Dangerous Joy (36 page)

"Both of us. We'd help each other."

Beth smiled. "I hope that's true. Let the Rogues help you, Felicity. Don't, at least, escape until the last moment. It isn't the last moment yet, is it?"

"I don't think so... No," she said firmly. "If he had Kieran, he'd have mentioned it."

Beth suddenly hugged her. "I do know how hard this must be for you."

Though she tensed, Felicity relished the hug, the first such embrace she'd ever received from a woman friend. A friend. It was mysteriously sweet, and she hugged Beth back. "Thank you for keeping it secret. It can't be easy for you."

"No. I don't like to keep things from Lucien. You can trust all of us, you know, each in our different ways."

Felicity drew out of her arms with a sad smile.

"Ah, but it's those different ways that worry me."

"At least put aside your worries for today. Let's enjoy this wild gathering, though I suspect it will be a downward slide from here!"

Beth returned to the ground floor while Felicity went to her room to wash and change. Since she hoped to seduce Miles, she chose her best silk. After all, it had driven him wild the last time she'd worn it. In the cold corridors, she'd have to wear a shawl, but she could slip it off at some point...

By the time she was changed and descending the stairs, however, the downward slide was evident in the volume of noise and the inebriated tone of it. She paused, suddenly dubious about her revealing clothing.

Miles came up the stairs. "Ah, there you are." He stopped to look her over. "Don't I know that gown?" He twitched away the shawl. "Are you mad? We're presenting you as an innocent young thing placed in this situation by my thoughtlessness, not as a member of the bloody demi-monde!"

She dragged the shawl back around her chilly shoulders. "There was no problem with this gown when I was in decent company!"

"Was there not? Think what it led to. And, though decent, these men are not your trusted friends and neighbors. Go and change."

"No," said Felicity mulishly, having seen a servant come up the stairs then slip back discretely out of sight to wait for the way to be clear.

Miles, of course, could not know this, and she had no intention of telling him. That abrupt command had not been part of their act and she did not grant him the right to order her about.

His jaw tensed. "Then I'll lock you in your room for the evening."

"Then I'll scream the house down. What will the guests think then?"

"Once they get going, they'll not hear the last trump."

Felicity allowed herself to stamp her foot. "Miles Cavanagh, I am wearing this dress!"

"Felicity Monahan, you are not." A bowl of fruit sat on a pier table. He picked up a bunch of purple grapes and mashed them into the front of the pale silk, rubbing them in thoroughly.

Felicity writhed against his hold. "Damn you to hell!"

"As your guardian, I am in hell." Then he seized her by the wrist and towed her back into her room.

As soon as they were there, she said, "There was a servant listening."

"I guessed as much. But that wasn't all acting."

"On your part either." She was still breathing hard. "I will not let you order me around!"

His breathing was none too steady, either. "And I won't let you go among this crowd dressed like that."

"Oh, devil take you, I was on the point of changing anyway." She frowned down at the dark stains all over the front. "You've ruined it, you spalpeen."

"I'll buy you a new one. It was never decent in the first place." He pulled open her drawers and found her other silk, a demure one. Tossing it on the bed, he said, "Wear that if you insist on freezing. Do you have any pearls?"

"Doesn't every young lady?"

"With you, I'd take no bets. Wear them. They're the heraldic symbol of the untouchable."

"Oh, is that their purpose?" she queried saucily, suddenly aware that they were here together.

Alone...

Did her thought ring in her voice, or did he just come to the same awareness? He headed for the door. "Do you need your maid?"

"You could maid me."

"No, I couldn't."

She moved quickly and put herself between him and the door, leaning against it, blocking his way. "Kiss me."

"No."

She dropped all artifice. "Please, Miles. We may have so little time, and sometimes I don't know what is acting and what is truth." She placed her hands on his shoulders. "Can we not be honest for this brief moment?"

"Honesty is dangerous, a muirnin." But his hands settled at her waist. "Sometimes honesty speaks with an angry voice."

"But at least it's real. As is my need. I need a kiss. Don't you?"

"I need more, and you damned well know it." But he lowered his mouth to hers.

Felicity closed her eyes and let her lips explore his, softly, gently, almost as if afraid of contact. And so they should have been. Heat instantly flared, a fire of need that like all fires was only a flicker from destruction.

Did she move forward or did he deepen the kiss?

And who sighed?

Restraint slid from her like a silk garment, leaving her dazed and bare-nerved in his arms, locked to him by a kiss she could not bear to end.

Who groaned?

Who found the strength to end it?

Perhaps in that they were in harmony, for they both pushed apart as if fighting invisible bonds, still joined by sight and by the desire trembling through their bodies.

Unable to stand on her own, Felicity collapsed back against the door, then slid sideways out of his way.

In a moment, she heard him leave.

Chapter Twenty

Soon Harriet arrived to exclaim over the stained gown, though something in the maid's manner told Felicity the story of the fight had already entertained the servant's hall. She hoped her own dazed arousal would be interpreted as sulks.

Now more than ever, though, Felicity was determined that tonight she and Miles would be together.

When Harriet finished, Felicity surveyed herself in the mirror. The white silk dress was nearly two years old and had yellowed to a shade that dulled her skin. The style was suited to a very young lady, with a modest neckline reinforced by a small frill of lace. The cut of the skirt was full, designed to conceal rather than emphasize the shape of the body. The trimming at the hem consisted of a modest ruffle set with demure white rosebuds-probably another heraldic symbol of the untouchable.

She had instructed Harriet to re-dress her hair in a tight, plain style with just another bunch of insipid white rosebuds for decoration. With the string of pearls, the effect was complete.

To the men here, she would be as seductive as a sister.

But she'd go odds that didn't apply to Miles.

When she returned to the corridor, he was waiting to escort her downstairs. She searched briefly for distress and found none, but then she'd conquered her external signs, too.

Above all, they were equally matched.

The noise from below had grown wilder.

"I don't have to warn you not to go apart with anyone, do I?" he said.

"Hardly," she retorted and saw him color with guilty memories of his attack at Foy. How was it that she could slip into battle-mode so very easily? "I think you must agree," she added more moderately, "that I am armored in untouchability."

He looked at her then, and she realized he'd hardly done so before. "True. The little rosebuds are an excellent touch."

"I thought they might be."

"And that yellowish color makes you almost sallow."

As they descended the stairs, she said, "You can see, at least, why the dress wasn't my first choice."

"True, but it doesn't do a damn thing for my comfort, and you know it."

Felicity headed for the sanctuary of the breakfast room, feeling sure of victory tonight. It was a dire shame that there were so many hours to get through first.

Most of the men came to pay their respects to their hostess and her friends, but few stayed long in the restrained atmosphere. Felicity found that Beth had been right, however, about this company not being disturbed by social niceties. What few men did express curiosity about her presence found the explanation that Miles couldn't miss the hunting completely adequate. None of them would miss the Shires for such a reason either.

Add the fact that she was Irish-and thus bound to be peculiar-and it ceased to trouble them at all.

By the time they all settled to dinner, the company was in a fine state of jollity, but no one had become truly wild as yet. The three ladies, however, sat safely together at one end of the table.

Miles was by Felicity's side, but Blanche's companion was portly Lord Greshingham. He clearly appreciated her company, though he did once make a faux pas in referring to the many times he'd met her here in previous years.

Felicity found herself wondering how she'd handle meeting an old lover of Miles's, never mind an established mistress.

She'd hate it.

She glanced between Beth and Blanche but decided there really was no hidden resentment. She feared she was not capable of such magnanimity.

"Now what are you thinking?" Miles asked.

Felicity sipped the excellent wine, knowing that, with the welcoming punch and this, she had already drunk rather more than was usual. "I was wondering who was your first."

"First what?"

"Woman."

He almost choked. Even though no one was paying attention to their conversation, he muttered, "Behave yourself."

"You asked. I can't help but be curious, and you know all about my intimate life."

He looked at her wryly, but murmured, "A whore in Dublin. And if I had my time again, I'd be more choosy. Now talk of decent matters."

She nodded. "Thank you. I did need to know."

"Probably because I know so much about you. It's an imbalance."

"Yes. And we do need balance."

Greshingham heard her. "Balance, yes," he said. "That's the secret! Never get a good ride without it."

"Indeed, my lord," Felicity replied, trying desperately not to think of another conversation about riding.

"You ride well for a woman," he said.

"Thank you, my lord," she replied politely. "It is one of my chief delights." She meant it innocently enough, but Miles kicked her ankle under the table. That was enough to make her take the bit between her teeth.

"Alas," she declared, "at the moment I am sadly deprived, my lord. I don't have my proper mount with me, you see. I was forced to leave him behind in Ireland when Miles dragged me here. And now, as my guardian, he'll hardly agree to any real riding at all!"

"Now that seems a shame," said the portly lord. "Are you perhaps not up to a long gallop?"

Felicity smiled at Miles. "You must be the judge, guardian dear. You have tested my paces."

His jaw was twitching ominously, but she couldn't tell if it were with fury or hilarity. "She's a raring fine ride...rider, Greshingham. I'd say she could exhaust any man. And surprisingly experienced for her age, too."

Felicity could feel heat rising in her cheeks. "No more experienced than you at the same age surely."

"You underestimate your precociousness, brat." Then he turned to Greshingham. "You should know she's a Monahan of Foy. She's been around horses since childhood."

"Foy! Ah, that explains it. Then it's hard to understand why you won't let her ride, Cavanagh."

"He seems to think I'll break something," said Felicity. "An ankle perhaps."

"An ankle?" repeated Greshingham, peering across the table. "Not likely from a fall, my dear."

A sharp look from Beth suggested that she might be beginning to follow the double entendres.

"Miles takes his guardianship duties very seriously," Felicity told Greshingham. "He's so careful of my welfare I am almost a prisoner."

"Tush, tush. Can't have that, not if it keeps you from enjoying a good ride. What do you say, Cavanagh?"

Miles was smiling dangerously. "Felicity may ride any time she wants. She has but to present herself, suitably attired..."

Felicity stared at him with a fast-beating heart.

"...and as soon as I can assemble a suitable number of attendants, I will oblige her."

"Attendants!" Felicity sucked in a breath.

"To protect you from harm."

"I will not ride under observation."

Miles glinted a smile at her. "An impasse, Perhaps?"

She smiled back in the same manner. "I think you regretted your invitation and covered it in unacceptable conditions. That's cheating, sir."

"Now, now, young lady!" protested Greshingham, shocked at the accusation.

"She has a rash tongue," said Miles. "But she's also a considerable heiress. I have reason to believe some parties may want to steal her away, which is why she's here and why she may not ride out alone."