“Of course.” Gabriel gritted his teeth and inclined his head curtly. “Any relative of Croft’s is welcome.”
“Good to know,” Croft said, his expression inscrutable. “I’ll send a missive to the twins and see if they would like to join their sister here.”
Phoebe and Asteria Croft here as well? After a single Season, they were already renowned for the mischief that they liked to call “matchmaking.” Forget cruelty; this was downright torture.
“Griffin, stop teasing. Everhart’s gone positively pale.” Delaney’s violet gaze was alive with more curiosity than concern. “We must leave him before Valentine does indeed retrieve the rope.”
Instead, Valentine opened the door as the Crofts turned to leave. Gabriel followed the pair and directed the footmen to assist the driver in retrieving Calliope’s trunks. During that time, Delaney stood near the servant’s carriage, speaking with both her own maid and Calliope’s maid.
Standing beside Croft, Gabriel turned his head and kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear. “What do you mean by this, Croft—coming to Fallow Hall in the first place, knowing all the while that I was here?” If this was a game or a new condition to their bargain, he deserved to know forthwith.
Croft kept his gaze on the luggage. “I have come to see about the welfare of my cousin. Surely, you couldn’t have qualms over that.”
“You are leaving your sister under my charge. Surely,” Gabriel growled, “you could at least find a reason to stay behind as well.”
When Delaney had finished with the maids, she cast a concerned glance over at the two of them. Croft waved to her as if in reassurance, and she disappeared into their own carriage.
“I have obligations to attend to—something that you should think about for once in your life,” Croft said in a genial tone, as if he hadn’t struck a low blow.
“For once?” Gabriel jerked around to face him. He clenched his teeth to keep from shouting. “I have seen to my obligations for the past five years. You are the one neglecting yours.”
“Our opinions differ.” Croft didn’t even blink. “By leaving my sister here, I am seeing to my family’s welfare. However, if you happen to prove me wrong, then you will taste the fires of hell, and I will be the one to feed them to you.”
Gabriel strangled the neck of his cane. “Be warned, Croft. Next time we are at Jackson’s, I will not hold back for the sake of your . . . family.”
Oddly enough, Croft smiled at this threat. “I look forward to it, Everhart. I’d always suspected there was more to you than you let on.”
Then, before Croft bothered to explain that remark, he stepped past Gabriel and joined his wife inside the carriage.
Gabriel walked back inside, his mood darkening.
It didn’t help matters that the first thing he saw was Brightwell bowing to Calliope. “I will inform your cousin once she wakes. I’m certain she will be delighted.”
“Yes,” Calliope said, a slight weariness in her tone. “I will see her as soon as I’ve sorted out my trunks with Meg.”
Gabriel watched as she tensed again, as if it gave her little happiness to please her cousin. So then, why had she decided to stay?
Without another word, Brightwell departed down the hall for the east wing.
Danvers chafed his hands together as he looked from Calliope to Gabriel. “What a merry party we will make. Wouldn’t you say so, Miss Croft?”
“Merry, indeed,” she answered with an utter lack of enthusiasm.
“Pardon me, Miss Croft, but did you say merry or marry?” Danvers mused. “Those two words are so interchangeable that it is difficult to tell the difference. Wouldn’t you agree, Everhart?”
Gabriel growled but was denied a rebuttal just then because Miss Croft’s maid entered the hall with two trunk-wielding footmen in tow.
“Gentlemen,” Calliope began, eyeing Gabriel and Danvers warily, “thank you again for your hospitality.” Then, after a hasty curtsy, she mounted the stairs and disappeared from view.
The sounds of the footmen’s heavy steps pounded through Gabriel like storm waves crashing against the hull of a ship. His stomach churned.
Left alone with the conspirator, Gabriel glared at Danvers. “Whatever it is that you believe, abandon those thoughts. You will only end up making a mockery of yourself.”
“Bravo, Everhart.” Danvers laughed. “That was said with convincing austerity. If I weren’t standing here, watching your mouth move, I would have sworn it was your father speaking.”
Now, it was Gabriel’s turn to laugh, albeit hollowly. “You cannot force your opponents into marriage. Or set about to compromise them.”
“Of course not,” his friend said with a look of reproach. “I have a sister as well, you know.”
Gabriel conceded this portion of the argument to him. Danvers was too honorable to sully a young woman’s reputation solely to win a bet. Which left only one question—what was he up to?
Then, as if he’d read Gabriel’s thoughts, Danvers mouth quirked in a diabolical grin. “Ten thousand pounds, my friend.” Turning on his heel, he walked away, whistling a jaunty tune and leaving Gabriel to dread the coming days.
CHAPTER SIX
Calliope stood outside of the music room and debated whether to enter or to simply retire for the night. In the past three days of tending to her cousin’s whims, Calliope had not been able to keep Pamela on the topic of the letter. Each time it was brought up, her cousin grew unaccountably tired. The entire process—furtive questions and manipulating conversations, while concealing her own adamant curiosity and subsequent frustration—was draining.
In the meantime, Calliope had searched the rest of the house, through bookcases, armoires, cedar chests, secretaries, and closets. She’d discovered seven frighteningly large brown spiders, four tiny mice in a corner of the linen closet, three interesting novels in the library, and two stuffed owls in the garret.
But no ivory-handled patch box.
On the bright side, she had not discovered any slimy, crawling insects, which meant the spiders were doing their jobs. There wasn’t an overabundance of dust, and other than the mice in the closet, the entire house was quite tidy. Which meant the servants were doing their jobs too.
The housekeeper, Mrs. Merkel, and the head butler, Valentine, kept everything in fine order. Which was even more impressive because Nell, the resident harpist, had been kept away from her duties. Likely, much juggling had to be done, and yet no one suffered for it . . . aside from Nell, of course. This was all quite surprising, since there was no lady of the manor to oversee these things. So then, who was?
While the notion that one of the confirmed bachelors—none of whom seemed eager to run his own house—had put aside his own desires to uphold his duty intrigued Calliope, she hadn’t had a moment of free time to inquire. She was far too busy trying to find the letter.
Calliope squeezed the back of her neck. She ached all over but especially there.
Not too far away, she heard the muffled sound of steady footfalls along the hall runner. Turning, she lowered her hand and saw Lord Lucan Montwood approach. With his dark features and attire, he seemed part of the shadows from which he emerged. Although he’d been absent when her brother and sister-in-law were here, he’d been the consummate host ever since. In fact, both he and Mr. Danvers had been.
“Miss Croft,” Montwood said, gifting her with his infamously charming smile. “Still on the hunt for that letter?”
Her pulse skittered to a halt. “Letter?”
Montwood’s amber eyes glittered in the torchlight as a dimple flashed in his cheek. “Your cousin’s letter.”
As any cardsharp ought to be, this gentleman was entirely too perceptive. Always watchful. She’d never seen him let down his guard, though she had glimpsed something other than charm once or twice. Those occurrences were more like the shadows behind him than anything tangible. Yet they were unsettling all the same.
“Oh, that.” Calliope offer
ed an absent wave of her hand. Apparently, she hadn’t been as stealthy as she’d imagined—or as nonchalant about her quest when she’d asked Danvers that first night. She hoped Montwood was the only other person who’d discovered her secret. If Brightwell found out . . . Well, she didn’t want to think about the pain it would cause him. “You know, it’s nothing, really. In fact, I’ve quite gone on to another task. I’ve already collected three books to read aloud to my cousin.”
Still grinning, he looked pointedly through the open archway beside them. “From the music room?”
“No, from the library.” She blinked, wondering why he would think such a thing until she remembered where they stood. Oh. Quickly, she attempted to find a believable excuse that was not letter-related in the least. “I was merely curious about . . . um . . . sheet music.”
This lifted the shadow of speculation from his countenance. “Do you play?”
“Not play so much as read the notes,” she explained. “I’m a capital page turner. Once upon a time, I used to sing. Quite singular for a young woman, I know.”
“Ah, then you have earned your namesake.”
“Hardly.” She laughed. “Though when forced, I have managed to land on all the notes, and without turning any of the audience into magpies.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps we should force you to earn your keep after dinner tomorrow evening.”
She made a face. “Then I will surely be moved into the draftiest part of the attic.”
“Speaking of drafty places . . . ” he added smoothly and with a smile that seemed more cunning than charming, “have you checked the north tower? I’d say that the map room is your most likely prospect for all sorts of papers, random boxes, and such.”
Random boxes, hmm? Her hallway companion was sly indeed. Montwood knew quite a bit. It certainly stood to reason that his suggestion would also be on target. Though in truth, she never imagined her aunt would direct anything to a room that was an unreservedly masculine domain. “The map room? I thought Everhart spent a great deal of time there.”
After her previous encounter with Everhart in that very room, the thought of seeing him there again caused her heart to quicken. The increasing beats of that organ were from wariness, she was sure.
In the past three days, she hadn’t seen much of him. She’d heard the shuffle-slide of Everhart’s steps, accompanied by the syncopated rhythm of his cane hitting the floor, but she’d never come face-to-face with him. Sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him disappear into a room. Yet he hadn’t joined the rest of them for dinner or in the parlor afterward for games of whist and loo either. Miraculously, Pamela had garnered the strength to endure these parties each evening. It was clear, however, that Everhart hadn’t been telling the truth when he’d said that he didn’t despise her.
“Rarely,” Montwood answered. “His chambers are actually in the east wing. He complains often enough that the sounds of my midnight playing travel directly into the map room. Surely, if he is there—by chance, of course,” he added with a wink, “then by the time I begin, he will retire to his rooms, and you will be left to your own devices.”
A frisson of hope filled her. Perhaps she would find her treasure tonight and then be gone from Fallow Hall within the week. “Thank you, Montwood. What a fortuitous meeting.”
Yet as soon as she said the words, a wave of disappointment hit her as well. Oddly enough, the reason was because of Everhart. She didn’t want to leave Fallow Hall with him still despising her.
“For both of us, I hope.” Montwood sketched an elegant bow before disappearing into the music room.
Gabriel wrestled a mammoth atlas from the drawer and lifted it onto the expansive table in the loft within the map room. Taking up the entire surface, the South American continent awaited him. Once he had the ten thousand pounds, he could fund his own expedition. Imagine what sights he could explore, what beaches he could walk upon. That was his favorite part—seeing the different shades of sand. The sight had always reminded him of a certain pair of brown eyes . . .
He stroked the reedy burgundy cover with the flat of his hand. One year. That was all he needed to wait. Of course, it went without saying that he’d have to trick Montwood and Danvers into marrying, but after encouraging Calliope to stay here, Gabriel would aim his sights on Danvers first.
Relishing the idea, he lifted the cover. Just then, he heard a loud thump from the lower portion of the map room. At this late hour, he wondered who it could be.
Hopping over to the loft railing, Gabriel stopped short. Calliope Croft.
Unaware of his presence, she crouched down to peer beneath a serpentine commode near the door. From his vantage point, Gabriel noted that her burgundy gown was much the same hue as the atlas behind him but with more luster and a short row of pearl buttons between her shoulders. She’d always had nice shoulders. They were among the first things he’d ever noticed about her. In addition to the way her dark golden locks tended to brush her flesh in something of a kiss.
Gabriel swallowed. He’d done a fine job of avoiding her until now. And he had no intention of allowing her to change that either.
“What are you doing in here?” he asked from the top of the circular stairs. Even to his own ears, his tone was harsh. Years of suppressed longing could do that to a man.
Miss Croft jolted upright, sending a stack of papers tumbling from the commode to the floor at her feet. She peered up at him. The lacy white trim of her neckline pulled taut over her bosom and then puckered with each rapid inhale and exhale. “I didn’t think you would be here. It wasn’t my intention to disturb anyone.”
A low grunt of disbelief sounded in his throat. How could she not disturb him? Her very presence in this manor left him on edge and made him constantly aware of where she was at any given moment.
Making his way down the stairs, he continued his study of her. While she’d been enchanting in the pale hues that debutantes wore, bolder colors gave her complexion a warm glow. In his opinion, however, she dressed too modestly now, like a matron instead of a young vibrant woman.
The cut of her gown, while leaving a lovely expanse of shoulder exposed for his admiration, only revealed the barest curve of her breasts. That supple flesh was far too enticing to keep hidden. Five years ago, the gowns she’d worn had held those creamy swells on display for him. His mouth watered, even now. If memory served, she had the faintest birthmark near the outer rim on the left side. It had been a rosy pink color, small, but in the shape of . . . in the shape of . . . the South American continent.
He shook his head and nearly laughed at himself. Well, isn’t that a telling revelation?
“Disturbed,” he said more to himself than to her. “That is precisely what I am.”
She ignored his comment and bent down to straighten the fan of papers. “Montwood said that all sorts of items were brought here on occasion. I thought I might find a few of my cousin’s things that were misplaced when my aunt was here.”
Montwood, of course. If it wasn’t Danvers, then it would have to be Montwood. Gabriel had wondered when the amber-eyed serpent would make his first move. So far, Danvers had been the only one to openly plot against him. What worried Gabriel was the fact that Montwood usually didn’t like to play by the rules.
Then again, for this wager, Gabriel didn’t plan on playing by them either. Not this time.
Gripping the iron rail and wishing it were Montwood’s throat, he descended one step at a time. When he faced Miss Croft again, he saw that she was now standing, perusing one paper after the other while holding a hand to the nape of her neck.
He stopped halfway down. “Why are you holding your neck like that?”
She turned her head with a slight wince. “I should think it obvious.”
He experienced a perverse amount of pleasure in the bite of her tone. Miss Croft was cranky. A rarity, indeed. But not without a certain appeal. Of course, since the reason was due to pain, his amusement sobered. “You’ve done too
much. You should abandon this pursuit of yours.”
“Does everyone know?” She mumbled the words, likely not realizing how well sound traveled in this room. “My pursuit is none of your concern.”
Oh, but it was. In so many ways. Surprisingly, his command was not solely for his own purpose. Certainly, he wanted her to end her pursuit of her cousin’s letter. It was better for everyone involved if that letter—not to mention Calliope’s letter—never saw the light of day. But even more than that, he didn’t want to see her in pain.
“I cannot. I have already been here for days and I am—I mean, my cousin—is desperate for her letter.” Her voice was as weary and bruised as the faint purplish smudges beneath her eyes. “Besides, I must do something to distract her from harp music. Poor Nell has wondrous talent, but she deserves a reprieve from her task.”
Gabriel sat down on a filigreed wrought-iron tread, unable to ignore a telltale sting of guilt. He was partly responsible for Calliope’s discomfort. Then again, perhaps a great deal more than partly. “There’s a pillow on the corner of the sofa. Bring it here.”
Lowering her hand from her nape, she straightened those lovely shoulders. “Is this a royal decree, or shall I stand here and wait for common courtesy? You’ll find that I am not suited for employment, other than what I give of my own free will.”
No other young woman of his acquaintance had ever been so eager to flay him with her tongue. Now, he felt as if he’d been cheated by the absence of it. In the past five years, no one had come close to challenging him the way she did. His affairs had been meaningless and lacking in substance, leaving him unfulfilled and empty. He craved more.
A futile desire, he knew. He didn’t dare sate his appetite for Calliope. Yet he couldn’t stand to see her in pain either, especially not when he knew a remedy. Surely, he could withstand temptation for a few more moments.
“There’s a pillow on the corner of the sofa, Miss Croft. I wonder if you would do me the honor of bringing it to where I am, if you please.”
“And yet you still manage to condescend to me.” She let out a sigh, not moving from her spot.
The Elusive Lord Everhart: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series Page 7
