“I don’t want that! I’ve no wish to come between him—”
“And people who would cast the blame of his abduction on an innocent child who was the victim of a similar fate? Or who would ask him to turn his back on the sister of his heart, who has been his truest companion and supporter for all the years of his absence from them?” Wolverton surmised, “If they are such people, Miss Mason, your brother is better off without them! Now, you must be tired. Mrs. Epson will bring you up some stew. Eat it if you wish. Toss it in the fireplace if you find it too inedible. I beg you do not pour it from the window as I’ve found her cooking kills the grass below.”
Mary’s jaw dropped. But then a laugh erupted from her. “Are you making jests now? I do believe you have taken leave of your senses, Lord Wolverton. Perhaps now it is you who is mad with fever?”
*
The question, uttered on a musical laugh, could only be answered in the affirmative. He had quite taken leave of his senses. Without thought to the consequences or even the possibility of humiliating refusal, Alex leaned forward and captured her lips, still curved by a gentle smile. She did not push him away, but there was hesitation in her response. Her lips were still beneath his and unresponsive, but only for a moment. He recognized it for what it was—inexperience. Mary was not kissing him back because she wasn’t entirely certain of what to do. But that hesitation was short lived. Within seconds, her actions mirrored his own and she pressed her lips gently against his, moving them in sweet supplication.
The kiss continued like that, not quite chaste but far from carnal, until he could no longer be satisfied by it. Only then did he urge her lips apart and invade the soft recesses of her mouth, sweeping his tongue against hers in a bold fashion that would surely shock her. But his Mary was not faint of heart, and she met him stroke for stroke, kissing him back with an urgency that belied her inexperience. If he’d thought himself tormented with desire before, he’d since seen the error of his ways. For this was the purest torture. Kissing her, the very act mimicking the physical intimacy that he craved with her, all the while knowing that he should not touch her, should not want her, and most assuredly should not pursue her.
And in spite of all that, he tugged her forward from the chair she occupied, pulling her onto his lap so that she straddled his thighs. All of which was accomplished without breaking the kiss. Her hands delved into his hair, holding him to her as if he had the will to leave. The kiss grew into a living thing all its own, their heartbeats synchronized in a rapid tattoo that belied their heightened states. Her skin flushed and as he touched her, his hands moved over that soft flesh as if he were touching the smoothest of satins.
It was the most natural thing in the world to let his hands wander, to touch her in a way that he knew no other man had. Cupping one breast in his palm, he felt her tense. For a moment, he feared he had pushed her too far. And part of him knew that he should hope for that, he should hope that he terrified her to the point of sensibility because, for him, all hope of it was lost. Kissing her again had robbed him of any hope of sanity, of being able to forget her once she was gone from him. Somehow, with her shy smile and her sweet but fierce nature, she’d invaded his very soul.
With his hand on her breast, her lips pressed to his, and her thighs spread over him, Alex was utterly lost. But even lost, he heard the clanking of the heavy keys Mrs. Epson wore on a belt about her waist. Alex broke the kiss, drawing back from her and rising quickly to his feet, he settled her once more in the chair she’d occupied earlier and moved away from her to look out the window as Mrs. Epson entered the room. The woman might have been in her dotage and nearly deaf, but she was clearly not blind. No sooner had she stepped into the room than she halted, looked from one to the other of them and then made a derisive sound that adequately expressed both her displeasure and disapproval.
For once, however, she said little enough. After placing the tray on the small table near the hearth, she gave them each a baleful stare and then turned to go. The door slammed loudly in her wake.
“Forgive me, Miss Mason. I should not have—that should not have happened again.”
“No,” she agreed. “It should not have. But it did. And as forward and wanton as I may sound for admitting it, I am not sorry. But even I recognize how unwise it would be to continue courting disaster, Lord Wolverton. You should see your friend about the carriage and, if possible, tomorrow I will return to my brother and we need never be faced with such temptations again.”
It was precisely what he should do, and yet the idea of it left him feeling unsettled, as if the proper course and the right course of action were very different things. Still, he stepped back from the window and made for the door, pausing long enough to add, “I’m not sorry, either. Heaven knows I should be, for you deserve far better than a man such as me could ever offer.”
He walked out, the door slamming once more. Without breaking stride, he made for the stables and rode hell bent for leather to a neighboring estate. Only a few miles cross country, it was a good seven miles by following the winding road. But he cut through the fields, taking jumps that bordered on reckless, and felt better for it. Riding had helped to exorcise her from his mind, at least momentarily.
As he reached Avondale Hall, Lord Ambrose’s estate, the doors opened and Cornelius Garrett, Ambrose’s son, came tearing out the door. The two were often at odds and it didn’t surprise him in the least. Garrett gifted him with a derisive glance and then brushed past him without speaking. That, too, was not unusual. While Lord Ambrose had never seen fit to judge him based on gossip, Garrett certainly had. But then, he’d always thought the fellow a rather stuck up prig.
Knocking upon the door, the butler bade him enter and led him to the study where Lord Ambrose was reviewing correspondence at this desk. It was obvious that the man was unwell. His sallow countenance and the yellow cast to his eyes belied his condition.
“Wolverton! Good of you to visit!” Ambrose said. “I’m not down for long. Must get back to town you know! Can’t let them have all the fun parties without me.”
Alex crossed to the desk, examined the half-empty decanter of brandy and knew that it had likely been full at luncheon. “Perhaps you’d do better to let a few of those parties pass you by,” he suggested mildly.
Ambrose waved away the suggestion like he would a buzzing insect. “You’re beginning to sound like my tightly-wound son! Wound tighter than a clockmaker’s pocket watch, that one! Had to send him away… won’t be lectured to by a boy who is barely out of short pants.”
“Your son is seven and twenty,” Alex pointed out.
“He can’t be,” Ambrose protested.
“He was but a few years behind me at Eton. I assure you that he is,” Alex said. “But I did not come to lecture you. I’ve come to beg a favor.”
Ambrose nodded. “It’s about bloody time. I can’t stomach the idea of you living over there in that crumbling hovel, existing in penury! How much do you need?”
“I do not need your money,” Alex protested. “I’ve come to borrow your carriage. There is a young woman who, through circumstances too terrible to divulge, has come into my care. I need to return her to her family in Bath but she is not well enough to ride horseback or in a curricle. A closed carriage would be best for her.”
“And for her reputation, no doubt,” Ambrose agreed, his silvered eyebrows arching upward in a mockery of shock. “I know better than to ask if you’ve had your way with her. You and my son are too much alike in that regard. You’ll never have any fun of your own, Wolverton, but at least you will not begrudge me mine!”
“I do not think he begrudges your pleasures, Ambrose. I believe your son has concerns for your wellbeing. We all do. But I have accepted that you will do as you have always done, regardless of any physician’s recommendation,” Alex replied.
Ambrose waved a dismissive hand. “This girl… does this have anything to do with the recent death of Lord Harrelson? Funny how they call me a rogue and s
ay I’m irredeemable and yet he’s welcomed everywhere! Bounder!”
Alex made a face. “You are a rogue and you are irredeemable. You simply prefer to be irredeemable with willing and like-minded company.”
Ambrose laughed heartily. “That I do, dear boy! Though I fear those days are behind me now… I prefer to imbibe freely and frighten young maidens with tales of what I might have done twenty years earlier.” He laughed again, amused by his own wit, before sobering, as much as Ambrose ever could. “The carriage is yours, of course. And the money, too, if you ever have need of it. I would only ask one thing of you, Wolverton.”
“And what is that?” Alex asked.
“Don’t wallow in scandal and misery. Let the bastards think what they will of you and live your life on your own terms! After you’ve made Harrelson pay, that is!”
Alex looked at him from the corner of his eye. “You have not heard then, have you? Harrelson is dead. Poisoned by some charlatan fortune teller who worked for him—Madame Zula, who was likely one of his conspirators.”
Ambrose nodded. “Hoisted on his own petard, as it were. I hope it was a painful death!”
At that, even Alex was taken aback. “So long as he’s dead, does it truly matter how?”
“It does,” Ambrose said heartily. “I’m dying, Wolverton. We both know it. My body is failing me and it’s not a painless thing. Yet, I’ve lived the entirety of my life hurting only myself. Meanwhile, Harrelson has caused nothing but grief and misery for every person he’s ever encountered. So, yes, I hope it was painful and humiliating, just as what I have to look forward to no doubt will be!”
It wasn’t entirely true, Alex thought as he remembered the stormy countenance of Cornelius Garrett. He loved his father, and Alex knew that most of their disagreements stemmed from his attempts to get Ambrose to live a more moderate lifestyle. At one time, he’d thought it had been simply the family’s reputation that was of concern to Cornelius. But as Lord Ambrose looked more frail and sickly at every meeting, he had begun to wonder if he had not misjudged Garrett on that count.
“Painful or not, he’s dead now. But there are still questions to be answered. Hamilton’s involvement is not yet clear. But what I do know is that Harrelson wasn’t simply peddling secrets as we’d once suspected. He was peddling flesh as well. Kidnapping women and children and selling them into servitude to abbesses or to those who would keep them and abuse them in a more discreet manner.”
Ambrose raised one eyebrow as he refilled his glass of brandy. “And how did you get this information?”
“I stole ledgers from Harrelson’s estates,” Alex admitted.
Ambrose shook his head. “Breaking the law will not aid your cause, Wolverton! Besides, you’ll need more. Let me send some letters of inquiry to a few people I know… we should be able to come up with a trail of evidence on the receiving end of that merchandise which will support your claims nicely when you request your appeal. And now that Harrelson is no longer living, the blackmail that resulted in your conviction on the first go round should no longer be an issue. We will have this cleared away, my friend, if it is the last thing I ever do. It may well be, for that matter.”
Alex frowned. “You need a physician! A good one and not one of our local quacks!”
An expression of what might have been wistfulness crossed Ambrose’s face. “I fear it is far too late for that, in more ways than one. I’ve made peace with my fate, Wolverton. My son and heir requires no assistance from me… despite my own hardheadedness and indifference, he’s managed to grow up as an honorable sort, if a bit priggish. There is nothing for me to do for him. Helping you is the closest I can come to atoning for my sins in this world. And so I shall go to meet my maker with receipt of a good deed in hand.”
“There is time—”
“To what? Give up drinking? I’ve already given up women! Or perhaps they’ve given up on me,” Ambrose mused. “No. I’ll not deny myself every enjoyment in life when the outcome is all but set in stone. I’ll see to this for you though. On that you have my word. And you have my carriage for as long as you shall need it… and my coachman, of course. See this young woman safely back to her family and allow me to handle things from here. With Harrelson dead, I see no impediment to your appeals!”
Alex rose and walked toward the desk. “Thank you for being my friend, Ambrose. Thank you for not turning your back on me when so many have.”
“Nothing to thank me for, Wolverton. Had I not been drowning myself in drink and hussies at the time, it would never have come to this. Harrelson’s engineering of the jury could have been averted and the truth would have won out. I failed you then, but I will not fail you now.”
Alex nodded and turned to take his leave. At the door, he paused and asked, “Are you aware of a connection between Harrelson and the late Lord Vale?”
Ambrose’s silvered eyebrows shot up again, but there was no mockery this time, only genuine surprise. “My dear boy, they were thick as thieves once upon a time. They tried to blackmail me, you know? Vale came to me and informed me that Harrelson had proof that I had sired a child with a lady of some repute. Her husband knew, of course. It was not a secret, but having it exposed could have been quite disastrous, indeed. I refused to pay, however, because I knew that if I did, I’d never stop paying. I did offer a duel though, to meet Vale first and Harrelson after should I survive. That was the end of it, so far as I know. But then they had a falling out, as I think Harrelson wished to edge Vale out of their joint business venture and keep the proceeds for himself. It all happened just before the boy went missing… Vale’s heir. Why would you ask?”
“It seems that the missing Lord Vale has been reunited with his family. I just wondered if, perhaps, Harrelson might somehow have been involved in his initial disappearance and why,” Alex admitted.
Ambrose considered his answer carefully. “The only thing that would surprise me about any of that would be Harrelson’s choice to leave the boy alive. He has a cold and ruthless streak in him—had, I suppose.”
Alex considered that. It was shocking and, perhaps, it meant that whoever was working for Harrelson at the time, FH as was mentioned in the ledgers, had taken some liberties himself in placing some of the children when deals fell through.
“There were notations in the ledgers identifying Harrelson’s servant as FH. Do you know a name that is attached to those initials?”
“I do not, my boy… though I do recall Harrelson having some very disreputable-looking servants who accompanied him about town.” Ambrose leaned back in his chair, “Tell me, Wolverton, is she pretty?”
“Pardon?”
“This girl you’re set on reuniting with her family… is she pretty?” Ambrose demanded.
Alex had known Ambrose long enough to know exactly what the man was getting at, and he was not going to fall for it. “It’s of no consequence.”
“So she is pretty… sweet natured?”
“She’s a lovely girl, gently-bred, and terribly traumatized. I want nothing more than to see her safely home,” Alex insisted.
Lord Ambrose cackled at that, “Are you trying to convince me, Wolverton, or yourself?”
Alex grimaced. “You won’t leave this alone, will you?”
“You’re widowed, boy. Not dead. A pretty, young woman rescued from a terrible fate and immensely grateful to you—”
“I wouldn’t dream of exploiting her gratitude or her trauma for my own benefit, Ambrose. As well you know!”
“I never said anything about exploiting. You’re free to wed… she clearly needs someone to look after her. Why ever not? You’re on the path to setting your fortunes to rights. You’re a marrying kind of man, Wolverton… faithful as the day is long!”
“You say that rather like it’s an insult,” Alex mused.
“Well, not an insult, but certainly not something I’ve ever aspired to,” Ambrose admitted. “My own wife, god rest her, was understanding enough. She tolerated me, even had a modicum of affe
ction for me, I think. But she never loved me and I never loved her. But you are a romantic at heart. It’s that more than Helena’s faithlessness that wounded you, my boy. You could forgive her for anything except disabusing you of your romantic notions. Perhaps, this pretty young thing could help you rediscover them?”
“And in the meantime, shall we live in the four rooms of my house that are habitable and subsist on whatever the tenant farmers can spare and whatever I can eke out of the kitchen garden?” Alex demanded. “I’m not in a position to take a wife… and even if I were—”
“She’s not high-born enough for you?”
“I don’t give a whit about that,” Alex retorted sharply. “If I married, if we had children… can you imagine what they would face given the scandal that is attached to my name? She’d never be accepted in society, polite or otherwise. I’d be damning her to a lonely existence, all but a prisoner in Wolfhaven Hall. Even if they do clear me of any wrongdoing and reverse the judgements against me, money alone will not halt the gossip and rumors, Ambrose. You know that.”
“I do know that. Why do you think my son is such a prig? He’s doing his damnedest to be anything but like me in the hopes of halting such gossip. But to hell with the lot of them, Alex. If you want to be with the girl, be with the girl! If you care for her as much as I suspect you do, then you wouldn’t want to be anywhere but with each other anyway!”
“It’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible,” Ambrose insisted. “Think on it, won’t you?”
As if Alex had been able to think of much else since Mary Mason had come crashing through the woods that fateful night. He rose to his feet, nodded his head, “Thank you again, my friend.”
With that parting comment, Alex left via the side door and made for the stables where his mount waited. He could have had a servant arrange for the carriage and his mount, but since his fall from grace, he’d grown rather used to seeing to his own needs. It scandalized Ambrose’s servants, naturally, but Alex paid it no mind. He spoke to the coachman and made the necessary arrangements for him to arrive at Wolfhaven just past daybreak and see them to Bath. It would be a long journey and he needed to see to provisions for them. He was not flush by any means, but had enough coin to cover changing horses at the halfway mark and to provide a light luncheon for them.
The Mystery of Miss Mason (The Lost Lords Book 5) Page 13
