Rapture Becomes Her (21 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Rapture Becomes Her
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Cornelia smiled, though not, he decided with her usual roughish vigor. “You probably haven’t heard: Jeffery’s younger brother, Hugh, was here for a lightning visit. Arrived yesterday and has already departed for his home, Parkham House—less than a day’s ride from here. Took Anne with him to keep his mother company. Hugh is busy with his own affairs and his mother, who lives with him, is lonely.”
“Hugh was very sorry he didn’t have the opportunity to meet you,” chimed in Emily. Her face full of affection, she added, “You would like Hugh.” For a second amusement flickered in her eyes. “He is
nothing
like my cousin Jeffery.”
Barnaby laughed. “Actually, I did know about Hugh’s arrival. The servant grapevine is very efficient, but I hadn’t yet heard that he had left and that your stepmother had gone with him.” He hesitated, thinking of Ainsworth’s declaration. Something wasn’t adding up. Unable to help himself, he asked, “Ainsworth didn’t have a problem with her leaving at a time like this?”
Emily’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, ‘at a time like this’?”
“Why only that Ainsworth led me to believe that an engagement between them was imminent.”
So angry she forgot herself, Emily declared hotly, “That lying, yellow snake!
Nothing
could be further from the truth! Anne cannot abide him. In fact,” she said, “it was to escape Ainsworth’s odious attentions that she decided it would be prudent to leave The Birches for several weeks.”
Barnaby glanced at Cornelia, but she made no attempt to smooth over Emily’s outburst. Anne was safely away, but Cornelia had one more chick to protect—and if she had to lie down with the devil to do it, she would. She didn’t think Lord Joslyn was the devil—quite the opposite. Cornelia was a good judge of people and instinctively she trusted him. They needed help and having taken his measure during that first meeting and noted the way his gaze strayed to Emily, she decided that perhaps it was time for some plain speaking.
Bluntly she said, “Ainsworth will come into a great deal of money if he marries a respectable woman by the first of March. His reputation is such that few responsible parents or guardians would countenance a match between him and their daughters or wards. He has been hunting for months for a woman foolish enough to marry him. Time is running out for him and he is rather desperate to find a bride.”
“And Jeffery brings him here,” Barnaby drawled, “where he thinks he has, not one, but two likely prospects?”
Cornelia nodded, her face tight and grim.
Barnaby picked up the cup of tea they’d been served earlier and took a sip in order to give himself a moment to control the fury clawing at his breast. He was very good at deciphering what Cornelia had left unsaid. There was wicked mischief in the air and the one person who should have the care of the two women under his protection foremost in his mind was aiding Ainsworth. Now why would Jeffery . . . The answer came to him even as the thought formed. Money.
Setting down his cup in the saucer, he said, “Your Jeffery is an enterprising gentleman, isn’t he? Not only does he introduce a varlet like Ainsworth into a respectable household with two eligible young women, but he’s willing to accept Ainsworth’s money to ensure he has his bride. Rather like shooting fish in a barrel.” He raised a brow. “Do I have the correct reading?”
Again Cornelia nodded, delighted with his quick grasp of the situation . . . and the dangerous gleam in his black eyes.
Barnaby’s fingers formed a steeple, and looking at them he said to no one in particular, “With Anne . . . I trust you have no objections to my familiarity?”
“At this point, no,” said Cornelia. “In fact, I would prefer it. You may call me Cornelia, and you already know Emily’s given name.”
Barnaby showed that singularly attractive smile of his. “In that case, I insist that you call me Barnaby.” The smile became a grin. “I’ve been Barnaby Joslyn for far longer than I have been Lord Joslyn and I find myself a bit weary of ‘milord this’ and ‘milord that.’ ”
“Are all Americans like you?” Emily asked curiously, finding it astonishing that he would so easily discard his title and offer them such easy familiarity. She tried to picture Mathew Joslyn doing so, but she could not.
Barnaby shrugged. “Just as not all Englishmen are alike, the same is true of Americans. Believe me, we have our villains, too.” A scowl creased his forehead. “But none, I don’t think, as villainous as the pair of scoundrels you have underfoot.”
“I agree,” said Cornelia. “It would be hard to find their equal.”
Bending forward, Barnaby asked, “With Anne out of the way, is it your belief that they will turn their attention to Emily?”
“I cannot say for certain,” Cornelia admitted, “but even with Anne beyond his grasp, Ainsworth still needs a wife . . . and only Emily remains.”
Both Barnaby and Cornelia looked at her and Emily made a face. “Most likely Ainsworth will turn his attention onto me, but I am not Anne! I’m stronger and I’m certainly not easily intimidated nor very biddable or frightened.”
“You may be all of those things, but you would be no match for a determined man,” Barnaby said grimly. “Especially if he had you in a place where no one would hear your screams . . . or anyone who did would ignore them.”
Emily swallowed. “We don’t know that Ainsworth will settle for me.” Her lip curled. “He doesn’t like me very much and I’ve made my aversion to him plain.”
“As apparently has Anne, but that didn’t deter him, did it?” Barnaby growled, the very thought of Ainsworth touching Emily arousing every protective and possessive instinct he possessed. I’ll kill him if he dares lay a finger on her, he admitted savagely. And enjoy doing it.
“So what are we to do?” Cornelia asked practically, her gaze fixed on Barnaby’s dark features.
Barnaby rose to his feet and stalked around the room, his lithe grace making Emily think of the big lion she’d seen in the royal menagerie in the Tower of London. He didn’t, she decided, look much like a man who had come so near death only a few days ago. The heavy black hair hid the wound site and there was no outward sign of debilitation. He exuded power and purpose and she was ashamed to admit she was grateful he was on their side.
He stopped and stood before Emily, that inescapable feeling of possession riding him hard. This woman was his, realizing with no little astonishment that he meant to marry her. And by God! He’d not leave her in danger. The expression in the dark eyes hidden, he said, “You are not safe here. You and your aunt must come with me to Windmere—I can protect you there, as I cannot here. Within Windmere’s stout walls you will have no fear that Ainsworth or your cousin will touch you.”
It wasn’t exactly what Cornelia wanted, but it would do, she decided thoughtfully. Certainly, their sudden removal to the home of the viscount would cause gossip and more than a little speculation, but it didn’t worry her. If she read the signs right—and she rather thought she did; she was, after all, a wise old bird who’d observed more than one moonstruck pair—it wouldn’t be many weeks before the engagement between Emily and Lord Joslyn was announced. It would do. Emily would be safe and Joslyn could do his wooing without interference. She half smiled. And Jeffery would be furious.
Barnaby glanced at Cornelia and breathed a sigh of relief at the slight nod of her head. Splendid! He had one ally now, he thought, turning his attention back to Emily. He just needed to convince the gray-eyed virago before him.
Aware of nothing but Barnaby’s harsh-featured face above hers, his startling words ringing in her ears, Emily gaped at him. Chaotic thoughts whirled through her brain, but she was finally able to catch one and demanded incredulously, “Are you mad? Good God! The countryside would be aflame with gossip.” Her eyes narrowed. “Or don’t you care for your reputation as well as mine?”
Lamb stuck his head inside the room, preventing Barnaby’s reply. “Mathew is here to see you,” announced Lamb. “Shall I have Walker show him up?”
Bad timing, Barnaby thought, but it changed nothing. No matter what argument the lady put forth, she and her aunt would be installed in Windmere. It was, he told himself virtuously, for her own good.
Mathew was shown into the room and it was obvious that this was no formal visit; Mathew’s handsome features were grim above his elegantly tied cravat.
Never one to stand on ceremony, Cornelia said, “You are obviously big with news. Do you wish us to leave you in private?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” said Mathew. “You will soon hear it.” Looking at Barnaby he said quietly, “I received a letter this morning from a friend of mine staying in London. Word has arrived from France that Louis the Sixteenth was guillotined on Monday in Paris.”
There was a concerted gasp from the ladies, but beyond a tightening around his mouth Barnaby betrayed no emotion. The death of the King of France was stunning news, no less so than the knowledge that he had been condemned to death by the revolutionaries who had taken over France, but Barnaby’s most immediate concern was the whereabouts and safety of Lucien, his bastard half brother. Lucien was known to be in France and, knowing Lucien, he’d be up to his ears in intrigue. Something sick curled in his belly. Damn you, Lucien! he thought angrily. If you get yourself killed . . .
Cornelia leaned forward and asked anxiously, “The Queen? Marie Antoinette? She lives?”
Mathew nodded curtly. “At least at the writing of my friend’s letter.”
“What of the dauphine?” Barnaby asked in a hard voice. “Have they taken to killing children?”
Mathew shook his head. “According to my friend, the rest of the royal family remains imprisoned at the Temple and all of them are still alive . . . for now.” He glanced meaningfully at Barnaby. “France is no place to be at this time. We shall be at war with her within weeks, if not days.”
Barnaby flashed him a dark look. “Don’t you think I know that!” His face set in grim lines, he muttered, “I warned him, but no one can tell Lucifer what to do when he gets an idea in his head.”
“Lucifer?” questioned Emily, big-eyed.
“My half brother, and if ever there was a hell-born babe . . . and not to wrap it in clean linen, one born on the wrong side of the blanket,” Barnaby answered. “His mother was French—she died years ago, but when the current madness overtook France, Lucien—Luc—took it in his head to see if any of the family had survived the Revolution.” His lips twisted. “Since her family was a member of the minor nobility, I doubt that anyone is left alive, but if there is someone, Luc will find them—and get them out of the country . . . if he doesn’t lose his own head in the process.”
Shaken by news of the king’s terrible fate, Cornelia rose to her feet. “We shall leave you, gentlemen. I’m sure there is much you wish to say in private.” She glanced at Barnaby who was already opening his mouth to argue. “After your cousin has left, we can continue our conversation.” Her voice full of meaning, she said, “I shall see to it that everything is in order for your departure to Windmere.”
As the ladies left the room, Mathew asked Barnaby, “You’re coming back to Windmere? Do you think that is wise? I assure you that there is no need, I have things well in hand.” A note of resentment crept into his voice and he added, “I think you forget that I have known Windmere all my life and oversaw the day-to-day operation of the estate during the last several months of our great-uncle’s life. I am quite familiar with what is needed.”
“I could hardly forget those facts,” Barnaby said, ringing for Lamb, “when you remind me of them so often.” His gaze narrowed, he murmured, “It’s time I returned to my home—I wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable in my absence.”
Mathew flushed and his lips thinned. “Damn you! I am no carrion eater! I cannot wish you well, but I do not wish you evil.” He stared daggers at Barnaby. “I did not deserve that remark—if anyone else had uttered it, I’d have demanded they name their seconds.”
Barnaby sighed and waved an apologetic hand. “You’re right. It was uncalled for and I am sorry for it.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m afraid that you bring out the worst in me.”
Mathew hesitated, then muttered bitterly, “And you in me.” His azure eyes met Barnaby’s watchful black ones. “I doubt we will ever be friends, but I hope that we can learn to deal with each other without animosity.”
Lamb’s entrance precluded further comment. Mathew stiffly took his leave.
“Ruffled his feathers, did you?” asked Lamb.
“Yes, and unnecessarily—especially when I believe he was trying to do me a favor.” Briefly, Barnaby told him the news Mathew had relayed.
Like Barnaby, Lamb’s first thought was of Lucien. “That damned Lucifer! If he escapes from France with his head intact it will be a miracle.”
“I agree,” said Barnaby in a calmer tone, although his worry for Lucien did not escape Lamb. “Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to help him,” Barnaby admitted heavily. “We have no idea where he is . . . even if he is still alive, and I see no way we can even begin to mount a rescue.” He eyed Lamb. “Your thoughts?”
His own face reflecting the same deep concern on Barnaby’s, he said bitterly, “I see nothing we can do with what we know at the moment, but wait and hope the lucky devil’s luck holds.” He forced a smile. “Knowing Lucifer, he’ll rise to the top of the dung heap—just as he always does.”

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