Devilish Games of a Virtuous Lady: A Steamy Regency Romance

by Osborne, Scarlett

  The housekeeper. Of course.

  Mrs. Milton had keys to every room bar the servants’ private chambers. She would have been inside Lord Radcliffe’s office to clean it.

  Letitia needed those keys. But how was she to get them? She could hardly be upfront with the housekeeper.

  “Pardon me, Mrs. Milton, but may I borrow the keys to Lord Radcliffe’s private study? I’ve written a letter confessing my love for him and I’ve come to regret it…”

  Letitia shook her head in frustration.

  She had no choice. She would have to conjure up her inner thief again. Would have to take those keys from under Mrs. Milton’s nose.

  She tiptoed around the house, feeling very much like a criminal. Letitia was especially careful not to make a sound as she passed Harriet’s room. Through a crack in the door, she could see the child sitting on her bed with a book in her lap. Letitia was glad when she slipped past the door without Harriet looking up.

  She found Mrs. Milton in Lord Radcliffe’s bedchamber. She was stripping the sheets from his bed and tossing them in a pile on the floor. Did she have the keys on her?

  Letitia had seen the housekeeper’s key ring before; an enormous clunky ring that jangled when she walked.

  She stood outside the bedchamber, watching Mrs. Milton as she shook out the fresh sheets and tucked the edges beneath the mattress.

  No jangling. No keys.

  Letitia darted down the stairs into the servants’ entrance. If Mrs. Milton did not have the keys with her, she must have been keeping them in her chamber.

  Tiptoeing past the kitchen, Letitia slipped inside Mrs. Milton’s room, ignoring the tug of guilt.

  She looked about her. The room was small and cramped, with a narrow bed pushed against one wall and a wash stand in the opposite corner. A nightstand sat beside the bed. Letitia pulled open the drawer. Inside she found a bottle of scent and an old, chipped hairbrush.

  There were no keys.

  Her panic growing, she pulled open the narrow wardrobe. She rifled frantically through hangers containing cloaks and dresses and yellowing underskirts.

  And there, hidden on a hook inside the wardrobe door, she found what she was looking for. She snatched the keys hurriedly and ran back upstairs to Lord Radcliffe’s office.

  She knocked again, in case the Marquess had returned while she had been plundering Mrs. Milton’s wardrobe. There was no response. Either the office was empty, or Lord Radcliffe did not want to be disturbed.

  Letitia slipped the key into the lock, her heart pounding. She held her breath. What possible explanation could she give if the Marquess was inside?

  She pushed the thought away. If the Marquess was inside, he would already have found the letter and her sneaking into his office would be the least of her worries.

  Slowly, Letitia eased open the door, exhaling in relief when she found the room empty. She locked the door behind her to quell any chance for prying eyes. Then she hurried towards the desk.

  The letter was gone.

  Letitia froze in horror.

  It has to be here.

  She glanced around her desperately. Perhaps it had fallen. She climbed onto her hands and knees, searching under the desk, under the chair, even under the bookshelf.

  Nothing.

  She scrambled to her feet at the sound of footsteps thudding rhythmically down the hall.

  Lord Radcliffe’s footsteps?

  They were coming towards the office. Letitia’s breath quickened. Her body grew hot as panic overtook her. There was no way she could get out without being seen. She looked around her desperately.

  I have to hide. But where?

  The study was sparsely decorated, with little in the room beyond the desk and bookshelf.

  Behind the door?

  No, Lord Radcliffe always kept the door closed when he was working.

  Under the desk?

  The idea was so foolish she almost laughed. Her only choice was to press herself against the far edge of the bookshelf and hope the angle of Lord Radcliffe’s desk kept her hidden.

  She did so hurriedly, gathering her skirts about her to stop them spilling into sight.

  The door clicked open and Lord Radcliffe strode in. Letitia heard his footsteps move towards the desk. Then his chair creaked. She pressed herself hard against the edge of the bookshelf and held her breath.

  Chapter 22

  Of all the dreadful situations Letitia had found herself in, this was by far the worst. She was being blackmailed by a ten-year-old. She was trapped in Lord Radcliffe’s office. And the letter confessing her deepest, most inappropriate feelings was missing.

  I ought never have run away. Marriage to the Duke of Banfield has to be better than this.

  She stood with her back hard against the side of the bookshelf, her skirts pinned between her knees and a hand over her mouth to silence her breathing.

  She heard Lord Radcliffe’s pen scratch against paper. Heard his desk chair creak. “For Heaven’s sake!” he cried suddenly.

  Letitia started. She had never heard Lord Radcliffe raise his voice before.

  “A deal is a deal, Mullins!”

  Letitia froze.

  Lord Radcliffe is angry with my father? Why?

  She held her breath.

  “You greedy bastard!”

  Letitia’s discomfort gave way to anger. Who was Lord Radcliffe to speak of her father in such a way?

  I ought to storm out from my hiding place right now and tell him he has no right to do such things!

  Her own anger took her by surprise.

  And who am I to be angry at the Marquess?

  But appropriate or not, the anger was there, bubbling beneath her skin. She knew her father was a good and decent gentleman. Knew him to be hardworking and honest. Though the Baron had made mistakes, he most certainly did not deserve to be abused this way. He was certainly not a greedy bastard!

  Letitia grit her teeth, the pounding in her chest intensifying. She stayed frozen against the bookshelf until the urge to confront Lord Radcliffe began to fade.

  And then her anger was replaced with a new concern.

  She needed to get back to the kitchen before Margaret noticed her missing. She had already spent the entire day shirking her duties. She knew it wouldn’t take much for the cook to report this laziness to the Marquess.

  “Papa!” Harriet’s voice echoed down the passage. “Papa, are you home?”

  Lord Radcliffe’s desk chair creaked. His footsteps moved across the room, then the door clicked open. Letitia dared to peek out from behind the bookshelf.

  Lord Radcliffe stood with his head bent into the hallway. “Harriet,” he said firmly, “how many times have I told you not to shout? It’s not the way young ladies behave.”

  Letitia heard Harriet’s light footsteps come towards the study. On the edge of her vision, she saw her throw her arms around her father. “I’m glad you’re home, Papa. Did you have a nice day with Lady Worthington?”

  Lord Radcliffe gave a short chuckle. “And why are you being so affectionate all of a sudden?”

  “I just missed you is all.” A little of the brightness disappeared from her voice.

  “Harriet? Has something happened?”

  “No. Nothing at all.” After a moment, she said, “Will you come and read with me, Papa? I’m up to the best part!”

  “Not now. I’ve work today. I’ll read with you tonight.”

  “Please, Papa. Now. I’m lonely.”

  Lord Radcliffe glanced over his shoulder at the desk, then looked back at his daughter. “One day, Harriet,” he said, “I swear I’ll stop bending to your every wish.”

  Harriet gave an airy giggle. “No you won’t.” And they disappeared out of the study, Lord Radcliffe pulling the door closed behind him.

  Letitia let herself breathe.

  * * *

  Letitia forced down a few mouthfuls of stew for supper, then set off on an important recovery mission.

  Someone in
the household had her letter. She felt faintly confident that it was not Lord Radcliffe. And that, at least, was something.

  It had to be Mrs. Milton. She had been the one who had locked the study.

  But why take the letter?

  Letitia pushed the thought away. It didn’t matter why. It only mattered that she got her hands on the cursed thing before it did too much damage. What if Mrs. Milton had already read it? What if she had shared its contents with the other members of staff?

  “Spending time in your presence has awakened feelings in me that are far from appropriate.”

  The entire household would know the way she felt. They would have some inkling of what she and the Marquess had done. No doubt their imaginations would fill in the gaps…

  Letitia couldn’t bear the shame.

  She stood outside Mrs. Milton’s room and knocked sharply. When the woman answered the door, her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Yes Miss Cooper? Is something the matter?” Her voice was gentle and full of concern.

  Letitia did not know Mrs. Milton well, but she had always seemed genuine and kind. Not the kind to spread gossip.

  Not the kind to steal another person’s letter.

  But who else could it have been?

  She swallowed heavily. “I wrote a letter to Lord Radcliffe,” she blurted. “And I need it back.” She knotted her skirts around her fingers. “Please.”

  Mrs. Milton hesitated. “A letter?” she repeated.

  “Yes. I left it on his desk.”

  “I’m sorry, my dear,” Mrs. Milton said gently. “I’ve not seen any letter. And I’d never take something addressed to the Marquess.”

  Letitia’s thoughts knocked together.

  No. Of course she wouldn’t. But then who?

  She managed a faint nod, her suspicions beginning to veer in a different direction. “All right,” she told Mrs. Milton sheepishly. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

  The housekeeper flashed her a smile. “It’s no bother, my dear. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

  Letitia charged upstairs and rapped sharply on Harriet’s door. She let herself in without waiting for a response.

  At the sight of her in the doorway, Harriet looked up from where she was reading on the window seat. Her fingers tightened around the pirate king book. Her eyes widened. She looked faintly scared.

  Good.

  Letitia planted her hands on her hips and looked squarely at the child. She had had enough of pandering to this child. Harriet knew they were both ladies. Letitia had had enough of acting like the help around her.

  “The letter I wrote your father,” she demanded. “Where is it?”

  Harriet looked up at her with wide blue eyes. Eyes, Letitia was coming to realize, that were far less innocent than she had first come to believe.

  “Letter?” Harriet repeated. “What letter?”

  Letitia clenched her jaw, forcing herself to keep her composure. “You know what letter, Harriet. I left it on your father’s desk. Explaining why I was leaving.”

  “I didn’t take any letter,” Harriet said. “I’m not allowed in Papa’s office. I never go in there.”

  For a moment, Letitia said nothing. Harriet might have shown herself to be manipulative, but Letitia had never known her to lie. But would such a thing be so surprising?

  “I promise,” Harriet said imploringly. “I’ve not seen any letter.”

  Letitia drew in her breath. “I’d best not find out you’re lying,” she said, her voice cold.

  Harriet nodded wordlessly. Her eyes wide and fearful. Filled with something, Letitia thought, that seemed to be close to remorse.

  * * *

  Sitting around the kitchen table with the other workers that evening, Letitia felt edgy. Someone here had taken the letter. Someone here knew something.

  Was it Downing, the blank-eyed butler? Or one of the giggling house maids? Perhaps the Marquess’s thick-shouldered groom, a man with a face so rough he looked unfinished.

  Letitia sighed to herself. She was being foolish, she knew, thinking such people would bother themselves with something so trivial as a lovelorn kitchen hand. And yet the fact of the matter remained. The letter was missing.

  She alternated between shooting distrustful glances around the table, and sitting with her eyes fixed to her bowl of stew, filled with shame at the thought of anyone having discovered the contents of the letter.

  “Molly? You all right?” Sarah had slid across the bench seat so her shoulder was pressed against Letitia’s. There was a look of concern on her freckled face.

  Letitia forced a smile. “I’m all right. Thank you.”

  Sarah’s frown deepened. “You sure now?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Sarah stirred her stew. She and Letitia had barely spoken since the day Letitia had first tried to run from the manor.

  “I’m sorry,” Sarah said suddenly.

  Letitia raised her eyebrows, her heart quickening. “What for?”

  “For telling Lord Radcliffe where you were going that day. I know the conversation the two of us had was supposed to be in confidence. But I was worried for you. And so was the Marquess.” She flashed Letitia a crooked smile. “When he discovered you were gone, he was running about the place like a mad thing. I just had to tell him what you were up to.”

  Letitia forced down a mouthful of stew. “It’s all right. I’m not angry.”

  Or am I? Had it not been for Sarah, she would be far away from the Radcliffe manor by now. Perhaps she would be making pigeon pie for a family somewhere in Leicester, and her stomach would not be turning over in dread at the thought of someone having discovered her feelings for the Marquess.

  Then again, if Sarah had not sent Lord Radcliffe after her, she might have collapsed alone outside the hotel and had no one to look out for her but strangers.

  Sarah eyed her curiously. “You seem a little angry.”

  Letitia stared into her stew. Sitting here at the table felt stifling. Once, she had felt so welcome here. Finding work so soon after running for her old life had brought her such happiness. As had the thrill of knowing Lord Radcliffe was floating about somewhere in the house above. The thrill of knowing they might cross paths as Letitia made her way up to her attic room each night.

  But now there was no happiness. No thrill. Now there was just distrust. Suspicion. This constant ache in her chest.

  Letitia pushed her bowl away. She couldn’t bear to force down another mouthful.

  “I’m not angry,” she told Sarah, forcing herself to keep her voice steady. “You did what you felt was right.”

  And she meant it, Letitia realized. She didn’t feel anger at Sarah for sending the Marquess after her. She just felt broken.

  Chapter 23

  At the end of the week, Downing brought a message to Algernon’s study.

  Expecting the missive to be from Lady Worthington, he was surprised to see the slanted scrawl of Ezra Barrington, the Duke of Banfield.

  It’s been a long time, Radcliffe. We have much to discuss. I should like to call on you at a time that is suitable.

  Algernon was surprised by the request. If there was anyone more withdrawn and reclusive than himself, it was Ezra Barrington.

  The two gentlemen had met many years ago at a garden party, back when Charlotte was alive. Amongst the sea of hunting tales, Algernon had been grateful to find someone equally as interested in business as he was. He and the Duke had sat together for much of the day, outlining their aspirations to enter the tobacco trade.

  Though he and Banfield had become friends quickly, Algernon had to admit he knew little about who the Duke really was. Whenever they were together, Algernon had the distinct feeling Banfield was holding his true self back. Putting on a façade, perhaps. Still, he reasoned, that was just the ton, wasn’t it? Weren’t they all putting on a front to some degree? Heaven forbid a gentleman might show any weakness.

  “I’ve important trading decisions to make,
” the Duke went on, “and I would value the opinion of a successful businessman like yourself.”

  Algernon scrawled a reply back to Banfield, inviting him to the manor the following day. He sent it off with his footman that afternoon.