The Madness of Lord Westfall

by Mia Marlowe

  The symmetry pleased her, but she wasn’t there to study the architecture. Even her lame horse wasn’t the real reason she kept walking toward the tower, though she’d have disputed it with her dying breath.

  Since Viscount Westfall was an intimate friend of the duke, Camden End was a link to him. It was a slender connection, but it was all she had.

  Pierce was the most unusual man she’d ever met. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. More specifically, she couldn’t stop thinking about his final words to her.

  I think I love you, Honora.

  She could still hear his voice. It shivered through her in deep tones. It touched places she’d forgotten she had. Her insides quaked each time the remembered phrase washed over her.

  The words weren’t true, of course. Of course, he didn’t love her. By his own admission, he wasn’t even sure of it himself. Men desired her. Men were obsessed with her. Men wanted to possess her.

  None of them loved her.

  She kicked a rock down the lane ahead of her. Benedick would be upset if she ruined her new riding boots. Since the pointy-toed things pinched abominably, she didn’t think it would be a great loss, but they were designed in the first stare of fashion. The way she was turned out reflected on her protector, Benedick always said. In his own way, he was good to her. Benedick cared for her as much as he was capable of caring for any woman, but it wasn’t the same thing as love.

  “Of course, Westfall’s declaration wasn’t the same thing as love, either,” she muttered to herself. It was more like the aftermath of lust. A man would say anything to the first woman he bedded.

  She reminded herself that he claimed to be able to hear her thoughts. Considering how many secrets she guarded for Benedick, Westfall was a decidedly dangerous man for her to know.

  But she couldn’t help wishing to see him again. As she drew near, she even thought she saw a resemblance to Pierce Langdon in the brawny shoulders of the gardener who was trimming the shrubs beneath the ground floor windows.

  I am losing my mind.

  The gardener turned then and removed his disreputable hat, revealing a head of honey-blond hair, darkened with sweat.

  “No, you’re not, Honora.” His familiar voice rolled over her. “You’re the sanest person I know.”

  Never trust the opinion of a madman. Especially on the subject of sanity.

  ~from the secret journal of Lady Nora Claremont

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Lord Westfall, what are you doing here?” And how could she keep her heart from leaping out of her chest?

  “Pruning the rhododendrons,” he said. “I can’t imagine what the duke was thinking to allow them to be planted in this spot. They aren’t native to Wiltshire. The wicked things will take over if they aren’t kept in check. You see—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “I mean, how did you come to be here?”

  He grinned indulgently at her, as if she were a not-quite-bright child. “By carriage, of course. Well, I rode some of the way. His Grace likes to keep his favorite gelding with him so we traded off on either horseback or rear-facing squab—”

  Was the man being purposely obtuse? “But why are you in Wiltshire?”

  One of those rare, full smiles of his spread across his face. “To see you, of course.”

  It was suddenly hard to breathe. She had to consciously push the air in and out. Down, Nora. You need him like you need a second head.

  “It’s a bit of a step to travel to deliver an apology,” he said, “but I do hope you’ve forgiven me for the last time we were together.”

  Was he asking forgiveness for the best time of her life? No, it was that other thing, she reminded herself. The fact that he’d used her to spy on her patron. She had to keep that in mind, but when she met his gaze, she couldn’t keep the corners of her mouth from turning up.

  “Am I forgiven?” he asked.

  Despite her best intentions, her smile exonerated him.

  “Good.” He smiled back at her, his face the picture of someone at perfect peace. Her own breathing relaxed. Pierce accepted her without condition. She hadn’t felt this comfortable in anyone’s company since she’d lost Lewis.

  “While I was trying to think of a way to accidentally make our paths cross, I thought I’d take care of these shrubs.” He applied the shears with vigor and more purple-sheathed limbs fell to the ground. “You saved me from having to come up with some sort of ruse. I’m glad you came to see me instead.”

  “I haven’t come to see you.” Where had he gotten that idea?

  “You’re here, aren’t you?”

  She had to give him that. “Other than the apology, is there any other reason you want to see me?”

  Pierce stopped his pruning and met her gaze steadily. “Of course, but you already know what it is.”

  He didn’t say the words this time, but something that looked an awfully lot like love showed in his eyes. Whether the emotion was real or not, Westfall seemed to have convinced himself it was. If she didn’t look away quickly, he’d have her convinced, too.

  “Yes, well, I had no idea you were here and I was simply out riding and…and…” The reason she was there finally slammed back into her mind. “And my mare has gone lame.”

  This time he flashed her a damnably smug smile.

  The man knows. He’s invading my mind. He’ll see that I can’t stop thinking about him.

  “Stop that,” she ordered.

  “Stop what?”

  “That thing you do.” She pointed at him accusingly. “You’re doing it right now, and I won’t have it.”

  His brows nearly met over his fine straight nose. “What thing?”

  “You’re listening to my thoughts.”

  “No, I’m not. After that first thought of yours I intercepted, I knew you’d want me to shield my mind,” he said. “Don’t worry that it’s a burden on me to do it. When I work with plants, I find it so restful, it’s easier to keep up my mental shield.”

  He bent to yank out a cankerwort. The sight of the man’s beautifully muscled bum encased in his tight buckskins nearly took her breath away. She longed to see him in the altogether again. He tossed a grin over his shoulder at her.

  Her cheeks heated. “If you can’t hear what I’m thinking, why are you smiling?”

  “Because I’m happy to see you. Or won’t you have that, either?”

  “No, I…now you’re making me seem unreasonable.”

  “Madmen have that effect, I’m told.” He stepped forward and took the lead reins from her. “Come. Let’s see what can be done for your horse.”

  He led the mare toward the stables without waiting to see if she’d follow.

  Of course, he wouldn’t need to look over his shoulder at her. He’d be able to hear the way her mind was churning as she bobbed in his wake. She schooled herself to concentrate only on the fresh green smell of newly cut hay in the meadow and the warmth of the sun on her face. When Nora tipped her nose to admire the robin’s egg blue of the sky, sunshine slipped in under the bill of her bonnet. She’d sprout a crop of freckles if she wasn’t careful.

  But she needed a distraction. She refused to entertain the notion that he really loved her. How could he? And Nora certainly didn’t want to fixate on the fine view of Westfall’s bum as he walked ahead of her. The man’s stride was long and loping and made his muscular backside undulate in a beguiling manner.

  He tossed a look over his shoulder at her and smiled again.

  Drat the man! She could feel her cheeks flooding with color. His claim that he wasn’t listening to her thoughts notwithstanding, Pierce seemed to know she was ogling his bum. And more to the point, he’d made her blush about it.

  Who knew that a courtesan could even remember how to blush? She had so much more sensual experience than he, but somehow, everything felt fresh and new with him. It was as if she’d never been with those others.

  Not even her dead husband Lewis.

  She didn’t want to contempl
ate what that meant.

  She waited in the cool shade of the stable door while Lord Westfall—she tried not to think of him as Pierce—discussed her mare’s situation with the master of horse for the Camden estate. After much wrangling, the fellow advised that the remaining shoes should be removed and the horse be allowed to rest there for a day or so.

  “I’m sure His Grace would welcome you at Camden End, too,” Westfall said.

  “No, I can’t stay. Albemarle is expecting me back in time for tea.”

  The sun was at its zenith. Westfall swiped a bronzed forearm across his forehead. “It’s a long while till teatime.”

  “Still, I must be going.” She turned to begin walking, cursing her tight riding boots with every step.

  “Wait, my lady. I’ll take you in the gig.”

  She stopped, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  “You won’t get far in those boots.”

  She rounded on him. “There, you see. You are doing it. You’re in my head, listening to my thoughts.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m using the eyes God gave me. If those boots aren’t hurting you, why are you mincing around in them?” He crossed over to her and took both her hands. “I know how you feel about my…ability and I promise you, I will not let my shield down while we’re together. You deserve the privacy of your own mind and frankly, I deserve the peace.”

  She blinked hard at that. She hadn’t considered until that moment that being able to hear other people’s thoughts might be a burden.

  “So will you let me take you home?”

  She nodded. “Get the gig.”

  …

  The Duke of Camden kept a sporty little gig at his countryseat that could fly over the dirt roads. Pierce had a similar equipage on his own estate, but since his committal to Bedlam he hadn’t been home to drive it. His uncle might well have sold the gig along with the matched pair of grays that pulled it. If Pierce had been in his own conveyance, he’d have driven hell-for-leather over the country lane for the pure joy of speed.

  Instead, he held the horses in check, driving at a sedate pace.

  May as well not give Honora one more reason to think me mad.

  He nearly burst with the need to tell her he loved her, that he was more certain of it now, but he knew she wouldn’t appreciate it. She’d certainly not responded to his declaration the first time. After all, given his lack of experience with women, he would have been astounded if he hadn’t botched it somehow. He tried not to feel despondent about it. After all, she was there with him, wasn’t she?

  That was more than a madman had a right to hope.

  The sun beat down upon them warmly. The scents of earth and ripening grain filled the air. Birdsong greeted his ears. Those things alone were cause for him to be in charity with the world.

  To be wedged onto the narrow seat with Honora as they drove through the green English countryside was almost enough to tip him over into euphoria. After they’d driven for a while, she broke the silence.

  “You seem different,” she said.

  “I’m not,” he assured her. “I’m the same fellow who put you on edge in London.” And I do still think I love you. “The difference is you’re seeing me where I belong. I’m a country man at heart.”

  London was such a train wreck of clamoring voices at all hours of the day and night. There were fewer souls in the country, fewer minds trying to tramp through his.

  “You do seem…less intense here,” she said.

  “Is that good?”

  She smiled thinly at him, and he wasn’t sure what it meant. He wished he hadn’t promised to keep up his mental shield. He was sorely tempted to let her thoughts trip through his mind, even if it meant she’d be upset with him. Still, a promise was a promise.

  She leaned forward and slipped a finger inside the high rise of her boot. The footwear was an odd cross between blue and green. Pierce wasn’t sure what color to call them. He’d seen Vesta wearing something similar so they were undoubtedly all the crack. But when Nora fiddled with the buckle that held one fastened around her ankle, he realized however stylish they might be, the boot was hurting her.

  When the gig passed over a small bridge above a meandering stream, he pulled the horses up short. “Give me your feet.”

  “What?”

  “You’re in as much pain over how you’re shod as your mare was. Let’s see what may be done.” He patted his knee. “Now.”

  To his surprise, she obeyed, lifting her leg to set her ankle on his thigh. He made short work of the buckle and eased the boot off.

  “Ow!” She wiggled her stockinged toes gingerly.

  He reached under her hem in search of the lacy garter holding up her stockings.

  She grasped his forearm to stop him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Granted, there was no one near them for miles around, but he supposed his actions did cross some sort of line. “The stocking needs to come off, too. What did you think I was doing?” His fingertips found the garter, and he gave it a tug. The silky stocking sagged.

  “When a gentleman’s hand slips under a lady’s hem, he’s not generally after her garter.” Nora’s dark eyes rolled expressively. “At least, not only her garter.”

  For a moment, he allowed himself to remember what it was like to hold her most vulnerable parts, all wet and soft and trembling. He’d be less than a man if he didn’t want to do it again. “I may not be very experienced, but surely you didn’t think I’d force my attentions on you that clumsily.”

  “No, I suppose not.” Her eyes softened and he suspected she, too, was thinking about how he’d held her. But he couldn’t be sure. Not without lowering his shield, and his promise not to do that held him back.

  “Inexperienced or no, you’re not a bit clumsy,” she said.

  She tugged off her stocking and turned her ankle this way and that. Her toes were red and the boots had chafed an angry, raised blister on her heel. “I’ll have to wear backless mules for a week.”

  “Maybe not.” He climbed down from the gig and lifted his arms in invitation. “If we cool your feet in that stream, the blister may go down.”

  She bit her lower lip, considering. He ached to take that little lip and suckle it, but he made himself stand still. The last time they were together, she’d been as eager for their joining as he. Now he sensed a wall between them.

  The wall of his oddity, no doubt. If he were an ordinary man, they’d be regular lovers already. Nora was a sensual enough being not to withhold her body from him, but she was definitely skittish about sharing her thoughts and feelings.

  How could he convince her that he cared for her and would never betray her?

  By keeping his promise to erect his mental shield when he was around her, no matter what the effort cost him. They’d parted so badly, he had no idea how much repair work was ahead, but he suspected it would be far harder than clearing out those rhododendrons. He was relieved beyond words when she slipped off her other boot and stocking and let him help her down from the gig.

  “Give me a moment to tend to the horses, and I’ll carry you to the stream,” he offered.

  “No need. I like the feel of grass under my feet.” She started toward a flat outcropping of granite that overhung the rippling water.

  “Wait. Take my jacket to sit upon.” He peeled off his jacket and handed it to her. “You’ll ruin that gown otherwise.”

  She rewarded him with one of her sparkling smiles.

  Pierce led the team and gig off the road and tied them in a shady spot. He was careful to leave enough slack in the tether so that the beasts could grab a few mouthfuls of grass if they wished.

  He knew what it was to be bound and helpless. He didn’t want anyone, not even a horse, to feel that way. By the time he joined Nora beside the stream, she’d removed her bonnet since a trio of birches cast a dappled shadow over her. The trees leaned toward the water, looking for all the world like three skinny spinsters trying to screw their
courage to dabble their toes in the current with Nora.

  Her luxurious dark hair had tumbled down a bit. Leaning back on her elbows, she looked like a fallen angel, disheveled, slightly dirty, and missing her wings. Pierce fancied that a bit of heaven’s grace still gilded her around the edges.

  My angel. That’s how I’ll think of her always.

  When he approached, she leaned forward and splashed in his direction. “The stream is so deliciously cool. What an excellent idea this is.”

  He removed his scuffed boots and stockings and settled beside her. The water was bracing, and he sighed in contentment. “Even a madman can have a good idea from time to time.”

  “I don’t think of you like that, Pierce.”

  She’d called him by his name, not his title. Surely that was a good sign. “But you don’t think of me as…normal.

  “Perhaps that’s not such a bad thing. Have you any idea how horrid most normal men really are?”

  Well, she doesn’t think I’m horrid. That is a start.

  Then, because he wasn’t sure what to say, he said nothing. If they’d been in London, the silence would have stretched between them, taut and hungry, begging to be crammed with anything, even the banality of discussing the weather or one of the other ton-approved topics of conversation. Here, the quiet seemed satisfied with the twitter of birdsong, the burbling voice of the stream, and the drowsy hum of bees at work on the bittersweet blooming amid the grass.

  Nora sighed and lifted her wet foot to examine the damage on her heel. A few drips slipped up around her ankle to disappear under her soggy hem. “Still a bit angry looking, but it feels ever so much better. We should probably go on.”

  But she made no move to rise.

  Neither did he. Instead, he simply sat there, content to feel her soft shoulder against his. She let her feet sink back into the stream, her small toes undulating like water grass beneath the surface. Pierce drank in her scent. A gorse bush, laden with yellow blooms, effectively blocked them from view should anyone pass by on the road. He could wallow in the happy conceit that he and Nora were the only two people in the world.