She’d carefully balanced her contrition with his already bad opinion of her, and he’d offered her the perfect solution—her own conceit. His last remark had been “I dinna think I’d care tae be competing wi’ m’wife for her own attention.”
That had annoyed her at the time, though she found it rather amusing now that she’d been extricated from that horrid match and could find amusement in things again. For instance, it was amusing that the handsome, wealthy Lord Locke was acting as her driver. It was rather nice of him, she supposed, or at least she’d briefly considered it so. But after she’d given it some thought last night, she’d wondered why the man would take on such an arduous task when he didn’t even like her.
He’d made that abundantly clear in the few conversations they’d had at Summers Glade. As for his driving her, she’d finally concluded that he must have found himself stranded there after his sister had returned to London without him. So he probably wasn’t doing her a favor a’tall, as he’d implied. Which was just as well. She did not want to feel indebted to him.
But she wouldn’t mind having her name linked to his, which would happen if anyone she knew saw him driving her coach once they reached London. And the people she knew looked for her coach—well, the men did anyway. That could only be to her benefit, as esteemed as his family was. She did still have to find a husband for herself, after all, and preferably before the Season ended.
Without the threat of an unwanted “arranged” marriage hanging over her head, she could devote the proper attention to finding the right man for her this time. Her criterion wasn’t that unrealistic. She merely wanted, needed, to meet one man who didn’t worship her beauty instantly, one man who would make an effort to know her, the real her, one man who didn’t profess undying love ad nauseam when he couldn’t possibly love her—yet. Not too difficult at all, she thought bitterly.
“There you are,” Raphael said from the bottom of the stairs, only to add, “I could have sworn you said early.”
Ophelia gritted her teeth. So much for dazzling him to make him regret his harshness with her. He barely looked at her as he slipped his greatcoat over his wide shoulders!
She’d actually been up for hours after going to bed so early last night. She’d delayed coming downstairs merely so everyone else could get a little more sleep before another long day on the road. Next time she’d save her consideration for someone who might appreciate it.
“I was exhausted yesterday,” she merely said, “or I would have come down to meet your aunt. Am I going to have that pleasure before we depart?”
“Oh, indeed, in fact she’s coming with us. Didn’t think you’d mind sharing your coach.”
“Afraid to be seen with me without chaperonage?” Ophelia smirked as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
“I knew you’d understand. No one likes having a favor backfire on them.”
“If they’re actually doing someone a favor. I doubt you are,” she said drily. “Why don’t you fess up that your sister left you stranded at Summers Glade, so in essence, I’m doing you the favor—”
“Of letting me ride in your nice warm coach?” he cut in with a raised brow.
She actually felt a blush coming on. What the devil? She never blushed. Pink on her ivory cheeks looked like a splotchy rash. It was not becoming.
But having disconcerted her, he at least didn’t expect an answer and continued, “Why don’t we agree to suffer each other’s company for the duration and let it go at that?”
“Fine,” she retorted. “Since the duration will be a short one, I suppose I’ll survive it.”
“Ouch,” she thought she heard him say, but she wasn’t quite sure.
An elderly lady came out of the parlor just then to join them, a young maid close on her heels, both dressed to travel. Ophelia assumed this was Raphael’s aunt. Heavily bundled in not just a coat but a heavy cape over that, and thick woolen scarves about her head, it was hard to see the cherub face beneath all that covering.
“You must be Lady Esmerelda,” Ophelia said with a smile, extending her hand in greeting. “I’m Ophelia Reid. It’s a pleasure to meet—”
“Speak up, gel,” Esmerelda said in a testy tone. “I’m quite deaf, you know.”
“I said it was—!”
“You don’t have to shout,” Esmerelda interrupted. “I’m not quite that deaf yet.”
Ophelia grinned. “Shall I help you to the coach?”
“There’s nothing wrong with my feet, gel.”
Ophelia didn’t take offense at the lady’s cantankerous replies. She found them rather amusing. “Very well. My maid went out earlier to start the brazier. It should be nice and warm for you.”
“Excellent. Do appreciate it,” Esmerelda said, then added to the butler standing off to the side, “Hold the fort, William. I have a feeling I won’t be gone long.”
“Of course, m’lady,” the butler replied as Esmerelda marched outside.
Ophelia noticed Raphael’s wince over his aunt’s remarks. If she didn’t detest the fellow, she would have assured him that she understood how the infirmities of old age could and did make some people quite disagreeable. But apparently she was mistaken about the source of his discomfort because he held her back from following Esmerelda, his grip on her arm quite firm. This wasn’t the man who usually had a jaunty air about him even when he was being his most sardonic. This was the serious Locke, the devil she’d met twice before when anger had removed all semblance of civility from him.
“What in the bloody hell was that about?” he demanded, adding in the same breath, “Don’t think you can use my aunt for any of your machinations. I won’t tolerate it.”
She blinked, then she understood. He thought the worst of her, after all. Seeing her being nice to his aunt must have shocked him, she thought derisively.
“What an amusing idea. I hate to correct you, Lord Locke, really I do, but I happen to like older people. They’re the only ones who don’t try to compete with me or otherwise take advantage of an acquaintance with me. So your aunt and I will get along just fine, I do assure you. You needn’t be concerned that I’ll turn my viperous tongue on her. You on the other hand—”
“I got the point, no need to belabor it,” he cut in, not nearly so sharply now. “Just get in the coach. The sooner we get this over with can’t be soon enough for me.”
“How odd that we agree perfectly,” she retorted on her way out the door.
Chapter Seven
O PHELIA HAD THE ANNOYING HABIT of having to get the last word in. Of course he enjoyed the same habit, which was why he found hers so annoying.
Raphael was beginning to have reservations. Well, he’d already had quite a few, but damn, watching the woman interact with his aunt had been quite a surprise. Ophelia, being nice, was such a bloody contradiction of everything he knew about her. And his aunt had noted it too, even remarked on it for his benefit when she told William she was sure she wouldn’t be gone long.
Ophelia’s explanation had sounded quite reasonable, too reasonable. It had given him doubts that he shouldn’t be having, when he knew what a schemer she was. He just didn’t know her well enough to be able to tell if she was being honest or lying. But come to think of it, she had to be an expert liar or she wouldn’t have been able to get away with half the transgressions laid at her door.
He’d sent a letter off to Sabrina late last night, getting his aunt’s permission to use her one footman to deliver it and then bring him the reply. Sabrina knew Ophelia much better than he did, having stayed with the Reids when she’d gone to London for her own come-out. Someone had mentioned that Sabrina’s aunt and Ophelia’s mother had been childhood friends. But in either case, she was sure to have a much longer list of Ophelia’s misdeeds than he did, and he wanted to know it all before he began his campaign to turn her about. Hopefully, Sabrina wouldn’t take too long to reply.
They spent another long day on the road traveling through Durham and deep into Northumberland
to his grandfather’s retreat. It was a bad time of the year to come so far north. Actually, it was just a bad time of the year for him to take up coach driving.
He’d had Esmerelda pack a basket of food for the ladies, so he wouldn’t have to stop for luncheon. She’d given him some food as well, though he had a hard time eating it with his gloves on. But he was wishing he’d stopped at that last hostelry he’d passed around midmorning, if just to get warm for a while. The farther north they went, the more patches of snow he came across, and the more biting the wind became.
There were no other inns. He’d known there wouldn’t be. The Nest really was in a secluded area of the uplands, far removed from any other habitations. But he finally reached it by late afternoon, and smoke was coming from at least one chimney to assure him his caretaker was in residence and there would soon be a nice fire where he could thaw the cold from his bones. But before he could reach that warmth, he was going to have to deal with Ophelia’s outrage, which, for once, would be warranted.
Steeling himself for an unpleasant confrontation, he opened the coach door. “You might want to hurry into the house, ladies,” he warned. “It’s more than just chilly out here.”
“It’s been overly warm in the coach,” Ophelia complained. “The heat put me to sleep when I wasn’t the least bit tired.”
She was the first to step down with his assistance. She didn’t hurry off as he’d hoped. She stared at the large manor house in front of her and demanded crossly, “Now where are we? Another aunt’s house?”
“No, this one belongs to me.”
“But why have we stopped here? Surely we’re close enough to London now that you can get us there before nightfall.”
“We’re a long way from London, m’dear. Welcome to Alder’s Nest.”
While she digested that with a confused frown, her frown deepened as she looked beyond the coach at the barren moors, which stretched as far as the eye could see. When he’d come here in the summer, the view had been magnificent with the heather in full bloom. But right now the scene was rather desolate.
“I hope you have some servants retained here,” Esmerelda said as he helped her down from the coach, then she warned him, “I don’t cook.”
“Rest easy, Aunt Esme. There’s a caretaker who’s taken good care of the place for many years, previously employed by your father. His wife acts as my housekeeper and cook when I am in residence. I believe he has a few daughters, too. I’m sure we’ll have a nice staff by tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”
Esmerelda nodded and hurried to the door that Bartholomew Grimshod, the middle-aged caretaker, was holding open. Her pretty young maid followed, giving Raphael an appreciative smile as she passed him. He barely noticed, his mind too much on Ophelia at the moment.
The London beauty stood her ground, looking quite incredulous now.
“Why does it sound like we’re staying here for an extended visit?” she demanded.
“Because we are.”
“The devil we are. I demand you take me to London as you said you would.”
“You can demand all you like. I’m staying here. And I never said I was taking you to London, merely that we were going in the same direction, which we were. That direction was here.”
He helped Sadie down from the coach. Wiping sleep from her eyes, the maid gave them both confused looks, having heard some of what was said. Ophelia grabbed her arm. “Don’t go in there. We’re leaving.”
Raphael ignored Ophelia’s announcement and actually walked away from her. She probably wasn’t used to men doing that, and he heard her outraged gasp. But he wasn’t about to stand outside in the cold to answer her questions.
“Lord Locke,” she called after him, then in a louder voice, “Raphael!” Then even louder: “Dammit, Rafe, stop this minute!”
He didn’t, but he did pause at the door long enough to greet Bartholomew and tell him, “Just leave all the baggage out front here before you put the horses—actually, take the horses away from here, to your house for now. I’ll help you carry the trunks in after I warm up a little.”
“Certainly, my lord,” the man replied. “And how long will you be staying?”
“To be honest, I have no idea, but I’ll need some household staff for the duration. See what you can do in that regard. Oh, and the lady making all that noise behind me—it’s a complicated situation, but just ignore her—”
“I heard that,” Ophelia snapped as she reached him. “And I will not be ignored!”
The caretaker hurried off to do as he’d been told. Ophelia immediately turned and ordered her maid, “Stop him from unhitching my coach.”
The maid was starting to look outraged herself by now and, with a curt nod, marched off after Bartholomew with a determined look in her eyes. Raphael knew it wouldn’t do any good, but he wasn’t going to stand there in the cold and wait for her to find that out.
With a sigh, he extended an arm, indicating for Ophelia to follow him inside. “If you’ll calm down, I’ll explain fully, Ophelia, I promise you, just as soon as we can find a moment alone. You’re not going to embarrass my aunt with the scene you’re sure to make. So a little patience, if you please, because I’m going to thaw out first. You might have been comfortably warm on the way here, but I certainly wasn’t.”
He headed toward the parlor, where he was sure his aunt had gone. Ophelia’s hiss stopped him. “Don’t you dare walk away from me again!”
He glanced back at her. “Did I mention patience?” he said drily. “I’m sure I did.”
“What makes you think I have any? I don’t, you know. None a’tall.”
“Then I suppose that is something else we’ll need to work on, and we can begin immediately. Pay attention, Ophelia. You will come into the parlor here, sit down, and remain quiet until the rest of the house is opened up and everyone is situated.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Well then, I just may keep to myself the reason why you’re here. Come to think of it, an explanation isn’t necessary—”
“This is ridiculous!” she cut in. “Keep your bloody explanations to yourself. I’m going home!”
She turned about to leave and nearly collided with her maid, who had returned, mumbling, “The caretaker wouldn’t listen to me. He’ll only follow his master’s bidding.”
Raphael heard the low growl that Ophelia emitted with that news. He smirked, “Which of you would have driven the coach if my man had been obliged to ignore my orders?”
Ophelia swung back around and glared at him. He shrugged and added, “If you’d like an explanation, and there is a perfectly good one, I’d suggest you do as I say, because I really don’t have to explain myself in order to accomplish what we’re setting out to do. Of course, that would leave you in the dark, floundering your way through, but I’m sure you can manage.”
“You can’t be serious!” she gasped.
“Patience is a virtue. Since you don’t possess any—patience or other virtues for that matter—we’ll let this one be the first you learn. Practice, m’dear, beginning now.”
Chapter Eight
O PHELIA WAS STILL FUMING. THE viscount was out of his mind! Why had no one mentioned that to her sooner?
Ophelia glared at Raphael’s back as he stood in front of the fireplace, warming his hands. She might as well not even be in the room, he was ignoring her so completely. She’d sat there in the parlor, practicing patience, for what seemed like an hour now, without saying a single word to anyone.
Esmeralda had been taken to her room upstairs as soon as it was heated. She’d only had a few words to say about Ophelia’s seething silence before she left.
“Don’t pout, gel, it doesn’t become you. Play your cards right and you’ll come out the winner here.”
What did that mean? She didn’t ask because Raphael was in the room. She would find out later when she could speak with the older woman alone, because she obviously knew what was going on. Did Raphael’s aunt condone what he
was doing? It would seem so, but Ophelia hoped not. She could use someone other than Sadie on her side. But until he gave her that promised explanation, she was going to remain silent, even if it drove her mad with frustration.
The two maids had been shown to the servants’ quarters. Sadie had returned to tell her that her room was ready, but Ophelia had merely waved her away. She wasn’t going anywhere until Raphael explained himself, and that damned devil was making her wait, deliberately she didn’t doubt, much longer than was necessary.
She stewed. She seethed. She’d never been quite this angry before. She thought about ways to make him pay for this outrage. And she tried to figure out for herself, without asking again, what she was doing here—she didn’t even know where they were!
Earlier, as she’d gazed out the coach window, she’d vaguely wondered why they were traveling through such empty countryside. There were only a few houses here and there, and then not even a few, but she’d merely assumed, before she’d nodded off, that Raphael must know some back roads that avoided the heavy traffic flowing into London. But from what she’d seen outside, which was nothing but an empty horizon, this house of his was the only one for miles around, so she couldn’t begin to guess where it was located.
She’d find out where they were and what the man thought he was doing, bringing her here instead of taking her home. Was he so full of his own lofty consequence that he thought he could—what? What was his motive?
The only thing that occurred to her was the same motive she was so used to dealing with, that he wanted her for her beauty just like all the other men, and because of the prestige of his family, he was in a position to sweep her away and think he could get away with it. To compromise her? To convince her he loved her when he couldn’t possibly?
The Devil Who Tamed Her Page 4