“It seems a shame to cover these,” he murmured. “They are so lovely.” He leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth. Helena writhed as she felt the warmth of his mouth and pressure of the linen against her skin. He raised his head and smiled at her.
“A promise for tomorrow,” he said.
Malcolm found the garments she had shed and brought them to her, helping her dress as gently and patiently as he had undressed her.
“Your gown is a bit crumpled,” he murmured as he slid it over her head. “But you can change it soon.”
Helena smoothed her skirts as Malcolm dropped another kiss onto the nape of her neck, and then turned her, pulling her into his arms.
“You—you should dress as well.”
“I could stay here, in this room,” he said. “You could tell the servants it is haunted, and they are not to enter. I could be here every hour of every day, waiting for you. How often would you visit me?”
Helena felt desire stirring at his words, at the thought of Malcolm being always there for her. She shivered.
“You don’t answer. I think you would be here often. Several times a day, in fact.” He ran a finger down the length of his penis, and she watched, fascinated.
“Think of that before you come to Wroxton tomorrow,” he murmured. Lazily he turned away and picked up his breeches, stepping into them and sliding them up over his hips. He fastened them as she watched regretfully.
“I—we should go back to the drawing room,” she said.
Malcolm slid his shirt over his head and buttoned it. “I suppose we should,” he answered. Helena watched silently as he dressed, half wishing he would stay. He looked up and met her eyes.
“Do you regret this?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I cannot,” she finally said.
“I love your honesty. There is nothing to regret, Helena. Do we go back through the passage, or through the house?”
Helena hesitated. “I suppose we should go through the passage. We can go out the drawing room doors onto the terrace, and walk back around. Chalmers will think we took a stroll in the gardens.”
“One would think you’d been born to this sort of intrigue,” said Malcolm teasingly. “I had no idea you were so full of deceptive thoughts.”
“Neither did I. You drive me to unusual actions, my lord.”
“You have no idea at all of what I can drive you to, my dear.” Malcolm took her in his arms and kissed her lingeringly. When she responded eagerly, he muttered an oath and held her at arm’s length.
“None of that; you must wait until tomorrow at two ’clock.” He looked around. “Now, where’s my waistcoat?”
A half-hour later Malcolm sauntered into the stable yard and called for his horse. A groom scurried away to fetch it, as the earl lounged comfortably against a stone wall in the sunshine, whistling cheerfully. After some moments Macklin approached him, wiping his hands on a rag.
“Your lordship,” he said.
“Macklin.” Malcolm looked the groom up and down.
“May I have a word with you, my lord?”
“Certainly,” said Malcolm. “I don’t stand on ceremony. I know how much Miss Keighley values you.”
A smiled crossed the groom’s grizzled face. “I’ll wager she hasn’t said that to you.”
“She doesn’t need to.”
Macklin nodded his head. “It’s come to my ears that you are seeking out the leader of the free traders.”
“Devil take it! How did you hear that?”
“People talk.”
“They do indeed,” said Malcolm, a bit grimly.
“It’s no secret amongst the farmers and the laborers who it is,” continued Macklin.
“Ah.” Wroxton raised his eyebrows. “Miss Keighley and I had deduced that it must be Denby.”
“You’d be right.” The groom frowned. “He found his opportunity some years ago; your father was more interested in his books and his travels, and Sir Douglas was not right in the head. There was no one to stop him when he organized the smugglers, so he’s made a fortune at it. He depends on the money the contraband brings him, so if any one speaks a word, they may find their animals dead, or their barn burned as a warning.”
“I wonder you didn’t tell Miss Keighley this,” said Malcolm. “She has been worried about it for some time.”
Macklin made a noise that might have been a laugh. “Are you touched in the head? Tell Miss Keighley? She’d have gone haring off without a thought as to the danger. She’d get herself killed—or worse. Denby’s already harmed her enough.”
Malcolm’s lips twitched. “I don’t disagree. So you think I am the man to take Denby down and defend Miss Keighley?”
“I’ve been watching you. I know you’re an honorable man.”
“That is not my reputation,” said Malcolm. “But, in this case, you may be right.”
“I’ve seen you with Miss Keighley enough to know I can trust you—and that you mean to do right by her.” The groom directed a piercing glare at him.
“I’m attempting to, Macklin,” said Malcolm pensively. “She is not being helpful.”
Macklin sighed. “Aye, she’s a stubborn one. She’s always been that way, since she was just a child.”
The two men shared a meaning-laden look. A groom brought up Malcolm’s horse, and Macklin took the reins from him and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
“Thank you for your help, Macklin.” Malcolm extended his hand. After a startled pause, the groom shook it.
“Perhaps you can help me one more time,” said the earl. “Where do the gentlemen hereabouts go when they wish to gamble in, er, discreet circumstances?”
Macklin gave him a suspicious look. “It’s a decent town, my lord. We have none of that here.”
Malcolm shook his head. “I’ve been in many towns in many countries, Macklin. I’ve never been in one so decent there wasn’t a place for the menfolk to go when they wish to drink and wench. I do not mean to do anything untoward or that will anger Miss Keighley, but if I am to deal with Denby, I must run him to ground.”
“Ah.” Macklin nodded. “There’s a pretty widow in Folkestone with light pockets and expensive tastes. She has select card parties in her home most nights. It’s very discreet.”
“I imagine it is. Her name?”
“Mrs. Featherhaugh.”
“It would be. Thank you, Macklin.” Malcolm handed the groom a coin and swung himself up into the saddle.
“Be cautious, my lord. That Denby is a bad ‘un,” said Macklin.
Malcolm gave him a thin smile. “He’s not a spot on me, I’m sure.” He turned his horse and rode away.
Chapter 25
Malcolm rode back to Wroxton slowly, sunk in thought. He entered the house to find Stephen in the breakfast room, perusing a letter as he addressed a pot of coffee and a plate covered with kippers and cream.
Malcolm looked with displeasure at his friend’s meal. “Really Del,” he drawled, “had I realized kippers found favor in your eyes, I might have reconsidered inviting you to Wroxton.”
Stephen turned and watched as Malcolm took a plate and piled it high with slices of rare beef, eggs and toast. “Really Mal, had I known I would confront half a cow at your breakfast table, I might not have accepted,” he said mildly.
Wroxton laughed, and sat down with him. Stephen watched as he attacked his food with gusto.
“Where have you been? I asked for you when I arose, but the servants said you had gone out.”
“We can’t all lie abed until past noon,” observed Malcolm. “I went for a ride. A very pleasant ride.”
“It seems to have done you good. You look relaxed, and, if your plate is any indication, it has given you an appetite.”
“I do find that riding clears my head,” agreed Malcolm, a grin on his face.
A few moments of companionable silence ensued as Delaney finished his letter, and Malcolm glanced over The Gazette. He paused, his fork halfway to his mouth.
“Wickworth announces his engagement to Llandreth’s daughter,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought she could bring him up to scratch.”
“Never say so! I laid George Nansquith a monkey she would. What a pity I will not see him at White’s today to savor my triumph while the news is fresh.”
“Alas, you will have to find other, more rural, sources of satisfaction, Del. However, if it is gaming you are after, I have a fancy to visit the house of a Mrs. Featherhaugh in Folkestone tonight. It’s said that a man may find deep play and loose company there. Not a patch on London of course, but it should prove entertaining.”
“That sounds like the Wroxton I knew in London,” Stephen laughed. “Not the dashed dull dog who has been doing the pretty with the locals since we arrived. By all means, let us investigate the dissipations of Folkestone.”
“Very well. Folkestone it shall be.” Malcolm paused a moment to wolf down more food. “We’ll invite Arthur Keighley to go with us as well. He should learn to gamble and hold his liquor in a public place before he goes up to Town.”
“You’re quite right about that,” Del responded. “But I’ll be surprised if his Amazon of a sister agrees with you.”
Wroxton waved a hand and laughed. “There’s not a great deal she can do to stop it, and eventually she will thank me.”
“Perhaps, but in the meantime, I expect you will get a piece of her mind.”
Malcolm made no answer, instead finishing his meal as he pondered the idea that Helena’s mind was not the only part of her that intrigued him.
In due course, a footman conveyed an invitation to Keighley Manor and a response was received at Wroxton indicating that Sir Arthur would be pleased to join them. At the appointed hour, Malcolm and Stephen bowled up the drive of the Manor in a chaise, and Arthur emerged from the house, glancing hastily over his shoulder, as though he expected Helena to recall him at any moment.
As the coach pulled away, Arthur sighed in relief. “I never thought Helena would permit me to accompany you to Folkestone!” he exclaimed. “But when I told her I had received an invitation, she barely blinked, and only warned me to be cautious. At any rate, I’m off the leading strings for the night, my lord.”
Malcolm smiled at his enthusiasm, remembering times he had managed to slip away from his father and sample forbidden delights. But he also felt an unaccountable urge to defend Helena. “Your sister is understandably concerned for you; she knows she cannot replace your father’s guidance,” he astounded himself by saying. “However, she doesn’t realize how much a gentleman can learn about how to go on in society by experiencing it. But you needn’t think that you can go to any length of folly in my presence, Arthur. I owe her a duty as well.”
Malcolm’s first words were said in a mild voice, but his tone grew sterner as he spoke. Stephen gaped at him in amazement. Arthur glanced at his lordship, and one look at the serious expression in his eyes made him realize that he would be wise to obey.
After a companionable drive through the extended midsummer twilight, they arrived in Folkestone with a clatter of wheels over the cobbled streets. As they pulled up at their destination, Malcolm opened the door of the chaise.
“We are here to enjoy ourselves, but also to learn more about who is running brandy across my land,” he said to Stephen and Arthur. “The implausibly named Mrs. Featherhaugh is undoubtedly acquainted with most of the local gentry, and with the leaders of the smugglers. Be gregarious and personable, but do not drink or play too deep. We want to be sober when the others are drunk, and have our pockets full when others’ are to let. Encourage tongues to wag, but keep our business close.”
He paused and gave Arthur a glance. “I am willing to send you home drunk from a friendly card game at Wroxton, Keighley, but I will not incur your sister’s wrath by allowing you to be a pigeon for plucking. If you wish to go about with me again, you will heed my warning.”
Arthur murmured an unintelligible assent, and the gentlemen leapt out of the carriage. Wroxton rapped the knocker on the dark green door of the handsome townhouse, one of an elegant row near the new harbor that was being built. It opened to reveal a burly, hard-eyed butler who looked them over carefully before allowing them to enter. He took their coats and hats in silence.
“Who shall I say is here?” he finally asked.
“Lord Wroxton, Sir Arthur Keighley, and Mr. Delaney, a visitor from London,” Malcolm replied.
The butler bowed deeply upon realizing the style of the party, and departed, indicating they should wait. They cooled their heels for some minutes in the genteelly appointed hall, which, with its black and white tiled floor, demi-lune table, large looking glass, and curving, carved staircase leading to the upper floors, looked as tonnish as a London townhouse.
Eventually the butler returned, bringing with him a handsome lady past the first blush of youth but not yet in her middle years, who wore the aura of one who spent a great deal of time on her appearance. Discreet makeup covered any small lines that might mar her complexion, and her jawline was absent any betraying droop. She was dressed in a manner that flirted with vulgarity without tipping over into it, in a gown of purple silk charmeuse, cut very low to expose a great deal of her fine bosom, and tightly drawn enough to allow a gentleman to just barely distinguish the contours of a nipple through the shining, close fitting fabric. The dress was cut with a masterly hand; a translucent band of organdy ruching prevented her cleavage from crossing the line from daring to excessive, while still encouraging closer inspection. Shells interspersed with stars were embroidered in silver at the edge of the sleeves and hem, and she wore a silver band on her head, from which a large number of plumes curled over her ringlets. A fine paisley shawl in plum and white, draped casually across her elbows, completed the ensemble.
This vision sailed up to their party, a hand outstretched to the gentlemen, her countenance welcoming. Malcolm’s expression changed from one of mild boredom to astonishment.
“Lady Ansbruck!” he exclaimed. “I mean Mrs. Featherhaugh, how nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Ah, there’s no need to stand on ceremony with me, Lord Wroxton.” Mrs. Featherhaugh’s eyelashes fluttered flirtatiously as she took his hand. “Of course I remember you, and the lovely times we had in Munich.”
“Where is Lord Ansbruck?” inquired Malcolm cautiously.
“You have no need to worry, love,” said Mrs. Featherhaugh coyly. “He died four years ago, poor soul.”
“My condolences.”
“No need for that, he’s not much missed.” She looked at Arthur, who was gaping at her openly. “Oh, I’ve shocked your friend. Don’t mind me, dear. My husband was much older than me, and rather straitlaced,” she confided. “Not nearly so amusing as our friend Wroxton here.”
Arthur’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
“And is there a Mr. Featherhaugh?” asked Malcolm, his voice trembling on the brink of laughter.
“There is indeed, though I have no idea where he might be,” said Mrs. Featherhaugh cheerfully. “The last time I saw him was in Brussels; it must have been two years past.” She winked broadly. “So you need not be concerned. I tell everyone I’m a widow.”
“A wise choice. May I present my friends, Sir Arthur Keighley, and Mr. Stephen Delaney?”
Mrs. Featherhaugh turned to Arthur, obviously pleased. “I’ve hoped you might visit me!” she exclaimed. “I always wish to enjoy the friendship of the gentlemen hereabouts, and you’ve been far too elusive!”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Arthur managed to say, sketching a bow.
Mrs. Featherhaugh took his hand and patted it. “You need only tell me what you want, and I will make sure you have it, no matter what it is!” she assured him.
“I – I – thank you,” Arthur stammered.
“And Mr. Delaney!” she said, turning to that gentleman. “Am I right in thinking I address a relative of Lord Redesford’s?”
“His cousin, ma’am,” said Stephen politely.
Mrs. Featherhaugh appeared to be delighted. “How kind of you to attend my little card party. Please, come in, gentlemen.”
She led them through the entryway and into a long hall, where she indicated a door to one side. “Supper is in here, gentlemen,” she said. “I think you will find that I keep a tolerable table for my guests.”
Arthur lagged behind to peek in surreptitiously and saw an array of roasts, a turkey, and any number of other side dishes spread on two large sideboards, with smaller tables around the room for diners to be seated. All manner of sweets and syllabubs accompanied them. After a moment, he hastened to catch up to his hostess and companions at the top of the stairs, where Mrs. Featherhaugh showed them into a spacious drawing room.
It was not decorated with the elegance of the most discreet London hells, but their hostess had achieved remarkable results for a provincial town. Silk draperies of a cerulean blue with vaguely imperial Roman designs woven into them and a heavy gold fringe hung at the tall front windows. The wallpaper bore a delicate pattern of paler blue flowers interspersed with vines, and the furnishings included a few pieces built in the Egyptian style of ebony and gilt made so popular recently by Sir Thomas Hope, while several large candelabra of the same design lit the tables.
Malcolm’s heavy-lidded gaze took in the room at one glance. A faro bank was to be found at one table, while hazard was at another, and he also noted a table for rouge et noir in the adjoining salon. He smiled. As in most such establishments, games of chance that favored the house greatly outnumbered those of skill. Several dozen gentlemen were scattered about the rooms, wearing evening clothes and concentrating on the games of chance. A few women, dressed in a revealing manner that made Arthur stare, moved among them, laughing at a joke here, supplying a new pack of cards there.
If Wroxton was disappointed to not find Lord Denby present he did not show it, and the three men presently took their places at the faro table.
“I presume you know how to play,” he said to Arthur.
“Of course, I do. I’m not a complete greenhorn!”
The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) Page 19
