She froze, the candlelight illuminating the widening of her eyes. Shadows flickered in the corners of the room.
“How could I know such a thing? I play my violin, and that is all.”
He strode up to her, but she did not give way, only stared up at him. The scent, the heat of her was beyond distracting, but he forced himself to continue.
“Are you quite certain you can tell me nothing, Miss Lovell?”
“If our guardian were found guilty of some crime, what happens to me and my sister? Are you willing to shelter us indefinitely?”
Morgan shook his head. “That’s a rather unreasonable request. I have no obligation toward you.”
“Of course not.” Her mouth twisted. “You’re barely giving us one evening beneath your roof.”
“Arriving on my doorstep in the middle of the night is highly irregular.”
Damnation, he sounded so staid. But even though he’d refused her, tongues would wag. The best solution—for both their reputations—would be to remove the Lovell sisters from Trevethwick House posthaste.
Particularly since Jessamyn seemed determined to say nothing damaging about her guardian. And perhaps she had nothing to tell him, after all. Which put them all in a rather awkward position.
“Then I must hope that the new day offers some solution,” she said. “Good night, my lord.”
“Indeed.” He handed her the candle. “Morning will be here all too soon. Good night.”
She took the light, then turned away and slipped into the hall. He stood in his darkened doorway, watching the sphere of gold move away from him, his thoughts knotted with frustration.
She would tell him nothing, and represented a nearly impossible problem.
Now that he had seen her naked, had held her lush body close to his, he could never undo that knowledge. Or the desire for her that, he feared, had embedded itself deeply—as if she were a painful, nearly invisible sliver beneath his skin that pricked him with every movement, impossible to remove.
***
The next morning, Jessa woke when Louisa got out of bed. Her sister swept open the curtain, letting light into the room. Disorientation washed over Jessa as her eyes focused sleepily on the elegant furnishings, and then memory returned with a thud.
She had failed.
Despite her best efforts at seduction, the earl had turned her away. Her throat tightened with fear. What now?
She’d told him the truth, that she had no intention of going out and finding another man who would take her on as his mistress. It had been all she could do to gather her courage enough to try with Morgan, who, she had to admit, set her senses alight with desire. But she could not muster the will to attempt to ensnare anyone else.
Yet she might not have another choice. She had her music, and she had herself. Such little coin to spend in the uncaring streets of London.
She had come so close to telling Morgan what she knew of Mr. Burke’s doings. And yet the letter promising to send Louisa to the asylum was still engraved in her memory. Even worse, Mr. Burke could still force her sister to wed, up until the point he was found guilty and his guardianship dissolved. Which would be long enough to do irreparable harm.
Her breath caught on the edge of a sob. The earl had no reason to offer them his protection, and had said as much.
Oh, if only she had been able to find proof of Mr. Burke’s blackmailings! She might have been able to bargain that information in exchange for a safe haven. But her word against Mr. Burke’s, lacking all proof, was far too weak. The stark fact was that their guardian still had every claim to them, and if he were taken, would do his utmost to destroy both Louisa and herself.
She could not take that risk.
“Are you awake?” Louisa jumped back onto the bed, already dressed, and gave her a bright-eyed look. “Can we go explore?”
“Not without the earl’s permission.”
“Can we ask him now?”
Jessa wanted to burrow back beneath the soft sheets and hide from the day—but she could not let Louisa careen unescorted about Trevethwick House.
“We will see him at breakfast.” With a deep breath, Jessa sat up. “You may help me dress, and we will fix one another’s hair.”
It was enough of a distraction, and the time passed readily enough until the maid came to summon them to the breakfast room. She was the same girl who had taken them to their room the previous night, and gave Jessa an arch look, as if to scold her for thinking she could seduce the master of the house. Jessa sent her a rueful frown in return.
Oblivious to the undercurrents, Louisa exclaimed over the pretty vase full of peonies in the hall, the lush landscapes in ornate frames, and the thickness of the carpet beneath their feet.
“Imagine, a room only for eating breakfast in!” Louisa said, as the maid opened the white door.
“Sometimes they take tea there, as well,” the maid said.
Louisa all but skipped inside, while Jessa followed more slowly. The room was filled with sunshine, and bright flowers nodded just outside the mullioned windows. A medium-sized table was set with china, and a serving board on the right side of the room held an array of covered dishes, a plate of toast, a gleaming jar of marmalade, and fresh strawberries.
The earl rose from the head of the table, his expression set in its usual severe lines. His aunt was seated on his right, wearing an emerald and scarlet robe embroidered with gold dragons. Her gray-brown hair was uncoiffed, and a trifle wild looking in the strong morning sun. She gave the sisters a curious, if not unkind, look.
“Good morning,” the earl said. “Miss Jessamyn, you have already met my aunt, Lady Agatha. And this is your sister, I presume?”
“I’m Louisa,” her sister said, before Jessa could make a more formal introduction. “And I’m rather hungry.”
The aunt let out a snort of laughter. “An honest girl, at any rate. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear. Now, come sit by me and we will have the servants fill your plate posthaste. Do you take cream in your tea?”
“Yes, and lots of sugar.” Louisa rounded the table and settled beside Morgan’s aunt. “My sister doesn’t let me suck the sugar cubes,” she confided.
“It’s bad for your teeth,” Lady Agatha said, nodding. “But when you grow as old as I am, you may suck all the sugar cubes you like.”
“Miss Lovell.” The earl, still standing, gestured to the chair on his left.
Jessa hastily walked past him, then took the indicated seat. One of the hovering servant men scooted her chair in and draped a napkin across her lap. It was rather unnerving, though Louisa appeared unconcerned. Of course, her sister’s nature was not one given to worry or despair, as her animated conversation with Morgan’s aunt showed.
Jessa shot a glance across the table. She was relieved that Lady Agatha seemed to find Louisa charming, but that was no guarantee of their safety.
Unsmiling, Morgan motioned to the servant to fill her teacup. She nodded her thanks, then squeezed a bit of lemon into the dark brew. Unlike Louisa, she was not overfond of diluting her tea.
“I have been discussing your plight with my aunt,” he said. “It’s my understanding there are institutions that take in women in distress—”
“And you know precisely how I feel about such places,” his aunt cut in. “I was not in favor of shuffling our guests off to one before, and I most certainly am not now. Particularly since I understand a bit more about their predicament, and Miss Louisa’s sunny nature.” She patted Louisa’s hand. “Really, Morgan, you cannot in good conscience boot them out.”
The earl leaned toward Jessamyn and lowered his voice. “Has your sister always been thus?”
“Yes. She is a lovely, simple girl.” A delight and a burden all at once.
“I see how that makes things more difficult for you.” He looked at Louisa, his face thoughtful. “Especially in light of your guardian’s plans for her.”
At least he understood that much. Jessa took a bite of toast,
the marmalade sweet and tangy against her tongue. They had an ally in his aunt, but Morgan was the one who held their fate in his hands.
“I must protect her,” Jessa said. “She has no one else.”
His gaze returned to her, his pale eyes studying her face. “It explains much about your insistence last night.”
Heat crept into her cheeks.
“It was not only for Louisa’s sake,” she said.
“I would hope not.” His tone was dry. “Still, the question remains. What shall I do with the two of you?”
She took another bite of toast, glad to see that Louisa was heartily consuming her eggs and sausage. No matter what happened, they would have a satisfactory breakfast to carry them through the day. It might be the last good meal they ate for some time.
“A pity you’re not in need of a governess, or a nursemaid,” Lady Agatha said.
“Not yet—or for a long while,” he said.
His aunt shook her head. “You’ll be filling up a nursery soon enough, my boy. Lady Anne will be eager to bear you children.”
Jessa froze, a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. Lady Anne. Of course. Lord Dearborn’s daughter, and the girl Morgan had paid marked attention to at his musicale. Jessa had not attended closely enough to the gossip rags this past week—but she ought to have. It seemed the Earl of Silverton was on the verge of proposing to the beautiful Lady Anne.
Appetite gone, she set her fork down on the plate. No wonder he had spurned her advances. He was in love with another woman. Ah, she had been a fool.
“We will seek refuge with the Magdalenes.” She forced the words out. There was no place for them here, at Trevethwick House.
“And when your dastard of a cousin comes to fetch you home, what then?” Lady Agatha asked. “He is your legal guardian, is he not?”
Mutely, Jessa nodded, her eyes fixed on the gleaming silver sugar bowl.
“Miss Louisa tells me he wishes her to marry an evil old goat,” the older lady continued. “And separate the two of you. Is this correct?”
“I would not say Sir Dabbage is evil,” Jessa replied. “But he did not strike me as a kind man.”
“You see.” Lady Agatha addressed her nephew. “The only thing to do is take them in.”
“And when their legal guardian comes, demanding their return, what then?” he asked.
“Then you boot him out on his arse!”
Louisa giggled at the profanity, but the earl firmed his lips. “We have no excuse to keep them.”
“Yet.” Lady Agatha tapped her cheek thoughtfully. “Give me a few days, Morgan. Let the girls stay here, and I shall see what I can do.”
Jessa stared at her across the table. What could Lady Agatha possibly do?
“Oh, don’t look so astonished,” the older woman said, catching Jessa’s gaze. “I was once very well connected, and I still have a favor or two owing.”
“Aunt.” The earl’s voice was cold. “There must be no hint of scandal about this whatsoever.”
She waved her beringed hand at him, the colorful gems sparkling in the sunshine. “You fret far too much about respectability. Leave it to me.”
“I fret with reason,” he said. “Promise me.”
She let out a breath, but her expression became more serious. “I would not compromise what you’ve worked so hard for this past decade. But still, these ladies are in need of our aid.”
“So, you will keep us?” Louisa asked, her lips red from biting on a strawberry.
Jessa leaned forward, hope pushing against her chest. Please.
The earl glanced at Louisa, then let his gaze settle on Jessa. He regarded her for a long moment. Though his face remained impassive, something stirred in his eyes—the heat of desire, and a flash of yearning.
He folded his napkin and set it aside, then rose, suddenly seeming very tall. The sunbeams gilded his hair with gold, and Jessa was reminded of the candlelight playing over his bare skin. And the feel of his body pressed against hers.
“You may remain at Trevethwick House,” he said. “For a few days more.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
That afternoon, the maid—whom Jessa had learned was named Betts—came and knocked on their door to summon them to tea in the parlor.
“Doesn’t the earl have guests at the moment?” Jessa asked.
She had spent well over an hour staring out the window, trying desperately to think of a solution, to no avail. During that time, two carriages had arrived. One with the Dearborn crest, which disgorged two fashionably dressed ladies, and another plain black one that left a blond gentleman on the doorstep.
“Yes,” Betts said. “Lady Dearborn and Lady Anne are here, and milord’s cousin.”
“Then it’s not necessary for us to attend,” Jessa said, her stomach knotting at the thought. “We are hardly the kind to take tea with the lords and ladies.”
Louisa set down her sketchpad, which showed an awkward drawing of a horse. “Please, Jessa? I am famished.”
“Lady Agatha expressly told me your presence is desired,” the maid said.
“Will there be cakes?” Louisa asked.
“Cakes, and scones with cream, and sandwiches,” Betts said. “It’s a lovely tea, if I might say so.”
Jessa frowned at the girl, but the maid only gave her an impish grin.
“We must go.” Louisa turned to Jessa, her hands clasped. “It sounds delicious. And Lady Agatha said we were to come.”
“I’ll help you freshen up.” Betts went to the dresser and fetched the silver-backed hairbrush that had belonged to their mother, then began fixing Louisa’s hair.
Jessa let out a long breath. Surely the earl did not wish them to come to tea. He favored propriety above all things—and seating the Gypsy Violinist and her odd sister across from some of the most fashionable ladies of the ton was courting social disaster.
But his aunt had insisted.
At least she and Louisa had gowns that would do—though for only one event. They had just enough room in their bags to bring a single change of clothing, and each of them had selected their best gown. Tomorrow they’d be back to wearing the dark walking dresses they had arrived in.
“You look lovely,” Betts said, smoothing the top of Louisa’s hair. She shot a glance at Jessa. “Ready, miss?”
“I suppose I am.” She tidied her own coiffure and shook out her skirts, silk striped in teal and ivory.
The dress made a soft hushing sound as they descended the stairs, but it was not enough to soothe Jessa’s mind. A pall of worry settled over her the closer they came to the parlor.
Betts showed them into the room, an elegant space done up in shades of gold and apricot. The earl and his guests were seated in the center of the parlor, and upon their entrance the two gentlemen rose. Lady Agatha sprang to her feet as well, and came to take Louisa’s hand.
“Here they are,” she said. “The granddaughters of Viscount Trenton, whom, as I mentioned, are staying with us for a time.”
Lady Anne blinked and opened her mouth, then shot a glance at her mother.
“I declare!” Lady Dearborn was not as hesitant as her daughter. “But isn’t that Miss Lovell?”
Jessa gave the woman her best curtsy, and Louisa followed suit.
“Yes,” Lady Agatha said. “I am pleased to introduce Miss Jessamyn and Louisa Lovell.”
“Well, I…” Lady Dearborn was clearly at a loss.
“My visitors are Lady Dearborn and her daughter, Lady Anne,” Morgan said smoothly, stepping into the awkward silence. “And this fellow here is my cousin, Mr. George Fielding.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the young man said. His eyes were alight with curiosity, but he glanced at the earl and said nothing.
“Come, sit.” Lady Agatha led Louisa to the divan, and the two of them settled there cozily. There was not quite room for Jessa.
“Miss Lovell?” The earl held a chair for her, set at an angle that would allow Lady Dearborn to direct sneers at her
all afternoon. But there was no help for it.
Dipping her head in thanks, she perched on the apricot silk of the wingback chair and fixed a smile upon her face. Lady Anne moved her knees away from Jessa and toward the earl’s fair-haired cousin.
The conversation swirled about, and Jessa had very little to contribute except for an “ah” or a pressing together of her lips. Lady Dearborn steered the talk to the details of various events her daughter and the earl had attended recently. There were a good many: riding in Hyde Park, boating, an opera performance. It seemed the Earl of Silverton was paying quite assiduous court to the lovely Lady Anne.
Betts and another maid arrived with the tea trolley, and Lady Agatha poured out with the ease of long practice. Louisa fell gleefully upon the lemon cake and fruit tarts, which prompted a haughty eyebrow raise from Lady Dearborn.
“Your sister is rather an… enthusiastic young woman,” she said to Jessa.
“She’s never been one to curtail her enjoyment,” Jessa replied. “I think a free and open heart is a great gift.”
“I suppose. If one knows how to temper it properly.” Lady Dearborn looked down her nose at Jessa. “Of course, that takes a certain amount of breeding.”
Jessa felt her cheeks flush at the insult.
“Yet too much pedigree can have rather the opposite effect,” Lady Agatha said. “Everyone’s life should have moments of unfettered joy. I pity those who cannot feel it.”
She sent the earl a look, as though she were speaking of him.
Jessa glanced at Morgan, remembering his smile gleaming in the moonlight as they galloped over the green. Remembering the passion in his kiss. She did not share Lady Agatha’s opinion that the earl was entirely joyless. It was simply that he buried such emotion so deep as to be nearly undetectable.
What had made him so contained?
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