Читать книгу The Irresistible Earl - Regina Scott - Страница 11

Meredee knew she ought to be quivering in her slippers that she was going to dine with Lord Allyndale. At the very least she should be plotting stratagems to get him to confess all. But when she was with him, she found herself talking instead.

How could she not admire a man who wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts about science and philosophy, who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company? He was a refreshing change from the gentlemen her stepmother entertained. They lived at the very surface of life, talking in generalities. Algernon’s friends were worse. To them, she was an antidote—the poor spinster to be pitied. She hadn’t realized until this morning how much she craved more.

A salt-tanged wind was blowing in from the sea as she and Mrs. Price alighted from their carriage in front of the Dearborn house. The moist air brushed the carefully arranged curls at the sides of Meredee’s face. A tingle of excitement shot through her. A sea breeze in the evening often meant a storm was brewing. She might be able to go hunting in the morning! But before she could do more than think about what that would mean to her promise to her father, her gaze lit on the house, and all other thoughts fled.

Most of the people who flocked to Scarborough stayed in lodging houses or inns. A few rented a house overlooking the spa. Lord Allyndale’s house was of square rosy stone, three stories tall, with fluted columns across the front that softened the imposing lines. Candlelight glowed from every multipaned window, casting shadows across the stone steps. Meredee was glad she’d worn her best evening gown, a buttercup-yellow satin, striped with bands of delicate gold embroidery from the square bodice to the narrow hem.

Before she could take more than two steps, the front door opened, and Lady Phoebe rushed down the stairs to enfold Meredee in her arms. “Oh, you’ve come, you’ve come!”

Meredee managed to disengage with a smile. “Well, it truly isn’t difficult to travel the half mile unscathed.”

Lady Phoebe linked her arm with Meredee’s and drew her up the stairs and into the house, leaving Mrs. Price to pick up her amethyst-colored skirts and trail behind. The inside of the house was even more grand than the outside. The entry hall was tiled in black-and-white marble, the pale blue walls edged in white leaves and graced with landscape paintings of rolling hills and stormy skies.

“What a lovely home,” Meredee murmured.

“It isn’t ours,” Lady Phoebe explained, bouncing on her pink kid slippers. The girl was dressed as usual in a becoming shade of pink, her gown boasting no less than three rows of flouncing at the generous hem.

“We didn’t even get to bring our favorite paintings or furnishings.”

“You didn’t get to bring your favorites, you mean,” her brother corrected her, descending the graceful curving stair. “I have an aversion to living in pink.”

Tonight he was impeccable in black, from his tailored coat to the breeches, black satin-striped waist coat, and patent shoes. The dark color made the white of his shirt and simply tied cravat blaze against his skin and the gold of his hair. He bowed over their hands, and Meredee curtsied, mouth suddenly dry.

“We are expecting one more guest,” he said as he released her. “Allow me to escort you to the drawing room to wait.”

Mrs. Price tittered a reply and accepted his offered arm. Meredee and Lady Phoebe fell into step behind them. The girl squeezed her arm. “I’m so glad you could join us,” she said, as if her glowing face and bright smile could have given Meredee any doubt. “I think my brother is smitten with you.”

Meredee missed a step and nearly trod on her hem. “Oh, Lady Phoebe,” she whispered. “You mustn’t say such things.”

“Why not?” Lady Phoebe peered over at her, suddenly serious. “Most women find my brother irresistible. Don’t you?”

Meredee eyed his back, so imposing in the tailored coat. His hair was just long enough that wisps brushed the high collar as he walked. How could a man who was known to be so hard have such soft-looking hair? “I hardly know your brother,” she said aloud, cheeks blazing, “so I’m sure I’m in no position to say.”

Lady Phoebe gave her arm another squeeze as they reached the drawing room. “Then perhaps you can become better acquainted.”

“Perhaps,” Meredee answered, though she was beginning to believe that the most important thing she could do was to determine who exactly Chase Dearborn, Earl of Allyndale, was.

Yet try as she might, she simply could not find the monster Algernon insisted on. Lord Allyndale made polite conversation with her stepmother, his face set in firm lines that said he was listening to every bit of nonsense as if to a speech on an important issue in Parliament. He gave equal attention to his sister’s meandering story about shopping for a new pair of gloves. His patience would have been endearing, if Meredee could forget the scowl he’d worn that afternoon at the spa that had made the tall youth flee as if in fear for his life.

Had he looked at Algernon that way? Would he look at her that way if he knew she was Algernon’s stepsister?

“Still so unhappy?” he ventured when Lady Phoebe had drawn Mrs. Price over to the spinet to show her some new sheet music. “Do you find Scarborough such a sad place, Miss Price?”

She could not give him her thoughts. “A little,” she admitted instead. “My father brought me here every summer. I haven’t been back since he died. It doesn’t feel the same.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

She could not stand his kindness. “I’ll see him again someday. Until then, there is much to interest me.”

“Such as?”

She glanced up at him. There was that look again, head cocked, blue eyes dark and serious, as if what she had to say was critical to his very existence. The look made her want to be brilliant, if only to gratify his attention. “Good company, new music, the sun on the waves.” She grinned. “And there are always the improving works of Hannah More.”

“Or Mary Wollstonecraft,” he agreed with a matching grin.

The butler coughed from the doorway, and everyone looked up. “Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam has arrived, ladies, my lord.”

Meredee held her smile from long practice, but Lady Phoebe gasped as if she hadn’t seen him in years and rushed to tug him into the room. “Oh, Trevor, come meet Miss Meredee Price. She saved my life.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Price,” he said with a bow. “And this must be your lovely sister.”

“Very nearly.” Mrs. Price beamed as she joined the group.

“Again?” Lady Phoebe interrupted with a frown. “You said it was a pleasure to see her again. Do you know her?”

Meredee glanced at Lord Allyndale. Surely it was his place to explain their meeting yesterday afternoon to his sister. She only wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner. The faintest of pinks tinged his cheeks, as if he’d been caught in an indiscretion. “Sir Trevor and I stopped by the Bell Inn yesterday,” he said to his sister. “Just to be certain Miss Price had not taken ill from her efforts on your behalf.”

“But why should she take ill?” Lady Phoebe persisted. “I was the one in need of rescue.”

“Ah,” her brother said, looking over her head, “there’s Beagan again. Dinner is apparently ready. Shall we, ladies?” He offered his arm to Meredee. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he smiled. “You are the guest of honor, are you not? The savior of Scarborough Bay, I believe I heard.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Meredee said, wishing Mrs. Murdock had never coined the phrase. But she set her hand on his arm nonetheless and was surprised to feel a tension matching her own. What could possibly have discomposed the earl? Had he come to the inn for some other purpose?

“And I am the lucky one,” Sir Trevor said, offering one arm to Lady Phoebe and the other to Mrs. Price. “I have the pleasure of escorting two beauties to dinner.”

Phoebe’s giggle was nearly eclipsed by Mrs. Price’s.

The dining room was long and high, with the same pale blue walls edged in white and the ceiling painted with puffy clouds and pink-cheeked cherubs. Lord Allyndale led her to a gilded chair on his left, while Lady Phoebe took up the chair at his right and Mrs. Price sat beside the girl, leaving Sir Trevor to sit on Meredee’s other side.

Meredee was spared conversation as footmen brought in a tureen of steaming onion soup, platters of roast beef and salmon, and plates of buttered prawns, fresh asparagus and broccoli. She was a little surprised when Lord Allyndale did not ask her or his sister which dishes they preferred but filled their plates with what must have appealed to him.

“Is the beef not to your liking?” he asked her when she had stared down at the loaded gold-rimmed china for a few moments.

Meredee glanced up at him. “I’m sure it’s delicious, my lord. I would love to try the salmon, too.”

He blinked as if it had never dawned on him she might have a specific preference. “Certainly. Trevor, be a good man and find room on Miss Price’s place for the fish.”

Meredee turned to the baronet before he could reach for the plate. “If you’d be so good as to pass the plate my way, Sir Trevor, I’m certain I can serve myself.”

“Your servant, Miss Price,” he assured her.

She was thankful when Lady Phoebe monopolized the conversation for most of the first course. She had to find a way to ask the earl why he’d come to Scarborough. But every gambit seemed too obvious, too calculated. She glanced his way several times, and each time he smiled as if in encouragement. Yet she couldn’t seem to bring the words to her lips.

“Miss Price was telling me her theories on the earth’s magnetic fields,” the earl put in at one point.

Lady Phoebe blinked as if, for once, she could find nothing to say on the topic. Sir Trevor dug more deeply into his asparagus as if searching for hidden treasure.

“I’m certain you would know far more, my lord,” Mrs. Price said with a warning look to Meredee. “No one in my household could lay claim to being a bluestocking.” She laughed as if the very notion was absurd.

“Interesting,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve always found the study of scientific topics to be commendable, in either sex.”

“Well, well, certainly,” Mrs. Price stammered. “Might I have some more of that delightful salmon, my lord? I must have the recipe for my cook.”

Chase passed her the plate. As he returned to his meal, his left eyelid drifted closed for a second. Heavens, had he just winked at her?

The second course was even more elaborate, with herbed pheasant, sole smothered in mushrooms, a ragout of celery, tart apple pie, sweet trifle and strawberry ice cream in a silver bucket. This time, she noticed, Lord Allyndale made certain to pass each dish to her for her choice, his hands firm on the fine china. Yet she couldn’t help wondering whether they would hold a pistol so steadily if it were aimed at her stepbrother’s heart.

“Still not to your liking?” he murmured. “You have the most determined frown on your face.”

Meredee forced her lips upward. “I have never had so many wonderful dishes, my lord.”

He nodded as if satisfied. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on to Mrs. Downthistle.”

So he took the trouble to praise his staff, and he knew their names. Her father, God rest his soul, had found it more convenient to call them by their purpose—Cook or Coachman.

Determined not to wait another minute, she set her fork down. “What brought you to Scarborough, my lord?” she asked.

Mrs. Price, who had been drawn into an animated conversation with Lady Phoebe, broke off in midsentence to listen to his answer. Even Sir Trevor paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Lord Allyndale must have noticed he was suddenly the focus of every eye, because he raised his brows.

“There’s no great secret,” he said. “I dislike London summers. Scarborough is close enough to our estate to be both a distraction and a convenience.”

Lady Phoebe made a face. “He means he can hurry home whenever he likes.” She shook her finger at him. “You lack all spirit of adventure!”

His chuckle made Meredee smile. “Perhaps I do have a preference for my own fire.”

“And what of you, Miss Price?” Sir Trevor asked on her left. “What brings you and your sister to Scarborough?”

Mrs. Price batted her lashes and answered for Meredee. “Why, to be entertained by young scamps like you, sir.”

Sir Trevor smiled at her sally but turned his attention immediately back to Meredee. As Lord Allyndale offered to refill her stepmother’s plate, his friend lowered his voice. “And are you also here for the company, Miss Price?”

Those green eyes were far too watchful. “I go wherever my stepmother needs me, sir.”

“Ah, then you were not left with an independence.”

How rude! Did he think to win an heiress with so bold a question? She frowned at him, but her eyes were drawn to the stickpin in his snowy cravat. It gleamed dully, as if the diamond had been exchanged with paste. And surely those stitches at the lapel of his coat indicated where it had been skillfully patched. The baronet, it seemed, had to economize. Small wonder finances were of such interest to him.

“No,” she said. “My father left me no dowry.”

“A shame,” he replied. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your father or the Price family. Where are you from?”

Why did he persist? He could not be interested in her. His financial circumstances would demand a wealthy bride. And his pride would likely demand a beautiful one.

“Are you a student of genealogy, Sir Trevor?” she asked, taking up her fork and spearing the sole.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Genealogy, the study of one’s antecedents. You seem keenly interested in mine. Is it your hobby?”

His mouth opened and closed, as if he could not find the wit to respond.

“Many gentlemen have hobbies,” she offered, taking pity on him. “You may have seen Colonel Williams at the spa—tall fellow, favors his right leg—he studies rocks. Mr. Cranell, who you may have seen partnering my stepmother at cards, deciphers the meaning and origin of names. My father collected seashells.”

“How delightful,” he said, managing to sound anything but delighted. “And what do you collect, Miss Price?”

“Apparently, gentlemen intent on quizzing me,” she replied.

“More sole, Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale put in, forcing her to turn away from Sir Trevor before the baronet could formulate a reply. Lord Allyndale’s mouth was held in a tight line as he offered her the plate, but his blue eyes twinkled. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

But was it Sir Trevor or her who had amused him?

What a cipher Miss Price was. She smiled readily at quips, responded appropriately to most questions. She was the picture of loveliness, all shades of gold, sitting beside him. But when she thought no one was watching, her face betrayed her least emotion. At moments, he caught her gazing at him with such perplexity that he wondered what she was seeing.

“She has no money, no family to brag of and a cutting wit,” Trevor said after the ladies had left them to their conversation. “I see no need to prolong the acquaintance.”

Chase shook his head. “Is that all you noticed? She has a admirable presence, a commendable loyalty and an enviable intelligence.”

“Yes, and strength and vitality. By all means hire her as your sister’s companion, but look for more in a wife.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for a wife?” Chase asked with a laugh.

“Miss Price is obviously no danger,” Trevor replied. “Why else show such interest?” He moved from his chair to the one Meredee had vacated and leaned closer. “Listen—I had word from a friend today. That’s why I was detained. Delacorte is back in London.”

Chase snorted. “His creditors will no doubt be delighted to hear it.”

“But you should not. It seems he blames you for his troubles, or so he confided over too much wine. He claims Phoebe loves him, and you forced them apart.”

Chase felt his mouth tighten. “He has no right to speak of Phoebe, not after trying to force her into marriage.”

“Agreed. I only tell you to warn you.”

Chase nodded. “And I appreciate that. I promise you, I won’t allow the man to hurt my sister.”

But Phoebe would not make his job any easier, Chase thought as he and Trevor went to join the ladies in the withdrawing room. His sister seemed stuck in perpetual girlhood, always focused on her own needs. He’d never told her about Victor Delacorte’s plan to abduct her and force her to marry him. Chase and Trev had stopped him before he could carry through with his plans, and Chase had decided not to explain it all to Phoebe, concerned he might frighten her into a shell. But would she act any more sensibly if Delacorte showed his face again?