Saving Lord Whitton's Daughter: A Regency Romance Novel

by Susan Tietjen

  “Tonight, absolutely. Beyond that depends upon how well you all behave.”

  Laughter spurred on the banter, the party moving to the cool of the morning room. Mr. Treadwell paused at the door, where the gentlemen began handing him their jackets, but before taking Lord Matthew’s coat, he first rubbed his nose. Lord Matthew gave a most subtle nod and then handed over both his coat and an envelope.

  “I’ve a note for Lord Locke. Will you see that he receives it?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Mr. Treadwell said, leaving as quietly as a cat, the envelope balanced in his hand.

  Bethany watched him go. Was it her imagination or had she caught a look of concern on Lord Matthew’s face? One of reassurance on Mr. Treadwell’s? It deepened her unease. She ought to confront her cousin about it. But how would she get him alone?

  “Haven’t visited in a while,” Scarbreigh commented, confusion narrowing his eyes as he took stock of his surroundings. “What happened to this place?”

  Mr. Nicolas explained Matheson’s treachery and Scarbreigh grunted in shock.

  “Confess I hadn’t heard of it. Haven’t seen much of Locke the last year or so and haven’t visited here longer ago than that.”

  The twins egged Scarbreigh into imparting news from London which he did with relish. It included a list of scandals from all over Britain and the Continent, of fortunes lost and fortunes won, engagements and birth announcements, and whisperings of problems with those who were still devotees of Napoleon Bonaparte.

  “Goodness, I feel as if I’ve lost touch with the entire world while staying here,” Lady Camille mewed.

  Bethany agreed. “Mayhap Locke will have tales to share when he returns,” she said, but a sharp look from Lord Matthew startled her. Apparently they hadn’t prepared Scarbreigh for Locke’s absence as she’d assumed they would.

  Again Bethany caught the barest exchange of expression between the twins, one that others would likely have missed, one with which she was too familiar. They were hiding something, particularly from Scarbreigh.

  Lord Matthew drained his teacup and smiled. “He should return soon. He just had a few days’ meetings of his own with very notable persons in London.”

  A few days? It had been two weeks. Or was her cousin prevaricating to help her save face?

  “And what notable people might that be?” she couldn’t help asking.

  Mr. Nicolas’s gray eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’m sure he’ll enlighten us when he returns, if he’s so inclined.”

  “You’re impossible,” Bethany grumbled. “One could get more information from a parrot.”

  “But we don’t molt,” Lord Matthew quipped, chuckling when Bethany pressed her eyes shut and breathed deep to muster patience.

  Lord Scarbreigh cleared his throat. “I had no idea Locke wasn’t in attendance, Lady Bethany. I declare I’m ... appalled. What in the world bore such import he’d desert his bride so soon after the wedding?”

  Bethany cringed, but thankfully Lord Matthew intervened.

  “Scarbreigh, you know as well as anyone, one cannot ignore a summons from the Prince Regent. As I said, perhaps he’ll enlighten us when he comes in, but then again.” He twitched a wry grin. “He may prefer discretion.”

  Scarbreigh rumbled his agreement. “Understood. Too many evils afoot in high places these days. Well, Lady Bethany, I understand you brought an entire herd of horses to Moorewood.”

  Glad for a change in conversation, Bethany was delighted to keep it there. When the twins finally came to their feet and announced they wanted to freshen up and make sure their valets had set their quarters to rights, the marquess followed suit.

  “Please excuse me for a moment, Lady Camille,” Bethany said after the men had headed upstairs. “I need to speak with Mr. Treadwell about the length of our guests’ stay.”

  Bustling into the main hall, Bethany was nonplussed to find Mr. Treadwell missing from his normal post near the front. Perhaps he was helping the gentlemen’s servants with the lords’ belongings? But Moorewood’s other servants, Mrs. Ford, Mrs. Callen, and the small handful of maids and footmen needed to know about their guests, too, so Bethany headed for the kitchen.

  Today, Mrs. Ford and the kitchen maids were busy with what appeared to be more food than a dozen people could eat. Reassured that the entire staff knew about and was already preparing for their guests, Bethany nodded and left.

  Nearing the dining room door, however, she paused, hearing voices on the other side. Brisk but hushed, the exchanges came and went. Bethany’s pulse accelerated when she stepped closer to the door. Lord Matthew. Mr. Nicolas. And two other men’s voices. Ah, Mr. Treadwell. Finally the fourth voice chimed in again and Bethany’s heart lurched. Lord Locke! He was home!

  She was so overwhelmed with the desire to rush into the hall she had to reign herself in. She wasn’t supposed to care what the Earl of Locke did!

  Caution brought her to the doorway to listen instead. It was wicked, but the tone of their voices made her want to discover what they were about.

  If she’d hoped to learn much through a closed door, she was sorely disappointed. She did, however, catch that the twins were relieved to find Locke already home, and that Locke wasn’t happy Scarbreigh had come with them.

  Bethany couldn’t resist pushing the door open a fraction, to hear better, to see more.

  “Everyone likes Scarbreigh, but he’s the world’s worst busybody. We can’t afford that right now.”

  “Couldn’t help it, Locke,” Lord Matthew insisted. “He wanted to address Lady Camille and nothing we said discouraged him.”

  “We simply need to be careful,” Mr. Nicolas said. “Which we have to do around the women anyway.”

  Then followed references to Prince George, something about the English Channel, embargoes, and bootleggers being caught in the dead of night. It created more questions for Bethany than answers and raised the hairs on the back of her neck. She had no doubt to whom the men referred when they mentioned “The Corsican.” But Bonaparte had given up his throne and been exiled to the island of Elba, near Tuscan Italy, just this April. He couldn’t possibly escape.

  “How successful was your quest?” Lord Matthew asked, his emphasis sounding cautious.

  “Worth the risk,” Locke replied. “We now have evidence that England has a band of traitors working with the French resistance. Mr. Treadwell gave me your note, Lord Matthew. It was enlightening. We’ll discuss it all later.”

  Lord Locke questioned Mr. Treadwell, but the servant’s hushed voice was muffled. Apparently satisfied with his man’s reply, the earl thanked him, an oddly convivial exchange between master and servant.

  “Tell me, has Treadwell erased the evidence of my exploits?” he asked the twins, touching his cravat.

  Matthew replied, “Which ones? Acting the vagabond or getting trounced by a highwayman?”

  Bethany’s eyes flew wide. All of them laughed.

  “How would you tell the difference?” Mr. Nicolas said. “At least I don’t see any bruises.”

  “Yes, well, Mr. Treadwell’s unrivaled in his ability to make me appear fresh as a daisy despite whatever I’ve put myself through.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The valet’s twinkling eyes and half-cocked smile were as affable as the twins’.

  “You’re sure the two ladies didn’t see me sneaking in early this morning?”

  “Positive, my lord. Mrs. Callen said they were sound asleep.”

  The housekeeper had spied on them? Bethany let out a soft gasp and all four of the men jumped. She leaped back from the door and stood, fingers pressed to her lips, fearful what would happen next. After a long pause, the door swung open, Locke leaning into the room and pinning her with that remarkable gaze of his. At least he didn’t appear angry.

  “I’m—I’m sorry, my lord,” she said. “I went to talk to Mrs. Ford and when I came to the door, I heard voices and took a peek to see who it was, and....”

  The earl raised a bro
w to urge her on. When she didn’t, that beguiling grin of his tugged at his dimples and curled her toes.

  “Have we frightened you with our jesting and gossip? T’is the reason we gentlemen keep our conversations to ourselves. I promise you we’re harmless. Please join us.”

  Reluctantly, Bethany followed him into the hall, where the others watched her intently.

  “My arrival appears to be fortuitous, with Lord Matthew and Mr. Nicolas here,” the earl said. “And I understand Scarbreigh joined them, which I’m sure Lady Camille will appreciate. It seems our old friend is truly sweet on your cousin.”

  “Yes. And she on him,” Bethany agreed, wondering when Locke would question her about what she’d overheard.

  “I came in quite early this morning, after riding most the night,” Locke added. “Had an ... a, uh, spill on the road and landed in a mud puddle. I was grateful for Mr. Treadwell’s help with cleaning up and getting to bed for a short nap. I swore him to secrecy. I’d wanted to surprise you, but I fear.” He nodded at the twins. “I’m the one caught off guard. You say you spoke with Mrs. Ford?”

  “Yes. And she seems perfectly capable of handling her own surprises,” Bethany replied, feeling a bit miffed at being left out of the secret. She stared at Mr. Treadwell, who stood stone-faced and unflappable. Had Locke asked him not to tell her that his master was home? She doubted it was because Locke wanted to surprise her.

  “She’s a resourceful woman. I couldn’t do without her. Dinner’s usually simple, but I expect supper will dazzle us.” Locke turned to Mr. Treadwell. “We’ll need more refreshments in the sitting room. I’ll join you there, boys. I need to speak with Lady Bethany alone for a moment, if you please.”

  Bethany’s stomach twisted at the announcement. Locke’s expression grew more serious when the twins journeyed to the morning room and Mr. Treadwell receded into the dining hall. Would he now censure her for eavesdropping? Drag the particulars out of her?

  “How are you, Lady Bethany? You appear troubled.” His gaze glided slowly over her face, as if admiring her.

  She floundered for a moment, expecting neither his appraisal nor this question. She wanted to satisfy her own curiosity about the conversation regarding evidence of traitors and supporters of Napoleon Bonaparte, but if she brought it up, she feared he’d have more questions for her than she cared to answer.

  “I’m alright,” she tried to reassure both him and herself.

  “Lord Matthew said Scarbreigh knows about my absence.”

  “Yes, and he clearly disapproved.”

  The earl made a face. “I’m sorry for the embarrassment, but I’m more worried about the consequences. Can’t have the man nattering our business all over London. I’d truly hoped to return a bit sooner, to spend some time with you before you had any visitors.”

  Bethany’s eyes narrowed in response. He’d wanted to surprise her? He’d wanted to spend time with her?

  He took a step closer and lifted her hand, towering over her in a way that made her want to lean into him. The way he looked at her seemed far more intimate than it ought.

  “I fear I need ask a favor.”

  Her unexpected pleasure at his attention dissipated. He’d offered his kindness to secure a favor?

  Then he glanced upward, towards the stairs. “Lord Scarbreigh presents us a bit of a challenge. I’ve enjoyed his friendship for many years, but he’s, well ... a man who could use a stitch through his lips.”

  Caught off-guard, Bethany couldn’t resist snorting unladylike laughter. She could not disagree. “He gossips worse than a woman.”

  “Yes, indeed. If there were any gentleman in all of England I’d prefer not to know the facts of our arrangement, I have to avow it’s him. I don’t want you subjected to London’s criticisms, and if some of the ton’s less principled women learned the truth about our relationship, I’d lose the protection our marriage affords me. If you’re up to it, I’d prefer we present an amicable face to the man while he’s around.”

  “An amicable face?” Bethany drew her brows together. “What do you mean? Amorous?”

  The earl executed a small bow in acknowledgement. “A bit of harmless flirtation, enough to convince him. If you don’t mind.”

  She did. And she didn’t. How amicable was amicable enough? Heavy footsteps at the top of the stairs announced Scarbreigh descending. She hardly had an instant to give Locke a slight nod before the marquess caught sight of them.

  “Locke! You’re home! And I’d barely concluded you’d gone off and abandoned Lady Bethany to my entertainments.”

  “Scarbreigh. What a surprise. Welcome, old friend.”

  The men shook hands, and then Locke slipped an arm around Bethany’s waist and pulled her against him, something so on the edge of propriety it turned her cheeks hot. She ought to resist, but for the sake of their ruse, she leaned into him instead, acutely aware of his strength, his warmth, and the musky scent of his cologne. He turned his glittering eyes on her, the affection radiating from them almost convincing her that he was in love with her.

  “My friend, you're welcome to Lady Camille,” he told Scarbreigh. “But Lady Locke is mine.”

  Scarbreigh laughed and shrugged. “Have to admit I couldn’t imagine what in the world could lure you from your brand new wife.”

  “Providing an ear for the Prince Regent’s rantings? And that, dear Scarbreigh, is as boring as the vicar’s sermon on repentance. Shall we join the others?”

  “Well, if I’m not to learn anything more exciting I suppose we should.”

  The marquess strode towards the sitting room, but Locke held Bethany back. When Scarbreigh passed through the doorway, the earl gathered her hands in his again and Bethany felt, more than saw, Scarbreigh leaning out to watch them.

  Grinning, Locke bent to press his smooth-shaven cheek to hers. His whisper tickled her ear and sent chills of delight racing down her spine. “I’m convinced we should give him a reason to spread the right sort of gossip.”

  Annoyed with Scarbreigh just enough to enjoy the subterfuge, and tantalized by the smoothness of Locke’s skin against hers, she whispered her consent. She’d expected he’d simply cast her an adoring look and perhaps kiss her cheek, but when he pressed his soft, warm lips to hers, heat raced through her skin and pierced her heart and took her very breath away. Her knees nearly buckled, and the arms he wrapped around her were all that kept her on her feet.

  * * *

  Locke’s skills at bottling up his emotions failed him. He’d done his best to put them aside while he was abroad, but as each day went by, he found himself worrying about his new wife, more and more eagerly anticipating seeing Lady Bethany again. It was the reason he’d met the twins here rather than in London, to see for himself she was safe. The reason the twins had lied to Scarbreigh, hiding the fact he’d been in Spain.

  And now? Convincing Scarbreigh that their ruse was legitimate was important; the man could upset Locke’s plans and his and Lady Bethany’s scheme. But it had quickly metamorphosed into a good excuse for wresting a kiss from her.

  He had not expected to enjoy it so much.

  Now he needed to lean into her as much as she inclined towards him. What had he done? He’d worried at the fear and confusion on her face when she’d overheard what she shouldn’t have, but there was no mistaking her pleasure at seeing him home. And now? She’d not only enjoyed that kiss every bit as much as he had, she wanted more. He could see it written in her eyes.

  Her lips still lifted to his offered greater temptation than he could resist. He cupped the back of her head and drew her to him, savoring the sweetness of her mouth and the now-familiar scent of honey and lemon. For a split second he felt her resistance to being held tight, and then his kiss deepened and she melted into his arms.

  The dining room door snapped open and the moment shattered. Locke pulled away, glancing first towards where Scarbreigh had been and then behind Lady Bethany at Mr. Treadwell, who bore a tray filled with pastries, empty glas
ses, and a pitcher of iced lemonade. The servant’s eyes flew wide in surprise. Lady Bethany flushed red.

  “Scarbreigh’s gone, Lady Bethany,” Locke said, studying Mr. Treadwell. “I’m confident we’ve made our point and need not fear. He’ll be our witness in London should he care to spread gossip. Shall we join our guests before they consider us rude?”

  Lady Bethany’s face tightened, as if she’d been stung, and she shifted her gaze from him to Treadwell and back.

  Locke caught the edge of rancor in her voice when she replied, “Of course, my lord. I’m sure our pretense is sufficient to convince all of England. Perhaps no further such displays will be necessary while Lord Scarbreigh is in residence.”

  Locke deflated at her comment. What a fool he was. He’d offended her—again—and taken far too great a risk with his heart. Catching Treadwell’s look of dismay only magnified his own.

  “You are my countess, Lady Bethany. There is no pretense in that,” he said. “And I pray you’ll find it to your benefit.”

  She cast Treadwell a resentful look, perhaps not liking that his servant seemed to disapprove of their kiss. She had no idea Locke had ordered the man to watch over and protect him from both Lady Bethany and himself.

  “As you wish, my lord,” she replied, taking his offered arm stiffly.

  The twins fought with smug grins when they arrived, meaning Scarbreigh had tattled what he’d seen, but thankfully the marquess was flirting outrageously with Lady Camille and paid them little heed. Locke was glad. If the marquess found himself head-over-heels in love, he mightn’t have time or thought for meddling in Locke’s affairs.

  He guided Lady Bethany to a chair beside his, amazed that having guests in this room made it feel more welcoming than it had in years. He wondered how different it would be when Lady Bethany completed the renovations. Most likely more like home, his own home, than ever before.

  Yet, remembering Lady Bethany’s kiss had his heart nose-diving towards his gut and he lectured himself not to let it happen again. His emotions mustn’t override his head. Danger surrounded them, and Lady Bethany was at the center of it, and his mind had to remain clear if he wanted to protect her.