Читать книгу The Dangerous Lord Darrington - Sarah Mallory - Страница 9

Beth’s composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for a thin wrap that clung to every contour of his body? As soon as she realised he was not going to take the tray from her she should have placed it on the ground and walked away, not carried it into the room. She was well aware of Lord Darrington’s reputation as a dangerous rake—as well walk into a lion’s den! A laugh bubbled inside her. He was certainly built like a noble beast. That clinging wrap had left little to the imagination and, although he was so tall, his broad shoulders and slim hips were to her mind perfectly proportioned. Her mouth had grown quite dry when she had watched him pulling her own ivory comb through his hair—for one reckless moment she wished it was her fingers that had been driving through those thick, dark locks. Beth closed her eyes, shocked by her reaction to this stranger. Was this what happened to widows when they had been alone for several years? The caresses and intimate moments she had shared with her husband had never seemed very important to her, yet now she was imagining herself locked in the arms of the earl and sharing heady, passionate kisses …

Beth took another deep breath and forced herself to be calm. The tingle of excitement she had felt when he looked at her was purely nerves, brought on by the unexpected events of the evening. She had been caught unawares. Now she must pull herself together: there was much to do before she could sit down for supper.

‘So, my lord, you found something to fit you!’

Lady Arabella Wakeford looked formidable in her black-and-silver gown when Lord Darrington entered the great hall some two hours later. He walked up to her chair and gave a flourishing bow.

‘As you see madam. The embroidered coat is perhaps more suited to St James’s than Yorkshire, but much better that I present myself to you attired in this than a dressing gown.’

Standing beside her grandmother’s chair, Beth thought the earl looked magnificent in the coat, waistcoat and breeches of striped-blue velvet. The coat and waistcoat were embroidered with yellow flowers and leaves around cut-glass lozenges that twinkled in the candlelight. The clothes hung a little loosely save across his broad shoulders where the coat was stretched tight, but she agreed with him: she could not have endured to sit at supper with him dressed only in that revealing wool wrap. She lifted her eyes to his face and the wicked glint in his eye made her believe he could read her thoughts. She blushed hotly.

‘Since there is no man here to introduce us and my granddaughter seems to have lost her tongue, I suppose for formality’s sake I must do it myself.’ Lady Arabella held out her hand to the earl. ‘You have the honour of addressing Lady Arabella Wakeford, widow of the last Sir Horace Wakeford and daughter of the Marquess of Etonwood. And this,’ she continued, once he had kissed her fingers, ‘is my granddaughter, Mrs Elizabeth Forrester.’

He bowed. ‘Mrs Forrester.’

Beth dipped a curtsy, not sure if she was most relieved or disappointed that he did not reach for her hand. However, his forbearance pleased her grandmother, who thawed a little towards her guest.

‘My granddaughter is a widow. It is Mr Forrester’s court dress that you are wearing,’ Lady Arabella informed him.

‘Indeed?’ murmured the earl. ‘I am honoured to step into his shoes. And very pleased, too.’

Beth’s eyes narrowed. Was he trying to flirt with her? She said pointedly, ‘You may find they are too big for you, my lord.’

‘The clothes are a little large for you around the middle,’ agreed Lady Arabella, catching only part of Beth’s words. ‘But Forrester was inclined to corpulence.’

Darrington’s eyes were on fire with unholy amusement while Beth seethed inwardly. She was thankful that her grandmother did not notice and continued to address the earl.

‘I saw you entering your friend’s room a little earlier, my lord. How does he do now?’

‘He is sleeping, ma’am. I saw Dr Compton before he left and he explained that Mr Davies has broken his right leg.’

‘Yes,’ Beth replied. ‘And he thinks there are a couple of broken ribs. He is also a little feverish, but I had feared it would be much worse. You may have confidence in Dr Compton, my lord. He is an excellent physician.’

The earl nodded. ‘He has set the leg, but I fear Davies cannot be moved for a while yet—’ He broke off as a door opened.

‘I am so sorry to be late, Grandmama!’ said a pretty, musical voice. ‘With all the excitement no one remembered to collect the eggs, so I told Cook I would do it, and then my gown got so muddy I was obliged to change it!’

Beth stepped forwards.

‘Sophie—let me present you to the Earl of Darrington. My sister, my lord.’

She watched as Sophie made her curtsy to the earl and was relieved when they showed no more than polite interest in each other. In Beth’s eyes Sophie was uncommonly pretty, with her dark-honey curls and pansy-brown eyes, but she was only eighteen and had not yet enjoyed a season in town. Beth was afraid that the sudden entry into her world of a handsome and attractive peer of the realm might well cause her to lose her head and her heart, a complication that Beth could well do without. She listened as Sophie enquired politely after the health of Mr Davies and commiserated with the earl upon his soaking.

‘Such a pity that Beth only kept Forrester’s old court suit,’ she said, eyeing the elaborate coat with disfavour.

‘I would have borrowed a lackey’s raiment if one could have been found to fit me. The alternative was to keep to my room until my own clothes are dry.’

The smile that accompanied these words startled Beth, for it softened the earl’s rather sombre features and warmed his eyes. She felt again that delicious tingle running through her.

‘Ah, such elaborate garments are not seen much now outside London, more’s the pity,’ sighed Lady Arabella. ‘But something plainer might have been more comfortable for you, my lord. Beth my dear, could you not find something of Simon’s for the earl?’

‘They would not fit, Grandmama.’ Beth caught the earl’s look of enquiry and added briefly, ‘My brother, sir. It was his wrap I gave you.’

‘He died eighteen months ago,’ added Lady Arabella.

‘My condolences, ma’am. Was he—?’

Beth turned quickly to her grandmother, interrupting him.

‘Here’s Kepwith to say supper is ready for us. Shall we go in?’

Lord Darrington came forwards to offer Lady Arabella his arm.

‘We keep to the old ways here, my lord,’ she said as he led her into the dining room. ‘An early dinner and supper at ten. At my age I do not want to be eating dinner in the evening and supper at midnight, as I believe is quite the fashion now in town.’

‘But that makes perfect sense if one is at a ball, Grandmama,’ put in Sophie. She smiled across the table at the earl. ‘Not that I have yet been to a ball—a real ball, that is. But I shall do so next year, when Beth takes me to London.’

The earl turned toward Beth.

‘You go often to town, Mrs Forrester?’

‘No, I have never been. I—’

‘Beth hasn’t been away from Malpass for years,’ put in Sophie. ‘Except to go to Ripon to stay with her friend—but next year she has promised to take me to London for the Season. Of course, she will be Mrs Radworth by then—’

‘Sophie!’ Beth’s knife clattered to her plate. ‘Pray do not chatter on so. Lord Darrington does not want to know all our business.’

‘But it is no secret,’ stated Lady Arabella. ‘Do you know Miles Radworth, Lord Darrington?’

‘No, ma’am. I have not had that pleasure.’

‘He has a property in Somerset, I believe, but he is currently renting a house in Fentonby. He came to bring us news of my grandson’s death.’ Lady Arabella stopped, her old eyes suddenly dimmed.

‘I am very sorry, ma’am.’

The earl’s words hung in the uncomfortable silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft padding of the butler as he walked from chair to chair, refilling their wine glasses. Beth was about to speak when Lady Arabella rallied and began again.

‘My grandson was drowned at sea, you know. In the Bay of Biscay. He had been making the grand tour. It was very good of Mr Radworth to come all this way to tell us.’

‘And it was not all bad news,’ added Sophie brightly. ‘He took one look at Beth and fell violently in love!’

‘Indeed?’ The earl’s grey eyes rested on Beth.

‘Yes.’ Sophie nodded. ‘And they are to be married.’

‘Then I offer you my congratulations, Mrs Forrester.’

‘Thank you.’ Beth uttered the words quietly, keeping her eyes lowered.

‘You and your friend are quite far from home, I believe,’ remarked Lady Arabella.

‘Yes, Davies has a hunting lodge at Highridge. I am staying there as his guest.’

‘You must consider yourself a guest here,’ came the gracious reply, ‘until your friend is fit enough to return to Highridge.’

‘No!’ Beth coloured, and added quickly. ‘What I mean is, surely there can be no need for Lord Darrington to stay. We can look after Mr Davies perfectly well.’

‘But I should like to remain with my friend, if Lady Arabella permits,’ the earl responded.

‘But it is only a few miles to Highridge, and I am sure you would be much more comfortable there.’

‘Nonsense, it is more than ten miles.’ replied Lady Arabella. ‘Lord Darrington must stay here, if he wishes. We have room to spare.’

‘But … but we do not have so many staff—certainly not as many as an earl is accustomed to.’

‘Oh, this earl is not at all high in the instep, I assure you,’ came the mild reply. ‘And I am quite undemanding.’

Again that amused glint in his eyes. Beth found it quite infuriating.

‘To have you in the house as well as an invalid will create a great deal of extra work, no matter how undemanding you may be,’ she ground out.

‘I shall send to Highridge for Davies’s valet to join us,’ replied the earl, smiling in a way that made Beth long to hit him. ‘He will be able to nurse his master and look after my very minor requirements. And I am sure that some of the other staff from Highridge would come, too, if they could be of use.’

‘There is not the least need for anyone to come,’ retorted Lady Arabella briskly. ‘Really, Elizabeth, you are behaving very oddly this evening. My lord, I assure you we have sufficient servants to deal with everything that is required. You catch us at a disadvantage today because I gave some of my people permission to go to the market, leaving only a couple of maids and one footman to attend us. I have no doubt the rest are all returned now, but by all means bring your friend’s manservant—and your own, for that matter, if you wish—we will find room for them all.’

‘Since you do not object, ma’am, I shall summon Peters, who is Mr Davies’s valet, and Holt, my groom. I shall not require my own man to attend me, although I will ask him to pack up my clothes and send them over.’

‘That will be perfectly acceptable, my lord,’ Lady Arabella responded regally, her frowning gaze fixed upon Beth. ‘As the daughter of a marquess,’ she said pointedly, ‘I think I may be expected to know how to entertain an earl.’

‘Yes, Grandmama.’ Beth looked down at her plate and acknowledged herself beaten. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Guy said little for the remainder of the meal; when Lady Arabella announced that the ladies would retire to the drawing room and leave him to enjoy a glass of brandy alone, he bent his mind once more to Beth Forrester’s outburst. She had been quite determined that he should not stay. It could only be that she was uneasy with his presence. They lived very isolated here, but perhaps she was aware of his dubious reputation. Perhaps he should not have teased her so. Certainly it had been wrong of him to keep her talking alone in the bedroom, but she was a married woman, or at least a widow, not an ingenuous schoolgirl. He sipped at his brandy. One thing was certain, he wanted to remain at Malpass Priory at least until he knew that Davey was recovering well. He would apologise to Mrs Forrester and assure her that he would in future be the model of propriety. That should ease her mind.

Having made his resolve, Guy drained his glass and made his way to the drawing room, where he was disappointed to find only Lady Arabella waiting for him, the younger ladies having retired. However, she assured him that his room had been prepared and beckoned to the hovering footman to show him the way. With an inward smile Guy bowed over the beringed hand held out to him and prepared to leave. He had been dismissed for the evening.