Lady Rosabella's Ruse

by Ann Lethbridge

  He shook his head.

  Rosa wanted to scream. To throw herself at his feet and beg. She straightened her spine. ‘Why not?’

  ‘The woman who comes to dust once a week has the key.’

  She frowned. ‘But you can get it?’

  Unwillingly, he nodded. ‘Tomorrow, I can. But last week Barrington, your grandfather’s solicitor, came down from London and showed a gentleman around. He’s leased the house starting the first of the month.’

  Her stomach dropped. She’d wasted too much time, hesitating in fear of finding nothing, preferring to dream of a perfect answer to her problems. She shot up from the chair and paced to the window. ‘Then I must begin right away. Tomorrow night.’

  All this time, she’d held on to the flicker of hope their father had kept his word, despite every derogatory thing her grandfather had said about his feckless fanciful heir and his dreadful foreign first wife. Rosa had clung to the belief that sooner or later the will would be found. She’d worked and schemed so she could search for herself and then she’d hesitated.

  Such a coward.

  She turned to face him, looking into his worried face. ‘Please, dear Mr Inchbold. It won’t take long. A few hours at most.’

  ‘All right. I’ll get the key, tomorrow. Where will I find you?’

  ‘At the Grange. I am employed as Lady Keswick’s companion.’

  Horrified, he gaped at her. ‘You are staying at that den of iniquity? The parish is up in arms about her buying the place. The gentry won’t have nothing to do with her. Oh, my lady, how could you?’

  Rosa drew herself up straight. ‘How could I what, Mr Inchbold?’

  He stared at her, his eyes wide, his jaw slack. ‘Did anyone tell you, you are just like your mother?’

  ‘Frequently. But not as a compliment.’

  He winced. ‘Well, you should be proud, you should. She was a fine woman, your mother. A proper lady, no matter what they said.’

  ‘She was an opera singer from Italy, Mr Inchbold. The reason my grandfather cut my father off without a penny until she died.’ And now he was doing the same to her daughters.

  He looked sad. ‘His lordship would never leave you and your sisters with nothing. While ’tis more than my job is worth to help you search, I’ll turn a blind eye.’

  Relief flooded through her. At last someone who cared. ‘Thank you, Inchbold.’ She rose to her feet and hesitated, pressing her lips together. ‘You won’t tell Grandfather you’ve seen me, will you?’

  A wheezy cackle ended in a cough. ‘Lord, my lady, your grandpa don’t come nigh or near this place. He certainly doesn’t communicate with the likes of me. Nor I with him. Just with old Barrington.’

  Naturally. Grandfather was far too high in the instep to have anything to do with servants or the children of an opera singer, even if they were his own flesh and blood.

  She smiled and patted his hand. ‘Thank you, dear Mr Inchbold. I will return tomorrow evening. Oh, and by the way, I go by the name of Mrs Rose Travenor.’

  His frown deepened. ‘Be careful, my lady. Your Grandpa is not a man to cross.’

  As her parents had discovered.

  Only the torches at the doors gave off any light as Rosa approached The Grange. As it should be. She slipped quietly around to the side door she’d left open. Her heart picked up speed. What if someone had come along and locked it? Slowly she lifted the latch and pushed. The door swung back on silent hinges.

  She let go a sigh of relief and stepped over the threshold.

  A large warm body smelling of cigars and sandalwood blocked her way. A man. She leapt back.

  The man grabbed her arm and raised a lamp high. She blinked in the glare shining on her face, unable to see her assailant. ‘Back so soon, Mrs Travenor?’ he mocked. ‘Whoever you are meeting can’t be much good if he is finished already.’

  Stanford. She recognised his voice. A flash of heat followed by the cold of dread left her breathless. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Stand aside, Lord Stanford.’

  He hung the lamp on a hook on the wall. It cast eerie shadows on his harsh features. She shivered. ‘Please, let me pass.’ She made to push by him.

  He put a hand against the wall, blocking her way.

  She could feel the heat of his body only inches from hers, his dark insolent gaze raking her face. ‘Where have you been?’

  Her heart rattled. Her breath quickened. ‘Out for a walk.’

  ‘At this time of night?’ He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

  ‘Where I go is none of your business.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he mused, not moving an inch. ‘But Lady Keswick might be interested to hear about her little companion’s forays into the night. Or does she already know?’ The amused smile on his lips made her want to hit him.

  He lifted a hand and brushed back the hood of her cloak, trailed a finger down the side of her face. ‘Who are you meeting, hmm? A lover? Or some man you must meet in secret because…he has mischief on his mind?’

  Inwardly, she trembled. She hated how weak he made her feel, as if her knees had no more substance than overcooked asparagus. She straightened her shoulders and forced herself to meet his dark gaze and saw more than she expected. Heat.

  She drew in a shaky breath. ‘Lady Keswick has no interest in what I do in my free time.’

  He laughed. A cruel low chuckle, full of arrogance. ‘And if I tell her I suspect you are up to no good, if I tell her I suspect you have some criminal intent sneaking out at night? What then, do you think?’

  She edged back, away from the heat of his body, free of his overbearing presence that seemed to scramble every thought in her head. ‘Why are you wandering the halls at night?’ she asked haughtily.

  His smile broadened. ‘Waiting for you.’ His low murmur was a silky stroke to her ear. ‘I saw you leave.’

  A shiver slid down her spine, far too pleasant to be entirely fear driven. The thought of such a man waiting for her was far too distracting. Her brain seemed full of him, instead of coming up with a reasonable explanation.

  ‘Well, here I am,’ she said, lifting her chin and meeting that penetrating gaze full on. Pride that her voice held steady, despite the trembles rushing through her body, gave her courage. ‘And you can tell Lady Keswick whatever you wish. Now if you would excuse me, I would like to retire.’

  His eyes widened a fraction. He turned sideways and leaned against the wall, tipping his dark head back. ‘Not until you tell me where you were.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Let us say I am curious.’

  She swallowed. ‘I told you, I went for a walk.’

  He turned to face her, his eyes gleaming. ‘In the woods, in the pouring rain?’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep. I find the fresh air helps.’

  ‘I know an excellent cure for insomnia I’d be willing to share.’

  The salacious undertone in his voice sent shivers across her shoulders. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

  He chuckled softly. ‘Such a polite little nun. And yet I do think you are tempted.’ He leaned closer.

  Tempted? She stared up at him, staring at the smile on his sensual mouth a mere whisper away, the scent of brandy and cigars filling her nostrils. If she leaned forwards just a fraction, she had the feeling he would kiss her.

  Her lips tingled at the thought of how his mouth might feel on her lips. Her body ached to be held close to that magnificent breadth of chest. A moan of longing rose in her throat and only by dint of will did she stop from giving it voice.

  Heaven help her, he was tempting. The man was a rake and a libertine and he thought her a widow. An experienced woman.

  Her heart banged a fearful tattoo against her ribs. Her blood ran in rivers of molten lava. Did he know the effect he was having? A swift glance into his eyes told her he had no doubt about what he was doing. He was playing with her. Tormenting her the way a cat toyed with a mouse.

  ‘Let me pass,’ she said, knowing s
he was begging for release, not from physical restraint, but from the spell holding her enthralled.

  ‘Tell me where you went and I will let you pass. If you are sure you really want to go.’

  She swallowed. ‘How many times must I repeat myself before you believe me?’

  His smile turned hard. He stepped back and bowed. He gestured for her to continue on. ‘Then I must bid you goodnight and hope you find sleep.’

  A breath she didn’t know she’d been holding rushed from her parted lips. Ignominiously, she ducked her head and scuttled past him. For some reason, she felt curiously disappointed.

  Oh, dear. It seemed she really had wanted that kiss.

  The showers of last evening had turned into a steady drizzling rain overnight. Most of the company gathered in the library around two in the afternoon. Tucked in a quiet corner at her employer’s elbow with her needlework, Rosa forced herself to hide her impatience for the day to be over and her night of searching to begin.

  Her only fear was Stanford saying something to Lady Keswick and preventing her from going back to Gorham Place tonight. He couldn’t.

  Digger snuffled and snorted through his dreams, using her feet as his own special pillow.

  While the men conversed about the sports news in desultory tones, the elegant ladies compared notes on various creams and potions designed to improve their complexions. Lady Smythe and Lord Stanford had yet to put in an appearance.

  Every so often, Lord Bannerby kept looking at the door with a frown. Poor man. He was clearly suffering.

  The door opened and Lady Smythe sauntered in dressed in a morning gown of blue muslin with rows and rows of diamond-pointed lace at the hem and cuff. Her copper-coloured curls created a halo around her head. She looked like a fairy queen. ‘It is still raining,’ she announced.

  Observant as well as beautiful. Oh, dear. Was the acerbic wit of these ladies rubbing off? It wasn’t Lady Smythe’s fault her petite beauty made Rosa feel ungainly.

  The various groups scattered around the room looked up and offered greetings.

  ‘What on earth will we do now?’ Lady Smythe said. Her rosy lips formed tragic lines. ‘We were to go riding. I had my outfit all picked out. It took me ages to find something else.’

  An excuse for her tardiness? And still no sign of Lord Stanford.

  Bannerby leapt to his feet to kiss her hand and lead her to his recently occupied chair. ‘My dear Lady Smythe, we were only waiting for you before we decided on the entertainment for the day.’

  Clever Lord Bannerby elicited a brilliant, if brittle, smile. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  As if there had been some unseen signal, the company slowly gathered around her.

  Lady Keswick cast her newspaper aside. She’d chosen a blond wig today, with ringlets above the ears and tiny curls across her forehead. ‘Now we will see some liveliness.’ Her smile turned her cheeks into rouge-painted apples. ‘I like to see young people enjoying themselves.’

  ‘Why don’t we put on a play? Daniel has several he is working on.’ Mrs Phillips, a buxom brunette just past her first bloom, looked adoringly at her aesthetic playwright husband. For all his severe appearance, he was a nice man, if rather led around by the nose by his wife. He was always courteous to Rosa, who would have liked to have talked to him more about the theatre. His wife’s glares kept her at bay.

  ‘Charades is better,’ Fitzwilliam said. ‘A play requires the learning of lines and will take more than a week of hard work.’ He smothered a yawn behind his hand. ‘Who knows, it might be fine tomorrow and then all the work will be for naught.’

  Several of the men muttered agreement with the sentiment and voices were raised on each side of the question.

  ‘Good day, Lady Keswick, Mrs Travenor.’ Rosa jumped, instantly recognising Stanford’s deep rich voice. Heat rushed through her body. She closed her eyes against the invading warmth as the image of his mouth close to hers danced in her vision. She took a deep calming breath and attempted a serene smile.

  Lady Keswick gave him her hand. ‘Stanford. I see you are not among the early risers.’ Her gaze darted to Lady Smythe. ‘Made a late night of it, I suppose.’

  Stanford grinned good-naturedly, his eyes finding Rosa with a gleam of wickedness. ‘I like to walk before retiring as an aid to sleep, though the rain last night was not conducive to long ramblings.’ His gaze rested upon Rosa’s face. ‘How about you, Mrs Travenor? Did you sleep well?’

  A breath caught in Rosa’s throat. There was no doubt in her mind he was threatening exposure as he looked at her, his eyes issuing a challenge.

  She raised her chin. ‘I always take a short walk every evening, rain or no, Lord Stanford.’

  He blinked at her intimation that only a weakling would let rain keep him indoors. With a triumphant smile at his obvious surprise, she gestured to the dog at her feet. ‘I usually take Digger for his nightly perambulation. But, like you, he preferred to remain indoors last evening.’

  Stanford hunkered down at her feet and scratched behind the pug’s ear. The dog opened one eye and wriggled with pleasure as the strong long fingers moved with assurance over its flanks. The dog grunted its bliss and rolled on its back.

  Stanford tickled the dog’s underside and tipped his face up to meet her gaze. The individual lashes around his eyes were long and thick and veiled his thoughts, but not his mocking smile. ‘He’s a lucky fellow to have such a considerate attendant, but you really should not wander the grounds alone at night, Mrs Travenor. Anything might happen. I beg you allow me to accompany you in future.’

  A warning. He was not going to say anything this time. A spurt of relief left her feeling weak. She really didn’t want to make up any more lies. Nor did she want to have to explain to her employer.

  Lady Keswick’s plucked eyebrows drew sharply together. ‘Are you implying Mrs Travenor is not safe in my grounds, Stanford?’

  His smile turned cynical. He straightened to his full height and once more she was aware of just how large he was, despite his sparseness of frame. ‘I am sure she is as safe here as anywhere, Lady Keswick.’

  Not safe at all with men like Stanford on the prowl.

  ‘Hmmph,’ the old lady said, eyeing her guests, who had devolved into a heated discussion about the relative merits of a play or charades. She picked up the cane beside her chair and rapped it sharply on the floor. Silence descended as all eyes turned on their hostess. Rosa shrank into the shadows of her corner.

  Not that she need have bothered. None of them were looking at her. They were all looking at Lady Keswick.

  A wicked grin spread over Stanford’s face. He kept his eyes fixed on Rosa’s face as he spoke, though he raised his voice to include the whole company. ‘I suggest a game of hide and go seek. The gentlemen will find, while the ladies hide. Ladies, if you are caught, you will forfeit a kiss.’

  One of the women squealed her excitement. Mrs Mallow, Rosa thought.

  ‘Stanford,’ Lady Smythe said in objecting tones. ‘How can we hide if we do not know our way around the house?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Lady Smythe,’ Mrs Mallow said. ‘Stay with me. I am good at this.’

  A flicker of something passed across Stanford’s face. Dismay? How could that be? This was all his idea. He turned to Mrs Mallow, his smile turning wolfish. ‘Have no doubt, I will find you.’

  And he would. His kind knew such things by instinct.

  Lady Smythe cast him an anxious glance, which seemed a little odd. Unless she worried that Stanford might not find her.

  Rosa bit her lip until it hurt. Better that than feel envy for Lady Smythe. Envy? Surely not? What had got into her head? The kind of fun proposed by Lord Stanford would keep the guests busy for the rest of the afternoon. A good thing, from her perspective.

  Stanford glanced down at her. ‘Would you care to join us, Mrs Travenor?’

  Dear Lord, had he read her thoughts? She really must be more careful around him. He was far too observant for a man so ap
parently indolent.

  ‘Certainly not,’ Lady Keswick put in. ‘Mrs Travenor has other duties.’

  Rescued. She lifted her chin, shooting Stanford a look of triumph.

  He shrugged. His dark eyes gleamed wicked encouragement. ‘Too bad.’

  Lady Keswick’s eyes lit up. ‘And before you ask me, I am far too old, but it sounds like just the right sort of thing for a rainy day. Feel free to use the whole of this floor, but do not go upsetting my servants.’ She reached out a hand. ‘Come, Rose, you shall help me to my chamber. I have correspondence to write.’

  Lady Keswick heaved herself to her feet with Rosa’s help. Digger, tongue lolling, got his short legs beneath him. ‘Dinner will be served at six in the dining room,’ the countess announced and headed for the door.

  Hapton strolled to her side and offered his arm. ‘May I escort you, Lady Keswick?’

  She beamed. ‘Now you are what in my day we called a cavalier.’ She took his arm. ‘You can see me as far as the stairs. Clarence will take me the rest of the way.’

  Rosa trailed in their wake, oddly aware of Stanford’s gaze on her back. The very thought of it made her legs feel wooden and her movements stiff. It was only by practising a great feat of will that she did not turn around to ask him to stop.

  The footman stationed at the foot of the stairs took over escort duties from Mr Hapton, whose granite-grey eyes ran over Rosa for a moment. ‘I keep thinking we have met before, Mrs Travenor,’ he said as she passed him to climb the stairs.

  Rosa shook her head. ‘I don’t believe so.’

  ‘Then you remind me of someone.’

  A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Everyone said she looked like her mother. An Italian opera singer famous in Rome and London before she married, she had been much admired for her voice and her opulent figure. Many painters had daubed her likeness, some showing her in the scandalous costumes of the opera house. One reason Grandfather had been so opposed to her parents’ marriage. The reason for their years of estrangement.