Beguiled

He had left his home at the age of fourteen and hadn’t returned until the day of his brother’s funeral. He’d had news of his family over the years, and had been aware that George had married, but he’d never actually seen Lady Margaret until that day. There, standing at George’s graveside, he had set eyes on a woman so perfect that his knees had nearly given way from the shock. The remainder of the service passed as something of a blur; he’d been too busy trying to force the workings of his brain into some semblance of order to pay much attention to the proceedings. But it had been of little use. Whatever spell had befallen him at setting sight on Margaret Walford had taken hold, and had maintained its iron grip since. Every time he saw her the passion he felt seized him anew, as if it were the first time all over again. Even now, as she reclined before the warmth of the library fire, her head tilted lazily against the heavily cushioned chair, her eyes closed with weary languor, he stood in the shadows, watching, his heart pounding more frantically than it would ever do for any spectacle that his mistress, or any other woman, might perform for his pleasure. In her sleepy, slightly disheveled contentment, Margaret Walford wielded more power to stun than an avalanche.

“You had a pleasant evening, then?” he asked, wishing that he knew how to be comfortable with her, how to sit near her and converse the way another man might do. “Lily seemed happy enough.”

Opening her eyes, she smiled. “She did, didn’t she? I was so relieved when she finally danced. Before Lord Graydon arrived I thought the evening would be a complete disaster.” More thoughtfully, she added, “It wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, just as we knew it wouldn’t be, but she was so happy afterward. Having the handsomest man in the room for a partner in her first waltz must have been exactly like one of the dreams she’s so often told me about.” Lady Margaret’s smile grew wistful. “Like the dreams every girl has, I imagine. I only wish you had seen them together, Aaron. They made an enchanting couple, and Lily danced with perfection. You would have been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of Lily,” he replied, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey he held. “Graydon observed the proprieties?”

“Oh, yes. He’s everything that a young lord should be, quite perfect in every detail. I doubt there was a girl at Almack’s who wasn’t eaten alive with envy at his asking Lily—and only Lily—to dance.”

The sadness in her tone caused Cardemore to stiffen instinctively. “You disliked him, Margaret?”

“Of course not, Aaron. I hardly know the boy enough to disapprove of him. But I worry about Lily. I don’t want to be such a dismal naysayer, but—I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say this—I almost wish we could have gotten it all over with tonight instead of giving her a reason for hope. Even if Lord Graydon should follow through on his promise to take her driving, I’m afraid she’ll still be terribly hurt, perhaps during our next outing. Not one man who was introduced to her tonight would ask her to dance before Lord Graydon did. And then she was so afraid to dance with him that I had to make her do so.”

“She seems to have come through the experience well enough.”

Lady Margaret suddenly sat forward. “Yes, but—”

“We have to give her this chance, Margaret,” he said firmly. “We warned her and she didn’t want to listen, but experience is a far better teacher. After tonight she knows what she’s up against, and it’s her decision if she wants to go on or go home. Lily’s not a quitter. Or a weakling. If she were, I’d never have let her leave Cardemore Hall.”

Lady Margaret pinned him with the sort of tightly angry expression that always made him want to kiss the breath out of her. “Lily isn’t you, Aaron, or even remotely like you. She’s a naive, sheltered young woman. She wouldn’t be able to go through the kind of ‘experiences’ you’ve had and come out intact.”

Cardemore couldn’t repress the laughter her words caused. “My dear Lady Margaret, I hardly think you can compare a season in society to spending fifteen years in the company of pirates, thieves and murderers. I admit there are some daunting similarities among the main actors, but at least Lily need never worry that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell might stick a dagger between her shoulders if she doesn’t make a proper curtsy.”

“Words and deeds, Aaron, can be just as painful as a physical attack. In the hands of a Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, perhaps even more so.”

“Mrs. Drummond-Burrell,” remarked Cardemore, “attacks Lily at her own peril. You needn’t worry over the matter.”

Lady Margaret shook her head with clear dissatisfaction. “So we just let Lily go on until she meets with disaster, is that it? Tonight wasn’t humiliating enough. We must let her continue until polite society brings her to her knees?”

He’d been acutely in love with Margaret Walford during every minute that had passed since he’d set eyes on her, but there was something about moments like this, when she gave way to her hot Irish temper, that always made him think about what it might be like to take her to his bed and make love to her. Her unbound mahogany hair would be a glorious sight against the purity of snow-white sheets.

“Society won’t bring Lily to her knees,” he assured her with as bland a tone as he could muster. Walking out of the shadows, he set his empty glass on a nearby table with stark finality. “I’ll not allow it.”

Lady Margaret pushed to her feet and stood full height, her chin lifting stubbornly. “My lord, I understand a little about the power you wield, perhaps too little, but even you can’t make all of society obey you.”

“I don’t require that all of society do so. Only those few whom I deem necessary. And you’re quite right. Despite whatever I’m able to do in smoothing matters over, Lily must find her own way. I didn’t want her to come to London any more than you did, but we couldn’t very well bury her in Somerset when she didn’t want to be buried.”

“She wasn’t buried,” Lady Margaret countered. “She has friends there who love and accept her, and days filled with activities she enjoys. Her life has been full and happy.”

“Not enough, evidently, to keep her from dreaming of London,” he remarked quietly.

She gave a long sigh and, although he wasn’t watching, Cardemore could almost see the softening in her stance. She moved toward him, so near that he could hardly hear her speaking over the thunderous pounding of his heart in his ears.

“I know you’re right, Aaron. I only wish I could find a way to stop worrying on the matter. It’s been a long time since we’ve argued about Lily.” He heard the smile in her voice and felt an answering smile form on his own lips. “Do you remember how we used to fight over her?”

“I’ll never forget,” he said, chuckling. “The only times I’ve ever known real fear were when you greeted me with the words ‘My lord, I must speak with you.’”

They’d argued countless times about Lily, especially in the beginning, when he’d returned to Cardemore Hall after an absence of fifteen years to find himself responsible for not only his family’s titles and estates, but also for a small, pale, silent child who was brought to him by a serving maid only a few minutes after he’d arrived home. He’d never before seen the sister to whom his mother had died giving birth, although he’d learned about her, also about his mother’s passing, several months after both had occurred. His father hadn’t known what to do with a mute girl child, George had probably been too busy with his own affairs to give his young sister much thought, and Margaret hadn’t been allowed to interfere. Lily had been given into the care of the servants and, as long as she was kept clean and fed and out of the way, was mostly ignored. Despite the fact that her inability to speak in a normal voice had been caused by an unfortunate incident when she was but a tiny child, she was treated as if she’d been born an idiot. But Cardemore had known, from the moment he’d looked into her lively blue eyes, that an intelligent mind hid behind her silence.

For her part, Lily had taken in her elder brother’s dark, scarred face, his hulking size and his filthy clothes, and had smiled a smile of beguiling, welcoming sweetness, unwittingly making the first crack in a heart that had long since been pronounced unassailable. It had been his intention, until that moment, to see his brother buried, gain the title that he’d always disdained and promptly sell every thing of value before taking his spoils and returning to the life he’d chosen. As he stared into the trusting little face that reminded him so much of his mother’s, the idea evaporated as quickly as if it had never existed. He’d hated his father and his rigidly perfect brother and everything about the nobility that had made his mother age with such cruel rapidity; he’d come to hate everything associated with the name Cardemore; but perhaps he and Lily could make something out of the wreckage they’d inherited from their ancestors. They could certainly try.

Margaret made it easier when she insisted upon moving into Cardemore Hall with Isabel to run the household for him and to take over Lily’s care. She turned off the servants who found it impossible to treat their new master with respect and quickly put the fear of God into the rest. She loved Lily with a mother’s tender care, as well as with a mother’s vigilance. They’d fought over everything, from doctor’s opinions about Lily’s inability to speak to which teachers and methods would profit Lily the most. And when they weren’t arguing with each other, they were arguing with the doctors and teachers.

“Was I so fearsome?” Margaret asked in a low voice, so near to him that he could feel the heat emanating from her tall, elegantly curved form. “I have to admit that I didn’t trust you overmuch in the beginning. I was afraid, for years, that you would disappear the way you had when you were a boy. Lily adored you so much, she would have been badly hurt if you’d left. It was hard enough when you finally did go, although she was old enough then to understand how many duties you must perform as the Earl of Cardemore, and why you had to come live in London.”

He didn’t give a damn about his duties as the Earl of Cardemore and never had, which was a truth he devoutly hoped kept all his sainted ancestors continuously spinning in their respective graves. It had been she, Margaret, and the torture of being with her every day, loving and wanting her and not being able to bring himself to do so much as touch her, that had driven him away from Cardemore Hall five years ago. “I’ve tried to visit as often as I’m able,” he said. “If I thought Lily needed me, I’d stay for as long as necessary.”

“Oh, Aaron, I know that.” Gently, she set a hand over the one he pressed against the table. “You’ve been wonderful to Lily, and to Isabel and me. I’ve long since learned to trust you completely.”

He couldn’t speak. He could barely draw in breath. All he could do was stare at the cool, smoothly feminine hand pressed over his own ugly, hairy paw and feel a tingling sense of wonder.

“We’ve missed you, Aaron. Lily and Isabel and…me. All of us.”

Some long-honed instinct made him realize that the library door was about to open only a moment before it did. Pulling his hand free, he turned in time to see his butler enter the room.

“The gentlemen you were expecting have arrived, my lord. I’ve put them in your study.”

“Thank you, Willis. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Margaret was already gathering her things. “I’ll leave you to tend your business, Aaron. You do keep the strangest receiving hours.” She stopped at the library doors. “One night while we’re here, you must put a few hours aside and play a game of chess with me. Do you remember how we used to play?”

He nodded. “I remember that you generally beat me.”

She laughed. “My only area of victory over you.” She put her fingers on one of the door handles. “Good night, Aaron.”

“Margaret,” he said, stopping her. “Don’t worry about Lily. Everything is going to turn out very well, I promise you.”

She gazed at him for a searching moment. “I know better than to ask that you accompany us to any of the outings the girls have been invited to, but I would make one request of you.”

“Anything.”

“Will you dance with Lily at the girls’ comeout ball? I know it’s been a great many years since you had your lessons as a boy, but surely you remember enough to partner her in a country dance? It would mean a great deal to her.”

He let out a groaning sigh, knowing full well that if anyone else had asked this of him he’d have dismissed them without a thought.

“One dance,” Cardemore told her. “Only one.”

The warm smile she gifted him with before she left the room was more than worth the regret he felt at giving the promise.

Chapter Five

The early-morning air was bracingly cold, and the two lone men mounted on horseback in Hyde Park shrugged more closely into the warmth of their coats while their steeds moved impatiently beneath them.

“I hope you won’t mind me saying this,” said Lord Daltry, the words puffing small clouds into the air, “but this is the damnedest idea you’ve ever had.”

“I didn’t ask you to come along,” Lord Graydon replied calmly. “And I’m not keeping you here. Go home to your warm bed, if you like.”

“And leave you to the mercies of two country-bred females?” Lord Daltry asked with mock dismay. “What sort of friend would I be? Besides, you need me to occupy Lady Isabel while you make your apologies to Lady Lillian. I can’t see the chit keeping her mouth closed long enough for you to so much as say good-morning unless I keep her otherwise engaged.”

Lord Graydon smiled. “You’re a good fellow, Matthew, but I’m perfectly capable of managing two young females without any help, thank you.”

“You might be able to handle Cardemore’s sister,” Lord Daltry agreed affably, “but I’d wager a pony you can’t handle Lady Isabel Walford, even if you could catch up to her long enough to get her attention, which is unlikely.” He shifted in his saddle and scanned the horizon. “The girl rides like a demon. Not even the grooms can keep up with her.”

Lord Graydon looked at him with surprise. “You’ve seen her ride?”

A stain of color crept across Lord Daltry’s handsome face. “Ah, well…yes, I have. Yesterday, as it happens.” At his friend’s accusatory grin, he added insistently, “Cerberus needed exercising.”

“At this ungodly hour?” Graydon asked, laughing. “Matthew, in all the years we’ve been acquainted, I’ve never known a mere horse to get you up so early. Certainly not when you could just as well send a groom to exercise him.” Leaning toward his discomfited friend, he added in a conspiratorial tone, “Lady Isabel’s caught your interest, has she?”

“That mannish female?” Lord Daltry was indignant. “Have you lost your senses? The very idea makes me shudder.”

“I found her to be quite charming,” said Graydon.

“Charming,” Daltry grumbled, “is not the word Lady Isabel brings to mind. God’s feet, here she comes. Look! Do you see?”

Graydon saw, and gave out a soft whistle as a slender, sapphire-clad figure, bowed low over the neck of a magnificent black steed, raced full out across the empty park.

“What did I tell you?” Lord Daltry demanded angrily, pulling up his horse’s head. “Dratted female’s going to break her neck.”

“She’s magnificent,” Graydon declared with admiration. “What a seat—she must’ve been born in the saddle.”

“Seat, my eye,” Daltry said. “What her seat needs is a good paddling. Of all the foolish, brainless—Damnation! She’s not going to take that fence?”

Graydon opened his mouth to reply that, yes, indeed, she was, but never said a word. Daltry had already taken off after the girl, presumably to rescue her from harm. The effort would prove a needless one, Graydon imagined, as it was obvious that Lady Isabel was a skilled rider. Returning his attention to the direction from which Lady Isabel had appeared, he was greeted by the sight of Lady Lillian, followed by two grooms, riding at a more sedate, ladylike pace. She had seen and recognized him and now was gazing at him warily, clearly uncertain as to whether she should continue on or turn back.

“Lady Lillian,” he said when they’d neared each other, “what a fortunate occurrence. Good morning.”

God’s mercy, he thought as his senses registered her beauty anew. She was almost too good to look at. The proper black riding outfit she wore only served to accentuate her white-blond hair and crystalline eyes. Such beauty would certainly gain her favor in the eyes of any normally blooded gentleman, while with the ladies of the ton…well, some of them were bound to be obdurately jealous. He began to ponder how he would manage to get around those particular ladies when he belatedly realized that he and Lady Lillian were simply sitting in silence, and that her expressive face had taken on a look set somewhere between caution and embarrassment. She lifted one hand suddenly toward her wrist, as if to grasp hold of something—her glove, he thought, or perhaps a bracelet—then stopped, biting her lower lip with obvious distress.

With a mental shake, Graydon smiled too brightly and said, in an equally bright tone that made him inwardly cringe, “What a pleasurable accident to have met you here.”

Oh, gad, he thought as her eyes filled with bewilderment. He’d already said something like that. He’d never known, until that moment, how much he always depended on women to make conversation.

He was about to speak again, to say only heaven knew what, since he didn’t have an idea, when she lifted one gloved hand and touched her lips, tentatively, with her forefinger. She hesitated as color mounted in her cheeks, and then she pointed at him, then at some flowers beneath a nearby tree and then at herself. Pressing her hand flat above her left breast, she made a slight bowing motion with her head.

“Oh,” said Graydon, mortified that he was unable to understand whatever it was she was trying to tell him. This was horrible. He felt like an idiot. “Uh…yes.”

Her face was flaming now, but she drew in a breath and repeated the motions, pointing first at him, then the flowers, then herself. By the time she finished, realization had blissfully struck.

“The flowers I sent?” he asked. “You liked them?” When she nodded he uttered a laugh, relieved. Unable to keep the grin off his face, he said, “I’m glad if they brought you pleasure.”

She placed her hand over her heart and made the bowing gesture again, and he said, “You’re very welcome.”

Her answering smile made him feel dizzy, as it had on the floor at Almack’s, and a flood of reassurance waved through him. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be quite as bad as he’d thought.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, and she tilted her head questioningly. “It isn’t by accident that I met you here this morning. I knew that you and Lady Isabel ride here every day at this time, and I purposefully came and waited, hoping to meet you.” The wariness was back on her face again, mixed with surprise. “I owe you an apology for my behavior at Almack’s two nights ago, and I wanted to make those apologies without anyone else present. I was afraid that perhaps you might be further distressed if I expressed such sentiments before others.”

Her brow furrowed, as if she didn’t understand him, and then, pointing at him, she shook her head slowly and firmly.

“No?” he asked. “It wouldn’t have distressed you?”

A silent laugh crossed her lips and she shook her head again, making it plain that he hadn’t understood. For a moment she was thoughtful, then, she set the reins she held in her lap and lifted both hands, smiling at him in a manner that invited him to join her world of silent symbols. Graydon nodded, leaning forward in his saddle to watch what she did.

Entwining the forefingers of each hand, she rotated her hands in smooth, swirling motions.

“Dancing?” Graydon guessed, and she nodded.

“Us, dancing?” he asked. She shook her head and mouthed the word Almack’s.

“Ah, Almack’s. I see.”

One forefinger fell away, leaving the other alone. Making an exaggeratedly sad face, Lady Lillian pointed at herself and gave a sigh. The lone forefinger bobbed over to one side and bent into what Graydon assumed was a sitting position.

“There you are, sitting alone at Almack’s, while others are dancing?” he ventured.

Lady Lillian nodded again, and gave another hefty sigh. Turning her head suddenly, she gave a look of surprise at the sight of her other forefinger, which she’d lifted high and straight some distance from her other hand. This time she made a gasping sound. When Graydon began to laugh she gave him a stern look and poked the straightened forefinger at him.

“Oh, that’s me, is it?” he asked, still chuckling.

She nodded very firmly before resuming the surprised expression as the straight forefinger marched across the air to the sad, sitting forefinger. The straight finger bowed politely, to which the sitting finger reacted with shy reluctance, all of which Lady Lillian deftly reflected through her facial expressions coupled with her hand movements. Graydon watched, fascinated, as the two fingers enacted with precision their encounter at Almack’s. He found it difficult to tear his gaze away from her animated face, which so rapidly and easily expressed the changing emotions of both characters in her little play. She was kinder to him than he deserved, he thought, since his character seemed to be a mainly noble being possessed of stoic expressions and gentlemanly behavior. By the time his finger-figure marched out of the imaginary Almack’s, he had somehow managed to transform her sadly sighing little finger into a happily sighing finger. Dropping her hands, her face suffused with a blush, Lady Lillian looked to see if he understood.

“My apologies,” he said slowly, “evidently aren’t necessary?”

With obvious relief, she shook her head.

“You are very kind, Lady Lillian. I was afraid, perhaps, that my indecorous behavior had embarrassed you or given you the wrong impression. It is true that I didn’t realize you are mute until we were dancing, but I assure you that my distress at the knowledge was in no way directed toward you. You were a delightful partner in every way. It is my fondest hope that you will be kind enough to gift me with many more such pleasures during your stay in London.”

The blush bloomed more brightly, and Lady Lillian’s lovely features took on a childlike mixture of embarrassment and delight that charmed Graydon right down to the soles of his feet.

The sound of angry voices signaled the approach of Lady Isabel and Lord Daltry, and Lady Lillian and Graydon turned their horses about.

“My lord,” Lady Isabel said without waiting for Graydon to greet her, “will you please tell this mutton-headed acquaintance of yours to return the control of my horse to me?” As an afterthought, and having given Lord Daltry a withering glare, she added, “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my lady,” Graydon replied calmly, noting that Lord Daltry did, indeed, hold the reins to Lady Isabel’s mount in his hands. “Taken to horse stealing, have we, my lord?”

The look Lord Daltry set upon him could have melted a polar icecap. “Any female who rides the way this particular female does shouldn’t be allowed to get within ten feet of a horse.”

Lady Isabel’s gloved hands curled into fists. “Oh! You ignorant, jealous…”

“Jealous!” Lord Daltry repeated.

“…rude idiot! You’re only angry because I was able to outride you so well,” Lady Isabel charged hotly, tugging on her reins to no avail. “Yes, jealous!”

“Will you kindly keep your voice down?” Lord Daltry demanded. “You’re unsettling the horses. I realize it’s probably beyond your country-bred abilities to act like a gentle lady, but you can at least strive to speak like one.”

“Ahem.” Graydon loudly cleared his throat. “I believe you’re the one who’s shouting rather over loudly, old man.” He indicated the two grooms who sat on their horses at a proper, albeit within hearing, distance. “And from what I observed earlier, Lady Isabel is an excellent rider.”