Tamed By A Dangerous Lady (Scandalous Liaisons Book 3)

by Ella Edon

  “Our cook makes an excellent posset. You shouldn’t hesitate to send for one, should you need rest.”

  “Thank you, Lady Westmore,” Culter said. He bit into his toast, conscious of Lady Raymonde opposite him. He looked up to find her gaze on him and put the toast down self-consciously.

  “Which route would you suggest, for the ride?” she asked, voice tight.

  “I don’t know,” Culter said, sounding equally flat-voiced. “Are you riding?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I slept badly yesterday night.”

  Cutler felt the statement touch his soul. He didn’t really know whether that she meant she’d been thinking about him as he’d been thinking about her, but the statement left him free to be able to imagine that. He swallowed hard.

  “I wonder if Luke intends to go up the hill today,” he said, making conversation.

  “No,” Lady Raymonde replied quickly. He looked into her eyes, surprised. “I mean…He said earlier that he wants to spend more time by the lake. His head gardener asked him to have a look to assess the soundness of some sort of irrigation plan.” She raised one brow.

  Again, Cutler had the feeling that the two of them communicated in some hidden language that only they could understand.

  He smiled. “I see.”

  She smiled and looked away, as if she knew they shared a gentle comment about Luke’s endless renovations. “The pastries are excellent. If you care for that sort of thing.” She reached into the basket for another.

  “I prefer toast,” Cutler commented, reaching for another slice as he did so. “I’m used to it.”

  “I can imagine the army gives you hard fare.” She smiled.

  “Not so much worse than the fare I grew up on,” he commented lightly. He tensed, waiting for the mild stare, the “I-knew-you-weren’t-from-our-social-status” sort of look. He had seen that look so often before: the one brow raised in incredulity, the slight smile that mocked even as it pretended at surprise.

  Instead, she smiled. “That sounds fascinating. I tended to choose toast, even though there were many things to be had. It was easier and faster to eat, and I didn’t want to be in there for long.”

  “Oh?” Cutler heard the inquiry in his own voice. This was the first time she’d ever mentioned anything about her past.

  He saw a brief image of a small girl with long, dark red-brown hair, eyes huge as she sat at a breakfast table not unlike this one. Her parents sat nearby, stiff with disapproval. Maybe a maidservant stood rigidly behind her chair, a cold source of assurance. The image hurt him. He wondered how true it was.

  It was only when he pushed his chair in, following Luke out of the room, that he realized that might have been an invitation for a ride alone with her.

  He shut his eyes in sheer frustration. He was a fool. He was an absolute, certifiable idiot.

  Sighing, resigned again to his status as an outsider, he followed Luke and Lord Grayford down the stairs.

  “I say,” Luke commented as they mounted up. The air was cold, the sky still dotted with clouds, though it seemed as if it would clear later with the stiff breeze. “It’s quite cold.” He shivered.

  “It is, yes.” Cutler nodded absently.

  “I say!” Luke said again, cutting through his remembering. “I will never fail to be impressed with that horse. He’s magnificent! Did you bring him with you?”

  “He was a present,” Cutler murmured. “From Lord Cleworth.”

  Luke whistled. “That’s a handsome gift!” he said. “You must have been a popular sort.”

  “I wasn’t, really,” Cutler said, swinging up into the saddle and then riding alongside Luke.

  “Oh, Cutler, you do talk nonsense, sometimes.” Luke smiled at him fondly. “You were very well-liked in the army, and you’re very well-liked now. Nothing to debate about it.”

  Cutler just gave him a thin-lipped smile. “Mayhap.”

  “Oh!” Luke turned to him, one brow raised. “Speaking of popular – I just recalled it. Dash it! I should have told you earlier. I don’t know where my memory goes sometimes…Emilia says it’s because we have a baby. Preoccupied, she says. Myself, I think I’m just soft-headed.”

  “No, Luke. I assure you, it’s not that. What was it you wanted to tell me?”

  “Ah. Yes. It was a fellow. He called two or three days ago wanting to see you. Imposing sort – maybe ten years older than us? Maybe a little more. Anyhow, he was here. I meant to give you his card, but now I don’t know where I put the damn thing. Memories,” he sighed. “Not worth having.”

  Cutler smiled again, but it was only half a response. His mind was busy elsewhere. An imposing fellow. Mayhap ten years older than himself. No. It couldn’t be.

  Cutler shivered. Luke, riding close beside him, must have sensed it.

  “What is it, Cutler? Feeling poorly? We can always turn back.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Cutler murmured. He shook his head slowly. “I was just considering who the, um, visitor might have been. How tall was he? Did you notice anything distinguishing about his looks?”

  Anything but tall, with gray eyes and straight black hair. Anything but that.

  Luke bit his lip, considering, then shook his head. “No…sorry, old boy. I can’t help you there, I’m afraid. I just recall he was about my height, maybe a little taller. Nothing particularly striking about him. Just, well… A fellow. To be honest, I found him a bit disquieting, though I couldn’t tell you why.”

  Cutler swallowed hard. That allayed his fears a little.

  “Good,” he said. “Well, then. If it was something important, I’m sure he’ll return soon.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Luke nodded. “If there’s anything I can do to help?”

  “No… I’m sure there’s nothing serious,” Cutler reassured him. He tried to school his face to calmness, but inside his mind was seething. What if it was his uncle? What was he doing here? He hardly remembered what he looked like, save that those stony eyes would haunt him always.

  “Well, then!” Luke’s cheeriness interrupted his memories. “Shall we race to the stream? I have no idea where Grayford’s got off to! We’ll catch him up, eh, Cutler?”

  “Of course.” Cutler nodded. He gripped a little more tightly with his heels to tell his horse he wanted to go faster. He and Luke took a brisk canter together.

  Cutler watched the scenery go past, but his mind was only half-present. He was searching his mind for any possibilities of who the fellow might have been. His family steward, who’d raised him, was slight and white-haired, and there would be no mistaking him for Uncle Gray. But this visitor… Imposing and disquieting. That fitted very well.

  “Why would he visit here?” Cutler dismissed his thoughts with annoyance. His uncle was far too busy running the family estate to bother about taking a trip North to seek Cutler out. He’d had no word from the fellow since he’d left for Spain. Why would he try and find him now, without reason?

  “I say!” Luke called back to him, twisting in the saddle. “A beautiful day. I think the ladies will be sorry they didn’t accompany us.”

  “Yes,” Cutler said thoughtfully, reining in beside Luke at the edge of the water. “Lady Raymonde seems very fond of riding.”

  “Indeed, yes!” Luke nodded, giving him a smile. “You might recall? She was here last year, when you visited us and went on many longer rides too.”

  “I recall it very well,” Cutler said quietly. He felt almost annoyed with Luke for saying that. As if he wouldn’t remember Lady Raymonde! She was all he did remember, riding out across the sunlit fields.

  He hoped, more than anything, that he would see her soon. He had much to say. And now, with the visitor to worry about, he also had a great deal to think about.

  As soon as I get back to the estate, I will write to Hartford. He’ll know what should be done.

  He set off at a canter after Luke.

  The problem of the visitor momentarily over, he could now focus on the more
immediate questions about Lady Raymonde. He had a lot to think over, and to make right with her.

  Chapter Nine

  Discussion in the Rose-Garden

  Raymonde looked down at the thick carpet of green under her booted feet. The lawn in the rose-garden had grown thick and full, and the little drops of dew still beaded on the long, soft leaves. She breathed in the scent of the air and tried to find a sense of calm.

  “I think I shall put red roses in the parlor? What think you, Raymonde?” Emilia asked. Her voice was soft on the still air.

  “Yes. I think that will look well,” Raymonde murmured. She walked a little further down the path behind her friend. She had a basket of the fine white flowers called Baby’s Breath over her arm, a necessity for any arrangement. They grew in riotous profusion in the flowerbed at the gated entrance.

  “I do like red roses,” Emilia said, lifting one up to her nose and breathing deeply. “These ones are the best! A cultivar from France, they’re called Evêque. Aren’t they lovely?”

  “They are. Very lovely,” Raymonde agreed. She watched her friend, carefully cutting the thorn-covered stems and laying the cut flowers into her long, wide basket on her arm.

  “It’s so quiet today!” Emilia said, finishing with the red roses, then moving on to some dark yellow ones. “I could almost go to sleep under the trees!” she chuckled. “Mayhap we should!”

  Raymonde nodded. The dappled shade at the edge of the rose-garden did look most inviting. She was too full of unanswered questions to allow the peace of it into her soul, however.

  “It was a tiring evening,” she murmured to Emilia, hoping to bring the topic of conversation around to the ball in general and thus to Lieutenant Wingate. “Did you dance many sets?”

  “I did!” Emilia giggled. “Luke seems to draw energy out of crowded places. I don’t know how he does it! Myself, I need a day or two to recover.”

  “I see,” Raymonde said in a low voice. “I wonder if it isn’t the result of his military training?”

  “There’s a thought! He must be used to being on his feet. Not that he was on his feet, mind… Sitting on his bottom on a horse, that’s where he was.”

  Raymonde smiled at Emilia’s happy laughter. That Luke and she were extremely close was obvious to anyone who happened to see them together. She wondered, idly, if she would ever feel that way. Oddly, the feeling that sprang instantly to mind was that strange familiarity she’d felt, looking into the eyes of the handsome Lieutenant. She shook her head impatiently.

  If Lieutenant Wingate ever had a good opinion of me, I doubt he has it anymore. I didn’t exactly behave properly!

  She swallowed uncomfortably. Expression of feelings was something the Ton tended to guard with more caution than soldiers did unexploded gunpowder. Raymonde bit her lip, surprised that she felt impatience with that. If she had been able, just once, to express herself about Osburne and how cruelly he spoke to her, mayhap she would not be in this mess now.

  “Raymonde? What is it?” Emilia asked. “Should we go back inside now? I do think this heat is a bit oppressive now, do you not?” She flapped her hand in front of her face to make a small whisper of air.

  “I suppose we should,” Raymonde said softly. “I have enough flowers for the dining-room and the parlors both.”

  “I suppose I do, too!” Emilia giggled. “We’re not decorating Blenheim Palace with garlands!”

  Raymonde couldn’t help but smile. She nodded. “I think we have enough for two vases. Shall we arrange them?”

  “Yes. Do lets!” Emilia nodded. “But wait… I want to go past the kitchen gardens, too – I thought to put lavender in with my yellow rose bunch, and we have only a few flowers here.”

  “Of course,” Raymonde agreed. She fell into step beside Emilia, who headed slowly across the lawns toward the house.

  “I think the guests were happy, don’t you?” Emilia asked as they reached the house. “We had a very good turnout, for the countryside!”

  Raymonde nodded at Emilia’s happy face. “Yes. I think so, too. I only danced one dance – with Lieutenant Wingate.”

  There. If she was going to raise the subject, she may as well throw caution aside. This was Emilia, and she wouldn’t condemn anybody.

  “Lieutenant Wingate! Ah, yes. A good man. A bit, well… Quiet, wouldn’t you say? But nice.”

  “Is he quiet?” Raymonde asked. The statement surprised her. The Lieutenant seemed very eager to talk, at least whenever they were alone together. He had certainly had long discussions with her, about any kind of topic.

  Beside her, Emilia let out a soft chuckle. “Oh, my sweet! He’s the quietest man I ever saw! Luke sometimes worries for him – he seems to always be brooding and sad. But you say he isn’t like that?” Her eyes narrowed, and Raymonde found herself being studied with an assessing, shrewd look.

  “Um, well, he is quiet sometimes,” she said guardedly. What could she say? The last thing she needed was for Emilia to start thinking there was interest between them! She was curious, of course, and surprised, but… Interested? She looked down.

  Raymonde, stop fooling yourself. You know you are. Why else would you want to discuss him now?

  She cleared her throat. She wanted to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind, so she stood there awkwardly.

  “Well, it’s good that you reminded me of the Lieutenant,” Emilia commented, reaching the kitchen garden and her bunches of lavender. “I had meant to tell him he had a visitor, a few days ago.”

  “A visitor?” Raymonde frowned at her. For some reason, that thought filled her with a faint tingle of alarm. It was silly, she knew. Why would she be concerned, for him?

  “Yes. Tall fellow. Dark hair with white in it, and gray eyes. I found him a little imposing, myself.” Emilia chuckled, lifting a flower and holding it to her nose. “Ah! The scent of roses, mixed with fresh lavender! What could be finer?”

  “Nothing, certainly,” Raymonde murmured.

  Her heart started to thud in her chest. She had forgotten about that caller at the house, but now that Emilia had mentioned him, she couldn’t help but remember him. Imposing, that was right.

  “I think I saw him,” she said softly.

  “I’m sure you did!” Emilia nodded, still laughing. “I reckon a man like that would stand out anywhere. He was quite handsome, really.” She grinned, a naughty look in her eye. “But not anything like my Luke. Besides, I didn’t like his manner. He seemed very withdrawn, sort of cold in his manner with people.”

  “Yes, indeed he did,” Raymonde murmured. She had noticed the same thing.

  She looked around the sunlit garden and shivered yet again. Oddly, even in this happy, sunlit space, she felt unsafe now. Almost as if the frightening man was lurking somewhere on the premises, watching them.

  Nonsense! she dismissed herself. What a foolish imagination!

  Yet, the memory of that night at the ball, with the shadow lurking in the garden – the man she might or might not have seen watching her – came back to her.

  Why the lurker would have been him, she had no idea. But in its own strange way, it had looked like him.

  “I think I will go back and fetch my shawl,” she said to Emilia, wanting to be alone for a few moments. “It’s getting chilly.”

  “Yes, it is!” Emilia nodded firmly. “I think I’ll gather a few more herbs – it can’t hurt to have some rosemary in the clothes-cupboards! And then I’ll come indoors and we can arrange flowers together. I’d like some help – I want to try and make that arrangement Lady Epping had at her ball last month, do you recall?”

  “A little,” Raymonde murmured. She turned and walked up the lawns from the kitchen-garden, then back to the rose-arbor. As she walked between the hedges, she froze.

  There was somebody hiding in the hedge.

  Raymonde stood still, her feet rooted to the spot with horror. She stared at the shady form she saw. He was standing part-concealed by the hedge, but she could see a
flash of dark fabric, presumably a coat, and the silhouette of the fellow was plain to see through the leafy hedges.

  “Call somebody,” Raymonde encouraged herself. “Scream. It might just be a gardener.”

  She opened her mouth to scream, but she couldn’t find her voice. She stayed where she was. The shadow moved, then, and disappeared.

  “Whew.”

  Raymonde felt her legs buckle suddenly. The tension had been too sudden! The air of menace around the shadow had been clear. Whoever that was, they were no gardener. The posture was wrong – a straight back and well-set shoulders – and too tall for any of the gardeners she knew on the estate.