Jane Feather - [V Series] (2 page)

“But I insist, Miss Davenport. You will enjoy a glass of negus.”

He had very black eyes and they carried a most unpleasant glitter, as insistent as his tone and words, both
of which were drawing a degree of puzzled attention. Judith could see no discreet, graceful escape route. She laughed lightly. “You have convinced me, sir. But I prefer burnt champagne to negus.”

“Easily arranged.” He drew her arm through his and laid his free hand over hers, resting on his black silk sleeve. Judith felt manacled.

They walked through the card room in a silence that was as uncomfortable as it was pregnant. Had he guessed what was going on? Had he seen anything? How could she have given herself away? Or was it something Sebastian had done, said, looked …? The questions and speculations raced through Judith’s brain. She was barely acquainted with Marcus Devlin. He was too sophisticated, too hardheaded to be of use to herself and Sebastian, but she had the distinct sense that he would be an opponent to be reckoned with.

The supper room lay beyond the ballroom, but instead of guiding his companion around the waltzing couples and the ranks of seated chaperones against the wall, Marcus turned aside toward the long French windows opening onto a flagged terrace. A breeze stirred the heavy velvet curtains over an open door.

“I was under the impression we were going to have supper.” Judith stopped abruptly.

“No, we’re going to take a stroll in the night air,” her escort informed her with a bland smile. “Do put one foot in front of the other, my dear ma’am, otherwise our progress might become a little uneven.” An unmistakable jerk on her arm drew her forward with a stumble, and Judith rapidly adjusted her gait to match the leisured, purposeful stroll of her companion.

“I don’t care for the night air,” she hissed through her teeth, keeping a smile on her face. “It’s very bad for
the constitution and frequently results in the ague or rheumatism.”

“Only for those in their dotage,” he said, lifting thick black eyebrows. “I would have said you were not a day above twenty-two. Unless you’re very skilled with powder and paint?”

He’d pinpointed her age exactly and the sense of being dismayingly out of her depth was intensified. “I’m not quite such an accomplished actress, my lord,” she said coldly.

“Are you not?” He held the curtain aside for her and she found herself out on the terrace, lit by flambeaux set in sconces at intervals along the low parapet fronting the sweep of green lawn. “I would have sworn you were as accomplished as any on Drury Lane.” The statement was accompanied by a penetrating stare.

Judith rallied her forces and responded to the comment as if it were a humorous compliment. “You’re too kind, sir. I confess I’ve long envied the talent of Mrs. Siddons.”

“Oh, you underestimate yourself,” he said softly. They had reached the parapet and he stopped under the light of a torch. “You are playing some very pretty theatricals, Miss Davenport, you and your brother.”

Judith drew herself up to her full height. It wasn’t a particularly impressive move when compared with her escort’s breadth and stature, but it gave her an illusion of hauteur. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord. It seems you’ve obliged me to accompany you in order to insult me with vague innuendos.”

“No, there’s nothing vague about my accusations,” he said. “However insulting they may be. I am assuming my cousin’s card play will improve in your absence.”

“What are you implying?” The color ebbed in her cheeks, then flooded back in a hot and revealing wave.
Hastily she employed her fan in an effort to conceal her agitation.

The marquis caught her wrist and deftly twisted the fan from her hand. “You’re most expert with a fan, madam.”

“I beg your pardon?” She tried again for a lofty incomprehension, but with increasing lack of conviction.

“Don’t continue this charade, Miss Davenport. It benefits neither of us. You and your brother may fleece as many fools as you can find as far as I’m concerned, but you’ll leave my cousin alone.”

“You talk in riddles,” she said. There was no way he could prove anything; no public accusations he could bring, she told herself. But when they went to London … supposing he put the word around …?

She needed time to think. With a dismissive shrug, she turned from him, as if intending to return to the ballroom.

“Then allow me to solve the riddle for you.” He caught her arm. “We’ll walk a little away from the light. You will not wish others to hear what I have to say.”

“There is nothing you could say that could be of the remotest interest to me, Lord Carrington. Now, if you’ll excuse me …”

His derisory laugh crackled in the soft June air. “Don’t cross swords with me, Judith Davenport. I’m more than a match for a card-sharping hussy. You may live upon your wits, ma’am, but I can assure you I’ve been using mine rather longer than you’ve been using yours.”

Judith abruptly dropped a clearly useless pretense. It would only increase his antagonism and thus the danger. She said evenly, “You can prove nothing.”

“I’m not interested in proving anything,” he replied. “I’ve said, you may make gulls of as many of these
empty-headed idiots as you wish. But you’ll leave my family alone.” He took her elbow and began to walk down the shallow flight of steps onto the lawn. Twin oak trees threw giant moonshadow at the edge of the grass. In the dim obscurity, the marquis stopped. “So, Miss Davenport, I want your word that you will put an end to Charlie’s infatuation.”

Judith shrugged. “It’s hardly my fault if he fancies himself in love with me.”

“Oh, but it most certainly is your fault. Do you think I haven’t watched you?” He leaned against the trunk of the oak, folding his arms, his eyes on the pale glimmer of her face, the golden glow of her eyes. “You are a masterly coquette, madam. And I would have you turn your liquid eyes and undeniable arts upon some other young fool.”

“Whom your cousin chooses to love is surely his business,” she said. “I fail to see how it could have anything to do with you, my lord.”

“It has everything to do with me when my ward’s embroiled with a fortune-hunting, unprincipled baggage with no—”

Her palm cracked against his cheek, bringing a sudden dreadful silence in which the strains of music drifted incongruously from the house.

Judith spun away from him with a little sob, pressing her hands to her lips, as if struggling with her tears in an excess of wounded pride and sensibility. Marcus Devlin had to be disarmed, somehow, and if honesty wouldn’t do it, then she’d have to take another tack. She couldn’t run the risk that he would spread his accusations around the London clubs when the Davenports made their entry into London Society. On the spur of the moment, she could think only to offer him the picture of deeply affronted innocence and hope to create if not compassion
then some willingness to make amends with his future silence.

“You know nothing of me,” she said in stifled tones. “You can know nothing of what we endure … of how we are in this situation.… I have never knowingly injured anyone, let alone your cousin …” Her voice died on a gulping sob.

She was certainly a consummate actress, Marcus reflected, for some reason not deceived for one minute by this masterly display. He stroked his stinging cheek, feeling the raised imprint of her fingers. There had been more conviction there, but such a violent exhibition of outraged virtue seemed hardly consonant with the disreputable woman he believed her to be. Ignoring the bravely stifled sobs, he observed dispassionately, “You’ve a deal of power in your arm for one so slight.”

That was not the response she’d hoped for. Raising her head, she spoke with a brave, aloof dignity. “You owe me an apology, Lord Carrington.”

“I rather think the boot is on the other foot.” He continued to rub his cheek, regarding her with a penetrating scrutiny that did nothing to reassure her.

It seemed most sensible to escape the close confines of the shadows and an increasingly unstable confrontation that was not following her direction. Judith shrugged faintly. “You are no gentleman, my lord.” She turned to go back to the house.

“Oh, no, you’re not running off like that,” the marquis said. “Not just yet. We haven’t concluded our discussion, Miss Davenport.” He caught her arm and for a second they stood immobile, Judith still turned toward the house, her captor still leaning against the tree. “That was a singularly violent assault, madam, in response to—”

“To an unmitigated insult, sir!” she interrupted,
hoping she didn’t sound as back-to-the-wall as she was beginning to feel.

“But one not without justification,” he pointed out. “You have admitted by default that you and your brother are … how shall we say … are expert gamesters, with somewhat unorthodox methods of play.”

“I would like to return to the house.” Even to Judith’s ear, it was a pathetic plea rather than a determined statement of intent.

“In a minute. For such an accomplished flirt, you’re playing the maiden of outraged virtue most convincingly, but I’ve a mind to taste a little more of you than the sting of your palm.” He pulled her toward him like a fisherman drawing in his line and she came as reluctantly as any hooked fish. “It seems only right that you should soothe the hurt you caused.” Cupping her chin with his free hand, he tilted her face. The black eyes were no longer hard and Judith could read a spark of laughter in their depths … laughter, and a most dangerous glimmer that set her nerve endings tingling. Desperately she sought for something that would douse both his laughter and that hazardous glimmer.

“You would have me kiss it better, sir, like a child’s scraped knee?” She offered an indulgent smile and saw with satisfaction that she had surprised him, and surprise afforded advantage. Swiftly she stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “There, that’ll make it better.” After twisting out of his abruptly slackened hold, she danced backward out of the shadows into the relative light of the garden. “I bid you good night, Lord Carrington.” And she was gone, flitting under the moonlight, her body lissome as a hazel wand under the fluid silk of her topaz gown.

Marcus stared after her through the gloom. How the hell had such a disreputable baggage managed to win
that encounter? He ought to be more than a match for a slip of a girl. He was annoyed; he was amused; but more than anything he was challenged by her. If she wouldn’t be warned away from Charlie, then he’d have to find some more potent inducement.

Judith returned to the card room, but only to make her farewells, pleading a headache. Charlie was all solicitude, begging to escort her home, but Sebastian was on his feet immediately.

“No need for that, Fenwick. I’ll take m’sister home.” He yawned himself. “In truth, I’ll not be sorry to keep early hours myself tonight. It’s been a hard week.” He grinned engagingly around the table.

“A demmed lucky one for you, Davenport,” one of the players said with a sigh, pushing across an IOU.

“Oh, I’ve the luck of the devil,” Sebastian said cheerfully, pocketing the vowel. “It runs in the family, doesn’t it, Judith?”

Her smile was somewhat abstracted. “So they say.”

Sebastian’s eyes sharpened and his gaze flickered to the door of the card room, to where the Marquis of Carrington stood, taking snuff. “You look a little wan, m’dear,” Sebastian said, taking his sister’s arm.

“I don’t feel quite the thing,” she agreed. “Oh, thank you, Charlie.” She smiled warmly as the young man arranged her shawl around her shoulders.

“Perhaps you won’t feel like riding tomorrow,” Charlie said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “Shall I call upon you—”

“No, indeed not. My aunt detests callers,” she broke in, touching his hand fleetingly as if in consolation. “But I shall be perfectly well tomorrow. I’ll meet you in the park, as we arranged.”

Brother and sister made their way out of the card room. Marcus bowed as they reached the door. “I bid you good night, Miss Davenport … Davenport.”

“Good night, my lord.” She swept past him, then, on an impulse she didn’t quite understand, murmured over her shoulder, “I am riding with your cousin in the morning.”

“Oh, I fully understand that you’ve thrown down the glove,” he said, as softly as she. “But you have not yet tasted my mettle, ma’am. Take heed.” He bowed again in formal farewell and turned away before she could reply.

Judith bit her lip, aware of a strange mingling of apprehension and excitement unlike anything she’d felt before, and she knew it was as dangerous as it was uncomfortable.

“What’s amiss, Ju?” Sebastian spoke as soon as they were out of the mansion and on the cobbled street. “I’ll tell you when we get home.” She climbed into the shabby carriage that awaited them on the corner, sitting back against the cracked leather squabs, a frown drawing her arched brows together, her teeth closing over her lower lip.

Sebastian knew that expression. It usually meant that his sister’s eccentric principles were aroused. She wouldn’t say anything until she was ready, so he was content to sit back and wait for her to tell him what was absorbing her.

The carriage drew up outside a narrow house on a darkened lane in a part of town that had definitely seen better days. Brother and sister alighted and Sebastian paid the driver for the evening’s work. Judith was already unlocking the front door, and they stepped into a narrow passage, lit by a single tallow candle in a sconce on the stairway wall.

“One of these days someone’s going to notice how
we never give anyone our direction,” Sebastian observed, following his sister up the stairs. “The tale of the irritable aunt won’t hold good forever.”

“We won’t be in Brussels for much longer,” Judith said. “Napoleon’s bound to make his move soon and then the army will be gone. There’ll be no point in our remaining in an empty city.” She pushed open a door at the head of the stairs onto a square parlor.

The room was dark and dingy, the furniture shabby, the carpet threadbare, and the gloomy light of tallow candles did nothing to improve matters. She tossed her India shawl on a broken-backed couch and sank into a chair, a deep frown corrugating her brow.

“How much did we make tonight?”