Calypso Magic Page 9

  Actually, he thought, she looked endearingly pitiful, if such a thing was possible. Her thick hair was streaming down her back and over her shoulders. Her bountiful bosom was clearly outlined against the thin material of her blouse, her nipples taut from the cold. He felt a stirring in his still-aching groin. Damn her.

  He gave her a mocking bow. "I shall give you privacy to, er, compose yourself. I will await you by my horses."

  H heard her say something, but couldn't make out her words. Curses at him, he imagined. He turned his back and walked away from her. She would try to do him in, he knew, and a smile touched his lips. He wondered what she would try next. She'd very nearly caught him. He supposed that if she had, he would have thrashed her again, in the water.

  Five minutes later, Diana emerged, sodden and bedraggled, but clothed again.

  "I wish I had a blanket, to protect Venus. I do hope she doesn't get ill from having you wet on her back."

  Diana said nothing. She had cursed herself out. She just wanted to go back to London, retreat to her bedchamber, and plan how to bring this damned scoundrel to his knees again.

  That thought made her smile.

  Lyonel, accurately guessing what caused that smile, said, "Any further attempts to destroy my manhood and I will beat you silly."

  Her chin went up.

  "I will tie you down and beat you silly."

  Her eyes glittered murder at him.

  "I will take off all your clothes, tie you down, and beat you silly."

  "You, my lord, are a loudmouthed bully."

  "Indeed, I shall much enjoy seeing your breasts. Comparisons, you know, are most interesting. But trust me to ensure that you are not cold. I wish to see if your nipples tauten with me looking at them."

  She gaped at him, shocked to the soles of her wet riding boots. Her eyes flew to his face, more green than gray now.

  He felt so guilty at his unmeasured words that he quickly said, "Get onto your horse. I wish to return to London and relieve myself of your damned company."

  Diana tried to mount Venus, but her wet boots slipped. Finally, after her third try, she leaned her face against the mare's neck and burst into tears.

  She heard Lyonel curse, but she didn't care. She felt his hands close about her waist, and stiffened, trying to pull away.

  "Dammit, hold still." He lifted her onto her mare's back. "Lord, you're heavy. Those ridiculous skirts must weigh two stone. So women are weaklings. You can't take your medicine, huh? You must shower me with tears."

  Diana didn't wait for him to mount his stallion. She turned Venus and slammed her heels into the mare's sides. She wasn't really surprised to hear Lyonel's whistle.

  Venus came to an abrupt halt.

  "You hurt my horse and I will thrash you again. Now, pretend you're a lady, for once."

  Diana looked at him. "I hope you are worthless to your mistress."

  "A little harder kick on your part and I just might have been. I shall tell her the story tonight when I see her."

  "See her?"

  "Yes, indeed. Comparisons, you know. She very much likes for me to stroke her buttocks."

  Diana could find no words. No one had ever spoken to her like this. No one. She stared at him.

  "Come along," Lyonel said. He had never in his life known another person who could make him lose all control. This damned twit made him say the most outrageous things, damnation, do the most outrageous things.

  Diana got many curious looks. She kept her eyes straight between her mare's ears. Her back ached from holding herself rigid. She was aware that Lyonel was riding beside her, his face a study in calm disinterest.

  When they finally reached Lucia's town house, Lyonel quickly dismounted, lifted Diana down from the mare's back, and said, "I can't wait to hear from Lucia what tale you tell her. Get inside. And good-bye, Diana. I trust you have learned your lesson well. A lady doesn't eavesdrop."

  He didn't wait, merely mounted his stallion and rode away, leading the mare.

  To his chagrin, Lyonel found himself worrying about her. Her lips had been nearly blue when they'd reached London. He winced at the ache in his groin and forced any more worries about her from his mind. He didn't visit Lois that evening.

  He brooded.

  "Most odd," Titwiller said to Kenworthy, casting his eyes upward, ostensibly at the earl's bedchamber.

  "None of your affair," said Kenworthy. "Leave his lordship be."

  But Kenworthy himself wondered and worried. His lordship was behaving most peculiarly. Yes, indeed. He knew, knew in his innermost thoughts, that his lordship was thinking about that Miss Savarol. He had taken her to Richmond today, Kenworthy had gotten that much from his lordship's groom, Teddy. What the devil had happened?

  Lucia didn't screech at the sight of her bedraggled guest. She stared. She happened to be walking down the corridor when Diana was opening the door of her bedchamber.

  Diana didn't want to see or talk to anyone. She wanted to dry herself, hide, and plot Lyon's downfall.

  "My dear," Lucia finally managed, "whatever happened?"

  The truth, at least some of it, Diana decided. "I fell into a stream near Richmond."

  "I see," said Lucia, who didn't see anything. "I shall have Betsy fetch you hot water for a nice bath. Quickly, child, get out of those wet clothes. Where is Lyonel?"

  Diana tensed from head to toe. "I haven't the faintest idea."

  "He is not waiting downstairs?"

  "Perhaps he is lying dead this moment, run over by a carriage. Or shot dead by a person he has hurt."

  "Diana!"

  Diana shivered, and Lucia quickly said, "Go, child. We will speak of this later."

  She immediately sent Jamison with a message to Lyonel.

  There was a reply, a very short note that said only, "Speak to Diana. Certainly she will tell you a tale."

  But Diana told no tale, no matter how Lucia prodded. She was to humiliated. That evening she and Lucia attended a ball at Lady Marchpane's.

  Although the evening was warm, the ballroom stifling, Diana was chilled. She dismissed the weakness.

  She danced and flirted, and each compliment from a gentleman was balm to her miserable soul.

  Lyonel strolled in with the Earl of March near eleven o'clock. His first view of Diana made him grind his teeth. She was laughing like a damned coquette at a doubtless inane comment from Sir Harvey Plummer.

  "Lovely girl," said Julian St. Clair, Earl of March, following Lyonel's grim look. "Why don't you introduce me?"

  "I will kill her first," Lyonel said.

  The Earl of March merely chuckled. "She is very lively, is she not?" he asked, his look goading in the extreme.

  "She is a miserable thorn in my hide," said Lyonel. "Come, let us have some of Lady Marchpane's dreadful champagne punch."

  "As you like, old man," said the earl. "I do believe old Plummer just kissed the young lady's wrist. Can't imagine why she would allow that. Perhaps you should speak to her, Lyon."

  Lyon wasn't a fool. He knew that Julian was well aware of Diana's name and her relationship to him and to Lucia. He said nothing, refusing the earl's dangling bait.

  The earl found himself grinning not a half-hour later when he saw Lyon intercept Diana Savarol. His friend was furious, no doubt about that. Interesting, the earl thought. Yes, indeed, very interesting.

  8

  If fortune turns against you, even jelly breaks your tooth.

  —PERSIAN PROVERB

  "Your face," Lyon said, glaring down at her, "is as red as a poppy. What was that ass saying to you?"

  "Good evening, my lord. Which ass? The one over there or the one now speaking to me?"

  "Push me, Diana, and you will feel my hand on your bottom again, I swear it."

  "Push you, my lord? I am merely trying to make my way to Aunt Lucia. What is it you want?"

  "I want you to stay away from that fool, Plummer, and his wet mouth. My God, why did you let him kiss your wrist? The inside of your w
rist?"

  Because I knew you were watching and I wanted to enrage you.

  "His mouth isn't at all wet."

  Lyon briefly saw red. "As for your gown, you are in danger of falling out of it. I can't imagine that Lucia would let you out of the house looking like that."

  His eyes were on her bosom and Diana drew herself even straighter, even though it hurt to do so. She ached all over. Oddly, there were two of Lyon standing in front of her, each blurred. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision, but now aware of a growing pain over her left ear. She shivered. What the devil was wrong with her? She'd never been ill a day in her life, save for that brief fever she'd had as a child. She remembered now the awful chills and how heavy she had felt, how helpless.

  "So much of you is on display," Lyonel continued, warming to his subject, "you will surely take a cold."

  "Will you keep me here in the middle of the dance floor, my lord? Displaying myself?"

  "Damn you," he said, grasped her wrist, the one that Plummer had kissed, and led her in a waltz.

  Diana admitted now that she was ill. She was feeling very hot now, but she knew that soon she would feel so cold her teeth would chatter. Her head hurt, her throat felt scratchy. And her body felt so very heavy, just as it had felt when she'd had that fever as a child.

  Lyon looked down into her glittering, overbright eyes and was suspicious. "You do know that you cannot knee me in the middle of a waltz," he said.

  "No, I shan't do that." She must find Lucia and leave before she disgraced herself.

  He whirled her about at that moment, and Diana felt the room spin. It didn't right itself and she fell against Lyon. "What the devil is the matter with you? Are you trying to start the tongues wagging again?"

  She heard his voice as if from a great distance. "Lyon," she said, "please, I don't feel well."

  For the first time in her life, Diana fainted.

  Lyon stood in the middle of the ballroom floor, holding her against his chest, his face a picture of chagrin.

  Oh, God.

  He hauled her into his arms, all too aware of the surprise and growing consternation surrounding them. He saw Julian St. Clair and called to him. "Tell Lucia that Diana is ill. Have her carriage fetched immediately."

  Lady Marchpane was aghast and titillated that such a dramatic event took place in her ballroom. She fluttered about Lord Saint Leven, offering no assistance, just disjointed comments on Miss Savarol's pallor.

  "Lady Cranston and I will see to her," he said over his shoulder. He was acutely aware of her limp body in his arms, of the poppy-red cheeks that now he realized meant a fever, not conquettish behavior. God, it was his fault. All of it. He was frightened and could feel himself shaking.

  "She told me she fell into a stream," Lucia said. "Dear God, I thought she was all right. She was so excited about the ball, so insistent that we come. Quickly, Lyon, let's get her home."

  Lyon didn't release her once in Lucia's carriage. He held her close, instructing Lucia to throw the carriage blanket over her. He tucked it firmly around her.

  Diana moaned and he froze, his eyes meeting Lucia's.

  "I should never have let her talk me into this ball," Lucia said. She swore like a trooper but Lyonel wasn't even tempted to laugh. "It was that fall into a stream. How did it happen, Lyonel?"

  "She is burning up," said Lyon, his hand pressing against her cheek.

  "It is my fault," said Lucia, her face parchment pale in the dim carriage light.

  "No," Lyonel said, "none of it is your fault. Who is your doctor, Lucia? We will send Jamison for him immediately."

  Diana burrowed into the warmth, but she couldn't stop the awful cold. It was deep inside her, and it hurt so badly. She realized she was being carried, but she couldn't make herself react. She heard voices, one of them Lyon's, and he sounded so very curt, like a general giving orders to his soldiers.

  More voices. Was that Didier? No, he never raised his voice, never did anything that would reflect poorly on his dignity.

  Hands were on her, pulling off her clothes, and she fought them, instinctively. Soothing voices. Lucia? Grumber?

  She forced herself outward and stared up into the face of a strange man. He looked like the painting of a bird she had seen once, so thin, his neck ridiculously long. She said aloud, very clearly, "You are a stork?"

  Dr. McComber laughed and patted her cheek. "No, miss, I'm just a fellow who is going to try to make you feel better. Now, you just hold still."

  "I hurt," she said, and knew that her voice sounded like a confused child's.

  "Yes, I imagine that you do. Tell me exactly where you hurt."

  But she couldn't seem to speak a complete thought, just words. The stork nodded, as if satisfied.

  "Lyon," she whispered.

  "You want another animal with the stork?"

  "Lyonel," she repeated.

  Dr. McComber turned in question to Lucia.

  "I'll get him," she said. She found him striding up and down the corridor, his head lowered, his hands thrust in his breeches' pockets.

  "Diana wants you."

  "Is she all right, Lucia? What does McComber say?"

  "I don't know as yet."

  Lyon walked very quickly toward the bed. McComber rose and blinked at him. "How is she?"

  There was a small cry from the bed.

  Lyon didn't wait for an answer. He eased down gently beside Diana and took her hand. Her eyes were closed, her breathing labored.

  "I don't understand," he said. "She cried. Why did she cry?"

  "She doesn't know she's crying, my lord. She is unconscious."

  "What is wrong with her?"

  "I should say that she could move into pneumonia, but we will hope not. Her ladyship informs me that she fell into a stream near Richmond and rode all the way back to London in wet clothes."

  Lyonel cursed and McComber stared at him. "What are you doing for her?"

  McComber shrugged. "There is nothing much to be done, my lord. Hot cloths on her chest, alcohol rubs to keep down the fever. Laudanum periodically for the pain."

  It had to be asked. "Will she survive this?"

  "She's a strong girl. She will have excellent nursing. I don't know."

  To Lyonel's shock, Lucia, the indominable old tartar, began sobbing.

  He enfolded her in his arms, soothing her.

  Suddenly, from the bed, "Lyon! No!"

  He spun about and rushed back to the bed. She wasn't conscious but she was thrashing about, her hair becoming wildly tangled about her head. "No! Don't you dare! I hate you!"

  Lyon grasped her hands in his. She was staring at him, her eyes wide, but she didn't see him. "Diana," he said, leaning close to her face, "listen to me. You will be all right. Do you understand me? You will pull through this. Damn you, you will get well again."

  Dr. McComber said in a lowered voice to Lucia, "Is Lord Saint Leven her betrothed?"

  Lucia knew Lyonel could hear them. She said clearly, "Not as yet. They are quite close. They much enjoy arguing."

  "More like brother and sister," Lyonel said, his voice loud and harsh. He turned back to Diana. "Listen to me, you little twit, you will be all right. I will thrash you but good if you are not."

  She laughed, he knew it.

  It sounded to Dr. McComber like an odd moan. He stared at the man who had just threatened his patient with a beating. Little twit! Not at all a brotherly remark.

  "You look awful."

  Lyon started and come awake in an instant. Diana was gazing at him, her eyes clear, her voice a low croak. He grinned at her. "You should see yourself, my girl."

  "What are you doing here? Goodness, I am in bed. Surely this is most improper, Lyon."

  "Shut up, Diana. You have been very ill, for three days. Your fever broke last night. If you ever scare me like that again, I will ---"

  "Beat me?"

  Mrs. Bailey, the nurse, stood all ears near the fireplace. It was quite too much to have a gentleman camped
in the young lady's bedchamber, but to have him sitting on her bed, trading insults! She quickly moved forward. "I shall go fetch Dr. McComber for Miss Savarol."

  "You do that," said Lyon, not looking at her.

  "Damned interfering besom," he added under his breath.

  "What is a besom?"

  "Well, actually it means a broom, you know, an old one made of twigs tied together. I meant it as a witch."

  "You need to shave."

  "You need to do other things, but not shave at least."

  She smiled. If her nose didn't lie, she much needed to bathe. "Have you stayed here?"

  "Yes, every bloody hour." It had been horrendous, particularly the second night, when he was certain she would die, her breathing was so labored, her fever so very high. "How do you feel, honestly?"

  Diana was silent a moment, querying her body. "It hurts just a bit to breathe. I ache and my voice sounds odd. Other than that, I am ready to waltz with you."

  "Let's wait for a week, all right?"

  "Well, how is my patient?"

  "Who are you?"

  "I am your doctor, Miss Savarol. Name of McComber. Now, my lord, if I could get you to move aside, just a bit, I would like to examine my patient."

  Lyon moved, just a bit. Diana held to his hand as if it were a lifeline.

  He watched the doctor's hand move beneath her nightgown to her chest. Odd how that angered him. It shouldn't, for God's sake. I am becoming a half-wit, he thought, and shook his head at himself.

  As for Diana, she was too shocked to move. Lyon quickly said, "It's all right. Just hold still. Dr. McComber will be through in just a moment."

  Dr. McComber leaned his head against her breast and listened. "Clear," he said, smiling. "At last. You had me worried, young lady. You are very strong and didn't go into pneumonia as I had feared. But you must rest." He shot a look toward Lord Saint Leven. "You will see to it, my lord?"

  "Certainly," said Lyon. He realized at that moment that he was committed. To what? He drew his hand away from Diana's and stepped away. "If she is all right now, I shall take myself off. You will do as the doctor tells you, Diana."

  With those words, he left the bedchamber, not looking back.