A Tempting Ruin (GreenFord Waters #3)

by Kristin Vayden

  "Oh… well, I thank you. There was no need for you to go to such trouble," she replied coolly.

  "And this." He withdrew the handkerchief and held it out for her.

  "Oh… again, how kind." Her gaze narrowed.

  And even a man of his merit felt the urge to squirm under her scrutiny.

  "Aren't you quite the gentleman for taking such an… interest… in this?" she replied.

  "It was nothing of the sort. I simply found them while searching for something else," Lord Neville replied, testing the waters.

  "Were you able to find that which you were searching for?" she asked, still spearing him with her green gaze.

  "Not yet. But I do believe I'm rather close."

  "Indeed." Lady Southridge shrugged. "Would you care for tea?"

  He tugged on his white gloves. "Tea would be delightful."

  "Trent? Would you please notify cook of a change of plans? I'll take my tea here with Lord Neville."

  "Of course, my lady." The butler stood, the movement punctuated by the sound his cane hitting the marbled floor with more force than necessary.

  Lady Southridge glanced to him curiously at the loud thud.

  "Quite the help you have here," Lord Neville spoke as the butler left.

  "Loyal to a fault." She gave him a pointed glare. "Please, sit, Lord Neville." Lady Southridge invited, gesturing to a seat across from the one she had just chosen.

  "Apparently," Neville spoke under his breath.

  "Hmm?"

  "Nothing, nothing. So, Lady Southridge, what brings you to Breckridge House? And in the middle of the season? I do hope you are feeling well."

  "Quite well. Thank you for your concern. But you see, with my brother just married to the lovely Bethanny, I do think they require some privacy. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Indeed. However, I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad tidings then. I can only assume by your mannerisms that you have not heard." He leaned forward in his chair and folded his hands carefully. He was wary to make his expression severely concerned, even preparing to lower his tone.

  "What tidings?" Lady Southridge's mannerisms were alert, disturbed.

  "It would seem that one of the wards of the Duke of Clairmont, one of Bethanny's sisters, has been abducted," he whispered.

  "No!" Lady Southridge immediately stood, her hand fanning herself wildly. "No, it cannot be! How was I not informed?" She walked around the chair then gripped the back carefully.

  "Indeed." He nodded once.

  "How is poor Bethanny doing? And Charles? Oh heavens! I must leave for London at once! But oh! I cannot!" She placed her hand to her forehead as if about to faint.

  "Are you ill?" Lord Neville stood, feeling trepidation that the woman might actually faint. Dear Lord, heaven only knew what the butler would do with the cane then!

  "No… no." She took in a few steadying breaths… "I'm well. Quite… well," she answered and squared her shoulders. "You must find her!" she all but commanded.

  "My lady, why do you think I'm gallivanting about the English countryside?" he asked.

  "Well, how am I to know if you're on holiday or not? What are you doing, Lord Neville?" She placed her hands on her hips and narrowed her gaze.

  "Trying to find her. And… I might add…" He took a step toward her, meeting her gaze. "…I was told something quite interesting while at the Fox Inn." He let his words linger as he watched her expression for the smallest sign of avoidance. "You see… the stable boy was quite impressed with the beauty of your traveling partner…" He took another step closer, letting the statement hang heavily in the air.

  Then she laughed.

  "He thought Bev was a beauty? Well, I'll have to tell her that! It should make her day, being widowed these years." She shook her head.

  "Bev?" Lord Neville continued to watch her. Her laughter had taken him by surprise, but it held an edge to the sound… slightly unnatural… which kept his interest.

  "Yes, Bev. My lady's companion. A very shy thing, but great for keeping an old woman like me company." She waved her hand dismissively.

  "And just where did you hire Bev?" He asked, hearing skepticism lace his tone.

  "In London, of course. Lady Crumpton's daughter's governess knew of a woman's son who had lost his life at sea, leaving a poor widow. Of course, she was from a prominent family but had… well, married beneath her. Ah, the things the heart does for love." She seemed to lose herself in the story as she sighed heavily and gazed into the air.

  "Lady Southridge?" he called, resisting the urge to snap his fingers in front of her face. He was growing impatient.

  "Oh, dear me. A thousand apologies. What was I saying?" she asked, all innocent and kind.

  Neville took a calming breath. "You were telling the dramatic tale of your lady's companion," he clipped out.

  "Indeed. Poor Bev… all alone, not a shilling to her name. Well, I simply had to take her in, you see."

  "Of course." He narrowed his eyes. "Being such a close acquaintance."

  "Do not mock me, young man," Lady Southridge snapped, her green eyes igniting like fire.

  "I'd never dream of such a thing, my lady," he replied, bowing somberly and returning to his seat, his skin all but crawling with the suspicion that she was simply putting on a ruse.

  "Of course, it's been a hard transition for her, being here… which is another reason why we left London… too many memories."

  "Of her husband?" Neville asked, growing amused by her long tale in spite of himself.

  "No… didn't I mention he was a sailor?" She cocked her head and pressed a finger to her chin. "Yes, I do believe I mentioned that. Do try to keep up, Lord Neville," she scolded.

  "I—"

  "And do not interrupt."

  He nodded, biting back a wry grin.

  "Now… London was where she was raised… because, if you'll remember my story, she was from a wealthy family and simply… followed her heart."

  "How tragic," he replied stoically.

  "Ah! No, how romantic."

  "Yes, this whole story is quite the story of love." He was growing weary.

  "Regardless, I shall not bore you with the details. We should not lose sight of what is important, and that is that you should find Beatrix." She nodded, strode to her seat, and sat with a decisive nod.

  "I do believe I was trying to explain that it is, indeed, my intention to find her. Since my news came as such a shock to you, I assume you have no idea where she could have gone?" he asked.

  "Hmm…" Lady Southridge's lips twisted slightly, as she appeared to think. "I do not think she'd travel to Greenford Waters on her own… and if she was taken as you say… then I'm afraid I am no help. But I must urge you onward to find her! You must not linger a single moment." She stood and waved at him to stand as well. "You must go. Now."

  "Lady Southridge, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I was going to beg a favor of you." Neville watched as she gave one final longing glace at the door then turned her eyes to him. "Would it be possible to impose on you for a few days so that I might search this area? I've visited a few inns, but I do believe I can find out more information if I'm not… shall we say… traveling as a gentleman." He lowered his chin and speared her with his gaze.

  "Is that so?" Lady Southridge queried skeptically.

  "Indeed. I have exhausted all other options, and I'm getting rather desperate." He took a step toward her, keeping his expression open and hopeful. What he really wanted was to be allowed access to Breckridge House… because he was quite certain that Bev, the lady's maid, was Beatrix, kidnapped ward of the duke. But what he couldn't figure out was why Lady Southridge had done it.

  "I do believe I can help you… but I must insist that you do not stay overly long. My lady's maid… well, she gets rather shy around men, and I do not wish her to be uncomfortable."

  "Thank you, Lady Southridge. Your hospitality is appreciated. I will not overstay my welcome." He bowed.

  Her gaze narrowed as she studied him.
Cautiously, she stood and went to ring the bell. "Trent will show you to a room."

  "Delightful," he spoke then swore inwardly. Yes, that bloody butler would show him to a room with a view… off a cliff.

  "If you'll excuse me then, I do believe I'll take a moment to refresh myself." She glanced to the door, and he could practically hear the churning of her mind as she bustled toward it.

  "Here's your tea, my lady." Polly arrived just as Lady Southridge tried to make her escape.

  "Ah, thank you. Please set it on the table there and serve Lord Neville." She turned to face him. "I'll be back down in a moment to join you."

  With that, she left.

  After the maid served him tea, he sipped the hot and bitter liquid, letting it warm him. There was some sort of mayhem afoot, and he was going to discover exactly what it was.

  First order of business, find Bev — or Beatrix — whoever she truly was.

  "BEV!" LADY SOUTHRIDGE'S VOICE echoed in her private chambers and startled Beatrix so much she dropped her book.

  "Yes? Heavens, what is going on?" Her heart pumped wildly. Was there danger? Had someone already discovered her hiding place?

  "Damn the man," Lady Southridge swore as she paced madly in front of the fire.

  "Pardon?" Beatrix tilted her head as she studied her.

  "It would seem that the reclusive Lord Neville picked a delightful day to come out of hiding… and his target would be no one other than you, my dear." She heaved a sigh of irritation.

  "Lord Neville?" Beatrix felt goose flesh prickle her skin at the thought of the reclusive lord and the secret they shared.

  "The one and only… downstairs and all but demanding to stay here while he looks for you."

  "He's looking for me?" Her heart beat wildly. Lord Neville, looking for her? Was he concerned? Wait… why would he be searching for her? He wasn't Scotland Yard.

  "Yes! Hadn't I said that?" Her shoulders slumped. "Pardon, my dear. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

  "Don't fret. I'll simply stay in my room, or your room… whatever room a lady's maid is to be in," she amended and walked over to where Lady Southridge stood gazing out the picture window facing the back garden. "But I am confused."

  "Hmm?" Lady Southridge turned slightly to face her. Green eyes full of concern helped alleviate some of Beatrix's tension.

  "I… that is… why would Lord Neville search for me? We are not well acquainted, and rather, I find it odd that he'd even know I'm missing." Glancing down, she pulled at the fingertips of her gloves and bit her lip.

  "Ah, I guess the gossip hasn't reached every corner of London yet."

  "Pardon?" Beatrix's met Lady Southridge's gaze.

  "It's quite the story, you know. Lord Neville wasn't always a recluse."

  "He's not exactly a recluse now," Beatrix felt the need to add.

  "True, I do find it strange that he's come out of hiding recently." Lady Southridge's brow creased. "Of course there was a whisper that he was considering your sister, Bethanny, at one point." She tilted her head thoughtfully.

  Beatrix bit back the quick pang of jealousy, reminding herself that her sister had never had eyes for anyone other than Lord Graham, now her husband.

  "But, of course, that was an exercise in futility. Bethanny was going to marry my brother if she had to kidnap him." Lady Southridge chuckled then paused. "Poor choice of words, my dear. So sorry." She reached out and patted Bethanny's shoulder.

  "Perhaps, if I actually were kidnapped." Beatrix grinned.

  "True, true… but I digress. Lord Neville. Hmm… you have, of course, heard the rumors that he killed his betrothed?"

  Beatrix rolled her eyes. "I haven't heard all the gossip, but I have heard enough to know that particular story is a farce if I've ever heard one."

  "You always were a clever girl."

  "I don't believe my seeing through such a gossip points to my cleverness. Rather, I think that my believing such a wild tale would rather point to my intense lack of intellect."

  "And so you condemn half the ton?" Lady Southridge spoke questioningly.

  "You would vouch for them otherwise?" Beatrix speared her with a knowing gaze.

  "No. I would not."

  Beatrix nodded in victory.

  "Be that as it may… Lord Neville took to his reclusive state after his betrothed passed. He was never convicted of any crime, and I, myself, would be utterly shocked if he had anything to do with her demise. However, stranger things have happened." She shook her head slightly. "But Lord Neville has a few secrets that the ton doesn't gossip about."

  "Oh?" Beatrix leaned in slightly, waiting.

  "Lord Neville is not what he seems to be. I'm not sure if it was brilliant or bloody idiotic for your guardian, the duke, to send him after you… but it will alleviate any questions concerning your reputation."

  "Wh—"

  "Let me finish," Lady Southridge interrupted.

  "Lord Neville has worked for the crown here and there — not much, mind you — but enough to earn enough notoriety and respect that people will not question the validity of the duke's story of your kidnapping, especially when he mentions Lord Neville searching for you. In other words, my dear, when the ton gossips about you, it will be because of what the duke has told them, not because of what they are making up." She tilted her chin down spearing him with a direct gaze, as if trying to convey something silently.

  "I'm… afraid I'm not following."

  "Innocent girl." Lady Southridge shook her head. "It's the end of the season. Why would a girl disappear suddenly?"

  "Because… she was kidnapped? Got ill? I don't know."

  "Because she needed to…" Lady Southridge glanced down and patted her very flat stomach.

  Beatrix felt her eyes widen. "They'd think I was…" She let the word linger, not comfortable with staying it aloud.

  "Quicker than a rake's wink."

  "Dear heavens."

  "Which is why I'm starting to believe that it was a stroke of genius for the duke to send Lord Neville after you. However, now we must deal with the man." Lady Southridge began to pace about the room, her slippered feet making a slight muted thump on the wooden floor.

  "Why don't we just tell him?" Beatrix asked, finding the solution quite simple.

  Lady Southridge spun on her heel and glared. "Because you're in hiding."

  "And he can't keep a secret?" Beatrix replied archly.

  "I… er… well, I'm sure he could, but this is not his secret to keep." Lady Southridge nodded and returned to her pacing. "Besides, in order to keep your reputation pristine, a gentleman cannot be in residence."

  "He wouldn't have to be in residence. He could go on his merry way once he knows the truth and continue the farce of looking for me."

  "If he believed you were here of your own accord… but he doesn't believe you are. The duke sent him after you. Just whom do you think he'll believe? Me or the duke?"

  "Drat… I see your point."

  "Exactly."

  "And if he's off searching the countryside, it makes it look like you truly cannot be found, and that, my dear, makes you much safer." Lady Southridge paused her pacing and glanced to the window. When she turned her gaze back to Beatrix, her eyes were glassy, as if restraining tears.

  Beatrix swallowed whatever words she was about to say. It was easy to pretend the whole situation was a game, but in that moment she was reminded that it was, indeed, not a game.

  But far too real.

  Someone wanted something she didn't even know she had.

  There could be no mistakes.

  "I'll wear a disguise and hide in my chamber. He'll stay no more than a week, and we'll be done with the whole business," Beatrix spoke decisively.

  "I don't see how we have any other choice." Lady Southridge took a fortifying breath and squared her shoulders. "I need to return to the parlor, but I had to let you know what was taking place. Do not leave this room." She pointed at a chair, as if commanding her to sit, and then str
ode with purpose-filled steps to the door. "Oh, and before I forget the story, I told him your name is Bev, and I hired you in London as a lady's companion."

  Beatrix nodded. They had been over this.

  "And you are the widow of a sailor who was the acquaintance of Lady Compton's daughter's governess's friend."

  "Pardon?" Beatrix blinked.

  "Perhaps I went too elaborate, but I didn't want him to be able to trace anything." She placed a finger at her chin. "I'll simply have to write it down for you to memorize, just in case." She nodded then left in a flurry of skirts.

  "Lady Compton's what?" Beatrix breathed. If that story was what Lady Southridge had come up with on short notice, heaven help them all if the woman had put any amount of thought into it!

  Well, there was nothing to do but wait.

  Which surprisingly was a trait she rather prized about herself.

  It wasn't glorious, it wasn't awe-inspiring, but it was rather useful. She could wait. She could be patient and, over the years with her sisters, it had proved to serve her well more than once.

  Much to Bethanny's and Berty's chagrin.

  As her mind drifted to her sisters, her heart prickled with a pang of loneliness. Yes, she was quite smothered with love from Lady Southridge, but with sisters, it was a different type of love. There was a comradery, a give and take and all-around drama that made life so… well… not boring.

  And secure, all at once.

  It was true that her oldest sister Bethanny now had her husband, Lord Graham, but that was the rub. They had always had each other — as it should be — but Beatrix had left shortly after, and where did that leave Berty? Alone.

  Beatrix held in a chuckle at the thought of Carlotta—their guardian, the duke's wife—who had the arduous task of trying to educate Berty in the ways of a lady. Poor Carlotta was probably about to pull out her hair by this point.

  A lesser woman might not survive the whirlwind that was Berty.

  Beatrix strode to the window and placed her hand on the cool glass. As much as she missed her sisters, it was worth it to protect them.