Dangerous Joy (12 page)

Hell and the devil!

He grabbed Argonaut and set off at a gallop, reckoning he knew where Felicity had gone. But she'd outfoxed him. When he arrived at Loughcarrick he discovered she had never been there. The worst thing was that Dunsmore wasn't there, either. He'd ridden out about an hour before.

The thought that his ward might actually be with Dunsmore trying to get herself pregnant was like acid. He resolved that even if she did get with child he would not permit the marriage.

Mrs. Edey was perplexed by the whole thing. "Miss Monahan hasn't visited here since Mrs. Dunsmore died, Mr. Cavanagh. I can't imagine why you thought she might be here today."

"I must have been mistaken." He turned to take his leave, but Kieran came running.

"Is Sissity here?"

"No, pet," said Mrs. Edey, taking his hand to control him. "It's Mr. Cavanagh. You remember him."

The boy gave a rather sulky bow. "I want to see Sissity."

"Another day, dear."

It occurred to Miles then that after the early flurry of visits, Kieran hadn't been to Foy Hall in a week. "Why don't you drive over this afternoon? Felicity and I are going away for a few days, and I know she'd like to see you before we leave."

Mrs. Edey was already shaking her head in a silent signal to him. Now, she said, "I'm afraid we can't, sir. Kieran's father has forbidden him to leave the estate just now."

"It's not fair, and I hate him," the boy stated fiercely.

"Hush!" Mrs. Edey said. " 'Tis wicked to speak so, Kieran."

The lad just scowled and kicked at the polished hall floor with the toe of his sturdy leather boots.

Miles told himself he had enough to worry over without being sorry for the child caught in this sordid conflict. Presumably once it became clear to Dunsmore that he wouldn't be allowed to marry Felicity before her majority—in fact, once Felicity was safely out of his orbit—there would be no more petty tormenting of the child.

He tousled the lad's curls. "By the time Felicity is back, I'm sure your father will have lifted the restriction." No point in troubling the boy with how long that might be. A month would seem forever at his age.

As he left the house, Miles decided Kieran's welfare was yet another reason for taking Felicity to England. It would be healthier on both sides if the bond were weakened. In time, Dunsmore was going to give up and find some other woman to marry and Kieran would learn to love his new stepmother.

Miles realized then that he had no intention of ever letting Felicity marry Rupert Dunsmore. He just wished he knew how the devil he was to stop her once she was of age.

The first step was to prevent her getting pregnant.

He took Argonaut's reins from the groom and scanned the surrounding countryside. Was there any point in searching far and wide? He really couldn't imagine Felicity setting out brashly to fornicate with Dunsmore, but made himself consider where such a pair might meet.

Not in the open on a frosty day in January.

Barns and hovels, then. He spent a frustrating hour checking all the barns and abandoned cottages between Foy and Loughcarrick and found no trace of the truant lovers.

By the time he arrived in the Foy stables, he was exhausted, angry, and worried half to death. There he was met by two females. Gardeen sat stiffly on a wall, exuding all the disdain of an abandoned cat. Felicity leaned nearby, looking smug, and as fresh as if she'd not so much as mounted a horse that day.

As a substitute for laying his crop about her shoulders, Miles said, "I saw Kieran. He very much wants to see you. Shall we ride over there, since he seems to be confined to quarters?"

She caught her breath as if he had hit her, but then masked it with a shrug. "There seems no point. I'll see him when I return. And of course, soon, we will be one family."

She turned and left the stables. Miles dismounted and tossed Argonaut's reins to a groom, wondering if she could have carried through on her threat to try to get with child. Scooping up the still-haughty cat, Miles followed his ward's path to the hall, recalling and analyzing the look of her just now.

"Not at all," he told Gardeen, "like a woman who had recently engaged in carnal intimacy in a barn."

Gardeen decided to be wooed and began to purr.

"But then," said Miles with a grimace, "she didn't look like a woman who'd been riding about the countryside in her morning dress, either. Damn the tricksy jade. She's capable of anything."

And that, of course, was what made her so fascinating.

Miles did his best to watch Felicity for the rest of the day, both guarding her and looking for signs of recent debauchery.

All he saw was a proper young lady preparing for a visit. She organized the packing of a trunk which would be driven over to Clonnagh by coach at first light, along with Miles's bags and his valet. She attended to some estate business and made sure the Foy servants had instructions. She sent out a few messages to inform people of her absence.

Miles resisted the urge to check her correspondence. The only person he cared about was Dunsmore, and any message for him had presumably been delivered in person.

With relief, he decided that her rash ride had been just that-a means of communicating with her illicit admirer. It was impossible that any woman surrender her virginity and appear so unperturbed by it.

If, of course, she was a virgin.

She must be.

Of course she must. Her boldness was just playacting.

He'd be devilish glad to have her away from here and under his mother's eye, however.

The next morning, he found her already at the breakfast table, dressed in one of her sensible habits. She showed no trace of resentment, but breakfasted heartily. Soon they rode out, hoar frost crunching beneath the horses' hooves, ostensibly in perfect accord.

Miles found this rather more wearing than sulks would be, but in the face of her good humor, it was impossible to be cool. Soon they were as relaxed as old friends again.

Somewhere inside, he knew `old friends' wasn't what he wanted at all. He smothered the notion. He cared for the girl. Nothing more.

They'd covered a mile or so, warming the horses slowly, when a miaow! made him look back. A black shape was racing along behind.

"Hell and the devil, it's that imp of Satan!"

Felicity reined in to look back, then laughed. "But of course! Now Gardeen's adopted you, she's not about to be left behind."

"I left her locked up in my room."

"Perhaps you have something to learn about trying to keep females captive."

Before he could respond to that, the cat arrived at the horses and leapt. She couldn't quite make his lap, but she hooked her claws into his breeches and clambered up from there.

Miles picked the cat up. "Don't you know the meaning of the word no?"

Gardeen gave her snarling commentary on that, on him, and on the world in general.

Felicity broke into laughter. "My, but she's a tongue on her like a fishwife. No supper for you tonight, sir!"

Miles fell into laughter, too, and putting the irate feline on his leg, smoothed her fur and her feelings. Gardeen kneaded his thigh, and he had the distinct impression she thought she was digging her claws into him. Since he was wearing leather breeches, however, he was safe enough.

He tickled her chin. "Pax, little one. I won't try to leave you behind again. How was I to know you truly wanted to leave your home? But how are you to travel?"

"Fifty years ago," said Felicity, "you would be wearing a sensible skirted coat with enormous pockets."

"Whereas, now, my only pockets are in my breeches and completely inadequate to the task. Ah, the follies of this modern age."

"I, however, choosing practicality over fashion, have very large pockets in my habit and could carry her if she'd allow it."

Though her tail twitched with suspicion, Gardeen did allow herself to be handed across and put into Felicity's pocket. Once there, however, she arranged herself nose out and fixed Miles with a watchful stare.

"Faith, what mischief does she expect me to get into on a simple day's ride?"

"What indeed?" Felicity asked, flicking her horse into motion again.

They stopped for lunch at an inn. Gardeen accepted milk and some morsels of chicken. Felicity, however, disdained Miles's offer of a dainty meal and tucked into the men's fare of rabbit pie and a jug of porter. She was showing absolutely no tiredness from the ride. Sometimes, Miles wished she were a more proper young lady, but at others, like this, he thought what a comfortable companion she was. As they ate, they chatted about Irish history, but ancient history which did not include as many traps for the unwary as more recent times.

"Your mother is a Fitzgerald?" she asked at one point.

"Yes, and very proud of it."

"So she should be when there's fairy blood in that line."

"When speaking of fey matters, it's Foy that comes to mind."

"Merely from the sound of the word?"

"No. There's something about the place." `It's just the cats. Cats are magical." As if summoned, Gardeen appeared from behind a settle and jumped up onto Miles's lap. "Certainly this one is," he said. "Who named her "little guardian"?"

"Aunt Annie names them all, though she claims they tell her their names. It's rare for one to choose to leave Foy."

"I can't imagine why I was so favored."

"There's no profit at all in trying to understand Irish cats."

"Or anything else Irish, I think at times." Chewing an apple down to the core, Felicity looked out of a window across some rolling hills.

"Ireland changes so little. Sometimes, I think Finn mac Cool himself could come to save us."

"Then he'd have to fight Arthur. The English have their mythic heroes, too, you know."

Her eyes flashed at him. "Arthur was a Celt. He'd never side with those Saxons and their German king against a true Celtic race!" But it was in fun, and it was sweet to be here like this, enjoying light matters. Too sweet, perhaps, for guardian and ward...

"Arthur's myth has run through Normans, Welsh, and Scots," he said, careful to keep his tone academic. "He's attached to the land, I think, not a monarch."

"Sure and the Irish have no designs on English land," she said. "We just want our own."

"Have you forgotten, perhaps, that I'm Irish, cailin?"

"You act like a damned Englishman at times."

"And I suppose Dunsmore doesn't." Shockingly, pure rage surged in him, rage that she might prefer that man to himself.

Rage such as he'd felt that night in her bedroom...

Perhaps she sensed it. Tossing her apple core on the floor, she jumped to her feet. "Better an honest Englishman than an English-Irishman who doesn't know which he is!" Then she was off in search of the privy.

Or in search of escape.

Gardeen leapt off Miles's knee to pounce on the core as if it were a fleeing mouse. Miles drained his ale.

He'd persuaded himself that attack had been a momentary madness, but it hadn't been momentary. He itched to get his hands round Dunsmore's scrawny neck-not in righteous anger at his sins, but out of plain, bitter jealousy.

Madness, and it had to be controlled. He was Felicity's guardian, nothing more. And her only interest in him was to twist him around her fingers.

He used the privy, too, then they set off for the last stage of their ride to Clonnagh. It hadn't been an arduous day for the horses, so now they gave them their heads and raced cross-country.

Miles kept an eye on his companion. Though Felicity was an excellent horsewoman, he wasn't sure she was up to a whole day in the saddle, especially a sidesaddle. She didn't seem at all weary, however.

She'd be completely wasted on Dunsmore, this wild Irish warrior-queen with milk-white skin and jet-black hair and a heart as fierce as a storm...

They made a last stop five miles from Clonnagh to water the horses at a stream by a small wayside inn. Felicity took Gardeen out of her pocket, and the little cat romped off in hot pursuit of some tufts of sheep's wool.

When they led the horses to the water, Miles thought his companion might be a little stiff. "It's not far from here," he said. "We could rent a gig if you wish."

The slight limp he'd noticed disappeared. "Not at all!" After a moment, she grimaced and added, "If you must know, I'm suffering for vanity."

"What?"

She raised her skirts to show smart, glossy boots. "They're new, and I wanted to look my best. But they pinch, damn the boot-makers for shoddy work. It's not too bad riding, but walking is somewhat painful."

"There's a bench there to sit on," he said. "Shall I carry you?"

"Heaven help us, but you'd crumple under my weight. I'm no feather...Miles!"

He swung her up and carried her to the seat in question, then stood there with her in his arms.

"All right, all right!" she declared, deliciously flushed by laughter, her hat askew. "I'm suitably impressed by your Atlas-like strength. Now put me down before you kill yourself." Her voice trailed away, and her color deepened.