by Dawn Brower
Silently, she absorbed all this. Then she frowned. “But then where do you live?” He hadn’t said we when he mentioned the dower house.
“I took one of the empty tenant’s cottages.”
She blinked.
“It’s just temporary. The lease was only for a year. Not far to go on it now. My mother despised the idea—and she only grew angrier when she met Mrs. McNamara. But it had to be done. There were urgent needs on the estate and no money for this year’s seed, had I not done something.”
“You amaze me, Tensford.”
He laughed. “When my mother says that, she doesn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“I do.” She shook her head. “I greatly admire your ingenuity, not to mention your resilience and your commitment to your people.”
“Yes, well, my people are well worth it.” He picked up a rough sketch from the desk. “My own family may not be . . . close, but there are any number of devoted families at Greystone. And you speak of sibling connections? One of my tenants has a pair of twin boys. You’ve never seen such a bond. I swear, they can hatch a plot with just a shared look. No conversation required.”
She laughed.
He took her hand and pulled her from the chair. “I want you to know I understand what you meant to show me here. It is good to know that there are such family attachments in Society, too.”
She heaved a sigh. It had been a gamble, but he had responded just as she’d hoped.
“But truly, we must get back.” He grimaced. “I don’t want to give Lady X a real scandal to write about.”
“Yes, let’s go. The dancing will begin again soon, no doubt.”
Silently, they slipped back the way they had come, moving together like shadows through the darkened house and along the quiet lane. As he held open the Westmore’s gate, though, he leaned in. “You do know, Lady Hope, that you are fortunate that I enjoy your company?”
She paused.
He eased the gate closed. “This is the second ball I’ve spent in your company and gone unfed.”
She laughed softly. “Oh! I hadn’t considered . . . I am sorry, my lord.”
“It’s fine,” he said airily. “Unless I hear there were lobster patties—and then I will have to seriously reconsider our friendship.”
“Then I will pray that Lady Westmore served only cold, uninspired sandwiches.” She cracked the door leading to the servant’s hall and peered in. “All clear!” She ducked in and raced for the back stairway, feeling him hot on her heels. She rushed upward. “Oh, I hear the musicians tuning their instruments!” she threw over her shoulder. Picking up her skirts, she climbed faster.
He caught her at the top, taking hold of her arm before she could test the door leading into the ballroom.
“Hold a moment. I confess, I am enjoying your scheming, Lady Hope. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with next. But we’ve successfully evaded exposure so far, this evening. I’d hate for a stray curl to betray us at the end.” His eyes smiling, he caught a lock of hair that she’d hadn’t felt slip its moors.
The smile faded, though, as he tucked it back into place, adjusting a hairpin to anchor it. His gaze grew heated as, almost reverently, he leaned in to press his face into her coiffure. He breathed deeply. “Rosemary,” he said roughly.
Her pulse still raced from the climb. She felt hot and flushed and a tad out of breath—and happy. More than that. Triumphant. His hand lingered in her hair. Without thought, she leaned toward him. They breathed together, sharing the same air, feeling the same . . . want.
His hand slid down, trailing along the curve of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine, and then, easily, naturally, she stood on her toes and kissed him.
He stiffened.
A great shudder passed through him. She thought he would rear back, but instead he yanked her closer. She had started it, but he quickly took over, moving his mouth over hers, searching and finding all the ways their lips fit together.
Desire was a spear that transfixed her. Everything else was lost in heat and the forbidden thrill of his lips coaxing hers and the velvet touch of his tongue.
His hands moved to her back. She tilted her head as the kiss deepened, but then gasped in shock and pleasure as he brought her hard against him and she was confronted with the large and thrilling evidence of his enthusiasm.
The sound must have broken the spell. He ended the kiss, dragging his hands from her and taking a step back.
She stared up at him, breathing heavily.
Silence stretched between them.
“Bad idea,” he whispered.
“But—”
“No. We cannot.” He said it flatly.
On the other side of the wall, a sprightly reel struck up.
“You should go out there.” He gestured.
“Alone?”
“Yes. If someone asks, say you needed a maid to help you with your gown.”
“You’ll follow?”
He waved her on.
She stepped to the door, looked back over her shoulder. “I would offer an apology, but it would be a lie.”
Without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the ballroom and strolled casually out from behind the palms. She quickly found an acquaintance nearby and struck up a conversation.
He did not follow. And once more, she watched and waited for him to appear.
He never emerged.
Chapter 6
Dynastic marriages, political alliances, unification of lands or fortunes, love matches. There are many reasons for marriage in Society, my dear young ladies. Be sure that the one you end up with works for you . . .
—Whispers from Lady X
Tensford woke the next morning after a bad night, and still in a dark mood.
Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. What an idiot he’d been, to kiss Lady Hope Brightley.
He’d made sacrifices, attempting to restore Greystone. Most had barely registered. He didn’t miss his rooms at the manor house—they had been a refuge from his mother’s harangues, but not more. He couldn’t care less about eating simply or bemoan spending his time working out on the estate, next to his people.
But he’d felt a twinge at selling his sporty curricle and he’d hated passing up fossil hunting jaunts with Sterne.
That kiss, however, was another thing entirely. He’d walked right up to the edge of a precipice with that one.
She was so damned tempting. Soft and full of wit and humor—and passion. She’d gone to so much trouble, put her own reputation at risk, just to soothe his troubled spirit and make him more at ease with . . . the world. And to perhaps find a girl who would see past his money troubles and into his heart?
It was a kind gesture, generous and . . . dangerous.
He didn’t want another girl—he wanted more of her. And he didn’t want to want her.
He didn’t want to find himself having to sacrifice her.
Still fuming at the imbalances of fate, he went down to the breakfast room . . . and stopped dead on the threshold.
His mother sat at the table.
“There you are, Tensford. Don’t stand there gaping like a fish. Do come in. Breakfast is waiting.”
He gaped at the groaning sideboard. “So I see. What is this, Mother? Why are you here?”
“I have come for the Season. It’s time I had a bit of a frolic.” She made a face. “Your aunt has worn my nerves to a frazzle—and that McNamara woman! Between the two of them I thought I might go mad. So, here I am.”
To drive him mad? He went to stare at the array of food. “Are we expecting guests? At breakfast?”
“That is a typical breakfast for an English lord, Tensford. Hundreds of peers across London are surveying the same sort of spread. You are an earl. It’s time you lived like one.”
“I am an earl with few funds. We are a family with very little money, Mother.” Thanks in largest part to her. “And I’ve told you time and again, you must learn to live like it.”
“You
don’t mean that I should scrape and pinch in London, surely?” she asked, aghast.
“I do. Unless you wish me to have to lease this house, as well?”
Horror filled her expression. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would. We eat simply here, Mother. We live simply. If you cannot abide by this one necessary edict, you may take yourself off to a hotel for the Season. I know your widow’s portion will cover the expense.”
He had never asked her to contribute her funds to aid Greystone’s failing conditions.
She had never offered.
She waved off his suggestion, now. “That money must go to the modistes. It’s been several years since I came to Town. I am in need of a new wardrobe if I am to assist as chaperone to Miss McNamara.”
He set his plate down, still empty. “Miss McNamara?”
“Yes. Although the mother is a forward, vulgar thing, the daughter is quite easy to get along with.”
Quite willing to stroke his mother’s vanity, he suspected.
“The girl has been everything friendly and is very eager to learn. When she was invited to stay with friends in London this spring, she begged me to come along and show her how to get on.”
And to gain her entrance into Society events, no doubt.
“I daresay she will become quite a success. Really, Tensford, you should look to her before she is snatched out from under your nose.”
Before he could reply to this sally, Higgins appeared in the doorway. “Miss McNamara has arrived, sir.”
He looked to his mother.
She looked away. “Oh, I did invite her to breakfast with us, as she and I are going to start our shopping this morning.”
“Good morning!” Miss McNamara breezed into the room, going straight to his mother and stopping to kiss her on the cheek. “My dear Lady Tensford.” She stood and smiled at him, then dropped into a credible curtsy. “Lord Tensford. Thank you for the kind invitation.”
He nodded. She was pretty, in a sharp corners and angular planes sort of way. He’d met her several times before and found her swift, darting gaze to be unnerving. Mostly because he sensed a cold and calculating mind behind it.
“Come and sit beside me, Miss McNamara. Tensford will fill you a plate.”
“Oh, thank you. How lovely.” Seating herself, she looked around with interest. “Your home is quite remarkable, my lord. Portman Square is so very impressive.” She raised her brows toward his mother. “And quite fashionable, is it not?”
“Of course,” his mother assured her.
The women spoke a little of the best London addresses and then moved on to the best London shops. Tensford fixed a plate for their guest and one for himself.
His mother rose just as he moved to sit and eat.
“I’ve finished,” she announced. “I’ll just go and fetch my things before we go. You two talk a little, get to know each other. I’ll only be a moment.”
He stared after her. He’d never seen her fetch anything in his life, not for herself or anyone else.
Silence reigned for a few moments, broken only by the clink of silver on china.
“Your mother is very kind,” Miss McNamara said eventually.
He made a noncommittal sound and covered it with a bite of bacon.
“I suppose you know she thinks to push us together.”
He looked up to find her watching him with a measuring eye.
“I hadn’t thought to go along with it at first.” Her gaze roamed over him. “Too provincial, I thought. But you do look a sight better in your Town clothes, my lord.” She pointed with her fork. “I prefer this version over the dusty farmer.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then, too, I did not understand how marriages work amongst the peerage, but now I do.”
“Then you have me at a disadvantage. I do not know what you mean.”
She leaned forward. “Let us not talk around it. You have the title and the land. I have the money.” Her shoulder lifted. “I doubt I’ll have trouble providing you the requisite heir and spare, and once they are safely ensconced in the nursery . . . we can each do what we wish.”
“What we wish?” he croaked, astonished.
“Yes. You enjoy the country life, down to the lowest aspects. I’ve seen you at work on the barns or in the fields.” She shuddered. “I find it all exceedingly dull. I prefer the excitement of Town. You can stay on the estate and perhaps I will take this place.” She looked around, nodding. “I could do quite a bit with it, given time and money.” She smiled at him. “You’ll have your life. I’ll have mine. Et voilà! Everyone is happy.”
He sat, stunned, while an image rose, of such a future. It was all too easy to imagine, unfortunately. Yet his brain shied away.
Instead it tried to conjure a different picture. One with a smiling Lady Hope seated across from him. Easy laughter, teasing. Heat and kisses. He wondered if she liked the country—
No. He stood, cutting off that line of thinking.
Damnation.
“Enjoy your shopping, Miss McNamara.”
She sat back, watching him with a brow raised.
“Please tell my mother that I had an urgent matter to attend to. Good day.”
He left the house, stamping anger, panic and frustration into the pavement. This, this at last seemed too much to ask of him.
For a long time, he wandered. It rained a bit. People pushed past him, eager to get in out of the weather. He couldn’t think. His mind had gone numb. When he bothered to look up, he found himself on Fleet Street.
An idea bloomed.
Lady X. Her gossipy tidbits were current—and they were printed daily. And here was the largest gathering of printers in London. Surely the lady would not deliver her pieces to the printer herself, but she must have a regular system set up.
He could find her. He could. He longed to confront her and he needed something to occupy his mind beyond his intolerable situation—and he needed an excuse to be from home.
What had that name been? The printer who was friendly with Lord Westmore?
Childers.
He set out, reading all the signs of the printers, pubs, booksellers and mapmakers along the way. He found them, at last, in Ludgate Hill. Childers & Son, Lithographers, Printers & Engravers.
Standing outside the shop, he considered the matter. A clerk pushed by him to enter. He couldn’t follow every person who made a delivery to the place, but it was a daily sheet. There would be a pattern. He just needed to discover it. Looking around, he spotted a coffee shop across the way, several doors down.
Perfect.
Watching the traffic, he set out for the place, his resolve firming as he went.
Three days later, Tensford was still seated in the coffee house. He’d barely been home, returning only to sleep, to fetch paper, ink and quills, and to sort through his mail.
He’d made friends with Mrs. Fitz, the gregarious, comfortable lady who ran the coffee house. He’d become somewhat addicted to her special spiced café au lait, rich with Eastern flavor. He’d shared with her Mrs. Agnew’s recipe for scones. And he’d kept copious notes on the comings and goings at Childers & Son.
It was a slow period at the moment, so he’d also started making a list.
Queen Anne chifferobe
Sevres Ormolu vase
Silver chafing dish = 2
The bell over the door rang. He didn’t look up until a shadow fell over the paper in front of him.
“Sterne!” He blinked up at his friend. “How are you?”
“Exasperated. I’ve been looking for you for days.”
“I received your notes. That’s why I sent a message to let you know I am fine.”
“Yes, and I had to bribe the boy who delivered it to tell me where you sent it from.”
Tensford straightened. “That worked, did it?”
“Obviously. Here I am.”
He frowned, thinking.
“Tensford?”
“Yes? Oh, sorry. I hav
e considered that route, but it stands to reason she’s thought of that already and taken measures against it.”
“What are you going on about, man?” Sterne looked around. “Why are you hiding here? Who is she?”
“Not hiding. Spying.” He explained his mission. “And I’ve narrowed it down to two likely messengers,” he said with excitement. “I’m favoring the three o’clock boy over the early morning lad. It gives her time to decide what to write and to make it . . . jaunty. Would you say that’s an accurate description of her style?”
Sterne frowned. “Good God, you’re really going to expose Lady X?” He gazed over at the printer’s shop. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. The whole thing could turn against you.”
“That’s what Lady Hope said,” Tensford muttered.
“Yes, and she’s another who has been wondering where you’ve disappeared to. She asked me to give you a message, should I see you.”
“Well?”
“She hopes you’ll be available to drive her in Hyde Park tomorrow.”
Tensford heaved a sigh. “It wouldn’t be wise.” He should avoid the temptation. But he had given her his word.
“Why not?” Sterne asked.
He ignored the question and pulled his list closer. “I’m glad you are here, Sterne. I need to ask a favor of you.”
His friend waited expectantly.
“Will you ask your uncle if he might be interested in my sea urchin fossil? The one I keep on my desk? It is an unusual piece. No one else has one like it, that I’ve seen.”
“I know the one. Of course, I will ask. He will likely be interested, but Tensford—I know that fossil is special to you. Your father—” He stopped. “I know what it means. Why would you wish to sell it? Are things so bad?”
“Bad enough, though likely not in the way you are thinking.” He told Sterne about his mother and her candidate for his marriage.
“She sounds cold.”
“That’s an understatement. And my mother is as bad. She left a note on top of the stack of my mail. It said one thing. Forty thousand pounds.”
Sterne dropped into the seat across from him. “Forty thousand . . . hell and damnation.”