Lady Lissa's Liaison (To Woo an Heiress, Book 1)

by Randall, Lindsay

  Gabriel’s insides flamed with a rioting inferno. He had lived with his own name being dragged through the mud, but he could not, would not, allow the same to happen to young Harry. He had spent years searching for the boy—a sweet, beautiful child who should have been of his own seed, but was not. He’d left his family and his life behind in his quest to find Harry, had been gone when his father went to the grave and his mother as well. He’d given up more than just his blood ties to save Harry from some horrid orphanage; he’d given up any redemption he might have otherwise claimed for himself.

  And now Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor, some pampered heiress who did not wish to be bothered by a few harmless suitors, had decided she would not only utilize Gabriel’s name, but would also bring back into light the long-buried rumors about him that he was so desperate to keep hidden from his adopted son.

  Gabriel stood in the cool confines of the great hall and felt, quite literally, as though his entire world—the one he’d shed both sweat and tears to build for himself and his son—was bottoming out beneath him. It was a sickening feeling.

  “You are certain of these rumors?” he asked Manningford.

  “Very, my lord. Even now the lady is preparing for what is purported as being an impromptu assembly for a friend’s natal day. Word has it, though, the function will be anything but informal. She has invited all the gentlemen from Town she hopes to dissuade in their pursuit of her own self. She intends to cast their eyes toward her friend. Doubtless she hopes to allow the rumors about her liaison with you to swell as well.” Manningford lowered his voice, adding, “Mayhap, my lord, she even hopes you might be in attendance. She has issued a carte blanche for all of Derbyshire to attend the function. Having you among the crowd would doubtless aid her plot.”

  Gabriel recalled Lady Lissa saying something about her assemblage. She’d made a point of mentioning it, had just as quickly said it was to be an informal gathering—and then she’d smiled at him; a dazzling, brilliant smile. Could she have been issuing a subtle message for him to join the party?

  Gabriel decided that was her ploy all along. Why else had she chosen this morning to meet him alongside the River Dove? Ah, but what a perfect plotter she was proving to be!

  “Where is Harry?” Gabriel asked.

  “In the nursery, my lord. With his governess and his finger-paints. In fact, he is looking forward to dining on kippers.”

  Gabriel ignored the wrinkle atop Manningford’s nose at mention of kippers. “I shall sup with my son, Manningford. And afterward—”

  “Afterward, my lord?” Manningford interrupted, since every evening in Derbyshire had thus far ended in his lordship reading Master Harry to sleep and then threading off to the book room to read about trout and angling.

  “Afterward,” said Gabriel, “I shall be in attendance at the gathering staged by Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor.”

  Manningford sucked in an astonished breath of air, his nostrils pinching together with the act. “You know of the lady, my lord?”

  “I know of her,” Gabriel said, leaving it at that. “See that my mount is readied at precisely nine o’clock. And I’ll be wearing black this evening.”

  “Of course, my lord,” the dour Manningford agreed. “Whatever is your wish. Black will be most fitting, I am certain.”

  Gabriel watched as his butler took his leave. He soon stood alone in the cavernous hall of his new home, holding only Lissa’s journal and her blanket. Both smelled of her. Like honeysuckle, and in full bloom, to be sure.

  Gabriel scowled. He did not like being played for a fool.

  So, Lady Lissa sought a suitor who would scare away all others, did she? She wanted a black mark smeared across her good name, one that would be forgiven once she extricated herself from his presence, hmm? Well, Gabriel could regale her with that. In spades!

  He realized how reckless he was feeling, but ignored it. The lady had tossed him a challenge, one he was in a foul mood to meet. She should know better than to try and use him to her own advantage. And if she didn’t know it, God’s truth, he’d teach her! He would never again be anyone’s performer on a string. He’d done that once and had lived to regret it. This time, he would turn the tables.

  With that thought in mind, Gabriel headed upstairs to his son.

  Chapter 7

  Lissa noted that her maid visibly relaxed once they were free of the coppice of trees and walking among the manicured lawns of Clivedon Manor. Tilly even began to hum a sprightly tune and looked for all the world like the proverbial cat that had drunk deep of the cream. Lissa eyed the girl suspiciously.

  “What ever has put you in such a cheerful mood, Tilly? While at the river, you seemed as like to jump out of your skin.”

  “La, m’lady,” said Tilly, “how was I to know his lordship would allow you to leave his side with such ease? I be afeared he would try and keep m’lady with him all night long. I just be glad the Heartless One proved naught to be an ogre.”

  “You are not to refer to Lord Wylde as ‘the Heartless One,’ or even an ogre, do you hear?” Lissa said, feeling an inexplicably strong urge to come to the aid of Lord Wylde’s character.

  Tilly nodded her head with a bit too much vigor.

  “Further, his lordship would hardly detain me for the day, Tilly, or even the night for that matter. Why would you say such a thing?”

  “But you be telling me yourself this morn how his lordship be a never-do-well blacksheep, and how you be needing someone to darken your name for a time.”

  Lissa came to a sudden stop. She felt guilty about her ridiculous plot to use Lord Wylde’s blackened past to her own advantage. Now that she’d met the man, she knew she could not carry out such a plot. More to the point, now that he’d kissed her with such heady passion—and she’d responded to those kisses—she did not dare do such a thing.

  Lissa trembled inside to imagine what a man who could kiss with such intensity would do to a female who sought to make a dupe of him! She needed to scotch her plan and do so posthaste.

  “About what I said this morning, Tilly,” Lissa began, her mind in a turmoil, “you—you are to forget I ever uttered such words, is that clear?”

  Tilly squinted up at her. “Which words, m’lady?”

  “About Lord Wylde, of course,” Lissa said impatiently, embarrassment gripping her.

  “About his lordship being a dangerous sort?”

  “Yes, precisely. I—I should not have spoken so freely about his past when in fact I actually know very little of what has truly transpired in his life. You will forget I ever said he could be a loose cannon, yes?”

  Tilly looked relieved.“I vow it,” she said, and then brightened as they continued their paces homeward. The maid even began to hum again.

  Lissa found the tune irritating. She was still thinking of Lord Wylde. Of his kisses. His touch.

  They reached the back entrance of the manor house. A wagon laden with extra goods for the birthday celebration was just about to be unloaded. Lissa’s household staff was not a large one, but it appeared that all of them had been pressed into service in the unloading and carting inside of the many parcels and goods.

  “Look at it all!” Tilly gasped. “May I go and help? Maybe peek inside a few packages?”

  Lissa, momentarily forgetting about his lordship and the passionate discoveries she’d had while in his embrace, smiled at her maid, nodding her approval for the abigail to help the others. “I fear I was a bit overzealous in my plans for the night’s festivities, Tilly. Yes, by all means do help. And then spread word that I would like to meet with the staff within the hour.”

  Tilly made a step to hurry off, but paused a moment, saying quickly, “Oh, about what I am to forget concerning his lordship? For a minute, m’lady, I feared you meant your words about his lordship being your choice to darken yer name. Glad I am you didn’t add that to your list.” With that, Tilly bounded away, humming once again.

  Lissa stared after the girl. “Tilly, wait—” she b
egan, but clamped her mouth shut tight. The abigail was already shoulder-to-shoulder with the other servants, eagerly standing in wait to help unload the delivery.

  To call the girl back would be to have all eyes upon her, and at that moment the last thing Lissa wished was for all of her servants to turn their collective attention toward her.

  Drat, thought Lissa. Her outlandish scheme to align Lord Wylde’s blackened name with her own was exactly what she wanted Tilly to forget! She couldn’t possibly go through with such a scheme now. Not when she’d allowed him such liberties… and had enjoyed every nuance of his brazen kisses.

  Lissa’s cheeks burned with the memory of all that had transpired in the river hut with Lord Wylde. Surely she wore the traces of his heated kisses on her mouth, not to mention her cheeks and her neck.

  Her face still flaming, Lissa slowed her own paces, deciding to enter the house through the front door. As she eluded the gathering of servants, Lissa made a show of contemplating the many flowers growing in profusion in borders alongside the house. She even picked a few blooms, planning to place the stems in vases for the party.

  As she did so, she could not help but feel the many eyes of her staff tracking her way into the house. With a side glance she saw Tilly nod her head and then whisper a few words to the staff nearest her. Lissa then noticed that all those within earshot glanced even more earnestly in their lady’s direction.

  Lissa frowned to herself. She had the sneaking suspicion some rig was in train where her abigail was concerned!

  *

  An hour later, after Lissa had met with her staff and all the domestics were in motion preparing for the night’s festivities, Lissa’s suspicions grew. Was she imagining things or had Cook actually appeared as though she knew some secret about Lissa’s early-morning adventure? Every maid employed in the household acted in the same manner, and even the butler seemed to have swallowed a canary!

  Lissa was just about to go in search of Tilly when she met Aunt Prudence coming down from the landing.

  “There you are, my dear,” said Aunt Prudence, a splendiferous blond woman attired in a day gown of maize taffeta. “I’d feared you would be unavailable until the precise moment of our assemblage. Do you know Lavinia is due within the hour?”

  “No,” said Lissa. “I did not.”

  Prudence waved one thin and perfectly aristocratic hand in the air. ” ‘Tis true—though rather sad, if you ask me. Such a wallflower, Vinnie is! She’s decided to come early and be with us when we greet our many guests. Pity, as far as I’m concerned. The girl is missing out on making a dashing entrance, but you know how she hates to create a fuss. Heaven forbid she should make an appropriate entrance on her own. I dareswear she intends to hide behind our skirts this night, Lis. We must come up with an alternate plan.”

  “It is Lavinia’s party, Aunt Pru. She may arrive in whatever style suits her.”

  “Poppycock!” exclaimed Prudence, the many gold bangles on her arms tinkling as she shooed Lissa’s words. “The whole point of this gathering is to give the girl a grand push toward all the men you, my dear, want nothing to do with.” Prudence’s pale blue eyes narrowed, and her gold bangles tinkled some more as she set her hands on her still-slim waist and asked, point-blank, “Or had you conveniently forgotten that fact during your grand escapade this morning, my sweet?”

  “My what?” Lissa’s gaze narrowed even as she forced down a guilty blush. “Into what sort of hobble do you believe I have thrust myself, Aunt Pru?”

  “No hobble, not from what I’ve heard muttered about this morn. Quite the opposite, in fact.” Prudence reached out and took firm hold of Lissa’s hand. “The two of us need to talk. Now.”

  Lissa’s startled gasp was muffled by the sound of Prudence’s taffeta skirts swishing as the older woman turned about and then propelled Lissa up the stairs, down the long hallway, and into her bedchamber.

  “Really, Aunt Pru,” complained Lissa as she was quickly and unceremoniously pulled into her aunt’s room. “There is no need for such a cloak-and-dagger air.”

  “No?” asked Prudence, obviously disagreeing as she made certain no servants were afoot or lingering in the hall.

  Lissa sighed, deciding to allow her aunt her head. She moved deeper into the room, scents of exotic oils filling her nostrils. Her aunt was a true world traveler and had become accustomed to exotic things. The potpourri of fragrances was dizzying—patchouli and bergamot, musk and champac, Roman chamomile, even Chinese neroli could be noted in the air. Her aunt loved oils and herbs perhaps more than she did the notion of her niece being married.

  The far corner of the room harbored a large massage table, covered with clean, thick terry cloths, and a dainty satin pillow. The monstrosity was complemented by a sitting stool and a small sidetable, upon the latter of which was scattered numerous pots of fragrant oils from far-flung countries.

  Prudence’s massive dressing trunks claimed the other wall, while the bed itself (transported from Prudence’s permanent home in Mayfair) was a huge creation of polished walnut, exquisite drapes, and numerous down-filled pillows. A rich, yellow silk counterpane reflected the morning’s light coming through the high-curtained windows beyond the bed.

  Though Prudence had announced she would stay with Lissa for a few weeks following the death of Albert (her brother and Lissa’s father) Aunt Pru had somehow managed to become a permanent fixture at Clivedon Manor during their long period of official mourning. And then, with the advent of so many suitors from Town hoping to be the perfect parti for Lissa, and with Aunt Pru deciding she should play Cupid in the midst of all these gentlemen and her niece, the woman had extended her stay indefinitely.

  Though Lissa adored her father’s sister, she did not at all appreciate her aunt’s single-mindedness in seeing her wed posthaste. But Aunt Prudence had been thrilled by the arrival of so many suitors, and had even gone so far as to create a list from which Lissa was to choose the most suitable admirer.

  None of the names on Aunt Pru’s list had moved Lissa, however, and now the two women seemed always to be at loggerheads.

  The sound of the bedchamber door being closed and then locked caused Lissa to turn her attention toward her aunt. She felt like a fly caught in a spider’s web; she being the fly and her aunt being the black spider come to wrap her tight!

  Prudence was indeed a timeless being, thought Lissa as she watched her aunt move toward her. With her slim, but curvy form she looked no more than thirty-ish… and yet her eyes held the wisdom of a much older woman. She was stately and gorgeous, and she favored, in her own odd way, unconventional trappings, but surprisingly never appeared outmoded.

  “Out with it, my sweet,” Aunt Prudence announced, apropos of nothing.

  “Excuse me?” said Lissa.

  “Let us get right down to the matter at hand, my sweet. There is definitely something afoot, yet you seem bent on appearing as though you have no clue as to what that something could be. We’ll start at the beginning, shall we? We’ll start with you and what you have been about since—when was it you left your bed, Lis? At dawn? Ah, no, it was before then, if the servants can be trusted.”

  “I often head out in the wee hours of the morning, Aunt Pru. You know that.”

  “True enough,” agreed her aunt. “But why is it today seems to be so odd? You stayed away an inordinate amount of time, Lis.”

  “I merely ventured out to sketch alongside the river and—” Lissa paused, noting her aunt’s skeptical glance. “I did go out to sketch,” she insisted.

  “I’ve no doubt that was your initial intent. But then what, Lis?”

  Lissa could not deliver an out-and-outer to her aunt. Though the woman was too set upon pushing her to the altar, she did mean well.

  “And then I met him,” Lissa finally admitted, voice turning treacherously soft as she sank down onto the edge of Aunt Prudence’s massive bed, her spunk escaping her.

  “Ah, now there is the rub, I s’pose,” murmured Prudence. “Dar
e I inquire as to the identity of this ‘him’?”

  Lissa glanced away, out the windows, to the spreading lawns one story down, and to the dark line of woods hedging the area beyond.

  “His name is Gabriel,” she said, imagining him alongside the river, angling still. “Gabriel Gordon, the sixth Earl of Wylde.” She glanced back at her aunt. “But you already know that. I can see that you do.”

  “Aye, my sweet. I have heard a murmur or two.”

  Lissa took a deep breath. “What did Tilly tell you?”

  “Tilly? Nothing, dear. She didn’t have to. Unfortunately, Lis, I heard the rumor from John Coachman… who’d heard it from the stable boy… who heard it from the newsboy… who heard it from—”

  “Dear heavens!” Lissa cut in, cringing. “What did you hear, Aunt Pru?”

  “That you have developed a tender for Lord Wylde.”

  There came a long beat of silence, time in which Lissa decided such a thing as a tender on her part was not so terrible. After all, such a rumor did not involve his feelings—only hers. Perhaps she was saved from Lord Wylde’s wrath.

  “A tender?” Lissa repeated, keeping her voice emotionless. “A young woman is allowed such a thing, is she not? I see no harm in people repeating such a rumor.”

  “But that is not all, “Prudence said. “I also heard that you and his lordship have embarked upon a liaison.”

  Lissa’s heart plummeted directly into the pit of her stomach. “Oh,” she murmured, and then, unable to help herself, added, “Dear God, help me.”

  “Someone ought to help you, if indeed this rumor is true! Is it, Lissa? Have you actually gone and entangled yourself in a liaison with the Heartless Lord Wylde?”

  Lissa’s head shot up. “He is not heartless, Aunt Pru. Oh, how I wish others would desist in referring to him in such an odious fashion!”

  Prudence eyed her niece closely. “So you’ve come to know the man well.”