ROMANTIC VENTURE

CHAPTER FOUR

Maurette moved down the stone passageway toward the grand staircase. She lingered for a moment in the shadow of the landing. The ballroom was spread below her like a glittering counterpane. The small figures of the dancers glided over the marble floor in time to the lilting strains of the music. At the far end of the room, she spotted the silver stranger. He was sitting with her mother near the fire, and its glow cast gleaming highlights in his blue-black silver streaked hair.

Maurette thought of the stories her father had told her. The wildly romantic tales had enthralled her as a child. As she grew, she had become more and more enraptured by the adventurous deeds of the heroic Raven. And now, as if in a dream, he was here in her house; the silver splendor of the romantic legend a tangible reality. She could reach out and touch him if she so desired. She could walk down those stairs and place her hand upon his broad chest. She could touch that chiseled face, if she wished to, and run her finger along the line that ran down his bronzed cheek. She was the guest of honor, after all, and no one would question any action on her part. Maurette smiled and placed delicate fingertips to her lips as she thought of other, less acceptable, actions that she might take. Soft coral color mounted in her cheeks. He was, after all, not a legend but a man.

She shifted her weight a bit to get a better look at her Quarry. At that moment, the musicians spotted her as she emerged from the shadows that had hidden her. The music stopped, and Maurette was suddenly the center of all attention. She found herself looking into the crystal-line eyes of Dominic Warbrooke.

Across the ballroom Alex Harper noted the appearance of his child but not her embarrassment and moved easily toward her. Maurette saw her mother look up toward the landing and knew that, at that moment, a great deal was expected of her.

She forced a regal smile to her lips and straightened her shoulders as she stepped fully into view. One last glance in the direction of their unexpected guest told her that he was regarding her with something akin to amusement.

Maurette stiffened. She would show this 'legend' that she had made her own mark on society. He may be a favorite of the queen, but Maurette was not without her own status.

As guest of honor and treasured daughter of the household, Maurette lifted her lovely chin proudly. She began her descent and, with all the dignity of the heiress that she was, she made her entrance into the ballroom. Her father met her, his hand outstretched, and they swept out onto the floor. The music began again, and they danced with practiced ease.

They were a matched pair, this father and his daughter, as earlier they had been with their swords raised in the courtyard. Maurette was comfortable with her father and confident in his leadership. There was not a man present who could compete in Maurette's mind with Alex Harper.

Alex was enjoying much the same feelings toward his elder child. No man, he felt, had ever sired a more perfect child. She was the picture of grace and beauty. And she was so much more. Her keen mind missed no opportunity to ask a question or venture an opinion. She was an excellent horsewoman, a spirited companion, and a loyal friend. She was accomplished in many things she had learned from her mother. she was the soul of diplomacy and tact when she wished to be. And all of this, Alex reflected with pride, in a woman who had just barely touched her eighteenth birthday.

His gaze fell upon the Silver Raven. The man had taken a bold interest in his daughter. He had not, in truth, taken his eyes from her since her entrance. Alex felt a shiver run through his body. Lord Warbrooke was clearly a man smitten, if such a mundane word could be used to describe any emotion that this tall and enigmatic noble-man might be feeling.

Alex's arm tightened around his daughter's small waist, causing Maurette to glance up quizzically into his eyes. He smiled down at her. She was now a woman, and she had aroused the interest of a most formidable gentleman Could Alex protect her in this? It seemed imperative, at that moment, that a husband be found for the girl.

Alex Harper surveyed the assemblage. Was there a man among the company to whom he could entrust his daughter's future? There was young Timothy Braden, a lord in his own right, the fourth earl of Rice. The young man in question smiled archly in their direction as though he was aware of her father's scrutiny. He had certainly made his interest known. He had ridden out with Alex and Maurette on many occasions and had proved himself an able, if not exemplary, horseman. His stables were, in truth, the talk of three counties.

There was Arthur Warwick. His father's credentials were impeccable, but the boy himself, Alex groaned inwardly, was a scandal. Not only had he impregnated three kitchen wenches one summer, but he had bragged on it to several lads in the area and invited them to share his bounty one drunken night. The incident of the girls' pregnancies gave no one pause or cause to censure the lad. In and of itself the deed was not unexpected of a well-born and high-spirited. youth, but the accompanying orgy, when discovered-for there had been little discretion in the young men's actions that drunken night-had raised many an eyebrow and had led to questioning the boy's judgment and his family's failure to control him in the proprieties. Lady Elspeth had been among the first to denounce the affair and the family and had omitted the Warwicks, an old and highly respected family, from her next season altogether.

The sordid incident, in relation to the good name of the family, was insupportable. In relation to his own daughter and to her cherished future, however, the incident was to Alex appalling. To hand his child over to such a contemptible charlatan was unthinkable.

There were others, of course. Since Maurette had reached her fourteenth year, when the bloom of her promised womanhood being evident, there had been a parade of handsome, wealthy, and tided youths who had hoped to impress upon him the advantage of their suits, but Alex had resisted them. The pressure upon him had often been arduous. Though the families of the young gallants, his wife, and their friends had all insisted that this youth or that would be a perfect match for his daughter, Alex had remained adamant. None were equal to the treasure that he had to offer.

Maurette looked up at him now with perfect trust, and Alex realized that his was a mission of unyielding complexity. He must entrust this prize to one man, a man so stable and uncompromising in his masculinity that he would not be threatened by Maurette's carefully taught and tended character. She was a young woman of rare talent and intelligence, and her spirit must be nurtured. Where would such a man be found?

He knew that Elaine had been correct in her concern for their daughter's upbringing and the manner in which Alex had indulged her every whim. Maurette must, after all, live in a world whose very social structure made her powerless. Her wealth would automatically transfer to the man who took her to wife. She would be nothing more than chattel to that man with no legal or moral stand if the man should choose to mistreat her. The very thought made Alex wince, and again his arm tightened around her waist.

"Papa," Maurette murmured, "you needn't hold so tight to me. I promise I shall not leave you until after the ball." She gazed up at him with a humorous twinkle in her eyes. Their amethyst glitter melted his heart. That he would kill any man who made those eyes sparkle with anything but joy, he knew, without a doubt.

Turning his mind from the dark reflections that haunted him, Alex attempted to simply enjoy holding his daughter's lissome form in his arms. Every man there, he knew, envied his protection of her and would give a great deal to be in his place. He barely felt the pressure being applied to his shoulder. Smiling, he turned at the interruption to find Dominic Warbrooke standing at his side.

"May I have the honor and pleasure of this dance with your daughter, my lord?" he said genially. For all his amiability, the man's eyes were like chill pewter as he stood with seeing patience in the middle of the floor.

Alex's smile disappeared. He was not prompt in relinquishing his daughter's hand. "We are, of course, honored by your request, Lord Warbrooke," he said cautiously. To emphasize the reluctance with which he complied with the request, Alex took a long moment before he stepped away from his daughter. Tension crackled in the air between the two men.

Elaine Harper, seeing the reticence in her husband's stance and expecting it from long years of dealing with just such confrontations, moved to the trio.

"Come, Alex," she said gently, "dance with me that that our lovely daughter may enjoy the company of our guest." She led a stern Alex away from the young couple. "He is an able dancer," she said, smiling up into her husband's eyes. "He might even test our daughter's skill."

When they were out of the hearing of the other guests,. Elaine murmured, "The child must needs he challenged by a new partner, my love." Seeing the hurt in her husband's eyes, she added, "'Tis a sad fact of fatherhood, sweet Alex, but one that must he faced." But Alex barely heard his wife's words and continued to stare in the direction that his daughter had been taken by Dominic Warbrooke.

Maurette was unaware of the hard gaze that her father was bestowing upon her. At this moment, she knew only that she was being held in the arms of the Silver Raven, the hero of her childhood fantasies. He did indeed prove to be as able a dancing partner as any she had ever enjoyed. He held her and whirled her through every complicated step she had learned and some she had yet to encounter, but Maurette was an apt pupil. Keeping her eyes even with her partner's shoulder and just above it, as she had been tutored, Maurette followed his every step. When the lively dance ended and she had given her partner the customary curtsy and he had bowed in turn, they stood motionless finally and looked into each other's eyes.

For the first time Maurette was sensing this man as something other than the legend that had enthralled her. He was, indeed, a man. Maurette could feel the very masculine warmth emanating from his body. She breathed his musty scent that seemed a combination of tobacco and sea air. Gazing up at him as he gazed down on her, his eyes glowing with tender desire, she felt her cheeks grow warm as soft color rose to pinken her opalineskin.

Maurette lowered her silken eyelashes when the musicians Began a lilting tune. Dominic held his hand out to her in invitation, and she offered hers in gentle compliance.. This was the moment for which she had waited her whole life.

Dominic took her in his strong arms, and Maurette felt herself being lifted carefully and completely above and away from the candlelit room into a gauzy twilight of fading reality. Her world was music and starlight and the handsome courtier who twirled her effortlessly and with infinite tenderness. Time and place ceased to exist as they soared beyond substance in a dreamlike fairyland.

If the music ended, Maurette was unaware of it for the dance took the couple from the ballroom into the cool air of the courtyard without interruption. The dark starless night encircled them, and Maurette laid her head comfortably upon Dominic's strong shoulder. The motion of the dance was like the gentle breakers of a deep lagoon that lulled her senses as it released her inhibitions.

The moon had risen, and in its pale light she suddenly found her face very close to Dominic's. His lips hovered just above hers. The dampness of the London night coupled with the feel of rough cobbles beneath her feet brought Maurette back to reality.

"My lord," she said quietly in the still night, "I fear that I forget myself." She forced herself to move from his Embrace, though, in truth, nothing would have pleased her more than to remain forever in that shadowy unreality that his encircling arms represented.

They stood very close in the darkened yard. The moon cast a silvery aura behind his silver hair, leaving his face. in shadow. Only the glisten of his eyes told her that he was looking directly into hers. "If that were but true, sweet lady," he said softly, "'twould give sway to every other circumstance this night."

Maurette drew a ragged breath and turned from him. Gathering her self-control she took a few steps further into the darkness. She wished the magic moment on the dance floor had never ended. Dominic Warbrooke was, by far, the handsomest man she had ever met. His real presence far outshone anything in her wildest imaginings. Somehow the thoughts that she had entertained before her entrance down the staircase seemed silly and girlish now. In the face of this man's startling reality, his virile substance, Maurette felt giddy and childish. She wondered what he thought of her. Aside from the desire that he obviously felt, she wondered if he gave any credence to her as a person. She had tried so hard to remedy the evening's earlier calamity.

She ran her tongue over her dry lips. He had not moved, and the silence between them raged on. "Would you walk with me, my lord?" she said finally.

"I should consider it an honor," he responded easily. Her own trepidation, it would seem, was not shared by her companion. He offered her his forearm, and she placed delicate fingertips on it. They moved into the moonlit gardens that surrounded the courtyard. Shadows fell over the silvered pathways between the beds of foliage and early blooming iris. In a distant alley a dog barked. It was the only sound except for the music from within and the soft rustling of her skirts against the shrubbery.

"We have not really been introduced," Maurette said after they had strolled for some moments.

Dominic stopped and turned to her. "Forgive me for forgoing the formality of asking for an introduction. My name, dear lady, is Dominic Warbrooke," he said, bowing.

Maurette offered her hand and her prettiest curtsy. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, good sir," she said, smiling. Her eyes lowered as she noted the deeply etched amusement in his eyes. They continued to walk through the gardens. She knew that she could not allow more time to pass before mentioning what had earlier passed between them. She did not, however, know how to broach the subject. "I must thank you for your protection," she said after a long pause.

"It was my pleasure, my lady," he drawled. "I fear the young men are of a temperament," she sighed through a despairing smile.

"They should not be blamed, my lady." He swept her with a silver gaze.

Maurette hesitated mid-step and looked up squarely into his eyes. "I must beg your pardon, sir," she said, a question in her voice. Her eyebrows quirked, forming a wrinkle of perplexity on her smooth forehead. She expected him to retract at once such an unvarnished statement, but he merely turned his eyes to the path in front of him and kept on walking.

"No need to beg my pardon," he said amiably. "You heard me correctly The young men merely affected behavior that they were led to believe was licensed by your own. A person responds to another in kind."

Maurette could not believe her ears. That any action of hers had caused unchivalrous behavior among the lads was unthinkable. "Again, I beg your pardon," she said stiffly. "I cannot credit that you hold my conduct responsible for the lack of gallantry displayed by those young gentlemen. Each man is responsible for his own actions."

"And each woman." He stopped and turned abruptly to face her. "Please feel no need to beg my pardon again, my lady. I but point to the truth in the situation." He bowed again and continued his walk.

Maurette's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Truth, sir," she gasped as she hiked up her gown to an unladylike degree and trotted after him. "I hear no truth in what you speak. It seems you fault me in the earlier debacle."

"I do, my lady," he said quietly, "at least in part."

Maurette stopped short. "Then," she said with an anger she had not, in all her eighteen years, experienced, "there is no use for further words between us." Her great eyes sparkled with amethyst fire, and the moonlight kindled her dark upswept curls so that shards of silver reflected from them. She noted with satisfaction that her words seemed to have stopped his progress. He turned to face her. She had hoped to find that blatant masculine assurance quelled but, maddeningly, a smile played upon his lips and his gaze raked her with an insolent regard. Her little chin shot up in defiance. "I thank you for the walk, my lord," she said with a haughtiness that she usually reserved for bumbling lads bent on courting her. "Your attention to me has honored our house." She turned on her heel and swept regally in the direction of the ballroom.

In truth, his accusation tugged at her conscience. She knew that she had enjoyed the ribald attentions of the young men and had encouraged their easy camaraderie since her youth. Her guilt fomented her anger. Beyond everything, Warbrooke's audacious behavior could not be countenanced, and his rebuke could not go unpunished.

Maurette could not reach the protection of her friends soon enough. In those secure environs, she would cut the impertinent Warbrooke to the quick and dispense with his uncomplimentary candor once and for all. Let the scoundrel wallow in his unwelcome uprightness for all eternity. Maurette would not be party to it, nor would her friends nor her father, for that matter. Whatever business he had with the devil, he would be well advised to end it here and now. Maurette's resolve lengthened her pace and quickened her step. Suddenly, on the step that led to the entrance of the ballroom, Maurette felt herself jerked to a stop. She was whirled with ungentle speed to face Dominic Warbrooke.

Surprise showed on her face, and outrage flashed through her like a knife. "How dare you!" she sputtered. She could not quite believe what had happened. All her life she had known deference from men. And, the forays into swordmanship with her father and the occasional boldness of her young male friends, Maurette had never experienced overt aggression in a man.

She looked wildly up into his silver eyes. His face was hard, the skin taut and gleaming over his cheekbones, and his mouth a grim line. Maurette's mind raced to his abominable past. No matter that a man possessed a title or the sanction of the queen or both, out on the untamed wilderness of the sea, he was his own master and lived by no rule but his own. Maurette's gentle breeding had not prepared her for such a confrontation. It could provide only glimmers of what he might be capable of doing to her. Her fingers were splayed on his broad muscled chest, and she felt a scream rising in her throat. She tried desperately to free herself.

Without warning, his head came down toward her, and as his large hands trapped her white shoulders, his mouth caught hers in a brutal kiss. The pounding of his heart against her flatted breasts startled her as much as the kiss, and Maurette struggled wildly against him. For her struggles, she was simply held tighter and closer, his muscular arms going around her and her wriggling body pressed to the lean hard length of him.

As her strength slowly ebbed, she found herself recalling the sublime moments on the dance floor. Her heart leaped within her chest, and her will gradually began to give way to his desire. Mercifully, before that happened, he lifted his lips from hers. He continued to hold her in a viselike grip, one large hand cradling the back of her head.

"Forgive me, little one," he rasped, "you are too much temptation for any man." He trailed kisses down the slender arch of her throat, and Maurette felt the unbelievable sensation of warm response course through her veins. Not only was the feeling totally new to her, but she felt dismayed by the terrible power it seemed to have over her senses. She could not believe that his hot kisses were sending sparks of raw pleasure through her body. She struggled to regain her reason. This was not, after all, an untamed wilderness; this was her home in London.

Whatever the rapacious instincts of this barbaric nobleman were, she could not allow herself to fall prey to his rampant masculinity. Struggling against the betrayal of her treacherous body, Maurette relaxed in the arms that imprisoned her like bands of iron. She noted the loosening of his grip and took lighting -like advantage of his momentary lapse. With all the fury of unbridled righteousness, she gave a mighty shove. The Duke of Ravenshead registered the ultimate surprise and, without ceremony and much to Maurette's satisfaction, landed squarely on his backside in an undignified sprawl. He immediately tried to scramble to his feet.

Maurette stopped him with her words and by placing a small silken toe on his chest. "Hold, Sir Errant Knight," she said in a stentorian tone. "You imagine that you have strolled into this courtyard with a tavern wench, me-thinks. look again, sir." She stood over him now, her feet wide apart and her hands on her hips.

Dominic regarded her from his lowly position. On his face was a mixture of outrage and admiration. He did not know what he felt at this moment. How dare the chit shove him unawares! And yet, there she stood, unchecked fury staining her cheeks coral and turning those remarkable eyes the most amazing shade of deep icy purple. Her breasts heaved, and her flaxen curls tumbled wildly in a tangled tumult of alluring spun gold. Most women, in the face of such an advance, would have swooned or burst into floods of tears. But not she.

"You have taken liberties with me, sir, that no man has ever dared," she said steadily. "You shall see that this unacceptable behavior in my father's house or anywhere in civilized society cannot be tolerated. Your title will not protect you here nor will your position at court."

Maurette finished with a haughty swish of her voluminous skirts, and she turned to leave him alone and abashed in the dim courtyard.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said evenly.

Maurette stopped and turned fully to face him. "Forgive, sir?" she said icily. "Forgive? Forgive insufferable behavior and loutish actions? Forgive insults of the most indelicate sort? Surely you jest, sir." Her lips curled into a smile that did not reach her eyes.

Dominic had not moved from the place where she had unceremoniously dumped him but began to rise now, as he realized that her relentless anger was not about to lessen. She moved toward him with determination, and her delicate voice assailed him.

"You ask for, nay expect, polite reprieve for your insufferable behavior," Maurette said, allowing him no moment for response. "Well, sir, I do not grace low actions with forgiveness. Instead, sir," she spat out his tide, "Duke of Ravenshead, Silver Raven of the Queen, I demand satisfaction of an insult. And, sir, I do demand satisfaction of you." Maurette regarded him contemptuously. "I is no more than I've a right to expect. And may I add that, if honor is to be upheld, you must needs also demand satisfaction. 'Tis not every day, I would imagine, that a courtier of the queen is tossed willy-nilly on his hind end by a stripling girl." She tossed her curls in smug satisfaction.

Dominic could not believe his ears. The chit was challenging him to a duel. And she was challenging him in such a way that for him to refuse would mean dishonor of the most laughable sort. The indignity of the outrageous situation suddenly struck a deep note of amusement, and Dominic reared back his head and gave forth with a loud peal of laughter.

Maurette bridled at this new attitude. She had hoped to intimidate him with her challenge and even now looked forward to reissuing her proposal in the presence of witness. Seeing him now, in that vulnerable and, by all reports, uncharacteristic pose, however, softened her heart. She felt laughter bubbling to her own lips. Maurette attempted to stifle the unwanted giggles by pressing her delicate fingertips to her mouth, but the laughter would not be stilled and emerged in merry harmony with Dominic's.

It was in this unguarded circumstance that Lady Violet found her granddaughter and their guest. "God's teeth," she blurted when she saw the nobleman sprawled on the ground.

Maurette turned with a start, the laughter dying in her throat. She primly brushed at her skirts. "We were strolling, Grandmama ... and we … we …, She looked to Dominic for help.

The duke rose and bowed to his venerable hostess. "Your lovely granddaughter and I were strolling," he continued Maurette's explanation. "We were strolling, and we stopped to try a particularly complex dance step - you are, I imagine, quite proud of your granddaughter's mastery of the dance-and the cobbles proved a bit slippery and we-" Dominic's smooth lie was cut off by a distinct, if suppressed, tinkle of laughter that emanated from the lips of Lady Violet.

"Do you know something?" said the countess, attempting to dispel her mirth. "I believe it was just that same intricate step that toppled Maurette's grandfather and me over forty years past." Lady Violet entwined her arms in those of the two younger people and led them into the ballroom. "Isn't it odd that some things never change?"