To Love a Wicked Lord

by Edith Layton

  The gentleman ran a hand over his wide chest, which was covered by a bright crimson robe. “A banyan,” he said proudly. “A new one. Nice, eh?”

  “For the circus. Crimson silk with embroidered leaves, and big enough to be a horse blanket.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  Maxwell shuddered. “It doesn’t like you. A large man should wear quiet garb, Whitney. I thought I taught you that.”

  “You tried,” the man he called Whitney said cheerfully.

  “How can I play the fop if even my best friend ignores me? Prinny listens to Brummel, why can’t you pretend to be awed by me?”

  “Who else will see me in my robe?” his friend protested. “No one that anyone will credit. The females I consort with in this style have no style. And I certainly don’t share my house with anyone else but an old friend like you, Maxwell.”

  Maxwell, Lord Montrose, sighed. “You’re right. My pose doesn’t work in any of its aspects. It’s an ancient gambit, trying to be the bored milksop while really being the interested spy, but they insist. What was good enough for that Percy fellow in the last generation seems fine to them. But it’s stale to me.”

  “Too bad,” his friend said unsympathetically. “But everyone suspects everyone these days, so it doesn’t matter.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Maxwell said.

  “So,” Whitney said, “let’s have the truth. Are you doing Carstairs a favor or do you think the girl’s fiancé might be involved with something else?”

  “As you said, these days everyone’s suspected of being involved with something else,” Maxwell said. He sat forward, clasped his hands together, and looked at his host. “Damme, but I’m weary of gossip and tattle, Whit. I’d give anything to get out there with a saber and a musket and do some actual good. This travesty of a peace isn’t going to last much longer. We’ll be at war again soon. And here I am, supposedly sniffing for spies, but about to work for an acid wench who probably frightened away her fiancé. In Bath, of all places. I’m taking tea with grannies and amusing the gouty, rheumatic, and antique of the realm. For tuppence I’d run away to sea and make myself useful.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” Whitney said. “You wouldn’t live to. Your father would murder you first. You’re a nobleman, Max. You have the inheritance and the head that will someday hold his title. You can’t get it shot off. Let your brother Duncan play soldier. He loves it. How is he, by the by?”

  “He flourishes,” Maxwell said absently. “And I’m happy for him. Osgood tutored him too. He’s a good lad and a well prepared one.”

  “And the fiend?”

  Maxwell’s smile became curled. “Both my siblings thrive. One’s playing soldier, the other is too young to do anything except try to dismantle my father’s estate brick by brick, and is damn near succeeding. I’d say my father deserves at least one child like that, but I don’t actually dislike the man except for the fact that he holds me back. I don’t like it, Whit. It begins to bore me.”

  “Too bad,” his friend said. “Last I heard Lord Talwin and his superiors thought the world of the work you’re doing. You know you’ve done well for us. Still, if you don’t want to play with this particular beautiful, witty, and sharp-tongued young female, I’d be happy to help. I know old Carstairs too, y’know.”

  “That’s the point,” his friend said seriously. “Carstairs may be old, but from all I hear, he’s not doddering. His wife, who accompanies his granddaughter, is perhaps a trifle addled. Maybe she was always giddy. I don’t know, nor does it matter. Carstairs does. He knew everything at one time, and still knows everyone. He’s wise, better yet, he’s clever, and he keeps his ear to the ground even though he hardly stirs from his estate. The world beats a path to him. His granddaughter’s fiancé did too. One Noel Nicholson. He appeared out of nowhere. He came, he socialized, he became engaged. Now he’s vanished. It may mean nothing but the fact that he came to his senses and escaped the wench. It may mean more. I’m pledged to find out. But it won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing worthwhile ever is,” his friend said seriously.

  Maxwell levered up from his chair and began to pace. He shot a look at his friend as he did. “Worthwhile? The world is about to catch fire and I’m sitting by the hearthside with sweet old ladies and spoiled spiteful young ones.”

  His friend watched him pace. “But, Max, who else can do what you do?” he asked. “Look at me. What have they set me to do? Watch over you. While it’s worthwhile, I can’t say it’s exciting. I can swing a saber and flourish a foil and shoot with the best of them. I can ride like a demon, I’m good with my fives, and can probably wrestle a dancing bear. But you can do that too, plus you can floor me with a blow and a twist of your shoulders, as you have done. And no one knows it until you choose to let it be known. There’s your strength.

  “Osgood taught you well,” Whitney went on. “You’re lethal.”

  “At the time I thought I had to be,” Maxwell said. “I was a child and heard something said in a drunken rant that terrified me. By the time I’d learned it was only inebriation speaking and certainly no danger to me, it was too late. I’d asked Osgood for help, and he obliged. I enjoyed my tuition too much to stop. I also learned that the fellow who had frightened me, my father, by the by, would have gladly cut out his tongue for it when he sobered up. Instead, he asked my forgiveness and cultivated my trust. That began a true friendship in spite of all obstacles. So I didn’t have to become lethal, as you put it. But I’m glad I did.”

  “So is your country,” his friend said. “And best of all, you don’t look as though you can do anything but gossip and tattle. So people confide in you. Look at me. Would anyone in their right mind confide in me?”

  “I do,” his friend said.

  “Well, I mean besides old friends and seriously drunken ones,” Whitney admitted. “Well-bred females make me nervous and they return the compliment. Old ladies may lean on my arm crossing the street, if I offer it. But otherwise I look too fierce to approach, much less confide secrets to.”

  Maxwell cocked his head to the side. His friend was huge: long-boned, with large features in a craggy face. “I don’t know. You look trustworthy. Females like to lean on you.”

  “And I on them,” his friend laughed. “But the well-bred ones? They might run to me in a panic, but they don’t trust me otherwise.”

  “Odd. I don’t find you fierce, nor does anyone who knows you above five minutes.”

  “At any rate,” Whit went on, “I’m only here because you are. This house is an inherited one. True, I have to visit it from time to time to make sure it doesn’t crumble to the ground. But I’d rather be otherwise occupied. Bath was once the place to be; now it’s the place to be old. And all I can do here is keep an eye out for you.”

  Whitney shot his friend a bright look. “How do you think I’d look perched on a little chair, taking tea in transparent cups and nibbling on wafers with the old darlings? Absurd, that’s how. No, you’re best for that. There are some who may think you’re a spy playing at being a dandy, like that mythical Percy fellow a generation ago, but many more doubt you care about anything but the shine on your boots. Even Frenchmen find you shallow and foppish. You’re invaluable just as you are.”

  “And if I’m tired of being that kind of invaluable?”

  Whitney shrugged. “I don’t think there’s anything else you can do, old friend. You can quit the whole business, of course. But I don’t think you’d care for that, would you?”

  “No,” Maxwell said, sinking to his chair again.

  “Nor would I, which is why I don’t, bored though I may be. So find the errant fiancé, send the girl home, and get you to London,” Whitney said. “When you’re there you can ask to do something else. Maybe this peace will last, and you won’t have to do anything more.”

  “And maybe the newly self-proclaimed First Consul for Life Napoleon Bonaparte will retire and cede France to our king after kissing our beautiful prince on b
oth cheeks and wishing him long life,” Maxwell said, staring into the blazing hearth. “Then we can build a bridge to Paris and live as one nation, happily ever after.”

  “Some people think that may be.”

  “Some people,” Maxwell said, “think the moon is made of cheese. I’ll have that brandy now, thank you. Then I’ll scan these reports. You can go over them too and see if I’ve missed anything. I don’t think our missing lover is a spy. Nor do I think he’s anything but wise to be shut of this lady. But I promised to look, and I’m a man of my word. And who knows? He may be Bonaparte in disguise.”

  His friend rose and went to a sideboard to pour another goblet of golden liquor. “You think the peace is temporary?”

  “I think it may be over by the time I finish reading these papers. I know Napoleon wants to rule the world, and I don’t care to be under his thumb or his foot. Although, come to think on, I wouldn’t have to be. Because one of the first things he’d do would be to detach my head and those of my family and friends, as the Revolution did for my mother’s relatives. He has an aversion to the nobility, remember? I’d take tea with three thousand dizzy dowagers to prevent that.”

  Maxwell accepted a goblet of liquor from his friend and sighed. “Thank you. But whatever else I do, I must find out what Carstairs’s granddaughter’s suitor was doing, if only because I hate loose ends. And then even if I have to give up the case because there’s no end to it, I’ll go to London. You’ll follow I suppose.”

  “I should be honored to,” his friend said, sitting down again.

  “As well you should be,” Maxwell agreed, settling down to read his papers.

  “That is quite the loveliest gown I’ve seen you wear in a long while,” Lady Carstairs said, gazing at her granddaughter.

  Pippa’s gown was a long-sleeved column of saffron-colored silk, embellished with tiny gold rosettes. Yellow roses had been woven into her gilded hair, and a simple golden locket lay at her white throat.

  “And yet all we’re doing is meeting the marquis for dinner,” her grandmother mused.

  Pippa’s fair skin showed pink at her momentary discomfort. Then she shrugged. “It’s April, it may soon be too warm to wear it.”

  “There is that,” her grandmother said cheerfully. “And certainly the marquis will find it beautiful. Then perhaps he won’t be so snappish with you. Do you think he’s come up with Noel’s whereabouts?”

  “I don’t know, Grandmamma. It’s been three days since we met with him. That’s why we’re going to dinner with him this evening.”

  “He might just want to see us again,” Lady Carstairs said brightly. She gazed at her reflection in the looking glass, and preened. “He may seem cold to you but there’s no question he likes me. I may have aged a bit but I still attract the gentlemen.” She positioned her diamond necklace so that it lay perfectly on the very rounded breast of her blue gown and smiled. There was no self-mockery in her comment or her smile.

  Pippa bit her lip. There was no question that her grandmother’s conversation was growing strange. But then, she thought guiltily, it may have been so for months now. She hadn’t noticed. First Noel had taken up all of her time, and then she’d been absorbed in the mystery of Noel’s leaving. This was the first time she’d passed in the sole company of her grandmother in a very long while.

  Perhaps that was the real reason why grandfather had insisted his wife accompany Pippa on her journey. Grandmother was suddenly happier than Pippa had ever seen her: giddy and vain, flirting with every attractive gentleman she met, regardless of age. Had she been like that at home lately? If so, it must have hurt grandfather to see the love of his life diminish, if she, indeed, was diminishing. Or maybe he only wanted Pippa’s opinion on the matter. Grandfather moved in mysterious ways. She’d have to listen more closely to her grandmother to know how her mind was working now. But tonight she had to listen most closely to Lord Montrose.

  It was true she’d got herself up like a lady on her way to a grand ball. She knew the gown flattered her to the point that even she caught her breath when she’d seen her reflection. It had been designed to show off her curves. But he didn’t have to know that this was her newest and best gown. And in truth, where else could she wear it? She wasn’t invited to dances and balls anymore. She was an engaged woman whose fiancé had disappeared. She didn’t know if she was expected to mourn or to go into seclusion any more than her friends did. She wasn’t available, and so she couldn’t dance or flirt because then she’d seem to be fishing for unattached gentlemen. So she was left to herself except for the occasional invitation to tea.

  And, she admitted, she wanted to see Montrose’s reaction to her tonight. Surely, he couldn’t remain unmoved. If he continued to be snide and sarcastic, she’d know that he simply didn’t like females. If he made up to her, he’d be a cad. She froze as a new thought came to her. Maybe he was married! She felt weird relief, and vague disappointment.

  But whether he was a woman hater, a cad, or a married man, she likely wouldn’t see him again soon, and so she’d not experience that curious tug toward him coupled with the urge to flee from him. She didn’t know if that pleased her or not.

  “Come, Grandmamma,” she said. “He’ll be sure to say something unpleasant if we’re late.”

  Her grandmother rose. “Not to me, my dear,” she said.

  Pippa took her arm and looked down at her. That was when she noticed that her grandmother had a dusting of rouge on her wrinkled cheeks, a smudge of blacking above both eyelids, and a glaze of color on her lips.

  “Grandmother!” she said. “You’re wearing paint!”

  Her grandmother winked a sooty eyelid. “I’m not so old as to forget how to make up to my best advantage. It was all the rage in my youth. I gave it up because your grandfather never noticed after we were wed, so what was the point? You know, my love,” she said, peering up at Pippa, “you could do with a pinch of color in your face too. Lord Montrose looks like a judge of female beauty. You do want him to notice, don’t you? Why else would you have worn your grandest gown?”

  Pippa swallowed her answer.

  “There,” her grandmother said. “Now you’re nice and pink. Shall we go?”

  They made their way down the stair to the downstairs dining room. The place smelled of antique wood, polish, woodsmoke from many hearths, and the lingering scents of dinners long past. It was oddly homey and comforting, but Pippa couldn’t see the point to staying on here much longer. That meant she’d go home and remain in seclusion. It made her want to scream or saddle a horse and ride off into the night. She’d seldom felt so powerless.

  Pippa steeled herself for the coming encounter. Maybe she’d discover it would all be over soon: Noel found, her future restored. She doubted it, though. She didn’t want to creep home in defeat, whatever happened. She’d started on an adventure and was loath to end it however it was to end.

  Whatever news the bored nobleman had to share and whichever attitude he chose to display while doing so, Pippa promised herself she’d deal with it. And yet when she and her grandmother entered the private dining room, Pippa was startled by the sight of Lord Montrose’s unexpected, warm, welcoming, and glad smile.

  Chapter 4

  The flickering candles on the dining table’s top, the glow of the wall sconces, and the gleaming light from the lamps made the private dining room at the inn look snug and inviting, as did Lord Montrose’s welcoming smile. He was casually and yet very well dressed, in hues of gold and brown. The fashionably tightly fitted clothes showed he had a lean muscled frame as well as excellent taste in clothing. In all, Pippa thought darkly, tonight he looked almost unspeakably handsome, and she was sure he knew it. For once, she didn’t know quite what to say. She ducked a bow and used the moment to try to interpret the sudden, unusual warmth she’d seen on his face when she’d appeared in the doorway.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said, bowing to them in return. “Please have a seat. I’ve taken the liberty of ordering d
inner. The desert is said to be delicious, but I’ve even tastier news for you.”

  Pippa straightened instantly. “You found him!” she cried.

  “Not quite, not yet,” he said as he pulled out a chair for her grandmother. “But soon. I’m on the trail.”

  “Tell us, please,” Pippa said, taking her own seat and gazing up at him with delight.

  He hesitated.

  “Oh, please don’t make us wait until after dinner,” she pleaded. “I won’t be able to eat a bite until I know.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you giddy with my success,” he said as he too sat. “Because it isn’t quite that. But I’ve heard news of him and will follow that trail. In short,” he went on before she could ask more, “I heard that a fellow resembling him was here, and left. I hear he’s gone to Brighton. I don’t know if that was your man, but there’s no trace of him left here so that’s where I’m bound next.”

  “Brighton?” Lady Carstairs asked eagerly. “You mean the old village of Brighthelmstone? Oh, but wonderful. That was what they used to call it. It was a charming fishing village. The waters there were said to be quite as good for you as they are here. The king used to go there for his health. And then, in eighty-seven, our prince finally transformed it with the completion of his monstrous erection.”

  Pippa stared.

  Montrose pursed his lips.

  Lady Carstairs giggled. “Well, that’s what one observer wrote about his new Pavilion, and we were all so tickled, we couldn’t stop quoting it. I’m sure the architect, Mr. Holland, wasn’t so amused. But we were. Ah me. Those days seem so long ago. Just the place I’d wish to go now.”

  Pippa frowned. Her grandmother had never talked so warm before. Was it the freedom of travel that made her do it? Or was it something more sinister?

  “This place is short of amusing company,” her grandmother went on. “No wonder we can’t find Mr. Nicholson here. I vow the gentlemen here make me feel young again! Not in the best way, but anyone compared to them would feel youthful. And won’t you be pleased to leave here, Pippa? She hates Bath,” she confided to their host. “No, child, you hide it well, but I know,” she said, shaking a gnarled finger at her granddaughter.