Lady Beware (23 page)

“Horry. I wish I'd heard her call my older brothers Markie and Christie.”

Thea chuckled, but said, “Your mother must have had a hard life. She seems to have been ostracized.” She wanted to know about his childhood. About all of him.

“It was of her own choosing.”

She didn't like his harsh tone. “Is that fair?”

“She chose to marry my father. No one forced her. She often complained of her own stupidity. She thought being a viscountess would make her grand, but the Cave reputation trumped any rank. She left her own world of the theater and was not allowed into the new one. She couldn't strike back at my father, so she punished servants and every child she bore.” Abruptly, he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him. “We'd best return to the real world.”

Cool air and harshness shocked. “Because I mentioned your mother? Friends are closer than that.”

He stilled, and then rested his head against hers. “Because of memories, Thea. I have a great many of them, all bad. Leave them be.”

“Of course,” she said, cradling his face. “We'll make new ones.”

“We just did. But that doesn't change reality.”

“We've been busily changing reality recently.”

“Some reality is tougher than that. My nature, my family, the Cave reputation, are all stone monuments.” He moved back from her and bent, and then her body armor was put into her hands.

“This was real, too,” she argued.

“But like sunrise and sunset, lovely yet fleeting. This was precious to me, too, Thea. I'm weak enough to repeat it any time you want, but…”

“But it wouldn't be right?”

“Right isn't a word I'm used to, but yes. It wouldn't be right.”

She grasped her courage. “We could make it right.” When he said nothing, she stated it. “We could marry.”

“Because of this?”

“No! Well, yes, but not in the way you mean.” She shouldn't be attempting this in the dark where she couldn't see his expression.

“This was not unique, Thea.”

“It was for me.”

He stepped away and she knew he was beginning to dress.

“Oh, very well,
don't
talk about it.” She bent to fumble for the rest of her costume, but he pulled her upright.

“Don't talk about what?”

“The weather!”

She wouldn't say it, so he did. “Marriage. Thea, Goddess…You want your children to be Caves?”

She turned to him. “Things are better already. By then—”

“It will be a name of honor and grandeur?”

She gripped his shirt. “We can
make
it so. Canem Cave's already stamped honor all over it.”

“Pardon me if I haven't noticed.”

She let him go. “If you don't want to marry me, just say so. I've embarrassed myself enough.”

The silence slowly shriveled her soul.

T
hough her throat ached, Thea made her voice light. “It's all right. You don't have to say it. I understand. This was an amusement, the sort men enjoy. And as you promised, you haven't ruined me. Not really.”

She turned and groped her way toward the door.

“You need to dress,” he said, “and I have the key.”

She turned, her back to the door, facing a dark shadow in the gloom.
Are you trying to make me hate you?
She didn't say it, for all she had left was scraps of pride. She felt her way back, almost tripping on some sheets, sheets still holding a trace of their bodies' warmth.

She found the bodice, sorted out which way was up, and shrugged into it. Then she turned her back. “Tighten the laces, please.”

She sensed his tension as he moved behind her. It filled the narrow room and his presence burned before he touched her. She would not cry. She knew how men were. She'd been warned all her life. Why had she let herself imagine this one—this Cave one!—was different?

She adjusted the shell to her body at the front. He tugged, tightened, and then knotted the laces in the small of her back. He gave her the metal skirt and she tied it on, blessing darkness. When she put on the robe, she used an edge to dry her eyes. When she clasped the silver belt around her waist, she reminded herself of who and what she was.

Lady Theodosia Debenham.

A goddess.

The Great Untouchable.

So she would be, body and soul.

She replaced the helmet on her head and returned to the door, saying, “If you have any money, leave some for the laundress.”

“I already have.”

She'd made a mistake in going to the door first. In the narrow room, he had to brush against her in order to turn the key in the lock, and even that slight touch sent a weak tremor through her. She stumbled out, desperate for light and space. The corridor was dim, but she could see. The dark-walled corridor was narrow, but it was the path to escape.

Laughter and music from the servants nearby put her back in her real world; a cloying medley of smells from the kitchen reminded her that reality wasn't always pleasant.

Lingering sensitivities in her body…

Never again.

“I want to leave,” she said.

“You have your entourage to collect,” he pointed out, his voice level.

Why could her life never be simple? Harriet was at the servants' party. The groom or coachman might be, too. Wouldn't someone have to stay with the coach? She'd never thought of such things before. A coach brought her to an event and reappeared when she wanted to leave. She hated not knowing.

She hated being in an unfamiliar place.

So much for the delights of adventure.

She longed to slip out into the dark and run all the way home. In anything close to normal clothing, she might even have done it. As it was, she could only repeat, “I want to leave.”

He was silent behind her and she imagined his impatience with this demanding, pampered lady.

“I'll find your maid,” he said, walking past her toward the noisy room.

From the back he could almost be a stranger, with the blond curls tumbling and the full-skirted coat changing his shape. But she knew his walk, his posture, that animal grace.

And she'd known his body tonight. Not quite in the biblical sense, but the wonders of its vital strength and its response.

Never again, she reminded herself, her face, her whole head going hot inside the devilish helmet. She leaned back against the wall, rubbing cool hands up under the cheek guards of the helmet.

“Alone?”

She started and saw the executioner she'd met earlier.

“Go away.”

He came toward her, grinning.

She shrank back, but the wall gave her no retreat. She could call out, but the fewer people who saw her down here the better. This reminded her horribly of her first encounter with Darien. Why hadn't she heeded the warning in that?

“My victims would always like me to go away,” he said, tapping the axe hanging from his belt. She hoped it wasn't real. He was drunk, but not nearly incapacitated.

She tried to look sideways for Darien, but the helmet got in the way. “Go away,” she repeated. “I'm unwell. My escort has gone to find my servants.”

“A fine story. I know what you want.” He grabbed for a jutting breast.

And found only armor.

His gape made her laugh and then all her misery and tension peeled wildly out.

Fury replaced his grin and his hand went straight under her short skirt. She pushed him with both fists, but he was like an ox. He dragged her away from the wall and got one beefy arm around her, crushing her flimsy armor.

“Let me go!” Thea cried, and it was as much warning as plea.

Darien had run into the corridor, his expression now pure murder.

“Obey her,” he said with deadly command.

The executioner turned, but he took Thea with him, holding her like a shield. “Finders keepers. Push off, curly boy.”

He must be
very
drunk.

Servants were pouring out of nearby rooms, but what could they do? Thea struggled, but she was like a child in his one-armed hold. He began to back away with her.

Darien stalked, looking for his opportunity.

Thea remembered her helmet. She bowed herself forward, then whipped back. She felt a solid thunk. Her captor yelled and let her go.

She fell to the floor and scrambled toward Darien on hands and knees, but he launched over her, and when she turned the two men were grappling.

“Stop it!” she cried. The hangman had huge arms and a barrel chest and landed a blow that could break ribs. But then Darien had him in some sort of hold. His wig had gone, his hardness revealed.

The whispers started.

“It's Lord Darien.”

“The Vile Viscount.”

“Mad Dog Cave….”

So much for restoring his family's reputation.

The grimacing hangman caught sight of her and shot her a look of such pure hate she scrambled away on her bottom. Blood was running from his nose and she hoped she'd done that.

She bumped into something. Looked up. Into the grinning face of some sort of kitchen boy. Realized most of her legs were exposed.

She struggled to her feet, thanking heaven for her helmet. Could anyone know who she was? This was going from bad to worse and worse to hellish. Soon the whole world would know what she'd done in that linen room and Darien was going to be killed!

The two men were knotted together, both faces contorted with effort. With a sharp twist the knot parted and the hangman kicked. Darien took it on his hip and was locked with the other man again.

Thea whirled to the servants. “Stop them, someone!”

“Be quiet.” The snapped command was from Darien. She turned back to glare at him, but he was intent on his fight. On murder, she realized. She couldn't allow him to
kill
someone.

The hangman swung, but Darien blocked, then hammered blows to the man's chest, driving him back. Then he fired his fist to the man's jaw.

The man's head snapped back and his eyes crossed, but he still didn't drop. Swaying, he lurched forward again, bellowing blue murder.

If Thea had a pistol, she might have shot him.

Darien hooked the man's leg from under him, however, sending him crashing to the ground. He was on top instantly, bashing the hooded head against the floor.

For a moment, everyone watched, but then men ran forward to drag Darien off.

He resisted, clearly wanting to keep on punishing, but then he shrugged them off. He flexed his hands and rubbed at his face. His lip was bleeding and he must be badly bruised, but he looked almost untouched, while his opponent sprawled on the floor.

Had he killed him? Though the man looked coarse, the guests here would all be from the inner circles of society. There'd be a trial. Oh, dear God.

Darien shrugged his clothes into order and then picked up his wig. He didn't bother to put it on. He was already known.

Not murder. Servants were helping Darien's opponent to his feet, but he looked as if he'd have trouble standing on his own. The only blood, however, was from his nose. Her work.

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She'd done that. And she was in danger of ruin! Think, think! No chance at all of keeping their identities secret, but no one must connect them with the linen room.

“What an awful man,” she said, trying for a tone of distaste. “Thank you for rescuing me, Darien. Harriet? Harriet, where are you?” Her maid hurried forward and Thea grasped her arm. “Help me to remove this helmet. My head's splitting.”

“Yes, milady.”

Even before the helmet came off, she was known through Harriet.

“It's Lady Theodosia Debenham,” someone whispered.

“The Duke of Yeovil's daughter!” another gasped.

Thea put a hand to her head. “I couldn't bear the heat and noise of the ball, Harriet. I came down to see if I could get to my coach from here. Do say I can.”

The black-clad housekeeper bustled forward, shooing servants back to their work. “Of course, milady. You just come and sit quietly in my parlor while it's fetched.”

Thea didn't look back at Darien. She had no idea what to say and feared what her expression might show. Their time together had been wonderful, but she'd give her all to not have done it, to not be in this situation. She couldn't wipe away the image of his rage, his violence, his attempt to kill, and she still faced complete ruin.

As soon as her coach arrived in the lane at the back of the house, she, Darien, and Harriet were guided through a small garden to it. She had to take Darien's arm and tried to sense through that contact what he was feeling.

She had no idea.

They traveled in silence at first, but Thea needed to make sure that she wasn't linked to that linen room. The servants had their own ways of spreading information.

“Such a headache,” she said, eyes closed as if in pain. “I
had
to escape the masquerade.”

“You should have sent for me, milady,” Harriet said.

“It was so hard to find a servant, so Lord Darien took me in search of you. We'd hardly arrived before that horrible man…”

“Disgusting drunk, he was,” Harriet said. “But all the same…”

She shut up, but Thea knew she, too, was thinking of Darien's violence. If he'd been in some blind fury it might be excusable, but he'd been cold, intent. A punishing machine.

She cracked her eyes open to look at him. He was gazing out at the passing dark, apparently calm, the only sign of that fight being his swollen lip. She needed his help.

“Do you think that man followed us downstairs, Darien?”

He turned to her, assessing her as she had him. What did he see?

“More likely he'd been engaged in a tryst with some wanton wench in one of the storerooms and was looking for another willing partner.”

The perfect cover.

“Well, I never!” Harriet exclaimed. “And begging your pardon, milord, but you shouldn't go mentioning things like that in front of a lady.”

“My deepest apologies, Lady Thea. It's my Italian blood,” he remarked, and resumed his observation of the passing street.

Such a terrible thing, Italian blood.

But it wasn't his Italian mother that was the problem. It was his Cave side, the angry, violent, insane side.

When they arrived at Yeovil House, he escorted them inside. He kept her hand for a moment. “My apologies, Lady Theodosia. I shouldn't have left you unattended.”

Lady Theodosia. A declaration of distance. She should want that.

“There was no reason to think—”

“Anticipating the unexpected is the point, isn't it?” he said. “You are unhurt?”

Her lips wobbled. “Yes, of course, though I fear the costume may be dead.”

“Especially the owl,” he said with a wry look at the helmet Harriet was carrying. The silver bird tilted on its perch, broken feathers sticking out. He gently straightened and smoothed it. “Good night,” he said, and left.

It sounded horribly like farewell.

Wasn't that as well? Thea asked herself as she went up to her room. Clearly she truly didn't have the temperament for a tumultuous life. She hated having done something she was ashamed of, no matter how ecstatic it had been at the time. She felt sick at the violence she had caused. If she'd never been there it wouldn't have happened. She certainly couldn't live like this.

The duke and duchess weren't yet home, so Thea didn't face any questions. As Harriet helped her out of the costume, she could only pray that it showed no evidence of what she'd done. Harriet would have whipped off the shift, but Thea held on to it, realizing there might be marks on her body.