Give All to Love (16 page)

It had been a mistake to occupy the sofa. He'd fancied himself safe when she selected the chair, but her strategy had been superior, for once he was settled, she had arisen on the pretext of carrying him another cup of tea, which she could quite easily have passed to him, and then had sunk down so close she had all but sat on his lap.

Beginning to sweat, he said lightly, “Now, Isabella, what would your brother think did he find us cuddled up and alone like this? Surely you should have stayed with him to cheer your ailing kinsman.”

She leaned closer, pouting a little, and trailing one finger down the firm line of his jaw. “William has Mrs. Grenfell and Taine. Why should I leave poor you, all alone?” And, remembering her promise, she enquired idly, “Where is your little girl? At school?”

Her perfume was dizzying and she was very beautiful. He said, shaken, “Oh, no. Josie is quite the debutante. She makes her come-out next month, in fact.”

“She does? Oh, Dev, shall you give her a party? Do say I may come.”

“I—er … That is, I do not believe the—ah, cards are sent out as yet,” he lied, trying vainly to draw away from her twining arm. “Now—tell me of—of yourself, Isabella. I heard you have been captivating Brockton. He's a good man.”

“Yes, he is. But dull. And—oh, my dearest Dev”—she turned his face towards her, running her soft fingers through the crisp hair at his temple and saying huskily—“do you recall the Bolsters' ball last Spring, when we walked in the gardens, and”—she leaned closer, her hand holding his head captive until they were almost lip to lip—“and you were so naughty as to—”

But this time, hers was the tactical error. It was at the Bolsters' ball that Fontaine had apparently become fascinated by Josie. Irked by the reminder, Devenish seized the opportunity offered as a log rolled from the grate, and sprang to his feet.

Even so, Fontaine was very prompt. “What are you two about—all alone in here,” he drawled, sauntering into the room.

His sister threw him a frustrated look, but Devenish, retrieving the log and replacing it on the fire, said easily, “Oh, we were speaking of old times. How do you find your cousin, Fontaine?”

“Raving,” said the Viscount, directing an apologetic shrug at Isabella as Devenish replaced the tongs. He went over to occupy a wing chair. “Miss Storm's duenna beat him at chess, and he regaled me with tales of Transylvanian Demons and pigs and—lud, but I fear the poor fellow's taken leave of his senses, for such bizarre things could not chance in your gracious home.”

Devenish returned the gentle smile. “Bizarre things—even very ugly things—may chance in the most gracious of homes, no? At all events, your kinsman is making excellent progress, so Dr. Rayburn tells us, and may soon be safely returned to his own home. Tea, Fontaine?”

Isabella poured dutifully, and Devenish took the cup and carried it to the Viscount, then perched on the cushioned hearth seat. “I fancy Sir William told you that his sister has visited him every day. A most charming lady.”

“Yes, a dear creature,” agreed Lady Isabella, with commendable if false enthusiasm. “I adore Fanny. I expected to find her here, in fact.”

“She is gone shopping, so I'm told,” said Fontaine. “With Miss Storm. And her name is Faith, m'dear.”

Her silvery laugh tinkled out, but the meaningful gleam in her brother's eyes had not escaped her. She chattered on, praising Devenish for his generosity in seeing to it that their damaged relation was so kindly cared for, and going into ecstasies over the great house until at length her reluctant host had no alternative but to conduct his guests on a tour of the building. The afternoon was drawing to a close, when a door opened somewhere, and in a few seconds Josie came into the drawing room.

The cold air had painted roses in her cheeks, her eyes sparkled over the packages she held, and her fur hood slipped back to reveal her curls in a pretty untidiness. “Lord Elliot!” she cried gaily, dumping her parcels into Devenish's arms, and running to hold out her hands to the Viscount. “Oh, how lovely!”

Charmed by such unaffected spontaneity, Fontaine bowed to kiss each little hand. “Lovely, indeed,” he said, smiling down at her. “You know my sister, I believe?”

Josie crossed to shake hands with the beauty, and Devenish deposited his burdens on the sofa and went to take his ward's cloak. “Had you a nice time, Josie?”

She spun to him, dimples flashing as she kissed his cheek. “Delightful, I thank you. And I need not have worried that we were so long, since you have such nice company.” Unseen by the “nice company,” her eyes quizzed him, but he managed to preserve his countenance and enquired as to the whereabouts of Mrs. Bliss.

“She went straight up to see Sir William.”

Devenish said rather pointedly, “You will like to go up and see her before you leave,” and was gratified when Isabella took the hint and stood, saying that they really must get back to the Manor. He went swiftly to open the door, and ushered the beauty along the hall.

It was a long hall, and she contrived to walk very close beside him, clinging to his arm and murmuring scandalous gossip that he alone could hear, and that made him laugh. He was not so amused, however, that he did not keep an eye on his ward. There was little doubt but that she liked Fontaine very much, and the Viscount was as obviously attracted by her. ‘She is so trusting, so guileless herself,' thought Devenish, irritated, ‘that she does not look for duplicity in others.'

Their carriage had not yet reached the front steps. Josie, striving to be cordial to the woman she detested, chattered to Isabella, and Fontaine turned to shake hands with his host. “Awfully good of you to put up with Sir William. He's a crusty old curmudgeon at times.”

“Not at all. I am only sorry he was injured in my house.”

“Unfortunate, I grant you. But,” the pale eyes gleamed, “one man's meat, as they say…”

Devenish succeeded in looking puzzled.

His lordship grinned and said, man-to-man fashion, “Gives us a chance to visit you, my dear fellow.”

“Thank you,” said Devenish frigidly. “I'd not realized you was so fond of my company.”

“Had you not?” The graceful brows rose in amusement. “But how could I fail to seek your company when you have such enchanting—relations?”

“Ah—so it is my ward that attracts. I must warn you, my lord, that Josie has many admirers.”

“What? Even though you've kept her so carefully isolated? You surprise me.”

Quivering with rage, Devenish responded, “I am sure you would be the first to appreciate that it is sometimes necessary to keep lovely things—guarded.”

Fontaine's gaze had returned to Josie, but at this he moved in the way that was so peculiarly his own, the pale eyes, unblinking, slanting to Devenish before the burnished auburn head swung slowly to him. “From … what?” he enquired.

Devenish shrugged. “There are, sad to tell, monsters even among the noblest of our families, who do not shrink from blasting innocence.” His eyes very steady as they met Fontaine's narrowed stare, he went on. “Only consider the case of poor little Miss Morrissey.”

For a long, still moment, the Viscount did not respond, but stood there, seeming scarcely to breathe. Then he murmured, “I had interest in that direction at one time, but cannot, alas, take your charitable view. Since the lady refuses to name the man who fathered her bastard, one can only suppose it to have been a case of unbridled passion, repented at leisure.”

“Or of rejected lust, followed by a merciless rape?” His level stare holding unmistakable disgust, Devenish said, “She was beaten, did you know?”

“Likely by her papa.” The Viscount shook his head in amused chiding. “No, really, Dev, it is too deliciously dramatic. Besides, were it as you say, the girl would only have to name the man, surely?”

“True. Unless, perhaps, she has been threatened. Certainly, her father or her brother would call him out, once she accused the swine.”

“Ah … yes. And you imply that if they are inept shots, and her lover an experienced duellist, it would bring more tragedy into her life, eh? Gad, but it's a grisly villain you paint.” Fontaine eased on his gloves. “Too far-fetched, my dear chap.”

“Oh, no,” argued Devenish with a grim smile. “The implications are, I think, sufficiently obvious that I am not the only one to have noted them.”

Fontaine jerked his glove so viciously that the fabric tore. “Now see what I have done,” he said mournfully. “You have quite overset my nerves with your dastardly scenario. Ah—here comes the carriage, at last.” He turned to regard Devenish with fond admiration. “Farewell, my clever friend. And do pray have a care. You have no proof of your melodrama, and if your noble—ah, monster should learn of your beliefs, he just might—er, turn on you.”

“Never fear,” said Devenish. “I, you see, am
not
inept with either sword or pistol.” His eyes became hard and hostile, “As our monster will discover does he hunt my ward.”

They smiled at each other.

“And they say women chatter!” My lady swooped down upon them, extending one hand for Devenish to kiss. “Taine, we shall not reach Oak Manor before dark do we not leave now. And poor dear Dev has enough on his hands without having to accommodate us for the night.”

“It has been lovely to see you,” said Josie, beaming upon Fontaine. “You will visit your cousin again, I hope.”

“
Assurément,
dear lady.” The Viscount bowed over her hand. “No one could keep me away.”

*   *   *

“There,” Josie crossed the drawing room to hand Devenish a glass of brandy, and seat herself in the wing chair by the fire. “Now we may be comfortable, at last.”

Mildly astonished by such propriety, for she usually curled up as close to him as was possible, Devenish raised his glass to her.

“Faith will be down in a moment,” she explained with a twinkle.

He grinned. “Just so. Now, Elf, tell me about your day. I'm very sure you had to stop in at the church.”

“Dear old St. John the Baptist. As lovely as ever, Dev. Faith had never been inside, and thought it splendid. She is such fun to shop with. There was a wonderful tang of winter in the air, and the shops were all so bright, and everyone bustling and cheerful.” The enthusiasm in her vivid little face vanished. She said severely, “I collected something that I
meant
to give you for Christmas.”

His lips quirked. He said, “But will not do so because I am in deep disgrace.”

“You may smile, dearest, but you know very well she will not do for you.”

“Considering you find the lady's presence so offensive, you lost no time in hurling yourself into the arms of the—gentleman.”

Josie noted both the hesitation and the sudden bleak look in her guardian's eyes. She giggled. “I wish I might have made a sketch of your face when I came into the room. You looked fairly desperate. Had they been here long?”

“Most of the afternoon, deuce take it. I had to show 'em all through the house.”

“Which my lady gushed over and ‘adored,' I do not doubt. Poor Dev.”

He said thoughtfully, “Oh, it is not the lady to whom I object.”

“Huh! The way she throws herself at you is fairly disgusting.”

“How odd. I do not find it so.”

She scowled at him in the way he found particularly delicious. “In that case, why did you look so thunderous when you were talking with Lord Elliot just before they left? I vow you quite frightened me. For a moment I fancied you were really quarrelling.”

Devenish said nothing, but tilted his head, listening.

“Oh, no!” Josie wailed. “Not
more
company!”

“Anti-social baggage … Oh, it's Guy, I think.”

They both stood as the Frenchman made his difficult way into the room.

“Welcome back,” cried Josie, running to greet him with a hug and draw him closer to the fire.

“You travel fast,
mon ami,
” said Devenish, shaking his hand. “What news of Mitch?”

“Oh, never worry for that one,” answered Guy, making preparations to occupy his favourite Chippendale chair. “He have feel a little less well than he say, I think, but he have the head of rock, just the same.” He smiled his thanks for the cognac Devenish brought him. “Which is a good thing when one is struck by the brick.”

“Exactly where did it hit him?”

Guy put a hand on the back of his head. “Here. He will not—like our splendid Tristram, have the scar on the face.”

“Thank heavens it was not serious!” Josie, reassured, proceeded to ply him with questions concerning Lord Redmond, his wife, and his children. He replied politely, but she noticed that he looked tired, and soon broke off her interrogation.

Devenish met her eye and suggested it was probably time for them all to go upstairs and change for dinner.

Stairs were implacable foes for Guy, making it necessary that he humble his pride and accept assistance. This was not a painful matter at Devencourt, however. Maintaining breezily that he had his own problems in climbing to the upper floors, Devenish required Josie to lend her aged parent a hand, and summoned the nearest manservant, who chanced to be Cornish, to aid his companion in infirmity. The journey took a little longer than was needful, being accomplished with a good deal of raillery and laughter. Josie detained Devenish at the landing, asking anxiously about refreshments for the ball, these questions leading inevitably to others, so that he at last warned her they would be late, and they repaired to their separate chambers, hers being in front of the house in the central block, and his towards the rear of the west wing.

Guy was first to leave his room. Cornish, having arranged his tasks with an eye to this moment, was waiting, and rendered assistance downstairs again, tactfully taking himself off as soon as the Great Hall was reached.