The Footman (The Masqueraders Book 1)

by S. M. LaViolette

  Stephen had come upon Lady Trentham while she attempted to free the little urchin, a tenant farmer’s child, from a particularly dense hedge in which he’d become entangled. When Stephen had finally extricated him from the foliage the child had cast up his accounts on Stephen’s coat.

  Stephen gave her a look of mock severity. “I’m beginning to suspect you are not a very nice woman, Lady Trentham.”

  She shook silently, her eyes shining. “I can see how you might come to that conclusion, Mr. Worth. I do hope your valet was able to get the stains out.”

  “My valet decamped before we left Boston and I have been woefully negligent in replacing him. As it stands, I am my valet, madam. At least I was that day as Mr. Fielding—an employee who sees to my needs in his own savage fashion—refused to have anything to do with the repulsive coat.”

  She laughed again, her fingers once more lightly touching her upper lip. It was a lovely upper lip, finely drawn and expressive. Stephen learned more from watching her mouth than he ever did from her eyes or words. He had the strongest desire to take that lip between his own and—

  “You must send your coat to the woman who does our washing. She is a wizard when it comes to removing difficult stains without damaging a garment.”

  Stephen pulled his eyes away from her mouth with some effort. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my lady. One of the stable lads is now swaning about in what was once my favorite riding coat.”

  She smiled. “It was a very kind thing to do.”

  “Well I wasn’t going to wear it again, and throwing it away seemed like a shame, even considering the large chrysanthemum-shaped design it now sports on the lapel.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she said softly.

  Stephen knew exactly what she meant. “Whatever do you mean, my lady?”

  She gave a gentle shake of her head to show she knew he was toying with her. “You needn’t have helped poor Reggie; there are many men in your position who wouldn’t have wasted even a thought on a tenant’s child. It was kind of you.”

  “How do you know it was kind?” He lowered his voice and leaned closer. “What if I only did it to turn you up sweet? What if I did it so you would feel sorry for me and grant me the waltz I’ve been begging for?”

  She pursed her suckable upper lip and gave him her profile again.

  They ate in silence as Stephen bided his time and considered, yet again, the last bit of information Fielding had given him about the increasingly fascinating widow.

  “Even though she no longer lives at the big house, she’s still very highly thought of by the earl’s people—far more than he is, not surprisingly—and she usually visits the sick, poor, and elderly on Trentham’s estate twice every week.” Fielding stopped and cleared his throat. “But this past Saturday she did something different.”

  “Well?” Stephen prodded when the man remained silent, shuffling his big feet on the worn Savonnerie carpet.

  “She took her carriage into Cirencester and met a bloke,” he finally said, eyeing Stephen with an almost nervous look.

  “Who?” Stephen could barely force the one word through the poisonous stew of emotions churning in his gut. Where the devil were such feelings coming from—and why?

  Fielding shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  The quill Stephen had been fiddling with snapped in two.

  “What am I paying you for? You’d bloody well better find out, hadn’t you, Fielding?” He’d been unable to keep the fury from his voice. That was all he needed, some meddling lover to get in his way.

  Footmen materialized at Stephen’s elbow and brought him back to the present. He released the fork he’d been clutching like a stiletto, allowing the servant to remove it along with the rest.

  He turned to Elinor Trentham and stared until she faced him. Without food to hide behind, she could hardly avoid him.

  It was she who broke the silence. “Will you be returning to London now that Lord Trentham’s ball—and your mania for balls—is no longer keeping you at Blackfriars?”

  He smiled at the subtle teasing. “I am returning to London tomorrow.”

  The flash of disappointment on her face was like a shooting star, here and gone in a flash. Had he even seen it?

  “Will you miss me, Lady Trentham?” he asked, prompted by some demon.

  Her small breasts rose and fell twice in their snug silk bower, her gaze on her hand as it toyed with the stem of her glass. “My flirtation skills will certainly suffer in your absence, Mr. Worth.”

  “Is that all that will suffer?” Why did he want her to admit to noticing his comings and goings—especially his goings?

  She looked up at him then, her eyes like molten pits of silver. Stephen knew raw yearning when he saw it and the hunger in her look made his entire body hard. She dropped her burning gaze as quickly as she’d raised it. “I’m afraid you’ll find society quite thin in London at this time of year.”

  ∞∞∞

  Elinor stared blindly at her wine glass. Why was he doing this to her? What was he doing to her? She desperately wanted him to go to London and stay there. But then a fist closed around her heart when she thought of days in which there would be no chance to see him, even from afar.

  He’d somehow kindled her spirit—and body—back to life with nothing but a few scorching looks and tame innuendo. She might be unschooled in the ways of the ton, but she knew many widows led active sexual lives after their husbands died. Was that what she wanted from him? Was that what he wanted?

  Because there was no longer any doubt in her mind that he wanted something from her. Something more than a blasted waltz. He’d systematically stalked her over the past few weeks. That was the only word for it: stalking. He’d materialized almost every time she’d left her house, except the Saturday she’d spent with Marcus. Thinking about Marcus made her temples throb. She needed to do something about him, and soon.

  Footmen arrived with fresh plates and she served herself from the nearest dishes, unaware of what she took. Instead, she stole a sideways look at Worth, relieved to see he’d taken her neglect in stride and was chatting with Squire Lewis’s daughter, Laurel. The girl sparkled, her beautiful face like a flower blooming in sunshine. Did he have that effect on every woman in his orbit? Had she simply imagined his interest in her?

  He turned to her as though she’d spoken the question aloud.

  “I would very much like to show you my collection of miniatures, Lady Trentham.”

  If not the last thing she’d expected him to say, it was certainly close.

  “You would be better served showing it to my father. He is considered something of an expert.”

  “I don’t want an expert opinion, I want yours.”

  Elinor pushed several peas around on her plate rather than put them in her mouth and attempt masticating. He appeared to be waiting for a response.

  “You travel with your collection?”

  “I keep the things I like close at hand so that I may gloat over them and touch them whenever I wish.” One long, bronzed finger absently stroked the stem of his wine glass. Elinor swallowed. “Besides,” he continued, “I plan to settle here and I could hardly do so without my most prized possessions.”

  “Oh?” She couldn’t muster another syllable. Dear God. Was he really going to purchase Blackfriars? She would have to leave the Dower House. And if she couldn’t find another cottage nearby—one she could afford on her meager jointure—then she would have to leave him.

  The thought stopped her incipient hysteria in its tracks. That she would even think such a thing was terrifying. He was watching her, his probing green eyes absorbing whatever it was he saw on her face. “Is that why you are returning to London?” she asked softly, “To fetch your possessions?”

  He gave her a long, lazy look from beneath dark auburn lashes, as though he knew the heartburn he was causing and was feasting on it, savoring it. “The reason I am running back to London is that I’ve received information about a
large project my bank is interested in financing. I must see if the project is sound. So, you see, my lady, I am not going to London to flit about attending society events as you suspected.”

  “It was flirting I accused you of earlier, not flitting, Mr. Worth.”

  “I’m afraid neither of those activities interests me if you are not involved, my lady.”

  Elinor couldn’t help laughing. Were all Americans this relentlessly aggressive?

  “You have a beautiful smile, at least what I can see of it.”

  Trust the man to notice such a slight thing. Elinor dropped her hand and frowned.

  “You are not only flirtatious but persistent, Mr. Worth. That second characteristic must serve you well in business.”

  Dangerous imps danced in his eyes and a smile that was pure predator curved his lips. “It serves me just as well in my pursuit of pleasure.”

  Thankfully the man on her other side interrupted to ask a question about Blackfriars and Elinor was able to escape the conversation without making a fool of herself.

  The rest of the meal passed in blessed boredom as she fielded impertinent questions from her other dinner partner about Trentham’s financial situation, his relationship with the rich American, and his plans for Blackfriars.

  Still, it was better than fielding impertinent questions about herself. Wasn’t it?

  ∞∞∞

  Stephen had been less than honest when he’d said he loved balls and the world seemed determined to punish him for his untruth. Word of his love of dancing spread faster than the Black Death and he found himself faced with a veritable army of debutantes.

  True to her word, Elinor did not dance a single dance. Instead, she sat with all the mamas and companions, watching the dancers, drinking lemonade, and exchanging pleasantries. Stephen wasn’t fooled, however. He’d found her silvery gaze on him more than a few times. She was aware of him. Very aware.

  By the time the second waltz crept up Stephen had danced every single set and found himself beset by even more eager mamas, each driven to snag the wealthy American for her daughter.

  The dancers were already assembling for the supper set by the time he was able to free himself from the throng. He was not surprised to see the chair the countess had occupied all evening was now vacant.

  “You little minx,” he muttered under his breath, and then flashed a smile at a pair of tittering girls as he made his way toward the double doors.

  “I say, Worth,” Charles Atwood appeared before him as though he’d sprouted from the intricately tiled floor. “Do you have a moment to meet a few chaps who’ve come up special from London to meet you?”

  Stephen fought back a groan. He already knew what ‘chaps’ the earl was referring to. After all, it was Fielding’s machinations that had led to the men in question’s interest.

  He gave the earl an apologetic smile. “Not just now, my lord. I’ve a rather urgent call that requires my attention.” He looked in the direction of the necessary and raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, yes, of course. Well, in your own good time, old man. We’ll be in the card room.”

  Gambling away the money from the sale of your inheritance before you even have it, old chap?

  Stephen made his way to the entrance. “Have you seen Lady Trentham?” he asked one of the footmen who flanked the massive doorway.

  “Yes, sir, she just stepped out into the knot garden for a breath of air.”

  Stephen had been in the neglected garden several times. Although it was late in the year, many of the plants that made up the intricate design were still flourishing. Lanterns had been hung on metal hangers at strategic intervals and the somewhat shaggy garden looked magical under the light of the full moon. Couples lingered here and there, some gravitating to the taller shrubbery, which would shield their behavior. Lady Trentham, the only solo visitant, was easy to spot.

  Stephen approached the stone bench where she sat, his evening shoes crunching on the pea-gravel path.

  She turned toward the sound. “Mr. Worth,” she said flatly.

  “Lady Trentham, you do not sound surprised to see me.”

  “Surprised? No. You are tenacious.” She turned away before he could gauge the expression on her face.

  “I have come to collect my waltz.”

  “You shouldn’t have. You will ruin your shoes.”

  “What about your shoes?” He rounded the bench and stood in front of her. When she would not look up, he dropped to his haunches. Her jaw was set and her face was rigid with tension.

  “Here now,” he murmured, taking her sharp chin in his hand and turning her to face him. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

  She jerked her chin away, her eyes blazing. “Of course I am.” She thrust out her left foot and lifted the hem of her dress, the gesture reminiscent of that long-ago night. “Do you think I wish to dance with this?”

  Stephen looked down at the small foot beside his knee. It was proportioned normally but twisted at an angle that meant she would have to walk on the outside edge, rather than the bottom. The side of her slipper, a pale peach like her dress, was already scuffed and frayed where it had contacted the ground. He took her delicate limb in his hand and she gasped.

  She was so tiny; her foot was barely the span of his hand from his wrist to the tip of his fingers.

  “Does it pain you?” he asked, looking up.

  She blinked down at him but did not pull away. “Sometimes.”

  “There is no cure for this?”

  “There was none when I was a child. Now the condition is believed to be treatable if the infant’s bones have not yet hardened.”

  “Is this why you study medicine? To prevent this type of thing from happening?”

  She jerked her foot away from him. “How do you know that?”

  He rose from his haunches and lowered himself onto the bench beside her. “I make it my business to find out what interests me.”

  “Why do I interest you, Mr. Worth? I know it is not because of my incredible beauty, wealth, or charm as I am horribly deficient in all three areas. What is it that you want with me? Why can you not fasten your interest on someone more appropriate? Someone like Laurel Lewis?”

  “Who the devil is she?”

  “The girl you sat beside at dinner for almost two hours.”

  “Oh. I thought her name was Susan.”

  A strangled sound of disbelief came from between her parted lips.

  Stephen smiled and shrugged. “Who can say why I fail to find Miss Lewis of any interest? Why does a person prefer roast beef to lobster patties? Or Scotch to port?”

  Her eyes, already large, appeared to double in size. “Are you really comparing women to meat and alcohol, Mr. Worth?”

  “Does that offend you? Would you rather I spoke in terms of art? A Fragonard to a Boucher? A Leonardo to—”

  “Why.” It was not a question; it was a demand.

  Stephen took a moment to give the issue the consideration it deserved. Of course he could not tell her the real reason he was determined to seduce her. Not yet, at least. That didn’t mean he couldn’t share some part of the truth.

  “You fascinate me,” he confessed in all honesty.

  Her small body stiffened beside him. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “I don’t see why. You are an unusual woman. You live alone, you have undertaken to study a subject that is foreclosed to your sex, you have a strong sense of commitment to your dead husband’s people even though another man should now be caring for their interests, and you are an attractive woman still in her prime who appears to have closed herself off to the possibility of a husband and children. You are, in a word, fascinating.”

  She remained silent beside him.

  “I’m sorry I teased you to dance with me. It was not done out of spite.” That much was true. “I merely sought an opportunity to spend time with you.”

  Still she did not reply.

  “Lady Trentham? Elinor?”
Her name came off his tongue as though he’d spoken it out loud a thousand times. Wide gray eyes turned to him and he acted on an impulse that hadn’t even registered yet.

  Soft, yielding lips touched his and a scent that had teased him for fifteen years invaded his nostrils: lavender mixed with something else, something that eluded him. He feathered her unresisting but closed mouth with light kisses before following the intoxicating scent across her smooth cheek to her jaw and finally to her hair. He inhaled deeply; his eyes closed as the smell triggered thoughts of that long ago night.

  Her slim body molded against his, her soft silver eyes looking up, pleading.

  Would you like to kiss me?

  “Tea,” he murmured into her thick, fragrant hair, “You smell like lavender and Lady Gray tea.” His words acted like the crack of a whip and she jerked away so abruptly she would have fallen from the end of the bench if he’d not reached out to stop her.

  “Steady on,” he gentled, using the same soothing tone he would employ on any skittish creature.

  “Unhand me, please.”

  “Only if you promise not to bolt.”

  “A lady does not bolt, Mr. Worth.”

  He chuckled. “That’s the Elinor I know.”

  “You know nothing about me. And I did not give you leave to use my Christian name.”

  “You may call me Stephen, if it pleases you.”

  “It does not please me.”

  “What can I do to please you, then?” Only after he spoke the words did he realize he truly meant them. The realization sent a cold, wickedly sharp knife of fear through his body. When had he begun to think of her as anything other than a task? An item to be ticked from a list? A list he’d been carefully compiling for fifteen years.

  She pulled her arm from his hand and lurched to her feet. “If you want to please me, you can leave me be, Mr. Worth.”

  Her limp was pronounced as she walked away, her slim shoulders squared like a soldier’s. Stephen watched until she disappeared back into the house, his entire being filled with the most violent craving for a cup of tea.

  Chapter Nine