Raven's Bride, page 11
“As to that, I am certain you can outwit her. And if she detects anything unusual about your conduct, such as watching her closely, she’ll figure you are plotting ways to give her the slip.” He frowned. “I do not mean to put you at risk, my dear. On the contrary, this scheme, outlandish as it must appear, is designed to protect you.”
“Well, I don’t see how it accomplishes anything but making me look like a goosecap,” she said frankly. “Take no insult, Lord Killain. I daresay most women find you irresistible.”
“But you do not,” he said with a laugh. “And just as well. If I thought you might truly develop a tendre, this ruse would be a terrible idea instead of a poor one.”
That hurt, more than she wanted to admit. Of course a handsome man like Lord Killain would never be attracted to the likes of her, but he needn’t have been so blunt. She nearly told him that compared to Ravensby, he came in a very poor second.
He moved to the sofa and sat beside her. “I see you must be told yet another secret, Miss Shea. Two, in fact. If I draw you more deeply into my confidence, will you hold to the promise you already gave me?”
She inclined her head.
“Good girl. The reason Lady Nora may be a threat to Ravensby concerns the will written by his father. Most of the properties are entailed, so the old earl could not prevent Ash from claiming them. But four members of the family stand to inherit parcels of land if he dies without an heir.”
“Are they valuable?”
“Not a one of them. In fact, there are several unentailed properties willed to Ravensby without any such entanglement. His father was, in effect, stomping a foot. It was a gesture at most, a way of punishing his son for disobedience. The lands are currently held in trust, by the way, for Ash’s firstborn son. Assuming he lives long enough to sire another child.”
Killain rested his elbows on his knees. “Ravensby believes his wife was murdered to prevent her from giving birth. Until it became known she was pregnant, she was never the object of an attack.”
“Dear God. Lady Ellen was killed to eliminate an innocent baby? And by a member of Ravensby’s own family?”
“That is the logical conclusion, if one assumes the inheritance is involved. But the motive could be revenge, and connected to the war investigations. Always, we are guessing. And for that reason we take every precaution. If you pretend affection for me, no one will imagine a possible alliance between you and the earl.”
She twisted her skirt in her hands. “I don’t see the point of this deception. It’s perfectly obvious Ravensby would never look twice at me. I’m a nobody. I’m not even pretty.”
Killain squeezed her hand. “You underestimate yourself, young lady. But the fact is, he’ll not permit himself the slightest attraction to any marriageable woman for the reason I’ve just explained. She might become a target. However, the killer is not so enlightened about his character, so we must make it perfectly clear your affections are otherwise engaged. Do you understand?”
She took a deep breath. “I think so. But I’ve never been infatuated. How do I go about it?”
“Oh, your female instincts will direct you once you get in the spirit of the thing. One day you’ll be truly in love, but in the meantime, you can practice your wiles on me.”
“You will be pretending too,” she reminded him. “Or will you play the part of a harried male pursued by a bothersome nitwit?”
“Never that!” he protested. “Take no offense because I advised you against developing a genuine interest in me. You were offended, I believe.”
“A trifle, since the idea of ensnaring you never occurred to me. It’s a hard thing, to be rejected before there is reason for it.”
“Rejection is not in question here. And so we come to the last of my secrets, if you are prepared for yet another shocking revelation.”
“I’m beginning to think nothing you say will ever astonish me, Lord Killain. But go ahead.”
“Very well.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “From the age of nine or ten, I have always known that one day I would enter a religious order. Ah, I see I managed to surprise you after all.”
With her mouth hanging open in astonishment, she could only nod.
“Don’t think I failed to struggle against my vocation. But there is no escape, if God really wants you. And for reasons I’ve yet to understand, He seems to be fixed on my poor self. I had thought to enter a monastery after leaving Cambridge, but instead I bought colors and went to fight on the Peninsula. At the time, I’d no idea if I was trying to escape or merely going where I was meant to be. Later, I knew I’d made the right decision.”
“Are you Catholic?” she managed to ask.
He laughed. “It’s a requirement. For the Franciscans, anyway. If they accept me, I’ll become one of them when this business with Ravensby is done. I’ll not leave him while he’s in danger.”
“God doesn’t mind? I should think He’d want you in his clutches right away.”
“It will come about, in His own good time. And, to be candid, I’ve never been in a hurry myself. Like St. Augustine, I’ve prayed, ‘God, give me chastity. But not yet.’ I’m no saint, Miss Shea, although I’ll hold to my vows once they are made.”
“Well, I think it’s a terrible waste. How can a man with your splendid looks and remarkable talents run away from the world?”
“I wish to embrace the world,” he said simply. “All of it, not just the bits and pieces that give me pleasure. Someday we’ll speak again of this, if you remain curious. For now, understand that my path is clear to me.”
“Holy hollyhocks,” she muttered. “You are the last person I’d ever expect to become a monk. Does Ravensby know?”
“He does not. And you mustn’t drop the slightest hint. He harbors enough guilt as it is because I stay here at Ravenrook instead of cutting a dash in London or settling down with a wife. If he thought for a moment he stood between me and God—which I assure you he does not—I’d be thrown out of Ravenrook on my ear.”
“My heavens,” she said, still awestruck. “You a Franciscan. I’m not altogether sure what those are, but they sound awfully dull. For a man like you, anyway.”
“Sometimes it scares me too,” he said. “Not the dull part—my life with them will be anything but that. I worry I’ll not measure up to my vocation, though, and admit to long nights sweating about what I’ll be giving up. Then I think of what God’s grace can work in me, for His own ends, and I am at peace again. We must trust, Miss Shea.”
She regarded him dubiously. “If God has plans for us, why is Ravensby’s life in such a mess? Mine too, and Harry’s? Or does He care only about the people He calls to be vicars and nuns and Franciscans?”
“After seven years at war, watching my friends screaming in pain as they died all around me, I ask the same questions over and over again. But I have no answers.” He touched her arm. “We do our best, Glenys Shea. We plod along, and teach ourselves to love, and make little puddles of light where we can.”
Her eyes watered. “You will make a wonderful Franciscan,” she said after a long time. “And it will be very easy to pretend I am in love with you, Lord Killain. I expect I am, in a strange sort of way. I don’t know much about love.”
“On the contrary. I have an instinct about these matters, you know. You have a loving heart, my dear, and a loyal one. May I count on you to help me protect Ravensby?”
Sniffling, she sat straighter on the chair. “Absolutely. I’ll watch Lady Nora like a hawk, report to you, and keep every one of your secrets.”
“That’s my girl. Just one more thing. Try not to do anything that will give Ravensby an excuse to send you away.”
Her heart sank. “Does he wish to?”
“He thinks he does.”
13
IN A FLURRY OF silver swords, Ravensby and Killain moved with dazzling speed around the large, bare room.
As Glenys watched, the clash of steel resounded in her ears. Like two magnificent, deadly animals, they circled. Attacked. Withdrew. Attacked again.
Beside her, buckled into the fencing jacket Killain insisted he wear for his lessons, Harry practically bounced with excitement. “I can do that!” he whispered loudly. “Lord Killain says a fencer doesn’t have to be tall if he’s fast.”
“You’ll be an expert in no time at all,” she assured him without taking her eyes from the swordplay. Privately, she thought that height and a long reach were bound to be useful in a real fight.
After a particularly swift engagement, the men separated for a moment, saluted, and began again. Killain fought with flash and daring, nearly always the first to attack. Ravensby’s style was more methodical, although no less effective. He watched for openings, seized opportunities, and allowed his opponent to make the mistakes.
No, he elicited those mistakes, she decided after close observation. Sometimes he’d appear slightly off balance, or out of position, only to erupt in a dizzying counterattack when Killain tried to exploit a momentary weakness that didn’t exist.
Lady Nora gathered her skirts and stood. “Glenys, dear, I begin to weary of this masculine posturing, and perspiration is not among my favorite odors. Join me in the conservatory when you’ve had enough, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” she replied vaguely. Ravensby had driven Killain to the wall, where the blond man threw up one hand in a gesture of surrender.
“Well done, rascal,” he approved. “But the next time you’ll not be so lucky. I tripped on something.”
“Of course you did.” Ravensby gestured at the smoothly polished floor. “A wonder we weren’t both brought down.”
“Oh, leave a man some pride, will you?” Killain touched his blade to his forehead. “I miss the good old days, when you never won a bout.”
“Take pride that you taught me so well. And now, young Master Shea grows impatient. I’ll leave you to work your magic with him.”
Hearing his name, Harry bounded across the room.
“No rest for the wicked,” Killain said as he chose a foil from the boxes on the floor. He passed it to Harry and led him to a large mirror on the opposite wall.
Ravensby watched them for a moment before picking up a towel next to the boxes. While his back was turned, Glenys crept behind him.
“It is unwise,” he said quietly, “to approach an armed man from the rear.”
“Towels at dawn?” she challenged with a laugh.
When he turned, she saw the sword in his hand. He’d been using the towel to wipe the blade and grip.
“Has anyone ever mentioned your tendency to impulsive behavior, Miss Shea?”
She thought he was teasing her, although his tone remained low and calm, as always. “Not a soul,” she replied breezily. “Impulsive behavior was forbidden at Miss Pipcock’s. We were trained to be models of predictable deportment. Whatever that is,” she added after a moment. “Predictable deportment was the unofficial school motto, drummed into our heads at every conceivable opportunity.”
“In your case, it must have passed directly out again. Predictable is the last word that comes to mind when I think of you.”
Did he really think of her? she wondered with a flutter near her heart. In the two weeks since Lady Nora’s arrival, she had scarcely seen him. He dined alone in his study and never joined them for games of charades and twenty questions in the evenings.
She knew he went for morning rides with Lord Killain and Harry, though, and longed to go with them. But when she asked permission of her chaperone, it was refused.
“Men require time among themselves,” Lady Nora had informed her, “so they can behave like oafish schoolboys. When ladies are not about, they rattle interminably about cockfighting and horse racing and fisticuffs. They use foul language and, I’m sorry to say, emit unpleasant bodily noises.”
After six months in a tiny cottage with her father and brother, Glenys knew all about those noises. But since she was a poor rider and would spoil their fun, she had let the subject drop.
“I did not mean to offend you, Miss Shea,” the earl said in a tight voice. “That was intended to be a jest, not a reproof.” As if regretting the admission, he began to apply the towel to his damp hair. The sword bounced against his chest as he rubbed, and with a muttered oath he looked around for a place to put it.
“May I?” She took the foil from his hand and swooshed it through the air.
He quickly stepped out of the way. “Careful! The tip is buttoned, but the metal has a sharp edge.”
Moving to one side, she watched Harry and Lord Killain go through a basic exercise. It looked easy enough.
Placing her heels together at a right angle, legs straight, her body slightly turned, she sent her front foot forward and bent her knees, holding the blade at the eye level of her imaginary opponent and arching her other arm behind her.
This is fun, she decided immediately. And so … empowering.
Suddenly both men lunged. The front foot never left the floor, she saw. It glided forward as the back leg extended with a snappy motion. The back arm went parallel to the back leg, and the front arm directed the blade. Such a simple move. Even Harry could do it.
“En garde,” she cried, commencing a lunge of her own. Her front slipper glided smoothly, and the foil darted out dramatically, but her rear foot caught in the folds of her skirt. She began to topple backward. Flailing wildly, she pulled her foot loose and staggered forward.
Ravensby dodged just in time.
The tip of her foil hit the wall, sending vibrations down her arm that all but knocked her off her feet. With a yelp she let go of the hilt. The sword landed on the hardwood floor with a resounding clang.
For a moment no one moved. Then Harry’s braying laugh cut through the silence.
Glenys whirled and jabbed a finger in his direction. “Shut up, you great looby, or I’ll give you what I just gave that wall!”
Killain planted a hand over Harry’s mouth before he could take up the challenge and turned him back to the mirror. Soon they were both lunging and retreating with a grace she could only envy.
Cheeks hot with embarrassment, she bent to pick up the sword. A wonder it’s still in one piece, she thought, not daring to look at Ravensby.
“Do you wish to join them?” he asked. “They’ve had only a few lessons. Killain will help you catch up.”
She turned to him in surprise. “After that display, you think I could learn to fence?”
“Why not?” He wiped his neck with the towel. “You’ll require a mask and jacket, and a lighter foil, but we can purchase those if nothing here fits you.”
“I’d also need to wear trousers,” she said. “It was my skirt that tripped me up. Is that acceptable? Do women wear trousers when they fence?”
“I’ve no idea. In general, females do not fence, nor wish to. Killain must guide you. Meantime, you may as well join your brother and get a feel for the movements.”
Bobbing a curtsey of gratitude, she was about to rush across the room when Harry’s voice, loud and whiny, held her in place.
“This is boring,” he complained. “When do we get to fight?”
Killain spoke to him quietly, Harry looked chagrined, and they resumed the exercise.
Bowing her head, Glenys studied the sword in her hand with regret. Then she went to the padded box near the earl’s feet, lowered herself to one knee, and reverently laid the foil in its case. “I cannot,” she said. “But thank you for offering me the chance.”
“Will you tell me the reason?” he asked from just behind her.
Standing, she turned and gave a tiny shrug. “For Harry’s sake. But I cannot explain, because sound carries in this room. He mustn’t hear me.”
“Outside, then.” Dropping his towel, Ravensby led her through the French doors into a tiny rose garden. “Would he be resentful if you claimed a bit of Killain’s attention?”
“Not that.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Harry desperately wants people to regard him as a man. And he’s so small and slender that no one ever does. To his way of thinking, fencing and shooting are manly pursuits. If his sister takes them up, his sense of accomplishment will be diminished. Even worse, should I best him at either sport—”
She sank onto a wrought-iron bench. “I would try, you know. Not to beat Harry, but to excel.”
“It’s possible he will leave you in the dust,” Ravensby pointed out. “Killain tells me he shows great promise. I’m teaching him to shoot, and already he gives evidence of a good eye and a steady hand.”
“Oh, I hope you have told him so! Harry idolizes you. But I expect you know that.”
His brows arched in surprise. “It is Killain he admires. I’m the one forcing him to read Shakespeare, speak the King’s English, and rewrite his execrable compositions. Most days he’s quite out of charity with me.”
“It’s true that he despises schoolwork,” she said pensively. “But that’s to be expected after what he endured at St. Simon’s. The other boys called him ‘Miss Harry’ and beat him up because he was too small to fight back. Well, he did try, but to no effect. When he ran home, the vicar told him to be a man and sent him back again. Eventually he ran away for good, in the other direction.”
The earl propped one stockinged foot on the bench and folded his arms across his knee. “For all that, he absorbed rather a lot in the classrooms. It’s returning now, that smattering of education. He will never be a scholar, but he’ll be able to write and speak as a gentleman should.”
“He’d rather ride and shoot and fence the way you do. I understand he’s struck a bargain with you—extra lessons with a pistol in exchange for good essays.”
Ravensby grinned, and she was so surprised she nearly slid off the bench in a heap. A grin wasn’t precisely a smile, but it was close enough to send butterflies to her stomach.
“Your brother is a born horse trader. And I’ve yet to break him from pocketing anything he can get his hands on. He can’t be selling what he steals because he’s not left the estate, but—”
“Everything is stored under his mattress,” she advised. “It’s a wonder he can sleep atop that pile of booty. I think he must have taken the clock from the parlor, because last night we couldn’t locate it when we played charades and needed to mark the time. He’s stocking up, you know, against the day we find ourselves without a feather to fly with.”
