The chilly wind whipped strands of hair across her face and tore at her shawl. She never rode this fast. Turning her face to him, she shouted above the rushing wind, “It’s not safe!”

“Nothing could be safer!” he shouted back, giving her waist an extra squeeze.

“Anything would be safer!”

And then they jumped a small bush and she was screaming into the wind, yelling from deep in her chest and not stopping. And as they raced over the land, his arm tightly around her and the powerful animal beneath them and her lungs filling with air for each new scream, she began to feel that she was releasing something—an elemental thing she couldn’t name, something that had built up in her with no escape until now.

At some point it occurred to her that, against all reason, she did feel safe. But she kept screaming, to let him know she was mad—and because it felt strangely good.

They were approaching a stand of trees, and he finally slowed the horse.

“You can stop screaming now.” His voice was a deep rumble behind her, tinged annoyingly with mirth.

She caught her breath. “You shouldn’t have done that. What will people think?” Her arm was still wrapped around him and at some point she’d grabbed a handful of the back of his maroon coat. She ought to let go and move her arm, but his solidity and strength and warmth felt too good, and she wasn’t ready.

“They’ll think I was cutting a caper as usual. You made a convincing victim. Their ears are probably still recovering. I know mine are.”

“Only what you deserve.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll admit that it made you feel more alive.”

“Certainly not,” she said, though it had. She fought the urge to droop against him and rest her cheek against his chest. This was just the sort of romp in which she shouldn’t be engaged, but she was too limp to scold herself for enjoying his nearness.

He glanced at her. “If you look at me like that, I’ll have no choice but to kiss you.”

“Uh…” She was barely able to think. “No,” she said weakly. She made herself let go of his coat now, and she moved her arm to her lap. He still had an arm clamped around her, so it wasn’t as if she would fall off.

“You say no a lot. With your words, your eyes, your posture. I can only think it’s a constant refrain in your mind.”

She frowned.

“And now you’re frowning. I wonder, Lily Teagarden, if you have any idea how it feels to have you sitting between my legs. It would make a good beginning to a fantasy.”

His wicked words sent a rush of heat through her; she was trying
not
to think about where she was sitting.

They were drawing closer to Mayfield, and she could just pick out the contrast of Delia’s cream shawl against her dress. Everyone there appeared to be watching them. It was embarrassing, but it also meant that she wouldn’t be tempted to
do
anything she shouldn’t. But words were a different realm, and she wanted to pay him back for taking her on this wild ride against her will, even though she’d loved it.

“A fantasy? Like a fairy tale?” she said innocently.

“A sexual fantasy. Like people sometimes write in their journals.” He smirked.

Ha. She shifted her seat and pressed a bit closer to the juncture of his thighs, thinking that perhaps this might have some effect on him. She was rewarded with a groan. Never mind that touching him like this was making her blood race.

“Oh, you mean like
my
journal. I’m guessing you didn’t get to read the whole thing, or you might have read about something happening on horseback.”

He made a choking sound. “
Is
there a scene on horseback?”

So he hadn’t finished it. “I really shouldn’t say. Possibilities are interesting though, aren’t they?”

He pulled her hard against him, and there was no mistaking what pressed against her thigh. Or the pleasure she felt over what her nearness had done to him. But they were getting close to the terrace now—she could see Delia waving, and she waved back and called hello, playing the cheerful victim of a harmless prank. The sound of teeth gnashing drifted over her head.

“You know,” he said, “this is just the kind of adventure you would have scolded me for when we were children.”

“I’m scolding you now, and you care just as much.”

“You used to be such a funny girl. So serious already at thirteen or so—quite the grown woman. I remember being home from university one time, and you happened upon Rob and me plotting some prank to pull in the village.” He chuckled. “You told us that you didn’t have time for that sort of foolishness anymore.”

She remembered the conversation, and—considering the heavy demands on her at home then—how she’d felt that she could no longer be part of the play and fun when her brothers could. Her brothers might have noticed their father’s drinking on the occasions when they were home, but everybody behaved as though it were just Papa being convivial. The details of daily life had never been her brothers’ affair when Papa was alive.

She pushed the old inappropriate resentment away. Once their father had died, Rob and Ian had come home and taken over and done everything to help the family. How could she fault them for what had happened when they all were younger?

“You were twenty at least, perhaps twenty-two,” she said. “Much too old for pranks.”

“Some of us are never too old for pranks. And some of us are too ready to grow old.”

She had no light reply for that, and she leaned away from him, glad that the terrace was just before them.

They dismounted. As the guests surrounded them, cheerful talk of similar capers led to recitations of Hal’s exploits: how he’d swum across the Thames in the middle of the night on a dare, how there was a list of women who loved him scratched into the woodwork of the ladies’ retiring room at Almack’s in London.

But Lily didn’t want to listen or to watch him smiling at pretty Hyacinth Whyte, and she moved closer to Delia and Eloise.

They were talking with Ivorwood and the auburn-haired man, Mr. Donwell. Lily thought the earl seemed to keep himself apart; for someone who was a particular friend of Hal’s, he was a man of notably few smiles or words. She supposed a man as handsome and wealthy as Ivorwood had little need to put himself to the trouble of conversing if he didn’t wish to.

Mr. Donwell interested her more. He was handsome, his short hair curling around his face in a rough, charming way that had nothing to do with pomade, and his dark brown eyes had a steady, intelligent light. His clothes, though, did not work to his advantage; his brown coat was faded, and dust smudged the knees of his bagging breeches, as if he’d recently been kneeling somewhere dirty.

But his smile was sincere, and he told a brief, drily amusing anecdote about a trip to the Lake District. Lily imagined that, with his unpolished looks, he didn’t draw ladies’ attention the way someone like Hal or the earl would. It was most unfair, being that he was doubtless more deserving.