by Adele Clee
“Good gracious,” Lord Lovell said, glaring at the steward. His hard stare lacked the power to frighten a puppy. “And to think we treated you with the utmost respect, sir.”
With a look of shock and utter disbelief, Miss Lovell watched the exchange. Her breathing grew erratic as she focused on Mr Gilligan and shook her head.
“You lied to me, sir. Worse still, you lied to those poor people. I suppose Lord Greystone never asked for the rents to be doubled or instructed you to dismiss the farmhands, groomsmen and gamekeepers?”
Gilligan remained silent.
Only a fool confessed before witnesses.
“The only instruction I gave was that he was to maintain the estate in my absence,” Miles said, almost wishing he could ease Miss Lovell’s anxiety rather than gloat in her defeat.
“Then you are not short of funds, my lord?”
Miles gave an amused snort. “No, Miss Lovell. Money is not a problem for me.”
Not anymore.
Oh, his father had run up debts amounting to thousands, purely out of spite. As heir apparent, Miles became responsible for the debt. And his half-brothers got the shipping company, a house each in London, and another in Brighton. Over the years, his father had lavished his bastard sons with emotional and material wealth to make up for the fact Society struggled to accept them. But rather than serve as an advantage, the excessive indulgence turned his brothers into greedy, self-obsessed prigs.
“Then my anger was misdirected.” Miss Lovell pursed her lips. “All the times I cursed you to the devil, you were oblivious to what was going on here.”
“Indeed.”
“I feel rather foolish now.”
“Don’t,” he said, and he meant it. “You were not to know.”
Their eyes met, and he held her gaze. His heart raced in response. Something about her bewitched him though he could not decide what.
“But I should have written to you.”
“And where would you have sent your missive? Gilligan was the only one who knew my direction.”
She cast the steward a sidelong glance. “No doubt that would have proved false, too. Oh, I’d been so quick to believe the worst.”
“Deceivers know how to mislead people. They know what to say to achieve the desired result.” His mother’s name had been dragged through the dirt, trodden and trampled over, and all to ease his father’s conscience.
“Mr Gilligan was extremely convincing,” she said.
“Those we least expect are often the ones most guilty of betrayal.”
Lord Lovell coughed into his clenched fist—the sound breaking the brief spell that held Miles captive.
“Well, I think we’ve put the world to rights this evening,” the lord said. “Best get back to the dancing.”
Good lord, the man had done nothing but stand there looking gormless. Miles might have told him so, but he wanted something from Miss Lovell and upsetting her fool of a brother was not the way to go about it.
“Then perhaps you might direct me to the magistrate, so I might deal with Mr Gilligan while you flex your dancing slippers.” Miles failed to keep the hint of contempt from his tone. “I presume you’re not listed on the Commission of the Peace else you would insist on accompanying me.”
“Well … no. We plan on living in London in the near future and—” He stopped abruptly and did not continue.
“London?” Miss Lovell’s blue eyes turned frosty as she considered her brother. “And when is that?”
“Oh, well, I would see you wed before we make any definitive plans.” Lord Lovell gave an indolent wave. “But now is not the time to discuss private matters.”
Miss Lovell frowned. “Why when you insisted on being party to Lord Greystone’s affairs?”
“I came out here merely to act as chaperone,” Lord Lovell said.
“A wise decision.” Miles offered a mischievous grin. “You thought I might murder Gilligan and then ravish your sister.” The idea had merit and Miles had considered doing both during the time they’d stood hidden in the shadows.
Miss Lovell’s cheeks flushed pink. “I’m confident you had no intention of doing either, my lord.”
“Still, your brother is right to protect your virtue.” Had she come alone, Miles might have tasted those rosy lips. “Some rogues just can’t help themselves.”
Confident blue eyes considered him. “But we have just established you’re not a rogue.”
“The only thing we proved is that I knew nothing about the problems at Greystone Manor. I have never professed to be a gentleman.”
If Miss Lovell were his sister, he would throttle any man who spoke so openly in her presence. Lord Lovell was more interested in the music spilling out from the assembly to show concern over anything Miles said. When it came to her protector, the lady deserved so much better.
“Cecil?” A shrill voice pierced the air. “Are you out here?” A lady muttered something incoherent. “Oh, Rudolph. What if Greystone has gone on the rampage? You saw the devilish look in his eyes.”
“I care not for your husband, my dear, but someone needs to rein in Miss Lovell before she ruins what is left of her precious reputation. You cannot expect me to marry a girl who risks her good name at every turn.”
“I know. I know. Lydia needs a firm hand. She needs a husband she cannot browbeat into submission.”
Lydia. Lydia Lovell.
Her name ran through Miles’ mind like silk slipping through his fingers. The cadence stimulated the fine hairs at his nape. It brimmed with sensuality, carried a hint of the mysterious. Much like the lady herself. He studied Miss Lovell’s stiff countenance—a clear indication she had no desire to marry the pompous oaf.
Distracted by his thoughts, Miles failed to notice Mr Gilligan shuffling out of arm’s reach. By the time he heard the clips of shoes on the pavement, the steward was across the road and darting along the high street.
Lord Lovell was too stupid to notice. “We’re here, Arabella,” he cried, hurrying out of the darkness. He glanced back over his shoulder and beckoned his sister.
“What about Mr Gilligan?” Miss Lovell said, moving to follow the man with soup for brains. “We must help Lord Greystone apprehend him.”
“Let him go,” Miles said, stepping behind her. Presently, he had something more important on his mind. And he needed no one’s help to deal with the steward. “He won’t get far.”
Miles trailed behind her as they moved out of the shadows. Gripped by an odd sense of loss, he reached for Miss Lovell’s hand, his fingers locking around her wrist as he brought her to an abrupt halt. She stood so close his coat brushed against the back of her gown.
“Meet me in the morning at ten,” he said boldly, his mouth but an inch from her ear. “I need someone to take me on a tour of the cottages, someone the people trust and respect.”
She shivered visibly as his words breezed past her ear but remained silent for a moment. Miles could almost hear the workings of her mind as she contemplated the request.
“Must it be tomorrow?” She did not turn to look at him nor did she snatch her hand from his grasp.
“If you wish for the work to begin immediately, then yes. I’m to leave for London in a few days.” The distance would help rid him of this mild infatuation. An infatuation that had seized him instantly and was developing at far too rapid a rate.
“I cannot come alone,” she whispered.
“Then bring a maid. We’ll have constant company, so you’re in no danger of being ravished by a devil.” There was a hint of desperation in his hushed tone, but then he wanted this matter dealt with quickly, so he could focus on the real reason for his return.
“Very well,” she breathed. “We shall meet at the stones and begin our tour from there.”
She spoke of the monolithic stones that bordered both properties. At some point in history, they had belonged to the Greystone Estate. Now, the boundary ran straight through the middle.
“Agreed. I shall wait
for you at the stones at ten o’clock.” With some reluctance, Miles released her hand. She inhaled deeply and then hurried to catch up with her brother. “Oh, and Miss Lovell,” Miles called after her.
She stopped and glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“Don’t be late.”
Chapter Six
“Where did you say we were going again, miss?” Ada asked for the third time in as many minutes.
“Just out for a walk.” Lydia could not risk telling Ada the truth. One slip of the tongue and Arabella would do everything in her power to prevent the excursion.
The journey home from the assembly had been painful. A ten-minute lecture deriding any lady who involved herself in a gentleman’s business followed an equally dull summary of Lord Randall’s merits.
All hopes Lydia had of escaping to her room upon their return to Dunnam Park were dashed. Arabella insisted they sat with the gentlemen while they took their port. Lydia found herself seated next to Lord Randall. A strange flowery scent clung to his clothes—something he’d picked up in Paris he informed them. It was far too feminine. Nothing like the smell of exotic spices that hung in the air whenever Lord Greystone appeared.
Meet me tomorrow.
Lydia shivered as she recalled the way Greystone’s hot breath breezed across her neck. While it would take more than words and a confession from Mr Gilligan to persuade her that the man was not a rogue, her traitorous body was a slave to these new sensations.
“A walk to where?” Ada’s question dragged Lydia from her daydream.
“Wherever we go, you’ll need something warmer than that.” Lydia moved to slip the shawl off Ada’s shoulders. “Fetch your bonnet and coat, and then we must be on our way.”
They shrugged into their outdoor clothes with haste. After bantering with Lord Greystone over the time, she could not be late.
“Why are we creeping down the stairs, miss?”
They were creeping because Arabella had ears like a bat and that didn’t mean large and pointed. “Because it is still early for those who were out at the assembly last night.”
If they could just reach the front door without attracting attention, they’d be safe. Once out of the house neither Arabella nor Cecil would risk breaking into a sweat to chase after them.
“But you were at the assembly last night, too, miss.”
“Yes, but I did not consume copious amounts of champagne.” Who needed wine when Greystone’s stare left her feeling drunk and dizzy?
Ada hummed. “So we are going out, but it’s not a secret?”
“Well, yes, it is a secret.”
“Then we are creeping?”
“Yes,” Lydia whispered. Maids were not supposed to ask questions. “We are creeping.”
“Oh, only you know how I tend to trip over my feet when I’m nervous, miss.”
Lydia hooked arms with the maid. “Trust me. You won’t fall.” There were three steps to go. “I have a good grip—”
The drawing room door creaked open, and Lord Randall came strutting out into the hall. He wore a long silk smoking jacket in pea-green and a jaunty red cap with a gold tassel.
Lydia froze.
“Ah, good morning, Miss Lovell.” His arrogant gaze drifted over her as if he’d known of her plan all along and was lying in wait. “Is it not rather early for an outing?”
Suspicion hung in the air like the heavy blade of a guillotine. One wrong word from Ada and it was likely to come crashing down to sever their plans.
“Not at all,” Lydia said, lifting her chin. “There is nothing like the morning air to invigorate one’s spirit.”
“I can think of better ways to get the old blood pumping.” His sly smile made her stomach coil in revulsion. Oh, she couldn’t wait for this popinjay to return to London.
“Well, we each have our preferences, and walking outdoors is mine.” Lydia descended the last few steps. “I’ll be sure to tell you all about it upon my return.”
“Why wait until then? Give me time to change, and I shall accompany you on your little excursion.” He raised a brow as if it were a sword braced ready to ward off her challenge.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I wish to discuss a few matters with my maid, a few personal matters, you understand.”
“Miss Lovell has a secret,” Ada whispered, forgetting her place.
Oh, lord!
Heat rose up Lydia’s neck to warm her cheeks.
Rather than berate the girl, Lord Randall gave a smug grin. “A secret, eh? Perhaps you and I should have a private chat upon your return. I doubt your mistress will tell me anything, but you on the other hand …”
Lydia glanced covertly at the long-case clock. The large brass hand was but a minute from chiming the hour. It would take ten minutes to reach the stones with Ada in tow.
Don’t be late.
“You would disregard my feelings?” Lydia said, affronted. “You would pester my maid to reveal that which is confidential?” She hoped to unsettle him enough that they might leave without further protest. “I took you for a better man than that, Lord Randall.”
It was a lie. Lord Randall would sell his mother to a market hawker if he thought he might benefit, would sell his soul if it meant improving his status.
A smirk formed. “You are devilishly fascinating, Miss Lovell.” He stepped aside and gestured to the door. “Keep your secrets for now, my dear. It seems you mean to oppose me in every regard, but you should know patience is not my forte. I shan’t wait forever.”
Lydia had no desire to prolong their conversation, and so merely said, “Then I shall bid you good morning, my lord.”
With a grip on Ada’s arm, Lydia resisted the urge to run. Instead, they walked gracefully past Lord Randall in the hope he didn’t change his mind and insist on accompanying them. As soon as she closed the door, the clock struck the hour.
Damnation!
The last thing she wanted was to give Greystone the upper hand. Then again, one look at the tatty cottages would wipe all signs of arrogance from his face.
“I know it’s not my place to pass comment, miss, but Lord Randall is mighty strange,” Ada said as they hurried across the manicured lawn and entered the woods.
“Oh, and why do you say that?” Lydia took the maid’s hand and led her along the short path, the one less trodden.
“Well, Mrs Sanders says he creeps about at all odd times of the night.”
“Does he?” Did the housekeeper prowl the corridors while they slept?
“She’s seen him in the garden and sneaking out of the drawing room.”
“Lord Randall hates keeping country hours,” Lydia said as they trudged through long grass and ferns that were now a burnt shade of orange. “No doubt he was hunting out the port decanter.”
“Hmm. And he does wear funny clothes. The last time he came to visit, his waistcoat matched the dining room curtains.”
Lydia suppressed a chuckle. “Lord Randall is an avid follower of fashion.” And consequently, blended in rather well with the soft furnishings.
“Only those with a muddy brain follow the herd. That’s what my mother used to say.”
“Some people find that being part of such a creative group makes them feel important.” Lydia wanted to say that Randall was shallow, that it was a sorry state of affairs if a man’s only achievement was his wardrobe.
“I used to have a dress made out of an old bedspread,” Ada said with a sigh. “I yawned every time I wore the ugly thing. Maybe that’s why Lord Randall can’t sleep. Curtains are only useful at night.”
Despite her anxiety at being late, Lydia couldn’t help but chuckle. “I think the less said about Lord Randall’s sleeping habits, the better.”
A brief silence ensued, only broken by the snapping of twigs underfoot as they moved hastily onwards.
“Are you sure we’re going the right way, miss?” Ada’s voice held a nervous edge. “Isn’t this the way to the stones?”
“Yes, we�
��re meeting Lord Greystone there.”
Ada gasped and came to an abrupt halt. “Oh, miss, there’s only one reason why the devil would want to meet you there. Only one reason indeed.”
Set in a circle with a sacrificial altar in the centre, Lydia had heard many stories about the giant stones. Tales of witchcraft and sorcery were rife.
“I asked Lord Greystone to meet us there,” Lydia said, tugging Ada by the hand, “so that I might accompany him when he visits the tenants. You must trust me, Ada. There is nothing to fear.”
Ada nibbled on her bottom lip, her gaze shifted left and right and then with some reluctance she followed Lydia towards the stone circle. “Mrs Cotton came here to collect mushrooms once and was sick for a week—a witch’s curse she said.”
Oh, merciful Lord. Mrs Cotton spoke gibberish. There was only one witch in Cuckfield, and she ruled Dunnam Park.
“She probably picked the wrong ones. You know how her eyesight fails her. Besides, we’re meeting a Greystone, and you know what that means.”
Ada gulped. “Wh-what does it mean, miss?”
Lydia hadn’t a clue. “Legend has it that Greystone blood can ward off an evil attack. The men are said to have a strength that defies the odds.” That was not a lie. The current lord most definitely had a powerful presence. “The stones are a blessing, not a curse.”
Furrows appeared on Ada’s brows. “But you said the big brute Seth met in Cuckfield wasn’t Lord Greystone.”
“The brute is his friend, Mr Drake.” Lydia didn’t dare mention his given name. “Lord Greystone possesses a strength of character that supersedes the need for brawn and muscle.” Although his athletic physique was by no means lacking.
Lydia caught herself. Had she just paid Lord Greystone a compliment?
“But let us not speak of it now,” Lydia added as they approached the giant boulders to find the gentleman in question, hands cupped behind his head, lying stretched out on the sacrificial stone.
As they crept closer, Ada stiffened at Lydia’s side. For Lydia, the sight of the relaxed masculine figure had the opposite effect. Every muscle grew flimsy and feeble. Like a restless bird, her heart took flight.
