Lord Mumford's Minx

by Alexandra Ivy

“Just as you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself?” he taunted, abruptly lowering her onto the sofa. The sensation of his satin hair brushing her mouth stole her tart reply as he moved across the room and then swiftly returned to shove a crystal glass into her hand. “Here.”

  Cassie warily regarded the amber liquid. “What is it?”

  “Brandy.” Standing over her, Luke crossed his arms over the width of his chest. “Hardly the finest, but it will have to do.”

  Willing to try anything if it would ease the tension gripping her body, Cassie took a cautious sip. At once she gave a choked cough, her eyes flooding with tears.

  “Good heavens. You drink this?”

  “On occasion.” His stern expression never faltered. “Finish it.”

  Disliking his imperious command, Cassie impulsively raised the glass and tossed the fiery liquid down her throat in one motion. A trail of fire burned its way to the pit of her stomach, but she grimly refused to allow herself more than a small shudder. Setting aside the glass, she frowned at him with a stubborn expression.

  “You needn’t stand there glaring at me in that superior fashion.”

  A raven brow slowly raised. “You are fortunate that I do not reward such absurdly childish behavior in the manner it deserves.”

  “You have no right to do anything with me, my lord,” she tartly reminded him, setting aside the glass. She was beginning to realize that Lord Mumford had planned this ambush since Millie’s arrival yesterday. She had been a simpleton to believe he would allow her to handle her own affairs. “I certainly did not request your interference.”

  His smile was without humor. “And yet you appeared remarkably relieved to see me.”

  Did he have to be so bloody condescending? she wondered with unladylike irritation.

  “What do you wish from me?” she demanded. “My gratitude?”

  He gave a sharp laugh as he shook his head. “I would not ask for the impossible. No, what I wish from you is the truth.”

  “Truth?”

  His expression hardened. “Why are you searching for Nell Maggert?”

  Still reeling from the various shocks of the morning, Cassie found herself floundering beneath his narrowed gaze. Why, oh, why hadn’t she suspected this inquisition was coming?

  “I wish to speak with her.”

  “Why?”

  “I ... I am acquainted with a friend of hers.”

  “Balderdash,” he retorted in patent disbelief.

  Unable to withstand his piercing scrutiny, Cassie abruptly rose to her feet.

  “I appreciate your assistance, my lord, but I must request that you take your leave now.”

  With a deliberate motion he stepped closer, his expression grim.

  “Not until you have answered my questions.”

  Her heart faltered, a sense of impending disaster suddenly filling the air. He appeared so very sure she would confess.

  “I have no intention of answering your questions,” she bravely attempted to bluff. “Now or ever.”

  “Oh, I believe you will, Lady Greer,” he drawled. “Or do you prefer Miss Stanholte?”

  Just for a moment she convinced herself that she could not have heard correctly. No matter how clever Lord Mumford might be, there was no means of his discovering her true identity. Unless Mrs. Green had revealed their secret, which was as likely as the sky falling.

  “What?”

  “Miss Cassandra Stanholte,” he obligingly repeated, closely watching her horrified expression. “From Devonshire.”

  So it was true. Somehow Lord Mumford had managed to learn who she was, and her worst fears were about to be realized. Unconsciously, Cassie lifted a hand to her quaking heart.

  “How could you possibly know?”

  “I will admit that you did not make it simple.” A slow, devilishly charming smile softened his stern features. “But I have always found a challenge to be quite irresistible.”

  “Oh . . .” She abruptly turned from the disturbing blue eyes. “Why could you not have left me in peace?”

  She felt rather than heard him move to stand directly behind her, his hands gently reaching up to slip off the heavy cloak. Cassie shivered, although she was uncertain if it was due to the cool air penetrating her thin muslin gown or the lingering touch of his fingers.

  “If I had left you in peace, you no doubt would now be in the clutches of the charming Toby.”

  She could hardly argue with such a legitimate accusation, so instead she turned her attention to her most pressing fear.

  “What do you intend to do?”

  “I will explain all in good time,” he parried with his usual skill; then his hands firmly turned her about to face his searching gaze. “But first you will answer my questions.”

  Cassie instinctively pulled away from his unnerving touch.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Why did you come to London?”

  Cassie hesitated. She wanted to fabricate some plausible story. To divert him from the truth. But as a woman renowned for her forthright honesty, she found it ridiculously difficult to conjure a suitable lie.

  At last she heaved a small sigh of resignation. “Several weeks ago a strange woman arrived at my estate with a small boy. This woman claimed to have married my uncle who disappeared from England before I was ever born. She also claimed that the boy was the legitimate heir to the Stanholte title and estate.”

  He was silent for long minutes as he considered her abrupt explanation. Then his raven brows pulled together.

  “Surely you did not simply accept her claim?”

  “Of course not.” Cassie gave a restless shrug. “But she has been very clever. On the surface, her documents appear genuine. It could be years before my Man of Business proves that she is a fraud.”

  There was another long silence as his gaze probed her wide eyes.

  “And you are quite certain she is a fraud?”

  Cassie never hesitated. “Without a doubt.”

  Surprisingly, he seemed to accept her assurance without question, giving a decisive nod of his head.

  “Very well.” His gaze narrowed. “That still does not explain your presence in the neighborhood.”

  Her nose flared with mounting ill temper. Must he know every sordid detail?

  It appeared he did, and with jerky steps Cassie crossed to the mantel where she pulled a crumpled note from a small vase. Turning about, she returned to the watchful Lord Mumford and thrust it into his hand.

  “Here.”

  With a frown, the gentleman unfolded the note and scanned the sprawling handwriting.

  “Ah ...” He slowly lifted his head, his expression wry. “So that explains your fascination with women named Nell. What do you hope to accomplish by finding her?”

  Cassie bristled at his tone. He need not regard her as if she were a particularly dim-witted child.

  “I will demand that she confess Liza is not Lady Stanholte.”

  “I see,” he murmured. “And you believe she will simply comply with your request?”

  “If I threaten her with the magistrate,” she retorted with a tilt of her chin.

  “She is far more likely to have a knife slipped into your back.”

  Her face paled as the thrust hit its target. It was true. Thus far her efforts had done no more than place her in continuing danger. Still, she was in no humor to admit the truth. At least not to Lord Mumford.

  “My lord, that is enough—”

  “No, Miss Stanholte,” he interrupted in stern tones. “For once, you will listen to what I have to say.” He planted his hands firmly on his hips. “Not only have you risked your reputation with this absurd scheme, but you are quite fortunate not to have been grievously injured.”

  Her expression became unconsciously petulant. “I presume you are in agreement with Mr. Carson, who believes I should meekly stand aside while this impostor steals my inheritance?”

  “Certainly not,” he denied. “But that does n
ot mean I approve of this dangerous charade.”

  Outside, the blanket of clouds parted to allow a brief spray of sunshine into the salon. The golden warmth reflected off the satin darkness of his hair and outlined the magnificence of his profile. Cassie struggled to keep her gaze from lingering.

  “I do not need your approval.”

  He gave a low, decidedly unnerving chuckle. “Unfortunately, you do. Unless you wish the world to know that the lovely Lady Greer is in reality Miss Stanholte.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “You wouldn’t.”

  “You leave me little choice.” He gave a faint shrug. “I cannot in all good conscience leave you in this house to continue your ridiculous game. And if exposing your identity is the only means of saving you from your own foolishness then that is precisely what I shall be doing.”

  Cassie felt a ridiculous stab of disappointment. Perhaps naively, she had thought he might be different from the rest of the frippery ton and he would understand her need to save her home.

  “You forget I have nowhere else to go,” she gritted, determined to hide her moment of weakness.

  “Actually, you have a very nice establishment waiting.”

  “What?”

  “It is not particularly large, but it appears to be well proportioned and possesses a fully trained staff. Best of all, it is situated close to the park.”

  Cassie shook her head. “I haven’t the least notion what you are talking about.”

  He smiled at her baffled expression. “I have rented a town house for you. I have also requested that my aunt select a suitable companion to reside with you.”

  Barely aware she was moving, Cassie weakly collapsed onto a nearby chair. Once, her life had been tediously predictable, each day much like another. Now she seemed to tumble from one shock to another.

  “How dare you?” she breathed.

  “How dare I what?” he demanded without apology. “Remove you from a notorious neighborhood? Save you from the likes of Toby? Provide you with the means of remaining in London?”

  Cassie flinched as his words struck to her very heart. Somehow he always managed to make his interference appear perfectly reasonable. Even something as outrageous as renting her a town house.

  “Why? Why would you do this? I am nothing to you.”

  Assuming the bland nonchalance she detested, Lord Mumford carefully adjusted the cuff of his pearl gray coat.

  “Because it suits me,” he said simply.

  “Well it does not suit me, my lord,” Cassie gritted. “I came to London to save my estate, not to languish in a well-appointed establishment, with or without a view of the park.”

  Quite unperturbed by her flare of temper, Luke met her glittering gaze squarely.

  “I assure you that your estate will be saved even if you are in a respectable neighborhood.”

  “I can hardly search for Nell once I am no longer here,” she pointed out. Really, did this gentleman presume she could be distracted from her task by dangling an elegant town house before her nose?

  “Precisely.” The handsome features abruptly hardened. “Your search for Nell comes to an end as of this moment. From now on, any search will be my responsibility.”

  For a moment she merely glared at him, longing to defy his arrogant commands. He had no right to order her about in such a manner. But the knowledge that he could bring her entire charade to a scandalous halt held her unruly tongue.

  It appeared that for now Lord Mumford held the reins firmly in hand. She would have to bide her time for retribution.

  What a glorious day that would be.

  “And what am I to do?” she at last managed to demand.

  He smiled as if sensing the effort it cost her to remain civil.

  “You are to enjoy the delights of the Season.”

  She didn’t bother to hide her grimace. “You realize that once it becomes known that you were responsible for renting the town house, I shall be the center of gossip?”

  “You may be assured that no one will suspect.”

  Cassie fully believed him. The beastly man appeared infallible.

  “It appears I have little option,” she sulked.

  “None at all. Please be prepared to move by the end of the week. I will speak with my aunt and ensure that your companion is installed before then.”

  “You seem to have taken care of everything.”

  His lips quirked as his gaze moved over her in a slow survey.

  “Not everything. I would suggest that you consider a more . . . modest wardrobe. As well as a return of those charming golden curls.”

  Cassie’s initial embarrassment at his intimate regard was sharply thrust aside by a stab of horrified disbelief.

  Golden curls.

  She hadn’t fooled him at all. The entire time she had thought she was being so clever, he had known she was the bedraggled Miss who had collapsed beneath his carriage.

  “Why, you . . . you have known all along, haven’t you?”

  He shrugged aside her question. “I will contact you when all is prepared.” He bowed. “Until then, Miss Stanholte.”

  She gave a frosty nod of her head, determined to maintain at least a semblance of composure. She knew quite well that to give rein to her frustration would only damage her pride. It would certainly not sway Lord Mumford into being remotely reasonable.

  Her determination lasted until Lord Mumford had turned to disappear through the French doors; then she impulsively grasped a hideous figurine and launched it into the fireplace. The resounding crash did little to ease her simmering tension, although it did bring the rotund figure of Mary Green scurrying into the room.

  Half an hour too late, Cassie thought unfairly.

  “Miss Cassie, has something occurred?” Mary demanded with a worried frown.

  “Lord Mumford is what has occurred, Mary.” Cassie rose to her feet. “Why will he not leave us alone?”

  Glancing in a knowing manner at the broken figurine, Mary allowed a smile to touch her round face.

  “I should very much like to know myself, Miss Cassie.”

  Eight

  Leaving the house, Luke made his way back to the mews. He barely noted the drizzling rain as he gathered the reins of his black stallion and those of Biddles’s gray. His gaze moved to the spot where Miss Stanholte had been standing.

  His heart had nearly halted when he had seen her being so roughly handled by the brutal blackguard. And then Toby had pulled a knife....

  Luke shuddered, wrenching his thoughts from that terrible moment.

  It had all seemed so cunning when he and Biddles had devised the plan the night before. They would wait in the hedges for Millie to appear and then follow them to whatever trap had been laid. It had not occurred to him that Toby would be bold enough to attempt to kidnap Miss Stanholte so close to her own home.

  Lost in his dark thoughts, Luke was startled as the slender gentleman suddenly appeared from the hedges.

  “Egad, do not say the chit had you tossed into this weather?” Biddles drawled, languidly moving to join Luke. “Really, Mumford, I fear your reputation as an irresistible rake is in decided peril.”

  “Very amusing.” Luke tossed his companion the reins to the gray. “At least I did not allow a mere cutpurse to give me the slip.”

  Biddles offered him a pained expression of outrage.

  “Hardly the slip, old chap. I followed the little bugger to a particularly nasty theater. Prudence forced me to return for reinforcements before entering.”

  “A theater, eh?” Luke nodded, already having suspected Toby would flee to his seeming hideout.

  “Do you know the place?”

  “Unfortunately.” Luke grimaced as he smoothly vaulted into the saddle of his waiting mount. “Shall we discover what our friend has to say for himself?”

  Biddles heaved a long-suffering sigh as he too took to the saddle.

  “I feared you might say as much. I do hope that on the next occasion you choose a m
istress, Mumford, you choose one who does not require such constant care.”

  Urging his horse forward, Luke smiled in a wry fashion. “I shall contrive to do my best,” he promised.

  Together they traveled through the wet streets of London, both on guard in the event Toby was plotting yet another surprise. On this occasion, however, there were no unpleasant traps, and they pulled to a halt in front of the theater.

  In the dull light the shabby building appeared even more forlorn, and Biddles cast Luke a wary glance.

  “Perhaps we should take ourselves to the back entrance?”

  “Excellent notion, Biddles.” Luke slid off the stallion and tied off the reins. “No sense announcing our presence.”

  “No, indeed.” The foppish gentleman joined him, and with considerable stealth they edged their way to the back entrance. Both grimaced at the stench of rotting garbage and things less easily identified. Luke had no doubt his boots would be ruined beyond repair, but for the moment he was far more concerned with pushing open the wooden door and peering into the dark room within.

  The stench inside was not a noticeable improvement, and it was quickly obvious the back room was used to house a number of ruffians.

  Tattered blankets, dirty crockery and an empty keg of ale were littered on one side of the room, while the other was piled with numerous mounds of costumes. Across the room, an open door revealed a set of stairs leading to the main floor.

  Cautiously entering the room, Luke scrutinized his surroundings. Behind him, Biddles gave a disapproving sniff.

  “It appears the scoundrel has made his escape.”

  Luke shrugged, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a crumpled note lying beside the fire grate.

  “What have we here?” he murmured, moving to pick up the partially burned letter.

  He gave a low whistle as he read the nearly incoherent missive from Liza. In it she pleaded to return to London and complained that the neighbors in Devonshire treated her in a shabby fashion. She also insisted that she feared Miss Stanholte suspected that she was a fraud and meant to see her thrown to the magistrate. Annoyingly, any hint as to whom she had sent the letter to had been burned away. Still, the note at least confirmed he was on the right track. Turning, he handed the letter to his companion.