A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  “The letters prove it.” Nell struggled not to sound desperate. “If you don’t believe me, track down the women who wrote them. And there’s the added proof of the letter blackmailing his lordship for return of the diary.”

  “Ah, the diary,” Sedgemoor said thoughtfully, steepling his fingers and tapping them on his chin. He now sat in the circle with the rest of them. “Lord Leath doesn’t strike me as a man partial to melodrama. And surely he’s too clever to leave such condemnatory evidence.”

  “It clearly exists.” After hearing her story, how could they doubt that Leath must be stopped? “Dorothy saw it and this Greengrass man claims to have it.”

  “Cam and I have experience of Greengrass,” Sir Richard said. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. And given he’s a big brute, that’s not far at all.”

  “Although I hear you bested him in three punches,” the duke said, surprising Nell. She’d immediately labeled the elegant fellow as decorative rather than useful.

  Sir Richard looked uncomfortable. “Genevieve told you about that, did she?”

  “She told Pen.”

  “That’s the same as telling you.” Sir Richard glanced across at Nell. He was the least imperious of the three men. His blue eyes were kind and when he smiled, she felt like he meant it.

  Lord Hillbrook seemed to reserve judgment, but when he examined her, his cold black eyes pierced to her soul. Pray God he didn’t see the roiling confusion there or the humiliating truth that Leath’s dupes included Eleanor Trim.

  His Grace was harder to read. She picked up no hostility, but her revelations hadn’t roused his enthusiasm.

  Sir Richard slouched picturesquely in his chair. He was the handsomest man she’d ever seen. It was difficult to imagine him married to the terrifyingly clever Genevieve. “My apologies. We speak in riddles, Miss Trim. This isn’t our first encounter with Hector Greengrass. He worked for Leath’s uncle, Neville Fairbrother, whose outrages would make your hair curl.”

  “Clearly Lord Leath comes from a rotten tree,” she said grimly, still struggling against feelings of disloyalty toward her deceitful lover. “The family connection must be how Greengrass got the diary.”

  “The evidence against Leath seems damning,” Hillbrook said slowly. “But I still find it a stretch to believe that he’s responsible. For a start, I can’t see how his parliamentary work left him time to pursue women up and down the country. The fellow must never sleep to be so busy in the government and still fit in all this wenching.”

  Nell studied the three men and saw that her story, while it had undoubtedly moved them, hadn’t convinced them of Leath’s guilt. She surged to her feet, disgust and outrage twisting like snakes in her belly. Her sudden movement startled Sirius from his doze and he jumped up, bristling.

  She should have realized that when push came to shove, justice wouldn’t outweigh the aristocratic bond. These men were reluctant to expose Leath as a blight on the country, because they were linked through birth and prestige. A black mark against the marquess constituted a black mark against all noblemen.

  She wouldn’t let them close ranks. “If you won’t help me, I’ll go elsewhere,” she said adamantly. “The press will be interested, I’m sure.”

  All three rose when she did. Part of their gentleman’s code. Like protecting their own. The duke spoke in a soothing tone. “My dear Miss Trim, let’s not be hasty.”

  She frowned. “We need to be hasty. Lord Leath has done enough damage.”

  Nell couldn’t interpret the look that the duke sent the other two men. “We know you believe that. But before we take action, we need to be sure the facts are straight. If we attack Leath publicly, only to find that we’re on shaky ground with our accusations, he’ll sue us for libel then continue with impunity.”

  “We need to be certain of our footing,” Hillbrook said. “Although I understand your impatience.”

  “Especially after weeks in the cad’s company,” Sir Richard said.

  She searched his face, but found no ulterior meaning to his comment. “I owed it to my sister.”

  The heat in her cheeks flared as she remembered what she’d done with wicked Lord Leath during those weeks. Thank God these men weren’t mind readers. Although when she saw Lord Hillbrook’s eyes narrow, she feared that perhaps he might be.

  No, that was her guilty conscience speaking. She’d been misled and mistaken. Now she aimed in the right direction. She’d avenge Dorothy. She’d make sure Leath despoiled no more innocent girls. And if she died trying, she’d mend the jagged chasm in her soul.

  “With investigation, it’s possible that we’ll find more evidence,” Hillbrook said.

  She sighed. “I hoped that my part was done and I could leave everything to you.”

  Sedgemoor smiled. His air of self-containment and competence provided the perfect foil for Leath’s energy and cleverness. “Miss Trim, we only ask you to stay while we dig a little deeper.”

  “You can contact me in Mearsall,” she said desperately. She was frantic to return to her old life, to prove that she was the same person she’d been, to forget tall, gray-eyed lords who lied.

  “A few days,” His Grace said. “These allegations are so grave, we’ll have to back them to the final word.”

  Unwillingly she nodded, although disappointment tasted bitter. She didn’t want to play the crusader. She wanted to find somewhere to hide away and come to terms with her sins. And her broken heart.

  To Nell’s dismay, her warm welcome at Fentonwyck continued. She’d assumed that after that interview with His Grace and his cronies, she’d remain in her room awaiting developments. Or in view of her status as lowborn interloper, the duchess would shift her to the servants’ quarters. Even if upon arrival, the Rothermeres had mistaken her for some wayward gentlewoman—her clothes were cheap, but her horse definitely wasn’t—when she’d told her story, she’d been frank about her humble background.

  But instead of exiling her to the attics while these powerful men decided whether to support her, the duchess invited her to dinner. It meant an odd number at the table, but Nell quickly realized that these six remarkable people didn’t stand on ceremony. Nell also recognized the strong bonds of friendship between them. Most painful of all, she’d be blind not to see the love uniting each pair.

  Under Lady Hillbrook’s teasing, terrifying Jonas Merrick became almost human and his eyes shone with adoration when he looked at his wife. The Harmsworths seemed mismatched, until Nell saw them together and noticed how Sir Richard’s elegant manners offset his wife’s eccentric brilliance. Sedgemoor was clearly head over heels in love with his beautiful, pregnant duchess. And his duchess basked in the glow.

  Nell’s love for Leath was so new and now so hedged with poisonous vines and sharp thorns, she could hardly bear the company of all these blissful couples. And there was the added bite that, even if Leath had been the man she’d thought, the world would never allow her to claim him openly. As his mistress, she’d always hover on the fringes of his life. Once he tired of her, she wouldn’t even have that much.

  As customary in great houses, the ladies left the gentlemen to their port. Nell tried to claim tiredness. If she intercepted one more loving glance, she’d scream. But the duchess insisted that she stay downstairs for tea. Knowing that she owed these people a debt of gratitude—not to mention that she wanted them to join the campaign against Leath—Nell remained.

  To her surprise, she found the conversation well within her compass. Her stepfather had followed the news and her weeks at Alloway Chase had sharpened her political awareness. After some hesitation, more about invading the intimacy between these friends than feeling out of her depth, she joined in.

  “Miss Trim, I’d love you to visit me in London,” Lady Harmsworth said warmly from her place on the sofa, after they found they agreed on the faults of the latest Scott novel, The Fair Maid of Perth. The lovely blonde stuck a few desultory stitches into the embroidery on her lap. “We could
do the rounds of the booksellers.”

  Nell, whose troubles had briefly receded, blushed. She sat near the fire, a place of honor that the duchess had insisted she take. “Lady Harmsworth, you’re too generous, but I’m returning to my stepfather’s house.”

  “You’re from Kent, my husband says. Kent to London isn’t far.”

  “A lowly sergeant major’s daughter belongs in a different world, my lady,” Nell said.

  She’d grown up unthinkingly accepting the gulf dividing the classes. Since falling in love with Leath, it struck her that a rigidly stratified society brought untold trouble. If Leath wasn’t a great lord, would his lechery meet with such success? A poor man had neither time nor money to tour the country debauching local virgins. A poor man couldn’t dazzle a clutch of country bumpkins with his London glamor. And a rich man had more chance of weaseling out of the consequences of bad behavior.

  Perhaps she became a quiet revolutionary.

  Thoughtfully Lady Harmsworth surveyed her. “You imagine that I’m a bloodless aristocrat like Pen and Sidonie?”

  Lady Hillbrook sent her a fondly impatient glance from the facing sofa. “Doing it too brown, Genevieve. My father wasn’t much further up the social scale than yours.”

  The duchess laughed from beside Lady Hillbrook and Nell experienced a pang of unworthy envy. This lovely woman lived with a man she adored in an exquisite house, and the child they expected would be loved and secure. Any child Nell had with Leath—and the possibility of pregnancy remained, despite her rage—would be branded a bastard. His lordship’s cold-blooded contract ensured that their offspring wouldn’t be thrown penniless upon the world, but she flinched from tarring her children with illegitimacy.

  “I’ll hold up the flag for the useless aristocracy.” The duchess raised her hand. “I’m not ashamed of where I’ve come from.”

  Nell’s resentment melted away. It did her no good, after all. And she liked the duchess. She liked all these women. If the world was a different place, she could even imagine friendships forming. The ladies were clever and funny and they’d all been far too generous to a woman who descended upon them bringing the threat of chaos. The battle to destroy Leath would be neither clean nor quick. The marquess would fight to his last breath. Even when she’d thought him a good man, she’d recognized his tenacity.

  “I’m a mere vicar’s daughter, Miss Trim,” Lady Harmsworth said. “I’m used to getting my hands dirty.”

  The duchess snorted in a very un-duchesslike fashion. “Hold to that story, Genevieve, and we’ll all imagine you grubbing on your bony knees in the dry, stony soil to dig up a shriveled turnip for each night’s supper.”

  “Wearing filthy rags and clogs,” Lady Hillbrook added.

  The duchess shivered theatrically. “While the cold, cold wind whips around you.”

  Nell couldn’t help laughing. The idea of elegant Lady Harmsworth anywhere but in a room such as this was so incongruous. But then, she’d learned to fit in with extravagant surroundings too, hadn’t she?

  “You sound as if you’re having a fine time.” Sedgemoor stood in the doorway, surveying them with an indulgent eye. “Perhaps we should have abandoned our port earlier. Richard bored us with some damned dull nonsense about the latest colors in waistcoats. Nearly went to sleep over my glass, it was so tedious.”

  “Trying to help you cut a dash, old man.” Sir Richard sauntered past his friend and took his place on the sofa beside his wife. “Seems a pity for the incumbent of one of the nation’s greatest titles to dress like a damned Quaker.”

  “Better a Quaker than a blasted harlequin,” the duke retorted, although it was clear that neither man took this argument seriously.

  “Children,” Lord Hillbrook said repressively, prowling across the room to stand behind his wife. He rested his hand on the bare shoulder revealed by her daringly scooped décolletage.

  Nell realized that she stared at the Hillbrooks and glanced away with a blush. She wasn’t used to these open displays of affection. She barely conquered another nasty pang of jealousy.

  She didn’t want Lord Leath to touch her with casual confidence. She didn’t want to warm to the brush of his fingers against her neck, just as Lady Hillbrook clearly warmed to her husband’s touch. James Fairbrother was the lowest worm who ever lived. If she could, she’d crush him under her heel.

  She stared into her cooling tea and told herself that one day she might even believe she meant that.

  “Speaking of harlequins,” Sir Richard said, leaning against his wife’s arm with more disconcerting physical intimacy, “are you embroidering a bulldog wearing a rainbow, my love?”

  Lady Harmsworth raised her eyebrows with a haughtiness contradicted by the sparkle in her eyes. “You’re such a humorist, darling. Anyone can see that it’s an Arab bazaar at sunset.”

  “Mmm,” her husband said, obviously unconvinced. “Looks like a pug losing his lunch to me. But I’ve never claimed much grasp of arty nonsense. That’s all up to Pen and Cam.”

  “This cushion is perfect for your library,” Lady Harmsworth said sweetly. “It matches my set of Grecian ruins. You so admired those.”

  “Dear Lord save us,” Sir Richard muttered quite audibly.

  The duke remained standing. “Miss Trim, may I have a word?”

  Her unexpected enjoyment of the interplay between the Harmsworths evaporated, leaving behind a tangle of nerves. “Your Grace?”

  Lady Hillbrook rose to rescue the delicate teacup from her insecure hold. “Cam doesn’t bite,” she whispered. “And if he does, I’ll come and beat him off with a fire iron.”

  The idea of Sidonie Merrick taking a club to the lofty Duke of Sedgemoor almost made her smile. “Thank you.” Nell stood on legs made of water, despite Lady Hillbrook’s encouragement.

  Approaching the duke, she passed Lady Harmsworth. Sir Richard wasn’t far wrong. The supposed Arabian scene did indeed look like a bilious puppy.

  “There’s something in your story that I need to clear up.” His Grace took her arm and drew her along a corridor. “It shouldn’t take long.”

  As he ushered her into the library, the air slammed from Nell’s lungs. If Sedgemoor hadn’t held her arm, she’d have fallen as ignominiously as she had upon arrival at Fentonwyck. Everything in the room tunneled to one point.

  “You!”

  Before her stood Lord Leath.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  When she whitened, Leath instinctively stepped forward. Then the loathing on her face made him falter. “Eleanor?”

  She remained trembling in Sedgemoor’s grip and Leath forced himself not to strike the man’s hand away. Eleanor looked about to collapse, and he ached to take her in his arms and tell her everything was all right.

  But of course, everything wasn’t all right. Everything was in an infernal coil. Unless Leath could get her to listen with an open mind, he couldn’t see how to resolve the mess.

  He’d arrived in time to wash and change his shirt, and meet Sedgemoor here in the library. In increasing horror, he’d listened as the duke had revealed the truth about Eleanor Trim—at last. He grieved for her poor tragic half-sister, and for Eleanor’s sorrow and anger. However misguided she’d been.

  But where did this confounded tangle leave them?

  Eleanor’s eyes burned like coals in her ashen face as she shook free of the duke and stumbled back. Did she mean to run?

  “Wait!” Leath didn’t care what that desperate plea revealed to this man who had never been his friend. “Eleanor, please stay.”

  She bumped into the closed door behind her, eyes wide with fear. Did she really think he’d offer her physical harm? Leath’s gut knotted with anguished denial.

  Her agitated gaze found Sedgemoor. “What have you done?”

  The duke maintained his famous sangfroid, although Leath didn’t mistake the watchful expression in those icy green eyes. A watchful expression that changed to compassion when he looked at Eleanor. “Last night, I sent a
message to Alloway Chase telling Leath that you were here and why. Miss Trim, I know this seems like a betrayal, but you’ve made serious allegations against his lordship. He deserves a chance to defend himself.”

  “I don’t want to see him.” Looking like a trapped animal, she screwed her hands into her skirts. However furious Leath was with her—and he was ready to wring her neck for her unjust suspicions—he hated her distress.

  “I’m prepared to stay while you two talk,” Sedgemoor said evenly.

  Leath regarded him with virulent dislike. “I pose no threat to Miss Trim.”

  “So you say.” Eleanor’s voice vibrated with a repugnance that made his heart clench into a cold fist.

  “Miss Trim, I believe that’s true. His lordship’s first words when he arrived inquired after your well-being.”

  She looked unimpressed at Sedgemoor’s defense. “He wants the privilege of silencing me himself.”

  Leath was equally unimpressed. Sedgemoor had no right to probe a man’s feelings, damn it. “I’d like to speak to Miss Trim alone.”

  She turned as pale as milk and cast Sedgemoor another frantic glance. “Don’t go.”

  “Go.” That tone always sent Leath’s political enemies scurrying.

  Still he was surprised when Sedgemoor nodded. “I’ll set a footman in the hallway.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “Damn it, Eleanor.” Leath’s temper flared, despite his determination to stay calm. “You’ve survived in my company since September. The odds are good that you’ll still be breathing tomorrow morning.”

  She recoiled. “You didn’t know I was working against you then.”

  Sedgemoor studied them. Leath hoped for the sake of the duke’s health that he wasn’t hiding a smile. “Miss Trim, I’d wager my fortune that you’re safe.”

  Before she could protest, he left the room, shutting the door firmly. A leaden silence crashed down.

  “I don’t have to stay,” Eleanor said mulishly and whirled around to tug at the doorknob.