Dakota Dreams (Historical Romance) (22 page)

She heard soft footsteps and turned to see Dakota approaching. When he reached her side, he enclosed her in his arms.

"I watched you for a time, although you were unaware of it. I found myself jealous of your thoughts, for I was sure they were not of me."

She nestled her head against his shoulder. "As a matter of fact, I was thinking of you in a way. I was trying to imagine what America is like."

"What in particular were you imagining?"

She gazed up at him pensively. "I was wondering if you ever get lonesome to return to your country. I know you said the day might come when you would want to return."

She saw his jaw tighten. "Where is my country, Breanna? Is it this land of my father, or the land of my birth? Sometimes I don't know where I belong."

Breanna had never seen him like this, and she was surprised that he was allowing her this brief look into his mind.

"I wish I could help you find out, Dakota."

He smiled down at her. "You have already helped me more than you can imagine. If I had never come to England, I would never have known you, and that would be a great loss."

Breanna looked in the distance to the tall ship that had almost disappeared against the backdrop of the sky of azure blue.

Dakota was watching her face for some reaction. He could not know that her heart was drumming and her pulse was racing.

"Do you realize that I would still be living with my brother if . . . I had not married you, Dakota? I would not have wanted to miss knowing you either."

Hugging her to him, Dakota laughed, and she was glad to see he was in a lighter mood. "All Englishmen must be blind if they would allow a woman as lovely as you to remain unmarried."

"Do you think me beautiful?"

His eyes moved over her creamy skin to rest on her head, which was more golden than red in the sunlight. "Yes, you are extremely beautiful." He placed his finger over her lips. "My heart is filled with your loveliness."

A quick intake of breath tightened her throat. She searched his eyes, wanting him to say he loved her, but the words were never uttered. Dakota released her and glanced back toward the house, reminded of his reason for seeking her out.

"John has brought me the tragic news that ray grandfather is gravely ill. I wanted to tell you that I am leaving for London immediately."

"Oh, Dakota, I am so sorry about your grandfather." She placed a hand on his, arm, somehow feeling his pain and confusion, though he tried to hide it from her. "May I go with you?"

"No, it is better if you remain here," he said, wanting her with him but realizing he must travel quickly. "I have asked Levi to stay here and keep you company and see to your needs."

Breanna lifted her cool gaze to his face. Her heart was aching at the thought of being parted from him. She wanted to beg him to take her with him, but instead she smiled weakly. "When will you return?"

"I cannot say. Much depends on my grandfather."

She shrugged, trying to make light of her heartache. "Who will give me swimming lessons? Surely not Levi?"

Dakota's green eyes lit with an inner fire, and his jaw clamped down in an angry line. "You will allow no one to swim with you but me."

She was surprised at his sudden anger. "No, of course not, I was merely jesting."

He leveled his breathing. "I should think I will return within a fortnight," he said stiffly. His eyes moved over her as if he wanted to burn the vision of her into his mind. "Is that a riding habit you are wearing?" he asked, allowing his glance to sweep her wine-colored gown.

"Yes, it is."

"So you are going riding?"

"Yes, I thought I would."

He frowned. "Make sure you have either Levi or Frazier accompany you. I still remember the last time you took a fall, and I don't want you going alone. Promise me so I will not worry about you."

"I promise" she agreed, touched by his concern. She dared to hope he was going to miss her just a bit.

He raised her gloved hand to his lips. "I will think of you standing here waiting for my return, my Breanna."

Without a word, he dropped her hand and turned away. She resisted the urge to call him back. Why did she have this recurring feeling that something was about to happen that would tear her and Dakota apart?

Breanna watched Dakota disappear down the hill, wondering about this man who had swept through her life like a strong cleansing wind. When Dakota had first come to Weatherford Hall, he had appeared to be vulnerable and unsure of himself. But with each passing day, Breanna had watched him gain more confidence, while she had become less sure of herself. She wondered if she would ever hold his heart.

With a last look toward the horizon, she turned and made her way back toward the house. It was a beautiful autumn day, and she looked forward to taking Joya for a run. She would stay busy so she wouldn't miss Dakota so desperately.

Breanna refused to dwell on the lonely days and nights that yawned ahead of her.

21

John stood near the foot of the bed while Dakota stood at his grandfather's side, staring down at the aged, withered visage, wondering what his grandfather had been like as a young man. All the evidence pointed to his being a hard, cold man, but had it always been so?

The doctor motioned to Dakota and John. "May I speak to you both in the study?" he asked in a whisper.

John and Dakota had followed the doctor to the small study across the hallway from the Marquess's bedchamber. Dakota waited for the doctor to speak, knowing in his heart that his grandfather could not live long in his wasted state.

The doctor, whose back was stooped and whose eyes were dimmed with age, spoke in hushed tones.

"I fear, my lord," the elderly doctor began, "that your grandfather will not last out the night. It's a wonder that he has lasted this long. But if you don't mind my saying so, my lord, your grandfather was always a recalcitrant man. You see, I have been his doctor for forty years, and over that time we have become friends, so I speak from insight into his character."

"I never knew my grandfather. Was he always so stern?"

"No, not he. I would say your father's death made him bitter and uncaring. His lordship's goal in life was to have his line continue. Perhaps one day when you have been the Marquess for a long time, you will better be able to understand him"

The doctor excused himself and returned to the Marquess's bedside.

Deep in thought, Dakota frowned. The thought of being the bearer of the his grandfather's title made him tremble inside. "I have no wish to become the Marquess."

John knew what Dakota was feeling. "You will make a fine Marquess. You have already proven this by the way you handled the incident in Weatherford Village."

"I do not want the responsibility. And I don't intend to be forced into it."

John jammed his hands into his pockets, his eyes clouded with anger. "Damn it, Dakota, you owe it to future generations and to past ancestors. Whether you like it or not, you are about to become the head of the Remington family, and the rightful heir of the titles and properties."

Dakota had never known John to be so angry, and certainly not with him. "I am surprised that you feel so strongly about this, John."

"Just because I often wear the face of the jester does not mean I cannot feel as deeply about family pride and honor as the next person. Are you aware of what would happen to the title of Marquess of Weatherford if you refuse it?"

"No, suppose you tell me."

"The title will pass to Freddy Remington, a man in his fifties who still lives with his mother and takes orders from her. Cousin Freddy will not care for the villagers at Weatherford, and I don't care for Cousin Freddy. Besides, he has no one to succeed him. The title will stop with him."

Dakota's eyes grew cold. "That would leave you in a rather tight place, wouldn't it, John."

The two cousins stared at one another with anger.

Finally Dakota spoke. "I do not believe it is proper to talk about the title when the man who holds it is not yet dead," Dakota said, his anger deepening. I am surprised that you are not more sensitive toward your great-uncle, John."

"Regardless of what you think of me, I have always had the family's best interests at heart, Dakota. But in this, neither my great-uncle nor you matter. The title must endure."

John moved to the door, his jerky motions showing he was still incensed. "Now, if your lordship will excuse me, I will take my leave."

"Where are you going?" Dakota asked, knowing John had every reason to be angry with him.

"Out of London. I have no wish to be near you at the moment. You have things to consider, and a future to decide. It is hoped that you make the right decision."

***

The hansom cab pulled up in front of the Remington townhouse. Rye Saffron stepped out and sent the driver on his way, hoping no one of importance had seen her arrive by public transportation. Her lips curled in a snarl when she remembered the humiliation she had felt when her brother had been forced to sell their horses and carriages because he could not afford to maintain a stable. Then, last year, the London house and its furnishings had to be auctioned off to pay debts.

She would never have dared come to this house had she not heard that the old Marquess was near death. Her heart was beating so fast that she tried to quell it by pressing her hand against her chest. Hers was a daring plan, but if it worked, she would never have to worry about money again.

After running a nervous hand down her emerald green gown, she rapped on the door. Almost at once, the door was opened and the housekeeper looked down her thin nose at Rye.

"Whom do you wish to see, madam?" Mrs. Crowder asked in a stilted voice.

Rye had never liked it when a servant acted too high-handed. In her brother's house, the servants knew their places, and she dealt harshly with insubordination. She decided this haughty woman needed to know her place.

"I am Lady Rye Saffron. Be so kind as to inform the Viscount that I am here to see him."

Mrs. Crowder had never met the Earl of Saffron's sister, but she had heard enough about her to know she was no longer accepted in polite society. "Was his lordship expecting you this morning?" the housekeeper inquired, refusing to budge from in front of the door.

Rye's eyes narrowed at the insufferable woman. "Just tell him I am here," she demanded. "He will receive me."

She pushed past the housekeeper, who was determined to stand watchdog. "Tell his lordship that I will be waiting for him in here," she announced, stepping into the first room she came to.

Mrs. Crowder drew herself up with as much dignity as she could manage. "His lordship is having breakfast. I'll see if he will receive you, my lady."

Rye smiled to herself as the woman sailed down the hallway like an avenging angel. After the servant disappeared, Rye moved around the salon, overwhelmed by its grandeur. She had forgotten that there were still people who lived graciously. The gilded ceilings, the ocher-colored walls, the Chippendale chairs with silk coverings, all lent charm to the decor. Heavy silver candlesticks joined forces with the crystal chandeliers to lend their light to the room.

Rye moved in front of a heavy gilded mirror and studied her reflection. Removing the green bonnet which matched her gown, she patted her dark hair into place. That she was beautiful, Rye never doubted, and she could be at her best when trying to entice a man. She had come to the Remington townhouse today with the express purpose of becoming Lord Dakota Remington's mistress!

She had been in London for over a week and had heard the gossip that was circulating about the charm and good looks of the Viscount of Remington. It was said that every noble family in London was courting his friendship, but Rye wanted more than his friendship. Of course, the Viscount had refused all social invitations because his grandfather was dying.

Rye smiled, showing her teeth. It would seem that Dakota Remington was about to become the Marquess of Weatherford, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in England.

Rye intended to share in his good fortune. She had her eye on a charming little house in Bradford Square. She had a particular liking for emeralds, and she wanted very much to be a patroness of the fine arts. All this, and more, would be at her fingertips if she could but use her beauty to ensnare the handsome Viscount.

She had sensed that day they had first met in her brother's house that the Viscount had been attracted to her. It wasn't anything he had said, it was more of a feeling—she had seen it in his eyes. Rye went over in her mind the story she intended to tell the Viscount to gain his sympathy. Oh, it would be a terrible tale of woe. She would say that she was—

Dakota had entered the room so quietly that Rye was not aware of his presence until he spoke, dragging her mind out of her daydreams.

"I was told you wished to see me, my lady?"

She turned toward Dakota gracefully, making sure he had a good view of her creamy breasts and delicately arched neck. She lowered her eyes in the pretense of maidenly coyness. "I came at once to express my condolences for your grandfather."

"My grandfather is not yet . . . dead, so your condolences are premature."

His green gaze sent thrills echoing through Rye's body.

"I am sorry, to have disturbed you, my lord, but you see . . ." For effect, her voice caught in her throat, and she dabbed at her eyes as though wiping away tears. ". . . I had a most unfortunate incident happen to me."

Rye grasped the edge of a table, as if she were too weak to stand. "I hope you will not hold my brother's mistakes against me. I just didn't have anyone to turn to. Since we are neighbors of sorts, I hoped you would help me."

Dakota saw the woman sway, and he caught her about the waist. "Let me summon the housekeeper to assist you, my lady," he said with concern etched on his face.

"No, just help me to the sofa" she said weakly, not wanting the stern-faced housekeeper to spoil her plans.

After Dakota had her comfortably settled, he pulled up a stool to sit beside her.

"Please continue, my lady, if you are able. What has happened to cause you such distress?"

She stared into his eyes beseechingly. "While on my way to London, I was put upon by footpads. They took my money, smashed my trunks, and littered the road with my clothing."

Again she dabbed at her eyes, knowing the look of concern in the Viscount's green eyes was genuine.

"Was not your brother with you?"

"No, Martin and I had a disagreement, and he forced me to leave my home." She looked at Dakota through long silken lashes. "I have no money, and nowhere to stay. I knew when we met at my brother's house that you were a true gentleman, so I came to you."

Dakota felt pity for the woman's misfortune. Also, he was reminded of her resemblance to Running Deer. "You will stay here, of course, Lady Rye. As for your wardrobe, do not concern yourself, you shall have it replenished."

Rye was speechless for the moment. Surely he hadn't meant that she would stay here with him — not under his own roof! He must be aware of how that would set tongues to wagging. She hid a triumphant smile behind her handkerchief, then she looked at him dolefully. "But, my lord, people will talk if I remain here. And besides, I cannot buy a new wardrobe. I have no money."

"I care not about gossip," Dakota replied, walking to the bell-pull to ring for the housekeeper. "And I shall pay for replacing your wardrobe," he assured her.

Mrs. Crowder entered the salon almost immediately, her hands clasped-tightly in front of her, and her face drawn up in a dour frown.

"The Lady Rye Saffron will be my guest for a few days, Mrs. Crowder. See that she is made comfortable in one of the upstairs bedrooms."

Rye watched the woman's face redden with indignation. The housekeeper pursed her thin lips as if she was about to say something but thought better of it. "In which room do you wish me to install the . . . lady, my lord?"

"I leave that in your capable hands, Mrs. Crowder. I am sure I can trust you to see that she is made comfortable."

Rye gave the housekeeper a spiteful glance that was lost on Dakota. She had come here hoping to become a mistress, but instead found herself installed in the family house. It was too good to be true, and she intended to make the most of it.

She linked her arm through Dakota's and smiled up at him. "Will you go with me tomorrow when I shop for a new wardrobe?" she asked for the housekeeper's benefit. "After all, if you are buying the gowns, you should be able to help select them."

Dakota looked into brown eyes and was again reminded of Running Deer. Perhaps if he aided this woman in her plight, he would then be able to put Running Deer's ghost to rest. "I know nothing about women's apparel," he said.

Rye gave Dakota the practiced look that had induced many gentlemen in the past to do her bidding. She had never aspired so high before, however, and that gave her pause for thought.

Her eyes were soft, her smile seductive, promising much. "Please come with me. I shall need a man's opinion."

Rye turned spiteful eyes on the now steaming Mrs. Crowder. "And as I said, it will be your money that pays for them."

Dakota was unaccustomed to scheming women, and he did not see the trap that was being so cleverly laid for him. All he saw was a woman who resembled Running Deer, and she was in trouble, and it was within his power to help her.

He saw no harm in accompanying her to the shops. Perhaps she could help him select a gift worthy to take back to Breanna. "Yes, I shall go with you," he answered. Although he did not relish spending a day shopping for women's apparel, it was little enough to do for the poor distraught woman.

Dakota did not see the proud jerk of his housekeeper's chin, or the outrage and indignation in her little black eyes. "I have duties to attend to, my lord," she said, moving toward the door. "I will send the upstairs maid to show Lady Saffron to her room."

Dakota did not know that the battle lines had been drawn between these two women. He was unaware that Mrs. Crowder had in no uncertain terms sent Rye the message that she would not personally lower herself to wait upon the Earl of Saffron's sister. That humiliating task would be performed by one of the underlings.