“I doubt it. The duel was not the whole of it. The king owns an art collection and one room is forbidden to women. It contains ancient images of a carnal nature. Miss Blair convinced young Marsilio to get her in. So criminal trespass and a taste for licentious art are among her crimes. Sansoni also says she is a common prostitute. While Naples is infamous for permitting such women their trade, her flaunting herself in places that the court frequents—”
“She is not a prostitute. I can vouch for that. She is odd, that is true. Eccentric. A free thinker, but essentially honest. Surely Sansoni knows of such people. Go explain that.”
“This man’s job is to break free thinkers, and he does so with relish. However, I will try again.”
Once more Cornell walked down the chamber. The conversation was briefer this time. Sansoni’s black eyes sought Elliot and gave him a sharp examination.
Cornell returned. “He spoke faster this time and I am not catching it all. However, he wants to know on what authority you and your family intrude on this matter. He demands to know if you are a male relative, or have other standing.”
Elliot had absolutely no standing but it would not do to admit that. “Tell him she is a good friend of my family. Easterbrook receives her like a sister.” That bald lie would never be disproved. Christian would have done the same under the circumstances. “Say that we endeavor to control her, but she unexpectedly made this journey to Naples to escape our influence. I have come to see to her welfare and can promise there will be no more trouble. And if he indicates that he wants a bribe, tell him I will pay it to get her back.”
Cornell’s discussions with Sansoni became animated this time. Sansoni’s gestures flew in rapid succession. When Cornell walked back with his report, he appeared a little concerned.
“There has, I fear, been a misunderstanding. Now fixing it will create unknown complications. I blame my lack of total fluency in the language for this unfortunate turn in the negotiations,” he said.
“He appears much calmer and more amenable, though. What is the misunderstanding?”
Cornell’s face flushed. “I think he somehow has concluded you are Miss Blair’s fiancé, and that she came here to escape an arranged marriage that your family accepted due to her very large dowry. He thinks that you followed to retrieve her.”
“That is one hell of a misunderstanding. How did you manage it?”
“I am not sure. The words for family, sister, money, and escape—they must have gotten all mixed up and implied more than I intended.” Cornell turned with a sigh, to go and rectify his error.
Elliot caught his arm, stopping him. “Is he prepared to release her if we let the confusion stand?”
“Yes, but—”
“Are you sure that is what he thinks?”
“I am not secure in my understanding of his misinterpretation, but—”
“Then we will not disabuse him.”
“I am not sure that is honorable.”
“You have told no untruths. You are not sure that he misunderstood.” Elliot clamped his hand on Cornell’s shoulder. “We will accept this as a gift from Providence and let it stand. This is not a man who is received by the English community here. If he misunderstood, he will never be the wiser.”
Cornell allowed himself to be swayed. “If you are determined, so be it. Come with me. He wants your spoken word that you will control Miss Blair while she remains in this kingdom. She must be under your constant authority, and you will be held responsible for any other trouble that she creates. Are you prepared to so swear?”
Elliot nodded. He walked down the cavern with Captain Cornell and took custody of Miss Blair from the odious, loathsome Gentile Sansoni.
CHAPTER
THREE
Phaedra rose from her writing table in response to Signora Cirillo’s call. If the woman wanted more money so soon…
A wonderful sight awaited her when she opened the door to her chambers. Signora Cirillo was not alone. Lord Elliot stood beside her.
Phaedra kept her composure even though she wanted to shout for joy. If he was here, it only meant one thing.
“Lord Elliot, please enter. Grazie, signora.”
Signora Cirillo raised her eyebrows over her dark cat eyes at this dismissal. Phaedra shooed her away.
“You bring good news I hope, Lord Elliot,” Phaedra said when they were alone.
“Your house arrest is over, Miss Blair. We have Captain Cornell of the Euryalus to thank. He spoke with Sansoni on our behalf.”
“Thank God for the Royal Navy.” She ran to the window and threw open the shutters. The guard outside was gone. “I must take a turn along the bay this evening. I cannot believe—” She skipped back to Lord Elliot and gave him an embrace. “I am so grateful to you.”
He smiled kindly when she released him. He seemed to understand her excitement and forgive her exuberance. If his gaze had warmed a little from her impulsive embrace, well, he was a man after all.
He appeared quite magnificent right now in his perfectly tailored, brown frock coat and high boots. His smile did much to soften the severity of the Rothwell face. Unlike his older brothers, Lord Elliot was reputed to smile often, and it appeared that was true.
He looked around her sitting room. His gaze lit upon her writing desk. “I have interrupted your letter, I fear.”
“An interruption I most welcomed. I was writing to Alexia and pouring out my story of woe, on the chance I could at least throw my letter down to you when you returned here.”
“Why not complete the letter at once and let her know all is well? I will take it to Cornell. He sails in two days for Portsmouth, and will post it to London from there.”
“What a splendid idea, if you will not think me rude to jot a few more lines.”
“Not at all, Miss Blair. Not at all.”
She sat down and quickly added a paragraph telling Alexia that all had been resolved happily, thanks to Alexia’s new brother-in-law Lord Elliot. She folded, addressed, and sealed the paper, and stood with it in her hand. Lord Elliot gently plucked it from her fingers. He tucked it into his frock coat.
He resumed his perusal of the sitting room and its views. “You came to the door yourself, Miss Blair. Where is your abigail?”
“I have no abigail, Lord Elliot. No servants. Not even in London.”
“Is that due to another philosophical belief?”
“It is a practical decision. An uncle left me a respectable income, but I would rather spend it in other ways.”
“How sensible. However, your lack of a servant is inconvenient.”
“Not at all.” She turned on her toes and the drapes of her black gauze garment and long hair fanned out. “A dress like this does not require a maid to truss me, and my hair requires only a brush.”
“I was not thinking of your dressing. I need to speak with you about this development, and with no maid in this apartment…”
He worried for her reputation should she be with a man alone. How charming.
“Lord Elliot, it is impossible for you to compromise me because I am above such stupid social rules. Besides, this is a business meeting of sorts, is it not? Our privacy is not only allowed in such situations, but also necessary.” She doubted he would accept her reasoning, logical though it was. Men like him never did.
To her amazement he capitulated immediately. “You are correct. Therefore we shall proceed. Will you not sit? This could take some time.”
He appeared very serious all of a sudden. Serious and stern and…hard. His gesture toward the divan carried more command than his polite request implied. The temptation to remain standing nipped at her. She sat, but only because he had just procured her freedom.
He settled into a chair that faced her. He gave her a good look, as if sizing her up. He might have never seen her before and now tried to interpret the peculiar image she presented.
She could not shake the sense that, in a manner of speaking, she had never seen him before either. There w
as none of his quiet amusement now, just a long, examining, invasive gaze that made her uneasy. A very feminine response rumbled deeply in her essence.
That was the damndest thing about handsome men. Their beauty left one at a disadvantage when they directed attention at you. This man was very handsome. He was also very masculine in most ways, and subtly so in the worst ones. Right now he seemed to be deliberately trying to unsettle her. He did not do it for carnal reasons, she was sure. Yet his aura projected that lure too, and her blood reacted to it.
Protecting, possessing, conquering—they were all facets of the same primitive instinct, weren’t they? A man could not follow one inclination without arousing the others in himself, and a woman was easily vanquished if she did not take care. She wondered which ancient part of the male character motivated him now.
“Alexia did ask me to look in on you, Miss Blair. That was no lie. However, I had other reasons to call and they must now be addressed.”
“Since we only met once, at Alexia’s wedding, and very briefly, I cannot imagine what your reasons might be.”
“I think that you can.”
Now he was annoying her. “I assure you I cannot.”
His tone indicated that he found her annoying in turn. “Miss Blair, it has come to my attention that you are now a partner in Merris Langton’s publishing house. That you inherited your father’s interest in the business.”
“That is not information that has been given out, Lord Elliot. With men assuming a woman cannot succeed in business, and with many believing it unnatural for a woman to even try, I chose to keep that quiet so prejudice would not affect the business itself.”
“Do you intend to be active in it?”
“I will have a hand in choosing the titles published, but I expect Mr. Langton will continue to oversee the practical matters. I would like to know who informed you of this. If my solicitor has been indiscreet—”
“Your solicitor is blameless.” His attention left her. His eyes assumed a brooding darkness. The distraction hinted at the brilliant mind inside this elegant man about town, and the intellectual absorption that had led him to pen a celebrated historical tome before he turned twenty-three.
“Miss Blair, I regret that I bring you some bad news. Merris Langton passed away from his illness after you left London. He was buried a few days before I sailed myself.”
She had feared Mr. Langton would not recover, but hearing of his death was surprising anyway. “That is bad news indeed, Lord Elliot. I thank you for informing me. I did not know him well, but a man’s passing is always sad. I had counted on him helping me maintain that publishing house, but it appears I will be left to do it on my own.”
“Is it all yours now?”
“My father founded the press and subsidized it all along. His share was his to bequeath, but Mr. Langton’s became my father’s if Mr. Langton died. So, yes, I do believe it is all mine now.”
His distraction disappeared. The sternness returned. Coldly. “Prior to Langton’s illness, he approached my brother. He spoke of your father’s memoirs being published. He offered to omit several paragraphs in the manuscript that touched on my family if a significant sum was paid to him.”
“He did? That is terrible! I am shocked by this betrayal of my father’s principles, and sincerely apologize for my partner.”
She rose and began pacing, agitated by this revelation. Lord Elliot politely stood too, but she ignored him while she tried to take in the implications of Mr. Langton’s foolish scheme. This might be all it took to bring that shaky press down.
She knew too well its precarious finances, and as a partner she was responsible for the unpaid debts. She had counted on her father’s memoirs to pull them through. If Mr. Langton had compromised the integrity of that publication, the world might dismiss the book entirely.
“This is all Harriette Wilson’s fault,” she said, her dismay edging into anger. “She set a disgraceful precedent in asking her lovers to pay to have their names removed. I wrote to her about it, mind you. Harriette, I wrote, it is wrong to take money to expunge memoirs. It is just a pretty form of blackmail. She only thought of her purse, of course. Well, that is the result of the dependent life she chose and the foolish extravagance that she practiced.” She strode more purposefully. “Mr. Langton no doubt approached others too. I cannot believe he would impugn the ethics of our publishing house in this way.”
“Miss Blair, please spare me the theatrical outrage. My family was prepared to pay Langton. I sought you out to say that we will now gladly pay you instead.”
Theatrical outrage? She paused her pacing and faced him squarely. “Lord Elliot, I hope that I misunderstand you. Are you suggesting that I would accept this money to edit the memoirs to your liking?”
“It is our hope that you will.”
She advanced on him until she was close enough to see the thoughts reflected in his eyes. “Good heavens, you think that I knew Mr. Langton was doing this, don’t you? You believe I was an accomplice to it.”
He did not respond. He just looked back, visibly skeptical of her astonishment.
Furious about his assumptions, affronted by the insult, she turned away. “Lord Elliot, my father’s memoirs are going to be published as soon as I return to England. Every sentence of them. It was his last wish, commanded of me while he was on his deathbed. I would never pick and choose which of his words the world should read. I am sincerely grateful for your aid with Mr. Sansoni, but it would be best if we ended this conversation. If I had a servant I would have you shown out. As it is, you will have to find your own way.”
To make her dismissal of him complete, she strode to her bedchamber and closed the door.
She had not collected herself before the door to her chamber reopened. Lord Elliot calmly followed her in and closed it behind him.
“My visit is not over, and our business is not completed, Miss Blair.”
“How dare—this is my bedchamber, sir.”
He crossed his arms and assumed that irritating, masculine pose of command. “Normally that might check me, but you are above stupid social rules like the one that says I should not intrude here. Remember?”
She did not consider that particular social rule so stupid. It existed for a very good reason. A primitive one. This was her most private space, her sanctuary. The air began altering while he glanced at the wardrobe where her garments were stored and the dressing table that held her private items. His gaze swept over the bed slowly, then returned to her.
His thoughts were not as masked as he thought. She noted the subtle changes in his expression, the way the hardness that he wore rearranged itself ever so slightly. A man could not be near a bed with a woman and not start wondering. It was just a curse of nature that they bore.
It irritated her that she wondered too. The manner in which he had just insulted her should provide the best armor against the intimacy threading through this chamber. The brief silence grew heavy and full of a magnetic excitement that stirred her.
An image blinked in her mind, of Lord Elliot looking down at her, his face mere inches from hers, his dark hair mussed by reasons besides fashion and his thoughts completely unmasked. She saw his naked shoulders and felt the pressure of his body and the firm hold of his embrace on her skin. She felt…
She forced the image from her head, but acknowledgment flashed in his eyes. He knew her mind had wandered there, just as she knew his had.
He unfolded his arms. She thought he might reach for her. She wondered if he would insult her further now. There were men who misunderstood her and proposed things in ignorance, but Lord Elliot was not stupid. It would be deliberately and cruelly offensive if he attempted to act on the sensual awareness whispering between them.
He turned his attention from her, diluting the intimacy but not completely vanquishing it. Her pride was spared even if her primitive self simmered with discontent.
“Is the manuscript here?” he asked. “Did you bring it with you?”
“Of course not. Why would I do that?”
He eyed the wardrobe. “Do you swear? If not I will have to search for it.”
“I swear, and don’t you dare search. You have no right to be here at all.”
“Actually, I do, but we will discuss that later.”
What was that supposed to mean? “I left it in London, in a very secure place. It contains my father’s memories, his last words. I would never be careless with it.”
“Have you read it?”
“Of course.”
“Then you know what he wrote about my family. I want you to tell me about that now. His exact words, as well as you can remember.”
He was not requesting to know, but demanding. His dominating high-handedness was making her gratitude for his help dim fast.
“Lord Elliot, your family’s name, and that of Easterbrook, is never mentioned in that manuscript.”
That surprised him. His sternness cracked long enough for her to glimpse the amiable, helpful man who had first entered her apartment. It did not last. The brooding distraction took over and the sharp mind assessed what she had said.
“Miss Blair, Merris Langton approached my brother and described a specific accusation against my father. Is there anything in that manuscript that in your opinion could be interpreted as relating to my parents?”
She wished he had not phrased his question quite that way. “There is one part that might be so interpreted, I suppose.”
“Please describe it.”
“I would rather not.”
“I insist. You will tell me now.”
His voice, his stance, and his expression said he would brook no argument. She had never before in her life been so pointedly ordered to do something by a man.
Perhaps it would be best if he and his family were warned. The passage they discussed had been one of several in the memoirs to give her pause.
“My father describes a private dinner party several years before my mother died. They entertained a young diplomat just back from the Cape Colony. My father wanted to learn the true conditions there. This young man drank rather freely and turned morose. While in his cups he confided something regarding an event in a British regiment in the colony.”
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