Ravished

  “Good morning, Gideon.”

  Gideon glanced up from Harriet’s letter as his mother, Margaret, Countess of Hardcastle, floated through the doorway. A light, fragile-looking woman who was, Gideon well knew, much stronger than she appeared, Margaret always seemed to hover an inch or so above the ground. There was an airy, delicate quality about her that was well suited to her silver hair and the pastel colors she favored.

  “Good morning, madam.” Gideon waited until the butler had seated the countess and then he sat down at the table. He placed Harriet’s letter next to his knife. He would read it later. He had not yet told his parents about his engagement.

  As usual, Gideon’s father had rallied nicely shortly after learning that his son had arrived at Hardcastle House late last night. Gideon fully expected him to appear at breakfast.

  “I see you have a letter, dear.” Lady Hardcastle nodded to the footman, who poured coffee for her. “Anyone I know?”

  “You will know her soon enough.”

  “Her?” Lady Hardcastle’s spoon fluttered in midair over her coffee cup. She gave Gideon a birdlike look of inquiry.

  “I have not yet had a chance to tell you that I am engaged, have I?” Gideon smiled briefly at his mother. “But as my father appears to have come through his recent crisis with flying colors, I probably should mention the fact.”

  “Engaged. Gideon, are you serious?” Some of the birdlike quality evaporated from Lady Hardcastle’s eyes. It was replaced by shock and uncertainty and, perhaps, a hint of hope.

  “Very serious.”

  “I am so relieved to hear this, even if I do not know her. I had begun to fear that your experience in the past had put you off the idea of marriage permanently. And as your dear brother is no longer with us—”

  “I am the only one who can provide an heir for Hard-castle,” Gideon concluded bluntly. “You need not remind me, madam. I am well aware that my father has been increasingly concerned about my failure to do my duty in that respect.”

  “Gideon, must you always put the worst possible interpretation on your father’s remarks?”

  “Why not? He puts the worst possible interpretation on mine.”

  There was a commotion in the doorway at that moment. The Earl of Hardcastle appeared. He was escorted by one of the footmen, who was holding his arm, but it was obvious his lordship was feeling much better. The fact that he was bothering to come downstairs to breakfast was ample proof that he was no longer experiencing the pains in his chest that had made him send for Gideon.

  “What’s this?” Hardcastle demanded. His tawny golden eyes, so like those of his son, were slightly dimmed with age, but they were still remarkably fierce. The earl was a year short of seventy but his posture was that of the athletic young man he had once been. He was big, almost as large as Gideon. His thinning hair was as silver as that of his wife’s. His broad, strong-boned face had softened very little over the years. “You’ve gone and gotten yourself engaged?”

  “Yes, sir.” Gideon rose from the table to help himself to the hot dishes on the sideboard.

  “About time.” Hardcastle took his seat at the head of the table. “Damnation, man. You might have bothered to mention it earlier, you know. It is not exactly a minor event. You are the last of the line and your mother and I were beginning to wonder when you would do something about it.”

  “It is done.” Gideon selected sausages and eggs and went back to his chair. “I shall arrange for my fiancée to visit as soon as possible.”

  “You could have told us first, before you made an offer,” Lady Hardcastle said reprovingly.

  “There was no time.” Gideon forked up a sausage. “The engagement took place with no advance notice out of necessity. The wedding may have to take place just as quickly.”

  The earl’s eyes filled with fury. “Good God, man. Are you saying you have compromised another young woman?”

  “I know neither of you believes me, but I never compromised the first. However, I am indeed guilty of compromising the second.” Gideon felt his mother’s shock and his father’s anger pouring over him in waves. He concentrated on his sausages. “It was an accident. But it is done. And there will be a marriage.”

  “I do not believe this,” the earl said tightly. “As God is my witness, I do not believe you have ruined another young woman.”

  Gideon’s fingers tightened on his knife, but he kept his mouth shut. He had vowed he would not quarrel with his father on this visit, but he knew now there had never been any real hope of avoiding a scene such as this. He and his father could not be in the same room together for more than five minutes without exploding into a quarrel.

  Lady Hardcastle gave Gideon a quelling look and then turned to her irate husband in concern. “Calm yourself, my dear. If you carry on this way you will bring on another attack.”

  “It will be his fault if I collapse at this very table.” The earl jabbed a fork in Gideon’s direction. “Enough. Give us the details and spare us any further suspense.”

  “There is not much to tell,” Gideon said quietly. “Her name is Harriet Pomeroy.”

  “Pomeroy? Pomeroy? That is the name of the last rector I appointed to Upper Biddleton.” The earl glowered. “Any connection?”

  “His daughter.”

  “Oh, my God,” Lady Hardcastle breathed. “Another rector’s daughter. Gideon, what have you done?”

  Gideon smiled coldly as he slit the seal on Harriet’s letter and opened it. “You must ask my fiancée how it all came about. She takes full responsibility for everything. Now, if you will excuse me while I read her note, I shall soon be able to tell you whether we will be requiring a special license.”

  “Have you gotten the poor gel with child?” The earl stormed.

  “Dear heaven,” Lady Hardcastle whispered. Gideon frowned as he quickly scanned Harriet’s letter.

  My Dear Sir:

  By the time you read this I shall be in London learning how to be a proper wife to you. My Aunt Adelaide (you may recall my mentioning her) has taken control of her husband’s money at last She has summoned us all to Town. We are going to give Felicity her Season and Aunt Effie informs me that I shall be given a Social Polish which will enable me to avoid embarrassing you in the future. It is the chief reason I have agreed to go.

  To be perfectly truthful I would much prefer to stay here in Upper Biddleton. I am very excited about the tooth I discovered in our cavern. (I must remind you again to tell no one about it. Fossil thieves are everywhere.) But I understand that as a rector’s daughter I lack a great deal of knowledge about how to go on in Society. As Aunt Effie says, you will need a wife who knows about such things. I trust I shall learn them quickly so that I can get back to my fossils.

  I am hoping that while in London I shall be able to research and identify my tooth. It is a cheerful thought and makes the notion of the trip much more palatable.

  We leave on the morrow. If you wish to reach me you may do so in care of my Aunt Adelaide. I have enclosed her direction. I pray your father is feeling better. Please extend my regards to your mother. By the bye, about that Other Matter which so concerned you, allow me to tell you that you may cease worrying. There is no need for a hasty wedding.

  Yrs.

  Harriet

  Damn, Gideon thought as he quickly refolded the letter. He realized then just how much he had taken to the notion of a rushed wedding. “No. My fiancée is not pregnant. Unfortunately. Something far more disastrous has occurred.”

  Lady Hardcastle blinked. “Good heavens. What could be worse?”

  “They have taken her off to London to give her a social polish.” Gideon wolfed down the last of his sausages and got to his feet. “As you are not dying, my lord,” he said to his father, “I must be on my way at once.”

  “Damnation, Gideon, come back here,” Hardcastle roared. “What is going on? Why are you rushing off to Town?”

  Gideon paused impatiently in the doorway. “I cannot delay, sir. The though
t of Harriet in London unsettles my nerves.”

  “Fustian.” Lady Hardcastle frowned. “Nothing unsettles your nerves, Gideon.”

  “You do not know Harriet, madam.”

  Chapter Nine

  GIDEON DID NOT ENJOY his clubs in the traditional way that most gentlemen did. For him they were not a refuge or a home away from home. Knowing that the moment he walked through the door six-year-old tales of ravished maidens, suicide, and mysterious death were immediately revived did not give him a fondness for club life.

  Not that anyone had ever given Gideon the satisfaction of confronting him face-to-face with the accusations. He was considered far too dangerous for such an approach. There were those who well recalled the rapier duel in which he had received the scar that marred his features.

  The event had happened over ten years earlier, but the witnesses were still quick to remind one and all that St. Justin had very nearly murdered his opponent, Bryce Morland, at the time.

  Morland, those witnesses pointed out, had been St. Justin’s friend since childhood and the duel itself had been nothing more than a sporting match between two young bloods. It had not been intended as a genuine challenge.

  The devil alone knew what St. Justin might do in a real duel. He would certainly have no hesitation about killing the challenger.

  Gideon recalled the events of that rapier duel with Morland all too clearly himself. It was not the blood dripping from the gaping wound on his face or the pain or the presence of witnesses that had stopped Gideon at the last moment when he recovered and managed to disarm Morland. It was Morland’s cry for mercy.

  He could still hear the words. For God’s sake, man, it was an accident.

  In the heat of a sporting event that had turned into a real fencing duel, Gideon had not been at all certain the rapier thrust which had destroyed his face had been an accident. But everyone else was sure of it. After all, why would Morland want to kill St. Justin? There was no motive.

  In the end, the damage had been done, Morland had screamed for mercy, and Gideon had known he could not kill a man in cold blood. He had removed the point of the rapier from Morland’s throat and everyone had breathed a collective sigh of relief.

  Three years later when the tale of Deirdre’s ravishment and suicide had swept London, the tale of the duel had been revived and viewed in a dark light. The details of Randal’s death were also reviewed. Questions were asked.

  But the questions were always asked behind Gideon’s back.

  Gideon dropped into his clubs when he happened to be in Town for one reason and one reason only. They were an excellent source of information and he had a few questions he wished answered before he called on Harriet.

  On his first night back in Town Gideon went up the steps and through the front door of one of the most exclusive clubs on St. James Street. He was not surprised by the ripple of interest and curiosity that went through the main room of the establishment as the members realized who had arrived.

  It was always like this.

  With a cool nod to a few of the older gentlemen he knew to be personal friends of his father’s, Gideon took a seat near the fire. He sent for a bottle of hock and picked up a newspaper. He did not have long to wait before he was approached.

  “I say, been a while since we’ve seen you in here, St. Justin. Rumor going round you’ve gotten yourself engaged. Any truth to it?”

  Gideon glanced up from the paper. He recognized the portly, bald-headed gentleman as Lord Fry, a baron with estates in Hampshire. Fry was one of his father’s old acquaintances from the earl’s fossil-collecting days.

  “Good evening, sir.” Gideon kept his tone even but polite. “You may rest assured the rumor concerning my engagement is true. The notices will appear in tomorrow morning’s papers.”

  “I say.” Fry scowled belligerently. “So it’s true, then?”

  Gideon smiled coldly. “I’ve just said it was true.”

  “I say. Well, then. So it is. Rather afraid it might be.” Fry looked grim. “Miss Pomeroy seemed awfully sure of it, but one never knows, when there’s not been an actual announcement, you know. Her family is keeping mum.”

  “Sit down, Fry. Have a glass of hock.”

  Fry dropped down into the leather-upholstered chair across from Gideon. He took out a large white handkerchief and wiped his brow. “I say. Rather warm this close to the fire isn’t it? Usually don’t sit quite so close, myself.”

  Gideon set aside his newspaper and fixed the stout baron with a deliberate gaze. “I take it you are acquainted with my fiancée?”

  “Yes, indeed.” Fry looked suddenly hopeful. “If it’s Miss Harriet Pomeroy we’re discussing, I’ve indeed had the pleasure. Recently joined the Fossils and Antiquities Society.”

  “That explains it.” Gideon relaxed slightly. “You may rest assured it is the same Harriet Pomeroy.”

  “I say. Pity.” Fry wiped his brow again. “Poor girl,” he muttered almost inaudibly.

  Gideon narrowed his eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Eh? Oh, nothing, nothing. I say. Lovely young lady. Very bright. Very bright, indeed. A bit wrong-headed on some matters, of course. Has some rather odd notions about strata and fossils and the general principles of geology, but otherwise quite bright.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  Fry gave Gideon a speculative glance. “Her sister is making quite a splash this Season.”

  “Is she?” Gideon poured a glass of hock for Fry.

  “Yes, indeed. Beautiful girl. Respectable portion. World’s at her feet, of course.” Fry took a large swallow from the glass. “I say. A few of us in the Society had a bit of trouble with the notion that our Miss Harriet Pomeroy was engaged to you, however.”

  “Why did that disturb you, Fry?” Gideon asked very softly.

  “Well, I say. She don’t seem the type, if you know what I mean.”

  “No. I do not know what you mean. Why don’t you explain yourself?”

  Fry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Such an intelligent young woman.”

  “You think an intelligent young woman would have had more sense than to get herself engaged to me?” Gideon prompted, softening his voice further still.

  “No, no. Meant nothing of the kind.” Fry took another deep swallow of the hock. “Just that she’s got such a keen interest in fossils and geology and that sort of thing. Would have thought that if she were going to get herself married, she’d have chosen a man who shared her interests. No offense, sir.”

  “It takes a great deal to offend me, Fry. But you are welcome to try, if you like.”

  Fry turned red. “Yes, well. She says she’s been brought to Town in order to get herself polished for you.”

  “So I hear.”

  “I say.” Fry gave him a belligerent look. “Far as I’m concerned, Miss Pomeroy don’t need no polishing. Perfectly nice just as she is.”

  “On that we agree, Fry.”

  Fry looked disconcerted by that. He floundered about for another topic. “Well, then. I say. How’s your father?”

  “As well as can be expected.”

  “Good. Good. Glad to hear it.” Fry plowed on gamely. “He had quite an interest in fossils at one time. Hardcastle and I had many a discussion on the subject of marine antiquities. They were a particular specialty of his, as I recall. Shells and fossil fish and the like. Does he still collect?”

  “No. He lost interest a few years ago.” Right after he left Upper Biddleton, Gideon reflected silently. His father had shown no enthusiasm for anything since the events of six years ago. Not even for his own estates. All the earl cared about now was gaining a grandson.

  “I say. Pity. Quite a good collector at one time.” Fry jerked himself to his feet. “Well, then. Must be off.”

  Gideon’s brows rose. “Are you not going to congratulate me on my engagement, Fry?”

  “What?” Fry picked up his glass and downed the last of the hock. “Yes, yes. Congratulations.” He glowered at
Gideon. “But I still say the lady don’t need any polishing, if you ask me.”

  Gideon watched thoughtfully as Fry took himself off. One of the questions he’d come here with tonight had just been answered. Harriet was making no secret of her engagement.

  Gideon felt a rush of deep satisfaction. The lady was apparently not in the least concerned that she might be ravished and abandoned by the notorious Beast of Blackthorne Hall. She fully expected to be married to him.

  To judge by Fry’s reaction, however, others were clearly far less sanguine about Harriet’s fate. When Gideon paused to peruse the club’s betting book he saw several entries on the subject of his engagement. They were all very much along the lines of the most recent one at the bottom of the page.

  Lord R wagers Lord T that a certain young lady will find herself unengaged to a certain monster within a fortnight.

  Harriet was involved in an intense discussion of the nature of igneous rocks with several other members of the Fossils and Antiquities Society when the news that Gideon was in Town hit the ballroom.

  Effie appeared at Harriet’s side shortly thereafter, looking extremely concerned. Harriet’s first thought was that something had happened to Felicity or Aunt Adelaide.

  “I would like a word with you, if you don’t mind, Harriet,” Effie murmured discreetly as she smiled graciously at the small crowd gathered around her niece.

  “Of course, Aunt Effie.” Harriet excused herself from the conversation. “Is anything wrong?”

  “St. Justin is in Town. I just got word.”

  “Oh, good,” Harriet said, her heart soaring, even though she told herself not to get her hopes too high. Gideon was hardly likely to discover he had fallen in love with her during their short separation. “That must mean his father is feeling better.”

  Effie sighed. “You are so naive, my dear. You just don’t seem to understand the potential for disaster that we now face. Come along. Your friends from the Fossils and Antiquities Society can wait. We must consult with Adelaide.”

  “Aunt Effie, I was right in the middle of a most interesting conversation concerning the significance of molten rock. Cannot this consultation wait?”