Lady Beware (9 page)

She considered the information on Darien's finances and property. He owned three estates—the main one, Stours Court in Warwickshire; a secondary one, Greenshaw in Lancashire; and another, Ballykilneck in Cavan County, Ireland. Mr. Thoresby had been able to discover little about the latter other than that the rental income from it was negligible. Greenshaw was reportedly neglected, having been under the management of Marcus Cave.

Mad Marcus had died five years ago in Bedlam. Time enough for someone to clear up the mess. But then, apparently it was traditionally the heir's property, so it would have passed to the next brother, Christian, whose only superiority over his brother was sanity. He'd died last year, struck by lightning with his father. As her mother had said, though Darien had inherited a year ago, he'd only been out of the army for a short time. She would try to be fair.

At Stours Court the land was all leased and worked, and Darien had recently appointed a new and better steward, who was beginning to improve the estate. The house needed extensive work, however, or was in danger of falling down.

The last section was on Cave House, and its very blandness showed that Thoresby hadn't known quite how to handle such a touchy subject. He'd clearly decided that there was no point in recounting the lurid details of the murder. Instead, there was the address, including a map of the square, with its terraces of houses on each side and the railed private gardens in the center.

Elevations and floor plans showed a typical house, but Thea pored over them as if they might give a peephole into Darien's life. She caught herself at it and tidied the papers. There was nothing shocking in them, but Thea wasn't reassured. Thoresby hadn't uncovered the truth about Harrow, so what else had he missed? She wasn't surprised, however, when her mother confirmed that she'd sent Darien the dinner invitation.

At least Thea had one remaining night of unpolluted pleasure. The Wraybourne musical evening was one of her favorite events of the season. The company was always select, and there was no attempt at a “crush.” The music would be excellent. This year, the boys' choir from Westminster Abbey would perform. It would be glorious.

They attended two routs on their way, passing through crowded houses to fulfill as many social obligations as possible in the limited time the season allowed. Mrs. Calford's rout was a little thin, but Lady Netherholt's was packed. Thea became separated from her parents, but she might have escaped in blessed ignorance if she hadn't bumped into Alesia de Roos.

Alesia grabbed her arm and hissed, “That's the Vile Viscount over there!”

A
quick glance showed Alesia was correct, and even worse, Darien was talking to the Vandeimens. If her parents spotted them, they'd be sure to go over.

All three looked at ease, but a subtle space had formed around them even in this crowd. And the man expected her to join him in shunned isolation?

“They call him Canem Cave,” Alesia whispered. “It means ‘mad dog'!”

“No, it doesn't. The closest translation would be ‘dog beware.'”

“Don't be so literal, Thea. It's almost the same thing. He gives me the most delicious shivers. Oh, save me! He's looking at us.”

Thea made the mistake of checking on that. Her eyes clashed with his.

“Then don't look back,” she said, turning away. “I must go—”

But the Fortescue sisters joined them. “Are you talking about the Vile Viscount?” Cecily whispered.

“Horrid, isn't it?” Cassandra added, eyes bright. “We can't think of a reason to approach.”

“Approach!” Alesia gasped. “He should be thrown out.”

“But he's with the Vandeimens,” Cassandra pointed out. “Lady Netherholt can hardly offend them.”

“
He
was little better,” Alesia said. “And Lady Vandeimen—”

Thea interrupted, speaking coldly. “Need I remind you that Maria Vandeimen is a relative of mine?”

Alesia turned red.

“I must go,” Thea said, desperate to be out of this mess. “My parents are ready to leave.”

If they weren't, they soon would be. That man was a menace. He was harming Maria's reputation and causing discord between Thea and her friends.

Cassandra Fortescue called after her: “Where do you go on to, Thea?”

Thea turned back. “Lady Wraybourne's. You?”

Cecily replied for her sister. “Lady Lessington's.”

Thea waved farewell and found her mother, who was wafting a large silk and feather fan and rather red in the face.

“You look hot, too, dear,” said the duchess. “But Penelope Netherholt will be pleased by such a crush. Ah, there's your father. Let us escape.”

As they moved into the flow of people leaving, Thea thanked heaven for escape, but she found the man's presence pursued her.

All around people murmured:

“Darien.”

“Cave.”

“Wilmott…”

Her mother's tense smile showed she heard the whispers, too. Thea feared that she'd stop to challenge someone, but the flow of people pushed them toward the stairs. They'd reached them when a voice said, “Duke, Duchess, you're leaving, too?”

Thea's parents turned, so she had to, too. Darien was close behind them, and he'd managed that because people were shifting to let him through—or rather, to avoid contact. If he noticed he showed no sign of it.

“Such a crush,” he said pleasantly. “The Wraybourne musicale will be a relief.”

“You're going there, too, Darien? May we take you up in our carriage?”

Thea wanted to clap her hand over her mother's mouth. And how had the outcast gained an invitation?

“It's only a few streets…,” he demurred.

“But you may as well ride. Night streets can be so dangerous.” The duchess was speaking a little louder than necessary, making sure those nearby heard her. She even tapped Darien's arm playfully with her fan. “Of course you won't think of that after fighting in so many battles.”

“On the contrary, Duchess. To survive Napoleon and be taken down by a footpad would be ridiculous.”

The duchess laughed and even the duke smiled. Thea didn't know how many people had heard the exchange, but everyone would notice the good humor and perhaps begin to doubt their attitudes.

“I don't think you've met my daughter, Darien,” the duchess said, smiling warmly. “Thea, this is Viscount Darien, who was so kind to Dare. Darien, Lady Theodosia.”

Thea felt caught wrong-footed in a dance. Her curtsy was a beat late, her smile awkward.

His eyes glinted. The man was enjoying her discomfiture.

Then the situation became worse. As they descended the stairs it was necessary to go two by two and she found herself partnering the one man in London she was desperate to avoid. Darien extended his arm. She had to take it. She didn't know what was worse—the sense of his powerful energy or the novel sensation of society staring at her in horrified disbelief.

She looked ahead, smiling as lightly as she could manage. “The Wraybournes have engaged the Abbey boys' choir, my lord. Are you sure that sort of music will suit you?”

“Bawdy drinking songs would be more suitable, you think?”

She flickered a glance in his direction. “Or opera, given your Italian blood?”

“Such a disreputable thing, Italian blood.”

Thea felt her cheeks heat. She'd meant that but didn't relish having it pointed out.

“I have little experience with opera,” he said. “Though I've appreciated an opera dancer now and then.”

“I'm sure you have, my lord, but that is not a subject a gentleman refers to in a lady's company.”

“Lady Theodosia, are you implying that I'm not a gentleman?”

His tone was smooth, but Thea's heart suddenly raced. “Of course not. Mama wishes to help you fit into society, that is all. So I thought I'd give you the hint.”

“You think that I don't know how to behave in society?”

“Clearly not,” she snarled, still smiling, “when you mention opera dancers to a lady.”

“A lady who knows what they are, I note.”

“That's…”

“I'm not sure I approve of that in my betrothed.”

Thea was so alarmed she missed the fact that they'd arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stumbled. When a strong hand grasped her arm, she instinctively tensed to resist. He released her as soon as she had her balance, but she felt as shaken as if she'd tumbled down the stairs, top to bottom.

“Are you all right, Thea?” her mother asked, peering at her.

“Yes, of course, Mama.” She pulled free of his arm.

He made no attempt to restrain her. “Strange, how trying to take an extra step seems almost as hazardous as not realizing a step is there at all.”

“Expectations,” Thea's father put in. “Like taking a fence expecting firm ground on the far side and finding a bog.”

Darien and the duke settled into hunting talk, giving Thea a chance to recover.

If she could.

He meant to hold her to her promise. He might speak of it to her parents at any moment.

“Sarah!” The sharp hiss almost made Thea jump out of her skin. She turned to see chunky Mrs. Anstruther leaning close to her mother, her two thin unmarried daughters standing nearby, looking like frightened rabbits.

“Do you know who you have in train?” Mrs. Anstruther whispered, red-faced.

Thea's mother pretended mild confusion. “What? Oh, you mean Viscount Darien, Ann? An old friend of my son's. Did so splendidly in the war, you know.”

Ann Anstruther's lips drew in like a purse. “Many of the most gallant soldiers are not quite suited to our drawing rooms, Sarah. Or, to our daughters. You cannot have forgotten Mary Wilmott.”

“Of course not, but it would be a sad world if we all had to suffer for our brothers' sins.”

Thea bit her lip. Ann Anstruther's brother was a notoriously loose fish.

Mrs. Anstruther straightened majestically. “
My
brother has never murdered anyone, and neither have any of yours. You're being softhearted as usual, Sarah, but this is beyond anything. Come, girls!”

She gathered her two daughters and herded them out of danger. The duchess had spots of color on her cheeks, and though Darien and the duke talked on as if nothing had occurred, they must have heard.

“Outrageous,” the duchess said, battle in her eye.

“She does have a point, Mama.”

The battle eye turned on her. “We are doing what is right, Thea, and I will be disappointed, very disappointed, to see any shrinking and quivering from you. We owe Lord Darien a debt of gratitude and I would be ashamed—ashamed, I say—if any of my family proved reluctant to pay it.”

Now Thea's cheeks flared under a sharper rebuke than she'd earned in years. She deserved it more than her mother knew.

Very well. She had made a promise and she would keep it if she must. But if he had a scrap of mercy, or even common sense, she could talk him out of it. Perhaps this evening would provide an opportunity.

A maid came forward with Thea's heavy silk shawl. Despite being in conversation, Darien noticed and came to take the shawl and hold it. Thea made herself smile slightly as she turned so he could put it around her shoulders. She sensed all eyes on her and a disturbance in the air. Her mother was right. The ton was behaving outrageously. They were just like schoolboys turning on the outsider and taunting Dog Cave to violence.

But the brush of his hands on her bare shoulders blew away pity. She remembered their first encounter. Viscount Darien wasn't a misfit boy; he was a strong and ruthless man who was up to no good. She must guard herself against him, especially when he seemed able to have this physical effect on her at will.

She hurried after her parents, not taking Darien's arm, and plunged into the coach as if it were a haven. Darien came, too, of course, but he and her father took the backward seats, so at least she didn't have to sit side by side with him, their bodies touching.

As the carriage moved off, however, she realized that she would have to look at him. He was sitting directly opposite and she could hardly stare out through the window all the way. She expected to be assaulted by mocking looks or even lascivious leers, but he seemed completely attentive to her mother's inquisitive questions.

“When did you join the army, Darien?”

“In oh-six, Duchess.”

“You could only have been the merest child!”

“I assure you, a fifteen-year-old lad doesn't think so.”

Both duke and duchess chuckled.

“And you served the whole of the Peninsular Campaign,” the duke said, “then into France and Waterloo.”

“I was so privileged.”

“Why did you sell out?” the duchess asked.

He balked at that one. It was subtle, but Thea caught it.

So you have secrets, do you, Lord Darien? Can I use them to defend myself?

“You disapprove, Duchess?” he countered.

“No, but I suspect you didn't want to.”

“The war was over, and other matters demanded my attention.”

“Your estates,” the duke said. “A fair bit of work to do there, I'd think. I don't imagine your father was attentive.”

“But not ruinous, for which I'm grateful. Of course there's the current economic disorder to complicate everything.”

The two men fell into talk of agriculture, industry, and trade, which lasted until the carriage halted at the end of a line leading to the Wraybournes' house. Thea didn't know much of such matters, but it seemed Darien was both adequately informed and willing to be advised. That was either a mark to his credit or of more clever scheming.

In either case, it made him a formidable enemy.

Darien and the duke left first to be ready to assist the ladies. Thea took Darien's hand and stepped down, but then her mother insisted on his escort into the house.

Thea took her father's arm, puzzled. But when they entered the house and their names were announced, she caught a frozen expression on the young Countess of Wraybourne's face and understood.

Of course the Vile Viscount hadn't received an invitation. He was an unwelcome invader, but Lady Wraybourne could hardly forbid him entry when he arrived as escort to the Duchess of Yeovil.