Vixen

Chapter 4

The dog's desolate howling was a perfect background to crowding memories. Hugo sat at the pianoforte in the library, a single tallow candle throwing a pool of yellow light over the keyboard as his hands strived to pick out a melody from the past. It was a piece he'd composed for Elizabeth, but part of the refrain was missing from his memory.

Impatiently, he swung away from the instrument, picking up his glass. He didn't think he'd ever played it for her anyway. He drained the contents of the glass and refilled it.

His love for Stephen's wife had been a secret he'd kept from everyone but Elizabeth… a secret that the infatuated stripling both nurtured and fed upon during the two years he'd known her. They had never consummated their love. It would have been unthinkable for Elizabeth to have done so, and, despite the gnawing need he had suffered, he had enjoyed the purity of his feelings for her. It was such a contrast to the sewage in which he'd been wallowing.

He remembered the first time he'd met her as if it were yesterday. She had said almost nothing the entire weekend, but he'd been haunted by her beauty, by the shadows in her blue eyes, by the sense of her fragility- and the longing to be of service to her, to rescue her from whatever was causing her such unhappiness, had become an obsession.

It was just after his induction into the Congregation of Eden, as they called themselves, and a meeting was being held at Gresham Hall in Shipton. The society had been founded by Stephen and two of his cronies, and through his son, Jasper, its membership had quickly spread to the younger segment of London's aristocracy, bored with the endless round of pointless pleasures, seeking experiences that would take them beyond the boundaries of the commonplace world.

Hugo had just lost his father when he fell under the spell of the Greshams. Only seven miles separated Den-holm and Shipton, and he'd known them slightly all his life. A motherless only child, lonely and directionless, he had eagerly accepted Jasper's overtures after his father's death, and came to see him almost as an older brother, and Stephen… not as a father, certainly, but the attention of such a worldly sophisticate, such a prominent member of Society, had flattered his youth and inexperience and compensated in some fashion for the loss of his father.

Under Stephen Gresham's leadership, nothing was forbidden the members of the Congregation; there were no risks that couldn't be taken; there were substances that altered the mind… that could as easily create a wondrous world as one so terrifying, it drove a man crazy; there was gaming for stakes that rapidly exhausted a moderate fortune; and there were the women.

He had assumed the women who participated in the orgies in the crypt were willing. Some of them were Society women whom he'd believed to be as eager for the sensual thrills as any of the men. He knew now that not all of them fell into that category; Stephen was not averse to blackmail. The other women were whores, paid more for their participation in one evening than they would make in a month on the streets. Drink and the strange herbal substances that were always in ample supply soon banished any inhibitions.

Until the night Stephen had brought Elizabeth to the crypt…

The tall clock in the library struck two. The dog's howling filled the night. Hugo swore and drank deeply from his recharged glass. For some reason, the brandy wasn't taking effect. He was as far from oblivion as ever, and his thoughts were as raw. But perhaps it wasn't surprising, with Elizabeth's daughter asleep under his roof. And that damned mournful mongrel didn't help either.

He went back to the pianoforte, trying to drown out the desolate sound by concentrating on his music. Abruptly, he stopped, listening, wondering what he'd heard. Some tiny sound from the hall. He shrugged. He hadn't heard anything. How could he have over that racket?

And then miraculously the howling ceased. The silence filled his head and he could hear the sounds of the slumbering house, the creaks and shifts of the oak floors, the slight rattle of the casement in the night breeze.

He went into the hall. The door to the courtyard was unlatched. He could think of only one explanation. Presumably, Chloe was intending to smuggle the dog upstairs.

He opened the door. The sky was cloudless and the summer night was bright with stars shining down onto the deserted courtyard. He decided to wait in the hall for her. If he gave her a fright, she had only herself to blame. However, after fifteen minutes there was no sign of either his ward or the dog. And there was no sound from the stables either.

Curious now, he lit a lantern and went out into the courtyard, crossing to the stables where the miserable Dante had been confined. His footsteps were muffled by the littering straw and he lifted the latch on the stable door with exaggerated care. At first he could see nothing and held the lantern high. A puddle of golden light fell on a corner of an open stall. A small, white-clad figure was curled against the dog in the straw, her arm around his neck, her head resting on his flank.

"Hell and the devil," Hugo muttered with a surge of irritation. She was sleeping like the dead. Dante cocked a benign eye at the intruder and his tail thumped in greeting. Obviously, he didn't know at whose orders he was being made miserable.

Hugo set down the lantern and bent over Chloe. "Wake up," he said, shaking her shoulder. "What the devil do you think you're doing?"

Chloe woke, blinking and bemused. "What… where… oh, I remember." She sat up. "Since you won't let Dante into the house, I had to come to him. I couldn't let him go on howling like that."

"I have never heard such nonsense," he said. "Go up to bed at once."

"Not without Dante," she said flatly. "I haven't slept a wink, it's impossible with him howling. I can't imagine anyone sleeping through it. And now I'm so tired, I'd as soon sleep here as anywhere."

"You are not sleeping in a stable," he stated, standing over her, rocking lightly on the balls of his feet, his hands on his hips.

Chloe regarded him steadily, assessing the strength of his determination, testing it against her own. He'd warned her against challenging him, but this time she had a master card up her sleeve. "Good night," she said with a sweet smile, and by down again.

"You stubborn little brat!" Furious now, he bent, caught her around the waist, and lifted her into the air. Two things happened very quickly. The feel of her skin beneath the thin cambric of her nightgown, the fragrance of her hair, the burning imprint of her body in his hands, set his head spinning in a way that brandy never did, and as he struggled to control his reeling senses, Dante rose, snarling in a flurry of fur and straw, and sank his teeth into Hugo's calf.

Hugo yelled, kicking backward as Chloe slipped from his slackened grasp to the floor.

"Drop."

Chloe's quiet one-word command had an immediate effect. Dante released his grip, but his snarls continued as he watched Hugo with bared teeth.

"Goddammit!" Hugo swore, bending to examine his bleeding leg.

"Oh, dear, I didn't think he would bite you." Chloe knelt down. "I knew he would protect me but…" She bent over the wound. "It's deep."

"I know it's deep! Protect you from what, may I ask?"

Sitting back on her heels, she looked up at him and said simply, "From you forcing me to do something I didn't want to do."

"If you think for one minute that I am going to be intimidated by that damn mongrel in my dealings with you, Miss Gresham, you had better think again," he stated, glaring down at her.

It seemed sensible to back away from further confrontation at this point. Rubbing in her guardian's present disadvantage wouldn't be tactful. "I can't imagine your being intimidated by anything," she said truthfully, standing up. "We'd better go to the kitchen and I'll dress the wound. It probably should be cauterized." She picked up the lantern. "Can you walk? Shall I find you a stick?"

"I can walk," he said curtly, hobbling to the stable door.

Dante bounded ahead of them across the courtyard, up the stairs to the open door, where he paused expectantly, waiting for his companions, whose progress was considerably slower. His tail wagged furiously and one would be hard pressed to recognize the ferocious animal of a few minutes earlier.

Chloe put a small hand under Hugo's elbow as he limped up the steps. It was an absurd gesture, given their relative sizes. "I can manage without support," Hugo snapped, hiding his inner amusement.

Dante lifted one paw, placing it on Chloe's knee as they reached him. Hugo paused, but before he could say anything, Chloe whispered, "Please. I promise he won't be a nuisance. He doesn't have fleas or anything, and he's very housebroken."

Hugo looked defeat squarely in the face. He had no affinity whatsoever with domestic animals. Their hair made him sneeze, and he disliked the smell of them even when they were clean. But his diminutive ward had roundly outmaneuvered him. "He can come in tonight," he said with a resigned sigh. "But I don't want him under my feet in the daytime."

"Oh, thank you." Standing on tiptoe, she kissed his cheek, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

Hugo struggled with his reeling senses again. "Don't assume any precedents," he said gruffly. "You may have won this round, but I don't take kindly to having my hand forced."

"Oh, I won't," she said earnestly. "Anyway, there isn't anything else at the moment that we're at odds about, is there?" On which blithe statement she marched ahead of him into the kitchen.

He followed more slowly and stood leaning against the doorjamb for a minute. She had set the lantern on the table and was poking the embers of the fire. Her body in the thin shift was clearly outlined against the light, and the entrancing curve of her hips as she bent to her task took his breath away. A flame spurted and she straightened, turning to face him. Her breasts peaked softly against the material, the nipples a darker smudge.

"There's enough fire, I think, to heat a knife to cauterize… Is something the matter?" Her eyes widened anxiously as she saw his expression.

He ran his hands through his hair. "I can manage on my own. Go on up to bed."

"But you can't," she said, coming toward him. "It has to be properly cleaned, and I know just what to do."

He put out a hand as if to hold her away from him. "Samuel can do it. Go to bed."

"But it's silly to wake him when I'm here."

She had no idea of what she looked like… of what she was offering. How could she be such an innocent at seventeen? But then he thought of her life… ten years in a seminary, except for a few days at Christmas at her reclusive mother's bedside. How could she know anything?

And there was no one to instruct her but himself. He spoke with studied dispassion. "I want you to go up to your room and put on a robe. And I don't want to see you ever again wandering around this house so scantily dressed."

Puzzlement, followed by chagrin, flashed through her eyes, darkening the blue. She glanced down at her body, saw the soft swell of her breasts, the darker shadow at the apex of her thighs. Her cheeks were pink as she looked up at him, saying awkwardly, "But it wasn't cold and I wasn't expecting to see anyone."

"I understand that. Don't do it again." He went to the table and sat down, lifting his injured leg onto a chair opposite. "Hurry up. I'm bleeding all over the floor, and it hurts like the devil."

Chloe glanced around the room. Hanging from a peg by the back door was a long overcoat muddied at the hem. She thrust her arms into the sleeves, wrapping the quantity of material around her body. "Will this satisfy you, sir?"

He glanced up, and despite the preceding taut exchange couldn't help smiling. "You look like an abandoned waif, lass."

"Not provocative, then?"

For all her innocence, she'd put two and two together quickly enough. "Not in the least," he agreed. Not provocative but enormously appealing. "Could we get this over with?"

She took a knife from the dresser and went to the fire. There was silence in the kitchen. Hugo endured as Chloe opened the puncture wounds with the searing knife tip. He'd suffered worse. He distracted himself with contemplating her surprising competence. Her touch was sure, her knowledge unfaltering, and while she clearly tried to cause him as little pain as possible, she didn't flinch at doing what had to be done.

"Do you have any brandy I could splash on before I bandage it?" she asked, raising her head, a frown of concentration between her brows.

"What a waste." He leaned back with a sigh of relief, the ordeal over. "It'll do more good inside me than out."

"Do you drink too much brandy?" she asked seriously.

"Probably. You'll find a bottle in the library."

Dante trotted after her as she left the kitchen, and Hugo closed his eyes, trying to forget both his throbbing leg and that disquieting arousal. A governess in a discreet, ladylike house in Oldham or Bolton would be the answer. There would be other families in town with young girls about to be launched into Lancashire society, such as it was, and it was inevitable Chloe would be introduced. It wouldn't be London, but it would keep her out of trouble, and with luck she'd meet some ideal suitor and he could be rid of the disturbing responsibility Elizabeth had laid upon him.

Chloe was awakened the next morning by Beatrice's insistent miaows as she stood on her hind legs, futilely tapping at the latch on the door.

"You are clever," Chloe said, sliding out of bed. "Can you find your way outside by yourself?" She opened the door.

Beatrice didn't deign to reply but ran off down the corridor, Dante scampering behind her. The parrot offered a coarse greeting from the windowsill and fluffed his feathers. She scratched his poll and he whistled at her.

Chloe scrambled into her petticoat and stockings and the hideous serge dress. If she wanted water to wash with, she'd presumably have to fetch it from the kitchen. She brushed her hair, began automatically to plait it, then stopped. Sir Hugo had wanted her to take it down yesterday; perhaps he liked it that way. And she had already decided that whatever her guardian liked, she would endeavor to supply, since her plans depended on his cooperation.

Samuel was alone in the kitchen when she went in. "I'm starving," she announced.

"Tell me summat new." Samuel didn't look up from the fireplace, where he was raking the embers. "Reckon you'll find summat in the pantry."

Chloe brought ham, a loaf of bread, a crock of butter, and a jug of milk to the table. "Has Sir Hugo had breakfast?"

"Not as far as I know. There were visitors and 'e went outside. What 'appened to 'is leg?"

"Dante bit him." Chloe sliced thickly into the ham.

Samuel turned around at that and stared at her for a minute with an arrested expression. "Now, why would 'e go an' do a thing like that'" he asked slowly.

Chloe shrugged and layered thick slices of ham on the buttered bread. "Just a mistake." She filled a beaker with milk and took a large bite of her sandwich.

"Strange sorta mistake," Samuel muttered, turning back to the grate.

Chloe hesitated, wondering whether to expand. Samuel had clearly drawn his own conclusions, and they were probably close to the mark; he knew how attached Dante was to his mistress.

Leave well alone, she decided, burying her nose in the beaker of milk.

"I'm going outside," she volunteered as she put the empty beaker on the table.

Samuel merely grunted.

Taking the remnants of her sandwich, she left the kitchen, intending to check on Beatrice and Dante, but Beatrice streaked past her as she crossed the great hall on the way to the door. "I'll bring you some breakfast in a minute," Chloe called after the cat, heading up the stairs back to her litter. Beatrice paused on the stairs, cocked an ear, then continued on her way.

Chloe stopped at the open door, staring down into the courtyard. Hugo stood talking to two men on horseback. She recognized the elder of the two immediately, and it wasn't difficult to guess the identity of his companion, although she hadn't seen either of them for seven years.

Still holding her bread and ham, she came slowly down the steps. Dante ran across the yard to greet her, tail flying.

Jasper Gresham was facing the steps and saw her first. He was a handsome man, as his father had been, although there was a certain heaviness to his features, a florid tinge to his complexion that indicated a life of dissipation. But his eyes were frightening. They were curiously light and shallow and never seemed to hold an expression for long enough to identify it. They slid and darted, never engaging, yet somehow all-seeing.

"Ah," he said pleasantly. "We're about to be joined by the subject of this discussion."

Hugo spun around, scowling. "What are you doing here?"

Chloe's step faltered at this puzzlingly harsh reception. Then she put her chin up. "I beg your pardon, Sir Hugo, but I didn't know the courtyard was forbidden."

Before he could respond, Jasper said, "Well, little sister, look at you-all grown-up. And how do you go on?" He swung off his horse, took her shoulders, and kissed her cheek.

Dante suddenly growled. Hugo took an involuntary step forward. He knew Jasper Gresham. He knew how Jasper sullied women. Then he took hold of himself. Nothing was going to happen on this sunny morning in the courtyard of his own home, particularly with that mongrel in the vicinity.

"Very well, thank you, Jasper," Chloe responded politely, placing a reassuring hand on Dante's head. "Good morning, Crispin." She greeted the younger man, who had also dismounted.

He, too, bent to kiss her, and Hugo saw her stiffen, although she endured the salute. "Chloe, it's been a long time," Crispin said with a smile that didn't warm his flat brown eyes or do much to enliven his rather stolid features.

"Yes," she agreed, stepping back. She took another bite of her bread and ham and seemed content to leave the visitors to make the running.

Hugo stifled a smile, his concern and annoyance abruptly vanished. Chloe didn't care for her half brother or for Crispin, and she was making that most insolently clear, even while she smiled vaguely at them as she chewed.

"I trust you'll pay us a visit at Gresham Hall," Jasper said, his voice suddenly clipped. "Your nearest relatives, now that your dear mother…"

Chloe swallowed her mouthful. "You weren't at the funeral."

"No… I was in London."

"Oh." A skeptical lift of her eyebrows accompanied the bland monosyllable.

Jasper suddenly turned to Hugo. "This will is an absurdity," he said. "Can we discuss it in private?"

"There's nothing to discuss," Hugo replied. "Scranton has made that abundantly clear… to both of us, as I understand it."

A flush darkened Jasper's cheek. "It's outrageous, and you know it, Lattimer. For God's sake, let's go inside."

Hugo shook his head and said deliberately, "No, I don't think so, Jasper. You are not welcome in my house."

The air crackled. Chloe was astounded. She looked at the two men and felt the hatred coursing between them. Crispin had flushed as deeply as his stepfather and moved forward so that the two stood shoulder to shoulder.

Hugo continued to regard them calmly. Chloe noticed for the first time how disheveled he was. His chin was stubbly, his eyes heavy, the lines of his face biting deep in the harsh light of the morning sun. His shirt was unbuttoned at the neck, the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wore no cravat, and his leather britches and boots were those of a farmer.

Jasper and Crispin, in contrast, were dressed impeccably in buckskin riding britches, gleaming top boots, snug-fitting coats of superfine, curly-brimmed beaver hats tucked beneath their arms.

"You are insulting," Jasper said.

Hugo offered a mock bow and said nothing. He knew he had the upper hand. He hadn't seen Jasper since that fateful night, and his loathing for the man was as strong now as it had ever been. Allowing it full rein was a heady emotional release.

"I demand that my sister come back with me. She needs the care of a woman, and who better than my wife, her own sister-in-law, to provide it. Look at her." He flung his hand out in a dismissive gesture. "Is that any way for a young woman to appear in public?"

"What's the matter with me?" Chloe asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Hugo could hear the mockery in the question even if the others couldn't. He couldn't restrain his grin. "You've a milky mustache for a start," he said.

"I haven't!" she exclaimed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"And you have little crusts of sleep in the corners of your eyes," he continued relentlessly. "And mud and straw on the bottom of your skirt. However, nothing that requires a sister-in-law to remedy. We can manage perfectly well ourselves."

"You throw down the gauntlet, Lattimer," Jasper declared softly.

A chill seemed to invade the courtyard. Hugo offered another mock bow of agreement. Chloe realized that the laughing banter about her own disarray had been merely a cover for whatever issue stood between her half-brother and her guardian. And it wasn't just a matter of her mother's will.

"Come, Crispin." Jasper remounted, his face black. Crispin did the same. "This isn't the end of it, Lattimer."

"No, Jasperj I don't imagine it is," Hugo said.

"Somehow, I don't believe I'll meet my match in a drunken sot," the other man said viciously.

Hugo whitened, but he said only, "I give you good day, Jasper… Crispin."

The two men rode out of the courtyard without a backward glance.

Chloe looked up at Hugo. "What was that about?" He didn't seem to have heard her. His mouth was a taut line, the green eyes distant. Absently, he passed a hand over his unshaven chin. "What did you say?"

"Nothing," she said, sensing that the mystery of what lay between her guardian and her brother would not be solved this morning.

He looked down at her and shook his head. "You really are a disreputable sight, lass. No credit to my guardianship at all."

"Well, you're not particularly smart yourself," Chloe retorted. "Did you sleep in your clothes?" "I didn't sleep," he replied. "Oh, was your leg hurting?"

"Not excessively." He wasn't going to explain about the tormenting effects of unfulfilled arousal. "I sleep little at the best of times." "Why?"

He frowned, quoting almost to himself, " 'The innocent sleep.'"

" 'Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,'" Chloe continued promptly. "But Macbeth was guilty of mass murder… it's not surprising he couldn't sleep. What could you be guilty of?"

/ killed your father. But it wasn't just that. It was all the other things. How many of those women hadn't been willing partners in their violation? It was the one question that haunted him. Stephen had been capable of blackmail. He had abused his wife, coerced her with brutality. He'd have given little consideration to the defenseless women of the streets… There'd been a virgin… No/He, wouldn't think about it.

Chloe touched his arm, alarmed by the bleakness of his expression. "What is it?"

"Painted devils," he said with an effort. That's what he called them-those hideous images dancing on the walls of his mind. "I need my breakfast. I see you've already had yours."

Chloe wondered whether to press the matter, but decided she didn't have the right. She barely knew him. "Only bread and ham," she said cheerfully. "If Samuel's going to cook eggs for you, I'd like some too."

There was something about the girl that banished the devils, Hugo realized, suddenly lighthearted. "Where do you put it all, lass?"

"I don't know, but I'm always hungry," she confided, accompanying him to the kitchen, Dante at her heels. "I wonder if Jasper will come back?"

"He'll get short shrift if he does." Hugo glanced down at the dog, then gave a mental shrug. He seemed to have been routed in that battle. "Hot water, Samuel, I'm going to shave." He pulled his shirt out of his britches, unbuttoned it, and tossed it over a chair.

Samuel placed a bowl of hot water on the table and propped a small mirror against an empty wine bottle. "Soap's in the pantry."

Chloe perched on the edge of the table, watching as Hugo sharpened the long razor on a leather strop and lathered his face. His hands fascinated her. They were beautiful, elegant, and slender with long, sensitive fingers. For some reason, they produced a strange flutter in the pit of her stomach.

"What's that on your chest?" she asked suddenly. She'd seen the strange little design yesterday, when he'd been in bed. "Is it a snake?"

Hugo's movements stilled, and then he said carelessly, "Yes, it's a snake."

"Why do you have it?"

"Didn't they teach you in that seminary about vulgar curiosity?" he demanded. "Or about the impropriety of making personal remarks?"

"I'm sorry." She looked crestfallen. "I was just interested because I've never seen anything like it before."

"But then, I don't imagine you've seen a man without his shirt before," he said with some asperity, drawing a long swath through the soap.

"No," she agreed. "Did you get it in the navy?"

Hugo sighed and seized the easy way out. "Tattoos are common in the navy. Now, do you have a riding habit?"

To his relief, she accepted the close of the uncomfortable topic without demur. "Of course, but its another bushel." She licked her finger and picked up crumbs from the tabletop.

"Weil, I think it's time to do something about that. Well ride into Manchester and see if we can't improve your wardrobe." He wiped the soap off his face with a towel and passed a checking hand over his chin. "That's better."

He subjected Chloe, still perched on the table, to a frowning inspection. "But you certainly won't do. Samuel, give the lass a jug of hot water to take upstairs. She needs a good wash."

Samuel filled a copper jug from the kettle on the fire. He surveyed Chloe appraisingly. "I'd best take it up for ye. A puff of wind w'd blow ye away, seems to me."

"I'm a lot stronger than I look," Chloe said, holding out her hand for the jug. "I can dig canker out of a horse's hoof, and they're very heavy to hold."

"Good God," Hugo muttered. "How the hell did you become a veterinarian?"

"The head groom in the livery stables in Bolton taught me a lot. I used to sneak out of the seminary on Sundays and spend the day with him. It wasn't very popular," she added.

"No, I don't suppose it was."

"But there wasn't anything they could do to stop me," she continued blithely. "And then there's a poacher who lives in the village at Shipton. He taught me how to handle birds and small animals."

"I'm amazed the long-suffering Misses Trent kept you as long as they did," Hugo observed.

"I'm sure they were well paid," Chloe said, an edge to her voice. "I spent most of the year there, after all." She hefted the jug and went to the door. "Are we going to Manchester this morning?"

"Unless you have other plans," he said.

"No, I don't believe I do," Chloe responded with his own mock solemnity.

Hugo chuckled, wondering where she'd acquired her sense of humor. Elizabeth had been painfully serious, and Stephen had derived amusement only in extremity. "I have to talk to your bankers. How much allowance do you have at the moment?"

"Allowance?" Chloe blinked at this novel concept. "I've never had any money. If I wanted pin money, Miss Emily would give it to me. But they supplied the bushels… and there wasn't much else to spend money on."

Hugo scratched his head. "I haven't the faintest idea what would be appropriate for you." It would depend, of course, on where she lived. After the morning's visit, he no longer considered the possibility of setting her up in a private establishment with a respectable female companion. At least, not within striking distance of Shipton. She'd find it impossible to avoid her half-brother and Crispin in such circumstances.

She was still standing by the door, carrying the jug of water, and he waved her away. "Go and change your dress, lass. I'll sort something out."

"So, what're ye plannin' on doin' with 'er?" Samuel asked as the door closed behind her.

"God knows." Hugo sighed. "You read my thoughts."

"Ye reckon on keepin' 'er here?"

"For the moment, I don't see much choice." But there must be some family she could live with other than the Greshams, he thought. It wasn't possible at such a tender age to have no one who cared for her.

It shouldn 't be possible. But he suspected it was the case. Her life had been shaped so far by a debauched and bloodstained past in which he'd played a denning part. And now it seemed his chickens had come home to roost with a vengeance.