by Sophia Nash
“Eavesdropping, Jack? It’s an art form you know. Thought you would have perfected it by now, mon vieux.”
“Evidence that this rustication in Cornwall is damaging my skills. Thank the Lord I’m for London. I’m here to inform that I leave tomorrow.” His valet’s eyes were blank.
“And?”
“And what?”
“What was in that letter from Prinny?”
“You mean the one that unearthly vixen brought with her?”
“Precisely.”
“Among other things, there was confirmation that Roman Montagu was, indeed, last seen by the docks.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Jack said, examining his manicured fingernails. “And you were there, too.”
“I absolutely was not.”
“Are you certain?”
Alex closed his eyes and breathed deep. A wisp of a memory threaded his brain. Something about Roman’s family, his brother in particular. Or maybe the father? Yes, the former Duke of Norwich. He squeezed his eyes shut harder. “No. I’m not completely certain. I’m almost certain.”
“A little doubt is absolute doubt,” Jack said, mimicking Alex’s own favorite quote.
“How convenient,” Alex said dryly. “Usually your memory is like a sieve.”
“Yes, well, you drum some things in so often I cannot be held accountable.”
“Said the purveyor of my ruin.”
“It is not my fault.” Jack’s whiny tone had been perfected over the years.
“No one will ever forget you were the one who brought the poison to the table,” Alex drawled.
“Perhaps, but I was not the one to bring it to your lips. All of you managed that very well without me. And locked me in a strong room to boot.”
“Reiteration is unoriginal. I choose not to spend the afternoon pecking like two old biddies. Come along then.” Alex motioned the way to the main hall.
“But, I should like to be an old biddy.” Jack was like a dog with a bone. Half his pleasure in life was reiteration. “In fact, I was looking forward to becoming an old biddy upon your elevation. It was the reward I had been cherishing after all these many years of hard labor under your family’s service.”
Alex sighed and began to walk to the hall. “Remind me why I hired you away from my brother.”
“I was the only one who would take you on for so little pay.”
“And?”
“And I grew bored watching your brother moon over his wife. I don’t like tending to happy gentlemen. Far too monotonous.”
“Right. You never have to worry about boredom and happiness with me.”
“Precisely,” his jaded valet concurred.
As they turned the corner to enter the grand hall, Alex remembered why he had employed Jack. He was the only man who truly amused him.
Sort of like the way Roxanne amused him, although her voice soothed instead of Jack’s high-pitched grate with a side of ingratitude. Suddenly, he decided it was well past time to return the favor to her.
It was entertaining really. The way ladies were so transparent in their sensibilities. So unlike a gentleman, Alex thought, as he sat across from Roxanne at breakfast the next morning.
The rest of the house party had deserted the room to offer their well wishes to the Duke of Sussex as he departed the Mount, along with the three youngest of Candover’s sisters, Verity, Charity, and Chastity. Even though separate carriages waited for them in Penzance, Candover had sent a brigade of chaperones for his sisters’ return to Derbyshire.
Just a few moments ago, Roxanne’s mouth had tightened just the merest bit when she had learned that Lady Mary Haverty was not returning to London with the rest of the party.
Her reaction delighted Alex.
“So,” he said, carefully choosing the choicest morsel of bacon from his rasher, “I thought we might take a small tour today if you are for it.”
“A tour?”
“Well, I do realize that if I leave you to your own devices for too long, you are apt to take matters into your own hands if the past is any indication.”
“You’re very quick.”
“What say you to a visit to Paxton Hall?” He rushed on as he saw her about to speak. “You would have to remain hidden, of course.”
“Of course,” she said gleefully. “If a chance presents itself, I would be grateful if you could nick the miniature likenesses of my mother and father. They’re inside the escritoire in the yellow room next to the library.”
He shook his head. “Are you trying to give yourself away?”
“Not at all. Lawrence doesn’t even know they are there. He hated any reminder of my father.”
“Good. I was worried you were going to ask me to ransack the rest of the place while I’m at it.”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind scaring him the tiniest bit one last time. He’s not nearly worried enough.” She took a last bite of coddled eggs. “But no. I don’t want anything else. Nothing else matters to me. The rest of it is his.”
“That your father bought and paid for.”
“Yes, but Lawrence chose it all so I don’t want it.”
“Good girl,” he said softly. “And good girls deserve their reward.”
“Reward? Care to tell me what you mean?”
“No, but I will show you when we get there.” He felt a sly smile slide into place, the one that usually made women hesitant and nervous.
She abruptly stood up, her chair squealing on its hind legs. “Let’s go straightaway.”
He stood slowly to join her. “Why do I sense an ulterior motive?”
“Well, if we don’t disappear now, look at it this way—all the females trying to marry you will return and urge some uninteresting diversion to advance their courtship ritual to fleece you.”
“You just don’t want Mary Haverty in the same room with me again. Or you want to hurry for the chance to cross to Penzance with Sussex. Which is it?”
She slowly battered her eyelids in the same fashion Mary had done in the breakfast room. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”
“Do try to curb that. It’s most unattractive.”
“Not as unattractive as the way you fawned all over her last evening. Do come along. Sussex is at this moment leaving the Mount, depriving me of the last opportunity to dote on him in front of you.”
“Well, we cannot have that now, can we?” He liked how the corner of her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
It was not hard to evade the returning group. The two of them merely disappeared out the servants’ door and circled to the front as the rest reentered the Mount. Alex and Roxanne traversed the wet shingle path toward Penzance, and despite her halfhearted effort, they never did catch up to Sussex and Candover’s three sisters.
Alex arranged for a pair and his closed barouche to be brought ’round from the stables in the village. He would not take any chance at Roxanne being discovered.
She sat across from him in a blue gown of Mémé’s that matched her lovely eyes. Her posture correct, and her hands pleated in her lap, she broke the silence after a few moments on the road. “I just thought you should know that I’m making arrangements to leave soon.”
“Are you now?”
“Yes.”
“And what has happened to your famous desire to learn why your delightful husband left you on the cliff?”
“I’ve decided to change my thinking.”
“Really. How so?”
“No matter what he says, it will not take away the sting. And it might make me feel even worse. Revenge would very likely not be as sweet as I imagined.” She looked out of the window and the sunlight lit her face. “And no matter what the reason, I will go forward with a plan to make a new life for myself. I am grown weary of waiting for it to start. Not to mention that I am also tiring of the name Tatiana.”
“I told you that you should have chosen Harriet.”
“Alex,” she said, finally turning to look at him. “My former life wa
s finished when you rescued me. I just couldn’t admit it right away. But now that I’ve had time to reflect, well—my desire for revenge is over.”
“It might be over for you, but not for me.” He liked the way she said his name.
“You’re very kind to suggest—”
“I’m not kind at all, as well you know. Gentlemen are so very simple in our thinking. Primal even. I will not have a lying, murderous clod growing weeds for a neighbor.”
She was about to open her mouth to argue with him again when he shoved a book into her lap.
“What’s this?”
“A book about dairy cows. Can’t make heads or udders over it. Young Goodsmith tells me the Mount used to have three times as many cows. I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to figure it all out. You must have maintained a dairy of some sort, and I’m certain your husband held no fascination for it save for consuming the beasts on every occasion he could. Would you be so kind as to recommend a good breed for the Mount?”
She raised her brows and sighed. “This is the worst diversionary tactic yet.”
She had the most delightful arch to her delicate eyebrow as she flipped through the pages. He moved to sit beside her, taking up all the rest of the room on the bench. “Well, we could pass the time in a more agreeable fashion.”
“Are you doing all this because you mean to take advantage of me in the end?” Her attention was snared on the pages of the book.
“You pierce my heart, Roxanne.”
She looked up at him. “Better there than somewhere lower. And please stop invading my side of the bench. Besides . . .”
“Yes?” He teased Roxanne by slowly moving closer to her.
“You will find a far more willing participant at the Mount.”
“Really?” He gave a shot at appearing as innocent as he was not. “And who would you be suggesting? Not Lady Mary Haverty perchance?”
“Of course. Finally a marriage candidate worthy of your consideration.”
“How enlightened of you. I never would have guessed you to be her champion.”
“I never lie. And I cannot deny she’s young, beautiful, witty, and will keep you on your toes, something you require greatly. Her character remains in question, of course, until you know her better, but I doubt that will matter in the end given her beauty. And Candover’s sisters adore her.”
He didn’t like the turn of the conversation so he grasped one edge of the book in her lap. “So is it to be a South Devon or a Hereford?”
A small smile curved her mouth. “Well, the South Devon is known for its excellent milk, its strength in the yoke, and many years of breeding, while the Hereford provides first-rate beef. But, if you are looking for an excellent all-around breed, I would suggest . . .” She stopped and her smile grew very wide.
“Bloody hell.” His head fell into his hands. “Don’t tell me. Really, I will never believe—”
“But the Sussex does it all. And they have the most placid of tempers despite one or two that might be a tad stubborn at times. You will love the breed.”
“No,” he said as stubbornly as a Sussex bull. “The last true Sussex left an hour ago and we’ll eat the rest of the plucked namesakes tonight.”
“It’s hard to believe you and Sussex were once great friends.”
“Well, I can assure you that our friendship is greater than ever now that he is gone.”
“Hmmm, I wonder if there are any Barry breeds. I shall have to—”
“I’ve taken a decision. I’m purchasing South Devons.”
Her smile turned mischievous, and a small feeling of warmth invaded his gut.
Alex leaned forward and kissed her oh-so briefly, so softly on the lips.
“Whyever did you do that?”
“Whyever shouldn’t I?” he murmured and then kissed her again.
“I don’t know,” she said, her expression unreadable.
“You don’t know what?”
“I don’t know why we’re driving past the entrance to Paxton Hall,” she said, straightening away from him.
It drove him wild with annoyance that his kiss did not seem to affect her. It had never failed him in the past. Then again he’d never tried so hard to please anyone. It was usually the reverse. Did his kiss mean so little that she remained fully cognizant of everything around them? He was starved to recreate the intimacy of that unbelievable night by the pond. His groin ached at the thought, but he finally mustered an answer. “I asked the driver to give us a tour of the gardens by way of the lane that passes the front of the estate.”
“You know quite a bit about Paxton Hall for someone who has never been here.”
“If you let me give you a real kiss, I shall tell you more about this overcultivated monstrosity than you know yourself.”
“Oh,” she cried, pointing to the window. “Look!”
He followed her gaze only to see for the second time in two days an enormous series of man-made holes dotting the manicured, tiered gardens on the south side of Paxton Hall. Three shovels were in evidence as were many large mounds of dirt and flowers, which all lay in higgledy-piggledy fashion, ruining the perfect symmetry that had once been the pride and joy of the plant-obsessed earl.
Roxanne bounced on the bench like a child and began to laugh until she could barely breathe. As they wended their way down the lane, past the front of the estate, she clapped a hand over her mouth.
The entire lawn, which had been maintained with military precision just a fortnight ago was now riddled with the evidence of rodents who had churned tunnels with voracious fury.
Roxanne Vanderhaven, the Countess of Paxton in truth if not in spirit, jumped into his lap, the dairy book falling to the floor. “Oh, how can I thank you?” she said, nearly choking with mirth. “I was wrong, you know.”
“About what,” he murmured.
“Revenge is sweet. Look, I know it’s evil to be so gleeful, but he had a very odd connection with that lawn.”
He lifted his brow. “You are the only woman I know who would show such gratitude over a clutch of moles.”
“But you see he loved that lawn so much that he wouldn’t let anyone set foot on it except to cut it. He had two under-gardeners whose sole occupation was to water it, weed it, and cut it with more care than his own hair. Once, he even threatened to dismember Eddie if he ever saw him near it. And to think, all you had to do was hide a false map on my dog’s collar and find a few lovely little moles. Heavens . . . this is so much better than the headstone. It’s simply brilliant. It’s—it’s,” the words spilled out so fast. “I—Oh, thank you, Alex.”
She leaned down and kissed him for all she was worth. He had to agree. Revenge was, indeed, sweet. Sweeter than anything he had ever tasted. Her fingers raked his hair, surely making a more authentic tousled effect than the one Jack insisted on foisting on him every chance he could.
That was the last thought in his rational mind as Roxanne began to explore every inch of his face with torturing little kisses. Every now and again a soft giggle would escape, and it set his body on fire for her. He was beginning to believe he would be willing to move heaven and earth to see that sort of happiness on her face every day.
Until she left, of course. Nothing ever remained the same. Change was inevitable. But he had learned to take advantage of every last morsel of goodness while it lasted. And then to put it all behind him. To forget was the only way to survive.
God. She fit so perfectly in his embrace. He loved the way her slim waist bent as he pulled her closer. He loved the way she smelled—of warm honey soap, and something maddeningly elusive.
And now his breeches were uncomfortably tight in all the obvious places. He squirmed in his seat and her pert derrière only nestled deeper into his lap. He was so close to his limit that he had the vague sense that he might for the first time in his life embarrass himself. And he hadn’t even touched her bare skin.
With a shout, the carriage stopped so abruptly that Roxanne nearly ended up
on the floor. At the last moment, Alex gripped her tight.
Who would have guessed that it would be the Earl of Paxton who would save the Countess of Paxton from finding herself in a far more precarious predicament than the one she had faced a few weeks before?
Chapter 11
“Hey, ho!” the driver shouted.
Alex glanced out the window only to see Lawrence Vanderhaven running toward the carriage by way of his ruined landscape, waving his hands in the universal signal to stop.
“Stay in here, and don’t you dare say a word or move a single blasted finger,” Alex warned her before loosening the carriage curtain from its roping. He quickly grabbed the book, opened the door, leapt from the vehicle without bothering to let down the step, and firmly closed the latch of the door.
He covered the placket of his breeches with the book and tried to think about anything except the long, slim femininity inside his barouche. He prayed that for just once, she would obey him. An obviously useless wish.
“Halloo!” The Earl of Paxton’s fast gait was disjointed and as inelegant as a goose’s waddle.
“Yes?” Alex replied as soon as the man was near.
Lawrence Vanderhaven leaned over his knees, breathing hard. “So glad I caught you. Saves me a visit.”
Alex raised his brows and waved his hand. “Love what you’ve done here.”
For the first time in many years, Roxanne was grateful to Lawrence. She was completely out of her depth with the Duke of Kress. The man scrambled her wits. She was sure he thought her a lunatic. One minute she was telling him she was leaving as cool as you please and the next she was attacking him with kisses and God knows what other silly romantic nonsense. And he appeared completely immune to her efforts.
Oh, he kissed her back, but he never let his tightly leashed emotions get involved, no matter how hard she tried. It only proved yet again what a failure she was in the game of seduction.
And her marriage had been the same. Lawrence had preferred hours spent with his plants, his books, his horticulture magazines, anything but time spent with her. And when he had come to her bed, less and less after the first year of marriage, it had been a perfunctory quarter of an hour. Then again, wasn’t that the way it was done? And yet . . . She had once spied the Paxton stable master and the scullery maid in a passionate embrace behind a hayrick one summer afternoon. It was not at all what she had experienced with Lawrence. She had assumed that sort of exuberance was considered vulgar by the upper classes.
