The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2)

by Alicia Quigley

  Helena’s heart sank as she realized she had harbored the hope that Malcolm might have sent his mistress away. “Yes, I met her yesterday,” she said slowly.

  “She’s a regular high flier,” said Arthur enthusiastically. “She rather made us look like rustics.”

  “I suppose she must,” agreed Helena, thinking of Mrs. Lacey’s dashing clothes and assured manner.

  “Well, she was very pleasant to me for all that.”

  “Arthur, Mrs. Lacey is Lord Wroxton’s mistress,” said Helena bluntly, tired of listening to her brother’s praise.

  Arthur flushed. “Is she? I had no idea. I thought that you—that Lord Wroxton—well, that the two of you might someday…”

  His voice faded away at the look on Helena’s face. “Well, I find it very hard to credit what you say,” he rejoined, his spirit returning. “Wroxton was no more than civil to her, and she spent far more time talking to me than to him.”

  “Doubtless she wishes to ensnare you as well,” said Helena bitterly.

  “That’s not likely to happen,” Arthur laughed. “She’s far beyond my touch.” He looked at Helena. “Of course, I didn’t mean that you are not also—,” he stopped as Helena glared at him. “I’ll go inside now, I believe.”

  “That might be a good idea,” murmured Helena.

  Arthur turned toward the doors. “Wroxton did ask after you,” he said carefully. “I have no notion what happened between the two of you, but perhaps you should not place too much weight on the arrival of Mrs. Lacey.”

  “Nothing has happened between Lord Wroxton and me,” Helena assured him. “Do stop fretting about it.”

  Arthur hesitated a moment, but then entered the house, and Helena was once more alone. She paced up and down the terrace, trying not to think of Mrs. Lacey’s sleek raven curls and beautiful face. No doubt she wished to captivate Arthur merely to toy with him, she thought angrily. Between Lord Wroxton and his friends, her brother would in short order be as dissolute as they were.

  She took a few turns on the terrace, then stepped down into the garden again, determined to banish the earl from her thoughts. But it was a difficult task, and even when she encountered the gardener and had a long discussion with him on the best way to make the roses thrive, he could not be forgotten completely. Eventually she walked back to the house. In a week Wroxton would be gone, she told herself sternly. When she no longer had to see him, she would forget him soon enough.

  Once again she heard a step behind her, and turned, thinking to apologize to Arthur for her earlier bad temper. It was not her brother’s fault that Mrs. Lacey was still at Wroxton, or that he had found her charming. She stopped in horror, however, when she saw that the man approaching her was the Earl of Wroxton.

  He bore down upon her swiftly, and she noted with annoyance that he was quite as beautiful as he had been the day before. Her misery and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had not served to make her want him less. The sun glinted across his golden curls, and she could not keep from noting the way his breeches clung to his powerful thighs. It was, she felt, entirely too annoying.

  He came up to her, and she glanced around, hoping the gardener was still in sight. But they were quite alone, and she summoned a distant smile to her lips as he bowed briefly to her.

  “Lord Wroxton,” she murmured.

  “Helena,” he answered. “You are so formal. You’ve made free with my name any time these past weeks.”

  “And with other things,” she said tartly. “Now I wonder if all that freedom has been a mistake.”

  “Never say so,” he protested. “I wish you had come to Wroxton today, but, as you did not, I have kept my promise and come to you.”

  “That was not necessary,” she said coldly.

  Malcolm gazed down at her. “Helena, Estella’s arrival changes nothing.”

  “Changes nothing! How can you possibly believe that we can continue our—our—” she struggled for a word to describe her relationship to the earl, while he grinned down at her teasingly. “Our friendship,” she finally produced, “with your mistress in your home.”

  “She is no longer my mistress,” said Malcolm promptly. “I spoke to her last night.”

  “Oh?” Helena drew the word out. “You seem to think me very stupid. Arthur told me not an hour ago that she was at Wroxton—flirting with him.”

  “Estella can’t help herself. If it wears breeches, she flirts with it. Arthur will come to no harm.”

  “You seem to know Mrs. Lacey’s habits very well.”

  He eyed her for a moment, attempting to gauge her mood. “Of course I do,” he said calmly. “Helena, I’ve never pretended to you that I am an innocent, or that I have no past. But I did not expect or wish this to happen. I did not invite Estella to Kent, nor was I pleased to see her.”

  “Yet she is still at Wroxton Hall today,” observed Helena.

  “Did you think I would throw her out on her ear?” asked Malcolm, a touch of impatience in his voice. “She has done nothing to you, or to me, to earn your ire. If she left in a huff, people would only talk, which would not help either of us. She will stay for the ball, and then she will leave with the other guests. But I will not be seeking out her company while she is here, and have even invited Lord Queshire, who seems to be angling for my place in her affections, to join the party.”

  “How very civilized,” said Helena bitterly.

  “Do you have something against civilization?” inquired Malcolm courteously. “I find I prefer it to the opposite.”

  “Of course not,” said Helena impatiently. “It is just that Mrs. Lacey’s arrival has made me realize how entirely unsuited we are.”

  He laughed softly and moved a step closer, so that she could almost feel the warmth of his body. “I think we are very well suited,” he murmured.

  Helena held up her hands protectively. “You move in a world I cannot even pretend to understand. I do not say that yours, with its gambling and dancing and people slipping in and out of each other’s beds, is worse than mine, but I could never be comfortable there.”

  “I’ll have no man but me slipping in and out of your bed,” said Malcolm firmly.

  Helena raised her eyebrows. “And yours?”

  Malcolm sighed. “You are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me. Surely that makes a difference?”

  “That is not an answer.”

  “You have refused my offer,” Malcolm pointed out. “You have no right to ask me who is in my bed.”

  “I might say the same thing to you.”

  “You might,” agreed Malcolm, “and I might kill any man who touches you.”

  He looked down her mutinous face and gave a heavy sigh. “Helena, what do you want of me? I have sought to make you my wife, I have dismissed my mistress for you, I have plotted to help you stop the free traders. Still you persist in doubting my intentions.”

  “I don’t doubt your intentions; indeed, I’m sure you mean well.” said Helena slowly.

  “But you have no faith in me,” said Malcolm bleakly. “You do not believe I will be a good husband.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you would be a good husband by the standards of most women,” said Helena in a small voice. “You would be kind to me, and I would have everything I might need. You would buy me beautiful clothing, and fine jewelry, and I would have an elegant home in London, as well as Wroxton Hall. Most people would say there was no more to ask for than that.”

  “Yet you do.” Malcolm eyed her closely. “Do you wish me to speak of love?”

  Helena drew in her breath. “No, of course not, that would be nonsensical. You do not love me, nor I you.”

  Malcolm studied her; she could not tell if he was pleased or disappointed at her response. “The last decade hasn’t made me more trusting,” he said. “Yet I know you are honest and true. I cannot promise you love, Helena, as I do not know any longer what that might mean. Rowena and Brayleigh fancy themselves in love, but I cannot see it is anything more than t
heir desire for one another. But I can promise you that, should you marry me, I will do my utmost to make you happy.”

  Helena suppressed a sob. Malcolm’s words should please her, she realized, but they only made her wish to flee. “If you wanted me to be happy, you would have told Mrs. Lacey weeks ago that she no longer had a place in your life,” she said. “Her arrival at Wroxton today shows me that you are careless—not only of my feelings, but hers as well. You say she has done nothing to me, or to you, and you are right. So how does she deserve to be dismissed out of hand because you have found yet another woman to dally with? Why should I believe I would be treated any differently?”

  Malcolm paled slightly. “In short, you do not trust me. Perhaps I have not earned your trust, or perhaps you are unwilling to take the risk of extending it. Someday, Helena, you will have to stop running from the world and leave the safety of Keighley Manor, or you will indeed be the spinster aunt to Arthur’s children, doting on them and growing old here, alone. You could have more than that, but you must risk something for it.”

  “Are you the man I should risk all this for?” Helena looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

  “I hope I am.” Malcolm shook his head. “You are maddening, yet I keep returning to you. Helena, I cannot do more than I have. You are right, I did not treat Estella well, but our arrangement was one of amusement and pleasure. I was thoughtless; you could teach me to be otherwise.”

  “I have no desire to teach a man to be a gentleman,” snapped Helena.

  Malcolm gazed at her for a long moment and then turned away, shrugging. “As you will. I have been honest with you, and you have been honest with me. It seems we do not agree. I think it best we conclude our business with the free traders, and be on our separate ways.”

  Helena swallowed, but met his eyes proudly. “I asked you here to help with the Gentlemen, and for no other reason.”

  “There were other reasons I stayed,” said Malcolm. “But that no longer matters, it seems. If we wish to spring our trap, you must continue to visit Wroxton Hall and assist with the preparations for the ball. I will no longer importune you, and when Denby is captured, you will be free of my presence.”

  “I don’t wish to be free of your presence,” said Helena haltingly. “I do not dislike you, my lord.”

  “But you don’t trust me, either.” Malcolm slipped one finger under her chin and turned her face toward him. He looked at her searchingly, and then released her. “I am yours, Helena, if you want me. But now it is you who must let me know.”

  Helena looked down, saying nothing, and he gave a short laugh. “Rowena arrives tomorrow. Will you visit her?”

  “Of course,” said Helena, grateful for the change of topic. “There is no reason why anything should change.”

  “Everything has changed,” said Malcolm shortly. “If you do not see that, I cannot explain it to you. Until tomorrow, Miss Keighley.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, placing a formal kiss upon it, and then walked away without a backward glance.

  Chapter 35

  An elegant traveling carriage sporting a gilded crest on its gleaming black lacquered doors rumbled up the graveled drive of Wroxton Hall, through the dappled shade of a pleached allée, which opened onto a vast lawn. The early afternoon sun glinted off the highly polished brass fittings, while the team of bays that drew it was perfectly matched. A fair-haired young woman leaned out the window, looking up eagerly at the Hall, which rose above the lawn, its limestone walls white against the brilliant sky. As they drew up, the gentleman riding next to the carriage dismounted and tossed the reins of his horse to the footman who had rushed out immediately upon their arrival.

  “I’ll attend to Lady Brayleigh,” he said. He opened the door of the carriage and let down the stairs. The woman stepped out, holding his hand tightly.

  “Oh, Alaric, it has been so long since I have seen Wroxton Hall,” she breathed. “I could not bear to be here after Papa died, nor did I care to visit when Cousin Felix was the earl.”

  More servants had materialized and were busy unloading the trunks off the carriage, while Lord Brayleigh gave instructions to his groom to see to the horses. As he mounted the steps with his wife, the wide oaken door opened and Catherwood emerged, beaming as he escorted them into the hall.

  “Welcome home, Miss Rowena—or Lady Brayleigh, I should say,” he said with a bow.

  “Thank you, Catherwood,” Rowena replied warmly as she removed her modish hat. “How is Mrs. Macomber?”

  “She is very well, and will be pleased to hear you asked after her.”

  Rowena glanced at her husband. “Brayleigh, this is Catherwood, who has known me since I was a child.”

  “Welcome to Wroxton Hall, my lord,” said the butler, bowing again. He took the earl’s hat with a flourish.

  “I’m pleased to meet the conspirator of my wife’s childhood,” Alaric replied.

  “She shouldn’t have told you such tales,” demurred Catherwood, but he seemed very pleased nonetheless.

  “Is my brother here?” asked Rowena.

  “His lordship is in the library, my lady. Allow me to escort you there.”

  Scarcely had Catherwood spoken when a door across the immense entrance hall was flung open, and Malcolm emerged. “Rowena!” he called and in a moment the brother and sister were sharing a hug.

  “Malcolm, how wonderful to see you, and how delightful to be home!” said Rowena.

  “Be careful, sister, or Brayleigh here will think you don’t care for his estates,” Malcolm laughed.

  Alaric regarded them with raised eyebrows. “How heartwarming to see the two of you together,” he murmured. “No doubt trouble is sure to follow.”

  “Aye, you’re always looking for the gloom in everything,” said Malcolm. “Come into the library, there’s no need to stand about in the hall. Catherwood, bring refreshments; I’m sure my sister is famished.”

  “Not at all.” Rowena sank into a chair, her skirts billowing about her. “We made such excellent progress that we stopped and had an enormous luncheon in Stanford.” She glanced up at her husband. “Alaric’s horses are so fast.”

  “They are, are they? I’d put my own up against them any day.”

  “You would lose,” said Alaric firmly.

  “A challenge is it?” demanded Malcolm.

  “No, it is not,” interjected Rowena peevishly. “Can the two of you not be in the same room for five minutes without quarreling?”

  “I fear not, my dear.” Alaric placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Your brother is as rash as ever.”

  “Your husband would annoy a saint, Rowena,” rejoined Malcolm.

  “The two of you will give me the headache if you do not stop your nonsense. Alaric, you behave yourself; you are a guest in my brother’s home. Malcolm, you do likewise; after all, you are the owner of Wroxton Hall now and it behooves you to be polite.”

  “I wasn’t calling him out,” said Malcolm. “I was only thinking of a race—to Folkestone perhaps.”

  “I don’t have my curricle with me, but I will be glad to oblige you once we return to London,” said Alaric.

  “There will be no racing,” interrupted Rowena. “Really, I have no need for the two of you to get into more trouble than you already have.”

  “Very well, I’ll leave your husband in peace, though I have no doubt I would have won.”

  Alaric opened his mouth to respond, but closed it again under the quelling look Rowena shot at him.

  “I was never more surprised than when I received your letter telling me you meant to have a ball at Wroxton,” said Rowena, guiding the conversation to calmer waters.

  “It seemed right, given the hospitality extended to me since I arrived here. You will be amazed to know I’ve attended an assembly and done the pretty with the locals for weeks now. I’ve eaten dinner at any number of houses and met more people than I can remember.”

  “I am amazed. An assembly? Truly? Did you dance?
”

  “It wasn’t so bad,” shrugged Malcolm. “The people hereabouts are rather pleasant, once you get to know them.”

  Catherwood entered with the tea tray, and disposed of it on the table in front of Rowena. She busied herself with the cups. “Rather pleasant?” she echoed. “I never thought to hear you say you enjoy rusticating in the country when you could be in London.”

  Malcolm dropped down in a chair across from her and accepted a teacup. “To tell you the truth, Rowena, I barely miss London. Of course, Del accompanied me, which helps a great deal, but I’ve found more than enough to do here at Wroxton. I’ve found time to make a few improvements that I think will be a great help.”

  Rowena exchanged a glance with Alaric. “Who will be at the ball?”

  “Lord, I don’t know. Del, of course, Mrs. Honeysett, the Cuthberts, Sir Tarquin and Lady Valerie, and some horrible sounding people named the Beasleys. No doubt you remember most of them. If you want a full accounting, you should talk to Miss Keighley. She made up the guest list.”

  Rowena glanced up. “Miss Keighley?”

  “She’s been quite a help,” said Malcolm cheerfully. “I couldn’t have done all this without her.”

  “So you have met her.”

  “I met her the first day I was here. You made me promise to visit her, if you recall.”

  “I do remember, but I was not at all sure you would.” Rowena paused. “What do you think of her?”

  “I think she’s far too clever for her own good,” said Malcolm firmly. “But we’ve an uneasy truce, and that brother of hers is a good fellow.”

  “You dislike her?” Rowena sounded disappointed.

  “I don’t dislike her, or I wouldn’t have sought her help with the ball,” said Malcolm breezily. “She’s just not my style precisely.”

  “Oh.” Rowena fiddled with her teacup. “She is a friend of mine, you know. I’m very fond of her.”

  “Then you will be pleased that she will be here this afternoon. I will send around telling her of your arrival.”

  “Dear Helena. I will be so glad to see her.” She glanced up at her brother speculatively, but could read nothing from his expression. “Who comes from London?” she finally asked.