Fortune's Folly - The Confessions Of A Duchess Part 9

"Please could you put the bottle down?" he said. "You are making me nervous."

He did not look remotely nervous, Laura thought. He looked tough and uncompromising even though his tone was very polite. For a moment she caught sight of the other Dexter Anstruther-not the gentleman who had come to Fortune's Folly to court an heiress but the man she had met with at the Half Moon, the man who worked for the government in some shadowy capacity and no doubt had faced far more perilous situations than a jittery dowager brandis.h.i.+ng a champagne bottle. Then the dangerous expression faded from his eyes.

She did as she was asked and put the bottle down. There was an odd silence between them as his gaze a.s.sessed her from head to foot, not with the overt masculine appraisal that she had seen from men sometimes, but with a more thoughtful calculation. It made her s.h.i.+ver. There was something impersonal about it, as though he were in some way measuring her character, and yet at the same time it felt intensely private.

"Are you alone?" he demanded.

The color flooded Laura's face at the implication of his words. "Of course I am alone!" she said. "Do you think that I entertain gentlemen friends down here in the cellars at night?"

"I don't know," Dexter said. He gave her a look that brought even hotter color searing her face. "Do you?"

"Of course not," Laura snapped. "You are offensive, Mr. Anstruther. And it is no business of yours, anyway." Her tone was sharp, masking her physical awareness of him. The wine cellar was not small but suddenly the walls seemed to press in on her and she felt a little breathless. Being in an enclosed s.p.a.ce with Dexter Anstruther had definitely not been part of her plan for the evening.

"Never mind interrogating me when I am on my own land," she said. "You still have not answered my question. What are you doing here?"

"I was following you," Dexter said. "It is dangerous to loiter in the priory ruins in the dark, your grace."

"You were following me?" Laura was taken aback. "I didn't see you."

Dexter smiled suddenly. The impact made Laura's knees weaken. "I would not be much good at my job if you had seen me," he commented. His smile faded. "I was not the only one following you, your grace. The reason I came to find you was because I saw someone else behind you in the lane. They looked suspicious."

Laura's brows shot up. "How singular of you to appoint yourself my protector, Mr. Anstruther. I am sure you must be mistaken. There is no one else here and I only came down to fetch some elderflower champagne."

Dexter took the bottle, looked at it closely and started to pull out the stopper.

"Don't," Laura said hastily. "You need to turn the stopper rather than pull it-"

It was too late. The cork came free with a popping sound that echoed around the stone walls and the champagne spurted out like a fountain, cascading all over Dexter and soaking his pantaloons against his muscular thighs. Laura tried not to stare. She grabbed one of the cloths that she used to wrap the bottles of brewing wine and handed it to him to mop up. She was definitely not going to attempt the task herself. Patting dry Dexter Anstruther's soaking pantaloons would be asking far too much of her self-control.

"Oh dear," she said. "I did warn you. It is champagne and very volatile."

"So I perceive." Dexter wiped his face with the cloth and flattened down his wet hair. "Next time you need a weapon," he added, "just pull out the stopper rather than plan to hit someone with the bottle."

"I'll bear that in mind," Laura said. She watched as the tiny droplets of champagne that were scattered in his hair caught the lantern light. She wanted to touch them. More specifically, she wanted to lick them up. Heat squirmed low in her stomach. She tried to get a grip on herself.

"Perhaps we should leave now," she said quickly. A horrid doubt grabbed her. "You did not close the door at the end of the corridor, did you, Mr. Anstruther? It was wedged open with a stone."

"Of course I did not," Dexter said.

"Good. The door can only be opened from outside. If it closes-" Laura stopped as a gust of wind roared down the corridor and the lantern flickered and almost went out. "We will be locked in here," she finished.

There was a thud at the end of the pa.s.sageway as the door slammed shut in the wind. The walls of the priory seemed to tremble for a moment.

"Like that," Dexter said.

"Yes," Laura said, listening to the echo of the crash bounce from the stone. "Like that."

IT TOOK DEXTER all of two minutes to ascertain that they were indeed locked inside the priory wine cellar and that there was no way to open the door. He rested one hand against the unyielding stone and thought back to the moment when he had set off down the stairs. He had checked that his exit was clear before he had gone down. That was an elementary precaution. The door had been held open by a heavy stone, one that could not have moved by accident. Therefore the inescapable conclusion was that someone-perhaps the mysterious person who had been following Laura home-had deliberately locked them in.

Cursing under his breath, he walked slowly back down the corridor to the cellar. Now he was well served for succ.u.mbing to the impulse to follow Laura. He knew he should have steered clear of trouble. The thought that if he had left her to walk home alone she might even now be lying alone and injured in the dark only served to make him feel more irritable. Why did Laura attract trouble and why did he feel compelled to protect her against it? First he ruined his best boots leaping into the river to rescue her from drowning and now he was imprisoned with her because of a wayward impulse to make sure she was safe. Whenever he became involved with her the even tenor of his life was disturbed. The smooth running went awry. Logic and reason fled. It was disturbing enough to feel like a callow youth who could not control his physical reaction to her. To want to protect her, as well, felt even more disturbing in a way that he did not want to a.n.a.lyze. After all, any woman who took the role of a highwaywoman was not only able to look after herself but arguably deserved all the trouble that she attracted.

Laura was sitting on the floor, wrapped in her cloak against the chill of the autumn night, the half-full bottle of elderflower champagne at her side. She looked calm and collected, as though she were preparing for a long and unexpected picnic. Dexter wondered if she was really as serene as she appeared.

"It seems that you are correct," he said. "The door cannot be opened."

Laura looked up. The lantern light made her hazel eyes very dark and her expression was inscrutable.

"How tiresome," she said cordially. "How could that have happened?"

"I think," Dexter said, "that someone has locked us in. Whoever was following you earlier may have done it on purpose."

"I am sure that you are imagining things," Laura said, with what Dexter could only feel was a deplorable lack of concern. "Why would anyone want to do such a thing?"

"Perhaps," Dexter snapped, "because you used to be Glory the highwaywoman and in the course of your no doubt reckless and highly colored career in crime you probably made a number of enemies. That seems as good a reason as any."

"I sense your disapproval, Mr. Anstruther," Laura said, "but I cannot agree with you. No one knew I was Glory and thus cannot hold it against me. No one other than you, I mean." She sighed. "And now you find yourself incarcerated for your pains in trying to rescue me! Perhaps you should have thought twice before attempting to help me. Generally I can fend for myself, you know."

Dexter sighed irritably. It was no more than he had been thinking himself a minute before. It was true that it would be difficult to find a more capable or self-contained woman than Laura Cole, and considering that he did not even like her very much it was impossible to understand why he would wish to protect her. He knew that the fault was in him, not in her. He had a hopeless compulsion to help others, even when they did not need it. It was an impulse that had led him to choose the type of work that he did. He strove to try and make the world a better, safer, fairer place and usually he got no thanks for it.

"You feel an overriding urge to bring order out of chaos, Dexter," his sister Annabelle had remarked one day, "and with a family like ours, who can be surprised at it? You have striven all your life to take responsibility for us because Mama and Papa never did and now you seem to have extended that duty to the entire human race."

Dexter was rather afraid that his sister, who was not usually so insightful, had been right in this particular instance. He had to be in control. He had to be able to make life run smoothly and calmly in order to ensure that it never sank back into the terrifying confusion of his childhood again. Someone had to take responsibility and that role had fallen to him.

But with Laura Cole there was something more than a simple urge to protect. With Laura he felt a possessiveness that was nothing short of primitive. It was maddening when she had treated him so badly and he despised her for it.

"Pray do not thank me," he said, his tone all the shorter as a result of his anger at his own weakness. He met Laura's bright gaze. "Sooner or later I will remember not to offer you my a.s.sistance when you do not require it. Generally I am not such a slow learner."

"That would probably be better," Laura said. "I am sure this can only be a childish prank. After all, it is Mischief Night in a few weeks and you know that the village lads will use that excuse for all manner of practical jokes. Unless this is Sir Montague's rather juvenile idea of revenge, of course."

"I had thought of that," Dexter admitted, "but it seems a little harsh of him to make me suffer as well by locking us in together."

Laura smiled. "Perhaps," she said sweetly, "he thought it would be the perfect punishment for me to be trapped in here with you, Mr. Anstruther."

Once again Dexter felt the frustration and the desire fire his blood in equal measure. Punishment was one word for what he felt. Torment was another.

"It is indeed a sore trial for both of us, your grace, when we have agreed that we should avoid one another," he said, "but I am sure that we can both rely on our self-control."

"Oh, of course," Laura said. "Self-control is infallible, is it not? And now that we have established that neither of us wish to be incarcerated with the other, perhaps you could bend your mind to what we are going to do about it."

Dexter sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was not convinced by Laura's argument that this was no more than a practical joke, but he did agree that the best thing they could do would be to get out of there as quickly as possible-for so many reasons. "I take it that there is no other exit from the building?" he said.

Laura shot him another irritated look. "Do you think that I would be sitting here if there were? No, Mr. Anstruther, there are no other doors, or windows, and although there is a privy along the corridor it empties into the moat and I do not relish attempting to escape that way."

"I shall go and take a look," Dexter said. "May I take the lantern?"

"Of course," Laura said. "You shall not be able to see anything without it."

"You are not afraid to be left alone in the dark?"

"No indeed." Laura tilted her head to look up at him, a faint smile on her lips. "Are you, Mr. Anstruther? Many people are. It is nothing to be ashamed of. I do not believe that there is anything worse than spiders and mice down here but I can protect you if you are nervous."

"Of course I am not," Dexter said crossly. "I only wished to make sure that you felt quite safe."

"How very kind of you," Laura said brightly. "Of course I feel safe with you, Mr. Anstruther. I am consoled by the fact you are one of the Guardians and are therefore bound to protect me even though you do not like me."

Dexter sighed. He looked from her to the bottle of champagne. "Are you drunk?" he inquired.

"Not yet," Laura said. "Merely a little tipsy." She smiled at him, a luscious smile that made his pulse race. "Have no fear, Mr. Anstruther. I have no intention of ravis.h.i.+ng you. I do not even like you very much."

Gritting his teeth to hear his own words repeated back to him, and reflecting that the Dowager d.u.c.h.ess of Cole was fortunate that no one had strangled her before now, let alone locked her in a cellar, Dexter bent down and retrieved the lantern from the floor.

"I shall be back shortly," he said.

When he returned it was to find that Laura had broached a second bottle and was looking charmingly bright-eyed.

"How did you get on?" she inquired.

"A small child could probably fit through the gap," Dexter said, "but you are right- neither you nor I could squeeze through."

"I do not agree with sending children up chimneys or into other small s.p.a.ces," Laura said solemnly. "It is a barbaric practice."

"Of course it is. Neither do I," Dexter snapped. "I merely meant that you and I are both too large to fit through the opening. I was not advocating child labor."

He sat down beside her. The faint scent of her perfume, a floral fragrance that he did not recognize but found profoundly attractive, wrapped itself about his senses. Dexter knew that it was fanciful to imagine that he could feel her warmth, but now that he knew there was no escape he was starting to feel the cold and damp of the room, and Laura and the lantern seemed the only bright things there. In the pale golden lamplight she looked soft, warm and enticing.

She also looked more than a little tipsy by now with her tousled curls and her flushed skin and her sparkling eyes. It was a tempting combination and Dexter felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to take advantage of her. It was not a course of action he would normally contemplate, of course. The idea of seducing a woman in a wine cellar was dishonorable and immoral, the sort of thing that Miles Vickery would do. Even during the period of his worst excesses, when his disillusion over Laura's betrayal had seared his soul and sent him spiraling into libertinism, Dexter would never have behaved so badly, at least not often. And it was particularly ironic that it should be Laura he was trapped with, Laura who was so d.a.m.nably appealing that it made him furious with himself that he had such an inexplicable weakness for her. Laura, who was surely so experienced, that for him to have any scruples about seducing her seemed a ridiculous contradiction.

"We can both rely on our self-control..."

He set his jaw firmly. It was going to be a long, long night.

"I think," he said abruptly, "that you have had too much champagne already."

Laura's hazel gaze mocked him. "I suppose that you disapprove of women drinking alone-or perhaps even of them drinking alcohol at all, Mr. Anstruther? I noticed that you did not touch a drop of brandy that night at Half Moon Inn."

"Drinking alone is certainly not advisable for either men or women," Dexter said, a little stiffly. "And drinking alcohol at all only suitable in moderation. The female capacity for drink being so much lesser than the male, it would perhaps be a sound idea for women not to drink at all."

"Of course." Laura inclined her head. "It sounds as though you have studied this phenomenon in depth, Mr. Anstruther."

"Only in my work," Dexter said.

"Of course," Laura said again. "I imagine you are far too self-disciplined ever to become intoxicated, Mr. Anstruther." She waved the bottle of champagne at him. "I do think, though, that you had better have some of this to save me from drinking alone."

Dexter looked at her. "You are taking it directly from the bottle?"

"How else? There are no gla.s.ses." Laura laughed. "I suppose you think it unbecoming in a dowager d.u.c.h.ess to do so?"

Dexter did not think it unbecoming, quite the reverse. He watched as she tilted the bottle to her lips, closed her eyes and drank deeply. A small trickle of the golden liquid ran from the corner of her mouth and she licked it up with her tongue. It was astonis.h.i.+ngly arousing to watch. As she tilted her head back her honey-brown hair brushed the velvet of her cloak with a soft swis.h.i.+ng noise that sounded extremely sensuous. Each curl seemed to gleam with gold in the lamplight. Dexter wanted to touch them. He wanted to run his hands into her hair and tilt her head up to his and kiss her on that wide, beautiful mouth until she was sighing against his lips and her body was soft and willing beneath his hands....

Laura held the bottle out to him. "Your turn."

Dexter took the bottle from her and put his lips where hers had been, feeling the l.u.s.t kick through his body again at the mere thought. h.e.l.l, it did not seem to matter what she did. She could probably be mucking out her stables and he would still want to ravish her. Everything she did only served to stir his feelings up even more.

"It is very warming," he said, surprised, as the liquid ran down his throat. "A recipe of your own?"

"Something else I inherited from my grandmother," Laura agreed. "You may wonder why I keep my wines down here rather than in The Old Palace, Mr. Anstruther. Indeed, I am surprised you have not asked already since it would seem a most irrational place to store them."

"I did wonder," Dexter admitted.

"There are several reasons," Laura said. "The first is that the cellars at the house are p.r.o.ne to flooding from the river and the steps are worn and dangerous. But the main reason is that my grandmother moved their cellars down here and I did not trouble to move them back again. She was trying to keep the wine away from my grandfather. By the end of his life he was a terrible toper."

"I am sorry," Dexter said. "You mentioned that he was a libertine. I did not realize that he was a drunkard, as well."

"Oh, he was prodigious on both counts, I fear," Laura said. "But my grandmother realized that if she made it difficult for him to get to the wine then he would not drink it. It was quite a cunning plan, I think. He was a very lazy man, you see, and could not be bothered to walk over here every time he wished for a drink."

"Is that why the door is designed as it is? To lock him in if he tried to creep in here unnoticed?"

Laura laughed. "No indeed, that is the original medieval door and I have often thought I should have it changed. Though I do wonder whether the prior who had it designed did so in order to trap any monks who tried to raid the wine."

Dexter took another swig from the bottle. The champagne fizzed against his tongue and sent bubbles effervescing through his blood. He was dimly aware that as an abstainer he should be careful not to take too much as he had no head for drink. Another mouthful would surely not do any harm, however.

"This tastes delightful," he said, handing the half-empty bottle back to Laura.

"Yes, thank you. The recipe is very good." She turned her head and looked at him thoughtfully. "So, Mr. Anstruther, now that we have established that we are definitely trapped in here, is there any likelihood of you being missed and of someone coming to look for you?"

Dexter thought of the paucity of his emotional life. There really was no one to care whether he returned home or not. He did not even have a valet, as he could not afford to pay one. Previously his lack of ties had seemed a blessing. He had his mother and his brothers and sisters and that was all he required. And when he found his conformable wife she, too, would fit neatly into the pattern and cause no difficulties whatsoever. Except that he did not wish to think of a rich debutante bride when he was sitting here with Laura Cole. It was impossible.

"It is unlikely, I fear," he said. "The guests at the Morris Clown Inn come and go very much as they please. Not that I make a habit of staying out all night, you understand, unless it is in the pursuit of my work."

"Of course," Laura said. "Whatever your past reputation, I would scarcely expect you to be so immoderate these days, Mr. Anstruther. Staying out all night with other women is scarcely the way to win your innocent heiress, is it?"

Looking at Laura as she raised the champagne bottle delicately to her lips again, Dexter felt an almost overwhelming urge to be immoderate with her, there and then, on the wine cellar floor. The heiresses could go hang. He cleared his throat and clamped down ruthlessly on his immoderate l.u.s.t.

"And what about you, your grace?" he asked. "Are the servants likely to notice your absence?"

"Perhaps," Laura said. "Rachel will certainly be surprised that I have failed to return in time to put Hattie to bed, although I suppose she will merely think that I have been delayed. And Carrington and Mrs. Carrington are probably already abed themselves. They retire very early. It will not be until the morning that anyone will concern themselves over my whereabouts."

"How frustrating," Dexter commented. "Had you thought of employing servants who were a little more active and might notice things sooner? Living on your own as you do, it might be beneficial to have someone you can rely upon."

Scarcely were the words out and he was regretting them, or more specifically the impulse that made him take an interest in Laura Cole's welfare. Perhaps she preferred having servants who seemed deaf and blind to everything that went on. She might be smuggling her lovers up a back stair every night for all he knew, and would not want curious servants with their ears pressed to the keyhole. He did not like to think of it. No, that was too pale a description. He hated to think of it.

Laura had flushed pink with indignation at his words. "I do not need anyone else. I know that everyone thinks Mr. and Mrs. Carrington incompetent-"

"Which they are," Dexter interrupted.

"Only because Faye Cole drove them almost to madness with her demands when she became d.u.c.h.ess!" Laura protested. "She was appalling to work for. Why, poor Carrington broke down under the strain and Mrs. Carrington's health has never been very strong. It was my fault-I had left the servants at Faye's mercy..." Laura stopped, looked at the champagne bottle and took a deep breath. "I beg your pardon. It is most inappropriate of me to criticize the d.u.c.h.ess of Cole to you."

Dexter knew she meant that it was inappropriate because Faye Cole might become his mother-in-law in the near future, but he was actually more interested in the rest of Laura's champagne-induced outburst. Once again it seemed she was championing the underdog, taking in the Carringtons even though they were unemployable in order to rescue them from illness and poverty. It was kind, generous and utterly impractical, but those were the very qualities that Miles had praised in her. Dexter thought of Carrington failing to hear the bell and staggering down the steps to the kitchen and of Mrs. Carrington so ill she could not even boil a kettle, and he felt a stirring of tenderness for Laura that he could not avoid.