My Dearest Enemy (21 page)

"Francesca!" Avery shouted through the halls of Mill

House just as a peal of thunder sounded far off in the distance. The day had turned unseasonably warm. Since Lily had fled from Drummond's lair that morning, he'd caught only an occasional glimpse of her, and it was driving him mad. There was too much unresolved between them and he was a man unused to biding his time. He wanted—

Damn. That was the problem. He wanted Lily Bede. So much that he could taste it. Something had to give.

"Where the blazes is everyone?" Avery muttered. Even the perpetually keeling-over trio of maids was conspicuously absent. God alone knew where Lily had hied herself off to. Probably devising some other plan to… to
what
?

What in God's name had she hoped to accomplish with that kiss? Distract him from illegal activities? The days of smuggling were long gone. Make him so smitten with her that he abdicated his claim on Mill House? She couldn't possibly think that would work. He needed answers.

"Francesca!" he roared again.

A patter of footsteps preceded Francesca's appearance. Shell pink fabric swished around her ankles and her color was hectic. "What is it?" she asked breathlessly. "What is wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing's wrong. I wanted to speak with you," he said.

She laid her palm flat against the base of her throat. "You gave me palpitations, you young idiot. Shouting down the house like that."

"I 'shouted' because there was no one here to relay my request that you meet me in"—he looked around—"there." He pointed at one of the anterooms. "I didn't feel like running about opening doors looking for you."

"Fine, Avery," Francesca said, entering the room. She settled herself gracefully atop a heavy settee covered in somber maroon brocade and tucked her feet beneath her.

"Where is everyone?" Avery asked, glancing around. He saw now why the family didn't use this room. It was dark, filled with uncomfortable-looking furniture, and there was a draft coming from the hearth.

"Mrs. Kettle is decanting wine for dinner—apparently an arduous and lengthy process and one she takes very seriously—Evelyn is in the sitting room teaching Miss Makepeace to make lace, of all things, and Bernard has gone down to the horse barn."

"It's called a stable, Francesca, and do you think that's wise? What with the boy's lung condition and all."

"Why wouldn't it be?" she asked.

"Nasty drafty places stables. And horses are erratic, excitable beasts. Drink, Francesca?" He indicated the crystal whiskey container.

"That would be nice," Francesca said. "You mustn't worry about Bernard. Lily's nags are long past being a danger to anyone and Bernard enjoys riding them tremendously. The only athletic endeavor he does enjoy, to my knowledge."

"Would that I could," Avery murmured, conjuring an image of Lily Bede, her black hair flying as she cantered across a field.

He dispelled the image, busying himself with the liquor decanter and considering his young cousin. So, whatever triggered the constriction of Bernard's lungs it was not proximity to horses, the agent that had so long bedeviled Avery. Perhaps if he and Bernard researched the matter they could discover under what conditions Bernard was most likely to suffer and thus he could do as Avery had learned to do: avoid those places or events that precipitated the terrifying suffocation.

"Avery," Francesca said slowly, "do
horses
provoke that congestion in your lungs?"

He'd forgotten Francesca. Curled up on the heavy monstrosity in her filmy, pale draperies she looked like an autumn moth, faded, a bit shabby, but still somehow pretty. "Sometimes," he said in a noncommittal tone. "Not worth discussing. Never go near the beasts if I can help it. Now, about her."

"Her." Francesca's face went blank for a second before clearing. "Oh!
Her
. What about her?"

Avery cast about, uncertain how much he wanted to reveal to his cousin. No one else of his acquaintance was better qualified to judge Lily's proclivities than Francesca. Her expertise in matters of the flesh was a given and had been ever since she'd been a chit.

"Camfield," he finally said, handing her a glass of whiskey and soda.

"Martin Camfield?" Francesca accepted the drink. "What about him?"

"What is the nature of the relationship between Miss Bede and him?"

Her lips made a moue of comprehension. "Well, clearly Mr. Camfield has a high regard for Lily's intelligence."

Avery relaxed. If the strongest feeling Camfield could scrounge up for a woman like Lily was "high regard for her intelligence" the man was either homosexual or a eunuch. In either case Avery felt much more kindly disposed toward him.

He smiled.

"Or that's what Mr. Camfield would like her to think."

He stopped smiling.

"Perhaps Martin Camfield is wise enough to realize that a woman like Lily will find a man who appreciates her mind more appealing than someone who simply ogles her."

"I have
never
ogled her."

Francesca looked startled. "Why, Avery, I never said you did."

"I just wanted to make clear that I'm not that sort of man."

"More's the pity," Francesca said and upended a good half the glass's contents into her mouth.

"And what about Lily?"

"Lily?"

"Her and him."

Francesca sighed. "I do wish you would learn to speak in something other than monosyllables, Avery. It's a habit you had even as a boy. It makes communication confoundedly awkward. And yet, your prose is inspired and I've heard you engage in exchanges with Lily that positively scintillate. Now, try again, dear, what is it you wish to know about 'her and him?' "

Avery's face grew hot. "Does she encourage Cam-field?"

"Of course she does," Francesca said, setting her empty glass on the floor beside her. "Whyever are you looking like that, Avery? Are you ill?"

The thought of Lily in Camfield's arms, or worse, of Camfield in Lily's arms, made Avery's jaw ache. With an effort he unclenched his teeth. "I'm fine. I just dislike finding out that a woman of Lily's intelli-gence would stoop to manipulating men in such a brazen and crude fashion."

"'Brazen?' 'Crude?'" Francesca frowned. "Just what is it you think I have admitted to Lily's having done?"

"Used her feminine wiles to beguile men into doing her bidding."

"I see." Francesca shook her head. "Men are so fascinating. May I ask what bidding she is supposed to have beguiled Martin Camfield into doing?"

"I don't know," Avery responded testily. "How would I know? What has she gotten out of him?"

Francesca lounged back, her expression deeply contemplative. "Well," she said slowly, "she did rather crow about purchasing seed from him at a good price. I confess, trading one's womanly favors for a ten percent discount on seeds would never have occurred to me, but if that's what she's done, I call it damned enterprising—"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

"
I
?" She rose to her feet. "And here I thought
you
were the one jumping to conclusions. I said Lily
flirted
with Martin Camfield, not
bedded
him, you great fool. There is a difference, you know."

"If you would cease being so damned amused by us lesser mortals and answer my questions in a straightforward fashion I wouldn't be jumping to conclusions," he shot back.

His words had a potent effect. Francesca's suave ex-pression abruptly disappeared. Beneath its thin powdered layer, her skin flushed.

"Did Lily do something that would lead you to believe that she is, ah, free with her favors?"

"I am a gentleman, Francesca," he answered coldly.

"Aha!" she crowed. "But I don't understand, Avery, if she and you… why aren't you… ?" She peered at him more closely. "You mistrust her… attentions?"

"
If
," Avery said, "there were any attentions to mistrust—and as a gentleman I am not willing to cede that point—yes, I damn well would mistrust them. I'd be a fool not to.

"Here's a woman who appears to actively dislike me, has spent four years trading insults with me, makes no secret out of the fact that she is trying to snatch my inheritance from me, and she suddenly up and…
pays attention to me}
What should, er,
would
I think?"

"You poor dear." Francesca eyed him with horrible fascination.

"Don't be an ass, Francesca."

At least his response dispelled that nauseating expression from her face. "Humph. Well. If you don't want my help…"

"Your help with what?" he asked incredulously.

"My help in—how does one put this delicately?—
acquiring
Lily Bede."

"I don't
want
to acquire Lily Bede."

"There's no need to shout, Avery."

"There's every need to shout! That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Lily Bede is an obstinate, strong-willed, argumentative troublemaker. She dislikes me. I dislike her. Well, dislike is too strong a word. I don't trust her. She's too intelligent by half and too independent by the other half. Why would any man want to
acquire
such a woman?"

"I can't for the life of me answer that," Francesca said complacently. "I'm not a man. Perhaps you can elucidate?"

"Of course I can," he said angrily, somewhere half-aware that he was just explaining an attraction he'd seconds before been denying. "A kind of magnetism between members of the opposite sex is normal. Just because I've never experienced it to its current degree doesn't mean I wish to acquire Lily Bede.

"My attraction to her is doubtless based on my sudden immersion into the absolutely foreign company of women, a chronological receptiveness, and certain chemicals in the body." He scowled. "And her eyes."

"I haven't any clue what you just said, Avery. Perhaps you'd best stick with the monosyllables," Francesca suggested.

"I mean," Avery said, "that knowing that this infatuation is simply an unfortunate combination of mental, chemical, and sociological coincidences, I know full well how to deal with it."

"Oh?"

"The mill pond," he stated, well-pleased. "I looked it over very carefully on my walk with Lily. It appears to be quite deep and I know it to be quite cold."

"You're going to take cold swims?" Francesca burst into laughter.

"What else am I going to do?" He knew he was speaking more loudly than he ought, but he couldn't help it. "The woman obsesses me. It's unhealthy. It's ridiculous."

"You just said it was normal."

"I was wrong. No. I was right. Blast it! I can't even make a simple statement where she is concerned. She's ruined my ability to make a rational judgement."

He pulled his cigar case from his jacket pocket, snapped it open and withdrew one. "I need to get away from her. This trip to London will do me good. Obviously, I must have entered the time in my life when I should be looking for a wife. I'll… I'll arrange to meet a few friends. Some of them have sisters. Fine, docile, creatures. Good wife material. Damn it, she won't even let me smoke in the house!"

With a savage movement he jammed the cigar back in its case and shoved it back into his jacket's breast pocket.

"Poor dear." Francesca didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Why not accept the inevitable? Believe me, Avery, I have much experience with your situation. Some things are invincible. It does no good trying to resist them. Such attractions are as strong as an ocean's rip tides. You may as well just drown and enjoy it."

"I will not drown," Avery declared emphatically. "I will take swims. Long, invigorating cold swims. Daily if need be. Twice daily."

"You're a fool, Avery." Francesca sighed. The fact that he suspected she was correct, but could not fathom why this would be, destroyed what was left of his temper.

"Damn it, Francesca,
she wants my house
!"

Her nostrils flared delicately as if she scented something she disliked.

"Lily," she said in a deceptively soft voice, "has given five years of her youth to this house. The same five years that other young ladies generally spent being coddled and cosseted and feted, Lily was straining her eyes over accounts, studying late into the early hours of dawn so she could discover a way to eke another penny from the farm, cleaning the floors on her hands and knees—" At his look of amazement she stopped, disgust making her lips thin.

"Dear me, Avery," she said, "you didn't imagine three pregnant, overindulged little maids did all the work in this house, did you? Man,
look at her hands
!"

"Why?" he asked in bewilderment.

She misunderstood his question. "Because that is the only way she will be able to secure the future she wants. I believe that after all she has done Lily considers Mill House
her
house." Francesca lifted her eyes calmly to his
. "I
would certainly not contradict her."

Her words brought back to him in full force the dilemma that had been plaguing him. He raked his hair back from his face.

"I know," he said. "I see what she's achieved. I would never have thought it possible." His voice hardened. "But, Francesca
, I
did not present that challenge to Lily. It was through no offices of mine that she was offered my home."

Francesca watched him silently.

"Mill House was promised to me when I was younger than Bernard, Francesca," he said. "I dreamed of it, I planned for it. I counted on it when there was nothing more to—I counted on it. It was to have been my
home. She
knew that when she fell in with Horatio's scheme. Don't tell me that she didn't realize that in securing her future she would be doing someone else out of theirs."

"I can see how her act might seem callous, Avery," Francesca said, her look of contempt turning to confusion. "I can only say that five years ago your prospects looked much better to her than her own."

"I don't give a bloody damn. She accepted a challenge which, if she won, she knew would result in my disinheritance. Badly done, Francesca. Badly done."

"Perhaps it was less than gentlemanly, Avery—"

"Damn right," he said harshly. "If she did that, what else is she capable of? Just what would she be willing to do to secure Mill House for her own? And how can I allow myself to be attracted to her?