Passion Becomes Her Page 13

  Asher made a face. There was no pretending that he had not resented Denning when the dashing Cavalry officer had come courting his mother. And after they’d wed, he’d hated being taken away from Burnham and his grandmother and the familiar cozy world they’d all had together. He was quite certain that he’d been a spoiled brat and he hadn’t, he conceded with a wry smile, been best pleased to no longer be the center of his mother’s world. It was a wonder that Denning hadn’t throttled him on the spot.

  Upon reflection, Army life had not been so very bad and if it hadn’t been for Denning’s gambling and the strain and anxiety that addiction caused his mother, he might have enjoyed it. How different, how much happier her life, all of ours would have been if only Denning could have resisted the lure of the gaming table, he thought tiredly.

  Which brought him back to tonight. He should have been overjoyed that Denning appeared to have had a phenomenal run of luck and had once again been able to reverse his fortunes, but that information troubled Asher. Denning had been at Ormsby’s last night, gambling. He frowned as something occurred to him. Denning had spoken with John yesterday afternoon so he’d have to have come into funds prior to last night. So perhaps last night had not been the only time Ormsby and Denning had sat down to play deep? Was it from Ormsby that Denning had won a large sum? A small fortune, in fact?

  It was possible. The Marquis of Ormsby was the head of the wealthy Beverley family and his pockets were deep—he could lose several fortunes and hardly feel the pinch. Part of Asher, admittedly not a very nice part, applauded the idea of Denning fleecing Ormsby, but it also made him uneasy. If it was Ormsby who had lost to Denning, the marquis was highly unlikely to allow his stepfather to walk away from the table with his pockets full of Beverley gold without making a push to win the money back. It was known that Ormsby did not like to lose and Asher suspected that Denning might find himself clinging to a tiger’s tail instead of a fortune…a very angry, dangerous tiger at that. Damnation! If Denning has dipped his fingers into Ormsby’s pocket, he thought disgustedly, it’d be up to me to get him free. On that discouraging note he sought out his bed.

  The next morning when he awoke, the uneasiness of the night before still lingered, but he was able to push it aside. If Ormsby was going to be a problem he’d know it soon enough.

  At Kirkwood that same morning, Juliana was staring appalled at her father, having just learned how much of a problem the marquis could be. “You did what?” she asked in faint accents, hardly daring to believe her ears.

  Mr. Kirkwood looked uncomfortable. “I invited him to dine tonight,” he muttered, his eyes everywhere but on her face.

  “How could you?” she nearly wailed. “Have you forgotten what he is trying to do?”

  Mr. Kirkwood cleared his throat and nervously patted his neatly tied cravat. “I haven’t forgotten and I swear to you when I came abreast of him on the road during my morning ride, I intended not even to acknowledge him and to ride on past him.” Helplessly he added, “But you know Ormsby. He hailed me as if nothing was wrong…. He was so friendly and pleasant that I could hardly be rude….”

  “Why not?” snapped his daughter, her hands on her hips. “I certainly can be!” Her expression exasperated, she added, “Father, you can’t expect me to entertain that horrid man. You’ll just have to write him a note and tell him you changed your mind—that it’s inconvenient. Or I am too overwhelmed with the care of Thalia to worry about guests.” She scowled. “Which is the truth.”

  Looking even more miserable, he mumbled, “You are perfectly right to be angry with me, my dear, and I don’t blame you in the least. I know I should have given him the cut direct, but I was so startled when he called out to me that I stopped my horse.” Unhappily, he ended, “He was behaving so like the man I thought I knew, that before I even knew what was happening, he had invited himself to dinner tonight.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to uninvite him,” retorted his daughter, not giving an inch.

  “Ah, er, Juliana, I don’t think it would be a good idea to make him angry, do you? After all, he does hold Thalia’s fate in his hands. If we provoke him…” When Juliana fixed a hostile gaze on him, his lips tightened and he said, “You don’t want me to meet him on the dueling field and short of that, there is little that I can do.” Coaxingly he added, “It’s possible that he has changed his mind, you know. Perhaps he has come to his senses and means to apologize and give the letters back.”

  The look on Juliana’s face told her father precisely what she thought of that idea, and hastily he went one, “I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be manipulated by him, and yes, I do realize that I was manipulated, but I am only thinking of your sister.” Meeting her gaze steadily, he said, “If being polite, for one night, to a man I loathe, gives us any advantage at all, then I am willing to do it. Are you?”

  Her father had a point and despite the revulsion that churned through her at the very notion of sitting down to eat with Ormsby, she nodded reluctantly. The invitation had been given and without making a bad situation worse, she saw no clear way out. “Very well, Ormsby will come to dine tonight.” Her eyes narrowed. “But not the intimate little dinner he thinks it will be. I cannot imagine anything more dreadful than the three of us sitting down to dine.” Her lips tightened. “Left alone with the creature, I’m likely to pick up my fork and stab him.” Picking up her skirts, she brushed past him. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a party to plan.”

  Juliana stormed up the stairs to her rooms. She loved her father, she truly did, but there were times…With everything that was going on, how could he have fallen for Ormsby’s specious charm? Asher wouldn’t have. She bit her lip. That was unfair. Her father couldn’t help it that he wanted peace at almost any cost, where Asher…She smiled faintly. Asher didn’t give a damn—especially about Ormsby.

  Reminding herself that there was no use crying over spilt milk, she sat down at a small writing desk and considered her next move. Since safety in numbers seemed the wisest course, she immediately wrote a note to the vicar and his wife, certain they would not be taken aback at receiving an invitation to dine at Kirkwood on such short notice. The vicar and her father were excellent friends and the vicar’s wife and her mother had grown up together. In the time before Mrs. Kirkwood’s death there had been much socializing between the Kirkwood and Birrel families and to this day the Kirkwood family looked on the Birrels as their oldest friends.

  The vicar and Mrs. Birrel had offered their help the instant they had heard of Thalia’s attack of the measles and had come to call already twice this week. Each time they had brought their two daughters, nineteen-year-old Serena and seventeen-year-old Margaret, with them and to add to the numbers Juliana included them in the invitation. Since Margaret was one of Thalia’s bosom friends, even feeling cross and miserable with all her spots, Thalia had been cheered up immensely by her visits. And it wouldn’t be so terrible, Juliana thought cheerfully, if they mentioned, and they would, in front of Ormsby how very ill Thalia was…and the stream of letters that arrived almost daily from Caswell full of concern about his beloved. Her cheerfulness faded, replaced by worry about Ormsby’s reaction to the news that Caswell and Thalia were in nearly constant contact via the mail. It was a risk, but she saw no way, without some uncomfortable explanations, of stopping the vicar’s daughters from mentioning the letters. She sighed, longing for the simple days that had been hers such a short time ago.

  Her second note had been to Asher, apprising him of the situation. Within it, she had included an invitation for Mrs. Manley to join them for dinner tonight. Mrs. Manley might be startled at such short notice, especially since she had just been here yesterday, but Juliana was counting on Asher to smooth over any rough spots.

  It was only after she had sent one of the Kirkwood servants on his way to deliver the notes that it dawned on her that she had made a serious miscalculation. Relations between Mrs. Manley and Ormsby had never been particularly friendly and the shooting
of her dog had not done anything to improve matters. And Asher…it was almost a given that Asher, feeling as he did about Ormsby, would go out of his way to annoy or insult the marquis.

  She buried her head in her hands. What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been, that was the problem; she’d let herself be stampeded into foolish action and now had to suffer the consequences. A pang of sympathy for her father rushed through her. Neither one of us, she admitted glumly, had acted very wisely. She raised her head and stared at the top of her desk. It was possible that Mrs. Manley would decline the invitation, but she realized unhappily that Mrs. Manley’s absence tonight might compound her problem. Asher would most certainly accept and she worried that if Mrs. Manley was not there to keep him in check around Ormsby…She shut her eyes. She would just have to deal with it. And hope to heaven that she could keep Asher and Ormsby from shooting each other over the soup.

  Ignoring the anxiety that balled in her chest and keeping her fingers crossed that the looming disaster would somehow, miraculously, be averted, she concocted a menu and hurried to the kitchen to confer with Cook and tell Hudson, the butler, to prepare for guests tonight. If everyone came, she would be one gentleman shy, but as she walked down the hallway to the kitchen, she decided it would do well enough.

  Everyone accepted her hasty invitations, even, she thought with mingled relief and misgiving as she descended the stairs a few hours later, Asher and his grandmother. The Birrels had arrived several minutes ago and Juliana’s lips quirked at Ormsby’s expression when Hudson announced him and he walked into the room to find the Birrel family scattered comfortably around the front salon. He quickly recovered himself and she suspected that she was the only one who had seen that flash of annoyance cross his face before it was swiftly masked. The knot in her stomach clenched tighter. If the sight of the Birrels annoyed him, she thought wryly, just wait until Asher and Mrs. Manley arrive.

  From beneath her lashes she studied Ormsby as her father nervously greeted him. Approaching fifty-two years of age, the marquis was still very attractive in a rakish way, the signs of dissipation on his handsome face vastly appealing to certain members of the opposite sex. He was a tallish, well-built man with pale blue eyes and black hair, and watching his effortless charm as he spoke with her father, she had a glimmer of understanding how Thalia, young and innocent, could have imagined herself in love with him. Her mouth twisted. And, in spite of the situation, how he had manipulated her father into inviting him to dine.

  Her father threw a harassed look over his shoulder, and forcing a polite smile on her face, Juliana drifted up to the marquis and said, “How nice of you to join us this evening.” Indicating the vicar and his family, she went on smoothly, “I’m sure that you are well acquainted with the vicar and Mrs. Birrel and that no introductions are needed.”

  The vicar, a tall man himself, walked over to shake Ormsby’s hand and said, “Good evening, my lord. It is good to see you again after all this time. If you’re in the neighborhood long enough, perhaps we’ll see more of you.” Since the marquis tended to keep himself aloof from local affairs, if there was the slightest hint of censure in the vicar’s voice, Ormsby ignored it.

  “It’s good to be home,” Ormsby said easily. “London can be so fatiguing.”

  Her dark hair liberally sprinkled with gray and her body plump and round like a little pigeon, Mrs. Birrel joined them. Her head barely reaching her husband’s shoulder and her brown eyes bright and inquisitive, she greeted the marquis. “Do you intend to remain long at Ormsby Place, my lord?”

  “I have no idea,” Ormsby drawled. “At present I have no other plans other than to avail myself of the pleasures to be found so close to home.” His pale blue eyes met Juliana’s. “Perhaps I’ll even be allowed to visit with the beautiful Miss Thalia when she recovers from her illness.”

  Juliana’s teeth clenched but she kept her smile firmly in place. Mrs. Birrel, oblivious to any undercurrents, signaled her two daughters to join them. The two girls, blushing and faintly in awe of the marquis, were formally introduced to the great man of the neighborhood. The flurry of greetings and introductions completed, once Hudson entered with another servant carrying trays of refreshments and everyone had been served, the group split into two factions.

  The gentlemen gathered near the ornately carved walnut-fronted fireplace at the far end of the cream and rose room, while the ladies congregated on the silk-and-tapestry-covered sofa and chairs nearer the double doors that opened onto the main hallway. Since Serena, a slimmer, dusky-haired version of her mother, was looking forward to her wedding in the fall to the youngest son of a baronet in the next county, the conversation was centered on that epic event.

  Juliana smiled and nodded and made the occasional comment, but she was tense, her ears pricked for the sounds that would signal the arrival of Asher and his grandmother. At least, she reminded herself, they know the marquis will be here. She cast a look over toward the fireplace where the marquis stood talking with the other two men, wondering at his determination to marry Thalia at any cost. He had avoided the snares and traps set for him by the most marriage-minded damsels for decades. Ormsby was the last man anyone would suspect of looking for a bride and certainly not a bride hardly out of the schoolroom. With his title and wealth he could look as high as he wished for a wife, yet his choice had appeared to have settled on a woman young enough to be his daughter, a woman with no fortune to speak of and a member of an obscure country family. Why?

  Only half listening to the chatter of the Birrel women, Juliana frowned. Thalia was beautiful, there was no denying that, and she was a sweet, biddable young woman…most of the time. But she was no match for a sophisticate like Ormsby. Thalia, with her simple enjoyments and naïveté, was perfect for an easygoing young man like Caswell, but Ormsby? Talk about chalk and cheese! And with Thalia desperately in love with Caswell, if Ormsby managed to force her to marry him, Juliana saw nothing but unhappiness ahead for her sister…and Ormsby.

  The faint clatter of approaching hoofbeats and the clank and rattle of harness shattered her musings. Juliana swallowed. Those sounds could mean only one thing: Asher and Mrs. Manley had arrived.

  Rising gracefully to her feet, the skirts of her pale apricot muslin gown swirling around her feet, she said to the room at large, “I believe that will be the last of our guests.” And, dear God, help us all.

  Chapter 9

  Juliana had been wise to pray for help—the trouble started the moment the double doors opened and Ormsby caught sight of the two guests being ushered into the room by the butler. His face flushed with rage, Ormsby turned on his host and hissed, “You fool! What were you thinking when you were misguided enough to invite them to be here tonight?”

  Poor Mr. Kirkwood shrank back from the rage in Ormsby’s face, at a loss with how to deal with the marquis’s attack. Birrel’s brows rose and in an astonished tone, he said, “I think you forget yourself, my lord. I would remind you that this is Kirkwood’s home—he is certainly entitled to invite whom he pleases. If you do not like the company, I suggest you take your leave…politely.”

  Juliana didn’t hear what was said between the three men at the far end of the room, but from the expression on their faces she had a fair idea. Her poor father looked ready to faint, Ormsby was clearly angry and the vicar, while taken aback at Ormsby’s words, was proceeding in his usual calm manner. Whatever the vicar said to Ormsby seemed to recall the marquis to his senses and, only vaguely aware of Hudson announcing Mrs. Manley and Asher, she watched as Ormsby struggled to regain control of his temper.

  Mrs. Birrel and her daughters, delighted to see the newest arrivals, were completely oblivious to the scene between the gentlemen and for that Juliana was grateful. Walking across the room, she greeted Mrs. Manley and Asher warmly, wondering if they had been aware of Ormsby’s reaction to their entrance. From the gleam in his eyes, she realized with a sinking heart that Asher had noted the unpleasant byplay at the other end of the room and corre
ctly interpreted its cause.

  Mrs. Manley’s lips brushed her cheek as they met and Juliana was both charmed and startled when the woman whispered in her ear, “So brave of you to invite us with Ormsby in the house, my dear. I have no doubt that it’ll prove a most entertaining evening.”

  “You’re not upset?” Juliana asked in a low tone, torn between despair and laughter.

  Smiling at her, Mrs. Manley shook her head. “Oh, good heavens, no! This is the most exciting thing that has happened in the neighborhood for ages. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Of course, we do have to keep Asher from killing him at the first opportunity.”

  Giving Mrs. Manley a sickly smile, Juliana turned to greet Asher. Under her breath, she muttered to him, “I am sorry. This wasn’t a very good idea—I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Asher grinned. “Perhaps not, but as my grandmother mentioned on the drive over here tonight—it should be…interesting.”

  By the time she had welcomed Asher and Mrs. Manley and they joined Mrs. Birrel and her daughters, Ormsby had recovered himself sufficiently to greet the latecomers with cool politeness when the two groups merged. To Juliana’s relief, Asher seemed to be behaving himself, always keeping a few people between himself and Ormsby and beyond the first careless acknowledgment, adroitly avoiding direct conversation with the marquis.

  Feeling as if a keg of black powder with a lit fuse was rolling around in the room, Juliana moved amongst her guests smiling and chatting just as if this evening was nothing out of the ordinary and she wasn’t terrified. It helped that Ormsby had no desire to talk to Asher and Mrs. Manley and, like Asher, he did a good job of refraining from direct confrontation. By the time dinner was announced and they filed into the dining room, she was hopeful that they might scrap through the evening without incident.