Dangerous Joy (7 page)

"Now, that is a remarkably foolish question. And you are not a foolish woman."

She flashed him a look. "Faith. What an admission! I'm sure I should be flattered."

"Only if it's untrue."

A light in her eye showed enjoyment of the verbal sparring-match, but they were interrupted by the sound of wheels in the lane. They both moved to the side to let the vehicle pass, but the one-horse gig stopped and a handsome blond lad of about four shouted, "Sissity!" It didn't take genius to guess that this was Dunsmore's son, for there was a marked resemblance.

It was as if someone had lit a lamp inside Felicity. "Kieran, my poppet! How lovely to see you all unexpected." She grabbed the lad at the waist and swung him around while the middle-aged woman driving the gig smiled.

"Now," Felicity said, returning him giggling to his place, "what adventure are you on today?"

"No `venture. Just plums."

The older lady explained. "Cook wanted more of Dooley's pickled plums, so I volunteered to drive over. To give the lad a break, you see."

This was said with meaning, but there was no need to guess the interpretation, for the boy pushed out his lower lip and said, "Papa's in a bad mood."

Miles supposed he was. But no wonder Kathleen Dunsmore had delighted in this late-born child. He seemed a fine specimen.

No wonder Felicity was fond of him, too.

She turned to Miles, once more thawed by interaction with others. "Mr. Cavanagh, let me make known to you two of our neighbors. This fine lad is Kieran Dunsmore of Loughcarrick, and the lady is Mrs. Edey, his companion. This is Mr. Miles Cavanagh of Clonnagh, who has the great misfortune to be my guardian for a little while."

Mrs. Edey said all the right things and Kieran shook hands in a well-brought-up way, saying, "Sissity's parents are dead, sir."

"I know," Miles said.

"And her grandfather is dead."

"True enough."

"So you will look after her?"

"I'll do my best." Miles could feel the silent objection from his side.

"My mother's dead," the lad confided.

"I know. You have my condolences."

The boy looked solemnly unsure of the word, but said, "I miss her."

Miles felt a strong urge to hug him. "I'm sure you do. My father died not long ago, and I miss him."

The boy said nothing, but something in the set of his mouth implied the thought, "I wouldn't mind if my father died." Miles hoped this poor lad wasn't being mistreated by Dunsmore. But if he were, there was nothing an outsider could do about it.

Felicity stepped forward. "Enough of this sad talk. We mustn't keep you, but if you have time, Mrs. Edey, you must stop at the Hall on the way home. I'm sure Kieran will be ready for a cake and some milk."

The boy brightened. "Currant cake?"

She kissed his cheek. "I don't know what we have, poppet, and it's too short notice to make currant cake, even for you." She poked him gently in the tummy so he giggled. "And I don't think there's a cake made you don't like, young man!"

Mrs. Edey clicked the horse on, and the gig disappeared around a bend, the small lad twisting to wave goodbye to `Sissity." She stood waving, even after the gig had gone, a strangely bereft look upon her face.

"A fine lad," Miles said, wanting to warn her not to grow so attached to someone else's child.

"Yes, he is." Then she turned and led the way briskly into the Foy stable yard. "You wanted to see the stallions. We have two. This is Finn."

Finn was a handsome bay who appeared perfectly made and of a proud but amiable disposition. Miles wouldn't mind using him to cover some of his mares.

"And this is Brian."

Brian was a white-stockinged chestnut of equal quality but more highly strung. He moved restlessly when approached and had to be wooed into good humor. Miles liked spirit in a horse, though, as long as it was within control.

He patted the neck of the now-polite Brian. "Are they Foy horses?"

"Finn is. He's by Angus Og, who was my grandfather's pride and joy. Angus Og was just a little long in the back, though. Grandfather's attempts to correct that are scattered around Europe, and all are fine horses but short of perfect. Finn was his great success. He's out of Fionuala." She led him over to the paddock gate so they could see the mares at pasture.

Felicity gave a boyish whistle, and a solid older bay mare raised her head then trotted over with a swish of her tail. The other mares, some twenty of them, followed. Miles had the distinct impression that they wanted to race ahead to greet Felicity, but if Fionuala was trotting with dignity, they had to hold back. There was no doubt who was lead mare in this herd.

While Felicity greeted the bay, Miles made friends with some of the others, but it was clear that he was just a stopgap for yet more creatures who adored Felicity Monahan.

"They're a fine bunch. How many do you sell in a year?

Felicity began to move down the line of horses. "We generally have ten five-year-olds. Geldings and a few mares."

"The ones you don't fancy for breeding stock."

"That's right." She rubbed the ears of a white-blazed chestnut. "Eileen here has slipped two foals. We won't try to breed her again, so she'll go to England next year. I hope she goes for a hack rather than a hunter, though. I worry sometimes about the way you men ride the creatures."

She had turned to face him, and Eileen leant her head on her shoulder so he was facing two accusing females.

"I've only killed two horses in my day, and those with broken legs that could happen anywhere if a horse is ridden at more than a trot."

"It's foolishness, though, to be risking horses just to hunt down a fox that is of no use to anyone."

"Charlie's of great use to the huntsmen, since he provides the run. I confess I'm surprised, Felicity. I'd not have thought you squeamish."

She tossed her head and moved away from the fence, leading the way up to the house. "I'm not at all squeamish. But when I've seen a foal born and worked with it for years, to hear it was killed by a clumsy rider, doubtless the worse for drink, forcing it over a fence that should never have been attempted..."

"I feel the same way," he said quietly. "That's why I sell my animals myself. So I know the purchasers. Come to Melton with me and see how it's done."

She swung suddenly to face him. "Oh, so that's what all this is about! It will do you no good, Mr. Cavanagh. You are not dragging me off to Melton Mowbray, not even for a lesson in horse-trading!"

She marched up the path and Miles followed, wondering whether his guardianship did give him the right to truss her like a Michaelmas goose and carry her off to England.

"Are we in a hurry?" he asked mildly.

"Yes," she threw back. "Kieran might be waiting."

It touched his heart the way she cared about the lad, but worried him, too. He lengthened his stride to come up beside her. "If you're so keen on children, perhaps you should marry."

To his surprise, she stopped and answered quite moderately. "Perhaps I should, at that."

"What better place to go husband-hunting than Melton? It's crammed with eligible young men."

Her eyes widened in mock astonishment. "What? Try to catch the eye of a man who's surrounded by prime horseflesh? You're mad, sir! And besides, how would I find an Irish husband there? I will not marry out of Ireland."

She had him on both points. "There are some Irishmen in England now and then."

"But there are assuredly more in Ireland, aren't there? So I'll do my husband-hunting here."

She turned and swept toward the house. As they entered through a conservatory in which the only healthy plant was catnip, Miles had the distinct feeling he'd lost that round.

To Felicity's disappointment, Kieran wasn't at Foy yet, but she used his imminent arrival as an excuse to go to her room and change out of her dusty gown. In truth, she wanted to escape Miles Cavanagh.

Damn the man. He seemed to have her constantly teetering on the edge of disaster. And damn her grandfather for changing his will at the last moment. She could have handled Uncle Colum as easily as she had always handled her father's family.

She wasn't at all sure she could handle Miles Cavanagh.

She gave the bell-rope a sharp tug. A clever, strong-willed guardian could ruin everything, and the consequences didn't bear thinking of.

She caught sight of wind-wild hair in the mirror and pulled out pins and combs, admitting she could have liked Miles if they'd met in other circumstances. He was a fine figure of a man-not that fancy handsomeness that Dunsmore was so proud of, but with robust, practical looks that appealed greatly to her. Clear blue eyes ready to laugh, red-gold hair with a crisp curl to it, and a square jaw that spoke of firmness.

Of course, the last thing she wanted in a guardian was firmness.

She began to drag a brush through her tangled curls, telling herself that Miles had a bit too much of the English about him. But her heart told her he was as Irish as soft mist on green grass, and just as pleasant.

After all, he could have made a great deal of trouble about what had happened last night. He could have been even more unpleasant about her own part in it. He'd harangued her finely, but today he'd not mentioned it at all.

Of course that could mean that, man-arrogant, he assumed a few sharp warnings would scare her off.

She attacked her hair sharply enough to bring tears to her eyes, muttering to herself about yet another disastrous turn of fate. Dunsmore, Kathleen, Kieran, Miles...

Why?

Why?

She wouldn't say she'd always been a saint, but she'd never done anything to warrant the pain she'd suffered and the terrible problems that plagued her now.

She sighed and put down her brush. There was no purpose in going over the past. It was the future that mattered. The future and her plans. Miles Cavanagh could not be allowed to ruin them.

Where the devil was Peggy? She tugged the bell-rope again, then paced the room, trying to think of ways to bend her guardian to her will. One way came to mind and she assessed her charms in the mirror with an objective eye. She knew her lush figure attracted men-seemed to turn them into cock-driven idiots, in fact-but she'd never deliberately used it against them.

Until last night, of course.

She turned red at the thought and covered her cheeks with her hands. Jesus and Mary, what must he think of her, acting the strumpet like that? She'd virtually thrust her half-naked breasts in his face. She'd let him...

The memory of his hand on her breast started a tingle there all over again.

She spun away from the mirror. She wasn't a wanton. She wasn't! She'd been playing a part to help her friends because they had been trying to help her.

And she hadn't liked a single moment of it.

She hadn't.

She'd only played that game because an innocent man had been caught in the net she'd laid for Dunsmore and she'd felt she must set him free without endangering her friends. It had seemed a good idea at the time to befuddle him with lust, and Denzil and some others had been close by in case of trouble...

She gave up on Peggy and twisted to undo the buttons down the back of her gown.

She'd been confident last night that her status made her safe from English tyranny, but she had to admit that Miles's warning made sense.

Why, not many years before, when some Irish had tried to side with the French in the war, hadn't the English flogged and tortured innocent people-including women-just to squeeze out fragments of information that might lead to the capture of the insurrectionists?

She stopped struggling to reach the middle buttons, wondering what it would be like to be tied to a tree, stripped to the waist, and flogged.

It was beyond her, and she prayed it always would be.

Then Peggy hurried in and set down a jug of warm water. Ignoring Felicity's scold for taking so long, she quickly unfastened the rest of the buttons and stripped off the blue gown. "Master Kieran's just arrived, miss, as fine as ever."

Felicity forgot servant discipline and hurriedly washed, reminded of why she must persuade her unwelcome guardian to leave her here in peace. By heaven, she wished her life were as simple as it had been two months ago. Before Kathleen died. Before Dunsmore returned to make everyone miserable. Before her grandfather changed his will.

She couldn't leave Ireland when it meant leaving Kieran to his father's uncertain mercies. She simply couldn't!

For Kieran Dunsmore was her own son.

She heard his voice in the hall and let Peggy toss her beige gown over her head and tighten the laces. Then she tied her hair back with a ribbon and ran down the stairs.

Chapter Five

In the spacious entrance hall, Miles tossed a soft ball back to young Kieran, surprised to find himself enjoying the lad's company. At the sound of light footsteps, he looked up to see Felicity flying down the stairs, face aglow with joy. Her beauty staggered him, but such radiance should not be summoned by another woman's child. It was a path to sorrow.