A Beastly Scandal

by Shereen Vedam

  “Well said, aunt,” Lord Terrance said, and then looked startled that they were in agreement. “On that note, I, too, extend my invitation to Lady Belle to stay at Clearview Manor, if you agree there will be no more talk of spirits or mysterious happenings with my family.”

  Everyone’s attention swung to Belle, and she turned to Lady Terrance. After all, her hostess had invited her to help with a haunting, not to pay a social call.

  Giving a melodramatic sigh, her ladyship said, “Very well.”

  Belle hesitated longer, and Lord Terrance’s challenging gaze relentlessly held hers captive. She disliked lying. If she gave him her word, she would keep it. But if she disagreed, Lord Terrance would show her the door.

  She replayed his exact words, and that cheered her. He had said “no more talk” of otherworldly topics. Not that she must stop working to rid his house of its troubled spirit. Belle was more than happy to complete her task with no one else the wiser. In fact, it might work out better that way.

  She nodded. “Agreed.”

  His eyebrow shot up as if in surprise and then as quickly, he smiled and nodded in approval.

  Belle’s extra senses surged to life, and a sense of “correctness” settled into the room. She had made the right decision. That sense of clarity was so strong she smiled.

  Lord Terrance’s gaze dropped to her lips and stayed there, as if he were enraptured by her smile. Then his aunt called his attention with a question.

  Lady Terrance leaned toward Belle and whispered, “Well played, my dear. I assume you had your fingers crossed, too.”

  Susie smothered a laugh behind her hand. At Belle’s surprised look, the young lady tilted her head toward her mother’s back. Belle followed her lead and found Lady Terrance’s fingers firmly crossed. Her ladyship’s slippers were set at an odd angle that suggested the countess’s toes also might be twisted.

  “Since Phillip and my aunt seem to have already settled in,” Lord Terrance said, “it is time Lady Belle was shown to her quarters.” He stood and extended his hand. “If you will allow me, it would be my pleasure to guide you.”

  “I am sure Felton is capable of doing that later, Rufus,” his mother said. “I had hoped to speak with her more.”

  “She is travel-worn and should recuperate before you enlist her help to entertain you, Mama.”

  Without a word, Belle rose and allowed him to escort her out. As Earnest followed close beside her, Lord Terrance shot the dog a frowning look.

  “I did not realize he belonged to you, my lord,” she said. “You should have said something when we met last night.”

  “Ran over me, you mean.”

  Belle’s cheeks warmed. “An accident. I explained that, but you refused to listen.”

  “All I heard were your intentions to upset my mother with talk of ghosts.”

  So, he had not forgiven her after all—not for taking his dog or invading his home. She suddenly understood that he intended to evict her. Escorting her had merely been a ruse to diplomatically remove her from his mother’s side. Resigned, she paused by the front entrance.

  Earnest stayed close, as if announcing he would go where she went.

  Lord Terrance gave her an inquiring glance, and she said, “Is my maid still outside?”

  “I sent her to unpack your bags. And I have ordered a cage to be brought up for the wounded owl once it is returned to you. My huntsman, who is good at attending to injured birds of prey, is currently tending it.”

  “You did all that?” And before his mother ever spoke on her behalf? Her heart was especially touched by his consideration for the owlet. What a complicated man.

  “And Mr. MacBride and Mr. Winfield?” she said.

  “Both had other matters to concern them. I saw to it that Mr. MacBride was adequately compensated for his troubles.” He indicated the stairs. “Shall we?”

  Still, she hesitated. “You said yesterday that . . .”

  “That was yesterday.” With a hand on her elbow, he urged her toward the stairs. “Today, you have stormed my castle and tamed my mother so that there will be no more talk of ghosts. You are a worthy opponent. One I plan to keep a close eye on in order to win this war.”

  Her startled gaze swept up and clashed with his frown. Even in anger, he made her heart skip. She did not want to spend her entire visit quarrelling.

  They began the trek up to the first floor, and she said, “I am not playing a game, my lord, nor are we engaged in battle. You have nothing to fear from me. I am not your enemy.”

  At the landing halfway up to the above floor, Lord Terrance swung her around to face him. “You are the slyest of opponents,” he said, eyes like flint. “One who battles from within rather than attacks from without. Never fear, I will ensure you are disarmed and rousted from my home before the week is out.”

  “You are completely mistaken in my character.” She wanted to tell him that all she wanted to do was help his mother, but she knew he would not listen. “What possible harm could I mean to you or your family?”

  “What harm do women always mean?”

  She stared at him, confused. Before she could fathom his words, he pulled her closer with a firm hand on her back.

  Mirroring her conflicted emotions, Earnest whined, then growled, and then whined again.

  The shock of contact left Belle breathless. She stood with her palms pressed against his chest, a traitorous enjoyment creeping from her toes to her hairline. His hold forced her limbs against his hard legs. The heat of his breath brushed intimately against her mouth.

  She knew she should give him a severe set-down, but all she wanted was to see his angry gaze melt with desire. Why would he not end her torment and kiss her? Mortified by that improper thought, Belle leaned away, but the dog was plastered against the backs of her knees. Some watchdog. She shoved him back, but Lord Terrance held her in place, as if to assert his mastery. To prove she was being released, not pulling away.

  “How . . . how dare you, sir.” The protest came far too late and sounded abysmally weak. In her mind, she heard Mrs. Jones say, A proper young lady would be overcome by the experience.

  “I am a lady.” She cursed her breathy voice, no longer certain the statement was even true. Did ladies dream of being ravished? “I am not a . . .”

  “A Cyprian?” The word was a caress.

  She should not know what that meant, but she had heard the word whispered as another form of harlot, a mistress, an illicit lover. “I have no idea what that means.”

  The tips of her ears singed with guilty heat even as he laughed with patent disbelief.

  “My lady?” Mendal called from upstairs.

  For once, Belle was grateful for Mendal’s over-protectiveness.

  “I am here,” she called back. “Lord Terrance kindly showed me the way. Mendal can direct me now, my lord.”

  He bowed and released her with an annoying grin on his handsome face. “Till our next skirmish, Lady Belle,” he said before leaving her standing alone on the landing.

  There had been laughter in his tone, as if calling her a “Lady” was his private joke. Beast. Her hand clenched. What she would give for a ball of snow right now.

  “Help him!” a man said in a harsh whisper.

  Belle swung around, her pulse jumping. There was no one on the stairs but for her and Earnest, and the dog now cowered beside her. He shook so hard he was vibrating her right knee.

  “Mendal?” she said, her neck hairs quivering, “did you see a man up there?”

  Running footsteps brought her maid to the top of the stairs. “Are you speaking to me, my lady?”

  Belle went up to the first floor to meet her. “Did you see a footman or some other man near here just now?”

  “No, my lady. I have been standing over there by the door to o
ur room waiting for you. No one came by. Is everything all right?”

  Her skin prickling with unease, Belle shook her head. “No, Mendal. Everything is not all right with Clearview Manor.”

  Chapter Three

  The next morning Rufus guided his mount, Goodwin, down a hill and toward the village. Although the official story said his father had died in a hunting accident, the late earl had been murdered. Even his mother was unaware of that.

  The day after the murder, the Prince Regent had summoned Rufus to inform him of the findings of their initial investigation. He was told the investigator believed Rufus may have murdered his father. Rufus had sworn to his innocence, insisting he had only come upon his father’s body that fateful night. He pleaded for, and was granted, a chance to clear his name. Temporarily. He had until the turn of the New Year, during which the royal investigation would be underway in London.

  If evidence was uncovered to his culpability, he would be tried in the House of Lords and possibly face the hangman’s noose. Rufus suspected that a runner or two had been on his trail since he left Westminster Abbey after that tension-filled meeting.

  He shrugged off the thought. No time to worry about those who watched him. He needed to concentrate on his investigation. Having wasted more than five months exhausting every possible lead to the killer in London, Rufus had returned to the last place his father visited before his death, this sleepy village. But a fierce snowstorm had kept him housebound for a week, or at least until last night, when he had foolishly gone in search of Earnest. While stuck at home, he had spent his time doing a thorough search of his father’s living quarters, which luckily were two doors away from his mother’s rooms. Unfortunately, he had found no clue to a possible motive for his father’s murder.

  Today, he was keen to return to the hunt. Though the November sky was a brilliant chilling blue, his troubles trailed him like a snow-laden dark cloud. He would begin his investigation by acquainting himself with the local vicar, a man his father had appointed two years ago while Rufus was in Oxford for his final year. He would know everything about everyone in his parish. If Rufus made a favorable impression on him, the man could serve as his main source of insight into current life at Terrance Village.

  Children’s laughter drew him toward the churchyard. The moment Rufus entered the area, they quieted. Solemn eyes turned in his direction. Then they scattered. He looked behind him at what might have frightened them. No one was nearby but him. He swung back, scowling.

  Within moments, the vicar stepped out the church door, one child hiding behind him. “Morning, my lord.”

  Rufus nodded as more parishioners exited. “Mr. Bedlow.”

  In every man’s, woman’s and child’s gaze, dread seemed to lurk. As if they were astonished and dismayed by his presence. Why? They would not know he was suspected of murder. Now his father was gone, most of them owed him their living. He had every right to ride here, on his land, and pay his respects to the vicar.

  “How unfortunate you missed the service,” the vicar said with a genial smile as he approached him.

  “Yes.” Rufus was oddly tongue-tied. He sat on his horse, shoulders stiff, hands jerking the reins until Goodwin pranced.

  Mr. Bedlow moved back as if afraid he might get trampled. Those gathered also shifted and eyed the horse with doubt. Rufus imagined the talk in their sitting rooms later. Lord Terrance rode by the church. Sat his horse like a cow-handed youth and practically trampled the vicar.

  This was not the time for a private conversation. Wanting nothing more than to leave the lot of them to their gossip and speculation, he said, “Good day, vicar.”

  He tapped the gelding with his foot. The horse unexpectedly leaped into the air and took off at a gallop. He must have kicked harder than he thought. Rufus got the animal under control, but by then he was too far away and in too foul a temper to go back and apologize if he had frightened anyone.

  The snow-covered hills lost their appeal, and his breakfast churned in his stomach as he went home. He spurred on his mount, his thoughts whipping him as fiercely as the wind.

  Why do I let the villagers bother me? Befriending them is not part of my plan. He dismissed that needless worry. Nevertheless, by the time Rufus arrived at his stables, his temper still churned. The sight of Lady Belle looking serene and delightful in a green riding dress did not help.

  He scowled at her. This was the worst time for visitors. Though he had accused her of being a distraction to his mother, he was the one in danger of being diverted from his purpose. Conceding he had a wild desire to kiss her at every meeting, he decided it would be prudent to keep her an arm’s length away at all times.

  With her attention fixed on the manor’s upstairs window, she did not notice his return. He followed her gaze, and a quick check confirmed nothing but a fluttering curtain on a deserted upper floor.

  Did she imagine a ghost lurked there instead of dust motes? The thought annoyed him, but since she had sworn to not share such silly speculations with his family, he let it slide.

  Earnest stood nearby, wagging his tail, obviously eager for their outing. The hound had never shown such interest in going out with Rufus. Normally, the puppy was hard to locate except at meal times.

  He dismounted and handed a sweating Goodwin to a stable boy. “Walk him before you rub him down.”

  With a wave, Rufus dismissed the groom waiting to help Lady Belle mount her horse. “I will assist her.” He gave her a bow. “A fine morning to be outside. But it is not wise to ride alone. I can have another horse saddled and come with you.”

  “That is most generous of you, Lord Terrance.” She gave him a wary glance. “However, I have already procured a riding companion.”

  Phillip, was his first thought. Had she given up seducing him in favor of his cousin? A sensible move, but it irked.

  Discarding his recent injunction to keep his distance, he moved closer. To his dismay, unlike most females of his acquaintance whose charms declined on closer inspection, this lady’s attraction increased. Her cheeks looked soft and touchable, her lips full and inviting, and her warm scent intoxicating. His cousin could not withstand such temptation.

  “Phillip is hardly worthy of your interest,” he said, trying to sound reasonable. “Although he is a splendid fellow, he is not plump in the pocket. As well, you would do better to set your sights on someone not burdened with a mother as controlling as his.”

  “I am not setting my sights on anyone.” Her cheeks showed her blush to perfection. “Why do you always assume I am on the trail of a husband? Do I have that goal painted on my forehead? Is my conversation so laden with longing for a man’s touch? Have I failed to show that I am pleased with my own company?”

  “All women seek a mate. It is the law of nature.” He was an expert on this subject. The female sex had been chasing him since he turned twelve.

  “Not my nature, my lord.” She sounded serious.

  He coated his answer in disbelief. “Truly?”

  She gave a curt nod. “I have ridden along that road, and the prospect has proven neither pleasant nor welcoming.”

  Was that a hint of bitterness? “But what would a well brought up young lady do otherwise, hmm?”

  Absently, he gently brushed a lock of her chestnut hair off her shoulders. He could not help but linger on the dark, plush, silken cords meant to bind a man. His arm brushed her delicate collarbone, and his nerve endings reacted. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on her shoulder.

  She shivered as if experiencing a mutual spark, and he smothered a triumphant grin. She might say she was uninterested in finding a mate, but her body disagreed. He wanted to show her the illogic of her stance. “If not marriage and children, what can you look forward to in life? You are wealthy enough that you would not need to take a menial position such as a governess or companion. What would you do with
your days?”

  She dislodged his touch. “I have plenty to occupy me.”

  She slipped away, and it was as if he had lost hold of something precious. “Such as?”

  “You have forbidden me to speak of it.”

  Now he retreated, startled by her serious expression. Her gaze again flicked to the upstairs window. “Are you speaking of chasing after your silly imaginings?”

  Her gazed hardened. Wrong choice of words. He was about to apologize when a more mischievous thought occurred.

  “If marriage is truly out of your realm of interest”—he inched closer until her rapid breaths brushed against his throat like a warm wind—“I can suggest a more diverting pastime than frequenting mouldy old castles and desolate graveyards.”

  “Morning, Rufus.”

  He started and swung around, guilt riding him hard. Could Susie have overheard his impudent suggestion? He was unsure why he had even spoken so. Except Lady Belle seemed to stir his basest instincts.

  Susie strode toward the stables wearing a dark blue riding habit with a black sash and sporting an innocent smile. “Are you coming with us?”

  “You are riding with my sister?” he asked Belle.

  “Yes, my lord.” She signaled the groom to come closer.

  “You look chipper to be out, Susie,” he said. His sister had not looked so happy in a long while.

  “I can hardly wait to ride Danielle.” Susie’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement.

  She was such a pretty girl. Why could she not dress to show herself to better advantage? “Your jacket is several years beyond the pale. And that skirt can garner no more comment than that it looks warm and serviceable. At least you are no longer in full black. Blue suits you,” he told her.

  She flushed darker, as if unhappy with his compliment.

  “I only meant,” he said, regretful that he had inadvertently hurt her, “that you can purchase any fripperies you desire. Make better use of local seamstresses.”