by Allison Lane
He had surprised her so often in the last hour that she hardly knew what to think. His fury when she’d described Uncle Edward’s orders had clenched her stomach. He cared for the land as much as she did, despite never seeing it before. From his questions and comments, she was sure that the tenants would enjoy a better future than they’d ever dreamed.
If he followed through. She had no proof that he actually meant to restore Redrock. Perhaps he was toying with her, using her loyalty to her dependents to gain her trust so he could seduce her. And he had won Redrock in a card game. Uncle would never have risked losing it to a man who would treat them well.
But it was difficult to fit him into her image of other lords. He seemed almost reasonable, someone she could work with in the future.
Danger.
Her conscience was right, she admitted. She must not allow his charm to blind her. He was a libertine every bit as bad as her father, a man who frequented the most debased brothels in London. He was a friend of her uncle, participating in card games in which fortunes changed hands. His exploits shocked all of society. He might be protecting her from his guests, but only because allowing her to mix with them would restrain their enjoyment.
A sound drew her attention to the drive. His friends had arrived.
She ought to relieve Rose at her mother’s bedside, but curiosity drew her to the window. She had to see what fallen women looked like.
Standing well to one side so she could peer through a crack in the draperies without being noticed, she watched the line of carriages disgorge Merimont’s guests.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but this wasn’t it. Like Merimont, his friends were impeccably dressed and could have stepped into any Devonshire drawing room without attracting criticism. She could have passed any of the ladies on the village street without pause. Each wore a cloak or pelisse in deference to the autumn chill, but no paint covered their faces, and their hair was arranged in the current mode.
But while their appearance was bland, their behavior was shocking. A petite blonde snuggled into a redheaded gentleman’s embrace. His hand reached down to pat her backside in a most intimate way, inciting giggles and a lewd comment loud enough to penetrate the window.
Hope’s face burned.
A black-haired lady boldly threw her arms around her escort’s neck when he lifted her from the carriage, wiggling deliciously as she slid down his front. Hope snatched her gaze from the lascivious kiss they exchanged.
The next carriage disgorged a dark gentleman of medium height and a stately brunette. When he turned to survey the house, Hope gasped. His gaze brushed past her window, turning her stomach icy. Never had she seen such malevolence. He embodied everything she feared, and more.
She shook off the fancy. He was merely tired from a long journey and disappointed at the size of the house. She could not blame him for grimacing in a direction none of his companions would see.
Turning her gaze to the last carriage, she watched another gentleman assist a laughing redhead to the ground. Then Merimont stepped forward to lift down his own companion. Blonde ringlets caught the breeze, dancing about the girl’s face. His mistress, Hope decided, for the blonde’s eyes lit with pleasure as he bent to whisper something into her ear that drew a flirtatious giggle. He wrapped an arm about her waist and headed for the door.
Cursing herself for watching, even as she stifled an unexpected memory of that same arm across her own shoulders, Hope strode away. Voices carried from the hall.
“Too gothic for words,” drawled a man, accompanied by a feminine giggle.
“Place is falling apart,” grumbled another.
“Too true,” said Merimont, “though the west wing is sound enough. I can’t say the same for the rest. More than one ceiling is down, and the library floor contains a hole large enough to swallow a carriage. It will be months before all the repairs are complete.”
“Good idea to block it off,” said someone matter-of-factly. “We wouldn’t want any accidents.”
Feminine squeals hinted that the women were using the danger to their own advantage.
“The doors are marked if you wish to examine your rooms,” Merimont continued, a wealth of suggestion in his tone. “We’ll sort out luggage and ladies later.”
“Just find me something soft to lie on,” said another gentleman. “A carriage ride with this tease leaves me in need of a bed.”
Hope fled the laughter that followed his quip. Footsteps clattered upstairs. She knew their voices would fill that hall as well, so instead of relieving Rose, she scurried down to the stillroom, where she splashed cold water on her face.
Why had she listened to them? They were rakehells, debauchers, purveyors of every evil in the world.
Again she felt Merimont’s arm on her shoulders and his teeth on her ear. Scowling, she resumed splashing, but nothing could relieve the embarrassment.
Chapter Five
Max shook his head as he entered the music room. Dornbras, Reggie, and Terrence had gone upstairs, but Blake had demanded a private word. He hadn’t expected trouble from that quarter.
Nor had he expected Annette to start pouting. Granted, his greeting had been restrained, but he was nervous about reactions to the sleeping arrangements, and he could not forget that a lady might be watching this very public arrival. He’d felt eyes on the back of his neck as he’d lifted Annette down from the carriage – which was why he’d kept his welcome almost platonic.
Not that it mattered. He could have ravished Annette on the drive without reducing Miss Ashburton’s regard. But golden curls seemed insipid after watching the light play across auburn tresses. Their morning discussion had left him straining at the bit to begin work on Redrock, making the next fortnight’s frivolity seem intrusive. Why had he ever agreed to this party?
Cursing himself, he shut the door and faced Blake. Annette and Missy were in the drawing room, probably disparaging his house. “How was the trip?”
Blake was staring over the garden. “Too easy. Dornbras is in a very odd mood.”
“Odd?”
“For him.” Blake paced to the fireplace and back. “He’s been congenial, even when Terrence’s carriage slid into a ditch, costing us half a day digging it out – he would have to land in a bog.”
Max laughed. “That spot near Bury St. Michael?”
Blake nodded.
“How the devil did he lose control there? That road is wide, with hardly a rut in sight.”
“I suspect the coachman was listening to Terrence and Flo instead of watching the horses.”
Max laughed even louder.
“Humorous in retrospect,” agreed Blake. “But Dornbras should have been furious at having to soil his hands. Instead he said nothing. He’s stayed with Francine since leaving London and ignored every serving wench who tried to catch his eye.”
Max shrugged. “Why should he hire a tavern maid when he has Francine?”
“He’s easily bored, Max. And he is a blackguard. Pitting a London courtesan against a country charmer would appeal to him. I wish you hadn’t included him in this gathering.”
“You sound like my father.”
“Occasionally your father is right.”
Max sucked in a deep breath, gritting his teeth to hold his temper. He allowed few people to criticize him, but Blake was his closest friend.
“When are you going to admit that Dornbras is using you?” asked Blake softly. “The only reason hostesses tolerate him is because of you. But his reputation is sinking fast. Soon even you won’t keep him afloat. At least a dozen sticklers already prefer the ire of a future marquess to allowing Dornbras into their drawing rooms. If you persist, you’ll sink with him.”
“Blake—”
“No, I won’t let it drop this time,” he said, ignoring the warning tone. “Dornbras is dangerous. The moment your power no longer protects him, he will turn on you.”
“Don’t exaggerate. I know you don’t like him, but give me a little c
redit. Most of his bluster is an act. You know he enjoys shocking people – especially sticklers like Lady Horseley and Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. I’ve shocked them more than once myself, for they remind me too much of Father. I suspect that Dornbras feels the same way. His father is worse than mine.”
“Perhaps, but don’t put Dornbras in your shoes. They don’t fit.”
“You’re wrong. He occasionally goes too far, but beneath his careless facade, he is little different from anyone else.”
“I doubt Madame LaFleur would agree with you. One of her girls suffered a broken arm last month.”
“Meg. But that was an accident,” insisted Max.
Blake raised a skeptical brow.
“Meg told me herself that it was an accident – she wanted out of the business, so I helped her.” While he enjoyed the attentions of willing courtesans, he hated to see girls, particularly young ones, forced into brothels. So if one wanted out, he helped her establish a respectable life. Most needed assistance, because few had any money. And the brothel owners hated losing their merchandise. “Meg’s story matches his. They tumbled off the bed, landing awkwardly with him on top. Her arm broke.”
“No other injuries?”
“Not that I know of. It was an accident, Blake.”
“Very well. It was an accident. But I’ve heard too many rumors of brutality to dismiss him as harmless. I wish he was not here.”
Max shrugged. He and Blake would never agree about Dornbras. His two friends had raised each other’s hackles since school. “You needn’t fret. Dornbras is relaxed because there is no one nearby he cares to annoy. He is a different man away from society. And there will be enough here to keep him occupied.”
“Perhaps, though that is another subject we must discuss. You and Annette are the only ones who will be comfortable sharing rooms. This arrangement cannot work.”
“Room shuffling is inevitable,” he agreed with a sigh. “But I have no choice. The east wing is falling to bits. Ashburton’s solicitor must have confused Redrock with some other property. Not only did he claim the manor was well maintained, but he described it as being three times this size.”
“You could have warned us.”
“Hardly. You aren’t the only one who had a regrettable journey. I ran into a spot of trouble south of Bath and arrived only yesterday. The staff consisted of an elderly housekeeper who should have been pensioned off years ago. I spent today finding temporary help. I’ve not even met the steward.”
“Then the situation is worse than I feared,” said Blake, running his hand over the harpsichord.
The motion drew Max’s eyes to a Broadwood pianoforte in the corner, clearly Miss Ashburton’s. How could he explain an instrument from a fifteen-year-old company in a derelict, unoccupied house? He didn’t play well enough to justify buying it, and he could hardly have acquired it in a single day, anyway.
Pulling his mind back to the discussion, he faced Blake. “What is wrong with the situation?”
“You know that Dornbras demands the best. He is as rich as Golden Ball and as arrogant as the most exacting duke.”
Max chuckled, for the description was apt – the contrast explained why even innocuous pranks had made such an impact when he’d first come to London. Now that people knew him, he had to use more extreme pranks to achieve the same effect.
“Did you know that Prinny is dangling a knighthood in front of him, hoping for a loan?”
“Dornbras mentioned it. He’s holding out for a title, but he won’t get it. Even Prinny’s debts aren’t that bad just now. Parliament paid most of them when they appointed him regent.”
“True, but Dornbras refuses to admit that. I hope I am nowhere nearby when he does.”
“What is your point?”
“Dornbras never shares quarters. Isn’t there a corner where one of the girls can sleep and where they can all keep their belongings?”
“I wish there were. Even one extra room would make life simpler.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’ve been butting my head against the math since I arrived. There are only five bedchambers that are safe to enter. This floor contains only the drawing room, dining room, and music room. The nursery is falling to bits and has no furnishings worth mentioning. The attics are full of personal servants, even if I find no staff – the few helpers I located this morning live elsewhere. Where would you suggest I put the girls? Your dressing room? It is the only one that opens onto the hallway. But that would leave you without even a wardrobe in which to store your clothes.”
He did not mention the dressing room that mirrored Blake’s, which also opened onto the hall. It was attached to the unused bedchamber in the east wing, and he could not allow anyone that close to Miss Ashburton. Besides, she had the only key.
“There is nothing on the nursery floor?”
“A cradle and a cot. But even the governess’s room contains only a peg on which to hang clothes. And there must be years of dirt up there. Can you imagine how much the girls would track down here? I haven’t the staff to clean another floor.”
“Then I will sacrifice my dressing room,” said Blake grimly. “Perhaps that will keep Dornbras from losing his temper.”
Max shrugged. If Blake wanted to give up his comfort rather than admit that his prejudices were unjustified, who was he to argue? And it would simplify matters immensely if the girls kept their luggage out of the men’s rooms.
“If you wish. I will have Henry bring down that cot. One of the girls can sleep in there, though I hate giving special treatment to Dornbras.”
“We will understand.”
Maybe. Max wasn’t sure he understood his capitulation himself. But it was done. “Anyone else who is unhappy with the arrangements is welcome to leave,” he muttered.
He was feeling harassed again. Everyone had been thwarting him lately – his father, Miss Ashburton, Blake. Annette would undoubtedly be next. He should have dismissed her in London, as he’d planned to do before agreeing to this party. She’d grown petulant, increasing her demands even when she knew he’d suffered financial reverses. Perhaps he should cut her loose and sample some of the others. Missy looked enticing with her mop of red hair. Of course, hers was not nearly as magnificent as Miss Ashburton’s.
Suppressing a wave of unwanted heat, he poured two glasses of wine, handing the second to Blake.
“I checked your rooms before leaving,” Blake said. “This had just arrived.” He pulled out a letter.
Max grimaced, recognizing his father’s hand. As expected, it was a new rant demanding that he return home immediately. “He has heard rumors that I am playing deeply every night,” he said lightly, hiding his pain that Montcalm would rather believe exaggerated gossip than discover the truth for himself.
“He was bound to hear.”
“But he didn’t have to— It doesn’t matter. He will never change.” Exhaling sharply, he turned the subject. “What new rumors arose after I left town?”
“Reggie surrendered to his mother’s pressure and agreed to wed next Season.”
“I thought he looked a bit strained.” He shook his head. “Another good man caught in parson’s mousetrap.”
“Worse. He fears his mother will maneuver him into taking on a martinet. His revelry these past days contains a note of desperation, as if he fears that he will have to stay home and become respectable.”
“He will come about. A monkey says he will propose to the most conformable pea-goose in society before the Season is a fortnight old. Such a one will turn a blind eye to his adventures.”
“I’ll have to pass on this one, for I entirely agree. Like Devereaux, Reggie will always be a rake – unlike you. If you find the right lady, you will never stray.”
“I could say the same for you, but I have no plans to wed any time soon. Only after Father admits that I am no longer a child will I look to the succession.” The letter had also contained that demand.
“But he i— never mind.” He obeyed M
ax’s scowl and changed the subject. “Ashburton may regret losing that game. Society is now watching him.”
“Why would he care?”
“I’m not sure, but a rather garbled story turned up the morning we left. Something about his wife locking herself in the cellar to escape his son’s threats over some missing jewelry.”
Max frowned. “Garbled is right.”
“Ashburton left town, so no one can confirm or deny it. Some claim the tale is a hum and that he is pursuing a long-standing enemy.”
A shiver touched Max’s shoulders. It made little sense, yet it might explain that card game. Had Ashburton dragged him into an elaborate plot? He must be careful to stay away from the fellow.
Blake drained his wine. “Perhaps he is merely playing hard to find. He must know that you would discover his lies about Redrock. How bad is it?”
“I would have no legitimate complaint, even if the estate were worse, for it cost me nothing. But it has potential. In his father’s day, it brought in ten thousand a year. I believe it could do even better with the proper management.”
“But it will take time and money to rescue it.” It was not a question. Blake knew as much about Coke’s experiments as Max did.
“I have both. What else am I to do with them? I have no intention of going home.”
They discussed agriculture for nearly an hour. Max described the problems Miss Ashburton had revealed. More than once he nearly slipped and named her. Thus he rejoiced when Terrence and Jeanette came downstairs. Changing the subject would guard his tongue.
* * * *
Two evenings later Hope paused outside her mother’s room. Shrieks echoed from the west wing. Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
“Caught you,” growled a male voice.
“So you did.” The girl giggled. “What will you do with me?”
“Take you right here.” Something slammed against the wardrobe.
Hope tried to ignore the sounds that followed. She needed to relieve Rose at her mother’s bedside, but she dared not open the door. What if her mother was awake?
A throaty giggle ended in a breathless suggestion.
