Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 03] by Dangerous Illusions

things, and to tell you of Penthorpe’s death, which I ought of course to have done yesterday. When his lordship mistook me for Penthorpe, I … that is, I—”
    “Your curiosity about our family is no doubt as great as that of some members of ours about the Deverills,” Lady Ophelia said helpfully. “One cannot help but understand your impulse to take advantage of the opportunity to learn more when it was no doubt thrust upon you by St. Merryn himself.”
    “That… that was it,” he said, looking at Daintry.
    Though she had been aware of their exchange, she had paid no heed to it. The news of Penthorpe’s death was a shock, but though she was certain she ought to feel grief at this appalling turn of events, she could not feel more than she felt for the thousands of other young soldiers who had given their lives at Waterloo. Her strongest emotion was still anger with Deverill, underscored by a powerful sense of having been betrayed by him.
    “You are despicable,” she said at last, “to take advantage in the basest manner of a man’s death, to try to take his place merely to satisfy vulgar curiosity. Such contemptible behavior must be thought offensive by any right-thinking person. To take the place of a man who died valiantly, fighting for his country against the most dreadful odds—”
    “I would remind you that I also fought at Waterloo.”
    “Oh, to be sure,” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “but you survived, did you not, no doubt because braver men, men like poor, unfortunate Penthorpe—”
    “This has gone far enough,” Deverill said grimly, his voice carrying easily over hers. “You have not the least notion what you are talking about, so just sit down and be silent while I explain a few facts of life to you.”
    “Don’t give me orders! Do you hear me? I told you bef—”
    “If you do not sit down, I will sit you down.”
    His tone of voice and the hard look in his eyes told her that if he had been angry before, he was furious now. Shooting a glance at Lady Ophelia and seeing from her expression of placid interest that there was not the least hope of rescue from that quarter, Daintry took a step backward, saying tensely, “If you dare to lay hands upon me again, sir, I will—”
    “You will what?” He had taken step for step, and he was much too near now for comfort. She could tell from the look of purpose in his eyes that he was going to grab her again, and no doubt he would shake her as he had done before. She waited, lips parted, her breasts heaving with suppressed emotion.
    Very close now, he said softly, “What will you do, my lady?”
    She stared up at him. “I… I…”
    The look in his golden hazel eyes was warm now, inviting. “Tell me,” he murmured, holding her gaze. “I want to know.”
    Lady Ophelia cleared her throat, and they both stepped back as if they had been bitten. Daintry, seeing him flush, felt an answering warmth in her own cheeks, and looked quickly away.
    Lady Ophelia said, “You know, Dev—Dash, just what is your proper title, young man? I’ve not the least notion what styling your brother took after that poor young cousin of yours died so unexpectedly and your father became Marquess of Jervaulx.”
    “Deverill is sufficient, ma’am,” he said. “My cousin being a posthumous child, there have been only heirs presumptive for years, and although I am told that my brother had applied for the heir apparent’s styling, which is Earl of Abreston, it had not yet been conferred. There will be time enough to sort that out once I have learned my new duties, but in the meantime, as the new heir I’ve changed only from Lord Gideon to Lord Deverill.”
    She nodded with satisfaction. “I own, I am glad you are not out of reason puffed up by your new consequence, but I have been thinking, sir, and if you came here to tell us young Penthorpe had fallen in battle, surely that somber duty ought to have outweighed idle curiosity. What is more, I am