Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) (3 page)

Chapter 2

Her Grace, the duchess of Ravenworth, had heard her son's carriage arrive and was waiting for him in the doorway of the drawing room.

Michael went to her, searching her face and seeing the distress reflected in her eyes. He took her hand, finding it cold to the touch.

"Mother, what's wrong?"

She shook her head, unable to answer, and he drew her into his arms, causing the clump of lavender to fall to the floor to be trampled beneath his boots. Trepidation surrounded his heart as he felt her tremble. His mother was a woman of great courage, and he knew something terrible had happened.

"It's Arrian, isn't it?" he asked, fearing to hear the worst.

Kassidy lingered in her son's arms, drawing on his strength and hoping to find the courage she needed to tell him what had occurred. At last she pulled away, and green eyes stared into green eyes. "Your sister gave birth to a daughter and they are both well."

Her eyes were shining with tears, and Michael couldn't remember a time when he had seen her cry.

His great-aunt, Mary, came to him, and he saw sorrow in her eyes. "I'm afraid it's your father, Michael. Your mother has received grim news concerning him."

Kassidy moved out of her son's arms, but kept a tight grip on his hand. She hesitated to speak, as if she couldn't form the words. "Michael, I'm so . . . frightened. Your father has disappeared. I'm told he was abducted, but they don't know by whom. The prime minister fears for his life. Her Majesty has also expressed her concern for your father's safety."

"I advised Raile not to go to that barbaric country," Lady Mary stated emphatically. "I knew nothing but trouble would come from such a dangerous mission."

Michael guided his mother gently across the room and seated her on a chair. Dropping on his knees before her, he took her small hands in his. "Tell me everything," he urged.

Kassidy took a deep breath. "As you know, your father reluctantly agreed to this trip to Egypt. You know he doesn't like to go anywhere without me."

Michael tried to be patient and not give in to the fear that gnawed at his insides. "Yes, I know. I received a letter from him just after he arrived in Egypt, and then another letter a fortnight ago. I've heard nothing since."

Kassidy didn't want to cry, but now that she was with her son, she could no longer be brave, and tears spilled down her face. "He'd written me a note that was found in his room. He said he was going into the desert to meet with a man who promised to help him find the persons who were arming the bedouin tribes. He was hopeful that he would be home before . . . Christmas." Her voice broke.

Michael glanced from his mother to his great-aunt. "When Father left, it was my understanding that he was only going to Cairo to confer with the viceroy about whoever it was that is arming and inciting the border tribes. He should have been in no danger."

"It sounded so simple when he was trying to convince me it was his duty to go." Kassidy rose to her feet and turned to the window. "I don't know why your father went into the desert alone, or who he went to meet." She glanced up at the ceiling as tears continued to fall. "Why, Raile, why?" she cried.

Lady Mary looked at Kassidy with growing concern. Kassidy and Raile had been inseparable. Lady Mary grieved for her niece.

Michael went to his mother, hiding his own fears from her. "What's being done to locate father?"

Kassidy made a hopeless gesture. "Her Majesty has assured me that they are doing everything they can. She promised me that if your father is alive, he will be found."

"Why should anyone think my father is... dead?"

Kassidy swallowed hard. "A messenger delivered to the British consul in Cairo a bloodstained shirt, claiming it was your father's. It had his initials on the pocket. They sent it to me to identify. There's no doubt it's your father's shirt."

Michael swallowed a painful lump. "You know Father would never do anything foolish. If he went into the desert, he was well prepared for anything that might happen. Whoever abducted him must know his importance and would see the folly of harming him. Has there been a demand for money?"

"No." There was a gleam of hope in his mother's eyes. "Do you think that's why he was taken? We'll pay anything to get him back."

Michael pressed a kiss on her cheek. "I believe it's a possibility that we may yet receive a ransom demand. What else can you tell me?" he asked gently.

"Nothing, except. . ." Again tears gathered in her eyes. "Dear, faithful Oliver was killed by those monsters. His body was . . . run through with a spear. He . . . they . . . buried what remained of him in the desert."

Rage was building inside Michael, but he had to control his anger, for his mother's sake. Oliver had been more like a member of the family than a servant. "Why would anyone want to harm him?"

His mother dabbed at her eyes. "I imagine that dear little man tried to protect your father. He was like that, you know."

"The fact that they haven't found . . . Father's body is encouraging." Michael walked to the window and looked unseeingly out at the lavender woman moving down the street. "I'll not rest until I find out who has done this. God help them when I do. He went to Egypt to aid those people." Closing his eyes, he tried to empty his heart of anguish before he turned back to his mother. "Has no one claimed responsibility for Father's disappearance?"

Lady Mary supplied more information since his mother was having difficulty controlling her grief. "Your father wrote me that most of the bedouin tribes don't feel they owe their allegiance to any nation, and that they recognize no borders. His one concern was that if they were being armed they might unite into one army and there would be another bloody civil war in Egypt. I suppose whoever is responsible must have seen your father as a threat."

"Yes, but who?" Kassidy asked.

"Someone must know the identity of the man Father went into the desert to meet. Is there no one in authority in Cairo?" Michael demanded.

Kassidy shook her head. "It doesn't seem so. There is only the British consul. He has little authority and must answer to Egypt's viceroy. In the last letter I received from your father, he was not impressed with the man."

Anger snapped in Michael's eyes. "Someone has to know something. I'm going to Egypt myself, and I'll find out what happened."

"That's what I want you to do, Michael," Kassidy said hopefully. "If your father is alive, bring him home." Her lower lip trembled. "If he's . . . dead, bring me his body. I will not rest until I have my husband."

Michael pulled her into his arms, feeling her tears soak through his shirt. "I'll find him, Mother, and I'll bring him home to you, I promise."

She seemed to collapse against him. He lifted her into his arms and moved out of the room and toward the stairs. "You are going to bed. When did you last sleep?"

"She has slept but little since she received the news." Lady Mary said, moving up the stairs beside them.

Michael climbed the stairs with his light burden, carrying her as tenderly as he would a baby. If only his sister, Arrian, were there, she would know how to comfort their mother. He was helpless against her tears and grief.

He glanced down at his mother and watched her dark lashes close, and she seemed to relax, if only for the moment.

Lady Mary rushed into the bedroom before him and turned down the coverlet. When he laid his mother on the bed, her eyes fluttered open.

"I wouldn't ask you to go, Michael, if I didn't know you are probably the only person who can find your father. No one will search as diligently as you. You will not give up until you find him, will you?"

"I will find him," he assured her.

"Take care of yourself, Michael. I don't want to lose you, too. I couldn't go on if I lost you both."

He kissed her cheek tenderly. "I'll be back, and I'll have Father with me. And take heart, Mother—if Father were dead, wouldn't you know it in your heart?"

She smiled slightly. "You know that about us?"

"I have always known the two of you shared an unusual bond."

"He is alive, Michael—I feel it in the depth of my heart. But knowing him as I do, I also know that his primary concern is about us and not his own safety. It would be just like him to do something foolish to anger his captors."

"Have you sent word to Arrian?"

"Yes, I felt your sister had a right to know. But I urged her not to come since she just gave birth."

"That won't stop her," Michael said with assurance. "She and Warrick will come."

"Yes," Kassidy agreed, "she will come."

He pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "Sleep now, Mother, and let me do the worrying for both of us."

"Yes," she said, closing her eyes wearily. "I can rest now."

Michael stared at her for a long moment. She was still the most beautiful woman he knew. Her face was surprisingly unlined; her golden hair was laced with silver, but it only added to her beauty. He could feel her heartbreak, and he knew what she was suffering. He must not fail her or his father.

After his mother had fallen asleep, Michael stood and motioned for his great-aunt to accompany him into the hallway.

"Your mother should sleep all day now that she's seen you, Michael. There was nothing I could do to calm her until she reached you."

"Will you remain with her until I return?"

Lady Mary linked her arm through his, studying his careworn face. "Of course, dear boy, and as you pointed out, Arrian and Warrick will be here soon. You can go to Egypt with the assurance that we shall all take care of your mother."

In that moment Lady Mary saw something in Michael that reminded her of his father. There was a hardness in his eyes and a determined set to his chin. Like Raile, Michael had never known fear and that troubled her. "Michael, don't do anything foolish. The fact that you were champion of your class with rapier and pistols won't help you in Egypt. Keep yourself out of danger."

Michael kissed the cheek of the authoritative little woman he'd adored all his life. She was the matriarch of London society, outrageous and clever, but she was also capable of taking command when trouble threatened.

"I suspect Mother will draw heavily on your strength in the weeks to come. Can you be strong for her?"

"Of course I can. But I'll be glad when Arrian and Warrick arrive. Your mother will need her family about her. Arrian's children would help cheer her, and the new baby would surely be a welcome distraction."

Michael felt the unfamiliar sting of tears, and he quickly turned away to hide his weakness from his great-aunt. "I am frightened, not for myself, but for my father," he finally admitted. "I tried hard to convince mother that he's alive, but you and I both know he may be—" He could not say the word.

The perceptive little woman moved to face him and pressed her cheek to his. "I know, Michael—I know what you are feeling."

"I mustn't think like this," he said, straightening his shoulders and gathering his strength. "I'll need a clear mind if I'm to help Father."

"Put your fear aside and do what you must," Lady Mary said encouragingly. "When do you leave?"

"I'll go now to instruct William to pack my trunk. I leave within the hour for Southampton, where I'll take the first available ship to Egypt."

She gripped his arm. "Be extremely careful, Michael. The men who took your father are dangerous. Don't do anything rash or foolish. I'll expect you and your father home soon."

"I don't know how long this will take, Aunt Mary, because I won't come home without my father."

"You will write and keep us informed?"

"Every chance I get."

She tried to regain her composure and gave him a forced smile. "I'm counting on you attending my spring gala, you handsome rogue."

He hugged her. "I'll try my damnedest, Aunt Mary."

Her eyes glimmered with tears, but she managed to put on a calm face. "I don't want to have to explain to all the females why you aren't at my party. Don't disappoint me."

"If it's at all possible, I'll dance with you at your gala."

Chapter 3

Sussex

Lady Mallory Stanhope burst into the sitting room, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "Mother, Father, are you here?" She looked around the room for her parents, but saw no one but her cousin, Phoebe, who was sitting in a straight-back chair near the window, a letter crumpled in her hand. Automatically, Mallory's back stiffened and the enthusiasm went out of her face.

"Mallory, that is no way for a lady to enter the room," Phoebe Byrd chastised her absently.

Mallory searched her cousin's eyes. Evidently something was occupying her thoughts, for the admonishment was merely perfunctory.

Phoebe Byrd was her mother's spinster cousin, and was what the neighbors secretly referred to as a "poor relation." She was in her forties, but looked much older. Tall and birdlike, she was always fussing about, straightening a picture, dusting a table, polishing the banisters. She was strict and demanding, always insisting that Mallory act like a lady.

Cousin Phoebe had come to live at Stoneridge House when Mallory was five years old. Soon afterwards, Mallory's parents had begun their travels and left Mallory in Phoebe's care. Mallory respected her cousin and looked to her for guidance. It was Phoebe's hand that had dried Mallory's tears as a child, and it was Phoebe who had nursed her when she was ill. Though only a paid companion, she was the only mother Mallory had ever known.

"I beg your pardon, Cousin Phoebe. I thought I heard a carriage pull in the drive while I was dressing, and I was sure it was mother and father. Their letter said they would be arriving today."

Phoebe didn't answer at once, but looked down at the letter in her lap. Ten years since Tyler and Julia had seen their daughter—ten years of thoughtless neglect that she had tried her best to hide from the child. How did one explain to a young girl that her parents didn't love her? That as far as they were concerned, since she hadn't been born a boy, she might as well not have been born at all?

At last, she said, "It wasn't your parents, but merely a messenger delivering this letter."

With a rustle of skirts, Mallory moved across the room and knelt down beside her cousin, clasping the frail, wrinkled hands in hers. "What is wrong?" Mallory asked in concern. "It isn't Mother and Father—there hasn't been an accident?"

Phoebe looked on Mallory with controlled affection. The girl didn't know it yet, but she was a beauty, and Phoebe feared for her future. Her skin was smooth and flawless, her auburn hair sparkled as if it were on fire. Her features were lovely, and her violet blue eyes were so brilliant that one could see the color from across the room. Mallory was slender, and each movement was graceful as if she'd practiced, but gracefulness came naturally to her.

"Oh, no, child," Phoebe reassured her. "Your mother and father are enjoying perfect health." She couldn't keep the bitterness out of the last words.

Mallory looked searchingly at her cousin. "They're not coming, are they?" Years of loneliness and disappointment were reflected in her voice.

"No, child," Phoebe said gently. "They had to return to Egypt. It seems that there is some dispute with the Egyptian government over ownership of artifacts your parents have found, and they have all been confiscated. I don't really understand it, out your parents were quite concerned, and they've already set sail."

Mallory's eyes were glimmering with tears. "But they were in London for weeks, Cousin Phoebe. They should have sent for me." Her shoulders drooped. "They didn't want to see me," she said forlornly. "They didn't, did they?"

"Nonsense! This letter is full of their sorrow at not being able to see you." Phoebe wove her half-truths for the girl's sake. "They also sent their loving wishes and congratulations for your birthday, along with this present," she said, indicating a large box wrapped in brightly colored paper.

"May I see the letter?"

Phoebe smoothed out the crumpled sheet, that merely contained instructions from Mallory's parents that their tenants were to grow oats instead of barley in the coming season. She quickly folded it and put it in the pocket of her dress. "You know it is impolite to read another's correspondence, Mallory."

But Mallory wasn't fooled. She knew that whatever the letter contained, it wasn't love and best wishes for her. Phoebe was trying to protect her. She felt suddenly dejected and lonely.

"Here, child," Phoebe prompted. "Open your gift. I know your birthday isn't until tomorrow, but go ahead."

Without enthusiasm, Mallory complied. She carefully unwrapped the pink paper, taking care not to tear it. She stared at the white box, wondering what it contained. The label was from a shop in Paris. "They have sent me a gown or perhaps a bonnet," she said as enthusiasm crept into her voice.

Eagerly, she lifted the lid, her eyes shining with anticipation. But when she saw what was inside, her lower lip trembled and she raised hurt eyes to Phoebe.

"What is it, child? Show me what they sent you," Phoebe urged.

Mallory lifted a stylishly dressed doll from the box and held it out for her cousin's inspection. "It's my eighteenth birthday, and my mother and father gave me a doll. Don't they know I'm a young lady now and I don't play with toys?"

Phoebe tried to disguise her anger. It would have been better if they had not sent anything, she thought, as her heart broke for her charge. She took the doll from Mallory and straightened the stiff white gown. "It's beautiful," she said, trying to sound lighthearted.

Mallory stood, her eyes blazing with anger. "Give it to one of the village children. I don't want it."

"You'll change your mind."

Mallory turned away from the doll as if the sight of it offended her. "No, I won't ever change my mind. I never want to see it again."

Phoebe sighed as she replaced the doll in the box. "I know a little girl who would love to have this. I doubt she's ever had anything half so nice."

"Then give it to her. I'm going to ride Tibor."

Mallory raced her gelding across the meadow, her eyes on the fence just ahead. It was high, but she had been training Tibor for months, and she felt he was ready for the jump.

"Come on, boy," she said close to his ear, "you can do it, I know you can."

With little urging on her part, the horse lunged forward as if he had wings. The wind kissed her cheeks as horse and rider sailed over the fence, landing safely on the other side.

Mallory patted the horse's sleek neck and spoke softly to him. "I knew you could do it. You were magnificent!"

Her attention was drawn to the wooded area where she heard someone approaching. When she glanced up to see their neighbor, Sir Gerald Dunmore, emerging from the woods, she straightened her back in displeasure. Of late, he always seemed to know where to find her and when she was alone. Why was he pursuing her when he was a married man? she wondered. She detested him, but nothing she could say would convince him of that fact.

"That was superb, Lady Mallory. There's no disputing that you're the best horsewoman in Sussex."

"I wasn't aware that I had an audience, Sir Gerald," she said coldly. "I would prefer that you inform me ahead of time when you plan to come to Stoneridge."

He merely grinned at her rebuff. "If I had informed you that I wanted to pay a call on you, you would have found a reason to be absent."

He was tall, with sandy-colored hair and blue eyes. Mallory knew that many women found him attractive, but she did not. She loathed him for the shameful way he trifled with other women, giving little thought to his poor wife.

"I do hope Lady Dunmore is enjoying good health," Mallory said pointedly. "She did not accompany you today?"

Sir Gerald merely shrugged. "You know I'm alone. Little my wife cares where I take my pleasure as long as I don't bother her."

"I would rather not hear you speak disparagingly about Lady Dunmore. I like her, and she deserves better."

"Why not pity me? You don't know what it's like to be married to a woman with a cold disposition. Twelve years we've been married." His eyes raked Mallory's body to fasten on the swelling of her young breasts against her tight-fitting riding habit. "I've often imagined how you'd warm a man's bed on a cold night, Mallory."

She stared at him in horror. "How dare you? You're deplorable."

He appeared undaunted by her rebuke. His voice became silky. "Perhaps I am, but I could do things to you that would leave you begging for more."

She whirled on him, her eyes darkening in rage. "Get off my father's land. You aren't welcome here."

He merely laughed. "Not very hospitable this morning, are you? Never mind—sooner or later I'll break down your defenses."

"Never! What must I do to convince you that I don't even like you?"

His eyes burned into hers with naked desire. "It's been my experience with women that they often say no when what they really mean is yes."

"You think too much of your charms. 1 find you-offensive and without honor."

"Honor is just a word invented by fools who were too afraid to say what they really feel. I believe, given the right circumstances, you would be more than amiable to me.

Tibor chose that moment to perform his antics. He tossed his mane and pranced about, causing Mallory to devote her full attention to quieting the spirited animal.

Sir Gerald's eyes followed Mallory's every graceful movement. As she attempted to gentle her mount, her hat flew off and dark auburn hair spilled down her back. He ached to possess her. He was determined to have her, no matter what. He had been very tolerant with her, but no more. Today he would take her, with or without her consent.

Mallory slid off her horse and walked to the bramble bush where the wind had blown her hat. Before she could poise it on her head, she was grabbed from behind. She spun around to face Sir Gerald.

"Take your hands off me!" she demanded.

His eyes rested on her heaving breasts, and he felt a strong need to crush her in his arms. "You always turn away my advances, but there is no one here to stop me from taking what I want."

Mallory was suddenly afraid, but she was determined not to allow him to see that fear. "Release me," she said bravely. "Your wife will hear about this if you don't leave me alone."

His grip only tightened. "Why do women pretend they don't want a man's kiss, when all along they ache for it?"

"Don't you care about your wife?"

"I can't even abide to be in the same room with her. Have pity on me and give me what I crave."

"I don't know what kind of woman you think I am, Sir Gerald. But I'm outraged that you would take such liberties with me. If my father were here, he'd kill you for touching me."

"But he isn't. The whole village knows that your parents have never been concerned for your welfare, m'lady. Since your father began acquiring artifacts for British museums, he and your mother only care about traveling the world for treasures, leaving their greatest treasure unguarded." He touched her hair and she drew back. "Your mother and father don't give you a thought, while I can't get you out of my mind."

"You insult me."

"You know I speak the truth, m'lady. Now, if you were nice to me, I'd never leave you alone. I know your father has left you practically impoverished. Most of the servants have gone, and those who remain are too old to look after you properly. Under my protection, you would want for nothing. I would shower you with fancy gowns and expensive trinkets."

She was disgusted by his vile suggestion. "How dare you make such a lewd offer to me. I'm a highborn lady, and not some guttersnipe."

He slid one hand behind her head and the other about her shoulders, bringing her closer to him. "It's because you are highborn that you appeal to me. I will have you, Mallory, make no mistake about that."

Her heart was thundering with fear. "I'll scream."

He smiled. "Go ahead. No one will hear you."

She struggled to be free of him, but his grip only tightened. "What do you want of me?"

His eyes settled on her lips. "I think you know. Can you guess what it feels like to have a man make love to you, Mallory? I've watched you grow into a beautiful young woman, and I've lain awake at night aching to touch you."

Fear robbed her of her voice, and she could only stare at him in disbelief.

He dipped his head, and his lips covered hers in a suffocating kiss. She pushed against him, and tried to turn her head away, but he persisted. She froze when his hands moved up the bodice of her gown.

At last she was able to move her head enough to escape his kiss. "You monster," she said, rubbing her hand across her lips. "You vile, unprincipled monster!"

He only smiled. "When you struggle like that, it only excites me more. Now I shall excite you."

"Surely you aren't saying that you would . . . that you would force me to .. ."

His eyes gleamed with something she couldn't define. "I believe we understand each other."

She decided to try reasoning with him, at least until she could think of a way to escape. "Why would you want me? I've had no experience with a man. Surely you could find a woman much more willing than I."

He studied the fine details of her face—her upturned nose, her finely arched eyebrows, eyes so blue a man could get lost in them. Her innocence only aroused him more. "You are unaware how your beauty can tear at a man's guts. Ask of me what you will, and it's yours. I'll do anything to possess you."