The Charmer (4 page)

A voice, not happy at all, spoke right behind her head.
“Italy?”

“Venice first, then we will make our way down the coast. Ravenna, then over to Rome and up to Florence. We will lease a villa in the Tuscan Hills. It will be grand. All you need to do—”

A masculine warmth along her back distracted her. Hands circled her waist possessively. “I must forbid this, my darling.”

She tried in vain to squirm away. “All you need to do to make it happen, dear friends, is to get rid of this man who has intruded on my life against my will. Tie him up and put him on a slow boat back to England.”

They considered it. She could see it in their eyes. Jacques wavered, with one foot already over the line.

“Italy,” she cried brightly, reminding him of the prize.

“Death,” Adrian said coolly, spelling out the cost.

Jacques threw up his arms in surrender, casting her a regretful smile and shrug. Her worthless Ensemble eased away.

“Not fair.” She twisted around to face her adversary. “You are all bluff. You have no intention of hurting them.”

“Would you prefer if I did? Now, smile at me sweetly or I will have to drive them out completely to make sure that they do not aid you in any foolish schemes you might have.”

He still held her, his hands pressing her through sash and gown and stays, keeping her in place despite her squirming resistance. He glanced to the circle of men who had moved off into the garden.

“They are just four more strays, aren't they? Like the animals in your sitting room.”

Those hands and his closeness were making her feel horribly flighty and foolish and female. He could probably tell, which was even worse.

“Do not presume to know what they are to me. Furthermore, there have been others. I have lived here eight years.”

His fingers pressed more obviously, as if he checked the feel of her and tested the fit of his hands. She arched away but he did not release her.

“Then on the chance that one of them is your lover and willing to risk all for you, I should convince him that, with my return,
none
of his services are required now.”

He eased her closer. She realized his intention. Shocked, she tilted away. “Don't you dare. I am a peeress of the realm. There is probably some law against taking liberties with me. This is—”

His mouth silenced her.

It probably was not a long kiss, even though it seemed to last forever. He did not even embrace her, just controlled her with his hands on her waist. It began discreetly, like a kiss of farewell or welcome between friends. Hardly a passionate exchange. A mild liberty, that was all, to discourage Jacques and the others.

But its tenderness stunned her. The taste of sweet connection pierced her heart with nostalgia and yearning, and she could not fight him as she had planned. She submitted, limp and dazed, her skirt crushed against his legs. Maybe she even softened in a way that might be construed as kissing him back.

He lingered. One hand rose to caress her face and hold it to a brief, warm exploration of the boundaries of discretion. Emotions long ignored and denied stirred within her, a frightening rumble that almost made her gasp.

He stopped but he still held her, with that warm palm against her cheek. His touch was so gentle that she could not feel indignant like she wanted to. She sensed that he saw everything during the few moments his dark gaze looked into her eyes. All of it. That kiss was dangerously seductive in ways that had nothing to do with sex.

He moved away and looked to the Ensemble. She blushed when she saw Attila's grin and Jacques' roguish expression.

“Make what arrangements you will for them. Let them follow in a month or so, if you insist. But not Stefan.”

“No, not Stefan.”

“You remember, then? That he drugged you last night?”

“Drugged me!”

“Your memory loss suggests it, as does your rapid fall into unconsciousness. Your Polish prince intended to have you without bothering to plead for your consent. To what end, I cannot imagine. Blackmail?”

“I confess that I have regained some memories that made me wonder what occurred with him. If it was as you say, I owe you my gratitude. I had planned to request his departure, and will be sure to do so now.”

“There is no need, really, since
you
depart in the morning.”

He seemed very confident of that. He spoke with a quiet authority that said further resistance was futile. That piqued her annoyance. He probably thought that kiss had thoroughly established his dominance.

He took a few steps toward the house. “Have you eaten? Come and have something now. I do not want to risk your getting sick on the crossing.”

“I will come later. I want to speak with them.”

“I must insist that you do so in my presence. Also, I will stay in your house tonight, to ensure that all is ready at dawn. If you give me your word that you will not try to sneak away for Italy or elsewhere, I could find a room and not lie across the threshold to your chambers.”

Camilla cried for release. Sophia untied the lead from the tree branch. The ocelot trotted to Adrian's side, where she made delicate pivots in order to rub his legs with her head.

Adrian waited. Sophia joined him and Camilla and they all strolled toward the house.

She would let him think he had won. Tomorrow morning, however, she would not be leaving for England with him.

chapter
5

S
ophia gazed down at the activity in the street below. Servants tucked items into a wagon laden with portmanteaus, boxes, and cages. Her coach stood at the ready.

Adrian Burchard strolled past it all, calmly surveying the results of his high-handed interference in her life. He appeared contented and confident. The relaxed ease of his gait irritated her.

She welcomed the vexation. Anger was soothing compared to the nauseous hollow in her stomach that had plagued her since rising.

“Are you ready, my lady?” Jenny asked.

Sophia turned. Trunks filled the wardrobe, waiting their turn to make the voyage to England. Gowns and dresses and slippers and trinkets nestled inside them.

“Mister Burchard is amazing,” Jenny said, with what Sophia considered traitorous admiration. “All of this so quickly arranged.”

“Yes. He managed to pack up my whole life in two days. Since the substance of that life consists of little more than the objects I purchase, however, it was not such a difficult feat.”

“That is not true. Your life is full and wonderful. You will be much missed. Paris will mourn your departure.”

She doubted that Paris would give much notice. This city had lost better than her and survived the gap with ease.

“I do not want to do this,” Sophia said. “He has no right to force it on me.”

Jenny beamed an encouraging smile. “It will not be so bad, you will see. You are the duchess now. Your father is gone. It will not be as it was before.”

Sophia wanted to believe that. The emptiness inside her knew differently, however. For one thing, her father was not really gone. He lived on in the estate and the title and the duties. Worse, he survived in the way he shadowed her soul.

Jenny tried again. “Shall we go down now?”

Without responding, Sophia walked past her. Going down was the easy part. It was what came after that sickened her.

She marched forward, forcing herself not to look at the familiar furniture and appointments of the house. She was determined not to get weepy and nostalgic. She was not a child. Besides, it was not what she left that grieved her, but what she returned to.

Sadness and fear, that was what she carried down the grand staircase. The sadness and fear of a desperate young woman running away from a life she could no longer live.

The girl she had been in England had resurrected during the night as she lay in bed, trying to find a way to thwart Burchard. With the growing realization that she could not abort his plans, that he would indeed drag her back to England, all the old, unhappy emotions had started to drown her.

They flooded again as she stood on the bottom step and looked out the open door. Its lines framed Burchard as he stood with his back to her, supervising the last of the packing.

It wasn't his fault that she fought a losing war against all the bad memories. He knew nothing about her life and was only obeying his masters.

Admitting that did not help. What was left of her spirit began a simmering rebellion against this man who was making her return to a world that she hated.

Jenny looked around. “Where are your artists? I expected them to be here.”

“Mister Burchard made sure I was alone this morning. He bought off my guests by saying they could stay in the house until it was closed if they remained in their chambers this morning. We said our farewells last night. Perhaps it was just as well, since Attila cried so much.”

“Well, I never cared for long leave-takings anyway.” Jenny walked forward a few paces and looked back at her expectantly. “Shall we go?”

Adrian heard. He turned, then stepped aside two paces to indicate all was ready and they could leave the house.

Sophia gazed past him to the waiting coach. It would take her to the coast and to a ship that would carry her to England where another coach would transport her to Marleigh, the country seat of her family and title.

Adrian Burchard thought he was taking her home.

Not a normal home. Not a place that one longed to see and remembered with fondness. Ghosts waited for her there. So did her own weakness and humiliation.

The little rebellion grew. She grabbed it as a raft of support amidst the chaos swimming in her head and heart.

Early this morning she had resigned herself to this journey as inevitable. She had decided to wear a sophisticated mask to hide her panic and melancholy.

Now, facing that coach, she knew that stepping out the door would destroy what little contentment she had built in her life.

She ignored Jenny's expression of encouragement.

She did not move.

Adrian stepped back to his old place and faced her over the threshold. “We are prepared to depart, Your Grace.”

“Then all who are prepared should indeed depart, Mister Burchard. I regret that I cannot be counted among you.”

If a body could sigh, his did.

He walked into the house.

A few servants lingered at the top of the stairs to the lower level. With the subtlest of gestures, he told them to leave. They scurried down.

Sophia resented the docility he could command from everyone. She narrowed her eyes on the cool, dark figure of Adrian Burchard.

“Jenny, wait in the coach. The duchess will join you shortly,” he said.

Jenny hesitated, looking at Sophia helplessly. With an expression of apology and surrender, she left the house.

Sophia and Adrian faced each other. He did not say anything for a while. During that brief span, the lights in his eyes changed. His expression grew less stern and annoyed and even a little sympathetic.

“There is no choice,” he said.

Did he mean for her, or for him? “Only because you do not give me one.”

“Since there is none, let us do this with the dignity that befits your position.”

“That is the odd fate of women, isn't it? Being a dignified adult means submission and surrender. Resistance to the whims of men makes one an obstinate child. You must forgive me, but I think the world has that backwards.”

“You may be correct. Today, however, there is still no choice.”

She hated the confident way he announced his control of her life.

He held out his hand, beckoning her forward. “It is time to go, Duchess.”

A vivid memory came to her, of entering port after her flight from home. She had taken a deep breath when her foot landed on French soil. In that instant she had experienced a profound sense of deliverance and safety.

The relief had been so physical that she might have just survived a drowning or strangulation. She felt as if she had not been able to breathe for years and suddenly she could.

Entering the coach meant gasping for air again.

She would not embrace that fate willingly.

She ignored his offer of an escort. Instead she sank down and sat on the bottom step of the grand staircase and stared straight ahead.

He did not speak. He did not move. She refused to acknowledge him. She knew she was acting childish and spoiled, but she did not care. Every speck of her screamed against taking another step.

Suddenly he was standing right in front of her and she gazed only at his hips. That embarrassed her enough that she looked up.

She expected to see exasperation. Instead he looked down with a warmth that surprised her. He was not angry at all, only resigned.

In that instant she knew that he understood. Some of it, at least.

“As I said yesterday, I would spare you if I could,” he said.

But he could not, so he would not.

“I said that I would carry you if I have to, and I will.”

She looked away, swallowing hot tears. She would not accept this, but it was going to happen anyway.

“My sincere apologies, Duchess.”

He reached down and lifted her to her feet. When she did not stand on her own, he dipped, grasped, and rose.

She found herself facing his back, slung over his shoulder, with his arms wrapped around her legs.

Carrying her like a carpet, he forced her to begin the journey back to England.

She stood at the railing of the ship and let the wind do its worst. It dismantled the careful style in which Jenny had fixed her hair. Its spray wet the mantle that she clutched to her body. She faced the gray expanse, and imagined the coast that would come into view soon.

A presence warmed her side and she glanced over. Adrian Burchard had joined her.

“You keep hovering nearby,” she said. “Do you fear I will jump over? I assure you that I lack both the despair and the courage. I almost drowned once when I was a girl, and I would never ask for such terror again.”

“I am more concerned that the damp will make you ill.”

“I am dry beneath my mantle.”

If he had inclinations to order her away from the railing, he did not speak them. Instead he leaned his forearms against the railing himself and looked to the sea with her.

“Where will we put in?” she asked.

“Portsmouth. Is that the port that you used when you left England?”

“Yes.”

The sea appeared endless. Only it was not. She kept watching the horizon for evidence of land. Watching too hard.

“I rode there, on my horse. I carried only a bunch of jewels in my reticule. No clothing, nothing else at all.”

“It sounds very bold and daring.”

“I was not the least bit bold. I was terrified, but other emotions were stronger than fear and so I did it, much to my own amazement.”

She did not know why she told him. He was the enemy. Something about him, however, offered a peculiar solace and a vague friendship. His eyes still contained that soft comprehension that she had been in the house. She wished they did not. She could hate him if not for that glimmer of understanding.

“My father was in London, but I knew the Parliament would end soon,” she said. “I was not happy at Marleigh, but I could tolerate it when he was not there. When the letter came, announcing his imminent return, I knew that I could not bear his presence every day. So I ran.” She laughed at the memory of her astonishing recklessness. “I had no idea what I was doing. I even had to ask other travelers for the way to Portsmouth. I kept worrying that he would catch me at an inn if I rested the horse, so I did so in the fields and woods. It was all very dramatic.”

“Since he did not catch you, perhaps your caution was wise.”

“It was unnecessary. He did not follow. I learned later that he made no attempt to catch me. He wrote to me in Paris and explained that the Duke of Everdon does not tear after a headstrong daughter who is determined to court scandal and ruin. The story would be too undignified.”

“He simply washed his hands of you?”

“I was not that fortunate. I was his heir. If his young wife had borne him a son, I would have been free of him, but she did not.”

Her steady gaze locked on a shadow in the distance. The smallest ridge had appeared on the horizon. She squinted, hoping it was just the distant mist, but her heart fell because she knew it was not.

Adrian must have seen it too. “We will stay in Portsmouth for the night, and then begin our journey to Marleigh in the morning.”

“How long will I have before I must go to Court and meet with the King?”

“He will be traveling to Marleigh to see you there.”

She turned her gaze from the horizon to him. She no longer needed to look to the distance. The landfall would grow in her head without her watching it. Her soul would tick off the time until this ship pulled into port.

“You did not tell me that my trials would begin so quickly, Mister Burchard. I assumed that I would have some time to accommodate myself before the worst of this ordeal started.”

“I did not make the arrangements. Others did.”

And those others had not worried whether their arrangements were considerate of her. She really did not matter. It was the power of Everdon that they waited for. It was only the bad luck of fate that made her the vessel in which that power now rested.

Heartsickness and agitation began sneaking into her again. She instinctively let go of her mantle and crossed her arms over her stomach.

The wind caught the edge of her wrap and whipped it back until it flew behind her.

Adrian caught it and gently tucked it around her again. His polite protection touched her battered spirit.

She looked in his eyes. She guessed that this man could be very hard if he needed to be, but he was not now. He gazed back with a familiarity not at all appropriate, but undeniably compelling. Once more she had the sensation that he examined her heart and soul until he knew her better than she knew herself.

Oddly enough, she saw no criticism in his eyes. They reflected none of the harsh judgments that she expected, considering what he had learned of her during their brief association. The depths of those dark pools contained determination and confidence, but not of a type to threaten her.

And maybe, just possibly, she saw lights of genuine concern.

Her spirit calmed. It seemed as if the wind did, too, until they were standing in a tiny spot of serenity. His quiet strength provoked a latent courage in her. It was almost as if he willed a transference of fortitude as he looked at her.