Читать книгу Beguiled - Susan Paul Spencer - Страница 12

The Earl of Cardemore disliked change, especially when it involved his own home. He disliked having the place lit up so that even the least used hallway was as bright as day in the middle of the night, and having more servants about than he required for his lone care, with maids and footmen constantly cleaning and scrubbing and carrying and fetching.

He felt exposed in the light. The scars on his face were more readily visible and it was impossible to hide his overlarge, bulky self. Even when dressed in the most elegant and gentlemanly of fashions, he felt society’s eyes upon him, staring with the kind of revulsion that made him feel more like a beast than a man. Not that he gave a damn about what society thought, but there were a few people whom he didn’t care to distress with his ugliness, and having the most significant among them residing in his home for several months was, for Cardemore, an acutely unpleasant sensation. Every time Lady Margaret looked at him with one of her steady gazes he wanted to put a hand up and cover his face. She was the only woman—the only person—who had the power to make him wish he was something other than what he was.

He had left his home at the age of fourteen and hadn’t returned until the day of his brother’s funeral. He’d had news of his family over the years, and had been aware that George had married, but he’d never actually seen Lady Margaret until that day. There, standing at George’s graveside, he had set eyes on a woman so perfect that his knees had nearly given way from the shock. The remainder of the service passed as something of a blur; he’d been too busy trying to force the workings of his brain into some semblance of order to pay much attention to the proceedings. But it had been of little use. Whatever spell had befallen him at setting sight on Margaret Walford had taken hold, and had maintained its iron grip since. Every time he saw her the passion he felt seized him anew, as if it were the first time all over again. Even now, as she reclined before the warmth of the library fire, her head tilted lazily against the heavily cushioned chair, her eyes closed with weary languor, he stood in the shadows, watching, his heart pounding more frantically than it would ever do for any spectacle that his mistress, or any other woman, might perform for his pleasure. In her sleepy, slightly disheveled contentment, Margaret Walford wielded more power to stun than an avalanche.

“You had a pleasant evening, then?” he asked, wishing that he knew how to be comfortable with her, how to sit near her and converse the way another man might do. “Lily seemed happy enough.”

Opening her eyes, she smiled. “She did, didn’t she? I was so relieved when she finally danced. Before Lord Graydon arrived I thought the evening would be a complete disaster.” More thoughtfully, she added, “It wasn’t what she’d been hoping for, just as we knew it wouldn’t be, but she was so happy afterward. Having the handsomest man in the room for a partner in her first waltz must have been exactly like one of the dreams she’s so often told me about.” Lady Margaret’s smile grew wistful. “Like the dreams every girl has, I imagine. I only wish you had seen them together, Aaron. They made an enchanting couple, and Lily danced with perfection. You would have been so proud.”

“I’m always proud of Lily,” he replied, taking a sip from the glass of whiskey he held. “Graydon observed the proprieties?”

“Oh, yes. He’s everything that a young lord should be, quite perfect in every detail. I doubt there was a girl at Almack’s who wasn’t eaten alive with envy at his asking Lily—and only Lily—to dance.”

The sadness in her tone caused Cardemore to stiffen instinctively. “You disliked him, Margaret?”

“Of course not, Aaron. I hardly know the boy enough to disapprove of him. But I worry about Lily. I don’t want to be such a dismal naysayer, but—I know you’ll understand what I mean when I say this—I almost wish we could have gotten it all over with tonight instead of giving her a reason for hope. Even if Lord Graydon should follow through on his promise to take her driving, I’m afraid she’ll still be terribly hurt, perhaps during our next outing. Not one man who was introduced to her tonight would ask her to dance before Lord Graydon did. And then she was so afraid to dance with him that I had to make her do so.”

“She seems to have come through the experience well enough.”

Lady Margaret suddenly sat forward. “Yes, but—”

“We have to give her this chance, Margaret,” he said firmly. “We warned her and she didn’t want to listen, but experience is a far better teacher. After tonight she knows what she’s up against, and it’s her decision if she wants to go on or go home. Lily’s not a quitter. Or a weakling. If she were, I’d never have let her leave Cardemore Hall.”

Lady Margaret pinned him with the sort of tightly angry expression that always made him want to kiss the breath out of her. “Lily isn’t you, Aaron, or even remotely like you. She’s a naive, sheltered young woman. She wouldn’t be able to go through the kind of ‘experiences’ you’ve had and come out intact.”

Cardemore couldn’t repress the laughter her words caused. “My dear Lady Margaret, I hardly think you can compare a season in society to spending fifteen years in the company of pirates, thieves and murderers. I admit there are some daunting similarities among the main actors, but at least Lily need never worry that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell might stick a dagger between her shoulders if she doesn’t make a proper curtsy.”

“Words and deeds, Aaron, can be just as painful as a physical attack. In the hands of a Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, perhaps even more so.”

“Mrs. Drummond-Burrell,” remarked Cardemore, “attacks Lily at her own peril. You needn’t worry over the matter.”

Lady Margaret shook her head with clear dissatisfaction. “So we just let Lily go on until she meets with disaster, is that it? Tonight wasn’t humiliating enough. We must let her continue until polite society brings her to her knees?”

He’d been acutely in love with Margaret Walford during every minute that had passed since he’d set eyes on her, but there was something about moments like this, when she gave way to her hot Irish temper, that always made him think about what it might be like to take her to his bed and make love to her. Her unbound mahogany hair would be a glorious sight against the purity of snow-white sheets.

“Society won’t bring Lily to her knees,” he assured her with as bland a tone as he could muster. Walking out of the shadows, he set his empty glass on a nearby table with stark finality. “I’ll not allow it.”

Lady Margaret pushed to her feet and stood full height, her chin lifting stubbornly. “My lord, I understand a little about the power you wield, perhaps too little, but even you can’t make all of society obey you.”

“I don’t require that all of society do so. Only those few whom I deem necessary. And you’re quite right. Despite whatever I’m able to do in smoothing matters over, Lily must find her own way. I didn’t want her to come to London any more than you did, but we couldn’t very well bury her in Somerset when she didn’t want to be buried.”

“She wasn’t buried,” Lady Margaret countered. “She has friends there who love and accept her, and days filled with activities she enjoys. Her life has been full and happy.”

“Not enough, evidently, to keep her from dreaming of London,” he remarked quietly.

She gave a long sigh and, although he wasn’t watching, Cardemore could almost see the softening in her stance. She moved toward him, so near that he could hardly hear her speaking over the thunderous pounding of his heart in his ears.

“I know you’re right, Aaron. I only wish I could find a way to stop worrying on the matter. It’s been a long time since we’ve argued about Lily.” He heard the smile in her voice and felt an answering smile form on his own lips. “Do you remember how we used to fight over her?”

“I’ll never forget,” he said, chuckling. “The only times I’ve ever known real fear were when you greeted me with the words ‘My lord, I must speak with you.’”

They’d argued countless times about Lily, especially in the beginning, when he’d returned to Cardemore Hall after an absence of fifteen years to find himself responsible for not only his family’s titles and estates, but also for a small, pale, silent child who was brought to him by a serving maid only a few minutes after he’d arrived home. He’d never before seen the sister to whom his mother had died giving birth, although he’d learned about her, also about his mother’s passing, several months after both had occurred. His father hadn’t known what to do with a mute girl child, George had probably been too busy with his own affairs to give his young sister much thought, and Margaret hadn’t been allowed to interfere. Lily had been given into the care of the servants and, as long as she was kept clean and fed and out of the way, was mostly ignored. Despite the fact that her inability to speak in a normal voice had been caused by an unfortunate incident when she was but a tiny child, she was treated as if she’d been born an idiot. But Cardemore had known, from the moment he’d looked into her lively blue eyes, that an intelligent mind hid behind her silence.

For her part, Lily had taken in her elder brother’s dark, scarred face, his hulking size and his filthy clothes, and had smiled a smile of beguiling, welcoming sweetness, unwittingly making the first crack in a heart that had long since been pronounced unassailable. It had been his intention, until that moment, to see his brother buried, gain the title that he’d always disdained and promptly sell every thing of value before taking his spoils and returning to the life he’d chosen. As he stared into the trusting little face that reminded him so much of his mother’s, the idea evaporated as quickly as if it had never existed. He’d hated his father and his rigidly perfect brother and everything about the nobility that had made his mother age with such cruel rapidity; he’d come to hate everything associated with the name Cardemore; but perhaps he and Lily could make something out of the wreckage they’d inherited from their ancestors. They could certainly try.

Margaret made it easier when she insisted upon moving into Cardemore Hall with Isabel to run the household for him and to take over Lily’s care. She turned off the servants who found it impossible to treat their new master with respect and quickly put the fear of God into the rest. She loved Lily with a mother’s tender care, as well as with a mother’s vigilance. They’d fought over everything, from doctor’s opinions about Lily’s inability to speak to which teachers and methods would profit Lily the most. And when they weren’t arguing with each other, they were arguing with the doctors and teachers.

“Was I so fearsome?” Margaret asked in a low voice, so near to him that he could feel the heat emanating from her tall, elegantly curved form. “I have to admit that I didn’t trust you overmuch in the beginning. I was afraid, for years, that you would disappear the way you had when you were a boy. Lily adored you so much, she would have been badly hurt if you’d left. It was hard enough when you finally did go, although she was old enough then to understand how many duties you must perform as the Earl of Cardemore, and why you had to come live in London.”

He didn’t give a damn about his duties as the Earl of Cardemore and never had, which was a truth he devoutly hoped kept all his sainted ancestors continuously spinning in their respective graves. It had been she, Margaret, and the torture of being with her every day, loving and wanting her and not being able to bring himself to do so much as touch her, that had driven him away from Cardemore Hall five years ago. “I’ve tried to visit as often as I’m able,” he said. “If I thought Lily needed me, I’d stay for as long as necessary.”

“Oh, Aaron, I know that.” Gently, she set a hand over the one he pressed against the table. “You’ve been wonderful to Lily, and to Isabel and me. I’ve long since learned to trust you completely.”

He couldn’t speak. He could barely draw in breath. All he could do was stare at the cool, smoothly feminine hand pressed over his own ugly, hairy paw and feel a tingling sense of wonder.

“We’ve missed you, Aaron. Lily and Isabel and…me. All of us.”

Some long-honed instinct made him realize that the library door was about to open only a moment before it did. Pulling his hand free, he turned in time to see his butler enter the room.

“The gentlemen you were expecting have arrived, my lord. I’ve put them in your study.”

“Thank you, Willis. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Margaret was already gathering her things. “I’ll leave you to tend your business, Aaron. You do keep the strangest receiving hours.” She stopped at the library doors. “One night while we’re here, you must put a few hours aside and play a game of chess with me. Do you remember how we used to play?”

He nodded. “I remember that you generally beat me.”

She laughed. “My only area of victory over you.” She put her fingers on one of the door handles. “Good night, Aaron.”

“Margaret,” he said, stopping her. “Don’t worry about Lily. Everything is going to turn out very well, I promise you.”

She gazed at him for a searching moment. “I know better than to ask that you accompany us to any of the outings the girls have been invited to, but I would make one request of you.”

“Anything.”

“Will you dance with Lily at the girls’ comeout ball? I know it’s been a great many years since you had your lessons as a boy, but surely you remember enough to partner her in a country dance? It would mean a great deal to her.”

He let out a groaning sigh, knowing full well that if anyone else had asked this of him he’d have dismissed them without a thought.

“One dance,” Cardemore told her. “Only one.”

The warm smile she gifted him with before she left the room was more than worth the regret he felt at giving the promise.