elbow and undid the strings of her rain-soaked bonnet. She tossed it to a nearby table. Sense reasserted its dominion in his fevered brain; his best tack now was to flatter or coddle her into forgiving him for his violence. “I must apologize, my lady,” he said with a deep bow, “for making so free with your person.”
“You’re unbearably imposing, my lord,” she said, huffing and settling her dress properly about her person. “But you will not overcome my curiosity nor my determination to discover why you have handled such a vile crime, perpetrated upon your mother, in such a shocking manner!”
She licked her lips and gazed up at him, and really, he thought suddenly, for a plain woman her eyes were ridiculously fine, brilliant though they were gray, almost silver in color, and fringed with long, dark lashes. Dew clung to her skin, giving it the sheen of nacre, and her pink tongue, darting out to wet her trembling lips, was a silly little enticement. Irritation waged war with rationality, but irritation won. He could not turn her over his knee to teach her to mind her own business, so… he grabbed her around the waist, hauled her into his embrace, and bent her backwards with a hasty and impetuous kiss certain to silence—and possibly confuse—her. A servant who had approached at their entry gasped and backed out of the hallway.
But it did not daunt her. The moment he released her, she slapped him. Hard. The sound echoed to the upper reaches of the third floor. “How dare you, sir?”
He planted his hands on his hips and laughed out loud as his brother, John, raced down the steps, his pudding-pale face gleaming with perspiration.
“Tony, what’s going on? This is no laughing matter! Mother won’t tell me what happened with that poor fellow, young Allengate, but said I must ask you, and—” He stopped ranting finally upon seeing Lady Anne, who had been concealed from his view by Darkefell’s own bulky form. John’s breath still came in deep, gasping gulps as he stared from one to the other of them. “What’s going on?” he wailed plaintively, hammering his fist on the oak banister railing.
“I would like to know the same thing,” Lady Anne said, her cheeks pink from Darkefell’s amorous assault. “Who is Allengate, and why did he attack your mother?” She looked from the marquess to his brother, but both men were silent.
Darkefell made a sudden decision. This was already too complicated, and he had much to do that did not include placating an irritating spinster with too long a nose and too sharp of a gaze. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all you, my lady.” He turned to his brother. “John, will you escort the lady back up to her room? I’m sure, now that her bags are here, she’ll want to change her damp and soiled clothing. I will see you both at dinner, but for now, I do need to see Mother about something, which is why I was on my way here in the first place.”
He turned back to Lady Anne. “I’ll assure myself that she’s well, I promise you. I value my mother very much, for all you may have doubts on that topic. Good afternoon, my lady—I will see you at dinner, no doubt.”
***
Anne, after a couple of hours of rest and reflection in her room and clad in a more suitable dress of blue lustring, sat in the drawing room with her hands folded on her lap. Nobody would speak to her, not even the maid, Ellen, whom she had summoned to help her change out of her traveling dress, now ruined beyond redemption by the rain and muck of the garden. Her hair still looked a fright, but there was not a thing she could do about that. The maid had been resolutely silent, even when closely questioned, frightened into silence by the bullying marquess, Anne felt sure.
Lydia sat at the piano in the corner of the room, picking out a plaintive little tune. Either she truly did not know who Allengate was, or she had been warned not to speak about him, for she shrugged her shoulders
“You’re unbearably imposing, my lord,” she said, huffing and settling her dress properly about her person. “But you will not overcome my curiosity nor my determination to discover why you have handled such a vile crime, perpetrated upon your mother, in such a shocking manner!”
She licked her lips and gazed up at him, and really, he thought suddenly, for a plain woman her eyes were ridiculously fine, brilliant though they were gray, almost silver in color, and fringed with long, dark lashes. Dew clung to her skin, giving it the sheen of nacre, and her pink tongue, darting out to wet her trembling lips, was a silly little enticement. Irritation waged war with rationality, but irritation won. He could not turn her over his knee to teach her to mind her own business, so… he grabbed her around the waist, hauled her into his embrace, and bent her backwards with a hasty and impetuous kiss certain to silence—and possibly confuse—her. A servant who had approached at their entry gasped and backed out of the hallway.
But it did not daunt her. The moment he released her, she slapped him. Hard. The sound echoed to the upper reaches of the third floor. “How dare you, sir?”
He planted his hands on his hips and laughed out loud as his brother, John, raced down the steps, his pudding-pale face gleaming with perspiration.
“Tony, what’s going on? This is no laughing matter! Mother won’t tell me what happened with that poor fellow, young Allengate, but said I must ask you, and—” He stopped ranting finally upon seeing Lady Anne, who had been concealed from his view by Darkefell’s own bulky form. John’s breath still came in deep, gasping gulps as he stared from one to the other of them. “What’s going on?” he wailed plaintively, hammering his fist on the oak banister railing.
“I would like to know the same thing,” Lady Anne said, her cheeks pink from Darkefell’s amorous assault. “Who is Allengate, and why did he attack your mother?” She looked from the marquess to his brother, but both men were silent.
Darkefell made a sudden decision. This was already too complicated, and he had much to do that did not include placating an irritating spinster with too long a nose and too sharp of a gaze. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation, least of all you, my lady.” He turned to his brother. “John, will you escort the lady back up to her room? I’m sure, now that her bags are here, she’ll want to change her damp and soiled clothing. I will see you both at dinner, but for now, I do need to see Mother about something, which is why I was on my way here in the first place.”
He turned back to Lady Anne. “I’ll assure myself that she’s well, I promise you. I value my mother very much, for all you may have doubts on that topic. Good afternoon, my lady—I will see you at dinner, no doubt.”
***
Anne, after a couple of hours of rest and reflection in her room and clad in a more suitable dress of blue lustring, sat in the drawing room with her hands folded on her lap. Nobody would speak to her, not even the maid, Ellen, whom she had summoned to help her change out of her traveling dress, now ruined beyond redemption by the rain and muck of the garden. Her hair still looked a fright, but there was not a thing she could do about that. The maid had been resolutely silent, even when closely questioned, frightened into silence by the bullying marquess, Anne felt sure.
Lydia sat at the piano in the corner of the room, picking out a plaintive little tune. Either she truly did not know who Allengate was, or she had been warned not to speak about him, for she shrugged her shoulders
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