She tried to clear her mind as they walked. Eugenie was talking enough for both of them, idle chatter that flowed past Tessa without sinking in, although Gresham’s replies scraped across her nerves like a bow over a violin string. What could he want with them? There weren’t many possibilities, she decided. First, he might have some honest affection for Eugenie, although whence it sprang she couldn’t imagine. Second, he could wish to torment her in revenge for her remark, but this seemed far-fetched. Why would he care what a woman of no real social standing thought of him? It made no sense, so logically she discounted it.
But that cleared away the most likely reasons. Had he perhaps some connection to William? Tessa oversaw her brother’s books and knew there was no mention of any business with the Earl of Gresham. In addition, William was happily married and rarely left Wiltshire, so it was unlikely they had argued over a woman or cards. Unlike Louise, William had no desire to join the whirl of London and was only making a short visit to the city to see her settled. And if Louise had any connection to Lord Gresham, Tessa—along with the rest of the shire—would have known of it in great detail. Louise was incapable of keeping a secret, especially not one involving so delicious a person as the Earl of Gresham. From what Eugenie had recalled of the gossip about him, he was a very dashing rake, living on his charm and title and money, with a long trail of mistresses and lovers.
Tessa could easily see why—women must fall left and right for his lazy, knowing grin, when his dark eyes glittered with amusement and interest—but that only provided less connection between them. Rakes liked women of easy virtue. Scoundrels had no interest in people who were on guard against their deception. Tessa was sure she fit into neither category.
The only other possibility she could think of involved Mr. Scott’s canal, but she didn’t even know what that might be. If Eugenie’s gossip was right, he had far more money to do with as he pleased than William did. If Gresham wished to invest in the canal, Tessa knew she’d be fortunate to secure even an hour of Mr. Scott’s time again; she was already well aware that Hiram Scott’s first loyalty was to his shareholders, and securing Lord Gresham’s backing, either in pounds sterling or in a Parliamentary vote, would obscure whatever investment Tessa might counsel William to make. Mr. Scott would trample her into the dust in his haste to curry favor with an earl. The shares were effectively unlimited, so Gresham couldn’t possibly fear losing the chance to invest if she bought the shares instead. None of it made any sense at all.
“Oh look, dear,” piped up Eugenie. “Here is the coffeehouse. We ventured forth in search of it, in fact,” she told Lord Gresham. “Mrs. Neville is so fond of a cup of coffee.”
“Indeed.” He turned the full force of his dark-eyed smile on her. Unthinkingly, Tessa looked up and met it head on, almost tripping over her own feet at the warmth in his gaze. Quick as a wink, his hand was on her arm to steady her. “We share a passion, Mrs. Neville.”
The touch of his hand was a shock. His fingers curved under her elbow, strong and firm although his grip was light. For a moment she felt stunned, dazzled and weakened by the glare of his attention. Good heavens; no wonder he was a rake. Her heart skipped and her breath caught and her thoughts scattered as he smiled at her. She had only felt that way once before in her life, and it had ended so badly . . .
But this time she wasn’t a naïve young girl, reduced to speechless wonder by a man’s attention. Richard had once held her arm and smiled at her almost as warmly as Gresham did, and it was only because he wanted something from her. It was a harsh lesson, and she hadn’t forgotten it.
“I don’t want coffee anymore,” she blurted. She didn’t want anything except to get away from him. “I’m going back to the inn.”
“Oh, dear!” gasped Eugenie in comical despair.
“I hope you’re not unwell,” said Lord Gresham, a note of concern adding an extra resonance to his voice. He was still holding her arm.
Tessa jerked free. “I’m perfectly well. Good day,” she snapped, then turned and hurried off before he could do anything else, like insist on accompanying her.
The breeze was cool on her hot face as she stalked away. How dare he make sport of her? It was all fine and good for him to charm Eugenie; Eugenie was in heaven over his attentions, and Tessa felt cruel and heartless every time she denied the older woman some innocent pleasure, even from a well-born rogue of nebulous intentions. But Lord Gresham had no business trying the same flummery on her. She didn’t like him, didn’t see what he wanted from her, and she absolutely loathed that he managed to make her cross and uneasy just by turning that provocative smile on her.
There was simply no reason he should be interested in them, and it was all quite infuriating.
Chapter 6
Mrs. Bates was in despair over Mrs. Neville’s departure. “Perhaps I should go with her,” she said before the lady in question had marched more than a dozen paces away. “She may be unwell. Mrs. Neville does have such a difficult time asking for help, she’s really so very capable and clever, my lord.”
Charlie was fairly certain Mrs. Neville wanted away from him more than anything else, although he still couldn’t say why. It was animosity she displayed toward him, not unease or dismay. It was beginning to eat at his mind. What was behind it? Women always liked him. He finally threw craftiness to the wind. “I can’t help but think she’s taken me in dislike,” he said, watching her wend her way through the crowd. Her dark blue skirts swung briskly as she walked, and her straw bonnet never turned even the littlest bit to the side. If they were in London, he would have said she just gave him the cut. “Have I offended her in some way? I certainly did not intend to.”
“Why, no,” cried Mrs. Bates. “You’ve been the most proper gentleman, my lord! No, no, she merely . . .”
“Yes?” He tore his gaze from the departing figure when Mrs. Bates hesitated too long.
“She isn’t . . . quite . . . at ease in . . . society,” his companion finally said, struggling with each word. “She is too . . . forward.”
That, he could see. Mrs. Neville would be wise to practice some reserve in London, if she wished to have any standing. Especially if she planned to take many earls or similar personages into such extreme and obvious dislike. “Have my actions contributed to her unease?” he persisted. “You know her much better than I, Mrs. Bates. I should hate to have unsettled her, even without intending to.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can’t think of anything you’ve done that might have offended her!” But the older lady’s cheeks were bright pink and she wouldn’t look at him.
So there was something. “You’re being too kind, madam,” he said in gentle reproach. “I would rather hear of my failing than continue in ignorance, alienating Mrs. Neville forever.”
Mrs. Bates bit her lip and tipped her head from side to side, her face a mask of guilt and indecision. “I should not tell you this, my lord, but really—Mrs. Neville is best pleased when gentlemen treat her as they would another gentleman. She does not like flattery, or any suggestion she needs protecting. She is so enormously clever, but because she is also so lovely, gentlemen sometimes mistake her for a typical female. I’m sure I cannot understand her interest in investments and canal shares, but then I haven’t nearly the head for figures she’s got. Lord Marchmont quite depends upon her; why, I expect she knows more about running Rushwood than he does! Not that she lacks a woman’s heart,” she added quickly, as if fearing she had tarred her friend too badly. “But . . . finding a husband is far from paramount in her mind. She said she was done with that after—”
Charlie guessed from her vivid blush and sudden silence that Mrs. Bates regretted saying that last part, which only inflamed his curiosity. He wondered exactly what sort of blow Mrs. Neville had sustained to make her content to be a widow. Heartbreak? Scandal? Something worse? It really was a pity for such a beautiful woman to be alone . . .
With a star
t he realized he was unconsciously wondering what it would take to tempt her. No. He was not here to seduce Mrs. Neville—who might, he reminded himself sternly, be part of the plot to ruin him. No doubt her sharp tongue had warded off any man tempted to approach her, and any heartbreak she suffered had been as much her own doing as any man’s. If she thought him—Earl of Gresham, heir to the ancient and wealthy dukedom of Durham—indolent and unworthy, she obviously had different standards of worth than every other woman in Britain. Even if she had a luscious mouth and a lovely figure, he was not interested—intrigued and challenged, yes, but not foolhardy enough to pursue her.
Still, there was no reason not to use what he had learned. “I quite understand,” he murmured. “I shall bear your words in mind when next I meet Mrs. Neville, and treat her as I would any gentleman of my acquaintance.” He wasn’t sure how on earth he would do it—his aunt’s scolding would ring in his ears if he behaved too informally with any respectable lady—but it was an interesting thought.
Mrs. Bates beamed at him gratefully. “You are so good, my lord! Most gentlemen cannot bring themselves to do it. I am certain you shall see her thaw immeasurably.”
“May we put it to a test?” he asked, pressing his advantage. “May I call upon you tomorrow morning?”
Delight fairly bubbled out of her. “We would be honored, sir!”
Charlie smiled. “The honor would be mine, madam.” He didn’t want to act too quickly. Gerard would have already been on his horse, pistols loaded, heading for Mells to confront Scott over the blackmail letters, but somehow Charlie felt that would be the wrong approach. He wanted to know more about the man, and perhaps, if he played his hand right, Mrs. Neville would tell him. He also wanted to know more about her, for a variety of reasons. She confounded him. She intrigued him. And blast it all, he did find her attractive. Again he hoped she had nothing to do with the blackmail, because if she did . . .
There would be no reason to heed his manners regarding her.
By the time Eugenie returned to the inn, still blushing pink with pleasure, Tessa’s temper had calmed. She had told herself she was being silly and rash as she stormed up and down Frome’s crooked streets. There must be a reason for Lord Gresham’s interest, even if it was a foolish reason like boredom. It was surprising to hear him declare he had come to see Mr. Scott, when Mr. Scott hadn’t mentioned him; the man was very fond of mentioning his well-connected investors at every opportunity. Surely the Earl of Gresham would have rated at least a passing word, but perhaps his interest was new.
She had no idea what had brought him to Frome and whatever it was about her or Eugenie that had caught his eye, but she grudgingly admitted she was making a mess of things with her behavior. She had begun badly by calling him indolent. Was it better now to apologize, or to pretend it never happened? If only he wouldn’t look at her with those laughing black eyes of his. It was too much like Richard had once looked at her, before he made a complete fool of her and she ruined her life by rashly retaliating. Just as she was doing now, to her vexation. Even if Lord Gresham had some similar design upon her—and she couldn’t think of any reason why he would—she was forewarned this time, and had no intention of making the same mistake twice.
So from now on she would treat the earl, whenever they might meet again, with cool propriety and perfect manners. If he wished to escort Eugenie about town, she would not object. If he wished to call on them, she would sit quietly in the corner during his visit. If he decided to tease her again, she would simply smile and ignore it. By being prickly she was only throwing out a challenge, and he, being an idle rake and scoundrel, was naturally unable to resist needling her in turn. It was the only logical answer she could think of.
After making this resolution, she pushed the earl from her mind and sat down to write her letters. William had asked for an account of every part of the canal plan, and Tessa had dragged Eugenie out to walk along the proposed junction in Frome, where the construction was already in progress. Then Eugenie felt one of her headaches coming on, so Tessa stepped into an apothecary shop to buy some headache powder, only to emerge to find that Lord Gresham had somehow appeared in Frome, every bit as unsettling as he’d been in Bath.
No—she was falling into the same trap. She pushed the enigmatic earl from her thoughts and wrote only of the canal to William, finishing just as Eugenie let herself in. Tessa put down her pen and looked up with a smile, determined not to bedevil the older woman anymore. But her companion surprised her.
“Teresa Neville,” said Eugenie sternly, “where are your manners? Your mother would be horrified by the way you have treated Lord Gresham.”
Tessa’s mouth dropped open. “Eugenie!”
“Lord Gresham has been a perfect gentleman, and you have been abrupt and cold to him,” her companion barreled onward. “What are you thinking? I don’t expect you to delight in his attentions if you don’t care for him, but be sensible! He is a prominent, well-connected nobleman in London! Think of the reflection on your brother and your sister, and how you endanger their standing.” Eugenie paused, her sweet round face set in uncharacteristic disapproval. “What on earth do you dislike about Lord Gresham?”
Tessa sat in speechless surprise. Every word of condemnation was true, but she was shocked to hear it so vehemently from Eugenie. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I will do better.”
“I hope so!” The older lady flung off her shawl and fumbled with her bonnet. Her fingers shook, another sign of how distraught she was. “He asked to call tomorrow, and I accepted with pleasure. If you do not see the value in an amiable connection with him, I do!”
“You’re right,” said Tessa after a long hesitation.
“I am!” Eugenie’s chin went up and she looked almost fierce for a moment, but then her expression softened into confusion. She came and sat down in a nearby chair. “What did he do to make you dislike him, dear? For he has noticed your disdain, I assure you.”
Tessa rolled the pen between her fingers, feeling guilty and mortified. “It’s not really disdain. At first I thought he meant to torment me, for my impertinent remark in Bath—and well I would have earned it,” she added penitently. “I don’t disclaim that. But he doesn’t appear to be set upon that. I cannot for the life of me think why he’s so interested in us, two women far below his social standing and outside his usual circles.”
“But does it matter?” For a moment Eugenie sounded almost pleading. “He helped me when I was unwell—”
“Which was very kind of him, but he seems far more devoted than one might expect.”
“He said he was also traveling alone . . .”
“And the only company he could find was the pair of us?” Tessa raised her eyebrows. “Really; a wealthy, well-connected, eligible earl cannot find anyone to have at his table but two ladies he’s never met before?”
Eugenie bit her lip. “Then what do you suspect him of?” she asked mournfully. “For I cannot think what he hopes to gain from our acquaintance if not simple pleasure . . .”
Tessa hesitated, tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “He didn’t mention he was leaving Bath when we did; he gave every appearance of remaining in town. Now suddenly he turns up here, in the same small town we’re visiting. It just seems . . . odd. He is so attentive, Eugenie.”
“Yes,” agreed her companion, although with a faint air of being pleased instead of puzzled. “But you can find no absolute objection to him, I hope?”
She sighed. Aside from her own wary suspicions and antipathy toward all handsome, glib men, no. “I had already resolved to be more tactful. I don’t wish to antagonize him, truly I don’t, and I don’t mean to ruin your pleasure in his company.”
Eugenie beamed at her. “He’s to call tomorrow morning. I think you would find him charming, Tessa dear, as I do, if only you won’t think him the same sort as that vile man we don
’t mention.” She whispered the last, as she always did when mentioning Richard Wilbur. Tessa managed a tight smile. Trust Eugenie to say it out loud, as if confirming the similarities.
“I’m sure Lord Gresham couldn’t possibly be that odious.” No one could be, really, in her opinion. “And in the future I shall be faultlessly polite to him,” she promised.
And she was. When Lord Gresham appeared the next day, she smiled and curtsied and made all the correct responses. Then she sat back to listen quietly and politely as Eugenie chattered his ears off. To her relief, Lord Gresham did not turn his provocative half smile upon her; in fact he hardly looked at her at all, and when he did so it was with a direct, open gaze that she found impossible to dislike. Gradually, she found herself drawn into the conversation, especially when it turned toward the canal.
The earl, it turned out, had much the same purpose she had. “I plan to drive out soon and see Mr. Scott,” said Lord Gresham. “Someone put his name to me as the man to see about the canal.”
“Why, Mrs. Neville has an appointment with him this very day,” exclaimed Eugenie. “What a coincidence!”
“Today!” He looked at her in surprise.
“Yes,” said Tessa politely. “This afternoon.”
“Perhaps we can drive together,” he said. “It seems ridiculous for each of us to hire a carriage and negotiate these beastly roads.”
“Oh yes,” burst out Eugenie as Tessa hesitated. “How very kind of you, sir! I was so worried about her driving to Mells, with the roads the way they are in this country. Shameful, that’s what they are! It would be such a relief to me to know she wasn’t alone.”
He grinned. “Now, Mrs. Bates, you’re fretting over nothing. It’s only a few miles to Mells. Even if the carriage came completely apart, one could walk to either town for help.”
“Not if she were thrown from the carriage and seriously injured!” She turned to Tessa. “Do say you will allow His Lordship to accompany you.”
The Way to a Duke's Heart: The Truth About the Duke Page 8
