Tempting a Proper Lady

by Debra Mullins

  “His misdeeds were not yours. You simply married the wrong man.”

  “I chose the wrong man. You did not choose to be born out of wedlock. I admit I am partly to blame for my misery of a marriage. But you had no choice at all.”

  “Tell that to the fellows who thought it would be fun to dunk the little bastard’s head in the horse trough.”

  She winced. “I would have assumed your mother would have told you something about your father. His name at least.”

  “Well, she didn’t. Maybe he was such a sorry piece of scum that she thought it would make matters worse.” He finished off his glass of wine and reached for the bottle again.

  Cilla touched his arm. “I apologize if I overstepped. Shall we change the subject?”

  He remained with his fingers on the bottle for a long moment while he studied her face. Then he dropped his hand. “What shall we change it to? The weather? The latest gossip?”

  “Anything more cheerful than our mutual unhappy pasts.” She raised her glass, then sipped her wine.

  He grinned at her, and this time she could tell it was genuine. “I have an idea. After dinner, let’s play a game.”

  Her heart fluttered in her chest at the devilish gleam in his eyes. “What kind of game?”

  “Chess.”

  “Chess!” She laughed. “I thought you meant something much more scandalous.”

  “Can you play chess?”

  “I can, actually. My father taught both me and Genny. Mama never liked it so Gen and I were his best opponents.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to our match.”

  Still smiling, she lifted her wineglass again. “You are certainly full of surprises, Samuel. Are you not concerned about being bested by a woman?”

  “Not at all. I happen to be an excellent chess player. Many’s the time I’ve whiled away the hours on board ship with a good game of chess.”

  “Then we should be well matched.”

  “I agree. Though I have never played naked chess before, so this should prove interesting.”

  She choked on a sip of wine, clasping her hand to her chest. “What?”

  “Naked chess.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I look forward to thinking up unusual methods to distract the opposition.”

  That newly discovered playful part of her came to the fore and pushed aside the proper lady. Stretching her arms above her head, she noticed with satisfaction the way his gaze dropped to her bare breasts. She gave him a smile that she hoped was inviting. “I might have a few distractions of my own.”

  His slow, sensual smile made her stomach flip. “I’ve always loved a challenge.”

  Chapter 15

  Annabelle ducked her head down behind the bushes, shutting her journal as the footsteps drew closer. She did not want to see anyone. Sometimes she liked to be alone, to scribble her thoughts in the book her mother had given her when they’d first learned of Samuel’s disappearance. Her mama had hoped that writing down her feelings would help with the pain. And it had, at least at first. But then her thoughts had taken on a life of their own, and now she craved isolation whenever she wrote down the fancies her imagination created.

  This corner of the garden had proven to be the perfect place. The small grotto was hidden from the walkway by the tall hedges, and all it contained was the stone bench on which she sat. Sometimes the servants passed by on their way to fetch flowers for the dinner table. When that happened, she stayed very still and quiet, hoping whoever was out there would pass by, ignorant of her presence.

  This evening, footsteps along the path and the hushed murmur of female voices alerted her to the fact that she was not alone.

  “Are you certain?” a woman hissed. Annabelle recognized the voice as belonging to Melly, the upstairs maid. She peered between the hedges and confirmed her suspicions.

  “My Tom heard it at the tavern last night. ’Tis the honest truth.” The other girl—a scullery maid named Gladys—marched alongside Melly. “The girl had been working at Raventhorpe Manor only two months before she bolted.”

  “Are you certain she bolted?” Melly stopped to examine a scraggly pink rose on a nearby bush.

  “What other explanation is there? I’ve worked for His Lordship’s family for nearly a decade. All his servants are fiercely loyal to him.”

  “A decade, is it? I’ve worked here in this village for nearly twenty years, Gladys, and I can tell you that there have been times the people around here have doubted His Lordship.”

  Gladys gasped. “Doubted him! How could you say such a thing?”

  “Well, what do you think?” Melly snapped. “A fetching young maid has disappeared from Raventhorpe Manor. Why would any girl willingly leave a position where she lives in a fine house and makes a good wage? It’s not the first time I’ve heard of pretty women disappearing from this area.”

  “I bet the tart shared his bed,” Gladys said. “Got with child and tried to blackmail His Lordship into wedding her. Well, he showed her, didn’t he? Probably turned her out on the street without notice.”

  “Then why has she not returned home? No, I don’t think that’s what happened at all.” Melly glanced around her, then lowered her voice. “When I was a girl, we heard tales around the village. Tales about the old lord and how young women disappeared from his properties. Young pretty women, never to be seen again.”

  “Oh, certainly that’s an old wives’ tale.”

  “Perhaps. But strange how it’s happening again now that the new earl is in residence.”

  “Melly, what are you saying? That His Lordship is making these girls disappear?”

  “I don’t know. But over the years there have been stories. Young Nell is not the first girl to vanish from the area without anyone knowing what happened to her. And I can’t help but remember the stories I heard about old Lord Raventhorpe. The liking he had for young, comely girls—some of them barely old enough to be considered grown.”

  “Even if his father was the worst sort of lech, that doesn’t mean the son has followed in his footsteps.”

  “No,” Melly said. “I fear the son may be far worse.” She let out a long sigh. “Let’s check the other side of the garden. I don’t think these roses have been getting enough sun.”

  As the servants headed off down the pathway, Annabelle turned back around on the bench. Her heart pounded. They spoke of Lord Raventhorpe—her fiancé—as if he were guilty of some terrible crime. And was he? One thing she had learned, thanks to Mrs. Burke, was that the servants often knew more about what went on in people’s houses than the home owners themselves. So what did they know about Richard?

  A shiver rippled through her, and she clasped her arms around herself, fighting the growing disquiet that welled within her. She had noticed Richard’s distraction of late. His short temper, his reluctance to discuss their future married life. And now all this talk of young women disappearing from the village. The notion that Richard might be responsible for the rumored disappearances was simply ridiculous. He thought way too much of his title and his position in society to endanger them with anything underhanded or illegal. She was certain he had nothing to do with the young women vanishing. Most probably they had run off for their own reasons, and the speculation among the servants was simply that—unfounded theories based on gossip and hearsay. Everyone loved a good story.

  Nonetheless, the chatter had done nothing to quell her own growing unease. Lately she had gotten the distinct feeling that Richard’s regard for her was dwindling, even though he kept talking of moving up the wedding date. Her mother would not allow any such thing, of course, fearing speculation about the necessity of a speedy wedding, but still Richard continued to suggest that they might want to change their wedding date, which was two weeks from now, and get married earlier. His impatience would have thrilled her had she believed its cause to be his great passion for her, but she knew it was not. Therefore she could only determine that his eagerness came from his urgent need for funds.

 
She knew he was marrying her for her fortune. Country girl she might be, but that didn’t mean she was completely oblivious to the way the world worked. But was it so terrible to expect your future husband to at least like you before you joined your lives together?

  Darn it, why couldn’t he just ask her for the money and do away with all this tension?

  She bit her lip as she considered the question. Arrogance came to mind. Or did he think her so conceited that she would not wed him if she knew how badly he needed her dowry? Didn’t he realize that she would stand by her husband, no matter what? Or maybe he just thought she was one of those fluff-brained women who didn’t think of anything else but fashion and hairstyles?

  The idea that he might think her a fool stung her pride. Back in America, plenty of men had assumed that a pretty face and kind heart meant an empty head. Samuel had never made that assumption, which was one of the reasons she had accepted his marriage proposal. She was not a china doll who would smile adoringly when her husband deigned to pay attention to her. She intended to be a partner to the man she married, just as her mama had always been to her pa. She was a hardy American girl, the daughter of people who wrested their living from the bare soil of the earth. If Richard thought she would easily turn her back on her own nature, he had another think coming.

  She jerked to her feet, sending her journal tumbling to the ground. She scooped it up, then began to march back toward the house. Perhaps she had been too hasty in rejecting Samuel when he’d returned. While she still wanted the social prestige that came with marrying an earl, she could not deny that she wanted to be happy, too. And how could she be happy with a man who had so many shadows in his past? A man who refused to confide in her, yet expected her to vow herself into his keeping for all time?

  Samuel had always been honest with her, even when the truth had not been pleasant to hear. Yes, he had disappeared for two years, then returned with a crazy story about Richard trying to kill him. She had been angry at Samuel for being gone—irrational, to be sure, and that anger and hurt had only made her more determined to marry Richard when Samuel had reappeared.

  She realized now the childishness of her reasoning. She still wanted to achieve social prestige so her mama could have the fancy New York social life she craved, but did she want that at the cost of marrying a man who could not share his secrets with her? What if Richard really had tried to kill Samuel? Then again, what if Samuel had raised all these questions out of simple competition? She didn’t think it was out of jealousy. Samuel had never professed his love for her. Not once. Then again, neither had Richard.

  Did either man love her, even a little?

  She shook her head, dizzy from all the questions flying around her mind. Samuel’s claims about Richard. Richard’s claims about Samuel. The maids speculating about the disappearing women. Her doubts about Samuel’s motives. Her own instincts that were telling her something was wrong in her relationship with her betrothed.

  She stopped just outside the door to the house and covered her face with her hand. She needed to regain control of herself before she went inside. Her mother had a nearly supernatural instinct to realize when her daughter was distressed, and Annabelle did not want to answer any probing questions until she had recovered her equilibrium. She needed advice, but she wanted to avoid her mother’s emotional reactions to bad news.

  Perhaps Mrs. Burke could help her.

  Relief washed over her. Mrs. Burke was a widow, and she knew all the parties involved. Surely she would have some words of wisdom as to what the next step should be. She was the only one, other than Mama, who would be able to help Annabelle decide if she had chosen the right husband.

  Some of the worry receded, and she opened the door.

  All these years, she had been living only half a life.

  Alone in her room back at Nevarton Chase, Cilla stripped off her gloves and then slowly untied her bonnet. Every movement seemed more vivid now that she had become so much more aware of her body. Every nerve ending tingled. A delicious languor lingered in her muscles, and she found herself smiling about nothing at all.

  She walked to the bureau and poured some water into the basin, then looked up to meet her own gaze in the mirror hanging there. She looked mostly the same as when she had left the house that morning, except for the new awareness lingering in her eyes. Anyone could attribute the flush on her cheeks to a harmless cause, but that knowing gleam spoke of carnal knowledge learned and enjoyed.

  Perhaps if she and Samuel had not engaged in the chess game, if there had been some time between their last coupling and John’s arrival, the change in her might not be so obvious. But with both of them making exaggerated attempts to distract the other, they had soon ended up on the floor beside the hearth making love again. Afterward while they had lingered in each others’ arms, they had heard the coach on the road outside and had been forced to flee to the bedchamber to regain some semblance of decency before John knocked on the door.

  John knew what had happened between them, of course. She had seen the flicker of it in his face before he masked it, and her cheeks burned with chagrin even now. He had acted the gentleman—so much more than a mere servant, that one—and said nothing as she and Samuel had climbed into the coach to begin the journey back to Nevarton Chase.

  Samuel had held her in his arms most of the way, brushing kisses upon her temple, but as the lights of the manor appeared on the horizon, he had moved to the seat across from her.

  “We will meet again on your next free afternoon,” he had said. “Unless my plan against Raventhorpe works and the wedding is called off.”

  The reminder of the wedding had jolted her from the sensual daydream she had been weaving in her mind. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve bought all Raventhorpe’s gaming markers, and he knows it. I’ve told him I’ll demand payment if he proceeds with the wedding and forgive them if he walks away from Annabelle. Any sane man would accept the deal.”

  “Or he might move up the date of the wedding in the hopes that Annabelle’s portion would satisfy the debt.”

  His sigh had echoed through the carriage even over the crunching of the wheels over the graveled drive of Nevarton Chase. “There is that. We will have to hope that he wants to rid himself of debt more than he wants an heiress as his bride.”

  “Which do you think he will choose?”

  “My dear lady, that is anyone’s guess.”

  A knock at her bedroom door jerked her out of her memory and back to the present. She stared wide-eyed at herself in the mirror for a moment as she collected herself, then called, “Come in.”

  The door eased open, and Annabelle peeked around the edge of it. “Mrs. Burke, I’m so glad you’re back.”

  “Come in, Annabelle. I am simply freshening up before dinner.” Seizing a moment for herself, Cilla splashed water on her face, then with her eyes closed she grabbed the towel by feel and dried her skin. She heard the door close, and the soft shuffle of skirts told her that Annabelle had entered the room.

  “I know I shouldn’t be bothering you on your free day,” Annabelle said, plopping down on the edge of the bed, “but you’re the only one I can talk to about this.”

  Cilla set the towel aside and turned to face Annabelle. “You know you can tell me anything, but I am surprised you have not gone to your mother with whatever is bothering you.”

  “I don’t want to upset her. She’s so weepy these days over the wedding and all.” Annabelle traced one of the narrow black stripes on the skirt of her pretty pea green dress.

  Cilla sat down in the chair by her writing desk. “Tell me what is troubling you.”

  “It’s Richard.”

  “What about him?”

  “I don’t know if he really likes me.”

  The girl’s plaintive whisper brought instant sympathy to the fore. Words of reassurance bubbled to her lips, but Cilla stopped them just as she remembered that she was supposed to encourage the girl to second guess her engagement t
o the earl, not advocate the match.

  Apparently her own newly found contentment was urging her to make sure everyone else was happy as well.

  “Perhaps you are misinterpreting his demeanor,” she said. “Lord Raventhorpe is a member of the peerage and can be quite high in the instep.”

  “It’s not just that. I mean, sometimes he does tend to treat me like I’m not as good as he is because I’m American, but that’s not the real problem. I know he’s marrying me for my money. I just don’t know if he knows that I know.”

  “I imagine the subject is not one you have discussed.”

  “No, I’ve been too afraid to bring it up. He thinks I’m pretty, I suppose, but I get the feeling he would marry me even if I looked like one of the plow horses in the fields as long as Pa’s fortune goes with me. But is that all he thinks of me? That I am pretty and rich? Doesn’t he want to know if I am smart or funny or kind or anything else a man might want in a wife?”

  “You already said you believe he is wedding you for your fortune.”

  “I know he is.” She lowered her voice and looked down at her hands. “I guess I just thought he would eventually fall in love with me…even just a little.”

  Sympathy washed over Cilla as she studied at the girl’s bent head. She wanted to comfort her, but she also did not want Annabelle wed to a man who might harm her. “I am certain you realize that love is not something that is taken into consideration by the upper classes where marriage is concerned. Very often two people marry for other reasons that have more to do with fortunes than with hearts.”

  Annabelle looked up. “Your sister said much the same thing to me two nights ago at the Collingwood affair. But I thought she was simply being mean.”

  Curse your sharp tongue, Genny. “Perhaps she was simply trying to help you avoid a broken heart.”

  “So it’s true then? Richard might really feel nothing for me? Nothing at all?”