“Flash will stay with us at Drago Hall?”
“Yes. I believe he will be of value to me.”
He was up to something, Victoria thought again as she watched him mount his stallion. Why else would he have this young man, Flash, at Drago Hall?
Flash was a young man of many talents, Rafael was thinking as he rode easily, his body swaying in harmony with Gadfly’s canter, his thoughts roving outward to plans of attack once they reached Drago Hall. He would probably simply have to become one of them, he decided. Become a member of their ridiculous Hellfire Club. It seemed to him at the moment to be the only way.
And keep the peace, somehow, at Drago Hall. And protect Victoria.
They reached Drago Hall early Sunday afternoon. Rafael hadn’t intended to feel anything at the sight of his boyhood home, but he did, deep stirring feelings that made him want to cry with the loss of it. Nothing had changed, he thought, gazing about him.
The main hall was early Elizabethan, built by the first Baron Drago, Arkley Carstairs, in 1564 or thereabouts. Successive barons had added three wings to the central hall. It could have looked a rambling monstrosity, but Drago Hall didn’t. It did go on, but in a compact, reasonable way, at least that was how Rafael’s father had described it. Thank God, Rafael thought as he looked wistfully at a grooved and nicked maple tree he had carved on as a boy, the barons had all used the same soft red stone quarried in Stenalees.
Rafael’s father had been content to widen the portico and the drive that curved in front of the Hall. He’d spared the oak and maple trees—indeed, Rafael recalled his being quite adamant about that, and the resulting drive wasn’t at all the same width from beginning to end. It curved in here and there to protect a tree, and the effect was odd but charming.
Rafael’s mother had believed Drago Hall to be too stark, too forbidding, and had planted every flower known to the southern coast of Cornwall. It had been a successful endeavor. Color abounded, softening the lines of the Hall, casting a welcoming aura over its rather severe facade.
“This is what I call a rich cove’s dish,” said Flash, gazing about him.
Rafael smiled. “We should be comfortable enough for the short time we’ll be here.”
Flash just looked at him, wondering what the captain was up to this time. He supposed he’d be told soon enough. The captain did things his way and there was no use prying at him until he was ready. Now, the captain taking a bride, that was something else. Flash looked over his shoulder for just a moment, and sure enough, there was Mrs. Carstairs leaning out the window, taking everything in. Pretty girl, and saucy, giving the captain his gravy when it suited her. When he’d first met her the day before in Axmouth, he wondered if she thought he’d steal the silverware at Drago Hall, her greeting was so wary. Then Captain Carstairs had said, a wicked gleam in his eyes, “Now, Victoria, Flash here has promised me that he won’t knobble a thing. Drago Hall is quite safe, I promise you.”
She was embarrassed to have her thought so baldly set on the table, Flash thought, but she’d quickly recovered and sauced the captain up quick as any general. “And what will he lift? Perhaps my valise?”
“He means ‘steal,’ ma’am,” Flash said.
“I know what he means, Flash. It’s just that he’s a wicked tease. I’m glad to know you.” She thrust out her hand and he took it. “I look to you for information about him. I haven’t known him all that long and I begin to believe there is a very perverse streak running the length of him.”
“Aye, that’s a fact,” Flash said comfortably. “Maybe I can do me a spot of blackmail, eh, Captain?”
“Flash, my boy, you do a spot of anything, and I’ll nail your hide to the stable door.”
A fine good laugh that had brought, once Mrs. Carstairs had realized it was a jest.
“Let’s go right to the stables,” Rafael said now to Flash. “Over there, to the east.”
The stableboy who was in the yard, a boy Rafael hadn’t ever seen before, instantly called him Baron, and Rafael grinned. “Make that Captain, boy. What is your name?”
“Everyone calls me Lobo, sir, er, Captain . . . Baron, sir.”
Rafael merely shook his head, smiling that charming smile of his. He assisted Victoria from the carriage. She was a bit pale. “Don’t worry, it will be all right. You are a married woman now, not a helpless, unprotected girl. Will you trust me?”
She didn’t reply, and he felt a bit miffed at her. He heard Flash explaining to Lobo that he, Rafael, was not Baron Drago.
He repeated himself. “Victoria, you aren’t still afraid, are you?”
“Yes, a bit,” she admitted finally. He felt her slip her hand into his and it pleased him inordinately. He gave her his brilliant white smile and she returned it, albeit a bit hesitantly.
“Well, the prodigal, or should I say prodigals, have come home to roost.”
Victoria felt again the confusion and bewilderment upon seeing Damien and Rafael together. She looked from one to the other and back again. They were so remarkably alike that it was eerie, particularly now that Rafael’s tan had faded. From their inky black hair, worn a bit long, to their silver-gray eyes, to their high cheekbones and straight noses, to the strong chins. It was disconcerting, even a bit frightening that two people could so closely resemble each other. Why, she wondered blankly, did she feel such revulsion for Damien? And his brother, his identical twin, had but to smile down at her, lightly kiss her or caress her, and she was ready to take on Napoleon single-handed.
“Good day to you, twin,” Rafael said, still holding Victoria’s hand against his side. “The Hall still looks the same. Magnificent. You are a good manager. Oh, incidentally, this is my man, Flash. Flash, this is Baron Drago.”
Amazing, thought Flash. Scary it was. He nodded, saying not a word.
So, Victoria thought, amazed at the ways of gentlemen, her husband was simply going to ignore the fact that he’d seen his brother in London and, for that matter, wanted to skin him.
Damien inclined his head. “You said in your rather brief missive that you wished to stay here until you decided where to build or buy your own home. I suppose,” he continued, his voice pensive as his gaze traveled slowly over Victoria, “that Victoria is also enthralled about returning to Drago Hall?”
“Victoria—my wife—is of course delighted to accompany her husband anywhere. She naturally feels quite safe with me, as is proper.”
Two cocks facing off against each other in the hen yard, thought Victoria. She glanced over at Flash and saw that he was gazing from one to the other, a curious expression on his face. She liked him, she realized, probably had liked him from the moment Rafael had told her about him. He was thin, about her own age, with very intelligent brown eyes and curly brown hair. His smile was wicked and gave him an expression fit for a needy orphan.
“Of course Victoria is not the same girl she was when she so precipitately left such a short time ago, is she?”
“No,” Rafael said in a matter-of-fact voice, even though he wanted to slam his fist into his twin’s jaw for his sexual innuendo, “she is my wife.”
“Ah, my love,” Damien called to Elaine, “come meet my brother and his charming wife, who just happens to be your cousin whom you haven’t seen for many weeks now.”
Rafael studied Elaine Carstairs as she walked gracefully down the worn stone steps of Drago Hall toward them. She was tall, with dark hair—as dark as her husband’s—and really quite lovely. Her chin was a bit too pointed for Rafael’s taste, and as for her figure, it was impossible to tell, for she was well into her pregnancy. She seemed to be having a very difficult time smiling, he saw, feeling unholy amusement, particularly at Victoria.
And like Victoria, she stared openmouthed from him to his brother and back again. “It’s amazing,” she said at last. “Rafael, welcome back to Drago Hall.” She extended a very white hand to him and he dutifully kissed it.
“How is Damaris?” Victoria blurted out suddenly.
Elaine looked at her as if she’d just crawled out of the slimy swamp that was some two miles due east of Drago Hall—Penhale Swamp it was called. “Hello, Victoria. My husband tells me you have enjoyed yourself since leaving here.”
“I’m not certain if it was all enjoyment,” Rafael said, easing quickly into the breach. “I trust Victoria believes it was—at least since her marriage to me.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” said Victoria. “Damaris, Elaine? She is all right?”
“I don’t know why you should care—you left her quickly enough, after all. But yes, the child is fine.”
“Shall we go into the Hall, Rafael, ladies?”
Rafael nodded. He turned to Flash. “See to the horses, then come to the Hall. The butler, Ligger, will tell you where my room is and where you’ll be housed.”
“Why did you run away, Victoria?”
Straight and to the point, Victoria thought, turning her head to look at her cousin. She waited until the two men had strolled all well ahead of them before answering. She had given this some thought, of course, and managed to say easily enough, “I discovered that I was an heiress, Elaine, something neither you nor Damien thought necessary to tell me. I was on my way to London to see the solicitor. That is all.”
“That’s what Damien said.”
She didn’t sound pleased with the duplication of reasons. Could Elaine know of her husband’s attempted rape?
“I don’t know why you simply didn’t ask Damien about it.”
“It didn’t occur to me to ask because neither of you had bothered to even hint that I was more than a poor relation.”
“Your precious money was perfectly safe, Victoria. Damien was going to tell you when you came of age.”
Victoria could but stare at her. “I wouldn’t have gotten my money, unless I married, until the age of twenty-five. Is that the age you’re referring to, Elaine? And a husband—ah, I can just imagine how Damien would have handled that. Just as he handled David. I cannot believe that you, my own cousin, could have been so perfidious.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You were always treated as one of the family.” She paused a moment, pale now. “Besides, I didn’t know about your inheritance.”
Victoria just looked at her. “No,” she said slowly, “I don’t suppose you did.”
“Shall we go to the drawing room?” Damien’s voice. He’d come to a halt in the thick-beamed central hall.
Victoria nodded, her eyes now on Rafael. He was standing very still, looking about. Victoria followed his gaze from the cavernous fireplace, black and deep as a pit, large enough to roast an oxen, to the suits of armor—English, French, Flemish—many of them terribly rusted, along the far walls, to the banners and crests of every Carstairs generation since the sixteenth century.
“It’s still the same,” Rafael said.
“Don’t get too close to those wretched knights in their armor,” Elaine said. “They’re dangerous, you know. The maids, silly wenches, won’t dust them or clean them properly. They say that there are ghosts, and the ghosts hide in the armor. It’s stupid, of course, but what can one do?”
That was neutral enough, and the four of them trooped into the drawing room. Here Rafael saw change. Elaine, he supposed. It was an improvement. All the dark, heavy furnishings were gone, to be replaced by some marvelous light Queen Anne pieces. The draperies were nearly transparent, with the sunlight bursting through them. A light blue Aubusson carpet with wide creamy swirls covered the center of the floor.
“Very nice,” Rafael said, turning to smile at Elaine. “My God, Ligger,” he said, seeing the old retainer on the threshold. “Hello, dear fellow, you are looking just the same.”
“Thank you, sir. May I say, sir, that it is very gratifying to see you again.”
“Yes, I’m gratified to be here, actually. Did you know, Ligger, that Miss Victoria and I are married?”
Ligger knew, of course. Every servant at Drago Hall knew. It had been a choice topic of conversation for nearly a week now. And Ligger also knew why Miss Victoria had run away. That fact he had kept to himself. His loyalty was to the family, after all, no matter how despicably the current master might behave. Now, Master Rafael—a hell-raiser, that one was, but straightforward and honest. A man people could trust, that was master Rafael.
“Tea, please, Ligger.”
“It is coming directly, my lady.” Ligger turned to direct two house maids bringing in a huge silver service and a trolley with cakes and biscuits and small sandwiches artfully displayed.
There was silence until the servants left the drawing room in Ligger’s majestic wake.
“You are home to stay, Rafael?”
Rafael smiled at Elaine. “Yes, I believe so. My shipping interests shouldn’t suffer, however. My first mate, a fellow with excellent training and judgment, will captain the Seawitch now. However, I don’t intend to become a gentleman of leisure.” He paused a moment and leaned back against the settle. “I’ve worked too many years to enjoy a life of leisure. I suppose I shall continue directing my enterprises from here. Of course, Victoria and I will also raise our family here.”
“So,” said Damien, “you have earned enough money over the past five years to buy your own estate? Or,” he continued, his voice soft, a bit taunting, “do you plan to use Victoria’s funds to get what you want?”
“Both,” said Rafael, the smile never slipping. “The other half of Victoria’s money is soon to be in trust for our children.” The lovely smile now was directed toward Victoria. It didn’t reach his beautiful gray eyes, she saw.
“How noble of you, Rafael,” said Elaine, her voice a bit on the shrill side.
“Not at all,” he said easily. “It’s simply that I have no pressing need for her funds. Indeed, I would have married her if she hadn’t had a sou.”
Liar. Victoria’s expressive eyes told him. Bloody liar. She kept her mouth shut, however, and he was profoundly thankful for small favors. “A young woman as lovely as Victoria,” he continued, “shouldn’t be left in the world without protection. She was much in need of a husband and I trust that she isn’t disappointed with the bargain she made.”
Victoria, bless her sweet, reasonable self, dutifully nodded, a bright smile pinned firmly on her lips.
Rafael took a sip of tea, wondering about Elaine. He’d overheard some of her conversation with Victoria and he imagined that she knew quite a bit more about her husband’s vagaries than she let on. She was wary of Victoria and she appeared to dislike her. Could it be, his thinking continued, that she simply resented not having a poor relation to do her bidding anymore?
He said with a smile, “Congratulations are in order, I see. An heir, Damien?”
“Yes, undoubtedly. Just after Christmas, Dr. Ludcott tells me. And Elaine is in the pink of health, as you can see.”
Suddenly Victoria rose from her chair. “I think I shall go to the nursery and see Damaris.”
“Damaris is sleeping,” Elaine said sharply. “You know how Nanny Black is—at least you should remember how very territorial that old woman acts.”
“Actually, I believe I should like to go to our room now, if you don’t mind, Elaine.” Rafael rose as he spoke, reaching out his hand to Victoria. She came to stand beside him.
“I believe,” Damien said, “that Elaine has put you in the Pewter Room.”
Victoria stared at her cousin for a moment, quite taken aback. It was a beautiful room, all shades of silver and gray. Three decades before, it had been used as the master bedchamber, and wasn’t used now, for no guests were considered worthy. This was indeed a surprise.
As for Rafael, he saw that Elaine hadn’t assigned this room to them. Damien had. Indeed, she looked somewhat miffed. Now, why, he wondered, would his brother assign him and Victoria such a grand suite? He gave a mental shrug. Could it be that his errant twin wanted to make peace?
No, that was doubtful in the extreme.
Some minutes later, Victoria was looking about the large,
airy room with something akin to awe. “I don’t understand,” she said, more to herself than to Rafael. “Goodness, I have never seen so many beautiful shades of gray. Even though the gray silk on this chair is a bit worn, it is still exquisite, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Actually, I don’t understand either. And Elaine didn’t assign us this suite, Victoria, it was Damien, I’m quite certain. Another mystery I’ve got on my hands.”
“What do you mean by another mystery?”
He recovered quickly. He stepped closer to her and gently clasped her shoulders in his hands. “You, Victoria, are a veritable bundle of mysteries. First of all, you have yet to regale me with your famous or infamous confession, as the case may be. Second, you have yet to show me your malformed toe.” He stared over her head toward the wide windows that gave toward the sea. “And now my twin. Very invigorating, don’t you agree?” He didn’t add the damnable mystery of the Hellfire club, regenerated, as Lord Walton called it. He’d been a fool to agree. He came back to his senses and the Pewter Room to see Victoria looking up at him hungrily.
“Don’t do that.” His voice was sharp, harsh. “That look makes me want to ravish you, right here, right now.” He gave her a pained smile. “But I can’t, so don’t tempt me.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I can’t help the way I look. Truly.”
“Your expression is—rather, was—so ravenous, I felt like the Christmas-dinner goose.”
She tried to pull away from him. He wouldn’t release her. “No, don’t be embarrassed, Victoria. It’s healthy to feel desire for your husband, makes your husband feel like the grandest lover in the world. What’s more, I like it excessively.”
“I don’t like you, Rafael.”
Again his good humor flowed over her, like warm, smooth honey. “Why ever not? Don’t wound me, Victoria. Tell me you forgive me for my moment, my very brief moment, of male stupidity.”
“You never believed me. How can I forgive you that?”
He was on the point of telling her flatly that a woman’s duty was to be the forgiving one, since men weren’t. But he saw the pain in her eyes, the disappointment, the confusion and uncertainty. “Truly,” he said, very softly now, “I am sorry, Victoria. Shall I go slay a dragon for you to prove what a contrite fellow I am?”