“How could I ever forget such a scoundrel, young sir?”
Moving closer, Stephen grasped the old man’s shoulder and smiled. “Quite right. I must say you have not changed a whit. You still have all that gray hair, though I daresay you’ve lost a bit. Still taller than a man should be.”
“You are quite tall yourself, Lord Darlington, though I might still manage to take you down a peg or two. Are you calling for the Duke?”
“Yes. Is he in?”
Pembrook frowned. “I am sorry, but I do expect him soon. Should you like to wait?”
Stephen stepped forward and gave Pembrook his hat and walking stick. “If you are sure he wouldn’t mind?”
“Please, come in and let me show you to the drawing room. I shall have tea sent straightaway.”
Pembrook left him in the formal drawing room, and Stephen couldn’t help admiring the tasteful air of the room. Works of art by Dutch painters of the past caught his eye, and casually he wandered the room. A servant brought tea and poured for him. Dashing in a bit of lemon, he took his cup and strolled through the house.
With avid interest, he studied every detail of Nicholas’s home until finally he stumbled upon the study. Eyeing the room appreciatively, he sank into the chair behind Nicholas’s desk and breathed deeply.
Just being in Nicholas’s home made him recall the years past. Lord, they had been the best of friends. Almost like brothers.
Hell! They were brothers. Perhaps, he’d known it for years. While young enough to be easily manipulated, he’d allowed his mother to poison his mind against Nicholas, yet now, as a man, he knew what a shrew Beatrice could be. He was no longer young and foolish. She was resentful on his behalf, but she was also an adulteress. Though he loved her, he despised her selfish vanity and all out bitchiness.
Finishing his tea, he set his cup upon the desk and pulled out the papers outlining the wager. Negligently, he tossed them down. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and felt the breeze from the open French doors caress his face. The scent of roses teased his nostrils, making him miss his country estate.
A sound, slight and lilting, made him open his eyes and stand. Moving to the doors leading outside, he leaned there to gaze out on the opulent garden. Hyacinths, roses, and delicate irises teased the eye with color. Stone benches, lavishly carved with the image of twining ivy, surrounded a white marble fountain. The largest koi ever seen, swam in syncopation with the breeze rustling through hedge and tree.
His breath caught.
Gazing into the garden, he watched the delicate creature as she caressed a yellow rose with the fingertips of a tiny hand. The words of a foreign tune flowed from lips that were pink and bow-shaped. Absolutely perfect.
So this was Nicholas’s mistress.
He’d heard the gossip bandied about that Nicholas had returned from the Orient with a Chinese mistress. Lord, she was lovely.
For the first time since he’d entered the manse, Stephen’s heart filled with a genuine jealousy. That this fragile creature should belong to Nicholas, rather than he, tore through his heart like an arrow. Seeming not to notice him, she continued to sing. Sometimes she broke off the song, smiled softly, and shook her head only to repeat the verse as if she had made a mistake.
Stephen swallowed, his throat dry, as he imagined sinking his hands into the thick length of her straight black hair. He imagined trailing his lips over the length of her throat. She was a tiny beauty, built like a toy shop doll. How easy it would be to wrap his arms around her.
The dress she wore, more of a robe really, was of black satin and heavily embellished with elegant needlepoint. Peacocks with plumes of every vivid color imaginable trailed across sultry black.
Instantly captivated, he wondered if he’d ever been so entranced before.
Some small movement must have alerted her. She gasped and stood as the yellow rose drifted to the ground.
“Oh! Sir, you frighten me! Please to forgive.”
Her voice was musical and sweet, and he couldn’t help smiling into her dark, liquid eyes. “There is nothing to forgive, my lady. Stephen Fitzgerald, Lord Darlington, at your service.”
He sketched an elegant bow, but immediately frowned at the look of horror on her face.
Hurrying to him, she bowed deeply with her hands folded in front of her. “Please. I am not lady. I am An Li. I am nobody.”
Appalled, he took her arm gently and raised her so that he could look into her eyes. “Do not upset yourself. I wish only to talk with you while I wait for Nicholas’s return.”
She took a deep breath and straightened to her full, petite height. The top of her head barely reached his chest. With a friendly smile, she led him to a bench and pressed him into it. Obliging her, Stephen wanted to put her at ease. He wanted to learn more about this exotic creature. “Please, do not let me disturb you, An Li. Keep singing. You have a lovely voice.”
A blush pinkened her cheeks as she moved to sit beside him. “Not so lovely. I forget words. Must use English anyway. My friend, Nicholas, say must do. My Nicholas, he always right.”
“Oh, is he?”
An Li nodded quickly and with such certainty stamped upon her face that Stephen was again enchanted. “Yes. He save me from bad karma. Bad Chang. I do what Nicholas say.”
“I am sorry. I do not understand.”
“I apologize for the confusion. My old master was called Chang. He was a very bad man. He own me until Nicholas, he buy. Bring me to England to be free woman.”
Revulsion grabbed him by the throat. This lovely thing was a slave, or had been until Nicholas had bought her freedom. The thought of this tiny person being abused or mistreated sickened him.
“How did you become a slave?”
Tears swam across the surface of her eyes and she glanced away as if to hide them. But Stephen saw. She bowed her head for a moment then faced him again, the tears gone as if mere memory. “Mother rape by English sailor. Grandparents kill Mother after I born. Sell me to Chang.”
Aghast, Stephen stared at her. “I am so very sorry. That is... well, it is barbaric.”
She smiled. “Sad story make you upset. I am sorry but you did ask. Do not know Mother, you see. I was only baby. Know Chang only.”
A fine, yet visible, trembling swept her and Stephen wanted to curse himself for asking disturbing questions that were, after all, none of his business. Dark visions curled through his brain as he imagined her subjugated by a vile master. When she spoke the name of her former master, there was fear in her expression. “I am heartily sorry, my dear.”
Tell me who he is, where he is, and I will kill him.
With all expression gone, she shook her head. “No more talk of An Li. How long you know my Nicholas?”
“Many years. We were boys together.”
“How wonderful.”
For some unexplained reason, he wanted to confide in her, tell her everything, yet he couldn’t. The thought of An Li thinking badly of him kept him silent as to what had happened between he and his oldest friend. Obviously she loved Nicholas and in this moment of weakness Stephen could not help but wonder how it would feel to be loved by her.
“Yes, he was a good friend,” he said.
“You come for business, yes?”
“Yes, I will wait, if you don’t mind.”
An Li’s smile rivaled the sun, making Stephen feel something akin to a god. He had given her that smile. Had he ever felt such a sense of accomplishment before?
“You stay, please. We talk.” Her sudden bright smile warmed him to his toes. “Mayhap we become friends, and I will sing again.”
Promptly at three, Nicholas arrived at Lord Henry’s London residence. He had thought to go home after their meeting this morning, but opted instead to visit Tattersalls where he indulged his interest in obtaining prime horseflesh for his stables. In the end, he’d purchased two chestnut racers and a precipitous wedding gift aptly named Faery Queen. The Arabian mare was agile and beautifully formed and, perhaps
he was feeling fanciful today, but Nicholas thought her a perfect gift for Eliza.
Thus pleased with the day’s outcome, he smiled as he knocked on the door of the Grayson home where he was immediately shown inside by a servant. Nicholas bowed to Lord Henry, who came forward quickly yet he knew in an instant that something was dreadfully wrong. Henry seemed agitated, a worried expression on his brow. The old Lords wife Millicent, who seemed near the verge of tears, trailed closely behind.
“Is something amiss?” Nicholas felt a shiver of alarm at their appearance.
“I pray not,” Henry replied. “The silly twit has taken off.”
“What do you mean ‘taken off’?”
Millicent rushed forward. “The girl lives to torment me, I swear! We were so very happy to have you come for tea, but she has fled. And without proper protection and with that horrid Edward Huntley trailing her as if she were a rabid dog.”
“I am afraid my wife is correct,” Henry added with a scowl. “When I told her you were coming today, she accused me of conspiring against her, and now she’s gone and has frightened us both to death.”
Worry warred with Nicholas’s anger. Anything could happen to a woman traveling alone. Eliza was willful, strong-headed, and determined to do what she pleased and damn the consequences. “When did she leave?”
“Not ten minutes ago, Your Grace. Please find her and bring her home where she is safe!” Millicent wrung her hands and leaned against her husband. “I am so afraid.”
“There, there, my love. Please calm yourself.” Henry patted her arm and gave him a look filled with worry. “If anyone can bring her home to us, it is the Duke. Speak with my groomsmen. They can show you the direction she is heading.”
Nicholas mustered what he hoped was a comforting smile for Eliza’s distraught mother. “Do not worry so, my lady. I will return her to you posthaste.”
An intelligent man would immediately discard the notion of wedding such an impudent female but he wasn’t included to give up. Lady Eliza may not realize yet how badly she needed saving. He certainly did. Determined to rescue her from her own silly self, Nicholas talked to the men who’d seen her leave, untethered his horse and head off in quick pursuit.
Chapter Seven
“Here now, Mary, my dear lady. You are safe now, and we shall do everything we can to help.” Dampening the cloth in a basin of tepid water, Eliza bathed Mary’s face gently as the burns there were quite severe.
The sight of the newest resident of Charlotte House tore at her heart. Heat radiated from the young woman’s face, mottling the uninjured side in shades of scarlet and purple. Having never seen such a terrible injury before, Eliza found it difficult to keep her tone calm. The ache of sympathy poured over her and she struggled against tears.
The poor woman didn’t need tears; she needed help.
“We shall make you feel better very soon now.” She whispered. “I know you must hear my voice, Mary. Please believe me when I say, he shall never hurt you again. I shall see to it. You are not to worry. Do you hear me?”
Imogen Brown, a plump, sweet-faced widow, tugged the sheets tighter about the woman and tutted. “Fever began sometime last night, m’lady, not long after she arrived. I called for the doctor but I am sore afraid he might be too late to save her.”
Two months ago, Imogen had been employed by Eliza to help care for women in distress. She’d once told Eliza that besides birthing and raising six children, this job had been the most fulfilling thing she’d ever done.
Eliza frowned as she studied the serious burns covering one side of Mary’s face. “Poor thing,” she murmured. Tears burned behind her eyes. The woman had once been pretty, but would never be so again.
After a fifth failed attempt at providing her husband an heir, she’d been doused with coal oil and set afire while still in childbed. Her husband, an earl, hastily ran to parts unknown, leaving Mary near death. A servant of Mary’s and a second cousin to Eliza’s own Pandora had sent her here to Charlotte House, a haven for battered and abused women.
While Mrs. Brown went to stoke the fire against the chill in the room, Eliza mused over the events of the past few months. After dealing with Edward that long-ago summer night, she had known that avenging Charlotte’s memory had not been fulfilled.
Unable to actually kill Edward, she’d turned her focus to helping other women in need. Women like Mary, Caroline, Harriet, Ann, and Kathleen. Five women thus far had found a haven at the lovely manor house not far from the outskirts of London. Deep inside, Eliza knew others would find themselves at her door.
A squire had owned the red brick manor and upon his death, his relatives sold the place to Eliza. The roomy bedrooms, quaint drawing room, large kitchen, and manicured lawns perfectly suited her needs and the needs of its residents.
Mrs. Brown, who had been lost without her recently deceased husband, cheerfully accepted a position as caretaker.
“Where is Pandora?”
Mrs. Brown stood and stretched, her face showing evidence of a sleepless night. “In the kitchen, m’lady, though I wish she would retire for some well-deserved sleep.” Moving to take a chair on the other side of Mary’s bed, she absently patted the patient’s hand. “Since bringing Mary here in deep of night, she’s not had any rest. I worry about your little maid.”
Eliza managed a smile. “You look as if you need sleep yourself.”
Laughing softly, she looked at Mary as if she were a child. “With all the childhood ailments I have nursed over the years, I am quite capable of dealing with this. Mary must survive what this man did to her.”
“Have you managed to have your things moved?”
“Almost all. I left the furnishings in the little cottage down the way, but brought my clothing and keepsakes. I shan’t sell, though. Someday one of my children might have need of it.” Mrs. Brown’s home was situated on a small plot of land halfway between London and Charlotte House.
“Are you happy here?”
“Oh, yes, mum. The world does not find much use for an old woman, but here, I feel needed. It is wonderful to help. But you, m’lady, are the true miracle that keeps this house going. What you do is so necessary. Seems all the Lords in Parliament have tried to help folk these days, yet none have addressed the sore treatment of women. You have provided this lovely sanctuary. A true angel of mercy.”
Eliza laughed and rolled her eyes. “Hardly that, Mrs. Brown. It is just that someone must do something. Fortunately, I have the financial means and a reason to care.”
It was shameful to admit that more than altruism had prompted today’s visit. Too much of late, Nicholas Delaford had troubled her thoughts. The man had her mind, her senses, wrapped inside a whirlwind she wasn’t yet ready to face.
His body, moving intimately against hers, played within her mind, causing wicked thoughts to intrude and leave her in an agony of suspense. Never had she imagined the way he’d made her feel that day in her parents’ drawing room. She’d lost her mind to the thrill of his hands, his lips, his sensual demands.
It was necessary today that she find another occupation for her thoughts and there was no better place than Charlotte House in which to lose herself. Simply knowing Nicholas was coming for tea sent her nerves in a spin. Feeling as she did, Eliza could not handle the pressure.
Realizing her mind wandered, she tore her gaze from the study of a tree limb just outside the window and looked at the older woman. Imogen shook her head with a smile.
“Why do you not go see the others?” Mrs. Brown stood to shoo Eliza from the room. “Nothing more can be done to ease her suffering until the doctor arrives. I am sure the ladies would like to see you.”
“But surely you need sleep?”
“Nonsense. I promise I’ll rest soon enough. Go on now. It is long past tea time, and you shall have a long ride back to London.”
Relenting, Eliza moved to the door but stopped to give Mary one last glance before going downstairs. To her surprise, the others had waited t
ea for her.
Though the day had begun sunny and brisk, clouds now moved across the skies and the air had turned cool. The change in weather had prompted someone to start a small fire in the parlor fireplace.
In tandem, four women stood, worried expressions on their faces.
“How is she?” Caroline asked. She had been the first resident of Charlotte House. Having escaped from the asylum where her husband had placed her, she was in hiding until she could take certain measures to free herself from him. As a Peer of the Realm, Lord Findley was within his rights to commit his headstrong wife. Eliza vowed to help and provide shelter.
“Please, ladies, do sit.” With a movement of her hand, she prompted everyone to take a seat. Settling herself upon a tapestry divan next to Caroline, she poured herself a cup of tea with some milk and sugar.
“Mary is not doing well at all, I fear. The burns are extreme, and we worry about her dangerously high fever. Perhaps we shall know more once the doctor arrives, but in the meantime, we must pray that she recovers.”
“I shall never understand such behavior,” Kathleen, another new resident, replied. Once a governess in a fine home, she’d been attacked by her employer, Lord Bailsworthy, then cast out without reference when she became pregnant. “Poor thing. I hope she can survive this despicable cruelty.”
“As do I,” Ann said. “The few weeks of starvation I endured are nothing compared to the scars she shall carry forever.” When she’d refused to marry a doddering old merchant, her father had tied up the petite young girl in the stables and withheld food or decent shelter.
Harriet Bonnie, a pregnant maid of Irish descent, scowled as she bit into a fluffy pastry. “Why is it these fine lords never seem to pay for their crimes?”
“Because they are men,” Eliza answered abruptly. “It is unjust, I know, but times being what they are, we must survive as best we can.”
Silk and Scandal Page 9
