Hill leaned forward to rest his forearms along his thighs. “Do you wish to be more than Lord Lexford’s sister?” he asked earnestly.
Mercy closed her eyes to steady her emotions. “Lord Lexford will never act the scandalous role of Lord Byron and his sister Augusta,” she rasped as tears pooled in her eyes’ corners.
“However?” Mr. Hill encouraged.
“However, I would devote my life to His Lordship’s comfort,” she reluctantly admitted.
Hill smiled easily. “Then perhaps we should devise a means to prove you a viable choice for the viscount.”
“Do not be foolish, Mr. Hill,” she chastised. “When Lord Lexford discovers our betrayal, His Lordship will drive me from his home. I shall never see the viscount again, and you shall likely require another position.”
Hill chuckled. “I imagine Lord Worthing could see me through.” He leaned back into the cushions. “Leave the truth to me.”
Mercy groaned; she dreaded the possibility of the viscount learning of their ruse. “In the time being, may we consider the lateness of the hour?”
Hill good-naturedly accepted her change of subject. “Do you wish for me to search for Lord Lexford?”
Mercy jumped on the suggestion. “Would you? I cannot sleep until I know His Lordship has returned.”
*
He grumbled as he donned his heavy jacket. Why he had left his warm bed in the first place Lucifer would never know? Now, he was going out into a cold night to search for a man who would gladly remove Lucifer’s head from his shoulders if he knew the lie Lucifer had practiced. “At least the girl admits her interest,” he said with another deep smile.
Catching the door latch, Lucifer jerked it open to find the viscount leaning heavily against the frame. “My Lord!” Lucifer reached for his friend and pulled him into the muted warmth of the kitchen. “You are soaked to the bone.” Lucifer could not imagine what had occurred. He jerked off his coat and wrapped it about the viscount’s shoulders. Directing Lexford to a straight-backed chair, he said, “Here. Sit.”
The viscount’s teeth chattered, and his lips had taken on a bluish hue. Lucifer swung the pot upon the hook over the banked fire before adding several more logs and new kindling. “We will have you warm in only a moment.” He glanced at the icy cast on the viscount’s cheeks. “What happened?” he asked curiously.
Yet before Lexford could respond, Miss Purefoy appeared on the servants’ stairs. “Mr. Hill, I mean to go…” The lady froze in mid sentence. “My God!” Miss Purefoy rushed to Lord Lexford’s side. Catching his hands between hers, she began to rub them briskly. “Oh, my dearest,” she said sweetly as Lucifer looked on. “We shall tend you, my Lord.”
*
Aidan could barely recall finding his way to the manor. With the disappearance of the figure who had knocked him from the rock shelf, he had lain upon the muddy bank for a long time, analyzing each of the half dozen appearances of his “wife’s ghost.” From the beginning, he had assumed his guilt had manifested itself into Susan’s form, but now he thought otherwise. A ghost could not have hit him with such a force as to send him toppling over the rock face.
So, if the “ghost” was not his imagination, then he had more troubles than he had initially expected. Someone wanted to kill him, and on this evening had made a marked attempt. Forcing his weight to a seaated position, Aidan had stared in the direction where he had last seen Susan’s figure, but for once, it was not his wife’s countenance, which materialized. Instead, he had seen the lovely image of Mary Purefoy. The lady motioned him to come to her, and Aidan had wanted what she offered: a feeling of belonging.
And so he had stumbled and crawled along a path to where he had left Valí. Mounting the horse, he had ridden home in a shivering mix of soaked clothes and a needful heart. He had kept the image of Miss Purefoy beckoning him before him, and when he finally reached the servants’ entrance, after releasing Valí to find his way to his stall, Aidan had half expected to discover the lady waiting for him. When Mr. Hill had opened the door, Aidan felt both the relief of having survived his ordeal and the disappointment of his dream. Without much enthusiasm, he had permitted Hill to attend him. Oddly, his mind dwelt on the lady, and as if he had willed her to him, Miss Purefoy had appeared. Despite his misery, Aidan smiled.
“We shall tend you, my Lord.” The lady turned to Lucifer. “Mr. Hill, fetch His Lordship some brandy. I shall support him to his room.”
Aidan wondered at the obvious look of amusement on Hill’s countenance. “Should you not fetch the brandy and permit me to tend the viscount?”
“Can you walk, my Lord?” Miss Purefoy ignored Hill’s suggestion.
Aidan was not certain his legs would cooperate, but if his effort meant wrapping himself about the woman, he would make the effort. Painfully, he nodded his agreement and reached out his hand to Lucifer for support. Unfortunately, his body expressed its objections to the idea, and he swayed in place.
“Easy,” Miss Purefoy said as she rushed to brace him with her body. “I was so worried for you, my Lord.” She fussed over him, tightening Lucifer’s coat about him. “I had summoned Mr. Hill to search for you.”
Then the image was not simply a dream: The lady’s will had guided his return. The idea brought a zing of warmth to Aidan’s heart. He glanced to his man, and Lucifer gestured the truth of the woman’s words. “Th…ank you,” Aidan said through trembling lips.
He knew her to be extremely practical so the lady had surprised him when she shooed Hill upon his way. As appealing as having the woman clinging to him seemed, Aidan realized he was no match for the stairs leading to his room. However, the woman remained confident. “Come, my Lord,” she said as she turned him toward the servants’ stairs. He breathed forcefully, his mind reeling.
Aidan’s feet felt as heavy as boulders, but he managed to shuffle his way toward the open door. However, when he reached the first step, his body balked at the necessity of climbing the stairs. With a sigh of defeat, he said, “I cannot…mount…the steps.” He leaned heavily against the door. The back of his head rested against the wood, and Aidan held his body in place by grasping the side of the door.
“Oh, my poor Aidan,” Miss Purefoy said as she braced him with her body. Having her so close brought his senses to alert, and the sound of his name upon the lady’s lips brought Aidan a different type of warmth. “You must know care, my Lord. You are too precious to us.” Miss Purefoy caressed his cheek, and Aidan turned his head to rest it in the lady’s palm. It had been many months since his head had known such confusing thoughts, but this time he did not fear the unknown. When the lady rose on tiptoes to offer him her mouth, the thought of the cold, which had held him captive for the last hour, dissipated immediately. “My Aidan,” Miss Purefoy whispered. Her breath warmed his cheek before her lips pressed against his.
At that moment, he was her Aidan. The heat returned to Aidan’s lungs, and he instinctively reached for her. She was the most remarkable woman he had ever encountered, and his arms held her tightly in his embrace. Aidan’s once chilled fingers pressed Miss Purefoy closer while his tongue swept the seam of her lips. Although tentative, her kiss was as sweet as honey from the comb. The lady’s mouth opened enough for Aidan to slide his tongue inside; Miss Purefoy gasped, but she clung to him, permitting Aidan to taste her completely. He wished for her surrender–finally to acknowledge his desire for her. God! He had forgotten how sensual a kiss could be! He had certainly not kissed Cashémere Aldridge as such, and if he had held Miss Satiné in a tight embrace, Aidan possessed no recollection of the moment. And sadly, Susan had never permitted him such liberties.
The lady teetered on the brink, and Aidan’s heart rejoiced. He purposely did not push her response. If she came to him, it would be Miss Purefoy’s choice. He would not take advantage of an innocent. Instinctively, he felt the give of her body.
He thought he could continue kissing the lady forever–to feast on her until his hunger was sated, but the soun
d of a distant shuffling of feet brought Aidan to his senses. He quickly set Miss Purefoy from him at the same instant Mrs. Osborne entered the kitchen.
“My Lord?” The cook shot him a suspicious look. “Is something amiss?”
Aidan swallowed deeply to push away his desire. “I had…had a riding…accident. Miss Purefoy and…Mr. Hill…are assisting me to my…to my chambers.” He spoke to the cook, but his gaze remained on Miss Purefoy. Even in the dull light from the fireplace, he could see her lips swollen from his kiss. To his delight, the lady was having as much difficulty as he in recovering.
Mrs. Osborne said doubtfully, “Where be Mr. Hill?”
“Here, Ma’am.” Hill stepped into the room carrying the brandy decanter. “I thought His Lordship might require something to warm his bones. Lord Lexford’s horse spooked and provided His Lordship with an unscheduled dip into the river.” Aidan suspected Lucifer had observed Aidan’s embrace of Miss Purefoy. At a minimum, Mr. Hill had overheard Aidan’s explanation of a riding mishap for Hill added details Aidan had not disclosed.
The cook’s gaze softened. “You’ll catch yer death, my Lord,” she said as she rushed to set a second kettle upon the fire. “I’ll have the tub for a hot bath brought up shortly. Kant be having ye takin’ ill.”
Aidan could easily read the lady’s thoughts. Mrs. Osborne feared consumption might take him also, but she had erred. The kiss he had just shared with Miss Purefoy meant he had something for which to live, and live he meant to do. “Perhaps Miss Purefoy could retrieve clean clothing from my quarters,” he suggested. He must maneuver Miss Purefoy away from the cook’s observations. They must speak on what had transpired between them, but it would have to wait for the moment. “Mr. Hill is capable of assisting me here in the kitchen. God only knows we encountered worst conditions during our war years.” Everyone always gave sway when he spoke of his service, and Aidan would use that particular fact to his advantage. “I see no reason to have the tub carried above stairs at this hour. That is if you hold no objections to my converting your kitchen into my dressing room.”
The lady fussed with the fire. “This be yer house, my Lord. Ye be free to do what ye think best.”
Aidan stepped past Miss Purefoy to block her from the cook’s view. He slid his hand around hers. Desire shot up his arm, but he made himself gently squeeze her fingers in encouragement. “I am pleased you agree, Mrs. Osborne,” he said evenly. “Claiming Lexington Arms as distinctly my own is exactly what I intend to do.”
Chapter 13
She had kissed him. Unconsciously, she touched her fingers to where the warmth still remained on her lips. “Like a common tart!” Mercy moaned as she climbed the last of the stairs leading to His Lordship’s chambers. Lord Lexford had protected her by sending her for his clothing. If she had turned to face Mrs. Osborne, the cook would have easily observed the look of bewilderment upon Mercy’s countenance and the swelling of her lips from the pressure of the viscount’s kiss.
“Why?” she groaned softly as she tapped upon Mr. Poley’s door. Hearing the bolt released, Mercy straightened her shoulders to meet Mr. Poley’s usual disdain. She would never allow Lord Lexford to know the condemnation she encountered daily from certain members of His Lordship’s staff. She would not dwell long with Aidan Kimbolt, and there was no reason to set him against his servants purely for her to avoid a few moments of discomfort. She was the outsider, not they. Mercy would send the valet to retrieve the viscount’s clothing. She certainly could not enter Lord Lexford’s quarters without bringing more censure upon her head. Besides, viewing His Lordship’s bed and rifling through his clothing would engender thoughts no lady should possess.
The valet’s door cracked but a few inches. The man held a candle aloft. “Yes, Miss?” he said flatly.
“Your master has had a riding accident.” Mercy doubted the pretext the viscount had given was the truth. She had personally witnessed the expertise, with which Lord Lexford rode, and she knew his horse’s temperament; however, the staff would accept whatever excuse Lord Lexford offered. “He was thrown into the water and requires dry clothing.”
Mr. Poley opened the door wider. He shot a quick glance across the hall toward his master’s room. “Is His Lordship waiting elsewhere? Why have you been sent as Lord Lexford’s courier? It is well past a lady’s bedtime.”
Mercy normally would have simply answered the man’s question and been on her way, but the valet’s impertinence enflamed the anxiety coursing through her. “It is not of my station to explain myself to yours,” she said aristocratically. “Be about your duties. Lord Lexford awaits your services in the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?” the man call after her, but Mercy’s nerves had had all the turmoil she could handle for one day. She walked briskly away. She meant to find her bed and bury her head under a stack of pillows. “Stupid. Stupid girl,” she chastised herself as she entered the dark quarters. Despite how easily Lord Lexford had wormed his way into her heart, Mercy realized she did not deserve the viscount. A woman who spoke untruths could never own such happiness. She took a moment to stoke the fire before undressing. Mercy performed her nightly ritual without thinking on it. “You have played the fool,” she told her reflection as she set before the mirror to brush her hair. Her misery only fortified the idea she must leave soon. “All you have done this night is to speed your date of departure. You may no longer linger until the date of His Lordship’s house party. Lord Lexford is, obviously, too great a temptation.”
*
“The person who attacked me was a living, breathing woman,” he told Lucifer. The appearance of his valet had not pleased Aidan, but he had accepted the man’s assistance with as much grace as he could muster. In reality, Miss Purefoy had done the practical thing by sending Mr. Poley rather than to return to the kitchen, but that particular fact did not quench Aidan’s desire to hold her again.
Lucifer sipped his brandy. “Then your ghost cannot be Lady Lexford.”
“No.” Aidan paused. “I am not certain whether the idea pleases me or not. I am grateful my mind is not conjuring up specters to punish my guilt, but I do not look upon the situation with comfort. Someone has attempted to kidnap Aaron, to kill Miss Purefoy, and to drown me. All this chaos started with my return to Lexington Arms.”
Hill closed his eyes as if searching for the correct words. “Have you considered the possibility of the person behind this design as being Jamot? I certainly would not put it past that crazy Baloch to devise some scheme to find Shaheed Mir’s infamous emerald. I do not imagine Mir will welcome Jamot home until the Baloch completes his mission.”
For an elongated moment, silence greeted the question while Aidan considered Hill’s conjecture. “Last I heard, Jamot was in Liverpool. Likely, with the number of ships coming and going from the port, he can hide more easily there than in other parts of England.”
“Liverpool is not so far,” Hill reasoned. “While you were in Cheshire someone broke in the manor. Rummaging through drawers and such. I believe the culprit to be Murhad Jamot.”
Aidan frowned. “Why did you not inform me of this development previously?”
Hill shrugged. “I was not aware of the incident until I returned from Scotland. By then, you were recovering from your attack. Only thought of it again recently, after the attempt to steal the boy. I started asking question of those below stairs. Two of the grooms reported seeing a dark-skinned man running from the house. They gave chase through the woods, but did not catch the intruder.”
“You think Jamot meant to trade Aaron for the emerald?”
Hill sat his glass on a side table. “It would not be the first time the Baloch has used kidnapping to learn more of the missing emerald. Miss Sonali. Miss Aldridge. Hell, at first, Lord Worthing considered Miss Satiné’s abduction Jamot’s doing. That is until Miss Cashémere recognized Charters’ family name as to the coach’s letting.”
Aidan voiced other scenarios in which Murhad Jamot had been involved. “The Balo
ch meant to intimidate Thornhill by wounding Lady Eleanor in Hyde Park, and he arranged that elaborate trap for Miss Cashémere and Miss Satiné in the glass cone.” Aidan’s fingers tapped out a staccato upon the chair arm. “Could Jamot have hired a woman to impersonate my wife?”
Hill thought on the possibility. “Jamot is a cagey opponent, my Lord. He has shown himself intelligent enough to learn the intimate details of each of the Realm members’ lives. To exploit any weaknesses. As masters of grand estates, you and your associates are fodder for the local gossips. Servants and villagers alike speak freely of what they know of your lives. It was the means by which Jamot knew of Miss Aldridge’s returning to Lord Averette’s Scottish home and how, when he sought a place to hide Miss Sonali, Rahmat Talpur knew of Thornhill’s Cornish home. Mir schools his agents well in discovering vulnerable points.”
Aidan reasoned, “I require more information on Jamot’s most recent appearance in Liverpool.”
“Is not Sir Carter still in the port city, seeing to the dismantling of the Chinese ship?”
Aidan stood. “I will be away from the house for several days. Reportedly, Pennington has rushed to the Dowager Duchess of Granville’s side and has left Sir Carter in charge. The baronet and Swenton have taken over the case.”
“What of Lord Godown?”
“The marquis searches for his wife. Lady Godown saved the marquis’s three aunts, but then disappeared into the night. Lord Godown has belatedly discovered his wife’s honesty; however, he was too late to salvage his marriage.”
Hill said earnestly, “I am sorry to hear it. The marquis has known enough sorrow. I pray for an early resolution to his troubles.”
“I pray for the same for each of us.”
*
Mercy heard the door open and close, but she did not open her eyes. Likely, Lord Lexford had sent her maid Millie to check on Mercy, especially after Mercy had not returned to the kitchen last evening. If she kept her eyes closed, the girl would think her asleep and leave. As if Mercy could sleep with thoughts of dashing viscounts dancing through her mind.
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