Knight of Love (23 page)

According to Callista's husband, Lord Rexton, rumors were growing that Wolfram held dangerous revolutionary sympathies—that he'd toppled a German principality allied to England and that he might even be planning to continue such action against the government on these shores. Wolfram's behavior wasn't helping, as he apparently made no effort to reconnect with old friends at his clubs, but was instead clomping about, bemoaning the slow progress of political change on the Continent and insulting every European aristocrat in exile whom he ran across in London.

She sighed and arranged her travel plans to be as quick as possible. Bea lent her a lady's maid and footman for the journey back to Devonshire. On the new Exeter line of the Great Western Railway, opened only a few years ago, the trip from Paddington to the station near the ducal estate took only a full day.

She waited until after luncheon on the day following her arrival, always a good time to catch her father in a mellow mood in his study.

After they'd chatted about the masons' progress on a new bridge over Green Creek and about the season's likely corn prices, the duke leaned forward across his large mahogany desk. He pulled off his reading glasses. “Lenora, you didn't travel down from London to talk about estate business. Come on, daughter—out with it, now.”

She licked her lips nervously and plunged into her prepared speech. “Father, one of the privileges of a duke is direct petition to the sovereign. You have the right, do you not, to speak to Her Majesty on matters you deem important?”

He cocked his head, clearly not expecting this tack. “The right is seldom invoked nowadays. One doesn't simply march into the palace and demand to chat with the Queen—not even as a duke. Historically, the privilege of address was meant to protect against despotism and to keep the monarchy accountable to the nobility in terms of petition and redress.”

She shifted to the edge of her chair across from her father's desk. “I understand. But if there was an issue of importance, you could find a way to bring it up with Her Majesty, could you not?”

“You mean other than introduce a bill in Parliament?” he asked her.

“Yes. It's a different sort of issue that I have in mind.”

The duke steepled his fingers on the desktop and fixed her with his steely gaze. It was a gaze infamous at the Abbey for intimidating everyone from tenant farmers balking at an agricultural reform all the way up to visiting peers opposed to one of the duke's pet political projects. When Lenora was a child, she'd quaked at that soul-piercing look. Now she managed to school her impulse to squirm—although only barely.

“My dear,” her father said, “I think it time you told me more about what went on in Germany. Your mother bade me not push you on the matter, but it's related, isn't it, to this ‘different sort of issue'?”

She looked down at her clasped hands and sighed. “Father, the matter is somewhat complicated. Can you promise me you will listen first and not become angry?”

He chuckled. “Become angry at my little princess?”

She startled in surprise at Wolfram's term, repeated here by her father. Memories flashed of the duke's childhood endearment for her. Hundreds of times, it must have been, he'd called her
kleine Prinzessin
, after her mother, who had been titled Her Serene Highness Princess Astrid von Sigmaringen in her native Prussia.

“You haven't called me that in years,” she said.

He smiled at her. “You've been so mature for so long now, daughter. I believe you were a grown woman by the time you turned fifteen, steady and not at all flighty like your brothers. Some days I despair they'll ever mature, such dramas and wild scrapes they get caught up in. Just this last winter, whilst you were in Germany, James swore he'd found the love of his life, but when he set about to ask for the girl's hand in marriage, she let it be known that she considered the life of a duchess far too much work and had determined to set her cap no higher than a viscountess. He moped for weeks—started to compose poetry about it, for God's sake! You've never been such a romantic fool.”

Lenora took a deep breath. “No, Father, perhaps not. But I fear I'm about to
become
a romantic fool. And I need your help to do so.”

He looked closely at her. “You haven't asked for my help in years. Not since the winter that you mastered the Abbey's account books and took them over.” He sighed heavily and passed a hand over his face. “Your mother warned me this was coming. And she said it was about a man. But I want you to know first that I will always ensure for your care. My solicitors will draw up trust documents to provide you with an independent income. You don't need to marry, should you prefer to remain unattached. Now, should I brace myself? Polish my pistols?”

She felt torn between tears and nervous laughter. “Father, thank you. I do love you. And no, no pistols, but do brace yourself.” She pushed to her feet and began to pace, twisting her hands together. She couldn't get the confession out while looking at his kind face. “I think I'm married, or at least somewhat married, in a rather complicated sort of way. And we need to talk to the Queen about one of her noble knights-errant. He is badly maligned, and I fear it's partly by my fault.”

A long silence greeted her announcement. She finally risked a look back over her shoulder at her father.

He waited another moment, as if absorbing the tale, then raised a brow. “Sounds interesting, daughter.”

Thank God
for British stiff upper lip.

Once back in London at Bea's mansion, Lenora realized that she would have to ask Callista to post a note to Wolfram requesting that they meet. An unmarried woman, such as Lenora was taken to be, could not respectably direct correspondence to a man. A man, of course, could send correspondence to whomever he pleased. Lenora frowned, remembering Wolfram's speeches to her in Germany about women's need for greater rights. Now that he'd pointed the issue out to her, she saw the truth of it everywhere.

“But where and how should I propose that we meet to talk? Bother! This is getting ridiculous!” she said to her friends as they sat over tea in Bea's morning room.

“Callista could invite him to pay a call at Rexton House and leave you two alone,” said Bea, putting down her pen as she finished some business correspondence. Her latest endeavor was a housing development for the London poor; it featured newly built town houses with hygienic water, sewerage, and ventilation and a community school for the children, along with job training for the parents. “But what would be even better would be a house party in the country. It's perfectly respectable, and couples always find ways to wander off together—to say nothing of late-night visits to each other's rooms.”

“Bea!” Callista chided her, laughing. “What can an innocent maiden such as yourself know about such things?”

“Oh, stop with your balderdash!” said Bea, snorting. “ ‘Innocent maiden,' indeed!”

“Bea has no interest in gentlemen, only in business deals and philanthropic efforts,” said Lenora, working hard
not
to think about late-night visits to Wolfram's room. “What's her motivation to marry when she already runs her own house and controls her own money?”

Bea grinned and turned in her chair toward her friend. “You tell me, Lenora. You're the one contemplating marriage. Does it look worth it to you?”

Callista saved Lenora from having to answer
that
loaded question. “Wait—I've got it!” Callista jumped up from her tea. “
Lord Ravensworth
should have the house party, at Ravenhold! He could host it with his mother and invite all of us! Remember what we read in the newspaper only yesterday—there's been a discovery of dinosaur bones in a quarry at the Hold! Your aunt and uncle are such avid naturalists, Bea; don't you think they'd jump at the chance to be part of the excavation?”

The three young women stared at one other.

“Oh, Callista,” breathed Bea, “that's a wonderful idea! Uncle Richard and Aunt Vera would be ecstatic to be included in a new Dinosauria discovery. They're well known among the fossil-collecting crowd, so an invitation to them wouldn't raise eyebrows. As they are my guardians, of course I should travel with them. You and Lenora could then easily come along as my companions.”

Callista beamed at them both. “Lord Ravensworth could have his mother issue invitations to a few other families and friends, to disguise the party's true purpose of allowing him to spend time alone with Lenora.”

Lenora looked between her two friends. It could work. All she needed to do was convince a grumpy convalescing knight that a scientific expedition for Dinosauria bones constituted a perfect reason for him to host a houseful of guests.

One of whom would just happen to be her.

They spent the remainder of the morning working on a carefully worded note to Wolfram, which, in the end, they all dubbed quite fine in laying out the case for the house party.

“That should do it,” Lenora said. She sealed off the missive and handed it to Callista for her to address the outside as Lady Rexton.

“You could save yourself all this trouble and simply announce your marriage to the earl,” suggested Callista mildly, tucking the note into her reticule to post on her return home.

“I'm not ready for that yet,” Lenora answered.
Nor am I sure I ever will be.

The next day a note arrived at Bea's mansion, addressed directly to Lenora and carried by one of the Ravensworth liveried footmen:

Stop hiding behind your friends. I never took you for a coward, at least. And why in God's name would I agree to host a house party-cum-expedition for saurian reptile skeletons?

—Ravensworth

Holding her temper, Lenora tried for a light tone in her reply. Throwing caution to the wind, she posted it herself.

My Dear Lord Ravensworth,

Why host a Dinosauria house party? Because you embrace the scientific advancements and discoveries of the modern age! You are a knight for the nineteenth century, remember?

Cordially yours,

—Lenora Trevelyan

But on the following day, his tone remained sulky:

Lenora,

You cannot threaten to rip up a certain “agreement” that was made between us, and then demand that I invite you to a party.

—Wolf

Lenora gritted her teeth. So he wanted an apology and a capitulation, did he? She certainly was not going to grovel! Could the dratted man not see that she was attempting to create an opportunity for the two of them to sort through this situation together? She abandoned all pretense of respectability by instructing the long-suffering footman to wait in Bea's front hall as she stormed off to the morning room to pen her reply:

Wolfram,

You once said to me that you would court and woo me properly were our circumstances different. By this house party, I am suggesting to you that I may perhaps be ready to hold myself open to such an effort at courtship on your part, were that effort sufficiently convincing and on the condition that it be entirely free of any and all references to “delicate princesses” and “adorable kittens.”

—Lenora

The response came back within the hour, scrawled in Wolfram's bold handwriting and heavily underlined in black:

Lady,

If there is to be a house party, my condition to you is that you open to me fully, both body and soul. My courtship would be most vigorous.

—W

Heat shot through her at his choice of words. She crumpled the note and threw it on the glowing coals of the morning room fireplace, where it promptly burst into blue flames.

Chapter 15

T
he procession of a five-foot fossilized leg bone carried by three burly footmen down the Ravenhold drive interrupted the alighting of the guests from the traveling carriages. Lenora stuck her head out the window of the carriage that she shared with Bea and her guardians in order to evaluate the bottleneck near the country house's sweeping front steps. Over the imposing entrance, the earl's British family crest emblazoned the portico. The crest featured the black wolf of his German family line, but without the wolf's blood-dripping maw that Lenora remembered from Germany. Instead, civilized ravens perched calmly atop oak trees in the crest's four corners, surrounding a tame and seated wolf.

Yes—it
was
good to be back in England.

But would Wolfram himself be equally tame?

Lenora's nerves had stretched thin on the carriage ride down to the Sussex coast, rattled by the nonstop talk of Mr. and Mrs. Norton and the endless rutted country lanes, but especially by the prospect of the house party itself. At least the excited chatter of Bea's guardians had allowed her time to think. Truth be told, the tangled messages of her heart and head confused her still.

You are no prim miss of a schoolgirl who doesn't know her own mind,
she had endlessly tried chiding herself ever since seeing Wolfram again. But the problem was, she
didn't
know her mind, not for sure. She believed Wolfram to be a good man, despite the atrocious way he'd forced them together. But she didn't know if she could forgive him for how he'd deprived her of choice, nor allow herself to accept a man who'd acted as he had. Nor did she understand the behavior he'd drawn from her in Dremen. She was too honest to blame that episode on him; she'd wanted him that night, wanted him on his knees and tied to her bed under her. The thought stirred something inside her even now. But that self—definitely not prim—was a new one, one that unsettled and scared her.

Why take the risk of opening herself again to this man?

Before his return, she had almost convinced herself that she didn't need or want a man at all.

But then there he was. A far too large, ridiculously romantic, dangerously idealistic fool of a man, far too adept at fanning her desire into a hot blaze.

“Look at the size of that femur, Richard!” exclaimed Mrs. Norton.

Lenora sighed and resigned herself to not escaping the carriage quite yet.

Mrs. Norton craned her neck out of the window as the footmen processed by. “Is the skeleton complete, do you think? Wouldn't that be smashing, Richard, if it were actually complete?”

“We mustn't expect too much, Vera.” Her husband patted her hand. “Sussex is wonderful, of course, for fossil reptiles, but no one has ever uncovered a Dinosauria in its entirely. Not even Dr. Mantell's Maidstone
Iguanodon
was complete.”

“Do you think the find is a
Megalosaurus
or an
Iguanodon
? The drawing of the teeth that Lord Ravensworth included in his invitation does seem to indicate an
Iguanodon
, don't you believe?” As the lady spoke, she pulled yet again from her portmanteau a well-thumbed copy of Mantell's
The Fossils of the South Downs
. With it came loose a sheaf of bone sketches and detailed notes that scattered all over the floor.

“Yes, certainly.” Mr. Norton nodded decidedly. “It is the teeth that tell the story whether the creature was herbivorous or a carnivore.”

Bea's coachman finally managed to maneuver their carriage in place at the top of the drive. Callista, feeling rather desperate to escape, lunged to open the door herself, not waiting for the footman. Bea, behind her, helped her aunt and uncle pick up their papers and repack the portmanteau.

Lenora almost shrieked as Wolfram's frame suddenly filled the carriage door.

He merely raised a dark eyebrow at her as he handed her down from the carriage. It had been several weeks since she'd seen him. He'd regained some of the weight lost during his recovery, but was still slimmer than he'd been in Germany. His cheekbones carved sharper angles down the planes of his face. It suited him, truth be told, rendering him more darkly handsome, unless it was only her silly heart making it appear so.

Before either could speak, they were elbowed aside by a cane-wielding grande dame trailing a pack of harried-looking servants with a plethora of trunks. “I don't care what those newfangled scientists say,” the lady was loudly exclaiming. “They are obviously the bones of giant animals drowned in the Great Flood! This is not to be a party of transmutationists, I hope!”

Wolfram moved closer and held Lenora's arm to stabilize her against the jostling. At his touch, his scent enveloped her. Her stomach contracted in a queer little flip. How
not
to remember their other, more intimate contacts in the past? She and this very large and powerful man had lain together naked.

She remembered it all.

Feeling badly flustered, she hazarded a quick look up at him. His hooded eyes didn't allow her to judge whether his mood veered to anger or if it was amusement glittering behind that stare. Although she feared it smacked of cowardice, she didn't have it in her to find out. Ducking under his arm with the briefest of greetings, she scurried inside, the long ribbons of her traveling bonnet fluttering behind her.

The massive entry hall of Ravenhold, with its gray stone floor and delicate plasterwork ceiling, blended the house's origin as a fortified castle with last century's renovations into a graceful manor house. Lady Ravensworth bustled about with the butler, welcoming guests and assigning them to their rooms. She was a tall and comely woman, her hair still the same jet-black as her son's. When she saw Lenora, she broke into a radiant smile and came over, hands outstretched.

“Welcome to Ravenhold, Lady Lenora.” The dowager countess's English held the slightest hint of a German accent and reminded Lenora of her own mother's speech. “I am so pleased that you could accept our invitation. My son has made special mention of you, from your time in my native land, as a most brave young lady.”

Oh, dear. Lenora wasn't at all sure she wanted to be privy to the contents of
that
conversation.

Her hostess drew Lenora aside. “I've been so concerned about Wolfram since his return from Germany. You can't believe how surprised I was when he suggested that we host a house party for two dozen guests here at the Hold. But it's proven just the thing to raise his spirits. He's been quite involved with the planning, even choosing room assignments for our guests. He's picked out lovely chambers overlooking the sea for you young ladies.”

Lenora's stomach did another little flip at that news as she recalled Bea's comments about the ease of late-night bedroom visits during these country parties.

She rubbed a hand across her midriff. She needed to get her nerves under control.

It was time to face the lions.

Or the wolf.

The house party, everyone agreed, was proving a smashing success. The autumn weather held steady with the last warmth of summer. Blue skies and fluffy white clouds unfurled day after day over the rolling chalk hills of the South Downs coast. Mr. and Mrs. Norton spent every day at the quarry site, along with local naturalists, fossil specimen collectors, and a pair of geology professors visiting from Oxford. The other guests stayed happily occupied with croquet on the lawn, strolls in the gardens, tea on the terrace overlooking the distant white-cresting sea, and charades in the drawing room. As the earl employed an excellent cook and maintained a fine cellar, the evenings passed in pleasant enjoyment as well.

For all those, that is, who weren't torn between annoyance, anger, worry, and a most disconcerting lust for their infuriating host.

Lenora at first kept her distance from Wolfram—and locked her bedchamber door. She told herself and her friends that she needed time to settle into the rhythm of the house party and that she merely awaited the right moment to broach a conversation with their host.

But then the moment found her.

Lady Ravensworth organized a picnic near the fossil quarry site and invited all the houseguests to view the progress on the excavation. Callista and Bea insisted that they must, of course, accept. Once at the quarry, Wolfram proposed that Lady Lenora might enjoy the sea prospects from the path atop the adjoining chalk bluff, and would she care to stroll with him in that direction?

Lenora blushed, feeling manipulated and outmaneuvered by them all, but she accepted. She and Wolfram talked of dinosaur banalities while they walked in the sunshine; she was gratified, at least, to see his limp nearly healed. He spread a picnic rug under a weatherworn tree at the top of the chalk bluff and invited her to sit. Then he prattled on about incisors versus grinding teeth until she couldn't stand it anymore.

“I did not realize you were so fond of reptile science, my lord,” she said.

“Is there something else about which you would rather converse, my lady?” he asked, casting her a meaningful look.

Her moment of reckoning had come.

She licked her lips nervously. “The last time we spoke privately, we discussed ripping up our marriage contract and ending the marriage.”

“We did.” He nodded. “And we spoke of other things as well. We've both had time to reflect since then. Perhaps we can broach the topic more calmly.”

She drew breath and launched into a speech about the folly of unions based on false notions of true love, when he held up a hand to interrupt her. He leaned in closer, staring at her chin.

“You have a small scar. I don't believe I've ever noticed it before.” He frowned.

She lifted her eyebrows at him, disconcerted by his change of topic. “Scar?”

“Yes, it's faint, but about an inch long, here on your chin.” He reached out to finger it. “How does a sheltered lady acquire such a scar?”

The unsettling sensation of him rubbing a thumb along her jaw had her batting away his hand. “I fell out of an apple tree in the abbey's orchard when I was nine.”

“And what were you doing in a tree, might I ask?”

“Why shouldn't I be in a tree?” Her nerves made her snap at him. “I was a child. Or isn't a little princess allowed to climb trees in your precious storybook of a world?”

A smile pulled at his lips. “You have to admit it's an unusual pastime for a well-bred young lady.” The scar seemed to beckon him, and he took her chin in his large hand again. “One whose skin is so silken.” He stroked her cheek and down the length of her neck. “And I do believe that we agreed not to speak of princesses anymore.”

She lifted her chin out of his wandering fingers' grasp. “My parents didn't believe in locking girls in the schoolroom all day. They said fresh air and exercise were good for me.”

“And yet,” he said, pointing out gently, “you fell out of the tree and hurt yourself.”

She shrugged. “I mended.”

He cocked his head, as if to bring her into better focus. “I have come to realize that I haven't seen you very clearly—the real you, that is. The one, for example, with these curls.” He wound his finger into one of the corkscrew tresses piled atop her head in a loose chignon. He pulled it taut and smiled as it popped back into place upon release. “Have I told you how much I love your hair?”

She shook her head at his strange mood. “Well, you did compose a
L
ied
to it in Germany, comparing it the brambles of the Black Forest, if that counts.”

He laughed. “I assure you that I meant it as the highest compliment.”

A smile escaped her in return. “I am afraid my hair is the bane of both my mother and my lady's maid. We've struggled for years to get it to lie smooth and stay in place. The curls are forever escaping whatever hairdressing we attempt.”

“Perhaps your hair doesn't want to be put in place.” He tugged on another curl. “Perhaps neither does its mistress. Some things are not meant to be smoothed out and pinned down.”

He closed the distance between them, his mouth inches from hers. “Some things,” he whispered, “some people, are meant to be free.”

He kissed her softly. A part of her sighed in relief, that he'd bridged the gap grown between them, and to feel the touch of him again. When he lifted his head, she nuzzled into the crook of his neck and inhaled. He smelled . . . delicious, and somehow so very, very right.

Ridiculous, for a woman such as herself who did not believe in the chimeras of soul mates and love at first sight.

And yet, true.

She fitted her lips to his again and kissed him. He made a sound of pleasure deep in his throat and opened his mouth to her kiss. Her senses reeled at the wet velvet heat of him. She wound her fingers into his thick new-grown hair, burrowed into his hard warmth, and reeled from the confused swamp of feelings flooding her.