Instead of doing the sensible thing, Mercy wanted to touch him. Of late, she had dreamed of kissing Lord Lexford. What she would not give to have her first kiss to come from Lord Lexford. Unfortunately, the viscount saw her as someone he must protect, not someone he could love, as a man and woman would know love. His Lordship thinks you his sister, her sagacious side asserted. A gentleman would never kiss his sister, legitimate or not. And it is best the viscount does not act without propriety, Mercy silently chastised. You did not accept Mr. Hill’s charity to act the seductress.
*
Miss Purefoy had fallen asleep as she rested against his leg. Without realizing she had done so, as she drifted off to sleep, the lady had gently stroked the back of Aidan’s calf just below where his knee bent. Her tenderness had touched his heart and had stirred his manhood. Aidan had never been one to keep a mistress, especially after what had happened to Andrew. Now, he suspected he might need to call upon one of the ladies in Liverpool soon. As much as a man can when he feels no connection to the woman beneath him, he had enjoyed himself with Monique when he and Godown had visited Lady Minerva’s Parlor Room, but the attack on the marquis had brought the evening to an abrupt end.
He leaned forward to support Miss Purefoy’s form to the floor. She rested upon her back, her arms and legs bent at odd angles, but he thought her charmingly attractive. She was so innocent. So vulnerable and so damn tempting. The lady constantly spoke her heart without an inner censure to prevent her doing so, and Aidan found her openness delightfully refreshing. With resignation’s sigh, he bent to lift her to him. “You are fortunate, my Dear, that my back did not suffer the damage my head endured. Otherwise, you would know no bed this night,” he murmured as he unconsciously buried his nose into the crook of her neck. He inhaled her essence.
Through the thin cloth of her nightrail and robe, Aidan could feel the warmth of her curves as he easily supported her weight. Her slender legs were draped across his forearm, and the palm of his large hand cupped the cheek of her hip. An image of the lady naked beneath him drove Aidan’s steps forward. He could feel his manhood come to life. Bloody hell, she is your sister, his brain told his body, but his body refused such rational thoughts.
Making his way through the darkened halls, Aidan turned toward the stairs. Miss Purefoy snuggled closer, and Aidan drank in the scent of lilacs. He lifted her higher so her breath might warm the skin beneath the opening of his shirt. It was exquisite torture, but one Aidan was willing to bear. Her closeness washed away some of the shame he felt as a Kimbolt.
Finally reaching her quarters Aidan shouldered her door open. Miss Purefoy had left a lantern burning, and Aidan easily made his way to her bed. “It is time for us to say our farewells,” he whispered as he placed her gently upon the pillows. Lifting the heavy braid, he draped it across the lady’s shoulder. In doing so, his fingers brushed the fullness of her breast.
His manhood hardened. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. He lifted the braid and placed it down again. This time his fingers lingered against the weight of her breast. Aidan would love to caress the globe. To taste the bud. To drink of Miss Purefoy’s essence.
With a stifled groan, he shook his head to drive away his errant thoughts. Adjusting himself in his tight breeches, Aidan was thankful the woman had not awakened while he stared down upon her, with his hand cupping his most private parts. The lady would have thought him quite the deviant. Settling the counterpane across her, Aidan’s turned to catch up the lantern. He raised it where the light might shine down upon Miss Purefoy’s countenance. “Sleep well, my Christmas angel,” he whispered.
Slipping from the lady’s room, Aidan meant to leave the lantern on a small table outside, but a strange click of a door had him turning toward the sound. No one else had chambers in this particular wing.
The door leading to the burned out section of the house stood ajar. “What the bloody hell!” he growled as he strode toward the partially opened door.
The cold December air seeped through the opening. As cold as a grave, he thought as he shoved the door wide and lifted the lantern to cut the darkness. A shiver having nothing to do with the chilly breeze invading his house slid down his spine for the light kissed a solitary figure. His wife stood on the burned out ledge from which she had dived into the growing flames. Aidan’s shoulders became rigid; his left fist white.
“Susan.” His mouth formed the word, but no sound escaped.
Yet, she must have heard him for she glanced his way before darting toward an opening leading to the remnants of the stairs to the ground floor.
Aidan was immediately on the move. “Susan!” he called. “Please, Susan! Do not run away from me!” But his entreaties fell on deaf ears. Before he could reach the ledge upon which he had last seen her, she was gone. A bitter taste filled his throat.
Aidan gave chase, but for a man of his size, the burned out skeleton held additional dangers. By the time he had squeezed through the opening to descend what remained of the narrow stairs, there was no sign of her.
Had he imagined a woman he was certain he had failed? Had his less than chaste thoughts regarding Miss Purefoy manifested themselves as an image of his wife? Looking back on the blackened timbers, Aidan knew it was past time to repair his house and his life. After Christmas, he would impose on Miss Purefoy’s good graces to redecorate the sleeping quarters and the rooms for entertaining. He would replace the rooms, which had been lost in the fire. He would take Miss Purefoy’s advice. Aidan would drive the ghosts from his reign as Viscount Lexford. “Farewell, Susan,” he said to the night’s stillness, but Aidan’s confidence faded when his wife’s voice carried across the empty space.
“Never, my Lord.”
Chapter 7
“And you heard Lady Lexford’s response?” Lucifer eyed him suspiciously.
Aidan had waited until after he had excused the staff to their own Christmas celebrations before he had asked to speak to Hill privately. He had known his man would find Aidan’s tale dubious. “As clearly as I hear you now,” he said more calmly than he felt.
Hill sighed heavily. “And this occurred after you carried Miss Purefoy to her chambers?”
Aidan had omitted the part where he had touched the woman. The thought of her soft curves still sent his heart racing, but he had abandoned the idea of Susan’s image being a twinge of guilt from his actions. He could not recall a time when he had hungered for a woman more. “I know what you are thinking,” Aidan said in exasperation.
Hill smiled easily. “Then why do you not speak for me, my Lord?”
Realizing he thumbed his embroidered name on the handkerchiefs Miss Purefoy had presented him as a gift, Aidan slammed the open desk drawer harder than he had meant to. The lady had skillfully placed his initials on a half dozen cloths she had given him as a Christmas gift, but on two, she had placed his Christian name on a complementary corner. “So your cloths are different from those of the late viscount,” she had explained. “A token of a new beginning.” How Miss Purefoy had known his full name, Aidan was uncertain. Likely from the copy of Debrett’s in the library. Truthfully, the fact the lady had somehow learned he, his father, and Andrew had shared the same monogram was beyond his caring. With her gift, Miss Purefoy had recognized him as beyond the former heirs to the title, a fact which infinitely pleased him.
Occasionally, Aidan wondered how he and his father would have got on if Arlen Kimbolt had not succumbed to his illness. Would his father have shown patience in teaching his second son the responsibilities of being a viscount? Aidan would never know. It had been James Kerrington who had come to Aidan’s rescue when the title had landed squarely on Aidan’s shoulders.
“You think I felt shame for enjoying Miss Purefoy’s company,” Aidan accused. “You think I still blame myself for Susan’s death.” Aidan could not look Hill squarely in the eye. Perhaps a twinge of guilt did remain.
Hill sat forward. “Are those my words or yours, my Lord?” he said with concern.
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He scraped one hand across his face. “Damn it, Hill. I require your insights, not your sarcasm,” Aidan said testily. Memories of Susan always brought forth his ire.
Hill’s countenance hardened. “I do not mean to make light, my Lord.” His man hesitated before saying. “It is odd, Sir, that you have never seen any visions prior to your injury and your return to Lexington Arms.”
Aidan’s heart lurched. “Are the images associated with Charters’ attack? A delayed symptom of my injury?”
Hill said matter-of-factly, “It would seem prudent to examine the possibility. Is there a man of medicine in the area we might trust in the matter?”
Aidan shook his head in the negative. “None that would not speak openly of the current Lord Lexford’s bedlam, but perhaps a discreetly worded message to Fowler’s physician might serve the purpose. I was impressed with the man’s professional manner and his knowledge.” Aidan paused before asking, “If we think there is a connection between my return to the estate and these strange sightings, should we be wary of anyone who was not part of my life previously?”
Hill asked cautiously, “Meaning Miss Purefoy?”
Aidan considered how much the lady’s goodness was in sharp contrast to every other memory he held of his estate. Despite his best efforts, he frowned. “How much do we know of my sister?” His frustration fed his feelings of doubt.
His man had an unerring ability to assess a person’s true nature, and Aidan had often sought Lucifer Hill’s opinion on a new acquaintance, whether in London or in the field as a member of the Realm. On more than one occasion, Hill’s intuitive nature had saved their group from danger; yet, an odd expression crossed Hill’s countenance, and Aidan again wondered if Lucifer hid the truth regarding Miss Purefoy. “The lady has an irrefutable mystique, but I do not perceive the girl to have a touch of guile in her bones.”
Aidan voiced his earlier thoughts, the ones he had reasoned while dressing for supper. “Do you not think it peculiar that you happened upon the very person you sought when you departed Linton Park?”
Hill hesitated, which presented Aidan with another stab of concern. “You look for deceit, my Lord. Can you not take pleasure in the simply joys Miss Purefoy brings to your life?”
“Is the lady honest?” Aidan demanded. With Miss Purefoy, he was so far off his normal amiability, and he did not know how to rein in his emotions.
In an unconscious gesture, Hill tapped his finger against the chair’s arm. “In all the essentials, you may place your faith in Miss Purefoy.”
Aidan pressed, “But you think my sister keeps secrets?” He wondered if his anger was wrapped up in wanting a forbidden woman, and that fact did not set well with him.
Hill spoke earnestly, “Do we not all keep our own confidences? I cannot imagine you have shared your deepest secrets with the woman.”
*
Despite Hill’s assurances, Aidan had awakened from another fretful night feeling no more satisfied than he had been when he had crawled into his too large bed the night before. He had waved off his valet’s efforts to shave him. He completed the task himself. In the field, Aidan had learned to tend to his own ablutions. “Some days we had no clean clothes,” Aidan had explained to Mr. Poley when the valet had complained of Aidan going to breakfast with a smudge of dirt upon his breeches.
“Yet, my Lord, that was long before you were Viscount Lexford,” Poley had protested.
And, of course, the man had been correct, but the valet’s opinion held no weight. If Aidan were to discover the truth among Lexington Arms’ ruins, he would begin with the simplest of tasks. “One point of reference at a time.”
*
“Miss Chadwick,” Mercy had greeted the girl with a welcoming smile. “You have impeccable timing. I had just thought to have tea. Might you join me?” Earlier, Mercy had asked Mr. Payne to show the girl to her sitting room. Miss Chadwick was to deliver the first of her creations today, and Mercy anticipated the pleasure of wearing something new for Lord Lexford. She had abandoned her earlier protests and simply permitted the viscount his generosity.
Miss Chadwick blushed, but she accepted the cup Mercy extended in her direction. “His Lordship’s home is magnificent,” the girl said in awe. Mercy thought it amusing that Miss Chadwick had said something similar the other two times she had called upon the estate to take Mercy’s measurements and to do an early fitting of the garments.
Mercy smiled graciously. “It is a fine estate. Even with the damage to the end of this wing, I think the house possesses an undeniable character.”
Miss Chadwick giggled nervously. “I did not know what to expect. There were terrible rumors that the whole house had succumbed to the fire.”
The girl’s words instantly piqued Mercy’s attentions. In the short time she had dwelled at Lexington Arms, Mercy had noticed how the house’s servants, under strict orders from Mrs. Babcock, made a point of not discussing the incident, which had cost Lord Lexford his wife. If asked directly, the person would provide a quick, succinct response before rushing away to perform his duties. Even Mr. Hill had avoided speaking freely of the event. Perhaps, Mercy might learn of what most troubled Lord Lexford from someone outside the house. That is, if she dared.
With a steadying breath, Mercy said encouragingly, “As you have observed, only six rooms suffered from the event. The remainder of the house is quite untouched.”
The girl’s eyes scanned Mercy’s quarters. “Your chambers suffered no damage?”
Mercy said coyly, “I could show you the burned out rooms, if you care to see them.”
Miss Chadwick fanned her face with her hand. “Oh my, no,” she said upon a throaty rasp. “I could not look upon a place where a woman lost her life so tragically.”
Mercy’s heart fluttered in anticipation. “What do the villagers say of the late Lady Lexford?” She caught the girl’s hand in a display of solidarity.
Miss Chadwick glanced about the room as if suspecting an eavesdropper to be hiding in the shadows. She leaned toward Mercy and lowered her voice in secretive tones. “Although we are not Catholics, the vicar’s wife says Lady Lexford should never have been buried among good Christians because Her Ladyship took her own life. You were aware Lady Lexford started the fire in which she died, were you not?”
Mercy experienced a twinge of regret for having begun the conversation, but she felt compelled to know more of what had happened to drive a woman to seek a fiery release from her pain. She said conspiratorially, “What makes the vicar’s wife believe the late Lady Lexford wished to leave all her family behind? Master Aaron was but a babe.” Mercy could not imagine a woman who would wish to leave His Lordship. From what little she had discovered of the Kimbolts’ relationship, Lady Lexford had been Aidan Kimbolt’s long time love. “I had heard the fire had started in a clogged fireplace,” Mercy said baldly.
“Oh, no, Miss.” Miss Chadwick’s eyes widened with excitement. “The late viscount had summoned the current Lord Lexford home to marry his brother’s widow, but His Lordship’s sacrifice meant nothing to Lady Lexford. Her Ladyship pined for a man who lost his life over another woman. Lord Andrew died in a duel over his mistress. My papa says it was quite scandalous, and Lady Lexford was too weak to endure the shame. The former Susan Rhodes gathered her beautiful gowns together and set fire to them as if she built a celebratory bonfire. Then she stood back and watched the flames spread. By the time, Lord Lexford sought her out, the fire had consumed part of the floor. The upstairs collapsed in on the lower level. Although the gossips say he tried valiantly, His Lordship could not reach his wife. When the fire was at its height, Lady Lexford dove in. Deland Simpkins told my father that Lord Lexford reported his wife did not utter a word–not even a scream from the pain when the fire caught her dress.”
Again, Mercy could not imagine a woman who would prefer Andrew Kimbolt to His Lordship. She had seen Andrew’s portrait in the gallery, and the man resembled his father. The late viscount’s portrait showed a
square-chinned aristocrat with a broad forehead. Deep ancient eyes filled with determination and autocratic rule, which looked out upon those staring up at him. Mercy had imagined Arlen Kimbolt quite implacable. Nothing like the amiable Aidan Kimbolt.
Miss Chadwick continued, “Truthfully, few in the neighborhood have a care for the Rhodes family. They put on airs others find offensive. No one thought Miss Rhodes worthy to be the viscountess.”
Mercy was in unchartered territory. She had no right, other than her utter devotion to the viscount, to take an unparalleled interest in the man. “I suspect we should speak no more of His Lordship’s past,” Mercy said gently. Giving the girl’s hand a squeeze, Mercy was quick to add, “We have but a short time, and I am most anxious to view your creations. My cousin swears your father runs the finest mercantile in the area.” She would need to add a prayer of forgiveness for yet another lie, but Mercy held no qualms over changing the subject. She had much to consider about what Miss Chadwick had innocently shared. As she sipped her tea, Mercy was sorry for how Lord Lexford had been duped by his family, and she deeply regretted having set out on her own course of deception. She sighed heavily before swallowing back the lump. Aidan Kimbolt had endured pain from those he held most dear, and the viscount deserved better than her duplicity.
*
“It is impossible!” Aidan asserted. It was all he could do to remain in his seat.
As expected, Susan’s father had arrived promptly at eleven, with the child in tow. “I have no other choice, my Lord. Mrs. Rhodes is not well, and Sophia can no longer oversee the care of the boy.”
Aidan scowled. What Rhodes had suggested would destroy any peace Aidan had achieved over the past two years. “I will gladly support the services of an additional nurse to tend the child.”
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