Читать книгу A Scoundrel By Moonlight - Anna Campbell - Страница 11

From the corridor, Nell watched Leath entering his mother’s rooms. She hadn’t seen his lordship since that nerve-racking interview yesterday when he’d expressed his distrust. His expression this morning portended trouble. She had a premonition that the trouble concerned Lady Leath’s lowborn companion.

Nell slipped into her small office. She set down the ink she’d got from Mr. Crane—who was young and handsome and eager to help, and forgotten the moment she left his company—and crossed to close the door to the marchioness’s sitting room.

“… Miss Trim isn’t suitable.” Leath’s deep voice carried to where she stood.

Nell couldn’t see mother or son, but she guessed that the marchioness was in her accustomed place on the chaise longue and his lordship paced the floor as he did when he was impatient.

“James, we had this argument when you arrived a fortnight ago.” The marchioness’s voice was softer.

“I thought I’d give her the benefit of the doubt before my final decision.”

“Your final decision?” Lady Leath asked sharply.

“Mamma, you know I’m considering your welfare.”

“I know you’ve taken an unreasoning dislike to Miss Trim.”

“She doesn’t deserve your confidence.”

“I grieve to think I raised such a snob. Your father took people on their own merits.”

“Well, my father was clearly a better man in every way.”

Despite everything, Nell felt a twinge of sympathy. Something in his weary tone indicated that he didn’t appreciate the comparison to his brilliant father.

“Nell is from a respectable family. Poverty isn’t a crime.”

“I don’t know anything about her background, and when I ask her, she’s remarkably noncommittal.”

“Only because you bully her. Frightened people always look shifty.”

A contemptuous snort escaped Leath. “She’s not at all frightened of me, Mamma.”

“And is that why you want to dismiss her? Because she doesn’t cower at your merest whisper?”

Brava, your ladyship. The talent for political debate wasn’t confined purely to the male Fairbrothers.

“I want to dismiss her because I don’t trust her.”

“She’s worked as my companion for well over six weeks and the more I see of her, the more I like her.”

“You’re missing Sophie.”

“You’re here now,” the marchioness said with spurious docility. “Still I like Miss Trim. And you forget how long Sophie was in London before she married Harry Thorne.”

“Exactly.”

“James, stop this.” In her mind, Nell saw the marchioness glare at her son. “I mightn’t be able to run from Derby to York, but there’s nothing wrong with my mind.”

“I’m not implying that, Mamma.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m trying to do what’s best. That girl puts herself forward in a most unbecoming manner.”

Dear Lord in heaven, why hadn’t Nell been more careful around Leath? Dismay left a foul taste in her mouth. She’d tried to disappear into the background, but something about his lordship goaded her. Nell swallowed to dislodge what felt like a rock stuck in her throat and leaned forward to hear the rest of the conversation.

“What’s best is that Nell continues to keep me company in her delightful fashion.”

“I insist you dismiss the girl.”

“Why?”

“She’s sly.”

“No, she’s not.”

“And she doesn’t show proper respect.”

“Her manners are excellent. I won’t have you interfering, James.” The marchioness paused and when she resumed, a husky edge indicated that her son had upset her. Of course he had, the insensitive toad. “I’ll pay her from my pin money if you’re unwilling to cover her wages. I’m hardly at your mercy, although you’re acting like I’m a charity case.”

“Mamma,” he protested, “I can’t be easy with that girl in the house.”

“Then that’s your problem.” The husky note persisted. “I can’t be easy if you banish someone who is my friend as much as my employee.”

Nell’s fists closed at her sides, even as her conscience chafed at what her plans meant for the marchioness. Her lifelong loyalty to Dorothy clashed painfully with her newer loyalty to Lady Leath.

“I could arrange for one of Aunt Sylvia’s girls to come.”

The marchioness’s delicate sniff was a feminine version of Leath’s snort of derision. “Not a brain between them. Anyway, it’s cruel to shut a young girl up with only a decrepit old lady for company.”

“You’re not decrepit.”

“I’m too decrepit to put up with those silly chits and their constant chatter.”

“What about Cousin Cynthia?”

Another delicate expression of disdain. “She’s even stupider than Sylvia’s girls. And she’d read me sermons. She’s becoming odiously preachy in her old age. One would think she’d never kissed an undergardener in the maze at Hampton Court.”

“Did she, by God?”

Nell could tell that this glimpse of his staid relative in her salad days had momentarily distracted Leath. Pray God he stayed distracted.

“She was quite the hoyden before she became so holy. Although she wouldn’t thank me for remembering.”

“Speaking of people reading things to you, when did you develop a taste for novels? You’ve never picked up anything frivolous in your life.”

The marchioness laughed. “You can thank Nell for that.”

“I’m sure,” Leath said, and his displeasure oozed down Nell’s backbone like ice.

“Don’t be so stuffy, James. After Sophie married, life became dull until Nell brightened my days. I can’t imagine why you’ve got yourself in a twist about the girl.” She paused. “One might think you’re jealous that I’m so fond of her.”

“A masterstroke, madam. But sadly one that’s gone astray. You won’t get me to retreat in a fit of pique. I don’t like that girl and I want her gone.”

“Well, I do like her and I want her to stay. Will you insist?”

“I’d like to.”

“But you won’t.”

Nell couldn’t be nearly as sure as the marchioness. She braced to hear Leath pronounce the fatal words, but he laughed with a mixture of chagrin and fondness. “You’ve won. Temporarily. But I’m watching your dear Miss Trim.”

“You won’t see anything to her detriment.”

Nell took a moment to appreciate the marchioness’s trust. Trust she didn’t deserve. Her whisper of guilt swelled to a clamor. She might be grateful that her ladyship won this battle, but Leath was right to be wary.

“You’re an obstinate wench.”

“Of course I am, darling. Where do you think your stubbornness comes from?”

He laughed with genuine humor, and began to speak about someone they both knew in London. Very quietly, Nell shut the door.

For the moment, she was safe. But only for the moment. Leath wouldn’t let the matter go. And he’d do his best to discredit her with the marchioness. From now on, she must move carefully. She also needed to resume her search for the diary, no matter the danger.

The marchioness made no mention of her son’s attempt to dismiss Nell, but her manner became if anything, more affectionate. Nell tried to steer clear of Leath, but it was inevitable that they should pass in the corridor or encounter each other when she slipped into the library to select a book for the marchioness.

The lady’s taste for novels grew apace. When Nell had started as a companion, her duties had involved conversation, playing cards and writing letters. Occasionally she assisted with treatments during the marchioness’s bouts of ill health. Now they’d rushed through Pride and Prejudice and had just finished Sense and Sensibility. Apart from the dreary Clarissa, Nell had no idea what to choose next. The Alloway Chase library was crammed with dispiritingly worthy volumes.

Nell enjoyed reading aloud and the activity was undemanding, welcome when she managed so little sleep. The last three nights, she’d devoted fruitless hours to searching the library. Fear goaded her to haste. If the marquess caught her, he’d dismiss her for sure, whatever his mother said.

“Shall we continue with Don Juan this morning, your ladyship?” Nell had started Byron’s poem yesterday and the marchioness was enjoying the change.

“Yes, please, my dear. Such a wicked fellow.”

“Byron or Don Juan?”

The marchioness laughed, although a flat note in her amusement worried Nell. Blast Leath for harrying his mother.

“Both. Help me to sit up, if you please. I’m feeling a little tired.”

Her request didn’t surprise Nell. The fair, delicate features, so different from her son’s saturnine intensity, were drawn. She settled the marchioness more comfortably and opened the morocco-bound volume where she’d left off, with the youthful philanderer seducing the virtuous but hot-blooded Lady Julia.

Settling the parcel he carried more securely, Leath paused on the threshold to observe the two women in the sunny room. Capricious autumn offered up a few perfect days before winter descended.

With a tenderness that he couldn’t mistake, Miss Trim was arranging his mother’s pillows. It was possible, even probable, that the girl was a self-serving schemer, but at this moment when she thought herself unobserved, he couldn’t mistake her affection for his mother.

When he’d tried to have the chit dismissed, he should have expected to fail. He was honest enough to admit that his reasons for wanting to banish Miss Trim extended beyond her influence over his mother. He wanted her out of his house because he wanted her out of his mind. She was far too distracting. Hell, she was far too tempting.

Her veiled hostility didn’t douse his sexual interest. It fired him up. There was something exciting about a woman who didn’t fawn over him and imagine herself either his marchioness or his mistress.

With a turn of her graceful body that made his heart leap, the girl reached for a book. She sat in profile, so he saw the delicate nose and resolute chin so incongruous on a housemaid. His hands itched to tear away the pins torturing her bright hair. He mightn’t trust her, but by God, she was a pleasure to behold.

Whereas his mother didn’t look well. He frowned, hardly hearing Miss Trim begin to read. Then, like his mother, he found himself caught up in the racy tale.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;

A little still she strove, and much repented.

And whispering, “I will ne’er consent”—consented.

On the line’s sting in the tail, Miss Trim noticed Leath in the doorway. While the duchess snickered, the girl’s cinnamon eyes widened. Fleetingly he saw no trace of dislike. He wished to Hades he did. Instead he was astonished to discover that his reluctant attraction wasn’t one-sided.

Like wanton Lady Julia in the poem, Miss Trim’s expression spoke of resistance—but also desire. If they were alone, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she yielded to what they both wanted.

This was a bloody disaster.

“Go on, Nell. This is so delicious.”

“My lady, Lord Leath is here.”

When his mother glanced toward him, her weary face briefly brightened. “Darling, come and listen. Nell’s reading me a naughty poem.”

“You’re too young for Byron.” Leath deposited his brown paper parcel on a gilt and marble table, then kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Nell is,” his mother said with another smile. “It’s most shocking what that libertine got up to. I remember all the gossip, of course. This adventure must be based on real life.”

“Byron was a rake, Mother.”

“And you didn’t like him, I know.”

“I didn’t.” He remembered the brilliant, troubled, troublesome man he’d met briefly as a youth. “He was an entertaining fellow, and clever with it, but he left a good many ladies the worse for knowing him. I can’t admire someone so addicted to selfish pleasure that he was cavalier about the harm he did.”

The blaze of heat in Miss Trim’s eyes had cooled to curiosity. He couldn’t imagine why she cared about his opinion of the notorious poet. Leath certainly wasn’t the only person in England to frown upon his activities.

Hell, he needed to stop staring moonstruck at his mother’s companion. He turned back to the table and lifted the parcel. “I’ve brought you a present.”

His mother tried to sit up and Miss Trim rushed to assist with a gentleness that Leath couldn’t help noting. “Oh, how wonderful. I love presents.”

He held the box out. “Careful. It’s heavy.”

“Not diamonds, then?” she asked playfully.

“Not today.”

Miss Trim fetched scissors to cut the string. “I’ll finish those letters, my lady.”

“No, stay, Nell. This looks intriguing.”

His mother tore at the paper, as excited as a child at a birthday party, then reached inside the box. “James, and you pretended to disapprove.”

“How could I disapprove of anything that gives you such enjoyment?”

She drew out a beautifully tooled volume in dark green leather. “The Fair Maid of Perth. How wonderful.”

“I asked Hatchards to send their most popular books. There’s now a standing order each month. If you find that doesn’t meet your needs, they’ll increase it.”

“How can I thank you?” His mother’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him.

He often sent her gewgaws, jewelry or scarves or trinkets for her rooms. But he couldn’t remember her getting such pleasure from a gift. And it had been so simple to arrange. He felt like a fool that he hadn’t thought of it earlier, and unreasonably nettled that he’d needed Miss Trim to point out how a good book or two might brighten his mother’s restricted existence.

“What fun we shall have, Nell.”

“Indeed, my lady,” the girl said neutrally. Leath cast her another glance and was surprised to see that she studied him without her usual reserve. Instead, she regarded him as if he was a puzzle she couldn’t put together. He wondered why. The mystery here was Nell Trim, not the Marquess of Leath.

“Can you stay, James?”

“Of course,” he said, although now he paid closer attention to his estates, he was surprised how much work it took to run them. Even more surprising was how he enjoyed meeting the challenge of his vast inheritance.

“Lovely. Perhaps Nell will read on. She’s most entertaining.”

He stifled a groan. The last thing he needed was that low, husky, damnably suggestive voice describing seduction.

“I’m sure his lordship doesn’t want to listen to me,” Miss Trim said.

She’d avoided him recently. Was she still smarting after their talk in the library? Or had his mother told her that he’d tried to send her away?

“You should read James some of those agricultural reports that arrived yesterday,” his mother said drily.

“How did you know about those?” he asked, although he shouldn’t be surprised. His mother remained mistress of the house, despite rarely leaving her rooms.

“I have my spies,” she said. “They tell me that the ghosts are back.”

“What nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. As a new bride, I saw Lady Mary on the battlements.”

“On a foggy night, Mamma.”

“I’m not the only one.”

“At least you were sober.”

His mother’s jaw firmed. They’d had this argument before. She fancied that the castle, parts of which dated to the fourteenth century, was haunted. “Lady Mary’s visiting us again.”

“On the battlements?”

“No, in the library. For the last three nights, lights have been seen after midnight.”

He thought he heard a strangled gasp from Miss Trim, but when he glanced at her, she’d lowered her eyes in her perfect servant pose.

“Who the devil’s skulking in the gardens at that hour?” he asked.

“Garson was watching for poachers.”

“And drinking to pass the time,” Leath said with grim amusement. “I’ll have a word with him. If my gamekeeper has taken to the bottle, he’s not safe wandering the property with a gun.”

“You mock, James, but you know it’s true that Lady Mary’s husband strangled her.”

“I know that’s true. I don’t know it’s true that she lingers to keep an eye on her descendants. And if she does, I doubt that she’s developed a taste for literature. Especially as I have it on good authority that my library is full of boring books.”

He didn’t look at Miss Trim. But his brain worked, even as he argued with his mother’s conclusions. Despite his joke, Garson wasn’t a drunkard. If he said he saw lights in the library, odds were that he had.

A determination to catch Miss Trim in the act gripped him. If he could prove to his mother that the girl meant no good, he could send her away.

And conquer this inconvenient itch to bed her.