My Lady's Pleasure

by Julia Justiss

  “To Harrowgate, I expect.”

  “Then you must be planning to break your journey at the Crown and Kettle, since Wilkins tells me it is the best hostelry for miles. Won’t you join me for dinner? ’Tis the least I could offer you, as my rescuer.”

  She waited for the smile, the polished reply full of teasing innuendo that the charming Mr. Fitzwilliams would normally have returned. Instead, he clenched his jaw and looked away. Her alarm deepened.

  “Teagan?”

  He looked back, his smile forced. “I suppose I’m in no position to refuse your kind offer.”

  “I would enjoy your company,” she said softly. “I’ve…missed the chats we shared in London.”

  He straightened abruptly. “Excuse me! I have not yet expressed my sympathy on your recent grievous loss. That is, I expect you didn’t get my note.”

  He had written? Joy made her heart leap. “No! When did you—”

  “No matter. Doubtless you left before it could be delivered. I am sorry, Valeria.”

  “Thank you. I grew to be…very fond of her.”

  She fell silent, a silence that stretched between them, a silence the always witty, ever entertaining Mr. Fitzwilliams would normally have broken with some clever question or teasing inquiry.

  Finally Valeria said, “I…sent you a note as well. Last evening. To tell you I was leaving London for Winterpark, Lady Winterdale’s country home. ’Twas her last request that I go there immediately.”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry, but I did not receive it. I—my landlady—was not in when I last stopped by my rooms.”

  “Do you make a long visit in Harrowgate?”

  “Perhaps. I’m not yet sure.” He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his sodden hair. “Ah, Valeria, I might as well confess what you’ve no doubt already surmised. I lost badly last night, so badly I cannot meet my obligations in London. I had to quit the city forthwith.”

  Leaving behind even his beloved stallion? “I see,” she said, choosing her words with care. “And you go to Harrowgate on a repairing lease?”

  “Yes. I really ought not to dine with you this evening. There’s certain to be dice or cards in the taproom, and…and I ought to begin that repair immediately.”

  His funds must be limited indeed if he dare not wait even a single night before attempting to recoup his fortunes. Small wonder she sensed about him such an air of weary desperation.

  Suddenly she realized how truly alone he was. Even in her darkest days at Eastwinds after Hugh’s death, though bereft of her beloved family, she still had duties to perform, retainers who were also friends, and a home to call her own.

  Since he had no family worthy of the name, perhaps a friend could help. Yet because they were friends, how it must gall his pride for her to see him in such dire straits. If she wished to assist him, she would have to go about it indirectly.

  “Having journeyed all day,” she said at last, “I’m both fatigued and famished. Robert will have ordered up rooms and a meal when he stopped at the inn for assistance, so I expect to dine right after arriving. Would you not spare me the fate of eating alone? Since I’ll be retiring immediately after, you would still have time for a full evening’s…activities.”

  Once again he made no quick rejoinder, added no flirtatious offer to assist her in retiring. Instead, a slight smile curved his lips. “You are kind, Lady Arnold.”

  Her concern deepening, she cast about for some means to dispel the grim resignation that clouded his countenance and colored his voice.

  “I believe the inn is a several-mile journey. Shall we continue the discussion we began at Tower Green about Mary, Queen of the Scots? Is it true the Irish would have supported her, against Elizabeth?”

  “Sure, and the Irish have always rallied round any who oppose England,” he replied, a flicker of interest stirring in his exhaustion-glazed eyes. “Though I’ve no doubt, had that lady been more astute and ended up on the throne, the lads across the sea would have opposed her as well.”

  For the remainder of the short drive, Valeria engaged him in a discussion of English politics, and Teagan gradually recovered some of his normal, easy manner.

  His reserve returned when they reached the inn. As he handed her down from the coach, however, the front door of the establishment opened and the landlord hurried out, followed by a plump, red-faced lady and half a dozen men.

  “Welcome, Lady Arnold!” the innkeeper called. “And a hearty welcome also to the gallant gentleman who foiled Mad Jack! Mr.—”

  “Teagan Fitzwilliams,” that gentleman replied with a bow as the men from the taproom shouted and clapped.

  “Joey, my stable boy—he helped move the tree that blocked your carriage, my lady—rode on ahead and told us of the ambush,” the landlord said as he advanced toward her. “Lucky ye be that Mr. Fitzwilliams came upon ye, Lady Arnold! Mad Jack’s a fearsome customer, and has given the local magistrate the slip for weeks now.”

  The landlord reached her side and bowed. “Such a frightening experience! My wife has your room and a hot posset ready, if you’d like to retire immediately, and will send supper up in a trice. Mr. Fitzwilliams, allow me and the neighborhood to offer you dinner and a round.”

  The landlord’s expression of sympathy provided Valeria a perfect opportunity to crystallize the sketchy plan she’d been formulating. “Thank you, sir,” she replied, trying to sound faint and anxious. “My nerves are sadly overcome.”

  Ignoring Teagan’s start of surprise, she continued. “Although I had intended to remain here until my maid and baggage catch up to us, this episode has so distressed me I am most uneasy about the rest of the journey. Mr. Fitzwilliams,” she said, turning to him, “I expect you plan to set out tomorrow. I will advance my own departure, if I can impose upon you to escort me the rest of the way to Winterpark. It would greatly ease my mind, and I’m sure my servants would appreciate your support.”

  “Indeed, sir,” Wilton called down, doffing his cap. “James done told us you was a right’ un. The boys ’n me’d be honored if ye’d travel on with us.”

  The landlord’s wife stepped over to pat Valeria’s arm. “You poor, poor dear! ’Tis a wonder you didn’t swoon dead away! I certainly hope the kind gentleman can delay his journey long enough to assist you.”

  Teagan looked over at Valeria, eyebrows raised at this sudden attack of nerves. She lowered her lashes demurely.

  “If it will make the lady easier in her mind, of course I must do so,” he replied, subtle irony in his tone.

  The assembled crowd murmured their approval.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fitzwilliams,” Valeria replied. “I am now even more deeply in your debt. Mrs….”

  “Gowan, ma’am,” the innkeeper’s wife answered.

  “Mrs. Gowan, will you pack us a basket of victuals and fetch me in the morning when Mr. Fitzwilliams is ready?”

  “Certainly, my lady.”

  “Then with thanks to all of you, gentlemen, I shall retire. Until the morning, Mr. Fitzwilliams?”

  For a long moment Teagan fixed her with a quizzical gaze, as if trying to determine just what sort of rig she was running. Then he bowed and took her outstretched fingers to kiss. “Until morning, Lady Arnold.”

  Amid clapping and cheers from the onlookers, she followed the innkeeper’s wife into the building.

  Though regretting the loss of Teagan’s company during dinner, Valeria was pleased at the success of her stratagem. If she could just keep him occupied on the journey until he lost that frighteningly desperate air…

  Perhaps she might even persuade him to remain for a few days at Winterpark. A blast of warmth entirely unrelated to her gratitude for his rescue blazed through her at the thought.

  His belly full of the best dinner he’d had in weeks and his head woozy from the drinks raised in his honor, much later that night Teagan walked unsteadily up the stairs to the bedchamber the innkeeper had insisted he take for the evening. To cap off the night, jingling in his pockets was
a small stack of coins he’d won off the local magistrate, who’d been happy to lose his blunt to the man who’d relieved him of the problem of Mad Jack.

  From its beginning, with Teagan reduced to the most desperate conditions he’d experienced since being cast out of his grandfather’s town house ten years ago, this day had improved beyond imagining. When his job horse had pulled up lame, leaving him soaked, stranded and near penniless by the side of the road, he’d tethered the poor beast in the woods, pulled out his pistol case and loaded the weapon, nearly convinced that the Almighty was trying to tell one Irish drifter it was time to return to his celestial home.

  Then he’d heard the pistol shot, and the rest had been automatic. In his comings and goings in the meaner neighborhoods, he’d seen too many petty thugs like Mad Jack to stand by and allow him to abuse a lady, even an arrogant English aristocrat who probably deserved whatever punishment the brigand had intended to mete out.

  And then to discover the carriage belonged to Valeria! It seemed odd that she would have rushed out of the city, despite the folderol about following Lady Winterdale’s last request. Surely it would have made more sense to remain in London, attended by the solicitous Sir William and the hordes of other suitors who would find ways to entertain the newly rich widow, despite her being in deep mourning.

  And why had she practically compelled him to escort her to Winterpark? With a humiliation that made his face burn in the darkness, he knew she was too intelligent not to have understood far more about his true circumstances than he’d admitted in his one cryptic utterance. Did she mean to bid him begin his “repairing lease” at Winterpark?

  The notion of a few days’ respite was all too attractive. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept a whole night through. The very idea that he must begin gaming again with his reserves so slim that every coin must be counted, every wager carefully calculated in order to avert disaster, made his stomach churn with revulsion.

  He remembered only too vividly his original precarious climb out of penury. Endless nights of slowly building a stake, followed by the terror of unexpected reverses that could wipe out a month’s worth of gains in an evening. The constant uncertainty, the distasteful necessity of cajoling drunks, deflecting the malicious and forcing himself to win from lads too green and green-faced to be able to count the cards in their hands.

  Teagan reached the landing and stumbled into his room, then began pulling off his still-damp garments. One coin from tonight’s precious winnings he’d expended to have the innkeeper’s wife extract a change of clothes from his soggy saddlebags to air out and press for tomorrow, and another for the hot water to bathe and shave with in the morning. It seemed an eternity since he’d last felt clean and dry.

  Stripped down, he dropped wearily onto the softness of the bed. Mhuire, but he hated the necessity of beginning again. Ten years ago, the indignity of it had been blunted by rage and heartache over Evangeline’s duplicity, the ruin of his career and the unfairness of his exile. Fueled by anger and grief, he’d careened through the first few months almost unaware of what he did.

  And made mistakes he now regretted. But that excess of emotion had burned itself to cinders long ago. This time he had no inclination to mask the bitterness of his descent with sweetly false matrons and quantities of strong drink.

  What choice did he have but to continue gaming? He leaned back against the headboard, supporting his aching head on his hands. ’Twas amusing, really. Even were he finally ready to concede victory to his cousin by relinquishing his last pretensions to gentility, having been raised as a gentleman, he knew no trade by which he could make a living.

  There was gaming, the army—or marrying a rich woman like Valeria Arnold.

  Valeria, who’d been both friend and lover. The mere thought of her in the barn at Eastwoods still had the power to speed his pulses and harden his body in an instant.

  The blaze of attraction that had ignited in Yorkshire still smoldered between them every time they met. In London Teagan had teased her about it, daydreamed of its fiery potential. Had hoarded the possibility of once again claiming her, with the greedy pleasure of a small child hiding a sweetmeat, delighted by knowing it was his, to devour whenever he chose. With little effort, Teagan knew, he could persuade her to become his lover again, and under the potent spell of passion, probably bewitch her into wedlock.

  Thereby solving his financial woes forever.

  The idea of using her like that revolted him.

  With a bitter bark of laughter, Teagan sat back up. A fine, proper rogue he was. Too proud to enlist in the army, too principled to perform a possibly treasonous task, too squeamish to seize the solution that would set him up for life. Bleating and moaning about having to dirty his hands once again with gaming, the only other option open to him.

  Of course, there was always the pistol.

  An equally disturbing idea suddenly struck him.

  Perhaps Valeria Arnold had a very different reason for coercing his escort.

  Since he’d last seen her, the balance between them had shifted. Lady Arnold was no longer owner of a barely profitable sheep farm, a fellow orphan and shabby-genteel outsider tolerated at the edges of the ton. Possessed of great wealth and the influence that accompanied it, she could now command a leading role in Society.

  If she invited him to linger, would it be as the friend who had explored London with him? Or as other rich matrons had before her, would she offer him the bounty of her home in exchange for his performance in her parlor and her boudoir, until the novelty of his attractions paled?

  Destroying the magic of what they’d shared by turning it into a transaction driven by lust and power?

  His mind rebelled at the thought. The honesty, purity and intelligence his Lady Mystery had displayed at every meeting were not a sham. She’d not insisted on seeing him just to spite her chaperone, had not been merely toying with him all those mornings they explored London, sharing ideas and laughter. From initial attraction, they’d come to know and like each other. She respected him—had she not demonstrated that on numerous occasions?

  But she’d not then been a rich English matron.

  Was it in fact Lady Farrington who’d rebuffed his calls and notes after Lady Winterdale’s death? Or, with her position assured, had Lady Arnold decided it was no longer politic to be seen with Teagan…at least not in London?

  Not for many years had someone from English society seemed to reach out to a lonely Irish outcast, to solicit his opinions, admire his ideas and value his person. He must not forget how that interlude with Evangeline had ended.

  Indeed, every hope he’d ever cherished had turned out to be false: finding a family, winning Evangeline’s love, pursuing a career as a scholar. ’Twas idiocy to let himself believe that Valeria Arnold, now that she possessed wealth and position, would treat Teagan Fitzwilliams in the same manner as when she’d been the impecunious Lady Arnold.

  Wasn’t it?

  His eyes burned and his head ached dully. Mhuire, he’d think no more on it. Tomorrow he’d escort Lady Arnold to Winterpark as promised.

  He only wished his chest didn’t ache with apprehension that his beloved image of Lady Mystery, like every other illusion he’d cherished save that of his mother’s love, was about be shattered by reality’s iron fist.

  Chapter Fourteen

  L ate the following afternoon, Valeria gazed out the window of her coach at the gatehouse beyond the tall iron entry portals of Winterpark. Her new home.

  She took a deep breath and tried to stifle the nervousness fluttering in her belly. For the first time, she wished she had waited at the inn for Mercy and her baggage. Through all the many changes in her life she’d had her old nurse at her side. Coming now as mistress to the new household whose respect she must win, she sorely missed the comfort of her friend’s presence.

  Part of her unease stemmed from her uncertainty over what to do about Teagan Fitzwilliams. The slight relaxation in his manner during their
drive yesterday had disappeared once they reached the inn, and his behavior today had been even more distant. He’d declined her offer to accompany her in the coach, preferring instead to hire another mount and ride beside the carriage.

  She’d heard him trading quips and conversation with the coachman—and had been ashamed by the pang of envy that provoked in her. Though Teagan had politely accepted a share of the lunch Mrs. Gowan had packed for them, he’d chosen to tie his mount behind the coach and climb up on the box beside Wilkins to eat it.

  The remote and silent stranger he’d become was so far removed from the engaging Teagan she’d thought she knew that she was no longer sure whether he needed or would accept anything more from her. However, as she girded herself to take up her new duties, she decided she would still extend to him the hospitality of Winterpark. Good breeding alone dictated that, since he’d been gracious enough to delay his plans in order to escort her home, she should invite him to remain as long as he wished. He could then accept or refuse as he chose.

  The idea of him cooly declining and riding out of her life without a backward glance, as he had once before, was so dismaying she thrust it from her mind.

  The carriage was now traveling down the wide graveled drive Wilkins had described, which after about a mile circled in a large arc around the front lawns of Winterpark Manor itself. Stilling another anxious tremor, she focused her thoughts on planning how best to greet her new staff.

  In the fading light of the late spring day she noted the drive was well kept, the parkland stretching out from it neatly scythed. Of course, she’d expected that Lady Winterdale’s favorite property would be perfectly maintained, ready at any moment should that exacting lady pay an unannounced visit. As the carriage began to round a wide curve, Valeria thrust her head out the window to get her first glimpse of the house, and caught her breath.