Before the Fire Read online

  Kane peered into the blushing face of Lord Freemont. She remembered him and his overt attempt to seduce her all too well. Fortunately for the viscount, George had explained quite a few things to Kane in the interim. “No, my lady.” She shook her head regretfully. “I have never met this son,” she said pointedly.

  James inclined his head gracefully, thankful for the silent message of forgiveness the countess had just given him. “I should love an introduction.”

  The introductions were given and the three of them then proceeded to engage in delightful conversation. Kane, mother hen to the villagers that she was, couldn’t help but throw in a casual statement or two of the wares that could be purchased from her people on the third day of the party. It would bring a lot of added revenue to their pockets. Pockets that would be filled to overflowing if a woman of Lady Trent’s rank spread the word.

  “How interesting,” she marveled. “They are setting up booths on the grounds just like the actual ones used in fairs back in Old England?”

  “Yes!” Kane beamed. “It was my lady’s maid’s idea. When I told her Lord Blackmore wanted to have a reenactment of a medieval banquet on the last night, Bessy suggested the idea of having the fair prior to it.”

  James smiled. “It really is a splendid notion. What sorts of booths will there be?”

  Kane ticked off the different varieties with her fingers. “We have food—including sweet treats popular in the old days, authentic clothing—including a smithy who pounded out actual chain mail for the gentlemen to sport around in, tapestries of assorted battle scenes sewn by the women, authentic looking jewelry from the Elizabethan Age, and those are to name but a few.

  “Then amidst all that, we also have jugglers, minstrels, and fortune tellers making their way through the crowds, all of them in medieval dress of course.”

  Lady Trent looked speechless. She smiled bemusedly at Kane. “My, but you have outdone yourself. I’ve never heard of a country party so grand in theme down to the last detail.” She tapped her son on the shoulder, laughing. “I can hardly wait to lighten your father’s coffers.”

  James grinned. “I’m certain father will enjoy every moment of the lightening, madam.”

  Lady Trent stood on tiptoe as she scanned the crowd with her quizzing glass. “Ah!” she said triumphantly a moment later. “There’s the Duchess of York.” She turned back to Kane and her son and inclined her head politely. “If the deuce of you will excuse me, I want to be the first to regale Her Grace with news of the fair.”

  Kane grinned. “Of course.”

  James acknowledged his mother’s departure with a genteel nod, then offered his arm to Kane. “Shall we dance, my lady?”

  “But of course, my lord.”

  Not too far from where Lady Blackmore and Lord Freemont were dancing, Melea and Alex were doing the same. The marquess’s typically cheerful façade was noticeably wavering tonight. He looked to be in agony. Of course, only a select few knew why.

  “Melea, please consider staying on. You know how badly I want to wed with you.”

  She smiled. “Don’t think for a moment that I don’t feel the same, Alex.” She shrugged her shoulders and sighed. “But there’s more to it than that and well you know it.”

  “No, I damn well don’t know it,” he gritted out. “Mayhap you should enlighten me and my ignorant self.”

  Melea lifted a brow. “There’s no call for sarcasm.”

  “The hell there’s not! Here I am pouring out my heart to you in a way I’ve never offered myself to another, and all you can say is ‘there’s more to consider’. Well consider this, my love. Consider the fact that—”

  The Warrior Woman’s quick intake of breath prompted a halt to the marquess’s tirade. “Wh-what is it?”

  She grabbed him by the hand, leading him off the dance floor, and through the main set of double doors toward the western balcony. She inclined her head in silent thanks to the stoic footmen—sans the powdered wigs she noted—who held open the doors. Once outside and certain they were alone, she whirled around and confronted a bewildered Alex. “Did you just call me ‘my love’?”

  “Well y-yes,” he sputtered. “Is there an alternative future meaning to the term?” He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her wearily. “I didn’t per chance just call you something wicked, did I?”

  The corners of her mouth curled in humor. “No. It means the same.”

  “Then what is the matter?”

  “Am I your love?” she asked softly. “Do you really love me, Alex?”

  “Good god woman, is that what this is about?” He sighed deeply as he took his favorite shrew into his arms. “How can you think I feel anything less?” Green eyes met tawny ones. “I love you desperately, Melea.”

  Melea bit her lip, averting her gaze. Then she growled. And scowled.

  “Now what have I done?” Alex fumed in exasperation.

  “You’ve sealed my fate, damn it!”

  “Eh?”

  Melea thumped her surly marquess soundly on the chest. “I love you too, you son of a seven-eyed swamp dweller.”

  Alex placed his hand over his heart in mock horror. And mock was all it was since he realized he’d just won his harridan’s hand. “You wound me, Melea fair.”

  She grumbled something imperceptibly.

  He grinned. “So I take it you will be returning after you drop off the supply of dandelions?”

  “Yes.” She grunted. “I will become your marching-ette.”

  “That’s marchioness.”

  She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever.”

  * * * * *

  George sought out and captured his wife after he saw her all but dance the entire night away with other men. It couldn’t be good for the babe, all that moving about, he told himself. He shepherded his wayward countess into a corner, preparing to lecture her mightily. Lord, but the woman was a constant trial.

  He wasn’t but a sentence into his reprimand when his “gentle” wife thumped him soundly on the arm. “I am not a weak sort, George. I am used to grueling exercise as you well know. Surely I can handle a bit of dancing.”

  George frowned. He clapped his hand to his forehead and sighed deeply.

  “Stop that!” Kane hissed so none save him could hear.

  “Stop what?”

  She frowned, waving her hand toward his head in agitation. “Faking another of your megrims just so I’ll give in and do what you want.” She furrowed her brow at him, agitated as she was. “You can’t have megrims anymore. You’re inoculated, remember?”

  George harrumphed. “Then it’s stress I tell you! Or some new debilitating disease altogether.” He rolled his eyes to the back of his head and moaned.

  Kane’s balled fists flew indignantly to her hips. “For the love of the goddesses, you are a child sometimes!”

  That got him to quit moaning and to do a little frowning himself. “A child?”

  “Yes. It’s encouraging indeed to know our offspring will have someone of their own age group to play with.”

  “Now wait one bloody moment! I—”

  Kane held up a silencing hand. “We have guests. Now be a good earl and see to them. I promise I shall see to your needs later, as I am not so stupid that I haven’t figured out that that is what your ‘megrim’ is all about to begin with.”

  George had the grace to blush. He averted his gaze to the ground, and whined in a low voice, “will you do the Frebula bedding dance for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the feather thing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we play the game of the innocent maiden who’s ravished at sea by Captain Long Cock?”

  Kane considered that for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a particular favorite of mine as well.”

  George shuffled on his feet, awkwardly kicking the toe of his boot against the wall. With the dignity usually reserved for eight-year-old boys instead of thirty-seven-year-old earls, he relented. “Oh all right, damn i
t. But I expect your ravished maiden role to be worthy of the stage tonight.”

  Kane licked her lips provocatively. “Isn’t it always, my love?”

  George gritted his teeth. His shaft certainly thought so. It was now painfully erect.

  * * * * *

  News of the engagement of the Marquess of Asherby to the best friend of the Countess of Blackmore only served to heighten an already gay affair. For once, George was glad his beautiful wife hadn’t fallen for the old megrim trick, for if she had, they both would have missed out on the joyous toasts of congratulations to the newly betrothed couple.

  The Earl of Blackmore offered the first round of toasts, followed immediately by another from Viscount Freemont. The three of them had been getting on quite well since James’ arrival at the estate earlier this morning. In truth, it felt much like old times, the way the trio of lords had bandied about together back at university.

  Kane stood at George’s right side radiantly exultant, her parents within the law next to her. Chester and Julia couldn’t have been happier for their nephew. Never had they thought to see the scoundrel wed.

  Viscount Blake offered up the last round of toasts, beaming from ear to ear with pride. “To my nephew’s beautiful bride-to-be, Mistress Melea. I despaired of ever seeing the rogue marry…now make the scamp regret it every day for the rest of his life.”

  After a round of boisterous laughter ensued, the throng of witnesses clanged their glasses together and downed the last of their bubbly. Following the announcement of Alex and Melea’s betrothal, the party winded up instead of down. Glasses were refilled, dancing resumed, and the atmosphere livened.

  Outside in the dark, a man filled with resentment and hate watched the revelry through the candle-lit crystal windows. He clenched his fists in an effort to control his murderous compulsion. The time was almost upon him. He had but another two nights and then he could see to his revenge well and good.

  Baron Montieth seized Charlotte roughly by the shoulder and led her away from the estate. He was taking no more chances that either of them might be seen. The night of the banquet was soon enough.

  Chapter 35

  Kane couldn’t have asked the goddesses for a better day for the fair to be had in. The sun was shining brightly—not a rain cloud in sight—and a light breeze wafted through the air, serving to keep the temperature for outside activities simply perfect.

  She took her husband’s arm and, walking between George and James, pointed out different booths along the way to the men. “Girty O’Malley is making some sweet Irish concoction over there. I’ve been dying to try it out.”

  “Nothing with dandelion in it, I pray,” George grumbled.

  James smiled. “Dandelion?”

  “Forget it, Freemont. You don’t want to know.”

  James chuckled. “I’ll take you at your word, Blackmore.”

  The outfit of a gypsy standing not even a yard away snagged Kane’s attention. The woman was watching her closely, far too closely to her way of thinking. There was something vaguely familiar about the villager, but she couldn’t exactly say what it was. Shrugging it off as inconsequential, Kane led the gentlemen over to Girty’s booth.

  “Greetings, Girty. How is the gout?”

  The plump villager, decked out splendidly in medieval garb, nodded her head up and down. “Right as rain, milady, right as rain.”

  Bemused, George inclined his head to his wife. “I didn’t realize you and Mrs. O’Malley were acquainted, my dear.”

  “I’ve met her many a time,” Kane insisted, wondering idly if her husband thought she never would have bothered to get to know her own people. Especially when they’d all helped out so much in the collecting of the kabitross. That notion bothered her sorely, but she let it go and said no more, assuming it was another bizarre, pompous glitch of his first wife’s that George needed to work through on his own.

  “’Ere now, milord,” Girty informed him with a nod, much to Kane’s satisfaction, “yer lady wife done gave me a potion that knocked me gout clean out.”

  George smiled warmly at his wife, touched more than he could say.

  “What’s that your making, Mrs. O’Malley?” James leaned in closer to get a stronger whiff of the sweet-smelling candy.

  Old Girty cackled like a witch. “The men in me family call it a jezebel’s tit.”

  James’ face reddened considerably. That only made Girty cackle all the more.

  Amused, George pointed toward the candy. “Why do they call it thusly, madam?”

  Girty picked up three pieces of the sugary stuff and handed them over to the trio. The countess, whose eyes were even now rolling to the back of her head, was the first to comment. “Mmm…by Saturn’s rings, this is outrageously splendid, Girty.”

  “Divine,” George agreed, popping another into his mouth for good measure.

  James had the appearance of a man in bliss. “Mrs. O’Malley, this is sinfully delicious. It’s better than a…a…”

  She raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “Jezebel’s tit?” she finished for him.

  James practically choked on his candy. Kane clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled. George, laughing uproariously at the old woman’s jest, pounded on Viscount Freemont’s back to keep him from coming to a bad end. Wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, the earl threw a few shillings Girty’s way. She grinned toothlessly, the coins disappearing down her well-endowed chest.

  “’Ere now, milord,” Girty offered James in the way of amends making, “drink this down and it will fix ye up right quick like.”

  Warily, Lord Freemont accepted the tankard and sipped from the honeyed mead. He nodded his head in appreciation, then complimented her on a delicious brew.

  Girty inclined her head, then shoved another tankard full the viscount’s way. “Drink up, milord. This mead not only tastes divine, but it will straighten yer poker right up as well.”

  James began choking again. Kane and George laughed. After bestowing the Blackmores with a reproving glare, the viscount turned his crimson gaze the old woman’s way. “There is nothing wrong with my poker, madam,” he gritted out. “It’s a fine, uh, poker.” He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Are all of your foodstuffs and drinks made with the aim of bedding a man?”

  Old Girty wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve twelve sons and three daughters. Now ye answer that question fer me.”

  James and George threw their heads back and laughed. Kane grinned and shook her head.

  Half an hour later, while assessing Old Man Wessel’s collection of jewelry, the laughing trio was interrupted by Jack Turgot, the young man Bessy was sweet on but wouldn’t quite admit to it yet. “Pardon me fer the interruption, milord, but I’m needin’ to see ye right quick like.”

  “Oh hello there, Jack!” Kane called out. “Are you enjoying your new position overseeing the stables?”

  Jack removed his cap and bowed to the countess. “That I am, milady. I cannot thank ye enough fer thinkin’ of me when the job came open on the count of Old Man Willy dyin’ and all.”

  Kane evaded any more praise with a wave of her hand. “Think nothing of it. I saw how gentle mannered you were with my own mare.”

  George inclined his head toward his wife and James. “If the two of you will excuse me, I will be but a moment.”

  “Of course,” they murmured.

  Once alone and well out of hearing distance, the earl motioned for Jack to speak with a swift nod of his head. The young stable master wasted no time. “It’s just as ye suspected, milord. The baron was spotted on the estate both last night and earlier this morn.”

  “Damn.” George ran a hand tersely through his hair. “I had a feeling all along. Damn the man!”

  Jack nodded. “What are ye wantin’ me to do, milord?”

  The earl thought on that for a moment. “I want you to send men out to watch him like a hawk. Report anything and everything to me.”

  Jack nodded, eager and excited to help. “And if’n
the lecher becomes violent?”

  George didn’t even have to ponder the answer to that question. “Spare him if you can, but if it comes down to your life or his, make it your own, please.”

  Jack bowed to the earl, then made his way quickly through the crowds.

  George realized he needed to keep Alex abreast of the situation, so he set out to find him on the estate. Returning first to his wife and James to inform them he had business to see to, he gave James a look that clearly stated he would explain things later and to keep a damn bloody good eye on his lady wife. George kissed his wife’s palm hurriedly, then disappeared into the throng of fairgoers.

  Kane crossed her arms over her breasts and gave James a look that said she hadn’t missed the nonverbal communication between he and her husband. James held his hands out in surrender, laughing. “Kane, I promise you I have no notion what that was about.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  She nodded. “Fine.” She turned about, this way and that, scanning the booths to see where she wanted to go next. “Let’s see, we’ve eaten sweets, bought jewelry, picked you out a piece of chain mail to don tonight, now what should we do?”

  He shrugged. Everything looked to be a good time to him. “Get our fortunes read?”

  Kane smiled from ear to ear. “Yes!”

  James chuckled at her child-like excitement, but had to admit he was having as glorious a time as was she. He offered Kane his arm, inclining his head toward the tent a few feet off. “Shall we, my lady?”

  “But of course, my lord.”

  * * * * *

  “Girty is that you?”

  “No it ain’t,” the seer rasped out in a false baritone, “me name is Haggis, the all seein’ gypsy chit.”

  James looked over to Kane, who sat in the tent at his right, and gave her his “I don’t believe this for a moment” look. “Haggis is the name of a Scottish dish, madam. And you haven’t been a chit in at least three score of years.”