Dangerous Joy (16 page)

Even with wounds to soothe her conscience, she still wasn't looking forward to their next encounter. He'd surely be angry at the trick she'd played and the injury she'd caused him.

If he'd put all that aside, he'd blame her for Gardeen's death. With reason. She should have remembered the cat and left her safe with him.

If he could forgive her for all that, he'd still be after answers to questions. Answers she didn't want to give.

And, if he didn't press her for answers, he'd be acting the friend again, making the passing hours sweet with understanding and laughter.

Weakening her resolve.

She sank her head in her hands. Each day made it harder to turn her back upon the warm sun of Miles's friendship and give herself to the cold wind and frost of Rupert Dunsmore.

What's more, Miles tempted her to foolishness.

Foolishness like telling him all.

She launched herself from the bed, as if movement could shake off such thoughts. Seeing the appalling state of her hair, she began to attack it with the brush.

What good would the truth do, when Miles was powerless to change the way things were? She was no damsel waiting for the gallant knight to rescue her. If a way out existed, she'd have found it for herself.

Tears sprang to her eyes, but she assured herself they were from the pain of her knotted hair.

The simple fact was that Kieran was Rupert's son. Nothing could change that.

She could, if she wished, prove the boy was her child, not Kathleen Craig's, but that would achieve nothing other than to lose him Kathleen's fortune. Kieran would still be Rupert's son, and Rupert would still have all the legal power over him.

There was always the option of killing Rupert, but she'd found there was a place in her that balked at taking human life. She held the idea to her, however. If her sacrifice did not keep her son safe, then somehow she would find the strength to take that final, dreadful step.

Killing Rupert before the marriage was pointless, though, for Kieran would pass into the care of Kathleen's cousin.

Would it improve matters to explain everything to Miles, including that she contemplated murder?

She laughed bitterly. He'd have her clapped in a madhouse.

She rang for a maid and, to please Miles, had herself arrayed in the illusion of a well-bred young lady. She discovered with relief that her soft slippers did not rub the blisters on her heels, so she didn't have to limp down to the breakfast room.

She was somewhat late, and the butler informed her that both Lady Aideen and her husband had eaten earlier. The man made sure she had everything she required, however. Felicity thought sadly of her discourteous welcome of Miles to her own ramshackle home.

Then her guardian strolled in, a smile on his lips but, for the first time, a rather distant expression in his blue eyes. "Good morning? Felicity. I hope you have everything you want."

"Oh, yes," she said, through an ache in her throat. "And Hillsmore is having fresh eggs cooked for me." In the face of his cool civility, she attempted social chatter. "I'm absolutely ravenous. Lunch yesterday was completely inadequate for someone who would have no dinner."

Then she bit her lip, remembering why she'd had no dinner.

Miles said nothing, however, apart from directing her attention to the kippers.

She gave an artificial shudder. "I abhor fish at breakfast."

He took one himself and began to work the smoked flesh off the bones, giving the business all his attention.

After a few minutes, the silence became unbearable to her. "I like your home. It's so light and airy."

He looked up politely. "You could achieve a similar effect at Foy by painting the rooms white."

"You forget, it's Aunt Annie's house, not mine. Grandfather left it to her, and she prefers it as it is."

"I suppose I had forgotten. What little is done to care for the place seems to be done by you."

"I do what is necessary for my comfort, that's all. I have no domestic skills." Felicity sighed. Despite her good intentions, she was back to bickering with the man.

The alarming thing was that he did not react. "I hope you find no shortcomings in the comfort here."

"Everything is perfect, as well you know." To prove it, her eggs arrived, cooked to perfection. She slid two onto her plate. "I shudder to think what you must have suffered at Foy."

"It was hardly suffering, for the company was-on the whole-pleasant."

Felicity decided silence was welcome after all and settled to eating. She stole a glance at Miles every now and then, wishing he were the lighthearted friend again.

Hardly surprising that he was not.

But why, when he was so cool, did she feel so stimulated by him? So aware. She'd breakfasted with him most days these past two weeks without any effect on her appetite, but now it was quite a challenge to eat the food her body needed.

When she'd cleaned her plate, she was at a loss as to what to do next. What to do next that would be safe, that is. Music, she suddenly thought. For many years, music had been her refuge and her solace, and now she needed it.

"Do you have an instrument here?" she asked. "A harpsichord?"

He took a last drink of coffee. "We can do better. We have a pianoforte."

"I've never played one."

"Never?" A spark of surprise lightened his expression.

"We did not have one, as you know."

"But other houses in your area have. I've seen, and heard, them. I wondered why you didn't play, since you have more skill than most of the performers."

She could feel awkward color invading her cheeks. "I was too embarrassed to try in public. Too afraid I'd not play well."

"Have you never simply visited a house that had a pianoforte? They are a recent development, but not so rare as that."

"Until I went to Whitehaven to see my mother's family about my inheritance, I had never visited anywhere at all."

Too late, Felicity realized that wasn't true.

"Colum said you visited England a few years ago."

"Oh, that!" She laughed, and even to her ears it sounded shrill. "I just stayed quietly in the country pressing wildflowers."

What, in heaven's name, had Colum told him?

After a frowning moment, Miles rose. "Come then, and I'll show you the instrument."

He led her to a music room containing the piano and an Irish harp. She trailed her fingers across the harp strings, summoning a ripple of music. "I've never played one of these, either."

"You're welcome to do so, though I'm not sure your keyboard skills will help you much there."

"I fear that's true, and the wires are hard on the fingers."

Felicity sat on the silk-covered bench, surveying the handsome mahogany instrument. How she had wished to explore one. And, she knew well, her kind neighbors would not have minded any fumbles. Pride had held her back, pride and a fear of revealing any weakness or want.

She touched a key cautiously. As she'd been told, a quite gentle touch summoned a note, a softer more resonant note than the harp-like twang of the harpsichord.

Miles leant over beside her and stroked out a chord. "Piano—" Then he thundered one. "-forte. I don't think you can hurt it. Explore."

She started to play a familiar piece but stopped, dissatisfied by the difference in touch. "It's difficult to break a lifetime habit of hitting every key sharply." She turned to look at him. "Go away, please. I wish to make a fool of myself in private."

For the first time since she'd betrayed him to Rupert, he smiled. "I'm sure you'll make beautiful music, but I will go away for a little while."

His leaving created a hollow space.

Felicity filled it with music.

Miles was sitting in the library with a book open but unread, listening to Bach, when his mother came to speak to him.

"She plays beautifully," she said.

"It's her only accomplishment."

Aideen laughed. "I doubt that. She strikes me as a young woman who excels at everything she puts her hand to."

He closed the book and placed it on a table. "Then she never chooses to put her hand to suitable skills-such as handwriting and domestic management. I sincerely doubt she even knows how to thread a needle!"

"How very sad. After all, she might fall on hard times and have to take in mending."

At the caustic tone, Miles realized he'd never seen his mother with a needle in her hand either. He grinned, knowing he was probably as transparent as the glass in the long window.

"So," said Aideen. "Tell me what she has put her hand to apart from music. You will not convince me she's indolent."

He laughed at the thought. "She's cunning at chess, rides like a trooper-and swears like one, too, sometimes-knows nearly as much about horses as I do, and can handle a pistol."

"A useful list of accomplishments."

"For the Countess of Kilgoran?" Then he wished the words unsaid.

"I don't see why not, Ireland being Ireland. Now, I came to tell you that I have arranged the safe stowage of Master Kieran and his governess."

"So soon? How did you manage that?"

"I've written to his governess to say that the boy's father has been called away and wishes him to visit some cousins."

"Cousins?"

She waved a hand. "The gentry of Ireland are all interrelated."

"Don't I remember being whipped a time or two for stretching the truth?"

She twinkled at him. "And there were many times you weren't. It is all a matter of knowing how far one can stretch truth before it breaks. Now, should we tell Felicity?"

"The less we speak of the boy the better."

"Not speaking of him will not wipe him from her mind."

"It might let him slide from the forefront of it."

Then Miles detected what his mother had heard-a certain desperation in the flood of music coming from the pianoforte.

He sighed. "Once we have news of where he is, I suppose we should let her know. It can hardly make matters worse at this stage. But sooner or later, she'll have to let go of the child."

"I'm sure something will work out." Aideen smiled blithely and hurried away.

Devil take it, she was even beginning to sound like Colum.

Miles decided Felicity should be over her musical nerves and went to listen from closer by. She was so caught up in the music that he could study her at leisure.

She played, it seemed, with her entire body, swaying in search of finer harmonies. Her eyes, however, stayed focused on some distant, darker vision. Could Dunsford and his son really cast such a shadow on her life? Miles wanted, desperately, to bring back joy, in both senses of the word.

He did the only thing he could and interrupted her with an invitation to tour the house. She did not seem unhappy to leave the music. Perhaps if he filled her days with commonplace matters, ones that would arouse no unpleasant thoughts, she would learn to smile again.

Dangerous though that would be...

He should have known that avoiding unpleasantness was not Felicity's way. The first thing she wanted to see was Gardeen's grave. When he hesitated, she challenged him. "You have buried her properly, haven't you?"

"Of course."

Reflecting that bringing joy to this woman's guarded heart was likely to be an heroic task, he borrowed a servant's woolen shawl for her and took her outside. Accompanied by the dogs, they walked to the sundial in the middle of the herb garden.

It wasn't the best of days-they were being whipped by the tail-end of a storm-but the sweet tang of the herbs was in the air, rising powerfully when they stepped on the chamomile and thyme running between the cracks in the paved path. He directed her to the small mound. Donn and Dubh once more took up sentinel positions.

"She'll be happy there," Felicity said, holding the shawl close about her head.

"I think so." But how can I make you happy, Felicity? And why is it becoming so crucial to my own content?

He watched as she broke off a spray of early forsythia and crouched to tuck it among the white stones. Her next words were so soft the wind almost snatched them away. "I would have gone with him and we'd have been under sail before you could have reached us, had it not been for her. We argued about whether to take her."

"He not wanting a cat along."

She rose to face him. "On the contrary. Lacking Kieran, he wanted her as hostage."

"Felicity..." He reached to pull her into his arms, but she evaded him, facing him from a couple of yards away.

"And I was determined that she stay safe with you. I took her out to let her go."

"What happened, then?"

"He tried to grab her. She scratched him." He thought she would say no more, but then tears glossed her eyes and she added, "He broke her neck. It was so quick...."

Again, he wanted to gather her into his arms, but it was as if a wall stood between them. "A quick death is a blessing. And it sent you running from him."