The Beleaguered Earl

by Allison Lane

  Hope clasped her hands over her ears as a rhythmic thumping echoed along the hall, raising the memory of the dogs she had once seen copulating. She ought to shoot Merimont for subjecting her to this.

  Harsh panting finally ended in a long moan. Only then did Hope realize that one hand had loosened as she strained to hear.

  The man made another lewd suggestion as he led his partner of the moment away.

  Heat washed over Hope’s face. How could she have listened to such debauchery? Even curiosity should have bounds. Society was right to shelter innocents. The sounds from the west wing made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t explain.

  Taking a deep breath, she picked up her tray and opened the door.

  Rose seemed as composed as ever. Either her hearing was worse or the heavy door had muffled the noise. But as she sent Rose down for dinner, an insidious little voice wondered how many similar incidents she had missed. Did Merimont also enjoy servicing his mistress against a wall where anyone might see them?

  This time the heat engulfed her entire body.

  She should have realized the real danger of allowing him to hold his party here. His preparations protected her from physical assault, but they did nothing to dull her imagination. Though this incident had been the most blatant, it was far from the first.

  Chasing seemed common, complete with squeals, giggles, and mock threats. At least one man had ripped off a gown. And she could only be grateful that she did not understand some of the words that floated over the barricades – though her imagination tried. Banishing such thoughts did not prevent them from creeping into her dreams.

  She shivered, for the dreams seemed far too real, tormenting her nights with stroking hands, with teeth that slid deliciously around ears and lips, with—

  Stop this!

  She was worse than Merimont’s guests. Her mind concocted outrageous images out of snatches of conversation, but such fantasies were dangerous. They assigned pleasure to debauchery when everyone knew ladies derived no enjoyment from that activity. Her mother had once described it as disgusting and painful – which accounted for the bloodcurdling scream she’d heard last night.

  If only Merimont would leave. She’d been restless ever since his arrival, fearful of what he might do, terrified that her mother might die, yet equally terrified that the woman would recover enough to realize who was in the house. Merimont had even invaded her sleep last night, adding a face to the hands that prevented her much-needed rest.

  Why had he arrived when she was already beset by fear for her mother? At any other time, she could have kept him out – out of her house and out of her dreams. Instead, he was insidiously seducing her without even trying. The cad.

  He and his friends had taken a picnic to the woods yesterday, the ladies giggling like ninnies as they hung on the gentlemen’s arms and snuggled against gentlemen’s chests, squealing in delight at wanton caresses.

  She blushed to recall how she’d watched through her mother’s window. Perhaps her uncle was right to complain that her behavior was not up to snuff. No lady would stare at a covey of courtesans. And she had no business entertaining regrets that she could not join them, especially after seeing their clothes. Even the unseasonably warm temperatures had not prepared her for so many scandalous necklines. Not one girl had a stitch on beneath her thin muslin gown, as anyone could tell in the sun.

  Had her father boldly taken what he wanted as Merimont had done that first day? Had he seduced her mother into giggles and squeals like the fallen women at Redrock, or had he forced her with determined brutality?

  Probably force, she concluded grimly. She’d seen no evidence that rakes respected anyone, regardless of background. Even Merimont had not protected her, despite his soothing promises. She must try harder to shut them out. Nothing good could come of listening.

  Her mother moaned, returning her attention to business. Dipping the cloth in cool water, she bathed her face and neck. But her puny efforts had little effect on the fever raging through that frail body.

  * * * *

  Hope slipped into the walled rose garden before dawn, praying that the worst was over. Her mother’s fever had risen until she’d feared that convulsions were inevitable, but an hour ago it had finally broken, soaking the bed in perspiration. Hope had struggled to change the linens without awakening Rose or Mrs. Tweed, then fixed another cup of willow tea to prevent the fever’s return. Now her mother was sleeping soundly for the first time in days.

  With relief had come exhaustion. Her back hurt from constant sponging. Dizziness reminded her that she’d eaten little since breakfast yesterday – or had it been the day before?

  She needed sleep, yet she was too tired and too restless.

  But at least her mother’s improvement kept her safe. When she had described the lease to Merimont, she had implied that he could not touch Redrock for seventy-five years, but that was not strictly true. Her mother retained her rights until death, but her own ended when she married. Thus this recovery would remove any incentive to force her into marriage and would give him time to grow bored and leave.

  She completed a circuit of the garden and started another, listening to the silence. Most of the birds had left for the winter. Yesterday’s unseasonable warmth was gone, leaving a thin coating of frost on the ground. A phalanx of geese crossed the moon’s face as they headed for warmer climes, teasing the silence with distant honking.

  She ought to seek her bed, she admitted as her feet moved quietly across the grass. But she was still beset by restlessness and other odd sensations. And there was no need to rush. Morning was usually quiet in the west wing. Everyone would be asleep.

  “An angel, come to earth to greet the dawn. Or are you rosy-fingered Eos herself?” asked a male voice.

  She spun around. A man stood just behind her. The dark one whose grimace had disturbed her on arrival. His words may have been poetic, but his voice grated like a hinge in need of oil.

  “No wonder dear Max hides the maids. Does he hope to keep you to himself?” His smile seemed more predatory than friendly. One hand reached out to caress the side of her neck.

  “No!” She stepped out of reach.

  “Don’t be coy, my dear. Max needn’t know a thing.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” she tried, panicking when she realized that her retreat had cornered her in a thicket of roses.

  He slid an arm around her shoulders, reviving images of Merimont’s arrival. But this touch was cold, making her skin crawl.

  “Leave me alone,” she begged, twisting to escape.

  “Forget Max. His mistress is here – and a delightful young filly she is,” he added, licking his lips. “I’ll double the usual fee.” He named a figure that would support a laborer for months.

  “I’m not interested. Go back to the house.”

  “You don’t mean that.” His face turned ugly. “Don’t hold out for carte blanche, girl. This is my best offer. No whore is worth more.” His hand slid over her bosom.

  Fighting off nausea, she screamed, then swung wildly, managing to connect with his nose.

  He caught her arms and twisted them behind her back. Blood dripped onto his cravat.

  “The chit isn’t interested, Dornbras.” The drawl from near the gate silenced her attacker’s snarl. “It’s not worth bedding a screamer – and bad form to force your host’s servants.”

  Dornbras froze, then stepped back – reluctantly, if his eyes were any indication. With deliberate moves he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his face.

  Hope cringed against a rosebush. Thorns tore into her arm as she hugged herself to control her shaking.

  “You are out early this morning,” grumbled Dornbras. “Did Flo throw you out of bed?”

  “No earlier than you,” said the newcomer calmly, adding, “Missy was looking for you.”

  “I doubt it. The girl has no stamina. I used her hard enough that she’ll sleep ’til noon.”


  “Shall I check her for bruises?”

  “Why? So you can carry tales to our host?”

  “Tale-bearing would be worth it if it would open his eyes to what you are.” A definite threat underlay the words.

  “He already knows.” Dornbras grinned without a hint of pleasure. “Now get you gone so I can conclude my business.”

  “No.”

  The looks they exchanged could have sliced steel. For a moment, Hope feared they would come to blows. She wanted to run, but that would have meant touching the man called Dornbras. She stayed where she was, cowering into a rosebush.

  Dornbras finally shrugged. “She’s probably got the pox anyway.”

  “Then you are lucky she declined your offer.”

  Relief washed over her as Dornbras strode away, but she ignored it, turning her attention to her rescuer. Would he also attack? Like his friend, he was a libertine, though at least he did not radiate evil. But he was enjoying this party as much as the others.

  He stepped back, turning half away from her. “You need not fear me. I never make unwanted advances,” he said softly. “But don’t tarry here again. Report to work promptly. Dornbras is growing bored, and he welcomes challenge. Avoid him.”

  Holding her breath, Hope slipped past him, snagging her cloak on a thorn in an effort to remain as far away as possible. But he made no move to touch her. She relaxed.

  “Thank you, sir.” Her voice shook. “For both the rescue and the advice.”

  Without waiting for a response, she fled toward the gate. I’ll kill him for this, she muttered, cursing herself for allowing Merimont to move in. Why had she listened to him? His first touch should have told her where it would lead. Lord Merimont, indeed. Lord Rakehell is more appropriate. Lord Scoundrel. Lord Blackguard. Can I not even enjoy a moment at dawn in my own garden?

  She should have sworn to expose him to the world if he didn’t leave. To cry rape or accuse him publicly of every dishonorable act known to man. Maybe then he would have taken himself and his friends somewhere else.

  “What did you say?” A hand grasped her shoulder, halting her in her tracks.

  “Nothing.” She shook off his touch, furious to realize she’d spoken aloud.

  “The truth.”

  She glared into his amber eyes. Another man bent on his own desires. And he now stood between her and the gate, though he made no further move to touch her.

  “Well? Who the hell are you?” Anger was growing in his eyes.

  She shrugged. “I thought you did not assault unwilling females.”

  “I am not assaulting you. I am trying to find out what is going on.”

  “Nothing, though I fear your friend might be lying in wait for me. I doubt he accepts defeat gracefully.”

  “He does not, but that is not what you said in your very genteel voice. You mentioned Merimont.”

  “Someone taking my name in vain?” Merimont pushed open the gate and froze. “Miss Ashburton!” He sounded appalled.

  “I take it you are acquainted.” His friend sounded even more furious. Violence crackled through the air.

  Hope shook her head, forcing her terror aside. Somehow, she must relieve the tension before these rakehells unleashed their anger on her. “What is this?” she demanded lightly. “The fashionable hour at Hyde Park? I thought gentlemen slept the mornings away.”

  “What the devil are you doing here?” demanded Merimont, glaring as he loomed over her.

  “Would you believe sleepwalking?”

  He snorted.

  “I didn’t think so. In truth, I hoped a turn about the garden would relax me. I hardly expected to meet anyone.”

  Merimont sighed. Turning his back on his friend, he squeezed her hand. “Forgive me. We never discussed the grounds, did we?”

  The words revived her other grievances. “We neglected to discuss a great number of things, starting with how noisy you people are. If Mother hears you, the shock will kill her.”

  Merimont’s face darkened. The hand that gripped hers tightened.

  “What the devil is going on?” demanded the other man.

  She jumped, shrinking against Merimont’s side. The moment he’d touched her, she’d forgotten his friend. Fool!

  Merimont inhaled sharply. “Miss Ashburton, may I present Lord Rockhurst. Blake, this is Miss Hope Ashburton. She and her mother lease Redrock House.”

  Chapter Six

  Max wished the ground would swallow him. He’d never been so embarrassed in his life. Yet he did not feel the slightest irritation with Miss Ashburton for placing him in this position. In fact, her hand was still clutched in his own, and she stood close enough that he could smell lavender.

  But her willingness to seek his protection proved that the situation was worse than he’d feared. Finding her with Blake was unfortunate, though Blake would never hurt her. But Dornbras had stomped into the house only minutes ago. Had she met him?

  The jagged flash of fear that accompanied the question did more to remove the scales from his eyes than all of Blake’s warnings. Miss Ashburton was not safe with Dornbras, who would welcome the chance to ravish an innocent. If she protested, Dornbras would derive even more pleasure from the encounter.

  He groaned. How could he have been so blind? Dornbras’s father might be more rigid than his own, but he was trying to rein in a son who was racing toward disaster.

  But that was a problem for later. If Blake’s glare was any indication, he was in for a tongue-lashing. This wasn’t something Blake would ignore. And rightly so.

  “Ashburton?” repeated Blake, his quiet voice hiding the fury Max knew was raging.

  “My uncle is Lord Ashburton, former owner of Redrock.” She flashed a look of pure malevolence at Max and dropped his hand.

  Her sudden antagonism was another problem he could address later, though he suspected she was thinking of the noise she’d mentioned a moment ago. Clearly she still believed all men were alike. “I only discovered her existence upon arrival,” he said in excuse.

  “I did not know that Ashburton had siblings.”

  Miss Ashburton shrugged. “My father died shortly after my birth.”

  Max drew her aside. “We can discuss your connections later. How is your mother?”

  She smiled. “Her fever finally broke, thank heaven. Forgive me for intruding on your guests, my lord. I did not expect anyone to be about.”

  “I am at fault, Miss Ashburton. I should have anticipated a great many more things, I see.”

  Her smile faded, leaving her face pale and lifeless. “I will not make that mistake again.”

  Her vow made him feel smaller than the hedgehog nosing about under the roses. She was the only innocent at Redrock. “You are not at fault. It should have been perfectly safe. I cannot believe that any of us is awake at this hour.” He realized he was babbling, trying to restore the sparkle to her gray eyes. He sighed. “We must talk. May I join you in the office once I explain to Blake? He is my closest friend and will not harm you. Nor will he mention this to others.”

  “The library would be more convenient – and more private, as voices would carry less.” She nodded toward a door opening onto the end of the terrace, obviously her exit from the east wing.

  He cringed at this latest jibe, just as he had cringed at every suggestive sound for three days. Never before had he realized how noisy people could be when they set propriety aside. No one heeded convention, bouncing enthusiastically about and abandoning every shred of modesty. Reggie had pulled Francine under the table during dinner last night, and he’d heard Terrence and Jeanette in the hall a short time later.

  But this was no time to recall such things, he reminded himself through a new wave of embarrassment. Lifting Miss Ashburton’s hand to his lips, he smiled. “The library it is. I will join you shortly.”

  He watched to make sure she reached the house without incident, then turned back to Blake.

  * * * *

  Blake watched with growing amusement as Max
soothed the girl’s anger and sent her toward the supposedly uninhabitable wing of the manor. That touch of tenderness went far beyond the concern he had shown when rescuing females in the past.

  Which was just as well. If this situation was as bad as it looked, those two would be spending a lifetime together. A touch of tenderness might well make it bearable.

  But neither observation was one he could mention. Max’s most glaring fault was stubbornness. Once he made up his mind, he never changed it – just like his father, though that was another observation Blake had been careful to keep to himself. He’d learned that lesson the hard way by disparaging Dornbras when Max was smarting from one of Montcalm’s tirades and determined to show the world that he could make his own decisions. Society had been plagued by the man ever since.

  So he could not let Max claim disinterest in Miss Ashburton or deny that he’d compromised the girl.

  Max turned back to the garden, glaring.

  Blake held up a hand. “You needn’t call me out. I’m not the one putting that girl’s reputation in jeopardy.”

  “How dare you accuse me of ruining her. I’ve done everything possible to protect her.”

  “You don’t have to fight me, Max. I’m not your father. Nor did I accuse you of ruining her. But being here puts her in jeopardy.”

  Max shook his head, all anger draining from his eyes. “What happened?” he asked wearily.

  Blake shrugged. “I came outside for some air. Flo had fallen asleep in my bed. You know I dislike sharing.”

  “Don’t we all?” Max muttered.

  Blake nearly smiled. It had been obvious for days that Max was bored with Annette. Now he had to wonder if Max was more enamored of Miss Ashburton than he’d appeared. “I walked down to the stream and back. As I was approaching the terrace, I heard Dornbras assaulting someone.”

  “Dear God.”

  “It hadn’t progressed very far. In fact, she drew blood planting him a facer as I reached the gate. Obviously she does not know that he abandons all scruples in pursuit of revenge,” he added daringly. “If I had not happened along, she would now be ruined in truth. I feared I would have to pull him away as it was.”