by Olivia Drake
Lindsey glanced at Mansfield to find him watching her, one eyebrow cocked. The cool breeze had tossed a lock of dark hair onto his forehead, enhancing his rakishly attractive looks.
“Who did you see?” he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You seemed to be looking for someone you knew back there,” he said. “I merely wondered who it might be.”
“Oh! No one. I—I was just remembering that I forgot to purchase a length of Belgian lace for my mother.”
“Ah. Perhaps you can apply to Miss Valentine and ask her to send it.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped loosely. “Now, you haven’t even asked where we’re going.”
It was an enormous relief to change the subject. “Where are we going?”
“For a drive around the outskirts of Hyde Park. Jocelyn will enjoy seeing the fine houses on Park Lane.”
The girl raised her head. “Actually, I prefer to draw people. So it doesn’t matter to me where we go so long as we’re outdoors.”
Mansfield chuckled. “I’m glad you’re so easily pleased, sprite. Then you won’t mind if we make one brief stop along the way.”
“Stop?” Lindsey asked.
“Yes.” His gaze touched her, slid away, then returned. “At my uncle’s house.”
Intrigued, Lindsey leaned forward slightly. “I didn’t realize you had any relations in town. Perhaps I know him. What is his name?”
“The Honorable Hugo Pallister, and you won’t have met him, since he isn’t in London. It’s been many years since he’s come here.”
She remembered Mama’s friend the Duchess of Milbourne asking after a Hugo who lived in Oxfordshire. What had Mansfield said in reply? My uncle is as cantankerous as ever.
Apparently, the two of them had a strained relationship. Lindsey found herself keen to ferret out why.
“Since you were away in the cavalry,” she said, “you must not have seen him very often over the years. He’s your father’s brother, is he not?”
“His twin, actually. I grew up in his household in Oxfordshire after my parents died.” Mansfield compressed his lips and looked out at the passing street. His posture clearly discouraged any further questions.
His reticence only intrigued her all the more.
Since Mansfield’s father had possessed the title, Hugo would have been the second born of the twins. Therefore, Hugo would have inherited the earldom if a certain nephew hadn’t stood in the way. Could that be the source of Hugo’s cantankerous nature?
It was ridiculous to speculate. Lindsey knew little of the man, except that one-word description. Yet he was a part of Mansfield’s life, and for that reason she burned to know more.
“How old were you when you lost your parents?” she asked.
He glanced at her. “Five years. I’ve been told they both fell ill of a fever.”
The news caused a softness of sympathy in her breast. She remembered what Kasi had proclaimed while reading his palm: Long ago, you a very lonely boy. No parents, no family, no love.
Lindsey had always known the warmth and security of family. It was a revelation to think of him as a small orphaned boy thrust into his uncle’s household. She wanted to question him further, but since Jocelyn had lost her parents only the previous year, Lindsey didn’t want to pursue the matter for fear of bringing back sad memories. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I scarcely remember them.”
His dismissive manner warned her to change the subject. “Why do you need to visit your uncle’s house?”
“As I was leaving this morning, I received a message from the steward, asking me to approve a few expenditures. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Ah, here we are.”
Directly across from Hyde Park, the landau drew up in front of a stately stone residence with tall pillars flanking a carved portico. Rows of fanlight windows lent a graceful splendor to the façade, and the brass fittings on the dark green front door gleamed in the sunshine.
“What a lovely place!” Lindsey exclaimed. “I’ve noticed it on drives to the park, but I never knew who lived here.”
“This is Pallister House.” He paused, eyeing her. “Would you care to take a quick tour? I’m sure Jocelyn and Kasi wouldn’t mind waiting.”
“Go ahead,” Jocelyn said, waving her pencil. “There’s so much more to draw out here than inside a dusty old house.”
“The place had better not be dusty,” Mansfield said in a mock-threatening voice. “Or I shall have a stern word with the housekeeper.”
The footman opened the door and stood back impassively. Mansfield descended from the coach and then held out his hand to assist Lindsey.
She hesitated a moment before grasping it. What harm could there be in going inside the house with him? He could hardly be planning to ravish her while Jocelyn and Kasi waited outside. And even with the family not in residence, there must be a skeleton staff of servants on duty to keep the place tidy.
As they walked toward the marble portico, she said, “Pallister House . . . with that name, shouldn’t it belong to you, as head of the family?”
He shrugged. “Such a large pile is highly impractical for a bachelor household.”
He had dodged the question rather than answered it directly, she noted. “Did you ever come here as a youth?”
“Once or twice. Enough to know my way around.”
Extracting an iron key from an inner pocket of his coat, he bent down to insert it in the lock. Then he frowned at her and said, “It’s already unlocked. The maids must have been polishing the brass this morning.”
He turned the handle and opened the door. His hand at the small of her back, Mansfield ushered her into an impressive foyer lit by sunshine streaming though the tall windows. The place had the musty, forlorn air of a house that had been closed up for years, devoid of family members to lend it brightness and life.
Her footsteps echoed on the checkered marble floor. She tilted her head back to gaze at the high domed ceiling, then the gracefully curving staircase with its intricate oak railing.
“So you visited here as a boy,” she mused. “Did you ever slide down that banister?”
“More than once. And each time, it was well worth the paddling I received in return.”
She laughed. “I’m imagining you as a very naughty child who often fell into trouble.”
“That is unfortunately true,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “Now, I would like to take a look around, to make sure everything is in proper order. Shall we?”
His hand again rested at the small of her back as he steered her down an ornately decorated corridor. The warmth of his palm seeped into her, stirring her blood. She found herself wishing he would spirit her into one of the deserted rooms they were walking past, to press her down onto a chaise and subject her to a steamy kiss and a long bout of bodily exploration.
Lindsey drew a shaky breath. Heaven help her if he guessed the disgraceful direction of her thoughts. It was shocking indeed for a young lady to harbor such fantasies about a man who was not her husband.
When we make love for the first time, I’ll have you in my bed . . . as my wife.
He had murmured that to her while they were trapped in the dressing room at Lady Entwhistle’s house. He wanted to marry her, and she had only to voice her acceptance. But her suspicions of him formed an insurmountable barrier between them. And she didn’t want to marry a nobleman anyway. She had sworn to herself—
Mansfield stopped walking, bringing her to an abrupt halt. His grim expression startled her. “What is it?” she asked.
“Shh.”
He cocked his head in a listening pose. Then Lindsey detected what she’d been too self-absorbed to hear earlier. Voices emanated from somewhere toward the end of the long passage. There was another sound, oddly enough, the heavenly music of a harp.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
Without further ado, Mansfield went striding down the corridor, his footsteps sharp and decisive. L
indsey stood still for no more than half a minute. Then curiosity had the better of her. She needed to know what put that forbidding look on his face.
His tall figure was already vanishing through a doorway at the rear of the house. Picking up her skirts, she ran after him, her slippers making a whispering sound on the marble floor. Reaching the spot where he’d disappeared, she peeked into a spacious sitting room with a bank of windows that framed the green of the garden.
Several people were gathered in a group near the fireplace. An older man with a curled gray wig and weathered face occupied a wing chair, his stockinged feet elevated on a stool. Across from him sat a younger version of himself, a gentleman with prematurely balding russet hair and rather nondescript features. A plump brown mouse of a lady sat by a gilded harp by one of the windows, her fingers frozen on the strings, while two boys played jacks at her feet.
Mansfield stood in front of the assembly, his back to the door and his fists planted on his hips. Everyone’s attention was fixed on him.
“. . . might have warned me you were coming here,” he was saying. “You never leave Oxfordshire.”
Oxfordshire. Was the older man Hugo? The uncle who had raised Mansfield since the tender age of five?
He must be, Lindsey realized in shock.
“Pray forgive me,” Hugo said, his voice sour as he glared up at his nephew. “I was unaware of the need to submit my activities to you for approval.”
“I’m speaking of common courtesy,” Mansfield snapped. “It would have been decent of you to send word to me of your expected arrival. But apparently you didn’t intend for me to know of this visit at all.”
“What, will you toss us out of the house, then? By gad, perhaps you’d prefer that we move to the Pulteney Hotel.”
So this mansion did belong to Mansfield, Lindsey thought. Why had he said that it was his uncle’s?
“Please don’t quarrel,” said the younger man. Shifting in his seat, he kept his chin tucked low in a wary look. “You mustn’t blame him, Thane. He only wanted to be with his grandsons. This trip to London was entirely my doing.”
“Yours?” Mansfield said with a hint of contempt.
“Yes, we’re here to celebrate John’s seventh birthday. He begged to go to the Tower zoo.”
The older of the two boys, a towheaded tyke in short pants, sat back on his heels. “That’s me!” he proclaimed. “Mummy said it’s my birthday all week long!” Then, before Lindsey could duck out of sight, he pointed straight at her. “Who’s she?”
Everyone turned to stare at her.
Embarrassed to be caught eavesdropping, Lindsey stood rooted to the floor. It was horribly rude of her to listen in on their private family discussion. Nothing could have made matters worse . . . except what Mansfield did next.
He strode forward, took hold of her arm, and compelled her toward the group. Without any warning, he told a bald-faced lie. “This is Miss Lindsey Crompton. My fiancée.”
She sucked in a breath. “No!” Glancing around at the mystified faces of his relatives, she modified her tone: “What I mean is, we are not officially engaged.”
“I have yet to speak to her father, so we would appreciate your discretion in the matter,” Mansfield said smoothly. “Lindsey, this is my uncle Hugo and my cousin Edward. In light of the irregular circumstances, I’m afraid I haven’t yet made the acquaintance of Edward’s wife and children.”
Edward cleared his throat. “Dinah, pray meet my cousin Thane . . . er, Lord Mansfield . . . and Miss Crompton. John is my eldest son and the younger boy is Hugo.”
Mansfield bowed to the mousy lady at the harp, who bobbed a shy curtsy. “My pleasure, ma’am,” he said. “And Hugo must be named for his grandsire, how splendid.”
The note of cutting sarcasm in Mansfield’s voice caught Lindsey’s attention. It was clear he felt animosity toward his uncle, but that was no reason to mock a young child. Luckily, the boys were oblivious to the strained atmosphere in the room, having returned to their game of jacks.
“At least you’ve taken my advice to acquire a wife,” Hugo told Mansfield. “It’s about time you ended your ne’er-do-well ways and settled down.”
Lindsey saw Mansfield’s face darken and intervened to ward off another round of insults. “Sir, I do believe his reputation as a rogue is much exaggerated,” she said with a little laugh. “He’s been the perfect gentleman toward me. Now, did you have a good journey? I confess that since I was raised in India, I’ve never had occasion to visit Oxfordshire.”
“It was a miserable trip, jolting around in a box for hours,” Hugo grumbled, “which is why I seldom come to the city anymore. But I will concede, you’ve traveled a sight farther than I have.”
“Around the tip of Africa and through several fierce storms,” she said. “My family made the voyage two years ago.”
Edward regarded her with admiration. “I cannot imagine what that must have been like, Miss Crompton. I prefer to have solid ground beneath my feet.”
At that moment a maid pushing a tea trolley entered the room. The boys jumped up to crowd around her, peering to see what was on the tray. “Mummy, where’s my birthday cake?” John cried.
Dinah scurried forward to steer them away. “Boys, do behave yourselves,” she murmured. “John, you’ll have your cake for supper.”
Hugo watched his grandsons indulgently. Affection for them gleamed in his rheumy blue eyes. However, when he noticed Lindsey’s gaze on him, he worked his face into a fierce scowl. “Well, don’t just stand there gawking, miss. You’re giving me a crick in my neck. Sit down and drink a spot of tea, if you must.”
Lindsey welcomed the opportunity to quiz Mansfield’s uncle further, yet the thought of Jocelyn and Kasi waiting out in the landau gave her pause. “Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly. My mother is expecting me back home soon.”
Beside her, Mansfield moved restlessly. “There aren’t enough cups anyway,” he said. “While I’m sure Tilly would fetch more, she and the other servants must be very busy with all the unexpected company.”
Tilly?
Lindsey looked sharply at the maidservant. A few curls of blond hair showed at the edge of the slender young woman’s mobcap. Her rosy skin and pleasing features struck a shocking chord of recognition in Lindsey.
Dear God. She was the very maid who had accompanied Mansfield into the study at Wrayford’s party all those weeks ago.
Chapter 21
Tilly bobbed a curtsy. “I’d be more’n ’appy to oblige, m’lord.”
Thane paid her little heed. He closely watched Lindsey for a reaction. Had she recognized the servant? She must have, because her gaze was trained on the girl.
His purpose in coming here had been fulfilled—albeit not precisely in the manner he’d intended.
“Never mind,” he said. “I’m afraid Miss Crompton and I must take our leave now.”
Thane bowed to his family when he wanted to grind his teeth instead. In light of his uncle’s unannounced visit, it irked him to have to show politeness to the man. To think that he had traveled to London and taken over this house without even bothering to notify Thane!
Uncle Hugo afforded him a cool nod in return. “If you like, you may join us for dinner on the morrow.”
The invitation caught Thane off guard. For the barest instant he felt like a boy again, yearning for approval where none existed. But, of course, his uncle had issued an obligatory offer, nothing more. The truth of that was evident in the sour set of his mouth and those sharply judgmental eyes.
“Thank you, but I’ve already made other plans,” Thane said. “Good day.”
With that, he guided Lindsey out of the sitting room and into the corridor. Anger drove his steps. He still reeled from the shock of hearing those voices and then walking in on that cozy family scene. Finding his uncle in town so unexpectedly—and seeing timid Edward after all these years with a wife and children in tow—had knocked Thane off kilter. If he hadn’t stopped here today, they might
have come and gone without him being the wiser. Blast them all!
“Slow down,” Lindsey said. “You, at least, aren’t hampered by a skirt.”
He realized that while caught in his own morbid thoughts he’d been half-carrying her along the passageway. He moderated his pace. “Forgive me. I was preoccupied.”
Her keen blue eyes regarded him. “Of course you were. Your family came to town and they didn’t bother to tell you. Anyone would be distraught under such circumstances.”
“Distraught?” He loosed a harsh laugh that echoed in the cavernous corridor. “You couldn’t be more mistaken. They mean nothing to me.”
“Then why are you behaving like a tiger with a thorn in your paw?”
“Because I’ve a right to know who’s trespassing on my property, that’s why.”
“Trespassing, is it? You told me earlier that this is your uncle’s house.”
Thane found himself caught in a fib. He had needed an excuse to bring her here and to take her down to the kitchen where he’d made prior arrangements to run into Tilly—so that Lindsey would realize he was not a cold-blooded killer.
He had to offer some explanation, no matter how lame. “Uncle Hugo was my guardian when I was a child. It always seemed as if he owned the place. I’ve been gone all these years, so I’ve never had occasion to stay here.”
“Hmm.” She eyed him suspiciously, then glanced back over her shoulder as if to make certain no one had come out into the passageway to listen. “Nevertheless, trespassers is hardly a fitting way to describe your family. Why do you despise them so much, anyway? They seemed like rather pleasant people to me.”
“Pleasant?” The sharp teeth of resentment gnawed at him. “Only to the casual observer. The truth is, my uncle is a harsh man who never let me forget that I was living under his sufferance. There’s no love lost between us.”
