Dangerous Gifts Part 2

Guests in the ballroom began crowding into the vestibule. Before Leah's startled eyes, the area at the bottom of the stairs filled with people, their eyes fixed on her. Most of the expressions were stunned admiration, but here and there tight-lipped women resentfully a.n.a.lyzed the new compet.i.tion.

Leah froze, wanting to run back upstairs, but the pressure of Lady Wheaton's grip kept her moving down. "I told you," her G.o.dmother whispered triumphantly. "Look at them! You'll be betrothed before the month is out, my girl."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and were instantly surrounded by men with avid eyes and l.u.s.ting hearts. A tall, heavyset fellow demanded, "An introduction please, Lady Wheaton!"

Beside him, a soulful gentleman said with a French accent, "A dance, mademoiselle, you must save me a dance."

A wide-eyed young man called out, "Your hand in marriage, my dear G.o.ddess. I shall make you Countess of Wye."

Other demands, other needs, chewed at her. Leah could feel the l.u.s.t coming from the men like animal heat. They were tall, strong, closing in like wolves. . . .

You wanted to be admired. The words formed in her mind, light and ironical. Lord Ranulph, perhaps, watching her in some strange faery way?

The faint mockery of the thought steadied her. Well, she had wanted admiration. She simply needed time to become accustomed to so much attention. Already that first rush of panic was retreating.

Lady Wheaton began making introductions and allotting her protegee's dances. Leah was more than willing to let her G.o.dmother handle such things. Her own energy was engaged simply in keeping her wits about her. A pity she had never attended a ball as her normal, mousy self. If she had, she would have been better prepared. But of course, her normal mousy self had never been invited anywhere.

After the flurry of introductions, she was handed into the keeping of her first dance partner, Lord Wye, the young man who had virtually proposed before he'd even learned her name. He was one of the eligibles Lady Wheaton had described, which meant that he was possessor of a vast fortune and an impressive t.i.tle.

Unfortunately, he possessed neither a chin nor conversation. Throughout their dance, he simply stared at Leah adoringly. She guessed that he was no older than she. She felt torn between sympathy for his shyness, and amus.e.m.e.nt at the way he blushed whenever she ventured a comment. The smile she offered him at the end of their quadrille reduced him to babbling incoherence.

Her next partner, the Duke of Hardcastle, was more articulate. He was in his middle thirties, a widower and man of the world who was at the top of Lady Wheaton's list of eligibles. He was quite a handsome man, and he made witty comments whenever the patterns of the dance brought them together. Altogether a good husband prospect, except that his hot, hungry gaze seemed to strip her naked.

Yet even though Hardcastle made her nervous, she felt a glow of triumph at the knowledge that he wanted her. No one had ever wanted her old, plain self.

She curtsied prettily at the end of the dance. "Thank you, Your Grace. You are very kind."

"Kindness has nothing to do with it." His heavy lidded gaze studied her with searing intensity. "Until next time, Miss Marlowe."

He returned her to Lady Wheaton, who took advantage of an interval between dances to introduce Leah to some of the powerful women who ruled London society. Leah had recovered enough from her earlier nervousness to smile, curtsy, and acknowledge the introductions without stammering.

Her progress was followed by approving comments such as "What pretty manners the girl has," and "She does you credit, Andrea."

Leah was tempted to laugh. She was merely practicing the courtesy learned by any child in the schoolroom, yet some of the women acted as if her behavior was unusual. That meant either that great beauties were often rude, or that Leah was getting more credit for good manners than a less beautiful girl would.

By the end of the long evening, she was enjoying every shred of admiration that came her way. Lady Wheaton was right-this was power. The warm gazes were balm after a lifetime of being ignored. Leah's simplest remarks were greeted with laughter, as if she were a great wit. Her every smile was received like a precious gift. Her dances were sought after as if they were the holy grail.

She had become a belle-and she loved it.

Chapter Three.

By the end of a fortnight's social activity, Leah was universally acknowledged as the Beauty of the Season. So many flowers had been delivered that every room of Wheaton House was perfumed with blossoms. She had started a collection of the poetry that had been sent to her. Half of the pieces came from the adoring Lord Jeffers, society poet and eligible bachelor. As Lady Wheaton had said, he wasn't the poet that Byron was, but the man did know how to turn a pretty phrase.

Resting in her room before preparing for a ball at the Duke of Hardcastle's famous mansion, Leah smiled over Lord Jeffers's latest effort, then tucked it away. The poet was quite charming, but in love with the idea of love rather than with her.

She relaxed into her wing chair, welcoming the interval of peace and quiet. There had been few such times in the last fortnight. "It's very exciting being a belle, Shadow, but I haven't fallen in love yet," she said with a sigh. "I haven't even met someone I want to fall in love with. Is there something wrong with me?"

The cat turned her head to Leah, for all the world as if she were listening. A thought appeared in Leah's mind. You haven't met the right man.

Leah was no longer surprised at such incidents. Admittedly all cats were rather fey, but she was half convinced that Shadow had been sent by Lord Ranulph as some sort of guardian. If witches had familiars, why not faeries?

A wordless note of disgust touched Leah's mind. She grinned at the cat, who was twitching her plumy tail with irritation. "Do you find that thought insulting? I'm sorry." She went to get her harp from its case, then sat again and ran experimental fingers over the strings. The familiar singing notes made her smile with pleasure. She settled down to play seriously. Her fingers were a little stiff, but they loosened rapidly.

It seemed no time at all before Monique entered. The maid said, scandalized, "M'zelle, you should be dressing for the ball!"

Leah almost protested that she wanted to spend the evening playing, but stopped herself. She had come to London to find love. There would be time for music later.

The dance ended and the Duke of Hardcastle bent to kiss Leah's hand. "You waltz beautifully, Miss Marlowe. But of course, you are beautiful in all ways."

Flushed from the swirling dance, Leah inclined her head graciously. "A good waltz requires a good partner."

The duke's mouth curved in a predator's smile. "As witty as you are lovely."

It hadn't been that witty, but by this time Leah had become used to such exaggerated reactions. The duke tucked her gloved hand into the crook of his arm and continued, "The ballroom is very warm. Come into my garden for some fresh air."

Leah hesitated. He had called at Wheaton House several times, always claimed two dances at each event, and had taken her driving once. Aunt Andrea said that bets were being laid in the clubs that Leah would be the next d.u.c.h.ess. Leah was not sure how she felt about that. Hardcastle cut an impressive figure and he was certainly a great catch, but he still made her nervous. She needed to become better acquainted with him. "I should like some fresh air, Your Grace."

As he guided her across the crowded ballroom, Leah studied the other guests. She had a.s.sumed that in London she would make friends with other young women, as she had at home, but that hadn't happened. The really pretty girls were jealous, and the average ones avoided her. Remembering her own plain days, she guessed that they thought she was interested only in finding foils for her own beauty. The knowledge saddened her. She had not thought beauty would come at the price of friendship.

Her gaze touched a strikingly lovely young woman with golden hair. She was about the same age as Leah, and instead of scowling, she offered a tentative smile. Leah started to smile back-until she realized that the blonde had vividly green eyes. Exactly like those of Lord Ranulph, or Leah.

Hardcastle made some remark, and Leah hastily turned away from the green-eyed woman. Was she a faery, or another mortal who had made a devil's bargain? Leah realized that she didn't want to know the answer.

As the orchestra struck up a new dance, the duke led Leah through the French doors. Several other couples were on the stone patio in plain view of the ballroom, so this must be proper. But when he steered her toward the steps that led into the dark garden, Leah balked. "My G.o.dmother said I should not be alone with a man."

His brows rose impatiently. "I am not a man. I am the Duke of Hardcastle. Lady Wheaton would approve entirely."

Before Leah could protest again, they were on a gravel path that led into the heart of the immense garden. It was pleasant to be surrounded by dark, shadowy trees and the scents of growing things rather than chattering ball guests and sweaty bodies. Leah relaxed, enjoying the cool air and the knowledge that she was being escorted by one of England's greatest lords. This scene would have been unimaginable a month ago. "Your garden seems very lovely, Your Grace. I would like to see it in daylight sometime."

"Whenever you wish, my dear." There was an odd, rough quality to his voice.

The tree-lined path led into an open s.p.a.ce. Though the night was moonless, there was just enough starlight to see the outlines of a marble statue set in the middle of a gently splashing fountain. Leah squinted at the statue, then blushed, glad for the darkness. The sculpture appeared to be a naked woman entwined most improperly with a swan.

Deciding that she had bent the rules of propriety far enough, she said, "Please take me back, Your Grace. I'm beginning to feel cold."

"I'll keep you warm." The rough note she had heard before was stronger, and suddenly his arms were around her and his mouth grinding into hers. When she tried to utter a protest, his thick tongue slid between her lips.

She gagged, feeling as if she would be physically ill. She pushed against his chest, but managed only to pull her face away from his revolting kiss. "Your Grace, please!" she pleaded. "You forget yourself."

"It's because of you, my sweet," he said hoa.r.s.ely. His hand slid down and he squeezed her b.u.t.tock, pressing her hard against his hot, obscenely swollen body. "You're the most exquisite creature I've ever seen. You make me mad with desire."

Shocked by the unwanted intimacy, she snapped, "That's not my fault!" She tried to twist away, but he maintained his grip. One of his groping hands caught her breast. Near hysteria, she gasped, "Let me go or I'll scream!"

"For G.o.d's sake, don't make such a fuss," he said impatiently. "I wouldn't seduce you in my own garden if my intentions weren't honorable."

Before she could say that this was not seduction but rape, his mouth crushed down on hers again. She realized with horror that he was tugging at her skirt. Dear G.o.d, she would never be able to break free. He was too strong, too intent on having his way. And if he did, she would have no choice but to marry him.

In her mind, she heard the cool words You wanted a beauty that would drive men mad. Lord Ranulph again? But she hadn't wanted this!

Suddenly a hard voice snapped, "Let her go!"

The newcomer enforced his command by physically breaking the duke's hold on Leah. Panting for breath, she retreated several steps and tried to see her rescuer. In the darkness he was only a faceless shadow. Of middle height, perhaps, with broad shoulders-and wonderful timing.

"d.a.m.n you, sir, do you know who I am?" the duke snarled at the interloper.

"I believe so," was the icy reply. "You do yourself no credit, Your Grace."

"You criticize me?" Hardcastle said, incredulous. "How dare you interfere between a man and his affianced wife!"

"She looked like an unwilling woman to me," the other man retorted. "Was I wrong about that, miss?"

"Tell this lunatic that we're betrothed," Hardcastle ordered.

Leah wanted to say that she wouldn't marry the duke if he were the last man in Christendom, but barely in time remembered that it would not be wise to humiliate a man so powerful. And in fairness, he'd had no reason to think she would not accept an offer.

"Though I do not question your honorable intentions, Your Grace, you neglected to go through the formality of making an offer," she said carefully. "You do me great honor, but . . . but I do not think we would suit."

"Wouldn't suit!" Hardcastle said with disbelief. "A n.o.body like you is turning down the chance to become a d.u.c.h.ess?"

"Yes," she said in a small voice.

His jaw dropped. Then his expression changed to disdain. "I thought you worthy to be my wife, but you're only a foolish, impertinent little girl. You're quite right-we would not suit at all. I shall tell your G.o.dmother to summon her carriage because you are not feeling well. And I suggest that in the future, you avoid your sly tricks that lead a man to misread your affections." He spun on his heel and stalked off.

Leah stood there, shaking, until her rescuer said gently, "Sit down."

He guided her to a bench. She folded onto the cold stone. "Thank you," she said unevenly. "When we came out for air, I . . . I had no idea what he intended."

"It's a fair guess that a man who takes a girl into a dark garden is up to no good," her rescuer said dryly as he peeled off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. "I suggest that you accept no more such invitations unless you are in favor of accepting the gentleman's advances as well."

He had a really wonderful deep voice. As she gratefully wrapped the body-warmed fabric around her, she tried again to see his face, but couldn't. He was simply a silhouette against darker shadows. Wanting his good opinion, she said earnestly, "Truly, I did not encourage the duke's advances, despite what he said."

"Then I presume you are very beautiful," he said cynically. "Wealthy men tend to believe they are ent.i.tled to beautiful women, and beautiful women tend to a.s.sume that they deserve wealth. It's a bargain that has existed since time immemorial, so perhaps the duke can be forgiven for misunderstanding."

"What nonsense," she retorted. "Marriage should be more about love than wealth and beauty."

"You are very young," he said, but his voice had softened.

Her mouth curved ruefully. "I suppose so. But I don't appreciate having that pointed out to me."

"Neither would I," he agreed. "If you're feeling well enough, allow me to escort you around the house. Your G.o.dmother should be waiting for you there."

Silently Leah rose and took his arm. It was firm and well muscled beneath the linen of his shirt. Strength that had been used for protection, not a.s.sault. As they moved through the garden, she said, "I hope the duke does not choose to ruin me socially."

"He won't," her rescuer said confidently. "The situation reflects badly on him."

When they reached the side of the mansion, the flaring torches lining the driveway revealed Lady Wheaton waiting beside her carriage, her expression concerned. Though Leah would like to see her rescuer's face, she did not want it to be at the price of him seeing hers, not after what had happened.

She stopped and slipped off his coat. As she handed it to him, she said, "You have my deepest thanks, sir. And-please don't watch me go."

Understanding, he said with amus.e.m.e.nt, "Leaving us strangers in the night, with all embarra.s.sment safely covered by the dark. But what if we meet again?"

"We'll pretend this never happened," she said firmly.

"As you wish." He executed a courtly bow, his shirt pale in the darkness.

She gave him a sweeping curtsy, hoping they would meet again under more normal circ.u.mstances. Then, head high, she crossed the soft lawn to her G.o.dmother.

Her rescuer watched her for a moment, unconsciously raising the coat to his face, as if seeking for a trace of her scent. Then he turned back to the dark garden, before she was so well lit that he could not fail to identify her in the future.

Hidden in the deepest shadows of the garden, Ranulph watched Leah join her G.o.dmother, his faery sight giving him a cat's vision at night. He'd been in London for several days, exploring the great parks but always coming back to the dense patch of bushes and trees in the center of the square where Wheaton House stood. Hungrily his gaze followed as Leah climbed into the carriage. G.o.ddess, but he tired of waiting!

His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. If he had been closer tonight, he might have slain the duke when the drunken sot had attacked her. Luckily that other mortal had happened along in time to save Leah from harm. It would have enraged the powers of Faerie if Ranulph had killed the duke because of a mortal woman. Debts must always be paid, and those between Faerie and the mortal world weighed heavy indeed.

Intent on his thoughts, Ranulph spun about with dangerous alarm when a warm hand touched his wrist. His grip on his sword relaxed when he saw that he had been accosted by Lady Kamana, the Indian faery.

"You again," he said, voice cool though in truth he was pleased to see her. "I thought you would have joined one of the faery courts by now."

"Nay, my lord." She tossed her head. Her long black hair was pulled into a luxuriant silken rope, banded every six inches by a circlet of gold until the tip brushed the earth. "I will not choose a permanent home until I've seen more of your land."

He'd forgotten how richly purring her voice was. Instead of her Indian silks, she was garbed in the provocative evening gown of a grand London lady. Perversely, the English garments made her seem even more exotic.

"You've made your little country girl very beautiful," she observed.

"You recognized her?" he said, surprised.

"Of course. You could not have made her outward appearance so beautiful if it did not reflect her soul. She is young as only mortals can be young, but her heart is good, and music runs through her like pure fire. Otherwise the faery glamour you laid on her would be a pale thing, fit only to convince mortals."

"Mortals are easily deceived," he said dryly. "I've made her the toast of London, but the foolish girl has not yet fallen in love, and I cannot ask my price until she does."

"Patience, Lord Ranulph. She will find the love of her life soon." A smile touched her voice. "Very soon."

Ranulph frowned. "Do your Folk see the future clearly? I can sense it sometimes, but not with any detail."

"When I concentrate, I can see patterns of destiny like silver threads that run through time and s.p.a.ce," Kamana said slowly. "They touch each other and create shining webs of love and hate and friendship."

"You can see Leah bonded to me?" Ranulph asked urgently. He'd sensed that he would soon be sharing his domain with another, but desire might be distorting his intuition. "She will be my consort?"

"Never fear, my lord. I see your thread intersecting that of your consort, forming a knot that will bind you together for eternity, or near enough." Kamana drew the heavy rope of her hair through her fingers, absently toying with the gold bangles that circled it. "Like all gifts, mine is a mixed blessing. I followed my own thread of destiny here, not knowing how close it would come to destroying me."

"You said the pa.s.sage was difficult," he said as he imagined the months of confinement on shipboard.

She was silent for a long moment, her habitual shimmering vivacity stilled. "Even more difficult than I told you when we first met. At the start of the voyage, there was not enough of nature living on that ship. The mortal who was bringing the specimens back to England found me dying among his shrubs. He understood my malady, though I could say little, and demanded that the ship stop at a small tropical island. Days we stayed there, and I recovered my strength among the flowers and palms. When the ship continued, the mortal brought more greenery into the hold to sustain me for the rest of the journey."