Chapter Eight

D arcy Daubin turned slowly from the window, a faint yet avid smile on his lips. Insolently, his gaze traveled all the way down her body and all the way back up. Perhaps he imagined it was flattering. Despite the heat of anger burning in her veins, she shivered.

His smile broadened. "Lady Alice," he purred. "It is you. I thought those repellant brats might have been gulling me."

"Mr. Daubin," she said, pronouncing his name the plain English way, with no French frills. "They have certainly gulled me. Shall we talk somewhere more public?"

It was not really a question, and she was already reaching for the closed door when he slid against it, right in front of her, and she snatched back her hand to avoid touching him.

"Absolutely not. Now that I have you alone, I have a much better use for your time."

Since he lunged as he spoke, she had little doubt as to his meaning.

Leaping out of his reach, she said coldly, "Mr. Daubin, you forget yourself!"

"Truly, I don't." He advanced purposefully, and she backed away until her hip struck the table.

She sprang to the side to elude him, but the obstacle had given him all the time he needed, and he seized her, ramming her hard between the table and his body.

"Let go of me!" she cried in panic, and then, in desperate hope rather than certainty, "Someone is coming!"

"Oh, I hope so," he said fervently, and slapped his mouth against hers.

She gave his head a hefty buffet, but he only laughed into her mouth. With one hand he grabbed her right arm, and squeezed her breast with the other. She couldn't breathe. It was happening again, and a scream of revulsion, rage, shame, and helpless fear began to rise up from her toes.

*

"What the devil's your hurry?" Cornelius demanded as Lawrence towed him back inside the castle, all but galloping him from the side door along the passage. All his siblings seemed to have gone mad. Delilah was following Antonia Macy around, Julius and Roderick were both scowling like thunder, and Lucy seemed to be flirting with every man she could find. Now Lawrence was dragging him about like a sack of flour, muttering something unlikely about Lady Alice needing his help.

Cornelius shook him off. "For God's sake, Lawrie, where is she?"

Leona came into view, beckoning wildly from the end of the passage. Her distress was clear, and suddenly Cornelius shot toward her. She didn't wait for him but threw herself into the salon.

"Leave her! Leave her alone!" she cried just before Cornelius burst through the doorway.

Leona was sobbing, but it was the scene beyond her that froze Cornelius's blood.

Alice was clutched in Darcy Daubin's insolent arms, his mouth devouring hers, his hand clamped over her breast. Her whole body was heaving helplessly against his strength, and she was so clearly terrified that Cornelius never doubted that Daubin's attentions were unwelcome.

He didn't remember moving, but suddenly he gripped Daubin by the elegant cream collar and plucked him off her. In utter fury, he crashed his fist into the brute's face, then hurled him at the door.

Lawrence had already shut the door for the sake of discretion, so Daubin slammed into it and staggered forward again, his stunned eyes beginning to roll up into his head. Cornelius grasped him by the collar once more. Without being told, Lawrence wrenched open the door, and Cornelius threw him across the passage.

"Keep him out of here," he snarled at Lawrence. "By any means." He swung on Leona, who was about to run to help her twin. "Oh no—you close the door and stay here."

Only then did he have time to look at Alice.

She had collapsed to the floor, her shoulders still heaving as though she could not breathe, her face buried in her hands. Tears squeezed between her fingers.

"Oh, my dear," he whispered, going to her and crouching beside her. His every instinct was to take her in his arms, and yet he knew she would not allow it. He had already guessed her fear, and part of him was already following Daubin and beating him to a pulp.

He stretched out one hand, touching her hair. "You're safe," he said achingly. "He's gone, and he will never hurt you again, I swear."

She gasped and, to his surprise, seized his hand and held it painfully hard between her own.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I thought he would be you, and he wasn't, and then… Oh God, why do I have to make such a fuss? He has not hurt more than my dignity."

"I'm afraid I've hurt rather more than his," Cornelius said shakily.

"He'll have a black eye and an egg the size of an ostrich's on his forehead," Leona said in a surprisingly small voice. "I'm so sorry, Lady Alice."

Cornelius caught his breath, turning slowly to face her. "You did this."

"You went outside at the last minute and upset the timing," Leona said despairingly. "You were meant to rescue her before he touched her."

Leona almost cringed before his anger. She had never done that before. But then, he could not recall ever being so angry.

" Why , for God's sake?" he demanded.

"Because you need a push," she said miserably. "You all need a push in the right direction."

He swallowed, his anger dying, at least against her and Lawrence. "Not like this, Leona."

"No, not like this," she agreed.

Alice straightened her shoulders, wiping her arm against her eyes like a child. She still held on to his hand.

"Don't worry. Your timing was almost perfect," she said, clearly aiming for lightness. "He only grabbed me for a moment, and I'm afraid I froze. I cannot abide being mauled."

"You shouldn't have to," Cornelius said between his teeth.

"He didn't let her go even when I barged into the room," Leona said.

"No, I think it was rather the point to be seen," Alice said. "He wanted me compromised. I am quite a catch, you know, to an ambitious young man not of gentle birth. It's the only way he imagined he could marry me. Truly, there is no harm done."

She struggled to rise, then realized she was still clutching Cornelius's hand. She gave a shaky laugh, while he straightened and raised her to her feet.

"I'm sorry to make such a fuss. I shall just go and wash my face. I'm meant to play in…" She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Oh dear, in five minutes."

"One moment," Cornelius said, striding to the door.

Lawrence lounged there, his guilty eyes flying to Cornelius's. "I gave him to two very large footmen. No one else saw. They threw him out. I don't imagine he will find anyone in the castle at home to him again." A quick smile lit his eyes. "He was gibbering with rage because there was blood on his coat. I told him he was lucky there wasn't more. Sorry, Cornel. Will you tell Lady Alice?"

"Yes. As it turns out, there is no real harm done. But Lawrence?"

"Yes?"

"No more tricks like that again. Ever . Not to anyone."

Lawrence swallowed. "I promise."

Cornelius stepped back into the room and met Alice's gaze. She was still trembling, and dried tears streaked her face, but she had herself in hand once more.

"Will Leona go with you?" he asked. "Or shall I send for Lady Helen or your mother?"

Alarm sprang back into her eyes. "Oh, no! I am better alone. Thank you, Cornelius."

She murmured something to the twins on the way past, then flitted along the passage like a graceful bird in flight. Could he really feel another verse coming on, even at such a time?

It seemed to be the only way he could make sense of things.

"We'll talk later," he said severely to the twins, who nodded morosely, sidling out the door. He went with them to the great hall, where they seemed to perk up as they dashed off again, no doubt to interfere in someone else's life.

Alice did not look at him when she walked up to the pianoforte with young Lady Braithwaite, even though her flowing skirts brushed his ankle. Beyond a certain tautness of the skin, her face betrayed nothing of her recent experience. There was no puffiness about her eyes, and if they were a little reddened, it was hardly obvious when she sat down at the pianoforte and lowered her gaze.

As Lady Braithwaite introduced her in glowing terms, she smiled, a faint social smile, while keeping her gaze on the keys in front of her. She held her hands together in her lap, apparently at ease, although her knuckles were white. And when she placed her fingers on the keys, she was still trembling.

She should not be doing this so soon after such a fright . In outrage, he actually started toward her, as though to sweep her away from everyone gawping at her. But then she began to play, a sonata he knew, and he stilled.

There was magic in her fingers, compelling everyone to listen and enjoy. But no, it was not magic—it was sheer talent, skill, a delicacy of touch, a profound love and understanding of the music that allowed her to move her listeners as she was moved. And it must have taken an enormous amount of practice. Her previous upset had vanished. She was assured, absorbed, perfect.

She was spellbinding.

Even after the piece finished, there was an awed silence before applause broke out. Alice bent her head over the keyboard for a moment, eyes closed, then she smiled and rose, curtseying to acknowledge the appreciation.

"My daughter is gifted, is she not?" someone said beside him.

At some point, he appeared to have sat down in the front row of seats, beside no less a personage than the Dowager Countess of Braithwaite.

"Extremely," he managed. "You must be very proud of her."

"I am. In every way. She did not even want a London Season, you know. She would have preferred to stay at home and play the pianoforte, so she did not even try to please the ton . And yet she did. London was at her feet."

"And all Blackhaven," he said, although it was hardly so large or important a stage. His mind was more on why the countess was telling him this. She was a formidable lady who appeared older than her years. Most of Blackhaven was terrified of her, whatever the ton thought.

She rose, and, of course, he rose with her and bowed as she sailed away with the elder Lady Morgan.

Have I just been warned off? It was oddly flattering to think so. After all, Alice was sister to an earl, and everyone knew she was well dowered.

By popular demand, Alice played another piece. This was her own composition, the one she had begun to play for him the night of the ball. Cornelius stared at his hands in his lap to avoid gazing at Alice as the emotions washed across her face. He realized he had been doing so throughout the sonata. The countess must have noticed. She must have imagined she was warning off a lovesick puppy.

Perhaps I am, he thought ruefully. But I'm a puppy who knows his limitations .

Despite his best intentions, the music seemed to wriggle under his skin and flow to his heart. He could not help raising his gaze to Alice's face, intent, impassioned, beautiful. His mind might have known its limitations, but his heart did not.

*

For Alice, music healed nearly everything. The few things it could not mend, it made more easily bearable. Once her fingers settled on the keys, they knew what to do. The world receded and she played her heart out. And yet if Cornelius had not been there, she didn't know if she could have played at all. She played for him. Though under the scrutiny of so many, it was his distant, yet intense, eyes that seemed to burn into her, lending her strength and excitement.

She played better than she ever had in her life, and her first reward was Frederick Baird leaping to his feet to applaud her.

"Then you will give me a lesson?" she teased him when he congratulated her.

"I have nothing to teach you," he replied. "Goodbye, Lady Alice. It has been an honor to meet you, and a very great pleasure to listen to you."

When she turned from him, warmed by his praise, she could no longer see Cornelius. Swamped by congratulations and effusive admiration, Alice longed only for his.

The children bolted inside en masse and upstairs for tea in the nursery. The adults enjoyed more civilized refreshment below, while the musicians set up in the hall once more for a little informal dancing.

In a welcome blink of sunshine, Alice wandered outside at last. She needed to be alone now to sort out the confusion of shame, disgust, and anger that had only faded with her playing the piano, not vanished. And yet she wanted Cornelius's peaceful presence by her side.

She smiled as she walked. Why should she imagine he would bring her peace? She always quarreled with him, or he with her. And yet he had been so kind about Daubin's attack and her own quite out-of-proportion reaction. She didn't really want to think about why.

Avoiding the formal gardens, where a few guests walked and flirted, she walked past the orchard and toward the wood. She came to the ancient oak that in her childhood games with Helen and Maria had always been the Guardian of the Forest. And there, her heart broke.

Cornelius and young Lady Morgan stood in its shade, close together and talking quietly. At least, she was talking, in a kind of distressed whisper. Cornelius was listening, concern in his furrowed brow.

He loves her still …

He glanced up, and straight at Alice. He did not even look guilty—why should he? He had discovered her in a much more compromising position little more than an hour ago.

"Lady Alice." He almost sounded relieved.

Lady Morgan jumped away from him, staring at Alice in fright.

Cornelius introduced them without fuss, adding to Alice, "I was once steward for Sir John Morgan, Cecily's husband. We are old friends."

Clearly .

"I hope you will not think me fast, Lady Alice," Lady Morgan blurted. "We are such old friends, I was merely asking Cornelius—Mr. Vale—for his advice in a rather private matter."

"Then don't let me intrude," Alice said at once, turning to the westward path.

"Oh, there is no intrusion," Cornelius said quickly. "In fact, your insight would be welcome."

Not to Cecily Morgan, it wasn't. As Alice glanced back in surprise, the other woman was scowling at him in mingled fright and alarm.

"Lady Morgan has a friend," Cornelius said smoothly. "A very close friend who relies on her. This friend made a love match less than two years ago and is now distraught because she has discovered her husband has already strayed."

"I would like to help my friend, of course," Lady Morgan said stiffly, still glaring at Cornelius, "but I would never trouble your ladyship with the problems of people you do not know."

"If I don't know them, I doubt their problems would trouble me at all," Alice remarked. Then, catching sight of the unexpected plea in Cornelius's eyes, she added hastily, "But distance can be useful in matters that might seem too personal. I am happy to help if I can."

"How should Cecily's friend go about winning back her husband's love?" Cornelius asked. He sounded embarrassed, and so he should. No one believed in Cecily's friend .

Alice considered. "She probably doesn't need to. Men are odd creatures and seem quite capable of loving their wives while—er… straying with other women. Or perhaps he is only flirting."

"He isn't," Cecily said with such misery that, for the first time, Alice felt sorry for her. Even if Cornelius did still love her.

"Either way, she wants and deserves his attention back," Cornelius said.

"Does she?" Alice met Cecily's gaze. "Then your friend is faithful to him?"

Cecily's eyes flashed in outrage. "Of course she is!" She stalked out of the wood, and Cornelius and Alice went with her, walking back toward the main house.

You are very beautiful, Alice thought, not without a pang. I cannot imagine you have much competition there . "Does your friend share her husband's interests?"

Cecily frowned. "Interests?"

"What does he read? Does he care for politics, literature, science?"

"Well, no, not a great deal. He likes horse racing and horrid prizefights."

Alice pounced. "He likes horses? Then your friend must ride with him, take an interest in horseflesh—"

"Oh no!" Cecily exclaimed. She flushed under Alice's surprised gaze. "My friend is rather afraid of horses. And she does not like dogs either."

Alice sighed and tried a different tack. "What made him fall in love with your friend in the first instance?"

"I don't know," Cecily said wretchedly. "Probably just because she was admired by…others."

"If there isn't more to it than that," Alice retorted, "then she is better off without him."

Some of the older children had spilled outside again and were running down the hill toward a meadow where they had played football earlier. The Vale twins peeled off from this group and ran up to Cornelius.

"Ah," Alice said. "Just the Machiavellian minds we need! How should a woman go about winning back the love of her straying husband?"

Cecily made a strangled noise in her throat.

"These are my siblings," Cornelius murmured comfortingly, though Cecily did not look much comforted.

"Make him jealous, of course," Lawrence said. "Worked for—"

Leona kicked him in the ankle, and he broke off.

"Must dash," he said hastily, and they ran back the way they had come, leaving the adults to gaze after them in bemusement.

"He is right," Alice said in wonder. "Your friend must make her husband jealous by flirting with someone else."

And then she wanted to kick herself. Because the ideal candidate for flirtation walked by her side.

*

As Darcy Daubin stormed back into Cloverfield House, his father called to him from his library, where he was surrounded by ledgers and correspondence. Papa's eyes narrowed above the spectacles perched on the end of his nose.

"Good God. Did you go to the countess's garden party or get sidetracked into a drinking game at the tavern?"

"Very funny," Darcy raged. "Damned brute! It was all going perfectly, too. Another minute and someone else would surely have come along to witness the scene and I would now be introducing you to my betrothed, the earl's sister!"

The spectacles dropped off his father's face. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Subtlety just isn't your strong suit, is it, Darcy?"

"I am very subtle," Darcy said, glaring. "No one is subtler." He dropped into the armchair, wincing as he felt around the swollen flesh of his eyes.

"Which of the earl's sisters did you assault?" Papa inquired.

"Lady Alice," Darcy said sulkily. "She would make a fine match. She is addicted to poetry and music and all the things I love. She was perfect. Except she's both haughty and frigid!"

"Which you established by assaulting her," his father said without emphasis.

"Of course I didn't assault her! I merely kissed her, and she reacted as though I was murdering her. It wouldn't have mattered if he hadn't been the one to discover her in my arms."

"Presumably he is the one who blacked your eye?"

"I'll get him back for it. Got some brat and two footmen—damned lackeys!—to throw me out." He rubbed his shin, aggrieved all over again. "One of them kicked me."

"No doubt because you assaulted his mistress. Who hit you?"

Darcy shrugged one shoulder angrily. "Some nonentity. Vale?"

His father went very still. "Which Vale?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. Sir Julius Vale is our neighbor at Black Hill, whose grazing land we have just appropriated."

"Good!"

"Was he tall? Imposing? Patch over one eye?"

"No patch." Darcy flexed his jaw. "Bloody strong, though. The brat called him Cornelius or some such."

Papa sprang up and charged toward him. "Oh, damn you, Darcy, why can't you leave things alone? We do not want Cornelius Vale as our enemy."

"Don't see why not. He's only a younger son."

"And the steward at Black Hill, which we have been encroaching upon and embezzling from since we bought Cloverfield."

Darcy blinked up at him. "Why?"

"Because there's no damned money in land, and I won't pour any more of the mill money into it. Fortunately, Norrie's a good man and imaginative, and we'd no idea the Vales would come home when they did." He dragged his fingers through his thinning hair. "You will stay away from the Vales. And the Braithwaites. Until we can find a way to deal with both."

"Actually," Darcy said, brightening, "we're still in with a chance. The footman might tell Braithwaite, and the earl will force Alice and me to marry."

"He's more likely to beat you to a pulp, and right now, I'd probably help him!"

"He wouldn't touch me if it would drag his precious sister's name in the mud."

"Oh, get out of my sight," Papa said, stalking away from him. "Go and change, for God's sake. You look like a scone with jam and cream."