A Well Pleasured Lady

by Christina Dodd

  Mary paled. “I wouldn’t really murder him,” she said quickly. “I couldn’t commit murder lightly.”

  “Of course not. I never thought you could,” Lady Valéry hastened to reassure her, wondering all the while why Mary had reacted so to a simple jest.

  Mary pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor, struggling to subdue what appeared to be guilt, unbridled anger, and leftover passion—emotions Lady Valéry had never seen Mary expose in all the years of their acquaintance.

  Conversing casually to give Mary time to pull herself together, Lady Valéry said, “Everyone is panting to know what’s going on back here, but I’ll stand guard if you would like.”

  “Y-yes,” Mary said jerkily. “Thank you.” She paced toward one of the columns, rested her hand on the white fluting, and made a pronouncement. “Your godson is a boor.” She spoke with the assurance of ten years of boor-watching experience.

  Lady Valéry chuckled warmly. “I would be the last woman to argue with you. What has he done now?”

  “He wants to protect me from danger.”

  “How rude!”

  “He told me to be a good girl and act as a distraction for him.”

  “I can see how that would upset you…” Lady Valéry rapped her fan on her own wrist to subdue her amusement. “Isn’t that what he said he required of you when you originally spoke in Scotland?”

  Mary ignored that. “He promised me a reward if I was successful.”

  “How promising.” Lady Valéry was baiting Mary now. “Do you think it will be jewels?”

  Mary swung around and glared. “I believe your godson plans to present himself as the reward.”

  “A typical man.” Lady Valéry tucked her arm in Mary’s and leaned on it, then drew her out from behind the drape. “Although you could do worse than to take Sebastian.” She nodded at the horde that swam toward them like a school of sharks. “For instance, you could wed one of them.”

  “True,” Mary said fiercely, “but I don’t believe Sebastian is talking about marriage.”

  The girl saw all too clearly, but she remained in ignorance of Lady Valéry’s plans. And to keep her in ignorance, Lady Valéry would have to let other men have their chance. But oh, how it went against the grain to see the earl of Aggass, that putrid little pimple, descending on them.

  He bowed, his coattails flapping. “Lady Valéry, I wish to dance with the estimable Miss Fairchild. Do I need to ask your permission?”

  He made it clear by his tone that he only humored an old lady.

  Well, this old lady could teach him respect with the business end of her cane. But she didn’t. Instead she said, “Indeed you do, and you are required to bring her back to me as soon as the set is over. Miss Fairchild is not to be trifled with, Aggass, and I’m here to make sure you behave yourself.”

  “I’m quaking,” Aggass answered as he took Mary’s hand.

  “You should be,” Lady Valéry shot back as he led her onto the floor.

  He was scowling as he placed Mary opposite him in the dance, and Lady Valéry smirked. He would be surly and rude when he talked about her, and Mary would take exception, and he would have ruined himself in the eyes of the very heiress he sought to court.

  Men were so easy to manipulate.

  Lady Valéry turned to Mary’s other suitors as they gathered around. “Which of you gentlemen wishes to dance with Miss Fairchild next?”

  She decided the order of Mary’s partners, and succeeded in subtly undermining the ones who might have appeared attractive to Mary. She failed with only one—that Fairchild cousin, Ian. He stood off to the side and watched as if he were highly entertained, and more than once it occurred to Lady Valéry that the service she performed for Sebastian, that of guileful obstruction, could easily be utilized by Ian, also.

  She would have to keep an eye on that young man. Besides being darkly handsome, he was intelligent and ambitious, and therefore a challenge.

  Lady Valéry relished a challenge.

  In fact, she delighted in the whole evening, and would have kept Mary dancing well into the wee hours, but just as the midnight dinner was served, Calvin walked into the ballroom.

  She thought she had exhausted the absurd man, but there he stood, dressed in the most vibrant shade of purple she had ever seen, looking through the crowd—for her. Because he now sincerely adored her. And how was she to know that he had never been entertained in that particular fashion? Obviously he had never visited France.

  Patting Mary’s arm, Lady Valéry said, “Dear, I find myself fatigued. Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?”

  Still bound by her duty, Mary never hesitated. She walked away from the compliments and the smiling faces without a pause. A howl of protest followed them, but she only tucked Lady Valéry’s arm closer to hers.

  As they walked the long corridors lit only by the occasional candelabra, Lady Valéry asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s odd to be the center of so much attention.” Mary nodded at the servants who waited outside the bedchambers. “The men flatter me so excessively, I doubt them even when they give me their names.”

  Lady Valéry laughed. “Wise woman. They would do anything to get their hands on you…and your inheritance.”

  “So Ian said.”

  “Did he?” Lady Valéry still smiled, although her mirth had disappeared. “So good of him to warn you.”

  “He’s very kind.”

  “Not a word you would use to describe Sebastian.”

  Mary slanted a look at her. She obviously knew Lady Valéry was fishing, although her words proved she didn’t know for what. In a lowered tone she said, “No, but such ruthlessness makes him the perfect candidate to find your diary.”

  “I have no doubt he’ll be successful, and I hope”—how to handle this delicate inquiry?—“you’re not hurt in the process.”

  A brief tremor swept Mary, but she gained control immediately. “I will endeavor to keep my person secure.”

  “When I called for him, I had no idea he would be so attracted to you.” That much was true, Lady Valéry comforted herself.

  “I acquit you of that,” Mary, the innocent, said. “No one could have foreseen any of this.”

  “I also had no idea you would be equally attracted to him.”

  Mary blushed swiftly and thoroughly. “I have no designs on your godson, my lady.”

  “Of course not. Why would you want him? He’s a savage with a taste for revenge against the Fairchild clan. And for good reason. Have you ever heard the tale of the Fairchilds and how they destroyed Sebastian’s family?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  Mary’s polite little voice didn’t fool Lady Valéry. The girl wanted to know, but she had practice—too much, in Lady Valéry’s opinion—in disguising her emotions.

  No wonder Sebastian both attracted and repelled her. Being with him had torn the veil of her composure and she was revealed to him.

  “The Durants are one of our oldest noble families. They claim there was a Baron Whitfield on the field of Hastings, although what noble family doesn’t?”

  “Not the Fairchilds,” Mary said, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

  “No, the Fairchilds are newly come to the court. But when Sebastian was a boy, they had one thing the Durants did not. They had money.”

  “My father claimed that money ruined his father.”

  “Probably,” Lady Valéry agreed. “He made enough to buy a title, and after that he thought he could force the world to dance to his tune.”

  Mary halted and glanced up and down the corridor. Her discomfort increased visibly, as it always did when darkness threatened. “Have we taken a wrong turn?”

  “I believe you are right.”

  They walked to the next pool of light, a square caused by the combination of candles and firelight from an open bedchamber, and Lady Valéry snapped her fingers at the valet who lurked there. “You! Young man! Tell us where we are.”


  The valet straightened. “M’lady, you’re in the west wing.”

  Lady Valéry saw Mary glance around. Sebastian’s room was in the west wing.

  “Could you direct us to the east wing?” Mary sounded pleasant enough, but when the valet stepped forward and the light fell on his face, she shrank back, jerking Lady Valéry’s arm.

  An older man, suave and well turned out, he stared boldly back at Lady Valéry’s protégée. “Are you lost, m’ladies?”

  “No!” Mary tried to step back into the shadows.

  “I think you are.” He spoke well, a servant who had reached the top of his profession. “I think you’re very lost.”

  He spoke with a kind of baneful relish.

  “No, we’re not lost,” Mary repeated.

  Lady Valéry had had enough of this nonsense. “I wish to go to the east wing. Direct me now.”

  The valet responded to her authoritative voice, bowing his head respectfully and saying, “Go forward, take a left. Proceed to the next left, take that. You’ll be on the far end of the east wing.”

  His words followed as they walked away, with Mary huddled close to Lady Valéry’s side.

  “Do you know him?” Lady Valéry asked.

  “What?” Mary seemed oblivious.

  “Did he visit us in Scotland? Does he recognize you as my housekeeper?” Lady Valéry sought to alleviate Mary’s palpable horror. “I knew it could happen, but I hoped your appearance had changed so greatly no one would recognize you.”

  “He recognizes me,” Mary whispered.

  Lady Valéry patted her arm. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll send Sebastian to warn him off and offer him money, and if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll take it. Sebastian’s enemies have a nasty way of disappearing. It’s those ships of his, you know. They travel all over the world, and the captains aren’t particular about whether their passengers really want to come aboard.”

  Mary turned her head and looked at Lady Valéry. Gradually she seemed to comprehend Lady Valéry’s words. She turned even whiter. “No! Don’t send Sebastian!”

  “Why not, dear? Sebastian wouldn’t really hurt him.”

  “No. Really. I don’t want Viscount Whitfield involved.” Mary’s teeth were even chattering. “Anyway, I don’t know that man. I thought I did, but I don’t.”

  Lady Valéry glanced back. The valet watched them, grinning in a most insolent manner.

  Oh, she believed Mary. Certainly she did.

  Mary’s past was a mystery, but Lady Valéry had already planned her future, and nothing, certainly not an upstart valet, could contest her scheme.

  In a coaxing voice Mary said, “My lady, you were telling me about Sebastian’s feud with the Fairchilds.”

  So the gel thought she could distract this old woman, did she? Well, Lady Valéry would allow it to seem so for the moment. “Yes, where were we? Ah. The Fairchilds had money, the Durants did not. And the Durants sought to recover a fortune by sinking everything into breeding horses. It is a marginally respectable way to earn money, and Sebastian’s father had always had a way with horses.”

  They turned a corner, and Mary took a deep breath, as if merely being out of that valet’s gaze gave her relief. “Did they do well?”

  “Very.” Lady Valéry rubbed Mary’s hand through her glove. “So well that the Fairchilds decided to give horse breeding a try, also. You can imagine the tangle that was! Neighbors, with their fences right together, trying to breed the best horses in England. The old viscount was furious, and Lord Smithwick had the bit in his teeth, so to speak.” She chuckled. “Bit in his teeth. Do you comprehend?”

  Mary smiled dutifully, but she couldn’t fool Lady Valéry. She was still shaken, and the tale that had interested her earlier now held no appeal. “Look,” she said. “There are our maids. Our rooms must be down this corridor.”

  “So they are.” Lady Valéry allowed Mary to lead her to her door, then she brushed a kiss on Mary’s cheek. “Sleep well, dear. I won’t allow anything or anyone to harm you.”

  Mary touched the place where the kiss had been and stared at her fingers as if she could see visible proof of Lady Valéry’s affectionate gesture. Lady Valéry saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my lady, but there’s no need to disturb yourself about me.”

  “I’m not disturbed,” Lady Valéry answered. But regardless of what you say, I am going to discover what that valet has to do with you.

  Thankful for the moonless night, Sebastian crept around the outside of Fairchild Manor toward the master chamber windows. He had already tried to walk the halls and simply enter the room, but a maid stood outside the door, and when he’d tried to go in, she’d explained that these were her mistress’s chambers. Kindly she’d offered to call a footman to escort him wherever he needed to go. She’d imagined him lost and probably drunk; he let her think so and wandered off.

  But he had to get inside. He stared at the stone wall before him and the windows one story over his head, then took the coil of rope off his shoulder. He swung the grappling hook above his head. The rope slithered out, the hook caught on the jutting windowsill with a satisfying thunk, and he thanked God for his early experiences on the docks. He hadn’t thought so at the time, but the physical labor he’d done to establish his empire had more than once proved useful.

  The rope was just long enough, reaching within four feet of the ground. Yanking on it, he tested the hook’s hold, and when he was satisfied, he hoisted himself up. Using hands on the rope and feet against the wall, he climbed until he reached the window. With one hand clutching the rope, he shoved at the window until he had an opening large enough to fit his body through, and crawled inside.

  Two maids spoke outside the door. Inside, a fire burned on the hearth, the master bed looked too impressive for Bubb, and the light of the candles showed Sebastian a myriad of hiding places. He moved silently, searching the shelves and drawers for a black leather book.

  He found several, his breath catching each time. Was this it? Would he be able to take it and leave with Mary…and never see her again?

  Funny how that concept gave him no gratification. Indeed, each time he opened one of the books and saw the typeset pages and the name of a London publisher, he was almost pleased.

  Then, as he searched the bed table, he found another, filled with handwritten scrawls, and for one moment his hands tightened in anticipation.

  But this wasn’t his godmother’s handwriting, and turning to the fly page, he saw Nora’s name penned in blue ink. Disgusted, he tossed it back and finished searching the chamber.

  Nothing. Just like the study, only the study held that safe, the likely repository of the diary. Unfortunately, without Mary’s safecracking abilities, he could not examine the contents. That perturbed him; he had suddenly developed qualms about using Guinevere Mary Fairchild’s skills to their fullest extent. When had he grown so squeamish?

  After taking care to leave no trace of his presence within the chamber, he inched out of the window and pulled it shut behind him. With the rope in his hands, he began to lower himself. His feet walked down the wall, taking part of his weight and balancing him, but still his arms ached from the unaccustomed exercise. A man in his late thirties had no business climbing around the outside of a country manor. He should be home in front of a fire, looking at the face of a woman…

  Mary. Why did his mind call up Mary? Why wouldn’t he use her to open that safe? His scruples surely couldn’t be caused by an inappropriate attachment. Damn her, she confused him with that facade of sterling propriety which so overlaid the passions of a decade.

  He grunted as he descended.

  For years she’d done a fine imitation of a woman dedicated to nothing but respectability. Well, he could understand that. Mary undoubtedly felt she had plenty to hide, and no one knew better than he the lengths one would go to right the wrongs of yesteryear.

  There! That was the problem. He felt empathy for her. He felt he understood her—as if an
y man could ever understand a woman. He certainly desired her, but her blow to his face had caused him to take stock. If he did as his desires demanded, he would take her virginity, ruin her reputation—even more than he already had—and possibly impregnate her, all without any intention to do the honorable thing and wed her.

  Yet when he’d seen her in the ballroom tonight talking to her too-bloody-handsome cousin, all he could think of was holding her against all comers, as if she were a merchant ship and he still a youth desperate to forge his fortune. Seen as a Fairchild, she didn’t deserve that much regard, but seen as Guinevere Mary, she deserved…everything.

  His hands tightened and slipped at the frayed end of the rope, and he realized with surprise he had reached the ground. He hadn’t thought he’d climbed down far enough, and that was something else he could blame on Mary. He wasn’t paying attention, and all because she had confused him. Lowering his feet, he expected to find solid earth.

  It wasn’t there.

  As he registered the fact he was still much too high on the house, two hands grabbed him from below and jerked. He lost his grip and hit the ground flat on his back. Before he could do more than gasp for air, a meaty fist hauled him up by the shirt. He swung out instinctively and felt a solid crack as his fist made contact with bone.

  His assailant grunted, loosened his grip, and while Sebastian hung unbalanced, the attacker struck him in the nose.

  This wasn’t like the blow from Mary. This man was a fighter; he knew exactly what he was doing. As Sebastian struggled to stand, the assailant punched him in the chin. Sebastian’s head snapped back. He collided with the wall as the attacker swung him up against it. A well-muscled arm leaned against Sebastian’s windpipe. A face, hidden by a scarf and by darkness, leaned close to his.

  Slowly, in a hoarse voice, the man said, “If you hurt her again, I’ll kill you.”

  Sebastian could scarcely speak for the blood that flowed from his nose. “What…?”

  The attacker drew back his fist and rammed it into Sebastian’s stomach.

  “Don’t play stupid with me. Everyone in Sussex has heard how you treated her.”