Seduction Becomes Her (8 page)

Her voice betraying only the faintest quaver, she said, “It looks as if it will take them a trifle longer than we expected to free us.”

“Indeed, I fear you are right,” he replied slowly, seeing the path that Fate had set before him. They would be lucky, he suspected, if they were rescued by daylight—which meant he would be spending the night alone with Miss Daphne Beaumont. A member of a proud, noble family, Charles knew what honor would expect of him once they were rescued, and he felt not the slightest alarm or consternation. What he did feel was mingled anticipation and amusement as he pictured the expression on Daphne’s face when it dawned on her just what the outcome of this night would be. Somehow, he didn’t think she was going to be very happy when she realized that in order to avoid a scandal, Society would demand their marriage to each other. He grinned. And it would be his very great pleasure to change her mind. Ah, but he did love a challenge.

W
ith little conversation between them, Charles and Daphne had spent a not too uncomfortable night sleeping on the cave floor. Daphne was wrapped chastely in the heavy quilt while he made do with the thinner blankets. The basket of food and the torch had been a godsend. The fire had died just before dawn, but he’d saved the torch for just such an occasion, and so they did not have to sit the remaining hours in pitch-black darkness. And when they woke in the morning, there was still some bread and cheese and a few sips of wine left over from the previous night.

Charles’s estimation of the time of their rescue had been optimistic. They spent another increasingly uncomfortable and anxious night before their ordeal was over, and it was late in the afternoon of the second day before Adrian and the others finally broke through the tumbled wall of rock and stone. In those long hours before their rescue, there’d been an odd sense of intimacy between them, the gloomy darkness and their uncertain fate forging a bond that Daphne would have said was impossible twenty-four hours previously. Charles’s presence gave her comfort, and his cool indifference to their fate encouraged her to act the same and not give way to the hysteria that sometimes choked her. Ignoring the fact that they were virtual strangers, they made a good effort at pretending that their ordeal was a perfectly normal event. They conversed politely with one another—with a bit of formality on Daphne’s part and half hidden amusement on Charles’s part. In genteel harmony, they shared the remaining food and avoided any discussion of the grim possibility that they both might die in this cold, clammy cave.

When the first spike of light from the other side shone through, Charles rose to his feet where he had been sitting beside Daphne and said, “Well, now, it looks as if our rescuers have made good.” In the dim light, he smiled down at Daphne, who was visibly shivering in the heavy quilt. “And not a moment too soon. Another night in here wouldn’t have done you any good.”

She made a face. “Nor you,” she said as she rose to her feet. “I’m sure you are equally as cold and hungry as I am, and as eager to leave this adventure behind you and pretend it never happened.”

Charles studied her face for a moment. “Was it so very bad?”

She sighed. “Not as bad as it would have been if I had been in here by myself.” Honesty compelled her to add, “You were very gallant to stay with me, and I thank you for that. You will always have my deep gratitude.”

Charles started to tell her what she could do with her gratitude when a shout from above distracted him, and he looked in that direction. Adrian’s face appeared in the small area they had cleared.

Seeing Charles and Daphne looking up at him, a huge grin split his face. “By Jove, am I happy to see you! Have patience, and you’ll be free of this place in no time.”

It took a bit longer because of the instability of the jumbled debris that had kept them prisoners on the other side, but eventually, a hole barely large enough for them to crawl through was achieved.

Exhausted, hungry, smudged, scraped, and scratched, they were eventually freed. Over the past two days, word of their dangerous predicament had spread, and as Daphne was escorted into the weak sunlight, she was astonished to discover that it appeared that anyone of any consequence for miles around had gathered at the scene. The vicar, Squire Renwick, Lord Trevillyan, even Mr. Vinton, as well as thirty or forty other people, many of them Beaumont servants, were milling around outside the cave. A great shout went up when Daphne, followed by Charles, stepped out of the mouth of the cave. April, Ketty, Mrs. Hutton, the vicar’s wife, and the squire’s wife were part of the crowd, and after tearful hugs and joyous exclamations, they hustled Daphne toward one of several big bonfires that had been lit. To protect her from the stiff wind coming off the Channel, Ketty wrapped her in a heavy sable-lined cloak, and Mrs. Henley pressed a mug of hot soup into her hands. Scolding and fussing, Ketty kept touching Daphne’s tangled hair as if to reassure herself that she was actually safe, and April clung to Daphne like a limpet, her small body pressed close to Daphne’s side. After giving Daphne a fierce hug, Adrian left her to the care of the women and joined the gentlemen gathered around Mr. Weston.

Daphne’s eyes followed his path, and Mrs. Henley smiled and said, “That’s a fine young man, your brother—no one worked harder than he did to free you.” She tapped the cup in Daphne’s hand. “You drink that nice, warm barley broth, and don’t worry about a thing.”

Dutifully, Daphne sipped the rich liquid. “Thank you. It is so very kind of all of you to come to our aid.”

“Everyone was frantic,” said the squire’s wife, patting her on the arm. “Why, I don’t believe that there was anyone in the neighborhood that wasn’t touched by your plight.” A speculative gleam in her eyes, she added, “It can’t have been easy for you trapped with that Mr. Weston. A stranger, isn’t he?”

Daphne attempted an explanation, but Mrs. Henley waved it aside. “The main thing is that it ended well,” she said. “And Mr. Weston may be a stranger to us, but I have it on good authority that his family and breeding are excellent.” She cast a superior glance at the squire’s wife. “His cousin is the Earl of Wyndham, a very
old
and respected name. When we realized that dear Miss Beaumont was going to have to spend the night in that horrible cave with the man, my husband naturally made inquiries of Lord Trevillyan.”

Daphne looked astonished. “He is related to an earl?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Mrs. Henley said complacently. “And apparently the possessor of a handsome estate and I might add, fortune. Which if you ask me, is a very good thing under the circumstances.”

Mrs. Henley and Mrs. Renwick exchanged glances, Mrs. Renwick repeating, “Yes, a very good thing.”

Oblivious to the exchange, Daphne was looking at Mr. Weston with new eyes. The cousin to an earl? A little spurt of excitement went through her. Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was some way that this chance meeting could be turned into an opportunity for the advancement of Adrian and April into the highest ranks of the
ton
? Instantly, she was ashamed of herself and shook her head. She was every bit as bad as the worst matchmaking mama to be found in London. Mr. Weston had been all that was kind, and he had helped her during a dangerous time, had even risked his own life. It was very bad of her to contemplate, even for a moment, using him, or rather his relationship to the earl, for Adrian and April’s advancement, even if her motives were driven by love for her sister and brother.

Still watching him, Daphne noted that Mr. Weston was at a second fire, getting much the same treatment from Lord Trevillyan and the other gentlemen that she had received from the women. Across the distance that separated them, their eyes met. In his rumpled and stained clothing, he looked, she thought, much like a ruffian or a bandit—certainly nothing like the cousin to an earl. The thick black hair falling in tousled waves around his face and his cheeks and chin shadowed by two day’s growth of whiskers only added to the image of a lawless man. She studied him a moment, noticing for the first time the hard cut of his jaw and the unyielding shape of his chin. This was not only the polite gentleman who had kept her company these past days, but a dangerous man, too. One she would not care to cross. As she stared, his gaze narrowed, and ignoring the thump her heart gave, she sent him a shy smile before turning away to answer a question from Mrs. Henley.

Like returning heroes, Daphne and Charles were escorted back to Beaumont Place, half the populace from the beach following them home. While Daphne was touched by the concern of her neighbors and friends, she was eager, having repeatedly expressed her great and undying gratitude, to finally leave the hubbub downstairs and escape to her rooms. She felt only a slight pang of guilt at abandoning Adrian and April to the acquaintances that remained, but her siblings were proving to be adept hosts, and now that the excitement was over, everyone would be leaving. Mr. Weston and Lord Trevillyan would spend the night at Beaumont Place, and the last thing she’d done before disappearing up the stairs had been to order rooms prepared for them. Forty-five minutes later, having suffered a long, tearful scolding from Ketty while her bath water had been heated, Daphne gently dismissed Ketty and her maid. Sinking into the warm lavender-scented water, Daphne sighed with bliss, wondering idly if Mr. Weston was enjoying a similar experience. Not lavender, of course, she thought with a faint smile, but some scent that was strong and masculine…rather like the man.

Charles would have found a hot bath very much to his liking, but there was business to be attended to first. If Daphne had missed the speaking looks of the ladies and the quiet-voiced conversations of the gentlemen, he had not, and he was not at all surprised when Vicar Henley, accompanied by an uneasy-looking Adrian, asked him to join them in the library for a private word.

Beaumont Place was returning to normalcy, everyone except the Henleys, himself, and Lord Trevillyan having departed. Charles had known it was only a matter of time before he would be asked for just such a meeting. There was no question but that all the local gentry expected he would do the honorable thing by Daphne, and he was quite certain that not a few of the ladies had driven away already planning the nuptials and what they would wear to the affair.

Charles had never thought to marry, and if he had been forced to choose a bride, until the last forty-eight hours, he would have been hard-pressed to name
any
young woman with whom he would be willing to share the rest of his life. His lips quirked. He wasn’t certain how it had happened, but he was aware in some elemental way that Daphne Beaumont had changed all that. He was too cynical to believe in love at first sight—lust, perhaps—but he could not deny that there was something about Daphne that made the idea of marriage to her…not at all distasteful. A vision of that tall, slim body, the enticing length of leg he had glimpsed when she climbed the rocks flashed through his mind—that and the quick intelligence, the bravery he seen in those lovely hazel-green eyes when she’d realized her danger in the cave and had sent Adrian away. Beautiful, brave, and intelligent. A man could do far worse. He grinned. He seriously doubted that Daffy would feel the same about him—in fact, quite probably the reverse. His grin widened. Ah, there was that challenge again….

Leaving Lord Trevillyan politely conversing with Mrs. Henley, April, and a plump little pigeon of woman who had been introduced as Miss Kettle, Charles followed Henley and Adrian from the saloon.

The door had barely shut behind them in the library before Vicar Henley said, “I’m sure you realize that this is a most unusual circumstance, Mr. Weston, and I find myself in a difficult situation. As you are no doubt aware, Sir Adrian is not of age, and since this involves his guardian and it would not be proper for her to be here at this time, neither he nor she has anyone to act for them. While Miss Beaumont is of age, in a matter as serious as this, the Squire and I thought that it would be best if we gentlemen settled this between ourselves before it goes any further. At Sir Adrian’s request, I have stepped into the role as advisor to him. I hope you have no objections.”

Charles politely inclined his head. “None.”

The vicar cleared his throat. “Uh, no one believes that you acted anything less than a gentleman to Miss Beaumont during your, uh, recent ordeal, but the fact remains that you were trapped alone with her for two nights in that cave.” Vicar Henley fiddled with his cravat. “I’m sure you realize the irreparable damage done to Miss Beaumont’s reputation and that there is only one way to save her name from being bandied about in a most scandalous way.”

Charles glanced at Adrian standing stiffly by the vicar’s side, looking as if he wished the floor would open up and swallow him. Charles felt for him. Young Beaumont was a nice lad, and that the boy had developed a case of hero-worship for him had not escaped Charles’s notice. Sir Adrian was being pulled two ways, not wanting to offend his hero but determined to salvage his sister’s reputation. The young man was in the unenviable position of demanding a stranger, albeit one he seemed to admire, do the honorable thing—whether I want to or not, Charles thought wryly.

Putting Adrian out of his misery, Charles looked at him and said softly, “It would give me great pleasure to make your eldest sister my bride. I can assure you that I will treat her well and that I have the means to see that she is never in want.”

Adrian’s face lit up. “Oh, thank you, sir! I didn’t doubt that a gentleman of your caliber would act any differently, but”—He swallowed and flushed, saying in a rush that would have mortified Daphne, “Thing is—you don’t k-k-know us, and Daffy m-m-might not be your cup of t-t-tea.”

Charles thought it interesting that Adrian wasn’t the least worried about Daphne not liking
him!
Deciding not to enlighten the young man on the difficulties he suspected might arise, Charles smiled at Adrian and said, “I assure you that Daffy is
precisely
my cup of tea.”

“Well, now,” said the vicar, “with the heavy ground out of the way, I think that we can postpone discussions of settlements and the like until tomorrow. Mr. Vinton, Sir Adrian’s man of business, has already stated that he will be happy to handle the business end of things.” He looked at Charles. “How do you propose we go on? Will you wish to be married by Special License, or shall I have the banns published? Assuming you wished to be married here?”

Charles could easily obtain a Special License, but he rather thought that in this case, the calling of the banns might be better. He half smiled. The calling of the banns would give him time to convince what he was certain would be a recalcitrant bride of the wisdom of their marriage, and considering Sir Adrian’s position in the area, it seemed fitting that they marry here in Cornwall.

“The banns will suffice,” Charles replied. “And I believe that Miss Beaumont would prefer to married here.” He glanced at Adrian. “Don’t you agree?”