The Wild Child (22 page)

Leaning on the battlements, he looked over the wall to the dark, moon-silvered river far below. Easy to understand how someone in distress could be lured into jumping. A few instants of flight, and then oblivion. Deliverance from an impossible dilemma.

Turning from the battlements, he thought blackly that it was rather a pity that he didn’t have a suicidal bone in his body.

Chapter 20

She tossed restlessly, hoping he would change his mind and seek her out to finish what they had begun. But she knew he wouldn’t. Humankind made mating far too complicated. She wanted him, he wanted her. It should have been enough. Damn him.

Why couldn’t he come to her on her terms, with passion and sweetness instead of rules and worries?

But he wanted to lure her from a place of safety into a world that was too often merciless. Becoming

“normal” would mean surrendering what had saved her.

And yet… in the heat of the moment, she had wanted to speak to him. Form her lips in unfamiliar ways to tell him how pleasing he was to her eyes, and how his presence delighted her. She wanted to ask more about his life, find what made him different from others. Perhaps, even, to tell him some of what had shaped her. Not the dark pieces that were best left in the shadows, but stories that would make his eyes laugh just for her.

Yet she could not speak, for doing so would change her life irrevocably. Dominic awoke at dawn and found Meriel’s ginger cat on his bed, watching him with eyes that glowed eerily in the faint light. If he believed in witches, he’d say the beast was her familiar, and had been sent to keep a watchful eye on him. Not believing in witches, he petted the cat, which promptly rolled onto its back so he could rub the soft belly. The creature was huge. Probably it had some wild cat in its ancestry. Maybe was Meniel’s witchy familiar.

Leaving the animal purring, he washed up and began dress. During his fitful sleep, he’d developed a vague plan for resolving the situation with a minimum of damage. If Merial voluntarily refused to wed Kyle, Amworth would not force her. Kyle would be upset, but as long as he didn’t feel personally betrayed, he’d recover quickly. There was no shortage of other brides, almost any of which would suit him better than Meriel. God willing, Kyle would soon find himself another more eligible female to marry. Once his affections were given elsewhere, Dominic could ask for Meriel’s hand. But the plan was riddled with weaknesses. When Dominic eventually courted Meriel, Kyle might feel betrayed anyway. Or he might not seek another bride for years. Plus, Dominic would have to tell Amworth his real identity, and the long he delayed, the harder it would be. Worst of all, he’d have confess to Meriel, then enlist her cooperation in refusing Kyle and waiting for himself. Would she do that? She was attracted to him, but that wasn’t love. If what Meriel felt for him was merely the normal awakening of a young woman’s desire, Kyle might do equally we Gods above, Dominic would never be able to bear seeing the together! Emigrating to America would probably be necessary for his sanity.

As he finished dressing and left his room, he gloomily contemplated a range of possibilities, most ending dismally. A the more reason to work toward resolving the situation in way that would benefit all concerned.

The first step was making peace with Meriel. Last night she’d been ready to scratch his eyes out. According to the groom, she had gone riding very early the last several mornings, before Warfield awoke. With luck, she would be riding again today.

Sure enough, when he reached the stables he found Merial preparing to saddle Moonbeam. She saw him and stiffened, the saddle in her hands. He gave her a cheerful smile. “Good morning. May I ride with you?”

As he approached, he saw mixed emotions in her eyes. Pleasure at his arrival, combined with a strong desire to hurl I the saddle at him. Holding her gaze, he said quietly, “I want I there to be a future for us, Meriel, but it won’t be easily won. I hope you’re willing to work with me toward that.”

Her eyes widened, and the stiffness went out of her posture. She didn’t protest when he took the saddle from her hands and set it on Moonbeam, though her expression was puzzled. As he tightened the cinches, he said, “That split skirt is a good practical garment for riding. I assume one of the ladies made it. They take good care of you.”

He cupped his hands to help her onto her mount, steeling himself not to be distracted by her nearness. When she stepped onto his linked hands, he found that she wore boots. He was glad of that; though she’d managed with bare feet, boots were definitely preferable. She settled lightly on the mare’s back, gathering the reins in one hand. With the other, she touched his cheek, rueful amusement in her eyes. He was forgiven. Unable to entirely control himself, he caught her hand and kissed it swiftly. “I’ll saddle Pegasus now. Wait for me?” She smiled enigmatically and walked Moonbeam from the stables. Not sure if she would wait, he saddled his mount quickly and led the horse outside. He was pleased to find that she was walking the mare quietly around the courtyard. As he swung into his own saddle, he said, “Do you have some special place you like to visit? If so, I’d be pleased to see it.”

She set off at a fast trot. He followed, immensely relieved that they were on comfortable terms again. Later today, or perhaps tomorrow, he would explain who he really was and declare himself. She might turn out to be entirely indifferent to the fact that he wasn’t Lord Maxwell. Of course, it was equally possible she would be enraged to learn that he had been deceiving her. He’d simply have to take one fence at a time.

She led him up to the ancient standing stones that crowned a hill at the farthest, wildest corner of the park. Renbourne’s reaction would tell her much about him.

On the way, he chatted with her easily. She liked that he spoke to her as an equal. Most people talked at her or over her, as if she were made of wood. She also enjoyed the way he could carry on both sides of a conversation quite nicely without her help.

But his gilded tongue fell silent when they neared their destination. Where they emerged from the woods, the stones stood stark and menacing against the early morning sky. She dismounted and tethered Moonbeam before entering the circle. Wordlessly Renbourne did the same. He walked to the center of the circle and turned slowly, studying the irregularly shaped stones. Half a dozen had fallen, but three times as many still stood, looming to twice his height in silent testament to a race long vanished. He’d called her a pagan the night before, and she supposed he was right. Certainly she heard the old gods whisper when she came to this place.

He crossed to the tallest stone and laid his hands flat on the rough, lichened surface. After a long moment, he turned and said in a hushed voice, “This is a place of power, isn’t it? Like a cathedral, one can feel the pulse of faith beating here.”

He felt it, too! She wanted to kiss him for his perception, but refrained rather than risk offending his gentlemanly modesty.

“People must still come here,” he said thoughtfully. “It can’t be an accident that no trees grow inside the circle, or for several yards around outside.”

She blinked. That had never occurred to her. Perhaps the circle was not as abandoned as she had thought. She liked the idea that some of the locals still held a place in their hearts for the old ways. The rising sun was behind him, and his broad-shouldered silhouette made her think of a warrior, or perhaps a powerful priest. She shivered, touched by an uncanny feeling that the two of them had met here before. Perhaps her bones remembered lady ancestors who had brought their lovers here. She bent and plucked a daisy from the grass by her feet. In the language of flowers, a symbol of innocence and gentleness. In the herbal written by a Meriel of three hundred years earlier, it was called Herb Margaret. The herbal had given the recipe for a salve made of daisies, good for wounds and bruises. Had that ancestress brought her sweetheart here and lain with him among the flowers?

Meriel tucked the daisy in one of his buttonholes, then flattened her hand in the middle of his chest, feeling the beat of his heart quicken under her touch. He covered her hand with his, saying huskily, “You belong in this place, my wild fairy maid.”

She held her breath, hopeful that he might give in to the temptation visible in his eyes. The circle had an untamed pagan energy from the days long before the Christian god had commanded chastity. Who knew where a kiss might lead?

To her disappointment, he touched her hair so lightly she could scarcely feel it, then led the way back to the horses. She admired a man of firm resolve, but wished it were less firm in this case. Nonetheless, the ride back to the house was pleasant. She had grown very accustomed to having him around.

The groom was awake, and he took charge of the horses when they reached the stables. Hungry from the exercise, she decided to join Renbourne in the breakfast parlor rather than beg tea and toast in the kitchen as she usually did.

He opened the door for her, and she swept by him. She’d noticed it was easier to sweep impressively when wearing boots. Renboume murmured, “Well done, Lady Meriel! A princess could not have looked more regal.”

She smiled, amused that he had interpreted her movements so accurately. Then she saw Mrs. Rector, and her smile faded. The older woman was perched on a bench in the hall, her face ashen as she read a letter that must have been delivered by the dusty messenger who stood awkwardly nearby. Hearing their footsteps, Mrs. Rector looked up, her vision unfocused. Renbourne asked, “Is something wrong?”

“I’m afraid so.” She ran her tongue over dry lips. “Lord Amworth has suffered a seizure of the heart. His wife, Elinor, says that… that the physician is not optimistic about the chances of his recovery.” Her gaze dropped to the letter again. “He’s my cousin, you know. I… I’ve known him my whole life.”

A chill went through Meriel, and not only because she, too, was fond of Lord Amworth. In her bones she knew this news would have repercussions that would shake her world. The message about Lord Amworth cast a shadow over the household. Though earlier Dominic had hoped to work in the garden with Meriel, he was relieved when she vanished. He spent the day on the endless chore of trimming topiary chess pieces while he pondered the implications if Lord Amworth didn’t recover.

Amworth himself had feared for Meriel if he died, because Lord Grahame’s opinions on her best interests were so different from his own. A pity Dominic knew little about the law, and even less of the legal provisions surrounding Meriel’s guardianship and inheritance. He simply did not know how much control her childhood guardians still had over her person. One thing was sure—Dominic had no standing on her behalf.

Upright and inflexible, Grahame would surely take a dim view of his niece’s marriage to a younger son of small fortune. In fact, he would probably object to any marriage, and he’d be furious that Am worth had gone behind his back to arrange one.

Technically, Meriel was of age and free to make up her own mind, but Grahame might be able to get her declared incompetent if she chose to behave in a manner he considered mad. Though Dominic was sure that her mind and judgment were basically sound, as long as she didn’t speak and behaved eccentrically, she was at risk of being treated as if she really were mad.

Would she speak up to preserve her freedom? Or would she withdraw into her own world and confirm the general belief that her wits were addled?

Uneasily Dominic recognized that a crisis was imminent. He must ask the ladies if they knew when Grahame was due back from his Continental journey. And he’d better pray that Amworth made a swift and unexpected recovery from his heart seizure.

When the members of the household gathered in the salon before dinner, Dominic was pleased to see that not only had Meriel appeared, but she was demurely dressed in one of her mother’s gowns. She even wore soft kidskin slippers, slightly scuffed.

Both of the ladies smiled at the sight, which made him suspect that Meriel had made a special effort to cheer them up. Though Mrs. Marks was related to Meriel’s father, not her mother, she had known Amworth for years and was almost as upset at his condition as Mrs. Rector was. The butler poured sherry for each of them. Even Meriel took a glass, though Dominic had noticed that she drank virtually no alcohol.

Mrs. Rector moved to Dominic’s side. “She looks so charming tonight. So… so normal. You’ve been very good for her, my lord.”

“I hope so.” He sipped his sherry. “But if she looks elegant and ladylike, it’s because she has been shown such fine examples through the years.”

Mrs. Rector’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve a silver tongue, my lord.”

He was about to reply when a commotion sounded outside, in the front hall. A deep voice boomed,

“Nonsense, of course they’ll see me. D’you know who I am?”

The footman’s reply was inaudible, but heavy approaching footsteps were heard, along with the visitor’s comment, “Would’ve been here earlier if the cursed carriage hadn’t broken an axle.”

Dominic lowered his glass, his blood turning cold. No, it couldn’t be. Surely it was just a similarity of voices…

The door to the salon swung open, and a broad man of implacable confidence swept into the room. Appalled, Dominic recognized the sixth Earl of Wrexham, and the slender, dark-haired young woman who trailed behind.

His father and sister had just arrived.

Chapter 21

Mrs. Marks stepped forward, her brows arched with polite challenge. “Good evening, sir. Do we have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

Why the devil did everyone drop into Warfield unannounced? Thanking heaven for his father’s notoriously bad eyesight, Dominic took a firm hold of Kyle’s mannerisms, then drawled, “My apologies, Mrs. Marks, I didn’t realize that you and my father were unacquainted. Mrs. Marks, Mrs. Rector, allow me to present the Earl of Wrexham and my sister, Lady Lucia Renbourne.”

Adjusting swiftly, Mrs. Marks said, “What a pleasant surprise. Let me ring the housekeeper to prepare rooms for you.” A delicate edge showed in her voice as she tugged the bell-pull. “What a pity we couldn’t have them ready.”