by Anne Stuart
“Indeed, that was my very thought,” Christian said, affable as ever. “Except there’s still a minor problem.”
“And that is?”
“It’s a hired carriage, not exactly what you’re used to, and I doubt the driver can be persuaded to abandon it. He will, I’m certain, be happy to transport you wherever you wish to go, for a price. And the carriage isn’t bad—it’s fast and light and surprisingly comfortable.”
Annelise felt a sudden foreboding. She wasn’t sure why—he just seemed way too smug for the problem to be answered that easily. William was looking none too happy, and even Hetty seemed to realize the mysterious problem.
“And?” Annelise demanded.
“It only carries two passengers.”
She refused to panic. “Then I’m sure William could sit up with the driver…”
“There’s no room, Miss Kempton,” Christian said blandly. “And there’s no way William could manage to drive it—they’re tricky things to manage and not easily mastered. No, I’m afraid you have no choice but to go with the coachman.”
“I see no problem. The driver can drive and William can simply ride beside the coach. Dreadfully uncomfortable for you, William, but probably for the best, seeing what proximity with Hetty has led to.”
“Again, another problem,” Christian said. “Carriage horses, as you know, are unridable, and I have only two other horses in my stable, due to my straitened circumstances. One is lame, and the other far too small to carry William’s weight. She might possibly support a woman of your stature, Miss Kempton, if you care to try.”
She was going to disgrace herself and cry, Annelise thought. Either that, or hit him. There was no way she could climb on the back of a horse, even to escape him. No way out. And the devil knew it.
“I don’t see what everyone’s so concerned about,” Hetty piped up. “William and I will depart for her sister’s house, and the moment we get there we’ll send a carriage for Miss Kempton. There’s no reason why she can’t stay here for a few days.”
“But she’s an unmarried lady…” William began.
“Pish! She’s on the shelf and we all know it. If Christian was able to resist me then someone like Annelise is perfectly safe.”
This was certainly a perfectly miserable conversation, Annelise thought, unsure how to stop it. Christian Montcalm was leaning against the door, faintly amused by the whole thing.
“Well, of course she’d be safe,” William replied, totally without tact. “She’s hardly the sort of woman who tempts a man to misbehave. There is still the question of her reputation.”
“If she were young enough and eligible enough it would already be in tatters,” Hetty pointed out. “After all, she’s spent the night with you—she’d be ruined. Fortunately people are unlikely to see anything improper when a well-bred female of her advanced age is in the company of a man. After all, if spinster chaperons required their own spinster chaperons there simply wouldn’t be enough to go around.”
“Charmingly put, Hetty,” Christian said.
Annelise had reached her limit. “I’m not yet thirty, for heaven’s sake!” she snapped. “Hardly tottering by anyone’s standards. And I’m not staying here!”
“But Annelise, no one would ever think someone like Christian would be interested in you,” Hetty kindly explained. “He’s known as a connoisseur of beauty. Your reputation would be perfectly safe. Whereas he’s right—I need to get out of here and under the care of respectable people as soon as possible. You wouldn’t mind staying. You have no home of your own—and visiting one person’s house is not different from another’s, even if this place is remarkably shabby. And it won’t be for long—we’ll send someone after you as soon as we reach your sister’s house.”
“I won’t—”
“You have no choice, Miss Kempton,” Christian said in bored tones. “It shouldn’t be more than a few days, and I give you my solemn word that I will do nothing to impinge on your sterling reputation.”
“You already have,” she said, knowing she was trapped, still fighting.
“Hetty’s right, you know,” William said helpfully. “No one would ever think a philanderer such as Montcalm would have any interest in one such as yourself.”
And indeed, Montcalm was looking totally bored by the entire conversation. “I leave it up to the three of you,” he said. “You have my word as a gentleman that Miss Kempton is perfectly safe with me. Argue amongst yourselves—in the meantime I have some work to do. I have neglected this place for far too long, and the charming nest egg needs to be wisely spent. At least some of it does, before I return to London. I’ve ordered the carriage put to and informed the driver, and Mrs. Browne will have packed a meal for you to carry you the first stage of the journey. Just let me know how many guests I’ll be having for dinner.”
“If I stay I’ll eat in my room,” Annelise said, and then bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have even entertained the notion that she might stay under the profligate’s roof.
But he seemed to have lost interest in her. In fact, ever since her arrival he’d seemed far more interested in getting rid of Hetty than in Annelise’s presence. Most likely his flirtation was nothing more than a way to annoy and distract her, and now that he had decided Hetty wasn’t worth the price, then her interfering companion was negligible. As Hetty and William had discussed what a total antidote she was, he’d made only a token effort to object, to defend her. She’d been a game that he had now tired of.
It should have been a relief. In fact, it was a relief. Just a deeply depressing one.
“As you wish,” he said, clearly dismissing her. “I can count on Mrs. Browne to see to your comfort, and this is a big house and I keep odd hours. Besides, I’ll be extremely busy taking care of things I’ve been neglecting. I doubt you’ll even see me during your reluctant stay.”
She would have come up with a disparaging insult except that it appeared he meant exactly what he said. And to have expressed disbelief would have sounded both conceited and deluded. Despite his recent wicked behavior, he was no longer any threat to her at all.
“Very well,” she said, because if she said anything else she might cry, stupid sentimental female that she was. “I’m sure I’m making a fuss for nothing. I’ll stay until you can arrange transportation for me. Though I dislike the thought of you two being unchaperoned.”
“I think that particular milk has already been spilt,” Christian said. “I’ll have Mrs. Browne see to a room for you, Miss Kempton.”
She was about to insist that it be as far away from his rooms as possible, but he’d already left. And such a request would have sounded absurd, given that she had been put so firmly in her place. On the shelf, unwanted.
There were no tears in her eyes when she turned back to the two miscreants, only determination. “William, wrap something around yourself, take your clothes and depart. You can wait for Hetty downstairs. I may have only a few hours left with her as my charge but I intend to make a few things clear.”
Hetty didn’t look any too pleased at the lecture she knew was coming, but William had the good sense not to trifle with a dragon. He pulled the coverlet from the bed, wrapped it around his body and scooped up his clothes. “I’ll be right back—” he began, but Annelise interrupted him.
“You’ll see to the carriage and the horses and that there are enough blankets to keep Miss Chipple warm, and good food to eat. And you will not touch anything but her hand or arm from now until you are decently wed. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Miss Kempton,” he stammered, looking like a schoolboy. And she a stern schoolteacher. She sighed for what was and couldn’t be changed.
“Then go,” she said. And turned her steely gaze on the newly deflowered Hetty Chipple.
18
Christian wasn’t lying when he said he had work to do. Not that he wouldn’t lie when it suited him, but with no money he’d had no choice but to ignore the rapidly deteriorating state of Wynche End, and
now that he was back, at least for a while, he realized how much he loved the old place.
His fondness for the house was ridiculous—it was full of dark wood and gothic trim and spiderwebs. It wasn’t as if he’d ever lived here with his family—he’d spent the first twelve years of his life with them in France, and estates left behind in England held little interest for them. They’d lived well in France—in an old château with many servants and everything they needed, and they’d been a large, happy family. His mother had been a great beauty at the French court, but by then she’d lost interest in anything but her husband and growing family.
His grandfather had told him with great contempt that he looked like her, but it had been a strange sort of comfort. He could look in the mirror and see his mother’s beautiful eyes, her high cheekbones and her full, mobile mouth. Most people thought he was uncommonly vain, and deservedly so. But in fact, there was no vanity in him at all. His devotion to mirrors was simply a chance to see his mother once more.
Wynche End was all he had left of her and his family. He’d never understood why his father had left England for good to live with his wife in shabby luxury on the Normandy coast. Once he met his grandfather all was made clear.
He hadn’t understood politics at that point. All he knew was that he was being sent away to England for schooling, and that the rest of the family would soon follow to settle into Wynche End. It was astonishing to him—they had never traveled farther than Paris, but he went without argument, knowing they would soon follow.
But they didn’t. Couldn’t. They’d been slaughtered during the early uprising of the Terror, the château burned, every one of them murdered, and he’d been left in the merciless care of his grandfather, who hated everything about him, including the father who’d married against his will and left England for France.
The only thing he’d shared with his grandfather, apart from the bloodline, was a hatred of everything French. He couldn’t change his name, but he could avoid anything that reminded him of that benighted country. His grandfather had unwittingly assisted—having his French clothes destroyed and replaced by good English cloth. Every bit of cruelty had been a blessing—when he’d beaten the French accent out of him it had only made him stronger and more English. Until no one knew he had any French blood in him.
The French had spilled it all.
He was being pathetic, he mocked himself. He was about to have a most enjoyable interlude, once he got rid of the annoying young lovers. He wondered how long it would take him. Annelise would put up an impressive defense, he was counting on it. But he knew women far too well not to recognize her vulnerabilities. Not that she was like any other woman he’d known so far, which was part of her appeal. Or rather, all of her appeal, he told himself. It was the sheer novelty of an overtall, overdignified old maid that fascinated him.
Too bad Crosby wasn’t around to place a wager on it. He could always place a bet with himself. If he set his mind to it he had little doubt he could have her in his bed by nightfall. But he didn’t want to rush it. The hunt was half the pleasure. The feint and attack, the thrust and retreat. And he was becoming aroused just thinking about it.
He doubted he would be able to lull her into a false security—she had too much good sense for that. But she was also ridiculously innocent for a woman almost thirty, and when he feigned disinterest her low opinion of her attractions surely tempted her to believe it.
Foolish dragon. He hoped he wouldn’t hurt her. He didn’t particularly want to break her heart. Not that he believed in broken hearts, except in those too weak and too sentimental to face the practicalities of life. His dragon was made of sterner stuff than that.
No, she wouldn’t fancy herself in love, despite his teasing, and she wouldn’t pine after him like a schoolgirl. She was much too practical. But he had little doubt he could make her experience a pleasure she had never even imagined, and he was anticipating it with great delight. When he left her she would have learned a great deal, and he suspected the Honorable Miss Kempton could become a dedicated student.
In the meantime he was going to have to see about the classroom. There were no more beds in the house, and he didn’t fancy deflowering her where Hetty and William had been. Harry Browne and his wife could be counted on to come up with something. He’d put her in his great-aunt’s room—it was still in reasonable condition despite the sun-shredded curtains. He could never understand how the sun could do that much damage in such a dark, rainy country. But then, it had taken decades to rot through the silk.
He strolled down the long hallways to the kitchen. The bellpulls no longer worked, and the Brownes had more than enough to do without having to run to him for orders. They were friends as well as employees, and he would often end up in Bessie’s kitchen, stealing trifles and teasing her until she turned bright pink. The drawback to that was that Bessie Browne knew him far too well, and she would disapprove of the plans he had for Miss Kempton. And she wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so.
He didn’t particularly mind. He knew he was a consummate bastard and hearing someone who loved him like a mother tell him so was oddly comforting. She knew what he was and she still cared about his worthless soul.
Miss Kempton’s lectures were just as entertaining. He’d give her full rein—she could feel free to scourge him for the heartless, selfish, dishonorable rogue that he was. She could do it as she lay beneath him, between gasps of pleasure.
He did a swift turnaround. He had to stop thinking about Annelise, or he was going to be in no condition to be facing anyone. He was as randy as a schoolboy with his first taste of sex. And he found himself smiling, really smiling, for the first time in what seemed like years.
Hetty responded surprisingly well to Annelise’s lecture on proper behavior. She was still a bit dazzled by her experience, and Annelise couldn’t help but feel an unbecoming jealousy. Not that she had any interest in the young Mr. Dickinson. But Hetty had clearly moved well beyond Annelise in experience, and there was no doubt it had been absolutely splendid.
Which was a surprise. Neither of her sisters had expressed much enthusiasm for the marriage bed, and her acquaintance did not generally include the sort of women who did. She understood the mechanics, at least to some extent, having been raised around stock animals, but as far as she could tell, when it came to humans the act was for the male’s pleasure and the female’s fertility. Hetty seemed more like a newly mounted she-cat than a proper young woman—she was practically purring.
But Annelise helped her wash and dress with brisk efficiency, ignoring the bloody smear on the sheets that had once been Hetty’s virginity. She would have killed for a basin of hot water herself, but by now the mud was caked and dry, and Hetty needed the water more than she did. Once Hetty left, perhaps she could talk someone into bringing her at least an ewer of lukewarm water.
There was no sign of Christian as they made their way downstairs. The rain had stopped, though by now it was midday, late to start out on a long journey. William looked exhausted, as well he should, the wicked boy, and far too pleased with himself, and Hetty was stifling a yawn. Annelise could content herself with the assurance that they were both much too exhausted to get into trouble in the confining carriage that would take them to her brother-in-law’s vicarage up north.
She had a lingering hope that the carriage might prove larger than Christian had said, in which case she would have forced herself between the two of them and endured another endless trip. But he hadn’t exaggerated—there was barely enough room for the two of them and the driver.
Not to mention the hamper of food, the hot bricks and the blankets. By the time she had the two of them bundled into the small interior of the carriage there was scarcely room for them to breathe. There was no question but that she was well and truly trapped here for the time being.
And no question that any fears she had about her own chastity were entirely wishful thinking. “Are you certain you don’t mind us abandoning you?” Will asked
anxiously, ever the gentleman. Hetty had settled comfortably into the carriage and seemed to have no qualms about deserting her chaperon, the ungrateful wretch.
“Of course not,” Annelise lied through her teeth. “It’s not as if I am a young woman of marriageable age.”
“True,” said William, totally without tact. “And no one is likely to even imagine a man like Christian Montcalm would offer you any importunities. The very idea is absurd.”
“Absurd,” Annelise echoed unhappily.
“I’m sure your sister will send transport for you as soon as we reach there. I wouldn’t recommend you returning to Chipple House—Josiah Chipple is not a man to be crossed. We would welcome you in Kent once we return.”
Hetty looked so displeased at this option that Annelise almost laughed. “Thank you, William, but I’ll be returning to stay with my godmother, Lady Prentice. I’m certain we can arrange to get my things from Chipple House without too much difficulty.”
“Perhaps,” Hetty spoke up. “My father has a vindictive nature. Anything I didn’t want to lose I took with me.”
“You didn’t look particularly well packed,” Annelise pointed out.
“Yes, but I have my jewels. They’re extraordinarily fine—if we have any difficulties they should keep us quite nicely.”
“We’re not living off your money!” William said, scandalized.
“Of course we are, if we have no other choice,” Hetty shot back, but her words were lost as the driver snapped his whip, bringing the horses to attention, and the goodbyes were swallowed up in a spray of mud as they drove off, leaving Annelise standing very still, fresh mud on her already bedraggled face, thinking of the false pearls that were supposed to be her eventual redemption.
You’re beyond redemption, old girl, she told herself, wiping some of the mud from her face and limping back inside. She supposed she ought to go out and look for her lost shoe while the sun still shone, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was only going to be a few days, and with luck she wouldn’t even see her reluctant host the entire time. She was no longer an entertainment, thank God, but a burden, and the sooner he got rid of her the happier he’d be. She was certain of it.
