June Calvin (8 page)

It took several minutes before the pandemonium settled enough for all to begin wondering what Pelham voiced first. “But where is Gil?”

Chapter Nine

W
hen it became clear that some mishap had befallen Lord Threlbourne, Pelham mounted his carriage again and wheeled his horses around to retrace their route. Curzon directed his guests back to the mansion, where a general leave-taking began as curricles and carriages left standing during the race quickly filled up with passengers, though none decamped immediately. Noise and confusion reined as high-spirited horseflesh resisted efforts to curb them until Threlbourne’s fate had been learned.

Elspeth had not watched the race, but had retreated indoors with Gilbert’s mother, Lady Margaret, and Curzon’s elderly grandmother. She emerged now, obviously prepared to snub Pelham, but just as obviously on the alert for sight of him. Davida saw her eyes dart over the crowd. When she realized he wasn’t there, she approached Davida, who was standing somewhat aside, watching the drive nervously for some sign of her escort.

“What has happened, Miss Gresham? Why is everyone staring down the drive. And you look worried. Has something happened to Mon—to someone?”

Davida heard the alarm behind the carefully modulated question.
So she does care for him, in spite of her behavior
, she thought, relieved for Monty’s sake. “I hope not, Lady Elspeth. Pelham has gone to search for Lord Threlbourne. He didn’t return to the finish line.”

Relief flooded Elspeth’s tense features. “I do hope he is uninjured. This sort of thing is why I cannot like racing.

Lady Margaret, by now aware of her son’s failure to return, approached the two young ladies with concern written all over her face. “That madcap boy! If he has hurt himself . . .”

“There they are!” Davida strained to see. “Yes, Monty has Gilbert in his curricle.”

In moments the disheveled red-haired lord was jumping down to embrace and comfort his tearful mother. Then he turned to Davida. “Sorry, Davie. My curricle is finished. Came a cropper on a turn and flipped it over.”

“Oh, Gil, are you hurt?”

“I’ll have a few bruises,” he admitted ruefully, “but I’ll do.”

“And your cattle?”

“Can’t be sure, but I think they took no harm. I’ll ask Curzon to stable them for a few days.”

“And I’ll drive you home, Miss Gresham.” Curzon had approached the group as they talked.

“I am sure Lady Margaret will take me up.”

“But it will be quite crowded in the landau. Besides, it will be an honor and a privilege to drive you.” Curzon moved subtly but firmly to block her from joining the group drifting toward the landau.

Although his manner was smoothly cordial, there was something hard about the expression in his eyes which made Davida uneasy. She remembered the black looks he had given her more than once during the day.

Suddenly unwilling to be alone with Curzon, she looked around, seeking some sort of refuge. She realized she was hoping to se Pelham, though she wasn’t sure why. But he was nowhere in sight.

“Come, I’ve had my second favorite pair hitched. They’re sweet-goers, too.” He turned her toward a curricle just wheeling into view, drawn by a beautiful pair of strawberry roans. The carriage was painted exactly the color of the horses and picked out in cream trim. Davida was distracted by her admiration of this showy rig. She petted the fine animals and talked to them as Curzon waved the last of his guests good-bye. Uneasiness forgotten, she willingly let herself be helped into the vehicle.

Admiration of his team and pleasant reflections on the outing gave them sufficient topic for small talk for the first part of the journey. Then, to her surprise, Curzon suddenly turned off the main road into a country lane just before they entered the outer perimeter of London. He set the brake on the curricle and dropped the reins.

“What are you doing?” Davida turned alarmed eyes upon a suddenly grim-faced escort.

“Don’t be frightened, Davie. That’s what Pelham calls you, isn’t it? I only wish to be private with you a moment.”

“Well, I don’t wish to be private with you. It is getting dark. My parents will worry.”

“This will only take a few moments.” His hands suddenly grasped her shoulders firmly and turned her toward him. “I want to talk to you about what happened on the lakeshore this afternoon.”

“Lord Pelham said you were put off by that. I am sorry if you are disgusted by the discovery that I have interests other than gowns and balls. I’m not a bluestocking in disguise, if that is what you are thinking. But I do find many things interesting.”

Curzon sneered. “I know you ain’t a bluestocking, and I have no objections to your intellectual interests. Indeed, a young woman with more hair than wit would bore me senseless.”

“Then what?” Mystified, Davida searched the strong, regular features, hardened by intense emotion—barely suppressed anger, she guessed.

“I don’t like coming in second, Davida. I would have been very annoyed to have lost the race this afternoon. But that would be a small matter indeed to being second in my wife’s affections.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Davida found Curzon’s hands hurtful and struggled to free herself.

“I am talking about your obvious affection for Pelham. Or Monty, as you call him. You
do
call him Monty, don’t you Davida, and let him call you Davie, though you insist
I
call you Miss Gresham! No wonder Elspeth is jealous.”

Davida was left speechless by this, mouth open but no ready retort coming to mind. Now she understood his ill humor. He was jealous of Pelham.

“In case it has escaped your notice,
Miss
Gresham, I have been courting you in dead earnest, and you have behaved as if you were free to entertain my suit, but you are not, are you?” He gave her a brief, angry shake, his fingers digging into her shoulders.

Davida drew in her breath and bit at her lower lip. Her heart was racing with alarm, but she felt it was time for plain speaking.

“I do like Lord Pelham. He is my friend. Perhaps I might have wished that he would be more to me, but he loves Elspeth very much. I’d be a fool to place my affections there.”

“And you are no fool, are you, Davida?” Curzon’s lips curled with sarcasm. “But can affections be so wisely withheld or bestowed? Rather, aren’t you merely keeping a highly eligible suitor on the string in spite of the fact that you can feel nothing for him.”

“Before one’s affections are deeply engaged, yes, I believe they can be wisely bestowed—or withheld. In spite of the opinion of many males, we females
are
capable of rational behavior, though I could never marry where I felt no affection.” Davida spoke firmly.

“Now let me go and turn these horses around.” A long silence followed as her tormentor stared into her eyes as if he would bare her very soul. At last he drew a deep breath, and his fingers eased their grip.

“Then bestow your affections on me, pretty sprite. They will be very wisely bestowed, I promise you.” Curzon drew her to him, bending his head to kiss her. She attempted to turn away, so he trailed kisses along her jaw line and down her neck.

“Don’t,” she hissed, turning indignantly. To her surprise, she found she had no wish to be kissed by Harrison Curzon. But he wasn’t paying any attention to her wishes. His hand came up to catch her chin and hold her still while his lips pressed hers firmly.

Davida froze. She’d never been kissed by a man before, really kissed. If this was kissing, it was most unpleasant. Curzon’s mouth had looked full and soft, but now it felt hard against her lips, and the pressure increased as she resisted him, as if by force he would make her respond. She tasted blood as her lips were ground against her teeth.

She whimpered with the pain and he drew back. “Forgive me, Davie. It’s just that you excite me so.” His encircling arm was a steel band, and he lowered his other hand to mold her breast, pressing her tender flesh boldly. His eyes glittered with an emotion Davida had never seen before, but which she strongly suspected was lust. She remembered Pelham’s warning and began to be truly frightened.

This was the underlying truth behind all the proprieties she’d been taught and had observed out of obedience and a wish for acceptance: men were dangerous! The isolation of her situation terrified her. She looked around her wildly, but saw only high hedges on either side of a deserted lane.

Her eyes flashed with fear and she began to struggle violently. Surprised, Curzon loosened his hold. Pushing him away, she choked back a sob to demand, “Take me home!”

Curzon tried to soothe her. “You needn’t be alarmed, Davida. I’m not going to ravish you.” He reached out to draw her near him again. She panicked and slid out of the seat of the curricle.

“Devil take it, I didn’t mean to frighten you. Come back here. Look, I’ll turn the horses as soon as you settle in your seat.” He tried to grab her by the wrists, but by twisting them violently she managed to slide eel-like entirely out of the carriage.

The second her feet hit the ground Davida was running. She ran toward the London road as if demons were following her. But she couldn’t keep up the pace very long. Gasping for breath, she slowed to a walk, but kept on going, not daring to look around.

Harrison Curzon sat in his curricle completely discomposed. He’d obviously frightened Davida Gresham out of her wits, which was certainly not what he’d intended. Perhaps he had been a little rough with his love-making, but he’d never had any complaints before. Still, she was a complete innocent. He ran a hand through his blond curls distractedly. Now what was he to do? He truly cared for the little brunette, who now looked as though she were determined to walk back to London.

He pulled up beside her with his curricle. Davida knew she couldn’t outrun him, but she kept on walking as fast as her feet would take her.

“Davida Gresham, do you mean to walk to London?”

She made no reply. With a sigh, Curzon again braked his team and climbed down to run after her. At this she did begin to run again, but he caught up with her quickly and spun her around. The look in her eyes made him back off.

“Davida, I won’t molest you again. I swear it. I just got carried away. You can’t walk back to London, you know. Now get in the carriage and let me take you home before your parents have spasms.”

Davida stood trembling, listening to him and observing his expression. He seemed honesty contrite. It was true enough that she couldn’t walk all the way to London.

“Swear on your honor you’ll not touch me again.”

“Only to assist you into the carriage.”

Davida eyed him measuringly for a long while and then hesitantly returned to her seat, trembling all over. True to his word, Curzon immediately gave the restive horses a flick of his whip. He set a spanking pace, glancing at his passenger’s set white face from time to time.

“Davida, hasn’t your mother explained anything to you? I became aroused by your beauty, your nearness. It is a man’s nature.”

She turned her face away with a half-stifled sob.

“You know my intentions are honorable. I want you to be my wife. In fact, I’ll offer for you this very evening. Please look at me, Davida, and say you forgive me.”

Her mouth throbbed where his lips had pressed hers against her teeth, her shoulders ached where he had grasped her, and her wrists felt bruised where his fingers had circled them. Add to that the indignity of that intimate caress—how dare he touch her there! Far from forgiving him, she wished him to perdition, but feared to say so. Having learned that men were dangerous, she was careful to avoid doing or saying anything to provoke him. She kept her head averted from him, fighting back the tears but saying nothing.

He didn’t speak again. The drive home was silent. Curzon’s expression mirrored his grim realization that he’d given her a disgust of him. In the gathering darkness he put all of his energies into tooling the curricle as nimbly as possible through city streets from which the light was rapidly fading. When they reached Davida’s home it was all but dark.

Before Curzon could come around to assist her, Davida was already out of the curricle. He caught her halfway up the steps. “I’ll come in and speak to your father now.”

“No.” Davida turned and faced him squarely, her usually merry face stern. “There’s no need.”

“There’s every need.”

“I’d rather you wouldn’t. We will not suit.”

“Davida, please.”

“And I never gave you permission to use my first name,
Mr.
Curzon.” With that Davida turned and ran toward the waiting footman. He held the door; within, Perry’s round face showed concern. “Miss Davida. Your parents are that worried!”

“Where are they, Perry?”

“In the drawing room, miss.”

Davida raced into the room and into her mother’s enfolding arms. Unknown to her, Curzon had followed her. She heard her father angrily confronting him. “What is the meaning of this, sir?”

“If I could speak with you alone, Sir Charles, I would like to explain.” Curzon towered over her father, but his manner was that of a supplicant.

Davida’s father looked from the tall blond man to his sobbing child, and he scowled darkly. “Perhaps you had best return tomorrow to do your explaining. I would like to talk to my daughter just now.”

Curzon turned toward Davida and Lady Gresham, his hand held out in silent pleading, but found no ally there. Indeed, the look Davida’s mother shot him would have frozen a statue. He dropped his hand and turned away. “Perhaps that would be best. But I
will
be here tomorrow. I would like to have your word that you’ll hear me out, sir.”

“You have it,” Sir Charles snapped. “Now if you will excuse us.”

He watched Curzon exit, and then approached his wife and sobbing daughter. How sweet was the comfort of his arms to Davida. The tears came quickly and both parents patted her and soothed her until the first storm was over. When at last she could speak, she lifted her eyes and looked at her father sadly. “Oh, Papa. I’ve just whistled down a fortune. I hope you are not angry with me.”

“Angry with you? I’ll call that young puppy out for this! What did he do to you?” Quickly Davida sketched the afternoon’s events for her parents.