Читать книгу The Wicked Truth - Lyn Stone - Страница 11

It might work, Neil thought. It just might. She would sleep in his dressing room, of course. Or perhaps even his bed. She’d be expected to attend him at his bath, dress him, be in intimate contact, most hours of the day. Well, at least she was no stranger to men. Any woman who could deal with a mánage à trois shouldn’t quail at dealing with one man’s requirements, whatever they were.

What of his work? Could she accompany him to hospital for rounds when he began his work there? No, that course was out of the question now, anyway. An earl wouldn’t be expected to carry on with employment of any sort, even as a physician. London society would choke at the very thought.

He could content himself with research, he supposed, and the occasional emergency. Research. The idea rather appealed to him, the more he thought about it. God knew he’d done enough cutting, stitching and dosing of patients in the Crimea.

Truth told, he’d realized too late in the game that he hadn’t the proper objectivity to practice surgery. A patient’s pain was his pain. He suffered right along with each and every one. Every death he witnessed was a partial death for him. The grief had nearly done him in before he’d resigned his commission. He couldn’t even pretend he looked forward to more of the same.

Since that time, he had traveled a bit, trying to catch up with the advances in modem medicine before setting up a civilian practice and attending hospital duties. But research? That seemed the ideal solution. With the Havington fortune available, he could devote himself to it.

The very thought of Terry’s death providing any kind of advantage troubled Neil. Perhaps he should look at it another way. Could he turn the horrible tragedy of Terry’s death to some good purpose? He still felt guilty about using the Hav-ington wealth he’d inherited, but if he must, what. better way?

Besides incorporating his new career move with the murder investigation, Neil had to figure a way to deal with his private feelings toward the lady-cum-valet. She heated his blood like an aphrodisiac. And was probably just as dangerous.

In spite of that—or perhaps because of it, given his rash behavior so far—he would offer to make her his mistress. Out of necessity, they would be sharing quarters. His body would be clamoring for her constantly, even if his mind was repelled by what she had become. No doubt she’d agree to the arrangement. Hadn’t she already serviced half the population, anyway?

All he had to worry about was getting rid of his anger over that very fact.

He admitted he was being too prudish by half when it came to Elizabeth Marleigh. A woman’s past had never troubled him before when he’d decided to bed one. He’d had women of his own class before, accommodating widows and those of the fashionably impure. She was not a whit different than they were.

Who was he fooling? he wondered, even as he thought it. Elizabeth Marleigh was like no one else he’d ever met. At least, in the way she moved him.

He’d just have to accept that she was what she was, that she had a wayward streak wide as the Thames at high tide. And he’d have to protect her in spite of it. Someone had tried to kill her, and she was in grave danger of arrest for Terry’s murder. In that, at least, he knew she was an innocent. He must keep her safe.

The fact that she roused this feeling in him, this caring beyond his natural compassion, scared him half to death. No way could he allow himself to become emotionally entangled with a woman of her caliber. He had to remember she was reckless, a flouter of convention and as shameless a trollop as he had ever had the misfortune to know. Hell, she didn’t even deny it.

Why, then, did she appear so vulnerable and defenseless? So sad? How could she twist his heart with her tears even as she stirred his lust to a frenzy? It was downright disturbing….

MacLinden was gone when Neil ceased his mental mean-derings. A soft rustle of fabric drew his attention to the doorway.

“I’m ready to go,” Elizabeth said. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying and her lower lip a bit swollen from the way she worried it with her teeth.

Neil ached to close his arms around her and give her com-fort. He also wanted to throttle her for making him want to. He picked up her valise where she had dropped it earlier. “We ought to get under way, then.”

“I expect so,” she agreed.

“How is your acting ability? You’re to pose as my valet. MacLinden and I have decided it’s best to keep you disguised, and that’s the best role we could devise.”

A wavering smile lifted the corners of her lips. “How devious. I fear you’ll have to teach me the duties, my lord.”

“I doubt there’s much left for you to learn, my lady,” he said, answering her sarcasm.

“Subservience does not come naturally to me, I warn you,” she retorted. He noticed a spark of determination, perhaps even calculation, lurking in the depths of her eyes.

“If the rewards are substantial, surely you can learn to, ah, service my needs?” Was that pointed enough to stick in her craw? he wondered.

“Coercion does not become you, my lord.” Anger made her voice harder than he’d ever heard it. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she looked a bit wounded.

“I prefer persuasion, but whatever works.” Lord, why was he being so nasty? Because she made him want her, made him abandon all his ethics and good sense. There seemed to be no limit to his foolishness where she was concerned. She’d hate him before they ever got this ruse under way. Maybe she did already. Judging by her expression, she was certainly off to a running start.

“Let us understand one thing, Lord Havington,” she said with a sharp lift of her chin. “I wish to stay out of gaol for obvious reasons, but if it comes to a choice between a cell there and forced intimacy with you, I’ll take my chances in prison.”

Neil resented the heated rejection. She was supposed to thank him for this, damn her fractious hide. And from all reports, he was the only one she had rejected! “They still hang women, you know,” he warned, hating himself more with every word, but unable for some reason to stop baiting her.

She rewarded him with a scornful frown. “Society has already hanged me, my lord. All that’s left is for me to stop kicking. Before I do that, I plan to find out who killed my best friend. I’ve no time to spend on my back with my legs in the air while I’m about it. The valet idea is a stroke of genius and I applaud it, but I will not be your whore.” Elizabeth took a deep breath. “And if you try to force me, I’ll confess to murder and name you my partner in crime. Then we’ll see how you like dangling from a noose!”

With that, she snatched her valise out of his hand, turned on her heel and marched out into the late afternoon.

Neil couldn’t reconcile the jolt of admiration he felt with his former opinion of her. He desired her, pitied her when she wept and hated her when he thought. of all her liaisons. Now he admired her? He shook his head, hoping the marbles would roll back into place.

She’d really set him back on his heels with that, little speech of hers. Well, the battle lines were drawn now. He’d see just how long her lusty little nature would hold out when confined to his company exclusively.

He might not be the most desirable man around, but, by God, he’d be the only one available to her. And he’d make her beg.

They arrived in London very late. The inspector’s endless questions and the bouncing of the carriage prevented any semblance of rest.

Elizabeth spent the remainder of the night with Inspector MacLinden at the doctor’s bachelor rooms while the new earl roused Terry’s servants and packed them off to his country house.

The divan proved wretchedly uncomfortable, but Elizabeth flatly refused to take the doctor’s bed. She felt horribly out of sorts when MacLinden awakened her before dawn to take her to the Havington town house. Exhaustion and fear of discovery made her weak at the knees as they left the safety of Neil’s rented rooms. However, luck held, and she and the inspector encountered no one about at the ungodly hour.

When MacLinden abandoned her to Neil Bronwyn’s care, the wretch of a doctor had another unwelcome surprise to impart. The rakehell proposed they share a bedroom! Not bloody likely.

“You cannot insist on such a thing! The adjoining chamber will do just as well, and we’ll both be much more comfortable.” She watched him deposit her suitcase on a shelf in the back of the huge cherry wardrobe and busy himself stacking Terry’s hatboxes in front of it. His words sounded muffled. “I promised Lindy you’d remain within my sight at all times. You’ll sleep here, in the master chamber with me, and that’s the end of it.”

“But, my lord, you can’t expect that! It’s not—”

“Proper? Don’t be ridiculous. And call me Neil, at least in private. The title only reminds me of how I came by it. Even you can’t be so cruel as to throw it up every time you address me. It was bad enough having to take over Terry’s bed.”

“Well, you are the earl, whether you like it or not, and believe me, I can think of worse things to call you.” She made a rude noise with her lips. “And this is highly improper, Neil,” she said, emphasizing his name with a sneer. “Surely you could grant me privacy to sleep.”

“And have you sneaking out in the night to God knows what mischief? Your little escapades will have to cease, at least for the duration of the investigation. I won’t have you arranging assignations, however secret. There’s still that Thurston fellow you mentioned, who might very well be a prime suspect. I doubt you’re so eager to get rid of him now that Terry’s…gone.”

Elizabeth thought seriously about kicking the derriere he presented as he bent to open the bottom drawer of the bureau. “Thurston is my butler. He’s old as Hadrian’s Wall and in terrible health. I thought you were at my home to see to him the night we met,” she said.

Abruptly Neil straightened, and faced her. She noticed a fleeting expression of what appeared to be surprised relief before he covered it with a scowl.

“Be that as it may, Elizabeth, you’ll have to sleep in here. You’ve little need to preach propriety after all you’ve done. Even were we living openly together, copulating on the front lawn, no one could think worse of you than they do now.”

“You’re cruel,” she said softly, and turned away so he wouldn’t see her tears. “Mean,” she added for emphasis.

Suddenly he reached for her arm and took it, a gentle gesture that she shrugged off as he spoke. “I apologize, Elizabeth. That was uncalled for and I have no earthly idea what made me say it.”

“I don’t care,” she said, lifting her chin and rounding on him. “I’ve had enough of this! I’m sick of trying to explain. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Explanations for my lewd behavior, my shoddy little peccadilloes? Well, my fine lord, you’ll get no vulgar details and no plea for understanding, do you hear? You’ll get nothing from me. And if you continue to bait me so, I’ll surrender and take my chances with the courts!”

He looked abashed. “Fool! That’s suicide at this point and you know it.”

“Yes, I’ve considered that,” she said. “Seriously.”

“Suicide?” he whispered, obviously appalled. Then he grabbed her, his arms locking around her like a vise. His lips felt hard against her ear. “Nothing’s so bad as that, Elizabeth. Believe me, nothing! Promise me you’ll never think it again,” he demanded. “Promise me!”

Elizabeth let herself lean against him, hungry for a touch of human concern, however fleeting, no matter what stirred it. She burrowed her face into his linen shirtfront, ignoring the hard bump of a shirt stud against her cheek. Warmth enveloped her, comforting and yet disturbing, smelling subtly of exotic spice and the light starch of fresh linen. Strong hands on her back grasped urgently as though he searched for the source of her despair so he could tear it away.

Elizabeth fought the urge to slide her arms around him and promise him anything he wanted to hear. No! Trusting was what had gotten her into this mess. He might be a doctor and basically kind, but he was still a man for all that.

“Elizabeth…” The word emerged a soft entreaty, a longing sound caught somewhere between regret and desire.

Frantically, she pushed away, terrified that he meant to prey on her momentary weakness. “I didn’t mean that I wanted to die, you dolt. I merely meant I thought of the repercussions of surrender. Don’t pretend solicitude. False sympathy disgusts me. Don’t touch me again.”

With one hand reaching out in a conciliatory gesture, he watched her with a concentration that was unnerving. After several moments he shrugged his massive shoulders, dropped his hand to his side and looked away. “All right.”

Tension grew in the silence that followed. Nothing broke it but the ceaseless rain pattering against the window. Finally, Neil moved, and she sighed, realizing she’d been holding her breath.

His eyes avoided hers and he began with a forced lightness, “Well then, we’d best see to your disguise. Terry’s things should be a near fit since he is—was…” Neil swallowed hard. The false cheerfulness had disintegrated and he finished through clenched teeth. “He was small. Only a bit taller than you.” The heavy silence returned, uncomfortable and laden with grief.

Elizabeth moved close enough to touch his arm, and he whirled to glare at her, daring her to complete the move. “If his…if the clothes don’t fit, can you sew?”

“Of course I can sew,” she said with a touch of indignation. He must think her totally lacking in women’s skills. Well, socially acceptable skills, anyway.

She looked on as he plundered Terry’s things, tossing unmentionables, a folded shirt and stockings from the bureau to the bed. His sangfroid apparently restored, he turned to the wardrobe and thumbed through the hanging suits. With a satisfied nod, he plucked out a somber gray wool and tossed it down beside the linens.

His face reddened and he bit his bottom lip, releasing it with a little sucking sound. “You ought to, well, use something to, ah, diminish your upper proportions, I suppose.”

“Bind my breasts, you mean?” Elizabeth restated with a lift of her brows. She loved to watch him blush. That he could even do so took her completely by surprise. He was a doctor, for heaven’s sake. She couldn’t resist testing the extent of his capillary functions. “What of the, ah, lower proportions, my lord? Perhaps a nice sausage?” She laughed and shook her head. He was positively scarlet, even his neck.

“Deal with it as you see fit,” he said with a strained gruff-ness. Then, under his breath he added, “You truly are shameless.”

“Didn’t want to disappoint you,” she quipped, her good humor resurrected by his embarrassment. “Go find me some boots white I change.”

As soon as Neil disappeared, she hurried out of her clothes. The male apparel held a certain fascination. How wonderful to leave off all the cumbersome petticoats and the blasted corset. She wrapped a length of smooth linen toweling around her chest and pinned it securely. Not much to worry about, she thought, for once blessing her lack of abundance there.

When she buttoned the trouser flap, though, she looked into the full-length mirror and frowned. No, this would never do. Her earlier joke to make the doctor blush turned serious.

Searching the bureau drawers, she selected a stocking, rolled it up and stuffed it down past her waistband. Definitely not, she decided. Casting around the room, she spied Neil’s medical bag by the door. A moment’s plunder turned up a roll of cotton bandages, which she shaped appropriately—she hoped—and replaced the rolled-up stocking. Now then! Much better. She wriggled her hips, turned sideways and back and grinned. Yes, that looked right.

Wetting her hair from the pitcher on the nightstand and plying the hairbrush from her reticule, Elizabeth smoothed her short curls straight forward toward her face. She thought the overall effect looked rather convincing.

“Ready!” Deepening her voice a good octave, she called out to Neil, who had not yet returned from the dressing room.

When he appeared in the doorway, he dropped the boots.

“Well?” She assumed a pose, one hand resting on a slender hip as she’d seen Terry do a hundred times. Cocking her head, she raised her chin and regarded him through narrowed eyes.

If his shocked expression was any indication, the disguise was successful beyond hope. Of course it was. All she had to do was think how Terry would act, copy his mannerisms, his expressions, his voice. Elizabeth nodded. Yes, this was definitely going to work.

Neil swallowed heavily and shook his head. No, this was definitely not going to work.

Oh, she’d somehow gotten her chest flat enough beneath the starched shirt. But his eyes traveled the length of her legs, encased as they were in the fitted gray wool of Terry’s trousers. Shapely, feminine legs, topped by sweetly rounded hips that were all too evident below a belt-cinched waist.

And below the waist…? “What in God’s name have you got in your breeches?”

“What a naughty question, milord! You’ll never know. How’s my hair?”

He jerked his eyes away from her lower body and noticed her head, topped by a soft, wavy cap of red-gold minus its tousled ringlets. The style reminded him of Terry’s Brutus, a cut affected years earlier by Lord Byron, casually brushed forward to frame the face. A bit out-of-date, perhaps, but it neatly disguised her lack of side-whiskers.

“We should darken it,” he muttered, wanting nothing more than to slide his fingers through the shiny stuff and feel the shape of her head against his palms. “Your color’s too distinctive. I’ll see to some dye stuff.”

Grudgingly, he stepped forward and picked up the jacket he’d laid out. “Here, put this on. And these,” he ordered, picking up the boots and handing them over.

He nodded when she had finished dressing. The loose coat hid the worst—or best—of her curves and the straight sides of the boots covered the shape of her calves. Her face still looked like an angel’s, though. A very feminine angel’s. He fumbled around in his pocket and withdrew his spectacles, the ones he wore for close work when his eyes were tired. “Here, try these.”

She hooked the wire frames around her ears and assumed a frowning, purse-mouthed stare. Neil thought she looked charming, like a child playing dress-up and fooling no one but herself.

“I guess you’ll do.” He sighed. “Let’s see you walk.”

Elizabeth strutted around the room, hands swinging in a parody of Terry’s loose-limbed gait, and then rested in a negligent, purely masculine pose. He had to admit her movements matched those of a young dandy. “Perhaps you missed your calling, Elizabeth. Quite the little actress, aren’t you?”

She grinned, her face lighting at what she took for praise. “I may never go back to skirts!”

Neil cleared his throat to cover a chuckle. The scamp was clearly enjoying this despite the reasons for it. Why that should surprise him, he didn’t know. Her adventurous nature was the talk of the town.

He let his gaze wander over her, looking for things to improve. What the devil did she have in her trousers? Whatever it was, it would have been vastly flattering on a man twice her size. “Maybe you ought to reduce your…endowments just a bit, Elizabeth.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Certainly not! And don’t call me Elizabeth.”

He laughed at her indignation and shook his head. “It’s too large, my dear. Much too large. People will stare, believe me.”

“Well, if they’re staring at that, they won’t be staring at my face, now will they?” Inordinately pleased with her reasoning, she pranced back and forth, practicing in the unfamiliar boots. “What will you call me?”

“Percival, I think. You look like a Percival,” he teased.

“No, no, something manly. How about Drummond or Bu-ford?” She opened the humidor on top of the dresser and stuck a cheroot in one corner of her mouth. She gripped it between her teeth so that it took an upward slant, exactly as Terry used to do.

Neil felt a sharp pang of loss at the sight, recalling the first time he’d caught Terry smoking. “Don’t,” he said before he could stop himself.

Her eyes flew to his, and he knew instantly that she understood. Jerking the cheroot out of her mouth, she tossed it back into the humidor without a word.

A moment passed before she broke the silence. “Well, all right, Percival it is then, if you insist. And Betts, short for Elizabeth. Papa used to call me Betts. Yes, Percival Betts!”

Smiling rakishly, she offered her hand for him to shake. “I am born.”

MacLinden rapped on the bedroom door before he entered. “Security downstairs is fine. Your Oliver seems to know what he’s about. Good man,” he said, noting Elizabeth Marleigh’s transformation. “And so you appear, my lady! I must say, though, you’re too well turned out for a valet.”

He walked around her, observing from all angles. His gaze locked on the front of her trousers and he raised a brow. “Perhaps we ought to pass you off as a patient—a medical curiosity, I should think.”

Lady Marleigh looked indignant, Neil laughed out loud and MacLinden couldn’t stifle a grin. “Why, such a virile specimen as yourself ought not to languish as a mere servant,” he continued, teasing. “Why don’t we set you up as the doctor’s protége?”

“Not a bad idea, Lindy,” Neil mused. “A valet wouldn’t accompany me everywhere, but an assistant certainly might.”

The lady shook her head. “I know nothing about medicine!”

“Doc does have a point,” MacLinden said, brushing off her protest with a wave of his hand. “The clothes really are a bit too fine for a hireling, anyway. All right then, we’ll introduce you as the son of a family friend. You’ve studied medicine in Edinburgh and come to London to sharpen your skills in…?”

“Research,” Neil supplied with a satisfied nod. “I’ll be involved in research. That should keep us fairly well isolated for the most part, but give us leave to poke about as we will.”

“What of your patients?” MacLinden asked.

“I have none as yet,” Neil explained. “I’ve been abroad until recently, as you know. I was to take up my new position at St. Stephen’s next week and look about for an office to let for my private practice, but I’ve had to make other plans.”

“Now you’re the earl and such wouldn’t be appropriate, eh? Noblesse oblige and all that?”

“Just so,” Neil agreed dryly. “I’ll set up my own laboratory here in the conservatory, but I needn’t be in a hurry to begin any actual work. The organization of it will be a perfect cover, since I would need an extra pair of hands about. Dr. Percival Betts should serve nicely, don’t you think?”

“Percival?” MacLinden asked, pursing his lips in distaste.

“Dr. Percival Betts at your service, Inspector,” Elizabeth said, offering her hand to shake as she had done earlier.

“She is born,” Neil said with a wry twist of his lips and a quirked eyebrow.

“Better than fully grown, I daresay,” MacLinden remarked with another pointed look at the lady’s crotch. “Do something about that, will you, before Doc’s cronies decide to write you up in the medical texts?”