Defiant Angel (14 page)

"Now, now, Carolyn, all will be right, you'll see."

Tiffany found a very nervous Alysse wringing her hands; her flushed face had a fearful look on it. Spying Tiffany, Alysse let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Tiffany, whatever am I to do? All of these sophisticated people are friends of Kent." Tiffany scanned the crowd, noting she was unfamiliar with many of the guests as well.

"I must appear the country mouse to them."

"Nonsense, Alysse, you look spectacular."

"Do you think so, Tiffany?" Alysse smiled at Tiffany's nod, feeling decidedly better. "Oh, Tiffany, here comes Kent. Do I look all right?"

Tiffany winked at her and turned just as Kent approached them with two other gentlemen.

Kent bowed to them. "Alysse, my sweet, may I present to you and Tiffany, Nigel Hardwich and Charles Wain-right."

Tiffany and Alysse lowered themselves in a deep curtsy.

"Tiffany, these fine gentlemen are your dinner partners, fresh from English shores." Tiffany smiled and extended her hand to each one.

"Alysse, my sweet, our host, the duke of Chablisienne, is in the upper salon, and I would honor him with your introduction." Kent turned to Tiffany. "Lady Courtland, I leave you in most capable hands." Kent bowed and, taking Alysse's hand, strolled away with her.

Tiffany breathed a sigh of relief. Thank God she wasn't called upon to pay tribute to the old man. With any luck, the pompous relic would remain closeted and not formally appear before his subjects!

"Lady Courtland." She smiled at the gentlemen, laying her hands upon their arms, walking into the dining room.

Seated between Nigel and Charles made dinner a delightful affair. The two very sophisticated gentlemen amused her with tales of adventure. As a result, dinner turned out to be quite enjoyable. That is, except for the presence of Mr. Barencourte, who sat across from her. He was flanked by two very sophisticated, very beautiful women, who, by their actions, appeared to be very familiar with, and comfortable in, his company.

Often she felt his gaze on her, and when she glanced up, she'd find him regarding her intently, a mocking smile etching his handsome face. She chose to ignore him but found it difficult, knowing he was observing her. During a brief respite between courses, Tiffany nonchalantly glanced down the length of the table, seeing if perhaps the duke had made a surprise appearance. Scan as she did, none of the guests remotely resembled her image of an old, gnarled, stooped man, wielding a walking stick.

When she glanced up, she found Clinton regarding her, a question poised in his smoky gray eyes. She quickly turned away and flirted shamelessly with her dinner partners.

"You say you'll be gracing England with your beauty soon."

She smiled at Charles, a blush staining her cheeks. "Yes, in less than two weeks I am scheduled to return."

"Well, we English have again defeated the French. England's gain, France's loss," remarked Nigel. Tiffany laughed, gaily bantering with them during the long dinner.

Clinton sat back observing Tiffany. Tonight she looked ravishing in the deep rose gown whose low-cut bodice afforded him a generous view of her young, ripe breasts. Midnight curls were loosely drawn up save for the errant wisps that framed her exquisite oval face. Her color rode high this eve, which he attributed to the heady wine she had consumed. Even his two friends, Nigel and Charles, were snared by her beauty, attracted to her rapier-sharp wit.

He smiled remembering the pleasant afternoon he spent with her. He knew he could spend the rest of his days in her company. She was emotion personified. Like the wind, she was spontaneous, ever-changing. She could be furious, with claws bared, when cornered, or cool, confident, when approaching a jump, proud and headstrong to a fault and vulnerable and defensive.

A tightening in his groin accompanied a train of more lustful thoughts. Chaneling all that passion and spirit to the bedroom was going to be challenging. By his hand he would show her the depths of her passion, teach her the roles of a lover, a mistress, a wife. The sound of Kent's voice broke through his thoughts.

Kent rose, a glass raised. "I'd like to propose a toast in honor of our host, who has so graciously extended his home to us this evening."

Tiffany absently raised her glass, her gaze moving from one guest to another in search of "our host." Again she glanced up and down the length of the table, noting all glasses raised, except one.

He grinned and inclined his head in acknowledgment to her. Seeing confused eyes regarding him, amusement lit his eyes. The shock of discovery hit Tiffany full force just as Kent's voice called out, "To His Grace the ninth duke of Chablisienne--Clinton Claremont Barencourte."

England, June 1818

"W
illiam!"

Earl Courtland turned his head to Winifred, who sat to his right.

"Excuse me, Winnie, I have many matters on my mind." He lifted his teacup, indicating he required a second cup. Godfrey efficiently complied with the unspoken request. After sipping the brew, William replaced the cup on its saucer. Wiping the corners of his mouth, he said, "Now, what was it you said?"

"I said I think a respectable period of time has passed since Lord Thurston's death and we should pay our respects to his son."

"Yes, of course. You'll handle the arrangements?"

"I have already, William. We're to visit this afternoon."

"This afternoon!" William threw his napkin on the table. "Impossible, Winnie! I have a thousand things to do, contracts to review, correspondence ..." William stood abruptly, pushing his chair out, looking at his sister-in- law. Seeing the determined expression on her face, he relented, "Very well, if you insist, you and Tiffany pay your respects." With that said, he stomped out of the room.

After Godfrey refilled Winifred's cup, he began to clear 123

away the earl's plates and carried them from the breakfast room. Winnie, holding her cup with both hands, sat contemplating William's recent behavior.

Something was amiss; her woman's intuition told her as much. She knew Lord Thurston had been a close friend of William's, and William was taking his death hard, but there was more. Ever since she and Tilfany had returned ten days ago, William's behavior was out of character, almost mysterious.

There was no doubt Tiffany's appearance had been a shock. Why, when she left, she was a young girl, and she had returned a young and very beautiful woman, possessing all the social graces of one of her class. William's mouth had been agape when Tiffany stepped out of the carriage, turned, and curtsied to him. He had been speechless. Winnie smiled, thinking William was seldom speechless. No, she shook her head in thought. She couldn't put her finger on it; there was an underlying current here, but for the life of her, she didn't know what it was.

"Good morning, Aunt." Winifred looked up, finding a bright-eyed Tiffany at her side. Tiffany leaned down, kissing Winifred's cheek, and then seated herself at a newly placed setting.

"Good morning, dear. Did you sleep well?" Winnie took in Tiffany's appearance. She was dressed in a white-and-pink-striped day gown. Her hair was drawn up from her face and plaited close to her head. Pink ribbon was intricately woven within the plait. Her cheeks had a faint blush to them and she looked fresh and lovely as morning dew.

Buttering a soft blueberry muffin, Tiffany looked up and replied, "Better than the previous nights. I imagine I have to get used to the bed. It's been years since I've slept on it."

Nibbling on the muffin, Tiffany reached for the teapot, filling her cup.

Grimacing at the taste of the brew, she gently laid her cup back on its saucer, reaching for the sugar, ladling two hefty spoons of sugar into it, mixing it with her spoon. Winifred watched Tiffany. She smiled to herself, wondering how her niece kept her trim figure with such a sweet tooth. Winifred began softly, "Tiffany, do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

Shaking her head while she delicately chewed a mouthful of muffin, Tiffany swallowed and replied, "No, Aunt Winnie, I thought only to ride later." Tiffany had ridden to the bluff every day since her return, hoping to meet Alan, but since his father's death, she had no chance to see him.

"Well, dear, I thought it appropriate if we pay our respects to Lord Thurston today. A proper amount of time has passed since the burial, and he should be receiving guests."

Tiffany nearly jumped for joy.

"Of course, Aunt Winnie. What time shall I be ready?"

"Teatime, dear." Winnie smiled seeing a bright smile light up Tiffany's face when she mentioned the Thurston name.

Tiffany was lost in thought. What shall I wear? My pink gown . . . No, the blue one shows off my eyes. Perhaps the lavender. Heavens no! Alan is in mourning. How about . . .

William sat behind his desk finishing the last of his correspondence. Withdrawing the betrothal contract from his desk, he scanned the form, thinking it odd the only dowry His Grace insisted upon was the bluff, a worthless stretch of property having no value to William's way of thinking, but he was not about to argue. For that matter, he did not protest over many of the strange "understandings" the duke insisted on. Hell, The duke of Wentworth was an extremely powerful man. William could not believe Tiffany had caught the eye of a duke. A duke whose blood ran bluer than most; a man who had been groomed to power and position at an early age.

A man who, at twenty-four, being the last surviving male heir to his French grandsire, Philip LaRougue, inherited the properties and title duke of Chablisienne. Five years later, his father, Bertram Barencourte, passed on, leaving the English title and property to his eldest issue, Clinton Barencourte. For the past three years Clinton Barencourte had held two of the highest titles, duke of Chablisienne and duke of Wentworth. A man that powerful and wealthy could be as eccentric as he wished, thought William. And he had indeed exerted his power and wealth in extracting the original contract from Winston Thurston by offering Winston free title to his properties, payment of all of Alan's markers, and a staggering sum of 150,000 pounds. Winston had seen the light and quickly shook hands on the deal, leaving William to negotiate with the duke for Tiffany.

For the most part, their negotiations had gone smoothly, with the understanding Tiffany was to retain her own dowry. William thought it foolish to allow any woman to be in control of money, but was silenced by the duke's piercing eyes. The bluff was part of the dowry Tiffany was to bring to the union, and finally, no word of the betrothal to Tiffany or anyone until the duke decided when it was to be announced. He was quite firm and unrelenting on these points. William readily accepted the terms of the betrothal, a betrothal that would forever tie the Courtland name to a powerful family.

William rose from his desk, walking to his safe, located behind the portrait of Amelia. Quickly turning the knob to the numbers of the combination, he opened the safe. Laying the contract within, he closed the door, replacing the portrait. He wandered to the window and happened to see Tiffany walking in the rose garden, picking roses, laying them in a basket she carried. He still could not get over the beauty that had blossomed over the last three years. It's no wonder she caught the eye of the duke, he thought. He turned from the window, sitting back down at his desk. He had observed her the last ten days since her return. The rebellious, unbiddable child he had sent to France had returned a beautiful young woman with perfect and acceptable social graces, in whose behavior he found no flaw. Evidently Winifred had tutored her in the proper conduct expected of her station. Withdrawing a contract he had yet to review, he pausing, thinking all was going quite well. Pushing his spectacles up, he began to read the contract, confident nothing would go amiss.

The coach swayed as they turned up the private drive to Thurston Manor. Tiffany's hand shook, her palms began to sweat, in anticipation of seeing Alan.

"Do I look all right, Aunt Winnie? You don't think the gown too ... ah, bright?"

Winnie smiled, watching her niece, giving her a thorough appraisal, noting how flattering the buttercup yellow contrasted against her raven hair. Smiling at Tiffany, Winnie remarked, "I think when your Alan sees you, all his sorrow will fly."

The coach drew up in front of the manor. A footman opened the door, placing a stool for their descent. Tiffany gathered her skirts, stepping down after Winifred. Looking up at the manor she hoped would someday be her home, Tiffany took a deep breath and prepared to ascend the steps to the front door, hoping to find the love and warmth she remembered.

The door was thrown open, and at its threshold stood Earl Alan Thurston. Tiffany's breath was taken away at the sight of him; her heart fluttered at the pleasant image he presented. The sun reflected the sandy red highlights of his light brown hair. He was well groomed--his jacket and pants chocolate brown, offset by a yellow waistcoat.

Alan walked from the threshold; his handsome face smiled warmly at her as he stepped down to clasp her hands in his. The gold in his amber eyes flickered with admiration as he gazed at the exquisite beauty before him. For a fleeting moment he questioned the wisdom of the choice he had made.

"Tiffany," he said, and gently cupped her face with his hands, bringing his mouth down upon hers in a light kiss.

Tiffany always wondered what their first kiss would be like. On occasion shed pressed her lips against her pillow, pretending it to be Alan. But this kiss, their first, while pleasant, was nowhere near the kiss in her dream. That kiss would be earth-shattering, not brotherly. She had never been kissed except by that fraud Barencourte, and, well, his kisses had been disturbing. She attributed Alan's lack of passion to the circumstances and Aunt Winnie's presence.

"It's good to see you again, Tiffany," Alan said, trying to force some formality into his words. "You have changed into a beautiful young woman."

Tiffany's heart sang as she heard the words she had dreamed. She smiled up at him innocently. "And you, Alan, ah . . . Earl Thurston, are still the man I dream . . . I remember." She gazed at the button of his waistcoat and, suddenly remembering her aunt, said, "Where are my manners!" Turning to Winifred, she began, "Aunt Winifred, may I present Earl Alan Thurston."

Alan turned to accept Winifred's hand, placing a kiss on it. "Now, where are my manners allowing two lovely ladies to stand in the hot sun? Please, after you." He extended his hand in a sweeping bow toward the door. Winifred and Tiffany walked through the portal, with Alan following.

Tea was served in the drawing room. Conversation was light after the necessary expressions of sympathy were made.

Winifred watched Tiffany watch Alan, who watched Tiffany. There was no doubt Alan Thurston was shocked by Tiffany's beauty and wit. On occasion Winifred detected a thread of disapproval in his comments to Tiffany's stories of her adventures in France. By the by, the earl seemed a fine fellow, perhaps a bit insipid, a bit too principled, but charming and quite pleasant-looking. Winifred was drawn from her thoughts by Tiffany's sweet laughter.

"... The European women are so indolent, Alan. I must have appeared to be quite hasty. I fear their opinion of Englishwomen somewhat jaded."

"Now, now, Tiffany, because European women have not the same passion for riding does not make them lazy."

"I think, my lord, you tease me. You have often remarked how pleasurable it was to ride with one who enjoyed it as much as you." Tiffany smiled, challenging Alan to refute her remark. Alan chose not to and, smiling back, reached over, clasping her hand. Winifred thought, He is not teasing; he means exactly what he said and implies far more.

The time to depart drew near, and with saddened heart, Tiffany reluctantly rose. When they reached the carriage, she turned to bid farewell to Alan and could not keep herself from asking, "Perhaps we might ride together sometime?"

Alan, cupping her chin, smiled. "Yes, perhaps we shall."

Definitely not satisfied with his answer, Tiffany pressed, "Good, shall we make a date . . . say a week from today? You may pick me up in the morning."

Somewhat taken back by her aggressiveness, but knowing it would be impolite to refuse, he agreed. "Fine. I shall make it around ten in he morning." Alan, unable to help himself, leaned over gently and placed a kiss on her lips.

Before she stepped into the carriage, she turned, a dazzling smile lighting her face, and said, "Until then."

As the carriage ambled down the, drive, Tiffany could hardly suppress the joy she felt. Her young heart was filled with hope as the promise of turning her dreams into reality drew closer.