Page 2 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

What Gideon saw was a pair of laughing blue eyes, a tip-tilted nose, and pouting cherry-colored lips in a piquant little face surrounded by a cloud of sable ringlets.

Her cheeks were the color of dusty roses, and except for the merry twinkle the artist had managed to capture in her eyes, she appeared to be both fragile and sultry.

Her lips looked as if they longed to be kissed, and her lashes were so thick that they seemed to weigh her eyelids down, giving her a most beguiling look.

An instant, intriguing sense of gentle warmth spread through Gideon’s body, stirring curiosity and much more primitive sensations, and he found himself wishing he might see her smile like that at him.

“Looks a bit spoilt, I thought,” Penthorpe said.

“Her sister was much the same till she married Seacourt. But maybe you didn’t know she’d married him.

You ain’t been back in a while, now that I think about it.

I went home last year, after the Peace, of course, then joined up again to be in on Boney’s capture, but you stayed over here the whole time, raking and larking about with Lord Hill’s people, didn’t you? ”

Gideon nodded, still looking at the miniature.

Reluctantly and with an odd sense of loss, he returned it, thinking back to a day in his youth, not many months after his mother’s death, when he had told his brother, Jack, that he meant to learn all about the feud between the Deverills and the Earl of St. Merryn even if he had to go to Tuscombe Park and demand that the earl tell him what their father would not.

Jack had informed on him, of course, and he had taken a thrashing for what his father had called his damned insolence.

He had not thought of that feud in years, but now, gazing at Lady Daintry’s fascinating likeness, he began to think he ought never to have allowed a mere thrashing to deter him from learning more about the Tarrant family.

Not that opportunity had often come his way.

He had been sent to Eton soon after that unfortunate episode, and except for school holidays—spent as often with his maternal grandparents as with his father—he had enjoyed little time in Cornwall during the intervening years.

First there had been Cambridge, and then, because he was the second son, a career in the army.

That his father had become sixth Marquess of Jervaulx the previous year (following the unexpected demise of the last male twig on the senior branch of the Deverill family tree) had changed little in Gideon’s life, although the one letter he had received from Jack in the meantime indicated that his graceless brother greatly enjoyed his position as the new heir to that great title.

“Gideon, look there,” Penthorpe said suddenly, his words accompanied by an ominous thunder of cannonfire from the opposite ridge. “Boney’s moving on the chateau!”

Startled, Gideon saw at once that Penthorpe was right and ruthlessly dismissed all thought of Cornwall from his mind, riveting his attention instead on the formidable duties at hand.

That opening salvo, accompanied by a rhythmic beat of drums and a strident blaring of horns, could have been heard for miles and filled the misty air with a heavy cloud of smoke.

Eight thousand men stormed Chateau Hougoumont, but Gideon could see at once that the huge fortress would be nearly impossible to take.

That realization strengthened his confidence, and he said calmly, “They may take the orchard, Andy, but our lads will hold firm inside.” Handing him the telescope, he added, “Keep watch now, for I must see to the others. And guard your fears, man. Our position is strong. This line extends for three miles along the ridge, and Boney can’t even see the reserves in the valley behind us.

He’s in for a shock. You may take my word for that. ”

Gideon maintained his air of confidence as he moved from man to man of his squadron, checking to see that each was awake and that men and horses alike were ready either to defend their present position or to charge if the order came.

But his earlier concern had not been banished entirely, for that annoying little voice at the back of his mind soon reminded him that Wellington’s advantage of position was counterbalanced by Napoleon’s superior artillery and cavalry.

And while British morale was certainly equal to that of the French, the same could not be said of the Dutch, Belgian, and North German troops who also fought under the Duke’s command.

Wellington had tried to offset that shortcoming by mixing his troops so that halfhearted and inexperienced men—of whom he had far too many—would be supported and influenced by those who were better disciplined and more accustomed to battle.

Gideon could only hope the plan would work.

When he returned to his place beside Penthorpe, he saw with satisfaction, even before he took back the telescope, that the British still held Chateau Hougoumont.

A ring of dead French soldiers encircled the place, their once gaudy uniforms scarcely recognizable now for the mud in which they lay, and most of the remaining activity appeared to be shifting to a new target.

“Damned reckless of them to have expended so much effort on an invincible target,” Gideon muttered, “but how like Bonaparte to indulge in such a waste of lives and resources, as though men were unlimited. Surely, it will lead to his undoing in the end.”

“I hope you ain’t counting on it,” Penthorpe said testily, “for there is Ney now, moving his men on the farmhouse. I know it’s him, because I saw that red hair of his even without the telescope, when he took off his helmet for an instant just before they began to move.”

Gideon chuckled. “I hope you, of all people, don’t condemn the Frenchman for the color of his hair.”

“Well, you ain’t one to talk either,” Penthorpe said with a grimace. “Yours may be dark enough now to pass for auburn, but as I recall the matter, you began life at Eton as Carrots Minor.”

“So I did,” Gideon said cheerfully. “Recollect that Jack’s hair was reddish then, too. He had long since convinced everyone to call him Deverill, however, so he was even more displeased than I was when Carrots Minor stuck, because some of the cheekier lads promptly dubbed him Carrots Major.”

With a thoughtful air, Penthorpe murmured, “I wonder how this lot behind us would enjoy addressing you as Major Carrots.”

“Just you try that on, my lad, and see what you get for your trouble,” Gideon warned, straightening to his full height.

“Oh, I’m mum,” Penthorpe said, grinning, but the grin faded at the sound of a fresh salvo from below, and he added more grimly, “I say, Gideon, try as I might, I can’t get shut of the notion that today’s my last one on this earth.

If Boney gets me, will you go to Tuscombe Park and tell them I’m frightfully sorry and all that, but … well, you know the drill.”

“I do, indeed, but don’t be nonsensical, Andy. You’ll make it through this day and whatever follows, if only to go to Tuscombe Park yourself and see if this aged and decrepit lass still looks anything like her miniature.”

A sudden silence fell, broken almost at once by another roll of drums and a trumpet call.

Staring into the valley, Penthorpe said quietly, “I hope you’re right, but even though you’ve pulled me out of some awful scrapes in the past, Gideon, I don’t believe you can do it today. I’m no coward, truly, but please—”

“Don’t trouble your head,” Gideon replied gruffly.

“I’ll do it if I must.” Wanting to divert Penthorpe’s thoughts and still keep an eye on the activity below and an ear cocked for orders, he said, “How is it that this Lady Daintry’s such an heiress if she’s got an older sister?

For that matter, St. Merryn’s fortune ought to go with the property. Isn’t there a son?”

“Oh, aye, to be sure, her brother, Charles Tarrant. Poor fellow went to Harrow is why you don’t know him.

He gets the Tarrant estates, of course, but it seems that besides the settlement her father will make, my wench will inherit the fortune of a great-aunt, a truly redoubtable old lady, according to my Uncle Tattersall.

In her seventies, she is, though, so she can’t last long.

From some cause or other she has money all her own.

I don’t understand it myself, because she ain’t a widow, so it don’t stand to reason that she ought to have much—lives with St. Merryn, too—but my uncle assured me the wench is due to come into at least twenty thousand a year from her, just like I said. ”

A French horn sounding the charge below diverted Gideon’s attention again, and he saw instantly that the French, under cover of the heavy cannon smoke, meant to break through Wellington’s center to open the road to Brussels.

French bombardments were centered on the Dutch-Belgian divisions below, and even as he snatched the reins of his horse from the soldier who held them and snapped at Penthorpe to get to his unit, he saw the foreign troops break ranks and throw down their weapons.

In wild confusion, pushing and sliding on the slippery ground, they turned and surged back up the slope toward the safety of the Allied main line with the French appallingly close behind them.

Leaping to his saddle, Gideon shouted to his officers to prepare to support the infantry. The order to charge came a split second later.

Riding powerful horses and waving their long sabers, the British cavalry attacked with murderous fury, cutting through the densely massed French columns to wreak terrifying mutilation and death.

The trampled wheat grew red with blood, and even in the thick of battle, above the din of horns, drums, clashing swords, pounding hooves, and gunfire, Gideon could hear the shocking screams and appalling groans of wounded and dying horses and men.