Ravishing in Red (39 page)

Something shivered through her. Anger? Fear? He had never before felt someone’s spirit react like he did in that moment.

Those lashes rose. It was not the face that told him for certain. Not its oval shape or her dark hair or rose of a mouth. Rather it was the resignation and sorrow and hint of rebellion in her blue eyes.

“
Damnation, Verity
. It
is
you.”

“
I
f she is not down here in two minutes I am going up there. I swear that I will tear this house down with my bare hands if I have to and—”

“Calm yourself, sir. I am sure there has been a misunderstanding.”

“Calm myself?
Calm myself?
My missing wife, assumed dead for two years, has been living the sweet country life here, mere miles from London, knowing full well the world was looking for her, and you say I should
calm myself
? Let me remind you, Mrs. Joyes, that your role in this borders on criminal and that—”

“I will not listen to threats, Lord Hawkeswell. When you have composed yourself enough to have a civil discussion, send word to me. In the meantime, I will be at the top of the stairs, with my pistol, should you think to be brutish.” Mrs. Joyes floated her ethereal, pale elegance out of the sitting room.

Summerhays had been poking in cabinets. “Ah, here is some port. Stop that infernal pacing and get that temper of yours under control, Hawkeswell. You are in danger of being an unforgivable ass.”

He could not stop pacing. Or looking at the ceiling toward where
that woman
had taken refuge. “If ever a man in the history of the world had an excuse to be an ass, Summerhays, it is I. She has made a fine one out of me anyway, so I lose little in playing the part.”

“No glass. This will have to do.” He held a delicate teacup in one hand and poured the port. “Now, drink this and count to fifty. Like old times, when you got like this.”

“I will look idiotic drinking out of that—Oh, what the hell.” He grabbed the cup and downed its contents. It didn’t help much at all.

“Now, count.”

“I’ll be damned if—”

“Count. Or I will end up having to thrash sense into you and it has been many years since your temper forced that on me. One, two, three . . .”

Gritting his teeth, Hawkeswell counted. And paced. The red drained out of his head but the anger hardly dimmed. “I don’t believe that Mrs. Joyes did not know who she was. Or that your wife did not.”

“If you dare to imply again that my wife lied in saying she was ignorant, I will not finish with you until you need a wagon to bring you back to town,” Summerhays said dangerously.

“Don’t forget, as you remember old times, that I give as well as I get, or better.” Hawkeswell bit back his fury and paced out his count. “What the bloody hell is this place?” he asked when he got to thirty. “Who takes in a stranger and does not even ask her history. It is insane. Mad.”

“It is a rule here, not to ask. Apparently Mrs. Joyes has cause to know there are often good reasons why women deny their histories and leave their pasts behind completely.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Can’t you?”

Hawkeswell stopped pacing and glared at Summerhays. “If you imply that she had reason to be afraid of me, I swear that I will call you out. Bloody hell, she barely knew me.”

“That alone might make some women fearful, I expect.”

“You are talking nonsense now.”

Summerhays shrugged. “You are only at forty-five.”

“I am fine now.”

“Let us keep it neat.”

Hawkeswell stomped five more steps. “There. Now, I am all becalmed. Go tell Mrs. Joyes that I
demand to speak to my wife, damn it
.”

Summerhays folded his arms and inspected him carefully. “Another fifty, I think.”

 

 

 

 

L
izzie sat on her bed, listening to the bellows of indignation coming from below. She would have to go down there soon. She could be forgiven, she thought, for taking a few minutes to prepare herself, and to accommodate herself to the notion of prison before the gaol door actually closed.

She had been a sentimental fool. She should have left as soon as Audrianna agreed to marry Lord Sebastian last spring. Or at least last week, after her twenty-first birthday passed. She had known that she had a war to fight once she came of age. Now she might not be able to fire a single shot.

Hawkeswell would have found her eventually when she returned to the world. There would have been no way to avoid that. However, she had planned to be among people who knew her and who would help, and she would have been prepared for him. Dallying in this house had brought catastrophe, and she might find herself imprisoned by that marriage after all this effort to avoid it.

She stopped castigating herself. It had not been mere sentiment that made her put off her departure. She had not really been a fool. Love had kept her here, more love than she had known in years. She could be excused for surrendering to the lure of spending one final week with her dear friends, all of them together one last time. The news that Audrianna would visit had come the very day she planned to say good-bye, and it had been enough to vanquish her weak resolve and growing fear.

Stomping shook the house. Another curse penetrated the floorboards. Hawkeswell was in fine form.

That was to be expected of any man making such an unexpected discovery, but she had always suspected he had more of that male fury than most. She had surmised at once that they would not suit each other when they first met. They never would now, that was certain. He was in league with Bertram in all of this, of course. And she had humiliated him by running away and not dying for real.

A delicate rap on her door sought her attention. She did not want to face her friends any more than she wanted to face the man spilling curses below, but neither could be avoided. She bid them enter.

They came in wearing expressions much as she expected. Audrianna was wide-eyed with astonishment beneath her fashionably dressed chestnut hair, but then she was too good to imagine a woman daring such a thing. Celia, who probably could imagine women doing any manner of things, appeared merely very curious. And Daphne—well, Daphne was exquisite and pale and composed, as always, and did not seem very surprised at all.

Daphne sat beside her on the bed. Celia sat on the other side. Audrianna stood in front of her.

“Lizzie—” Audrianna began. She caught herself as the name emerged, and flushed.

“I have thought of myself as Lizzie for two years. I suppose that you should call me Verity now, however. I expect I had better get used to it again.”

Audrianna’s face fell, as if she had clung to the belief that this was all a mistake.

“Then he is correct,” Daphne said. Her tone indicated that she had rather hoped it was a mistake too. “There has been no error. You are the missing bride of Hawkeswell.”