The Scandalous Lady Mercy: The Baxendale Sisters

by Maggi Andersen

  She trusted him now as she never had before. Grabbing handfuls of his silky hair, their panting breaths mingled, his sweet with champagne. Insatiable curiosity mixed with desire made her sob and cry out, eager for some inexplicable tantalizing release that hovered out of reach.

  * * *

  “Good morning, sleepy head.” Grant leaned his head on his hand beside her. “Did you sleep well?”

  She gave him a lazy smile that warmed his blood. “Yes, did you?”

  He had woken again in the early hours and watched his charming wife sleep. Her delicate beauty enthralled him, her thick lashes fluttering on her creamy cheeks. He had been drawn to her the night he first saw her, he remembered. But he’d never imagined this. It was more than the lust he’d had for other lovers, or even the affection he’d felt for them. His heart banged against his ribs as he gazed down at her. Despite admiring her independent spirit, he was frustrated that she continually fought him when he merely wished to protect her. It suddenly became of vital importance that she loved him, and more than that, esteemed him.

  Mercy’s unaffected curiosity last night promised an exciting love life. He wanted to make love to her again knowing the first time was never the best for a woman, but her body needed to heal. And it didn’t seem right with what he must now tell her. “Hungry, my sweet?”

  She sat up, the sheet falling away from her full breasts sending another flash of desire through him.

  “I am a little.” Shy, she grabbed at the sheet. “Would you mind pulling the bell rope?”

  Grant leaned his head back on his forearm and smiled at her. “I confess I am so snug here, I don’t yet want to get up. Perhaps you could?”

  Her pretty face clouded and she glanced across at her dressing gown over the back of a chair on the other side of the chamber. Her nightgown was somewhere on the floor. She bit her lip and slowly shook her head.

  He chuckled. “No?”

  She laughed and folded her arms across those breasts he ached to touch.

  “Ah. A pity. You are wonderfully decorative.” He threw back the blankets and jumped from the bed, strolling across the carpet to pull the bell.

  He turned to find her watching him.

  She shook her head. “I’ve never seen a naked man before. I shall never wish to see another, only you.”

  Grant grinned. “Unsurprisingly, I want that too.” He brought Mercy her dressing gown, deciding not to join her in bed again; the temptation to make love would be impossible to resist. His mind already struggled for the most prudent way to tell her. But in truth, there was nothing he could say to soften the fact that he was about to leave.

  When he bent to kiss her, she coiled her arms around his neck and pulled him down, pressing her sweet mouth to his. “I mean it. You are beautiful,” she whispered.

  Charmed by her sweet words, he fought against desire, easing up and away from her. “Nonsense. Women are beautiful. You are beautiful. Men are all muscle, tendons, skin and bone.”

  At the knock on the door, he snatched up his banyan and slipped it on, sliding his feet into his slippers. “Come.”

  A footman entered carrying a loaded tray. He placed two cups and saucers, a rack of toast, butter, preserves, and a pot of chocolate on a table, opened the curtains, tended the fire, then left them.

  “A dainty breakfast for my lady,” Grant said. “I shall eat in the breakfast room. I require something more robust.”

  “Are you riding this morning? I’d like to join you.”

  He came back to the bed and took her hand. “Sweetheart,” he began, his eyes capturing hers, “I must leave you for a while today. Important business has called me away.”

  Mercy frowned and pulled her hand from his. She drew her dressing gown closer. “For how long?” Her choked voice made him want to unburden himself. But he’d sworn an oath to the Crown that he considered sacred. And he wasn’t sure what Mercy would do if he did tell her.

  “A few days at most. I shall return as soon as I can…I hate leaving you, sweetheart, please believe me. Our first night together was glorious. It was perfect.”

  “Are you going to London?” she asked in a cool voice. She climbed down from the bed and tied the ribbons on her dressing gown, shutting away her body from him, and he feared, her heart.

  “No. North. Grandfather will be as cross with me as you are.”

  “I doubt that.” She sat on one of the chairs upholstered in pink satin and poured chocolate into cups.

  He sat and drank the thick brew although he preferred coffee. “I can only say that it’s something I must do. I have no choice in the matter.”

  “Hope’s husband, Daniel, was a diplomat, but I never did learn much about that.”

  He managed a smile. “I hope you find it in your heart to believe me when I say that I loathe to leave you.”

  “You ask too much.” Tears hovered on her lashes. His bride blinked them away angrily. Mercy rose and rang for her maid. She turned from the window, an aloof expression firming her lips. “Excuse me, please? I wish to dress. I believe I’ll ride this morning. It promises to be a lovely day.”

  She sounded so brittle his heart turned over. “A groom shall accompany you, Mercy. I’ll have Johnson saddle a mare for you.”

  Grant strode from the room grinding his teeth. There was nothing more he could say. He must do as Black requested. And he had to admit he did want to see Jenny. Haighton’s widow could still be in danger.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ALONE, MERCY SANK into despair. She had obviously failed to interest Grant in the bedchamber. Her marriage was doomed. His masculine charms and the gentle way he’d made love to her, made her believe he cared deeply for her. What a fool she was. She had expected them to spend the coming weeks together, discovering more about each other, while she could learn how to please him and show him what pleased her. But after having done the barest of what he considered was necessary for a new husband, he was gone. To visit his mistress more than likely, as if he’d answered her siren call. The day stretched ahead lonely and long.

  Mercy sighed. The incredible intimacy she’d foolishly believed they’d shared last night had enthralled her. She’d fallen head over heels in love with him and had believed his loving words came from the heart. Finding him in bed beside her this morning had been the happiest day of her life. Until Grant told her. She rubbed her arms. It boded ill for the future.

  She allowed Penny to help her dress in the cerulean-blue habit with the fitted jacket, silver buttons, and braid on the sleeves, fashioned for her new life. She’d wanted to wear this new finery for Grant, and here she was riding alone. Donning the black riding boots and hat, she tugged on her leather gloves, then picked up her crop, left the house and walked along a gravel path to the stables.

  The groom emerged from the shadowy interior. He touched his hat. “Johnson, milady. His lordship requested I saddle a suitable mount for you.”

  “Thank you, Johnson.”

  He led out a dainty gray mare. “This is Hebe. I hope she suits.”

  “Oh, she’s perfect.” Mercy stroked the horse’s satiny muzzle.

  After Johnson assisted her onto the sidesaddle from the mounting block, he mounted a tall bay and led the way from the stable yard along a bridle path through the trees. Sunlight filtered down through the canopy of green. How could the weather be so perfect when she was so miserable?

  “Did Lord Northcliffe ride his horse or travel by carriage, Johnson?” Mercy asked when he brought his horse alongside hers. Although it gave her little clue of Grant’s direction, she needed to ask it.

  “He rode, milady.”

  “Surely it’s a long ride to London?”

  “It is, but his lordship often rides.” He held back a branch to allow her to ride past him, releasing a smell of pine into the air. “Prefers it to a closed carriage.”

  She tensed. Was she about to learn that Grant had lied to her? She almost didn’t want to hear it.

  A red squirrel scurried
up a tree, and two wood pigeons took flight. Her mount’s ears twitched and the horse sidled. Mercy patted the glossy neck, firming her lips, the beauty of the woods lost to her.

  “That wasn’t his direction today, of course.” She angled her horse closer on the path. “North I believe he said.”

  “Indeed, my lady,” Johnson said as they emerged onto a grassy meadow.

  Relieved because Grant was not visiting Lady Alethea, Mercy tapped the gray’s hindquarters with her crop. “I fancy a gallop, Johnson.”

  Her gray galloped across the ground while the breeze cooled Mercy’s hot cheeks, with Johnson following on his bay a discreet distance behind her. For a moment, the sense of freedom exhilarated her, but she remained unsatisfied, her curiosity about Grant roused.

  When she returned to the house, Mercy changed into a saffron-and-white striped morning gown, then made her way to the breakfast room where His Grace drank coffee and read the newspaper at the table by the long windows. He rose at her entrance.

  “Oh, please don’t stand, Your Grace.”

  “Of course, I shall stand for a lady. You have roses in your cheeks, Mercy. Have you been riding?”

  “Yes. It was glorious. I shall ride to the river tomorrow.”

  He sat down. “How delightful to eat my breakfast in the company of a charming young woman again. Makes a man quite forget his age.”

  Mercy laughed. She’d not been able to eat a bite of the toast in her room. But she now found she was hungry. At the sideboard, delicious, steamy smells rose into the air when she lifted the silver domed lids. She helped herself to omelet, ham and kippers.

  “I’m glad to see you eat a hearty breakfast,” His Grace observed. “Too many women eat like a sparrow, worried about their figures. Don’t know why, a man likes a shapely frame.”

  Mercy’s cheeks grew warm. His grandson made her blush when he had said the same thing.

  A footman poured tea.

  “Bring toast and preserves, Geoffrey.” The Duke turned to her. “So, Grant has left?”

  “Yes, early this morning.”

  “Ah. Abandoning you at such a time. I hope you can forgive him, Mercy. Lady Haighton is a dear friend of the family.”

  “Is Lady Haighton’s home far from here?”

  “That would be about a half day’s ride for most of us.” He cast a glance at her over his coffee cup, a slight crease between his brows. “Apparently, Grant needs to assist her with an urgent matter.”

  This hardly explained Grant’s need to ride off the morning after their wedding, and she suspected the duke agreed with her, although he would never side against his beloved grandson. Nor would Mercy want him to. She remembered them talking about Lady Haighton when she first came here. The lady had been recently widowed. It was unworthy of her to wonder if she had another rival for Grant’s affections. Was she turning into a horrid, jealous woman? She hardly knew herself. Wolf would help to remind her of the person she used to be. When the dog arrived tomorrow, they could enjoy a pleasant walk through the park.

  She chewed on a piece of ham that tasted like dust in her mouth.

  * * *

  As he rode, Grant’s thoughts were filled with Mercy. Her emotions were clearly reflected on her pretty face and in those remarkable eyes. Her openness, warmth, and affection crumbled when he told her he must leave her. It felt like a dagger thrust to his heart to have to deny her the truth. He’d been forced to take his grandfather into his confidence this morning. Grandfather had taken it in good part and expressed his pride in Grant. But Mercy was another matter entirely. Mercy would be horrified to learn the truth, and in constant fear for him. He wouldn’t blame her if she asked him to quit. He had no intention of doing so; he would see this through to the end.

  Past noon, the road wound its way beside the River Tees. Grant approached the Haighton Manor on the crest of a hill overlooking lush gardens and the winding ribbon of water.

  When the butler admitted him into the drawing room, Jenny hurried to greet him, deep shadows beneath eyes darkened with fear. Compassion gripped him and he took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Thank you so much for coming.” She squeezed his hands before releasing them. “I am consumed with guilt at having drawn you away from your bride.”

  “Lady Northcliffe understands.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Then she is a better woman than me. Please do sit down. May I offer you a beverage?”

  “Coffee, thank you.”

  She ordered it, then joined him on the sofa. “We’ll go to the office afterward, which is in a dreadful mess. Ben, our footman is recovering from the attack, thank heaven.”

  “Did he see who hit him?”

  “No. It was midnight. He’d been stationed in the front hall, and heard a noise. He was struck down from behind when he went to investigate. In that part of the house the candles in the sconces had guttered.” A paper rustled as she pulled it from the pocket of her black bombazine gown. “I’ve been attempting to straighten up the mess, as the new secretary has not yet arrived. I found this, tucked into a ledger.”

  He took the letter from her and read it.

  You have been warned. If you do not make things right within the next two weeks, I’ll do what I have promised. Think of your family, Haighton, as you should have done months ago.

  “It’s unsigned as you see.”

  “And undated. You have no idea who might have sent it? Or when?”

  She gave a helpless shrug. “None.”

  “Do you recall anything unusual occurring in the last few months?”

  “I remember Nathaniel grew quite short-tempered with me. It was unlike him. He talked of sending me and the children to Brighton for the summer and grew angry when I refused to go without him.”

  “The former secretary could have seen this letter. Where might I find him? Did he leave an address?”

  “Mr. Grayson was unhappy to be dismissed after so many years of service.” She paused. “He left without telling me his direction. But his mother lives in Harrogate.”

  “Do you have her address?”

  “Nathaniel would have made note of it. It will be somewhere in his office.” She rose. “I’ll search through his files.”

  Grant followed her.

  Jenny’s description of the room’s disorder did not describe the shocking state of the office. A malicious, frenzied search had taken place, with more damage done than was surely necessary. Ink splattered over the desktop onto the Persian carpet and across the gold damask seat of a wingchair. Drawers were upturned. Every cupboard emptied of its contents. Books pulled from bookshelves were scattered over the floor, some ripped apart. A framed picture had been pulled from the wall and smashed, and the small safe forced open.

  Grant examined the splintered wood of the window frame. “He got in here. How did he manage to climb the wall and cross the grounds without being seen by your watchman?”

  “We had a storm that night. With thunder and lightning.”

  “That would have made it even more difficult. Unless he knew the way?”

  Jenny rubbed her arms. “You think he’s been here before?”

  “Unlikely to be a workman. The note was written by someone who could read and write well. Someone masquerading as a workman, perhaps?”

  “I’m not sure if the steward hired any new garden staff. I would have to ask him.”

  “Have you put on more men to watch the house?”

  “Yes. Armed men patrol at night.”

  “Good.”

  He squatted to examine the small safe. The door had been jimmied open, the contents strewn about. “He might have been after money or jewels.” Grant picked up the books and began to replace them on the shelves, but it would take longer than the winding of a month clock to return this room to its former elegance.

  “Nathaniel didn’t keep money or valuables in this safe. Just accounts and paperwork.” Jenny turned from the desk. She held out a small leather-covered tome.
“His address book.”

  Grant took it and flipped the pages. “There’s a Harrogate address for Grayson here, presumably his mother’s.”

  “If I find anything after the maids straighten the room, I will send a footman with a message,” Jenny said as they walked along the corridor.

  He tucked the warning note into his waistcoat pocket. “Is there anything else I can do?”

  “How kind of you. You must return to your bride.” Her cheeks colored. “And I do have someone I can call on. Sir Ewan. He employed the armed guards for the grounds, and he is also very knowledgeable about the estate and handling my husband’s investments.”

  “Has Snowdon made mention of your husband’s railway shares?”

  “He has. He believes I should purchase more of them.”

  “Does he plan to invest in the company himself?”

  Her fingers played with the cameo broach at her neck. “He said not. Says his ready funds are needed elsewhere.”

  Grant nodded. “I must go. I will advise you of anything I discover.”

  She put a hand on his arm. “Please tell Lady Northcliffe that I look forward to meeting her. I am sorry I was unable to attend the wedding.”

  Grant rode Ares along the road bordering the river to a cacophony of bird calls. Ducks waddled over the bank beneath the willow trees. He thought of the note in his pocket. Had Nat got himself involved in something shady? They were no closer to knowing if his death was linked to the railway. A clearer picture might emerge when, and if, Scullen’s assailant talked.

  Jenny’s attitude had surprised him. She’d flushed pink when talking about Sir Ewan Snowdon. Were they growing closer? Although widows often remarried once the mourning period ended, this attraction, if that was what it was, seemed out of place when she and Nat seemed so fond of each another, although no one could ever be sure what went on behind closed doors. He urged his horse into a canter, and hoped that Snowdon was not about to take advantage of a lady in distress. Should he attempt to do so, he’d find himself pinked with Grant’s sword. He seemed to have made himself snug here. Where was Snowdon the day of Nat’s death?