Ariadne's Diadem (18 page)

They were both silent briefly, then Gervase said,
“So
Anne intends to go out on the river with him?”

“Yes. Something about a birthday picnic in the moonlight, and then rowing across the river.” Sylvanus’s hooves stopped swinging. “Actually, I thought he was a little odd when he suggested it. Too eager by far, if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“He’s up to something.”

“Of course he is, he’s intent upon stealing my name, my fortune, and the woman who is supposed to be my wife!”

“Is he? About the third of those things, I mean?” Sylvanus looked slowly up at Gervase’s motionless marble face. “I know I’m irrationally frightened because I nearly drowned, but there was something about the way your disagreeable cousin mentioned rowing across the river that made my goat hair creep.”

The faun’s meaning was borne in on a horrified Gervase. Without a bride, there could be no marriage. Anne’s life might be in danger!

Sylvanus rubbed a horn uneasily. “Well, if he
does
intend to try something—and I’m not saying he does—it won’t be until after dark tomorrow, so we’ll be able to keep an eye on things, eh? Besides, there is still tonight.” The faun gave a reassuring grin.

“Tonight?”

“You can call upon her again, and this time Penelope and I won’t disturb you.”

“She won’t receive me, and besides, the dragon housekeeper is there as well. As far as I can see, it’s an impossible situation.”

“Look, if you want to escape from what’s happening to you at the moment, you’ll find a way. You’d better, because I want to go home,
and
I want to see if my master will let me take Penelope with me. If she’ll come,” Sylvanus added.

Chapter Nineteen

Hugh rode swiftly back to the White Boar, to find out about the apparent visit of Mr. Charles Danby. At the inn the first thing he saw was the goat tethered on the grass verge opposite. It greeted him with another undulating bleat, and as he dismounted, Hugh’s mind raced back to those dreadful moments in the Italian grove. He shook the unpleasant memories aside as he sought the landlord, who was in the cellar, making a detailed record of his stock.

A shaft of slanting light found its way through a cobwebbed window, and the air was cool but dusty as he turned on hearing Hugh’s steps. “Good evening, Mr. Oadby—what brings you down here?”

Hugh glanced around a little nervously, for the shadows seemed to gather, and the goat called again outside. The landlord’s stolid Monmouthshire accent brought him back to the present. “How may I be of service, Mr. Oadby?”

“I’m curious about a recent guest here, a Mr. Charles Danby.”

The burly landlord looked blankly at him. “Mr. who?”

“Danby. A London lawyer on business at Llandower Castle.”

“I know of no London lawyer, sir.” The landlord picked up a dusty bottle and examined the label. “Someone has got it wrong, sir. If this Mr. Danby was in the neighborhood, he must have stayed elsewhere. He probably lodged locally, for there are many folks in these parts who take in guests. Too many, for they take my business,” he added resentfully, replacing the bottle.

“I’m told he stayed here.”

“Mr. Oadby, trade has been so unusually quiet of late that if a London lawyer had stayed, I’d remember. There was no one here of that name.”

“You’re quite sure about this?” Hugh pressed.

The landlord, who was already irritated with Hugh’s “sister” for inconveniently demanding a hot bath in her room, wasn’t prepared to keep repeating his answers. He drew himself up in a manner only too suggestive of his pugilistic past. “Are you questioning my truthfulness, Mr. Oadby?”

Hugh climbed down swiftly. “Er, no, of course not, it’s just... Oh, it doesn’t matter.”

The landlord smiled coolly. “Dinner will be in an hour, sir. I trust that will be in order for you and er,
Miss
Oadby?”

“Quite in order.”

As the landlord deliberately picked up another bottle to continue his task, Hugh turned angrily on his heel and left the cellar. He went straight up to Kitty, whom he found dressed only in a diaphanous cream muslin wrap, which she had deliberately left untied at the waist. She was anxious about his meeting with Anne and intended to make sure of her hold upon him.

But he was too preoccupied to notice as he took off his coat and flung it over a chair. He didn’t want to quarrel now, not when he had so much else on his mind. “Something’s wrong,” he said after a moment.

“Wrong? What do you mean? Doesn’t your Miss Willowby find you to her liking?”

“Oh, I promise you she finds me very much to her liking; indeed we got along famously.”

Kitty’s smile faded. “Really?” she said coolly.

Hugh didn’t notice. “She told me that Charles Danby has been to Llandower, and that he stayed here at the White Boar, but the landlord has never heard of him.”

“Neither have I. Who is Charles Danby?”

Hugh explained.

Kitty was mystified. “What does it matter? Danby clearly told her he was staying here, when in fact he was elsewhere. No doubt he was doing exactly what you are—dallying with a lady brought secretly with him.”

Hugh hadn’t thought of that. “I suppose it’s possible,” he conceded.

“More than possible, it’s highly probable,” Kitty said.

“But why didn’t Critchley mention sending him here?”

“Is it compulsory to keep you informed of everything?”

“No, but I would have thought... Oh, I don’t know, but I have an odd feeling about this.”

“Oh, forget it—besides, I want to know how you and Miss Primness went on. Is she pretty?”

“No.”

Kitty relaxed a little. “So she wasn’t to your liking?”

“You are the only one who is to my liking,” he said softly, his glance at last moving to her figure, so clearly visible through her muslin wrap.

“When will you see her next?” Kitty asked, moving a little closer.

“Tomorrow. It’s her birthday, and in her parents’ unfortunate absence, I am going on the river with her instead. It’s some sort of rustic family tradition, but I fear this will be the last time dear Anne enjoys it.” He told her his plan. “The housekeeper will think I am valiantly striving to save her, when all the time I will be holding my tiresome bride’s head under water.”

Kitty’s eyes shone with excitement as she came close enough to touch him. “I still can’t believe you really mean to do it,” she breathed.

“I must be rid of her if I am to make you my duchess,” he reminded her, stretching out a hand to touch one of her upturned nipples.

Slowly she discarded the wrap and put her arms around his waist. “So you and Miss Willowby got on, did you?” she whispered, moving her hips to and fro against his.

“Well enough,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“As well as this?” She stretched up to put her lips to his.

He felt weak, and his concern about Charles Danby faded into oblivion as other emotions began to grip him. He cupped her full breasts in his hands, and she allowed him to caress her nipples for a moment before she drew away. “To the bed, I think,” she whispered, catching his hand and leading him across to the ancient four-poster, the blue hangings of which were faded on the side nearest the window.

Kitty watched as Hugh took off his clothes. He was more than ready for her, but she felt nothing as he took her. Her soft noises of delight were deceiving, for her gaze was upon the diadem, which she had left on a chair. She smiled. The Duchess of Wroxford would wear it at Almack’s.

As darkness approached, Sylvanus left the security of the temple, to which he had returned for a nap, and visited the stables to inquire of the horses which way to find the White Boar. Then he returned to the house, and listened at the door to the kitchens passage. He wanted to get Penelope so that they could slip away to the inn and search for the diadem as soon as Gervase had been brought to life for the night. The faun could hear Joseph lecturing Martin in the kitchens, because the unfortunate boy had cracked a windowpane earlier in the day. Mog and Jack sensed the faun’s presence and scratched frantically at the courtyard door in an effort to escape.

The faun was about to risk going into the passage when footsteps approached and Mrs. Jenkins swept past with a tray upon which stood an untouched cup of chocolate and an equally untouched scone filled with cream and strawberry preserves. The housekeeper placed the tray crossly on the kitchen table. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Martin, let those foolish animals out before they break the door down.”

As Martin got up to obey, Mrs. Jenkins surveyed the tray. “Well, now, wouldn’t you think Miss Anne would be pleased after what happened today? The new duke is as fine a gentleman as any young lady could wish, yet instead of thanking fate for sending Master Hugh instead of Master Gervase, she sits there as if all the troubles in the world were on her shoulders. Look at this tray. She hardly glanced at it.”

“I’ll have the scone, Mrs. J,” Martin offered hopefully.

Joseph was too quick for him. “Oh, no, you don’t my laddo. First come, first served, and I was on this earth before you.” There came the slight sound of a china plate sliding across a wooden surface, and in a few moments the sound of Joseph licking his fingers appreciatively. “By all the powers, Gwen Jenkins, you always did make a grand scone.”

“Thank you, I’m sure.” She sat down with a sigh. “Oh, I knew there’d be trouble from the moment I clapped eyes on him,” she muttered then.

“Clapped eyes on who, Mrs. J?” Martin asked curiously.

The housekeeper drew herself together. “Oh, no one. Pay no attention.”

Sylvanus gazed toward the arc of light from the kitchen. He knew to whom the housekeeper was referring, for that same gentleman was at this moment reposing in a casing of fine white marble in the rotunda. As silence descended on the room, the faun went softly toward the hall, then up the staircase as fast as he could. He hoped to pass Anne in the study again, but to his dismay, she was in the drawing room, reading by Penelope’s light.

At least she was trying to read, for she was so deep in thought that the volume of
Waverley
had lain open on her lap at the same page for half an hour now. She wore a long-sleeved primrose wool gown, and her curls were dressed up neatly, for she had no intention of being caught unprepared should Hugh decide to call again without warning. Not that she really expected him to; indeed if she was honest with herself, it wasn’t Hugh she anticipated might call, but Charles Danby. At least, deep inside she hoped he would, for she simply could not help herself where he was concerned.

She leaned her head back wearily. Mrs. Jenkins was right to scold her, for Hugh was a vast improvement upon his late cousin, and any other bride making an arranged match with such a bridegroom would have been over the moon with relief. And Anne would have been too, if it weren’t for the continual intrusion of Charles Danby upon her thoughts.

She swallowed as conflicting emotions brought a lump in her throat. Maybe he’d obey the wish she’d expressed so vehemently when last they parted and would herald any future call in advance as demanded, but right now, when he filled her consciousness like the very air she breathed, she wished he would defy her. Her whole being ached to be in his arms, ached to submit to an attraction that was so fierce and consuming that if it hadn’t happened to her, she would never have believed it possible. Suddenly, she closed the book with a snap that made Sylvanus start in the shadows of the passage. Moping here wouldn’t do any good; what she needed was another breath of fresh air. It was dark now, but the moon was out and the riverbank beckoned.

Sylvanus pressed swiftly into the shadows as she set the book aside and hurried from the room. He lingered close to the staircase as she went up to the next floor, and then he saw her hurry down again with her plaid shawl around her shoulders. She was going out! In a moment the faun had scurried back to the drawing room, transformed Penelope, then grabbed her hand to hasten after Anne, who had already slipped secretly out into the courtyard from the entrance hall rather than the kitchen, in order not to face Mrs. Jenkins again. Prom the archway the faun and nymph watched Anne cross the grass to the jetty, where she lay back in one of the rowing boats to watch the stars through the willow fronds. Sylvanus led Penelope into the maze, and freed Gervase from the marble.

“You have a chance to get Anne alone. She has come outside on her own, and is at the jetty at this moment,” the faun explained hopping impatiently from one hoof to the other. He was anxious to get to the White Boar to see if he could ascertain whether Hugh had really brought the diadem with him, but felt obliged to stay until Gervase was ready. “Oh, do hurry with your dressing, for you may not have much time before she goes back inside again.”

“I’m being as quick as I can!” Gervase was none too pleased about Penelope’s presence, for it was bad enough to be stark naked and on display while made of marble, but it was ten times worse when he was a living man.

Penelope smiled. “I much prefer gentlemen with cloven hooves, so there is no need to feel embarrassed in front of me,” she whispered.

Gervase felt his face redden a little in the darkness. Was nothing sacred? Ever since this incredible nightmare had begun that night in Naples, he’d had no privacy whatsoever!

Sylvanus looked disapprovingly at Gervase’s clothes. “You don’t look as elegant as your cousin did earlier,” he judged after a moment.

Gervase was further piqued. “Thank you very much, but it isn’t exactly easy to be a sartorial paragon when one’s only set of togs has been worn and worn again, and when a certain faun has ruined one’s greatcoat beyond all redemption!”

“There’s no need to be like that,” Sylvanus replied huffily.

“Oh, yes, there is. You’ve just had the gall to criticize my appearance, yet
you
are the one who treated my best coat like a rag!”

Sylvanus’s lower lip jutted peevishly, but before he could respond Penelope tactfully intervened by taking Gervase’s hand. “Don’t worry, for I am sure Miss Willowby will not spurn you.”