Lord Carlton’s Courtship

by Alexandra Ivy

  “A toast,” he offered in a challenging tone. “To you and my dearest friend, Roma.”

  Giles swallowed the urge to knock the superior smile off the rodent face and instead lifted his glass with a laconic gesture.

  “I will certainly drink to that.”

  Leaning against the shelf, Lord Scowfield didn’t bother to hide his obvious suspicion.

  “I must admit that I am quite surprised by this engagement, Carlton. Roma has always been adamantly opposed to the mere mention of marriage. How did you ever manage to sway her opinion?”

  Giles shrugged in a rather self-derisive manner. “I would like to claim that she was felled by my fatal attractions, but in all honesty I must admit it was more persistence than charm that won the fair damsel.”

  Seemingly surprised by such a blunt confession, Scowfield raised his dark brows. “Indeed?”

  “Yes, I simply refused to be dismissed.” His expression abruptly hardened, suggesting a hint of danger. “I can be quite tenacious when I choose.”

  “So I have noted,” Scowfield admitted in dry tones. “Still, I can not help but be curious at her abrupt change of heart. I believe you have only known each other a short while?”

  “Long enough to be certain that we shall suit quite well,” Giles stated in a voice that dared opposition.

  “I do hope you are right, Carlton. I should hate Roma to regret her rather … hasty decision later.”

  “I shall ensure that she never has cause to regret our marriage,” Giles retorted. Then, realizing he had managed to lose control of the confrontation, he set about remedying his error. “Of course, any wedding will have to wait until I have formally obtained permission from Mr. Allendyle.”

  A guarded expression descended on the thin countenance. “Yes, indeed. I believe you mentioned William is in the north visiting friends?” His tone was determinedly casual. “Is he expected to return soon?”

  “I had hoped you could tell me, Scowfield.”

  The small man visibly stiffened. “I? What a perfectly ludicrous notion! How could I know when William is to return?”

  Giles pretended an interest in the golden brandy he was currently swirling in the bottom of his glass.

  “Did he not speak with you about his visit?”

  “Not at all,” Scowfield swiftly denied. “I haven’t spoken with William for … oh, several weeks, I daresay. Indeed, I had no notion he was even considering leaving Greystead.”

  Giles abruptly lifted his gaze to stab Scowfield with a piercing stare. “No? How very peculiar.”

  “I fail to see why. William has no need to inform me of his every movement.”

  “Then I wonder where I got the notion you had some knowledge of Allendyle’s whereabouts?” Pretending to consider the strange circumstance, Giles idly glanced toward the chessboard, his slender fingers moving to pull the ivory queen forward. “Ah … checkmate I believe.”

  The door opened, interrupting the tense atmosphere that filled the drawing room. Both gentlemen turned to regard the butler standing in the doorway.

  “Dinner, my lord,” he intoned.

  “Thank you, Hudson,” Scowfield said, clearly relieved by the servant’s announcement. “Shall we go through, Carlton?”

  “Certainly,” Giles agreed, then, with a deliberate motion, kicked the pocket watch that he had earlier dropped to the carpet. “Hold a moment. What’s this?” Bending down he picked up the watch he knew to be William Allendyle’s and held it up for his host to see. “This must be yours, Scowfield.”

  For a moment a blank look of puzzlement settled on Scowfield’s dark countenance; then with the staunch composure that Giles could not help but admire, he held out his hand to firmly accept the proffered watch.

  “Ah … yes. Thank you, Carlton. I must have dropped it last evening,” he lied smoothly.

  Any fear that his suspicion of Lord Scowfield stemmed more from jealousy of his familiar relationship with Roma than any substantial information was put to a swift end. He had effectively proved that this man was attempting to hide something surrounding William’s disappearance.

  “Unusual design,” Giles commented in bland tones.

  Scowfield gave him a stiff smile. “A family heirloom.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Shall we go to dinner?”

  Giles hesitated, wondering if he should press his momentary advantage. Then, deciding that he might frighten the man into committing a rash act they would both regret, he forced himself to swallow his impatience.

  “After you, Scowfield.”

  Together they left the room and walked down the gallery to the vast dining room. With a deliberate effort, Giles adopted his most urban manner, turning the conversation to the latest political unrest confronting Parliament. Seemingly content to follow his guest’s lead, Lord Scowfield added his own mild comments, unwittingly revealing a shrewd grasp of the current fractions within the government.

  The dinner progressed without incident, and after sampling a fine port and viewing a collection of ancient coins set within a glass case, Giles at last took his leave. He was careful to time his departure only moments before the stroke of midnight, and making his adieus, he strode out of the house to where a groom patiently waited with his stallion. With casual ease, he swung up into the saddle and urged his horse back down the long, winding drive.

  He kept the restless stallion at a steady pace, as if he had nothing more on his mind than reaching his bed at Rosehill, but his senses were on full alert for any hint that he was being watched or followed as he crossed the parkland. Reaching the gatehouse he continued for several more paces before slowing his mount and carefully searching the road behind him.

  Eventually satisfied that his departure had not aroused undue interest, he slipped out of the saddle and moved to the darker shadows beside the road.

  “Well?” he demanded, not bothering with any preliminaries.

  Jameson stepped forward, the moonlight slanting across his sharp features.

  “I have discovered nothing, my lord,” he confessed in disgusted tones. “The servants are as tight lipped as one of them mummies out of Egypt. They won’t pass on one word about their employer.”

  Giles couldn’t help a small chuckle. “How grossly inconsiderate of them to be so loyal.”

  “I fear I have done nothing more than waste a bottle of gin.”

  Having unfortunately sampled the gin from the local inn, Giles was convinced the only waste was of a good bottle.

  “My evening was hardly more profitable,” he consoled the frustrated groom. “Lord Scowfield is proving to be as sly as a fox, and as difficult to corner.”

  “Did you find out nothing then?”

  “I found out that Lord Scowfield knows more of William Allendyle’s disappearance than he is willing to admit,” Giles acknowledged, recalling the man’s hasty claim to Allendyle’s pocket watch. “In fact, I would bet my fortune he was directly involved.”

  Jameson arched a surprised brow at the stern accusation.

  “What do you intend to do?”

  Giles grimaced with exasperation. The same question had burned through his mind since Lord Scowfield had revealed his hand.

  “What can I do? I have no proof, no means of forcing him to tell the truth.” He smacked a fist against his thigh. “Damn, but it is a frustrating tangle.”

  Sensing his employer’s growing impatience, Jameson squared his shoulders with determination.

  “Shall I poke around the estate and see if I can find anything amiss?”

  Giles gave a swift shake of his head. “Not yet. I put a flea in Scowfield’s ear. For the moment, let us sit back and see which way he jumps.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Jameson conceded with obvious disappointment.

  “You might, however, keep an eye on the inn.” Giles offered instead. “If the mystery man happens to arrive, you can let me know as soon as possible.”

  The groom visibly brightened. “Of course.”
<
br />   With a wry smile, Giles turned and pulled himself back into the saddle. He was disappointed by the lack of tangible evidence, but he was convinced that he was at least a step closer to the truth. And one step was better than none.

  “Now, I must return to Rosehill,” he announced, his expression twisting with rueful amusement. “Lady Welford is impatiently awaiting my decision on whether she should choose to wear the gray tulle or the violet satin ball gown. A decision, I have discovered over the past few days, that carries profound complications and must be fully discussed and pondered with tedious care.”

  Blinking in mild surprise, Jameson watched as his employer urged the black stallion down the dark road.

  He had always heard that love could make a gent a bit daffy.

  Now he was certain of it.

  Nineteen

  “Roma, what the devil are you doing hiding yourself in this corner?” With a frown of exasperation, Claude halted beside his truant cousin. “Mama is nearly in a spasm looking for you.”

  With a tiny sigh, Roma realized that her momentary peace was at an end. She hadn’t intentionally tried to hide from the roomful of guests her aunt had invited for the evening, but once she had drifted into the shadowed alcove, she had discovered that it was the perfect place to view the large saloon without being noticed.

  “I am not hiding,” she denied, the white lie slipping easily from her lips. “I was simply searching for a place in which I could stand without being trampled by the crowd.”

  Wry amusement replaced the irritation as Claude glanced around at the guests that mingled throughout the room.

  “Lord, yes. Mama is of the old school that firmly believes the success of a party is only determined by how many times your toes are trodden upon. She refuses to accept the notion an evening’s entertainment would be much more enjoyable with twenty comfortable guests rather than fifty miserable ones.” Claude shrugged, his blue eyes lingering on the pallor of her features. “Is it only the crowd that is bothering you?”

  Roma couldn’t prevent a mocking smile. “What do you think, Claude? My brother is mysteriously missing, I am engaged to a man who is little more than an annoying stranger and your mother has insisted on this party to introduce my pretend fiancé to the entire neighborhood. Should I be bothered?”

  Claude gave a rueful chuckle. “All right, it was a ridiculous question.”

  “Indeed it was.”

  “But to be honest, cousin, I am so accustomed to seeing you face up to every problem that the sight of you hovering in this corner with that rather sick look on your face caught me off guard.” He gave a self-conscious shrug. “I thought for a moment you might be jealous.”

  Roma instinctively stiffened at the ludicrous words, absolutely refusing to glance toward the tall, raven-haired man who had been surrounded by a circle of adoring women since the evening had begun.

  “Jealous?” She lifted an auburn brow. “Pray, what would I have to be jealous of?”

  “Well …” Claude blushed faintly beneath her steely gaze. “Whether it is pretend or not, Lord Carlton is your fiancé. Those girls should know better than to flirt with the man in such a shameful manner. Any well-refined lady would blush at such forward behavior.”

  With a tiny jolt of surprise, Roma realized that Claude’s condemning words merely echoed the distaste that had smoldered in the back of her mind all evening. Of course, it had nothing to do with jealousy, she swiftly reassured herself. It was simply annoying to see well-brought-up girls behaving like common tarts just because a handsome and, at times, charming man had arrived in their secluded lives.

  “I don’t suppose you can fully blame them,” she grudgingly conceded, her gaze overcoming her staunch command to stray toward the man she hadn’t seen or spoken to for the past three days. As always the odd quiver of awareness flared through her body as she covertly studied the pure lines of his masculine profile and the exquisite fit of his elegant coat and pantaloons. There was little doubt that he easily surpassed every other male in the room, but forcing aside her very feminine appreciation for his decidedly male attributes, she instead concentrated on the charming smile he flashed with monotonous regularity at the bemused collection of women. “My fiancé seems to be going out of his way to encourage them.”

  Claude turned his head to follow her pointed glance. “He is only being polite, Roma.”

  She forced a small laugh, giving an indifferent toss of her head. “What do I care? He can flirt with whomever he chooses. In fact, it relieves me of the burden of pretending I find him anything but odious.”

  “Have the two of you had an argument?”

  “When don’t we argue?” she retorted, refusing to acknowledge the small flare of pain that accompanied the words. It wasn’t her fault that the man had chosen to ignore her very existence for the past three days. Or that he preferred to treat her with taunting amusement rather than the practiced charm he was currently bestowing upon the giggling misses fresh from the schoolroom. “But to be honest, I have not clapped eyes on him for days, so for once we are not at daggers drawn. I can only assume he prefers the stimulating appeal of such obvious admirers.”

  Consumed by the sight of Giles lowering his raven head to catch the words of a diminutive blonde with vacant blue eyes and an overly exposed bosom, she missed her cousin’s speculative glance at her unknowingly bitter words.

  “I wonder what he has been up to,” he murmured thoughtfully. “He certainly hasn’t spent his time here. Perhaps he has been over to the Scowfield estate.”

  “At Freddie’s?” His words managed to capture her interest and she turned to flash him a dubious frown. “What could he possibly be doing there?”

  Claude shrugged. “I am not sure. He has, however, taken an inordinate interest in Freddie. He has asked all manner of questions about his estate, his habits and even his taste in women. I found it decidedly odd to tell the truth.”

  No more odd than she did, Roma silently admitted. She would have sworn that Giles had taken a swift and unreasonable dislike toward Freddie. So why would he suddenly demand information that went well beyond idle curiosity?

  Almost as if sensing her perplexed gaze, Giles suddenly raised his head from the chattering blonde, his vivid blue eyes abruptly narrowing as he studied her strained features that not even the vibrant curls or frothy golden gown could completely distract an onlooker from. Without a word, he detached himself from the group of fluttering damsels, and ignoring their pouts and imploring urges to remain, he firmly crossed the room to Roma’s side.

  “My dear, you look pale. Are you not feeling well?”

  Ridiculously, it was the flare of sheer pleasure that raced through her at the genuine concern in his deep voice that made her rapidly retreat behind her familiar wall of antagonism.

  “I feel perfectly fine.” She tilted her chin to a defensive angle. “Besides, it is rather late to play the role of the devoted fiancé.”

  A raven brow arched at her petulant tone, and she suspected there was a mysterious glint of satisfaction deep in his eyes.

  “Perhaps I have been rather remiss, but that is easily corrected.” With a fluid movement he had her arm in a firm grasp. “A short turn around the terrace should reassure everyone that I am completely besotten with my intended.”

  A flurry of exquisite excitement raced up her arm at the touch of his warm fingers on her bare skin, and confused by the unexpected sensations, Roma found herself being escorted to the open French doors before she could form the instant protest that rose to her lips. But as they stepped into the blessedly cool night air, she managed to regain her shaken composure enough to send him a furious glare.

  “There is no need for this absurd charade,” she told him in a cold voice. “I was quite content to watch you dazzle the local schoolgirls with your wit and charm.”

  The husky male laugh she found so disarming mingled with the flower-scented breeze as he steered her toward the shadowed end of the terrace, his unnerving grip rema
ining on her arm even as they halted beside a marble bench.

  “They at least appreciate my feeble attempts at flirtation. You, on the other hand, have remained remarkably immune. I can only hope that persistence will prove to be more effective than charisma.”

  She firmly hardened her heart against his nonsensical words. He was a shameless rake, and she knew that her continued disinterest in his masculine charms had pricked at his arrogant vanity. As a result, he was continually attempting to bait her with his outrageously suggestive words.

  “Must you be so ridiculous? You know quite well I have no interest in a frivolous dalliance. You’ll have to wile away your boredom with women more susceptible than myself.”

  “Frivolous dalliance?” His amusement only deepened at her sharp reprimand. “How can you label me as a libertine when I have willingly offered you my name and protection in the most honorable state of matrimony?”

  Her heart jerked to a painful stop before lurching back into motion at an uneven pace. She was potently aware of his body heat that easily penetrated her thin muslin gown and the clean scent of his male skin. She was also disturbingly reminded of the captivating moments she had spent in his arms. The memories had haunted her dreams to the point that she feared she would never again close her eyes without seeing dark aquiline features and brilliant blue eyes. Her unnerving reaction to his proximity made it impossible to treat his ludicrous words with the disdain they deserved. Instead, she flashed him an unconsciously alarmed glance.

  “I wish you would not jest about our fictitious wedding,” she complained. “It is difficult enough to endure Aunt Clara’s endless chatter without your taking such delight in roasting me.”

  “And what makes you so certain that I am roasting you?” His mocking smile remained, but his tone was oddly somber. “I have already told you, I believe we could deal quite well together.”

  “And why would you want a marriage of “convenience?” she demanded with open suspicion. “You could easily choose a woman with a title, a fortune and even beauty. Why would you settle for someone like me?”