Ravished (10 page)

"For the most part, yes," she snapped.

"What about your reputation? Has it occurred to you just what could happen to it if you continue flitting about chasing thieves and Runners and every other stranger who invades this beach? Don't you give a bloody damn for what people would say and think if they find out what you're up to at all hours of the day and night?"

Harriet was genuinely enraged now. She was not accustomed to anyone except Aunt Effie lecturing her and she had long ago learned to ignore much of what Effie said. Gideon was different. It was impossible to ignore him when he towered over her like this and snarled.

"I do not particularly care what people will say," Harriet declared. "I am not overly concerned with my reputation. I have no reason to be concerned with it, as I have no interest in marriage."

Gideon's eyes glittered in the shadows. "You little fool. You think the only thing you are risking is an offer of marriage which you do not want in the first place?"

"Yes."

"You are wrong." Gideon wrapped his big hand around the nape of her neck and forced her chin up higher so that she was obliged to look straight into his eyes. "You have no notion of what you are risking. You do not know what it is like to lose your reputation and your honor. If you did, you would not make such ridiculous statements."

Harriet heard the savage pain in his voice and her anger dissolved. She suddenly realized he was talking from the depths of his own bitter experience. "My lord, I did not mean to imply that one's honor was worthless. I only meant that I do not care what others say about it."

"Then you are, indeed, a fool," he rasped. "Shall I tell you what it is like to have the whole world believe you to be lacking in honor? To have your reputation torn to shreds? To know that everyone, including your own family, thinks you are not worthy of the title of gentleman?"

"Oh, Gideon." Harriet touched his hand gently.

"Shall I tell you what it's like to walk into a ballroom and know that everyone present is whispering about your past? Can you really have any notion of what it feels like to play a hand of cards at your club and wonder if someone will accuse you of cheating behind your back should you happen to win? After all, a man whose honor is in question will probably cheat at cards, will he not?"

"Gideon, please—"

"Do you know what it's like to lose your friends?"

"Well, no, but—"

"Do you know what it's like to have everyone ready to believe the worst of you?"

"Gideon, stop this."

"
Do you know what it's like to have your own father question your honor
?"

"Your own father?" Harriet was shocked.

"When you are rich and powerful," Gideon said, "no one will challenge you to your face or give you a chance to explain yourself. All the whispers are behind your back. You are left with no means of clearing your own name. And after a while you realize there is no point in even attempting to do so. No one wants the truth. All anyone wants is the chance to add more fuel to the fires of gossip. The whispers become so loud that sometimes you think you will drown in them."

"Dear heaven."

"That is what it is like to lose your honor and your reputation, Miss Harriet Pomeroy. Think well before you take any more risks." Gideon released her. "Now go on home before I decide to take you at your word and show you what it really means to ignore the world's opinion."

Harriet drew her cloak securely around her and fixed him with a steady gaze. "I would have you know that I do not believe you to be lacking in honor, my lord. I do not think a man who truly lacked honor would have such a care for mine. Or grieve so much for what he, himself, has lost. I am sorry for what you have suffered. I can see that it has caused you much pain."

"I do not want your goddamned pity," Gideon roared. "Get out of here.
Now
."

Harriet realized in that moment that there was no way to reach past the wall of rage and private anguish Gideon had built around himself. She had provoked the beast in him and he was threatening to turn on her.

Without a word Harriet walked past him to the cave entrance. There she turned once more to look at him.

"Good day, my lord. I shall look forward to the culmination of your clever plans."

Mrs. Treadwell's arrival at the rectory that afternoon set the household into a brief flurry of activity. Effie handled the matter beautifully. Harriet had to admit her aunt had a definite skill at that sort of thing. She was at her best when called upon to navigate the dangerous waters of polite intercourse.

Mrs. Treadwell was the wife of one of the more prominent landholders in the district. Her husband devoted himself to his hunting hounds and Mrs. Treadwell devoted herself to sitting in judgment on social matters in the neighborhood.

She was a stoutly built woman who favored dark gowns and matching turbans. Today she was an imposing figure in a gray bombazine walking dress and a heavy gray turban that completely concealed her thin, gray hair.

Taken aback by the unexpected visit, Effie rallied instantly. Within moments she had her visitor seated in the parlor and tea prepared. Harriet was obliged to leave the study and Felicity politely left her needlework to help entertain Mrs. Treadwell.

"What a pleasant surprise, Mrs. Treadwell." Effie arranged herself on the sofa and graciously poured tea. "We always enjoy having visitors here at the rectory." She smiled pointedly as she handed a cup and saucer to her guest. "Even on short notice."

Harriet exchanged a knowing grin with Felicity.

"I fear this is something more than a mere social call," Mrs. Treadwell said. "It has come to my attention that a rather unfortunate occurrence took place last night at the local assembly."

"Really?" Effie sipped her tea and offered no assistance.

"I am told St. Justin appeared."

"I believe he did," Effie agreed.

"And ordered a waltz to be played," Mrs. Treadwell continued ominously. "Which he then danced with your niece, Harriet."

"It was great fun, actually," Harriet said cheerfully.

"Yes, it was." Felicity smiled at Mrs. Treadwell. "Everyone enjoyed the waltz very much. We are all hoping it will be played again at the next assembly."

"That remains to be seen, Miss Pomeroy." Mrs. Treadwell straightened her already stiff spine. "As shockingly inappropriate as it was to have the waltz played, I am far more concerned with the fact that St. Justin danced with you, Harriet. And
only
you. According to the information I received, he left after the single dance."

"I imagine he was rather bored by our little assembly," Effie said coolly before Harriet could respond. "One dance was no doubt sufficient to assure him that he would not enjoy himself if he stayed. I am certain he is accustomed to more elevated entertainments."

"You are missing the point, Mrs. Ashecombe," Mrs. Treadwell told Effie in a rising tone. "St. Justin danced with your niece. The waltz, no less. True, it was Harriet, not Felicity, to whom he showed so much undesirable attention. Nevertheless, it was an extremely reckless piece of business."

"I was there the entire time," Effie stated flatly. "You may rest assured I kept an eye on the situation."

"Nevertheless," Mrs. Treadwell said, "he left the assembly without bothering to ask anyone else to partner him. He singled out your niece for his attentions. You must be aware that such an event will be remarked upon by all and sundry."

"Will it, indeed?" Effie's brows rose quellingly.

"Yes, it will," Mrs. Treadwell stated grimly. "People are already talking about it. That is why I have taken it upon myself to come here this morning."

"So kind of you," Harriet murmured, unable to resist. She caught Felicity's eye and barely restrained another grin.

Mrs. Treadwell focused on Effie. "I am very well aware that you are new in the district, Mrs. Ashecombe. You cannot be expected to know St. Justin's reputation. Indeed, it is such as should not be discussed in front of innocent young ladies."

"Then, as there are two innocent young ladies present, perhaps we should cease discussing it," Effie suggested mildly.

"I will only say this," Mrs. Treadwell plowed on determinedly, "the man is a menace to all innocent young females. He is called the Beast of Blackthorne Hall precisely because he is responsible for the ruination of another young woman who once lived in this very house. She took her own life because of him. On top of that, there were even rumors of murder when his older brother died. Do I make myself clear, Mrs. Ashecombe?"

"Perfectly, Mrs. Treadwell. Perfectly. Will you have some more tea?" Effie picked up the pot.

Mrs. Treadwell glowered at her in frustration. She put down her cup and saucer with a clatter and stood up abruptly. "I have done my duty. You have been warned, Mrs. Ashecombe. You have the responsibility for these two young ladies on your shoulders. I trust you will attend to that responsibility."

"I shall endeavor to do my best," Effie said coldly.

"Good day to you, Mrs. Treadwell. I do hope that the next time you come to call you will give us some notice. Otherwise you might not find us at home. I shall summon my housekeeper to show you to the door."

The hall door opened and closed a moment later and Harriet breathed a deep sigh of relief. "What a meddling creature. I have never liked that woman."

"Nor have I," Felicity said. "I must say, you handled her very well, Aunt Effie."

Effie's lips pursed and her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "It was a nasty little scene, was it not? I dread to think what is being said in the village this morning. No doubt every shopkeeper is discussing last night's assembly with every customer who walks in the door. I was afraid of this, Harriet."

Harriet poured more tea for herself. "Really, Aunt Effie, there is nothing at all to concern you. It was only one dance and, as I am very much on my way to becoming an old maid, I cannot see that it matters so very much. The excitement will all pass very soon."

"Let us hope so." Effie sighed. "Here I thought I would have to worry about protecting Felicity from St. Justin and it turns out that you are the one at risk, Harriet. How very odd. According to his reputation, he prefers very young girls."

Harriet remembered the confrontation with Gideon that morning. She knew she would never forget the rage and pain in his eyes as he had lashed out at her on the subject of lost honor. "I do not think we should believe everything we hear about St. Justin, Aunt Effie."

Mrs. Stone appeared in the doorway, her doleful eyes full of righteous warning. "Ye had best believe it, Miss Harriet, if ye know what's good for ye. Mark my words. The Beast will not hesitate to ruin another young lady if he gets the chance."

Harriet got to her feet. "You will not refer to his lordship as a beast again, Mrs. Stone. Do you understand? If you do so, you will find yourself looking for another position."

She walked to the door and went down the hall to her study, ignoring the startled silence behind her. Safe in her own personal refuge once again, she closed the door and sat down behind her desk. Absently she picked up a savagely grinning skull and turned it over in her hands.

Gideon was no beast. He was a man who had been badly scarred by life and his own fate, but he was no beast. Harriet knew she would stake her life and her own reputation on that.

Late that night Gideon put down a volume of history he had been attempting to read for the last hour and poured himself a glass of brandy. He stretched his legs out toward the fire and contemplated the flames over the rim of the glass.

The sooner this business of catching thieves was finished the better, he thought. The situation was getting dangerous. He knew that, even if Harriet Pomeroy did not. If he had any sense he would get out of the neighborhood as quickly as possible.

What the hell had he been thinking of last night when he had swept her into that waltz? He knew damn well people would talk, especially when he did not bother to ask any other woman in the room to dance.

Another rector's daughter had danced with the Beast of Blackthorne Hall. Was history about to repeat itself
?

Something about Harriet was definitely making him reckless. Gideon had tried to tell himself she was an annoying little bluestocking whose only passions were reserved for old bones. But he knew that was untrue.

Harriet had more than enough passion to satisfy any man. Even if he had not experienced it in her kiss that morning in the cave, it had been crystal clear in her eyes last night when he had taken her into his arms to dance the waltz.

He had walked out of the assembly rooms shortly thereafter because he had known that if he stayed he would have provided the village gossips with even more grist for their mills. It was Harriet who would have to endure the speculation and chatter after he was gone. She might think it would be a minor trial, but she was naive. It could be hell.

Gideon warmed the brandy glass in his hands. It would be best if he left the vicinity soon, before he was prompted into one of his more outrageous actions again.

But he knew that a part of him was hoping it would take a good long while to trap the thieves.

He leaned his head back against the chair and thought of how it had felt last night to hold Harriet in his arms. She had been warm and sleek and she had responded beautifully to the dance. There had been a delightful eagerness in her. She had taken an unabashed delight in the wickedly sensual waltz. Gideon knew she would make love with the same sweet responsiveness.

The lady was, after all, nearly twenty-five years old and definitely strong-minded. Perhaps he should stop trying to be noble about the whole thing and let Harriet worry about her own reputation.

Who was he to refuse the lady the right to play with fire?

Three nights later Harriet found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned restlessly for two hours after going to bed. A sense of uneasiness was plaguing her. She felt anxious and alarmed for no apparent reason.

She finally gave up trying to pretend she was going to get any rest and got out of bed. When she opened the drapes she saw that clouds were partially obscuring the moon. The tide was out and she could see the swatch of silvered sand at the bottom of the cliffs.