The Diabolical Baron (39 page)

“And who might that have been?” he asked with a
dangerous gleam.

“You, of course!” She was still fiddling with his cra
vat, unable to meet his eyes. “I have always had a se
cret wish to do something wanton and profligate. If we
are to be married in five days, I will have lost my op
portunity forever. So-o-o ...” She stopped.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“So”—she gave him a glance that was half-mischief
and half-shyness—”Do you think that tonight... ?”

He shouted with laughter as he caught her meaning,
then lifted her clear off the floor and whirled her
around twice before depositing her down again. “You will keep me young forever, my darling minx.”

He kissed her with a tenderness that rapidly esca
lated into passion. “It will be my very great pleasure to give you your wish tonight,
my love
,” he whispered huskily
. “And every other night as long as we both
shall live. Shall we go downstairs now and see if we
can convince our guests to leave early?”

She embraced him approvingly, only to be interrupted by a strangled squawk from the door. They
both looked up, though Jason made no move to release
her. “Good evening, George. Is the party going well?”

George Fitzwilliam was watching them with inartic
ulate fascination. Finally he sputtered, “Lady Edge
ware sent me to discover where you’d gotten to.
Said there were rackety goings-on up here.”

Jason smiled. “She must have heard the armor go
over. Will you be the first to congratulate me? Mrs.
Sterling has just agreed to make me the happiest of
men.”

“But... but... what about Miss Hanscombe?”

“She has made other arrangements.” Jason’s eyes
flickered toward the far corner of the room; then he
took Jessica’s arm and headed toward the stairs. “May I congratulate you on your new team of horses?”

Never too quick on the uptake, it took a moment for
George to realize that he had won their wager. His eyes brightened and he said with reverence, “You
mean they are mine? The finest team of horses in En
gland?”

“The second finest,” Jason corrected. “A team of
matched blacks I have bred and trained are now ready
to take their place in society. Shall we return to our
guests, my dear?”

* * * *

Richard steered Caroline to a window seat in the far corner of the armor room. The flood of moonlight was
bright enough to read by, but bleached the scene to an unearthly coolness.

“Will you not even look at me, Caro?” He took her
chin in his hand and gently turned her face toward
him. The huge blue eyes were filled with tears she was
trying to suppress.

“How many other lies have you told me, my lord?” Her voice was a nearly inaudible whisper.

“None, not now, not in the past, and never in the fu
ture. And will you please stop calling me ‘my lord’?”

“But that is what you are. An earl. One of the great
men of England, with an ancient title and properties
across the whole country. ‘A small estate on the south
coast/ indeed!”

He ran his fingers through his thick brown hair with
a sigh of exhaustion, then stood and rested one hand
on the window frame as he looked at the silver-gilt
fields. The swordfight and the emotions released by it
had driven him to the very limit of his physical and mental resources, and the lines of his body spoke of
defeat rather than victory. Great patches of sweat
caused the white shirt to cling to his body, the breadth
of his shoulders emphasizing his lean hips and waist. She had never seen him look so powerful, or so vul
nerable.

He said in a quiet voice, “Learning I was heir to an
earldom was as much a surprise to me two months
ago as it was to you tonight. I wanted none of it. I was
twenty years old when I first became responsible for
other men’s lives. Younger than you are now. For
seven years I carried that responsibility, sending them
out and knowing many would die of my decisions.
Seven long years. And half the men I commanded are
dead now, slaughtered in a Belgian field. I know it was
not my fault—we were doing our jobs, and we did
them well. But after that, I had had enough of respon
sibility.”

He turned his head to face her, his hazel eyes a
dark shadowed gray. “When I came here, it was be
cause I had no will for any other action. Then I saw
you, and knew what it was to live again. You have such a rare talent of joy and beauty. I wanted to
give you whatever would make you happiest. The
moon and stars were beyond me, but I thought to find
a place where you could be free to create. That is all I
ever wished for you—to love me, and to make music.”

He looked away again, unable to meet her eyes. “I
never wanted Wargrave. It will take years of hard
work to make it profitable again. Years of riding
around England, learning about agriculture and law,
settling disputes, caring for those in my charge. I know
I can do it, and that I must.

“But the quiet life I longed to have with you is im
possible now. The life of peace and love and music—
you can never have it with me. A countess also has
responsibilities that cannot be shirked. Even if you can
forgive me my inheritance, you would be losing so
much—the peace and privacy you crave, the time to
create, to record the melodies of your imagination.”

He faced her once more, his deep voice bleak with longing. “And the worst of being an earl is that it will obscure that I am a man. Radford, Jessica, my cousin—
they all look at me with different eyes now. I can bear it
from others, but not from you. Can you not remember
that I am Richard? And that I love you?”

She felt a tightness in her chest almost beyond bear
ing. Praying that this time she would find the right
words, she stood and went to him.

Placing her palms
flat on his chest she felt the hard pulsing warmth of his body. “If you can learn to be an earl, I can learn to be a
countess,” she said softly. “I do not need an ivory tower—great art comes from living life fully, and I
know my life with you will be richer than any other path I might find.”

Her eyes searched his, trying to look beyond the il
lusions of moonlight. “I never truly thought you had
lied to me. I was angry to cover my tears. You have always been so strong, so assured, everything I am not. I
could not believe you needed me as much as I need
you.”

He pulled her to him as a drowning man seeks
breath, drawing her to his heart. She felt once more the
sense of peace and safety she had always found in his arms, but now was added the joy of knowing she also
sheltered him.

The frightening events of the night
dropped from her consciousness and she was aware
only of him as they touched, mouth to mouth, body to
body, and soul to soul.

It was long minutes before he spoke, and humor had returned to his voice. “Do you know, love, music is not
the only thing you have a genius for. I think it’s your ability to lose yourself utterly in what you do.”

Caroline closed her eyes and laid her head against
his chest with a smile of utter contentment. “I will
never be so lost that you cannot find me. And no mat
ter how busy we both may be, we will always find
time for love and music.”

* * * *

Deliciously scandalized rumors hovered around the
September marriage of Caroline Hanscombe to the
Earl of Wargrave. It was said she threw over her first
fiancé for a better title, that Radford and Wargrave
fought a duel that nearly killed them both, that Rad
ford was so heartbroken he had married the aunt to
stay close to the niece.

Mothers of hopeful daughters complained that the
new earl had been snapped up before they had a
proper chance at him.

Girls who had made their come-
outs with Caroline remarked bitterly that it made no
sense for such an insipid little thing to receive offers from no fewer than two peers of the realm.

The vicar of
Wargrave who married them was delighted that his
wife had a new grandson, and he himself had secured
a superlative organist for his church.

But the most breathless gossip occurred when the
bride was given away not by her father, as was proper,
but by her uncle and former fiancée, Lord Radford.
The avidly curious attempted to discover why from
Radford’s companion, the Honorable George
Fitzwilliam, but that gentleman would only say, “It
was fitting.”

To Eileen Nauman, for generous professional guidance

and to

my fishy friend, John, for total warmth and support

Copyright © 1987 by Mary Jo Putney

Originally published by Signet

Electronically published in 2011 by Belgrave House/Regency

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.