Smuggler's Lady (34 page)

She was in the mood for battle when Lord Rutherford appeared in the drawing room half an hour after Devereux's departure.

“I must thank you for your kind note, Lord Rutherford,” she said stiffly, ignoring both his smile and outstretched hand.

Damian's eyebrows went up and his hand dropped to his side. “Dear me,” he murmured. “I appear to have offended you. I wished only to be of assistance by explaining how you should deal with these unwelcome offers.”

“That was not what you hoped!” she snapped.

“No,” he agreed. “I hoped to teach you not to play tricks on me. Did I succeed?”

“I was not playing tricks,” she protested somewhat unconvincingly. “Anyway, if I was, it was your own doing. To be courted by fortune hunters is of all things the most degrading, particularly when one has no fortune. Why did you have to put it about that I was rich?”

He shrugged. “I felt you would prefer not to be thought of as a Keighley pensioner.”

“I would have preferred not to be thought of at all,” Meredith flashed.

“You refine too much upon it, my dear girl.” Damian walked over to one of the long windows overlooking the square. “Come here and see something much more interesting.”

How could he dismiss her distress so casually? She was
not
refining too much upon it. And if Lord Rutherford did not understand that, then Gerald Devereux did!

“Come over here, Merrie,” Damian repeated, turning from the window, crooking an imperative finger. “I have a surprise for you.”

“I have had my surfeit of surprises, thank you,” she said crossly, standing her ground.

“You are sulking again,” he chided gently. “Must I come and fetch you?”

“I am not sulking!” For some reason he had now made her feel like a silly little girl indulging in pointless obstinacy. It was most unfair when she was definitely the injured party.

Damian chuckled. “Your face, my love, is a picture, but I should tell you that I have no intention of quarreling with you further today. Now, will you please come here?” The soldier's crispness had entered his voice and Merrie sighed.

After a minute's hesitation, she crossed the room to look out of the window. A very sporty perch phaeton drawn by a pair of matched bays stood in charge of a groom at the front door. “Two of Cunningham's break-downs,” she was informed with a degree of gleeful satisfaction. “I was able to get them before they came on the open market. You will be the envy of more than the ladies, my love.”

“Those are for
me
to drive?” Merrie was momentarily diverted from her annoyance. It was, anyway, impossible to argue with Damian when he refused to enter the lists.

“Simply a loan,” he assured her in a voice as dry as fallen leaves.

“Yes, of course,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But I must change my dress.”

“You may have twenty minutes.” Satisfied that the danger had receded at least for the time being, Rutherford moved to a chair by the window.

Meredith returned within the quarter hour, drawing on a pair of York tan gloves. She had changed her muslins for a dark habit of severe cut. A velvet hat, turned up on one side, perched atop the auburn curls, kid half-boots encased small feet. Damian nodded in silent appreciation as he held the door for her.

“Tell me,” Meredith said with one of her deceptively sweet smiles as she took her place on the driving seat, “do you accompany me on this occasion as instructor or companion?”

“I am honored, Lady Blake, that you should be so kind as to take me up,” he responded promptly.

Merrie's lips twitched. “To the devil with the park. Let us go directly to Highgate. I do not like to be at odds with you, and it seems the only place these days where we do not quarrel.”

“Once around the park first. I daresay it will be thronged at this hour, and I have a lively desire to see the effect you will have.”

“You wish it known that you acquired Cunningham's break-downs,” Merrie accused shrewdly and Damian chuckled.

“Several others had their eye on them, I admit.”

“Men!” Merrie raised her eyes heavenward. “You are such little boys under that grand, powerful exterior. You are as bad as Rob with a winning marble.”

“How are they? Have you heard?” He did not trouble to defend himself from such an accurate accusation.

“A letter from Hugo, just a scrawl from the other two,” Meredith replied. “Theo hopes to make the First Eleven next cricket season, and Rob is hungry.”

Damian gave a shout of laughter. “I remember the feeling only too well. I must send him supplies for his tuck box.”

“Nan and I sent a fruitcake and shortbread,” Merrie told him. “But I am sure that will not be enough to keep the wolf at bay. It has to be shared amongst twenty of them, I understand.”

“Do not worry on that score,” Damian assured her. “His consequence will increase to such an extent he will consider the sharing more than worth the sacrifice.”

They had passed through the Stanhope Gate into Hyde Park by this time, and Meredith was obliged to pull up every few yards to greet acquaintances, who exclaimed in a suitably gratifying manner over her equippage, complaining mightily over the march Rutherford had stolen.

“Satisfied?” Meredith asked as they completed the circuit.

“More than satisfied. You are a capital whip, Merrie Trelawney. I have not experienced one moment's unease.”

“Are you trying to provoke me, my lord?”

“In no wise,” he protested. “It is the last thing I wish to do. To Highgate, and make all speed.”

“My dear, are you feeling quite the thing?” The Duchess of Keighley looked at Meredith with some concern. The girl seemed unusually listless this afternoon and was certainly not looking her best, a fact which upset her grace since Meredith's presence at this tea party for the duchess's most favored cronies was designed in some way as a presentation. Remembering her son's instructions, she had, of course, not hinted at this ulterior motive, but Arabella was well aware of the facts and her mother had rather relied upon the marchioness to ensure Meredith's attendance in all her usual beauty.

“Of course, your grace,” Meredith returned automatically, smiling with hoped-for enthusiasm. “It is most kind in you to invite me this afternoon.”

“Not at all. You are quite one of the family, after all,” her hostess said briskly.

Meredith stiffened, and her smile lost some of its spontaneity. The doors seemed to be closing on her from every side. She met only kindness, but that kindness was beginning to suffocate her as the assumptions underlying it became increasingly obvious. Since her return from Belvoir there had been no opportunity to put into practice the plan that would hopefully extricate her from this tangle of Damian's making. And if the truth were told, her spirit shrank from creating the monumental stir that would be necessary if she were to achieve her object. It was a splendid plan on paper, but the reality that would involve her friends in embarrassment was much harder to stomach. Maybe she would try just once more to get Damian to see the light. Fundamentally, he was a perfectly reasonable individual—a little too accustomed to having his own way, but then that could be said of her too. Meredith was never less than honest about herself. And if he truly loved her as he said he did, then surely he would grant her the peace that would bring them both happiness.

“You are distracted, love,” Arabella whispered under cover of the teapot. “Lady Brigham was talking to you for at least ten minutes and you hardly responded. Have you the headache?”

“No. I beg pardon, Bella.” Merrie pulled herself together hastily, turning to an elderly dowager in a purple turban, offering an encouraging comment on Lord Byron's latest poem. One could never be sure, of course, whether
Marmion'
s notorious and eccentric author was an acceptable subject for conversation amongst such high sticklers, but his poems were generally considered respectable topics for discussion.

“Forgive me, love,” Bella said, once they were in the barouche returning to Cavendish Square, “but is anything the matter? Mama was most concerned. She said you were sadly out of looks today.” Bella smiled wryly. “For which I am held responsible, of course.”

“That is hardly fair.” Merrie sighed. “Your mama, Bella, is a formidable lady, but she has been most kind to me. I wish I did not feel that I was betraying her kindness—and yours and the marquis's, also.”

“Fustian!” Bella declared vigorously. “Why should you think such a thing?”

“Because I will
not
marry your brother,” Meredith said firmly, “and I know full well that that is what your mother hopes. And you, also?” She raised her eyebrows interrogatively.

Arabella played with the yellow silk ribbands of her lavender chip hat. “It is what we all hope because it is what Rutherford wishes, and I cannot imagine anyone I would liefer have for a sister.”

“Tell me, Bella, what would your mother say if she knew the truth about me?” Meredith fixed her companion with a direct stare, under which Bella's eyes dropped.

“She must never find out,” she replied candidly. “There is no reason why she should, is there? Only Damian and I know about the smuggling, and you have no relatives to reveal that the Blakes were not in some way related to Matthew Mallory.”

“Only my brothers, who will never believe such a Banbury story,” Merrie retorted.

“Rutherford said—” Bella began tentatively, and then her voice faded as Meredith's eyes crackled in that alarming fashion.

“Do go on, Bella,” she prompted silkily.

Arabella sighed. “He said that your brothers were perfectly sensible and could safely be taken into your confidence on that score. He said that they would understand that your pride made such a fabrication necessary.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Merrie muttered ominously. Damian obviously didn't know Rob as well as he thought.

“Oh, dear, Merrie, now I have made you cross, and Rutherford will be vexed with me for telling you what he had said.” Bella sounded genuinely distressed, and Meredith made haste to reassure her that she was not at all annoyed. In fact, this further evidence of Rutherford's determination to manipulate Merrie into the position he wished merely wearied her. She would have it out with him when she made one last attempt to get him to see reason. Until then there was little point in fretting over one more pinprick.

Something that did give her reason for fretting occurred later that evening at a soirée given by the Countess of Maudsley. Merrie had gone to some considerable effort to shake off the languor that seemed to plague her these days everywhere except in the house at Highgate and was rewarded by Arabella's obvious relief at this return of the bright and cheerful companion and guest to whom she had become accustomed. At one point in the evening, Merrie observed brother and sister deep in conversation, and, if the looks cast in her direction were anything to judge by, it was not hard to guess the subject under discussion. Damian was looking unusually grave, and Meredith deduced that Arabella was telling him of their conversation that afternoon. Somehow, it seemed to add to her annoyance, to be treated as if she were an awkward child whose treatment by responsible adults needed to be concerted. Her chin went up and she greeted Gerald Devereux with a particularly ravishing smile.

In recent days, she had been carefully circumspect in her dealings with this gentleman, always ensuring that they met only in company and keeping the conversation light and frivolous. Tonight, however, she threw caution to the winds, responding to his flirtatious sallies in kind. The slight frown between Rutherford's expressive brows whenever he looked in her direction was distinctly satisfying. Not that he would be foolish enough to be jealous, of course, but it would do him no harm to feel a little uneasy for once. Unfortunately, the tactic backfired.

Meredith made the mistake of allowing Devereux to escort her into a quiet salon alongside the music room where the sounds of an imperfectly played harp twinged painfully.

“I fear I have no ear for fine music,” she declared with the mischievous chuckle she would have given Rutherford. “It seems to set my teeth on edge. I must thank you for recognizing my predicament so promptly.”

“It is one I share,” he responded with a solemnity belied by the laughing eyes. “May I procure you a glass of champagne?”

“If you please.” Meredith, left alone in the salon, smiled to herself. In the absence of Rutherford, Devereux was quite the most amusing companion and seemed refreshingly unshockable in addition to that pleasant sympathy he evinced. She greeted his return with smiling thanks for the champagne. “We should, perhaps, rejoin the party, Mr. Devereux, before our absence is remarked.”

“In one minute.” He laid an arresting hand on her bare forearm and Merrie couldn't hide her jump. “I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to startle you,” he said quietly, “but what I have to say cannot come as a surprise to you, Meredith.”

Merrie cursed the self-indulgent idiocy that had landed her in this mess. “It would be better left unsaid, sir,” she responded, seeing no gain in pretending to misunderstand him.

“I am in love with you,” he declared simply. “Will you tell me that I may not hope?”

“Yes.” It seemed kinder to settle for brutal honesty at the outset. “There is no possibility of anything other than friendship between us, Mr. Devereux.”

“Will you tell me why?” He looked genuinely distressed and her heart ached for him. He had done nothing to deserve unkindness from her.

“I do not love you, my friend.” Her hand lightly brushed his satin-clad arm. “I am sorry for it, but—”

“I have a rival?” He smiled quizzically.

Meredith thought rapidly. It would certainly provide a face-saving way out of this for both of them. “There is someone at home,” she admitted, lowering her eyes.

“In Cornwall?”

She nodded. Cornwall was far enough away for safety. For the majority of the ton, it existed on another planet. “We should return to the drawing room, Mr. Devereux.”

“Yes.” With a bow, he took both her hands, raising them to his lips, his eyes smiling sadly. “You will not deprive me of your company as a result of my—my premature declaration?”

Meredith shook her head, unable to think of a suitable response. She would have to work out a plan for dealing with this in the kindest and most definite way possible, but she could not do that here in Devereux's company.

He escorted her back to the drawing room, leaving her immediately. She watched as he made his farewells to his hostess and took his departure on the instant.

“That was not very wise, Merrie.”

She swung round at Damian's low-voiced statement. “I beg your pardon, Lord Rutherford?”

“I think you heard me,” he said. “And you know quite well to what I refer. To go apart in that particular manner with Devereux can only give rise to comment. What can you have been thinking of?” “I do not need you to tell me how to behave,” she said icily. “I am long past the age of requiring such counsel.”

“You should be,” he agreed with a sudden, wicked grin. “But, as I know from experience, you will behave exactly as you see fit and to the devil with the proprieties. Fetch your cloak. I think you have the headache, and I must instantly convey you home.”

“What?” She stared at him, nonplussed by this extraordinary
volte-face.

“Home,”
he repeated with gentle emphasis, the gray eyes burning their message.

Home meant Highgate. “Dare we?” she whispered, looking around the crowded room. To escape this stuffy party for a night of illicit loving in their romantic hideaway was an utterly delicious thought, one that for the moment diverted her from her worries.

“Faint heart,” he mocked.

“I will fetch my cloak, my lord.”

Rutherford's town chaise deposited them in Cavendish Square, from where they strolled in cousinlike and respectable fashion into the side streets where Damian hailed a hackney. Upon hearing his destination, the jarvey beamed, closing the door on his passengers and climbing onto his box, muttering his satisfaction at the length of the journey and his fare. In the carriage's dark interior, Damian, in his own inimitable fashion, set about dispelling the tension in the supple frame in his arms. They had been bickering on and off ever since their return from Belvoir, and it seemed that only when they were alone like this could they be at peace. It was hardly a prescription for long-term marital bliss, he reflected before firmly putting aside all such gloomy thoughts as he reveled in the soft fragrance that promised only exquisite delight at journey's end.

Meredith, even as she lost herself in the familiar, yet eternal excitement of his embrace, knew that tonight she was going to transgress the unspoken rules of their hideaway. The debacle with Gerald Devereux had been the last straw. In the face of his honesty, she had had to live the lie she lived with Rutherford's parents and Bella's husband. The game held no savor anymore, and her false position was become intolerable. Tonight, in Highgate, she would make her last attempt to extricate herself from this mess with dignity for them both. If Damian persisted in his obstinacy, then she had but two options. Either she forced him to agree to her removal to Highgate, or she returned to Cornwall. The latter possibility filled her with such a bleak premonition of loss that she could hardly bear to contemplate it. That left her original plan. She would be obliged to scandalize society to such an extent that all respectable doors would be closed to her. It would be painful for Arabella at first, but she would receive ready sympathy for having nurtured a viper at her bosom, and, once her troublesome guest had vanished into outer darkness, all would be well again.

In the pretty bedroom under the thatched roof, Rutherford straightened from the hearth where he had lit the kindling always laid ready in anticipation of their arrival whenever it should be. Merrie had made no attempt to remove her cloak and stood by the window, one hand holding aside the curtain as she gazed out at the clear, star-filled night sky. There was something about the set of her shoulders, the determined tilt of her chin that filled him with a prescient foreboding.

“What is it?” he asked quietly, moving behind her and reaching over her shoulder for the clasp of her cloak.

“You know quite well,” she said with dull simplicity. “I cannot continue in this way as I have told you over and over again. This time you must listen. I will not continue living this lie!”

“Then make it the truth,” he replied, removing the cloak and tossing it over a chair. “The solution is, as always, in your hands.”

“It is in
your
hands!” she said fiercely, twitching out of his hold. “All I ask is to be allowed to live here in Highgate. I must go home for the boys' holidays, of course, but can return here easily enough during term time. It would be perfect if only you would stop to consider alternatives to your own ideas for once.”

“So that is your plan.” Damian decided that he had had enough of being patient and reasonable with her. If Meredith wanted to sully the tranquillity of their haven with this conflict, then so be it. “I beg leave to inform you, ma'am, that it will not do at all. You seem to have forgotten that this entire arrangement was at your suggestion, and, for as long as you remain in London, Meredith, present conditions will persist.”