Lady Beware (36 page)

With a blown kiss, Canem rose and went to where the duke was observing the scene outside.

“Well, Darien, you don't do things by half measures.”

“I try not to, Duke.”

Her father harumphed. “Do you want to marry Thea? After that kiss, your answer had better be yes.”

Canem half turned to smile at her. “Yes.”

Harriet hurried off with the wet shoes and stockings to find dry ones. Thea saw Canem's gaze settle on her bare toes and wriggled them at him.

“Immediately,” he added.

“That would be lovely,” Thea said.

“You will be married no sooner than three weeks from now at Long Chart,” the duke stated. “By then, Darien, I expect you to have arranged a suitable house and servants for my daughter, here or elsewhere.”

“I would like to make a home here,” Canem said, still to Thea. “But only if you wish, my love.”

Location was irrelevant, but Thea knew neither man wanted to hear that. “It's pleasant land and I like the castle. But did I encounter the bog?”

He grimaced. “I'm afraid so. I'm looking into drainage, but it won't be easy.”

“Then why not build on higher ground?”

Canem stared at her. “Like mother, like daughter. Of course. Here I've been trying to build on the same site as if it were sacred, but you see right through the problem. I wonder where.” He moved to the doorway to look around.

Thea was becoming irritated by being stuck on the bench, but Harriet hurried back in with stockings and slippers. Not well suited to the situation, but they'd do. As soon as she was shod, Thea rose to go to Canem, but then she paused to look at her father, standing incongruously in the simple room. He shook his head but waved her on her way.

She spent the next hour with Canem, picking her way around—and sometimes being carried, which was no penance—as they sought the perfect location for their house. Their home. Their heaven.

They settled on a spot that would be high enough for dryness without being inconvenient, and Thea turned back, hand in hand with him, to the scar of the old one. “And the boggy land becomes a lake.”

“‘Everything for the best in this best of all possible worlds.'”

“That sounds like a quotation. What from?”

“Voltaire's
Candide
. A very silly story.”

“It sounds happy, at least.”

“On the contrary, it's a string of misfortunes.”

“Then we'll have no part of it.” They kissed again, but softly. No need for scandal this close to the prize. As they strolled back to the stables hand in hand, she said, “Did I ever tell you that you were likened to the Corsair?”

“Byron's Corsair? Wasn't that supposed to be based on himself? Are you accusing me of being poetic, wench?”

She chuckled at the thought. “But you have to admit you appeared among the ton as a ‘man of loneliness and mystery.'”

“Not by choice.” He squeezed her hand gently. “You haven't mentioned such concerns, Thea, but I'm not an outcast here. In fact, the local gentry are so welcoming that I'll be glad of rescue.”

“Rescue?”

“From young ladies eager to overlook my faults to become a viscountess.”

“What faults?” she asked, but added, “I see it's as well I didn't wait until September though.”

He turned her into his arms and kissed her again. “Do you think so?”

“Yes,” she said, cuddling close. “But only because I couldn't stand it a moment longer.”

Simply being together was so irresistible that they lingered there.

Eventually, Thea looked up at him. “There is the problem of somewhere to stay. Come back to Long Chart, Canem. The house can wait. We'll build it together. Despite what my father says, I'll enjoy a gamekeeper's cottage. For a while, at least.”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I'm glad you qualified that. I was wondering where my goddess had gone.”

She laughed, but asked, “Where's your brother?”

“In Lancashire for a while, playing at agricultural management. I don't know where his interest will finally settle….”

They returned to the stables, arm in arm, discussing Frank, their home, their future, and everything. When they reached the stables, however, the duke's patience had run out. He demanded the direction of a decent inn and carried Thea away. But Darien only delayed to dress properly before joining them for an excellent dinner, and the next day, they set off together to Long Chart and their wedding.

I
f the duke had been uncertain about the match, the duchess clearly was not. She shed tears of joy and plunged into preparations for the wedding of the year. Nothing Thea said could change her mind, and as long as her mother didn't try to delay the event, she didn't care. But she escaped with Darien as often as possible.

They walked, rode, and drove around the countryside as Thea showed him all her favorite places. For the first time, he admitted to playing the flute, but he would play only for her, out in the country. He also had a good singing voice, however, and finally joined her in a duet in front of others.

They would have music in their home.

Their time alone together was limited, however, for the whole county seemed to want to meet him, and it was one social function after another. Some of their neighbors wanted to meet Lord Darien out of horrified fascination and had to be won over, but that was easier now, largely because Darien was different. He still had every scrap of that power and vigor that had first attracted and terrified her, but he was less guarded and lighter of heart.

When Frank Cave turned up the week before the wedding, Thea thought he might be the major cause of the change. The devotion between the brothers wasn't demonstrative, but it was deep. In Frank's company, no one could be cool or guarded.

When she told Canem her thought, however, he said, “No, my Thea. Any improvement in me is entirely your work.”

Dare and Mara arrived too, of course, presenting an excellent example of married happiness. Thea was moved to see no lingering anger and resentment between Canem and Dare, though she wasn't so pleased when the two men organized a quarterstaff contest and Canem ended up with a bump on his head.

He lay beneath a tree with her, his head in her lap as she applied vinegar cloths. “It's worth it for this,” he said, eyes closed, “but I think a sweet kiss might work better than vinegar….”

The next day Canem challenged Dare to a saber contest, but both Mara and Thea vetoed the idea. They settled for a steeple race that involved most of the young men of the area. Thea muttered something about Conrad and Medora and had to explain to Mara.

On the wedding eve, the duchess threw a ball. Hundreds attended, and many stayed, so that even Long Chart was packed. Yet again, time alone together was impossible, but tomorrow—ah, tomorrow—and tonight they could dance.

The duchess had wanted Thea to order a new gown, but Thea wore the red. She wore it exactly as she had that night except for one thing—she put on the right corset.

“Pearls, dear?” her mother questioned when she saw her. “My rubies, perhaps.”

“No, Mama. This is exactly how I want to look.”

Her mother shook her head but didn't protest.

When Canem saw her, his reaction was everything she'd dreamed of and they danced through a magical evening in a world of their own. As they waltzed, she said, “Did I tell you there's to be fireworks at midnight?”

He burst out laughing. Everyone beamed indulgently at the mad lovers.

They watched the magical fire together, she wrapped in his arms, feeling his occasional kisses on her hair as he told her softly that she was his fire, his spark, his beauty in the night. When the explosions were over, they danced again, but not for long. The wedding was set for ten in the morning, so no one could dance till dawn.

Thea did have a new dress for her wedding, a simple white muslin embroidered with forget-me-nots, and silk forget-me-nots in her hair. The actual wedding service was a small affair, held privately in the duke's private chapel with only family in attendance, but afterward there was a fete in the grounds and grand celebrations for everyone in the area.

Thea and Canem did their duty but were delighted to escape in the midafternoon, even if in a flower-decked carriage that was cheered by crowds down the long drive and on the road for a good mile until they'd passed out of her father's lands.

“Phew,” Canem said, collapsing back on the seat. “If you'd warned me, I might have fled.”

“Really?” Thea asked.

“No,” he said. “Come here.”

She was wearing a bonnet now, which presented a minor challenge, but nothing, as Canem pointed out, that could make a war hero blanch.

They'd been lent a house only fifteen miles from Long Chart, which was as well. By the time they reached there, they could endure the bare minimum of courtesy from the servants before finding their bedroom.

But once there, Thea found herself ridiculously shy. Sunlight still poured in through the window, which stood open. She could hear birds, but also people somewhere in the garden, and distantly the barking of a dog.

“Perhaps we should wait until night,” she said, even though she seethed with hunger.

“If you wish.”

She looked at him, knew he felt as she did. “No, but…”

“I could draw the curtains, if you're afraid the birds might see.”

She fell into laughter and into his arms, and then it was all right.

He found the control to go slowly, to undress her slowly, tenderly unwinding her, it seemed to Thea, from layers and anxieties with kisses and even laughter. And he managed to shed his own clothing at the same time so that he shed the final layer first.

He took off his shirt to stand naked in sunlight, his skin slightly dark all over, his form so beautiful that Thea paused simply to enjoy. But then she walked forward in her silk shift to touch scars—on his arm, on his side, down his belly….

She touched his manhood, too, shy but familiar with its warm hardness.

He drew her last garment up and off, and pulled her to him for a kiss. Then he swept her up and carried her to the turned-down bed to settle her gently on cool sheets. She shivered, but it wasn't from chill. It was from the potent smell of freshly laundered sheets, which set fire to need.

She stretched her arms to him and he joined her, to kiss, to touch, to explore as they had done once before, but this time completely. When he entered she felt the stab of pain, but it was what made this complete. Completely perfect. They were finally one.

After a still moment, he moved. She laughed softly at the sensation and then matched him, reveling in each new, delicious discovery, in her body, in his, until the passion built, the passion she knew, that she'd longed for now for so very long. That was even better than before.

“Fireworks,” she said eventually, stretching with languorous delight. “But not at midnight.”

He drew her into his arms. “There will be many, many midnights, but sunshine, too. I promise you that—”

But she put her fingers over his lips. “Don't fret, don't strive, beloved. We simply are, and nothing, nothing at all, could ever be better, Canem Cave.”

“I might be Canem Cave,” he said, “but are you still the Great Untouchable?”

She laughed at that. “Never to you. Never, ever to you. Love me again, beloved.”

So they touched again, kissed again, and with birdsong pouring in through the window, he obeyed.

T
o Rescue a Rogue
(published in September 2006) completed the stories of the members of the Company of Rogues, but their world had become my version of the English Regency world, so whenever I write in that setting, they'll be around somewhere, even if out of sight.

As part of that, I'm weaving in my other Regency fiction. Those of you who have read my very early Regencies will have recognized Lord and Lady Wraybourne, Fred Kyle, and even Maria Harroving, who all appeared in my very first book,
Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed
. We hope to have a new edition of this book available soon, but as it was published in hardcover, you may be able to find it in a public library.

I didn't plan for Lord Darien, however. He merely strolled in toward the end of
To Rescue a Rogue
, ready to play a small but important role, and bristling with antagonism. It took me only a moment to realize that, of course, someone back at school had to have hated the Rogues simply for being themselves, and perhaps also with cause. Young people can be carelessly cruel. The beginnings of the story spun out in my mind.

What if he were to encounter Dare's sister…?

Immediately I had problems, however. This man insisted his title was Lord Darien. Lord Dare and Lord Darien in the same book? I protested. He insisted, and as you've seen, Darien's not someone you can push around.

Then there was the whole business of
cave canem
and the pronunciation of the family name. There are many English names of places and people that are not pronounced as they're spelled. Mainwaring is “mannering,” Worcester is “wooster,” and they say Featherstonehaugh is “fanshaw,” though I've never quite believed that one. So Cave could easily be “cahvay”—I just had to let the reader know.

The phrase
cave canem
dates back almost to “the year dot,” as they say. In about
AD
20, a Roman called Petronius described the practice of putting a picture of a guard dog on the lintel above the door along with the words
cave canem
. This was confirmed in the eighteenth century when exactly that was discovered in the ruins of Pompeii.

So yes, all those Harrow schoolboys, who were mostly taught the Classics—Greek and Latin—would have been familiar with the phrase.

Apart from that, this story progresses through quite normal Regency pathways—if we allow for scheming servants and a ruthless enemy. I hope you enjoyed it.

If you're open to something different, a few months ago, NAL published a collection of novellas called
Dragon Lovers
. My story there is set in a fantasyland of castles, princesses, and knights in shining armor. Princess Rozlinda is the Sacrificial Virgin Princess of Saragond, which means that when a dragon swoops in to ravage the land, she'll be offered to placate it and send it away. No bit deal, given that the sacrifice is symbolic, and once done, she can get on with her life. Marrying her dream knight, and thus ceasing to be a virgin, is top of her list of things to do. But someone has changed the rules, and Rozlinda discovers that the sacrifice isn't symbolic anymore.

My fellow authors in this collection are my good friends Mary Jo Putney, Barbara Samuel, and Karen Harbaugh. We have a Web site at www.dragonloversromance.com.

You can find out more about
Dragon Lovers
and my other work on my own Web site www.jobev.com. There are excerpts, pictures, and other material connected to my books. There's even some free fiction to enjoy. You can also sign up to receive my more or less monthly e-mail newsletter.

I'm also part of a group of historical authors who blog about life and writing at www.wordwenches.com. We each do one day, and currently I'm the Saturday Wench, though that is subject to change. Drop by.

And you can always e-mail me at [email protected].

If you're not into the Internet yet, you can still contact me by post. Please send any letters to me c/o Margaret Ruley, Jane Rotrosen Agency, 318 East 51st Street, New York, New York 10022 (SASE appreciated).

What's coming next? A return to the Georgian era, I think. There's this rake and he encounters a nun in distress. But is she really a nun, and exactly who is chasing whom?

Happy reading,
Jo