‘Curiosity. I go to great lengths to satisfy it.’
She looked stunned, her scholar’s heart shocked at such an answer. ‘Curiosity? Is that all this is to you?’
He shrugged, enjoying her reaction. ‘I am not sure that preserving an archaeological site of Roman occupation is the best use of my land, Lady Fenwick-Clyde. The area you are exploring is excellent farming land. I believe it is also in the middle of one of my orchards.’ He turned to Tatterly, who was looking at his plate, his tongue tied by the proximity of his goddess. ‘Is that not so, Tatterly?’
Tatterly started. ‘What? Pardon me, Sir Hugo, I was not attending.’
Hugo swallowed his laugh. There was no sense in making his steward feel even more awkward than he already did. And Hugo did not enjoy making other people uncomfortable. Teasing and provoking, yes, but Tatterly was on the thin line between heaven and hell.
‘I was telling Lady Fenwick-Clyde that her Roman dig is in the middle of one of my best orchards. Is that not so?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’ Tatterly’s pleasant tenor was slow and solid no matter how uncomfortable he might be.
Hugo shook his head. The poor man was besotted. ‘So you see, Lady Fenwick-Clyde, I must weigh economics against the preservation of history.’
He waved his hand to one of the footmen for more wine to be served. ‘Thank you, John.’
The young man smiled with pleasure, ignoring the butler’s frown. Footmen were to be seen, but were to keep a bland countenance. It was hard to do so when Sir Hugo was always friendly and always remembered names.
Annabell watched the byplay with interest but said nothing. Hugo decided to gratify her obvious curiosity. And a part of him wanted to see how she would react. He wanted to see if she was the woman he was beginning to think she might be.
‘Once I would have been lucky to grow up to be a footman. I never forget that. So I always remember they are human beings the same as I am, only not so lucky in their birth.’
Her attention snapped back to him but she said nothing, even though her face held an arrested look. He had truly piqued her interest. Satisfaction was a sensation he hoped to experience with her in other ways as well as this.
‘Surely you jest, Sir Hugo,’ Miss Pennyworth said, waving away the young man with the wine. ‘A man of your position and lineage would never have been at risk of being a servant. I mean, after all…’ she waved her thin, white hand to encompass the elegantly appointed room ‘…you have all of this and more. Why would you want to spend even a short amount of time as a footman—or worse? I mean, it is inconceivable.’
Hugo considered the woman and her words while John poured him more wine. He thought he heard Lady Fenwick-Clyde groan but she said nothing. Wise. Miss Pennyworth was not only silly and a woman who rattled on, but was insensitive to the feelings of the people who worked around her. The truth would be a rude awakening for her to the realities of life and possibly make her more considerate of others’ feelings. He could hope it would curtail her nattering, but he doubted that.
He took a long drink, set the glass down and relaxed back into his chair even more than he had been. ‘No, ma’am, I don’t jest. Not about that. I am surprised you have not heard my story. At one time it was on the tongue of every wag in London.’
Miss Pennyworth’s pale blue eyes widened like saucers, seeming to take up her entire face.
‘My companion and I do not frequent London salons,’ Annabell said coolly. ‘We also do not follow gossip.’
Hugo slanted her a look that spoke volumes about his doubt on the last. ‘You are to be commended, Lady Fenwick-Clyde. Very few people have your discretion.’
‘Indeed,’ she said, her tone nearly a huff.
‘Back to my story.’ He turned his consideration back to Miss Pennyworth. ‘My father, the late Sir Rafael Fitzsimmon, was not married to my mother.’ The companion’s mouth dropped open before she managed to snap it shut. ‘Yes, it is true. A scandal had my mother been of good birth, but she was the housekeeper. A liaison like that is not all that unheard of. Particularly when the servant is comely, as everyone assures me my mother was.’
He heard Annabell Fenwick-Clyde’s sharp intake of breath. For some reason, which he did not intend to explore, her reaction disappointed him. He had hoped that with her pointed disregard for polite society she would be more accepting of his past. An emotion he could not name made him curt.
‘To make a long story short, I was given a baronetcy after Waterloo. My father had already willed me the part of his fortune not entailed. My half-brother will inherit my father’s title and all that goes with it when he comes of age. Until that time, his mother and I are his joint guardians and trustees.’
Miss Pennyworth’s complexion went from the red of embarrassment over his origins to white with discomfort. Hugo wondered if it would modify her attitude towards servants. Possibly, but probably not. He forced away the irritation that made him want to add something more shocking to the story.
‘What happened to your mother?’ Annabell asked so softly he barely heard her.
He shifted to look at her. Her eyes were soft with compassion, their deep blue nearly as black as a starless night. Perhaps he had been too quick to judge her. She seemed more concerned than repelled.
His gaze dropped to her lips. He had kissed them briefly, too briefly. He regretted that lapse. She had tasted of fresh air and sweet enticement. He wanted to touch her. Hell, he wanted to do a whole lot more than just touch her.
‘She died giving birth to me.’
‘Oh, I am so sorry.’
He waved off her concern. ‘Don’t be. I never knew her to mourn her and my father adored me. I never really missed having a mother. Unlike most men of his generation, my father spent a great deal of time with me.’
‘But still,’ she murmured.
He watched her, amazed to see her eyes fill with unshed tears. How had she managed to survive Fenwick-Clyde when his own far-from-sad story made her melancholy? It was a miracle.
‘But enough of my tale.’ Hugo stood. ‘Can I interest the three of you in a game of whist?’
Annabell looked at her companion.
Miss Pennyworth smiled in delight. ‘I so enjoy whist, or any card game. Many’s the night Annabell and I have entertained ourselves with a deck of cards while she was on one of her travels. Isn’t that so? Why, I remember the time we were caught in—’
‘Susan,’ Lady Fenwick-Clyde interrupted firmly. ‘I am sure no one is interested in our boring lives. Shall we go?’ To emphasise her words and determination, she rose and started toward the door.
Hugo smiled to himself. She obviously did not like her life discussed, or perhaps just that particular incident. He would have to pursue that story. Another challenge. They kept life interesting.
Tatterly stood as well. ‘I…’
‘Come along, Tatterly, you used to play cards with the best of them. Why, I remember one night in London—’
‘Yes, Sir Hugo,’ Tatterly interrupted. ‘I would like to play whist.’
Hugo laughed. ‘Good.’
He moved to follow Lady Fenwick-Clyde and touched her lightly on her gloved elbow. She jerked as though he had touched her with a hot coal. He smiled.
‘And how about you, Lady Fenwick-Clyde?’ he said, his voice intentionally pitched seductively low. ‘You have not agreed or disagreed.’
She stayed far enough away that he could not casually touch her again, but he could see the pulse beating rapidly at the base of her throat. The light scent of honeysuckle wafted from her.
‘I am outvoted. So, for the time being, I would be delighted to play whist.’ She did not smile and her eyes held the sardonic acceptance that some things must be done for politeness.
‘Gracious of you,’ Hugo murmured. He made her a short bow. ‘To the—’
‘Library,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘But of course.’ He turned to Butterworth. ‘Please bring tea and more brandy. I fear I dra
nk the last of the brandy earlier today.’
‘Immediately, Sir Hugo,’ the old retainer said.
‘After you, dear ladies,’ Hugo said.
Miss Pennyworth smiled broadly and Tatterly followed her from the room. Lady Fenwick-Clyde was slower, casting him a questioning look.
‘Yes?’
‘You don’t have to entertain us, Sir Hugo. I am sure we are not the company you are used to keeping.’
‘How do you know the company I keep?’
‘Rumour.’
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. ‘Rumour is a two-headed beast. It speaks with one mouth and turns around with the other and contradicts itself.’
She took a deep breath, making her full bosom rise and fall seductively, although he doubted she was aware of that. ‘I insisted on staying to be near my site, not to spend the evenings with you.’
‘Blunt. How delightful.’
Sarcasm edged his last words, but he could not help it. She irritated him at the same time as she intrigued him. Pursuing her would be interesting. Bedding her would be worth every minute of time and every ounce of energy it took to accomplish.
‘But I am outvoted, as I said before. So, cards it will be.’
She turned and swept from the room. Hugo watched her with pleasure. She was a tall woman and well-endowed, with hips that swayed enticingly and made him long to feel them moving beneath his.
It would be some small satisfaction to beat her at cards. A start.
The library fire roared, sending golden and orange light to the game table set in front of it. A face screen was nearby for the person next to the fire to situate to protect his or her face. Several small braziers held lit coals that added to the warmth. Expensive wax candles surrounded their playing area. A serving table held tea, brandy and an assortment of sweetmeats.
Sir Hugo enjoyed his comforts, Annabell thought.
She sat farthest from the fire and was still comfortable. Her shawl was just enough. She watched Susan sit across from Mr Tatterly, her thin frame angling unconsciously toward the fire’s heat. It was a good thing her companion would not be Sir Hugo’s partner. Susan enjoyed cards, but she was not a good player. She tended to talk rather than pay attention to her hand. To finish settling in, Susan adjusted the fire-screen to shield her face from the direct heat.
Mr Tatterly gave Susan a hesitant, yet warm smile. Annabell barely kept from shaking her head. The two were such opposites, yet they seemed drawn to one another. Strange.
Sir Hugo sat with his back to the fire and picked up the cards. He fanned them on the table for every one to draw to see who was high card and dealer. His fingers, long, white and impeccably groomed, drew Annabell’s attention. He might be the son of a housekeeper, but every part of him was elegant and refined. His nails were short and clean, his hands smoothly muscled. In a previous age, a fine fall of lace would have covered his supple wrists.
She shivered. What was she doing, admiring his hands? But they moved with such grace. He flipped over a card. The ace of spades.
She shook her head slightly to clear it of unwelcome thoughts about her host and picked a card. The two of hearts. Sir Hugo won the draw and picked up the cards. With a manual dexterity that, for some reason she could not fathom, was mesmerising to her, he shuffled the cards and dealt them. The game began.
Annabell considered herself a competent player. Sir Hugo was better. They won the first rubber in spite of not always having the best cards.
‘Tea?’ he asked, watching her with an intensity that made her uncomfortable.
‘Please.’
‘Miss Pennyworth?’
‘Please, Sir Hugo.’ She laughed, her pale blue eyes sparkling. ‘I cannot remember when I have enjoyed playing whist this much.’
‘Really?’ Sir Hugo’s voice held a hint of sardonic amusement.
Annabell gave him a sharp glance, but he met her look without expression. Even so, she sensed he was not impressed with her companion, not that it was any of his concern.
He poured the tea for both of them, adding sugar and cream without asking. ‘Brandy?’ he asked Tatterly. ‘Since we did not stay behind the ladies and drink ourselves under the table with port, we might as well drink ourselves under the card table with brandy.’
Mr Tatterly gave his employer a censorious look, but nodded.
They changed partners. This time Annabell played with Mr Tatterly. It was a débâcle. Miss Pennyworth, more interested in conversation, bid wrong then played wrong. Mr Tatterly had not cared. Annabell noticed Sir Hugo was not made from the same cut of cloth. Sir Hugo was competitive, nor was he enamoured of the lady. Annabell and Mr Tatterly won easily, but not soon enough for her comfort.
She rose immediately. ‘I believe it is time for me to leave. I hope to be at the dig very early tomorrow.’
Sir Hugo stood more slowly. ‘Of course. I will walk you to your room.’
‘There is no need. I am a grown woman and can find my own way.’
‘You are most decidedly a woman, Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’ His gaze held hers with a hint of something warmer than appropriate, which was typical for him she knew. ‘And a very independent one as you have gone to great lengths to prove, but I am going that way and wish company. And…’ he gave her a mocking smile ‘…it will save on my candle bill. We will be able to share one instead of each of us carrying our own.’
‘Hah! As though you care about such small economies.’ She waved a hand in a semi-circle to take in the three small braziers burning brightly and warmly nearby. Not to mention the multitude of candles lighting their play area.
‘Annabell,’ Susan said, her voice holding mild reproof.
Annabell sighed. Obviously Susan had not sensed Sir Hugo’s growing irritation, but then Susan was always happily ensconced in her own world.
Still, the last thing Annabell wanted was his company. After the fiasco at cards, she was not sure if she was afraid of his sensuality or angry at him for his barely concealed disgust with Susan. Either way, she did not want him escorting her anywhere. But it seemed she did not have a choice.
Her acceptance was grudging. ‘If you insist, Sir Hugo.’
His smile mocked her. ‘Oh, I do, Lady Fenwick-Clyde.’
Rather than stay and continue to play this game of words, she pivoted on her heel and moved into the foyer and from there to the stairs. Footmen, dressed in crimson and gold, stood their ground near the banister. She nodded at them and heard Sir Hugo address each by name and wish them a good night. He was a contradiction. He baited her and barely concealed his contempt for Susan, yet treated his servants as people in their own right. Of course, as he had told them at dinner, he had nearly been one.
They climbed. She could hear his shoes on the glossy waxed steps and sense his closeness. Then he was beside her, offering her his arm.
‘No, thank you,’ she said, hoping her voice was reasonably polite.
‘As you wish,’ he murmured.
The last thing she needed was to feel that sharp, disturbing jolt his touch created in her. It was bad enough that her entire being seemed on alert. Besides, she was still upset with him over the card game.
They left the stairs and walked down the carpeted hall. Now he was closer to her, if that were possible. The hall, while wide, was not nearly as wide as the stairs had been. Annabell felt as though his hips brushed hers, although she knew that was not so. There was at least a foot between them. Cinnamon and cloves filled her senses, a very unusual combination for a man to wear. But she found she liked it.
‘You are an intelligent woman.’ He spoke to her for the first time since leaving the library.
‘I have always thought so.’ She made no attempt to modify her haughty tone.
‘And not overly modest.’
She glanced sharply at him, wondering where he was headed. ‘I believe in knowing one’s abilities. If that is being unmodest, then so be it.’
‘Very practical.’
‘I think so.’
/>
‘Then why do you saddle yourself with a companion who is so obviously inferior to you?’
She bristled. ‘Susan is compassionate and kind. I could not hope for a better companion and friend.’
‘Possibly,’ he drawled. ‘But she has not a thought in her brain. Let alone interesting conversation.’
She stopped dead in her tracks. ‘How dare you speak of her like that? Just because you don’t seem to appreciate her finer points doesn’t make her worthless.’
‘True,’ he murmured.
She stared at him. ‘Why did you bring this up?’
‘To learn more about you?’
He watched her the way a wolf very likely watched the lamb it had decided to devour. She edged closer to the wall.
‘And why would you do that?’
‘Because you are my uninvited guest and because you intrigue me. I have never met a woman like you.’
She edged away. His attention made her feel decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Well, you must have led a more sheltered life than I had thought.’
He laughed. ‘Touché.’
She moved forward, eager to be away from this disturbing situation he had created. Even so, she felt his gaze on her back like a flame. She shivered in spite of the warmth provided by her practical dress and shawl.
He chuckled low in his throat so that the sound came out like a growl. ‘I promise not to attack you out here where anyone going about their business can see.’
She glanced over her shoulder. The glitter in his eyes was unnerving.
‘Just promise not to attack me at all,’ she muttered, forgetting he was close enough to hear anything she said.
He laughed. ‘I can’t promise that. Nor would I even if I thought I could control myself.’
She paused, taken aback by his response, before forcing herself to keep walking. She picked up her pace.
‘You are a self-indulgent man.’
She kept herself from looking at him to see his reaction to her censorious words. Very likely he did not like her blunt speaking—most men did not—or she had provoked him into doing or saying something outrageous. She seemed to have that effect on him.
An Unconventional Widow Page 4
