by Allison Lane
The new blast of fury from his eyes nearly made her falter, but she could not afford to show weakness. So she glared back until he dropped his eyes.
“I must look into this matter further,” he finally said on a long sigh. “Who is your solicitor?”
“Mr. Fisk of Fisk and Farley in Oakhampton.” Before he could raise new objections, she whisked him out the door and bolted it behind him.
Her mind swirled with uncertainties, for though she rejoiced that Uncle Edward no longer owned Redrock, this man might be worse. What little she knew of him was not encouraging.
Lord Merimont was a frequent topic of conversation at Squire Porter’s house. His daughter Agnes had met Merimont in London and been instantly smitten by his dark good looks and roguish reputation. Hope doubted that Merimont had even noticed the girl, but that didn’t prevent Agnes from sighing over him – or from repeating every scrap of gossip about him.
He was heir to Lord Montcalm, passing his time in idleness and debauchery. Other tales suggested he was a drunkard and a prankster, the worst describing how he’d arrived at Lady Horseley’s ball deep in his cups and emptied his stomach over the hostess and two of her most important guests. And now he’d admitted that he was a gamester.
She sighed. She would doubtless face more of these confrontations in the future. An estate won at the tables could be as easily lost – many times. And would be. Encumbered and derelict as it was, it was hardly an attractive property. Its only real use was as a wager.
And that would place her in danger. Men did not enjoy being crossed. To his credit, Merimont had kept a firm rein on his temper, but others might attack. Could she afford to hire a sturdy footman for protection?
The question raised a new dilemma. The lease paid them half the estate income or a thousand guineas a year, whichever was higher. If the estate failed to produce their thousand, the difference had to come from the owner’s pocket. Could she collect? So far, she’d not had to try, but a series of owners could make identifying who was responsible a legal nightmare. And what would new ownership mean for the tenants?
“Later.” With harvest complete, she had received this year’s income. Rather than fret over the future, she needed to plan her next confrontation with the rakish Lord Merimont. She’d not seen the last of him.
But how was she to cope with so unpredictable an opponent? He’d walked in without even knocking and immediately accosted her.
Heat flooded her face. Her ear tingled where his teeth had nipped. The weight of his arm still warmed her shoulders. No man had ever caressed her so boldly. The shock of it had turned her stomach on end and weakened her knees. She’d had to inhale several times before she could slap him. Appalling man! He should be locked up to protect the ladies.
She hastily suppressed curiosity about what a real embrace might have felt like. “Scoundrel!” She stiffened her spine. He was dangerous, all right. Who but a rake could draw such a reaction from a mere touch? No one would be safe until he was gone.
* * * *
Max clenched his fists as he strode out of Fisk’s office. The situation was ridiculous, but Miss Ashburton was right. The lease was unbreakable.
Leaping into his curricle, he headed back to Redrock. They must address two problems, though the first should cause no contention. She would surely welcome his plans for improving the estate, as she would benefit as much as he.
The realization that his work would support a snippy spinster made him grind his teeth, but he could not complain. Like the proverbial gift horse, Redrock came with drawbacks.
The second problem was more difficult – the imminent arrival of his friends. Greeting them with the news that Miss Ashburton had barred him from his property would make him a laughingstock. He had no illusions that the story would remain secret. It would join the other anecdotes his friends repeated when in their cups – he hated being held up to ridicule, even in fun. But worse, it would provide another embarrassment his father could throw in his face.
So he and Miss Ashburton must work together. If he held his irritation in check, surely she would cooperate.
Or would she? His greeting had been unacceptable even if she’d been the maid he’d thought her. The fact that she was a viscount’s niece made it a serious blunder.
Rain clouds moved in as he reached the gates, providing the first good news of the day. With luck, mud would delay his friends.
The door was locked. He pounded for five minutes before she answered.
“You again?”
“Why don’t you keep a butler?” he demanded, pushing his way into the hall before she could slam the door in his face.
“How I run my household is not your concern, my lord.” But she shut the door and followed him to the office.
He took the same chair as before. “I discussed the lease with your solicitor, Miss Ashburton,” he began, grateful that rain made the room gloomy enough to dull her hair. “As you so eloquently pointed out, it cannot be broken. However, nowhere does the document give you exclusive use of the house. As owner, I am responsible for overseeing the estate, common lands, and tenant farms. It is a duty I intend to assume. Your solicitor agrees that I can reside here while inspecting the property and meeting the steward.”
Her face blanched. “You can’t be serious!”
“Deadly serious. I must remain here if I am to adequately carry out my responsibilities.”
“Then move to the dower house.”
He raised his brows. “Is it well maintained?”
“Nothing around here is maintained.”
“Then I must begin by replacing the steward.”
She clamped her mouth shut and breathed deeply several times before responding. Her effort to remain businesslike marked her as an unusual woman and allowed him to rein in his own temper.
“No honorable man would draw conclusions before learning the facts,” she said deliberately. “So far you’ve seen nothing that is under the steward’s control. Uncle Edward prohibited Watts from spending a shilling on the house or allowing estate workers onto the grounds.”
“And he agreed?”
“Should he have argued and been turned off?”
“Of course not.” His question had been stupid, but her claims were so astounding that he’d been unable to hide his surprise. “I take it Ashburton does not believe in compromise.”
“Not in the least. Watts has been in an impossible situation since his arrival. Without a reference from my uncle, he could never find another position, so he is forced to carry out abhorrent orders. In his favor, he has done everything possible for the tenants, so they have not suffered as much as they might have.”
“Meaning?”
She shrugged. “Uncle Edward deliberately ruined the estate. It is the tenants who were most affected, not that he cared.”
“Your point?” he asked. She couldn’t mean that literally.
“The orders prevent Watts from keeping the estate productive. Large areas now lie fallow. When Watts realized what Uncle Edward was doing, he abandoned the estate’s own land, using his meager resources to keep the tenants from starving. He has done what he could to minimize the damage, but his hands are tied. Do not blame him for conditions.”
“I will keep an open mind until I speak with him,” he agreed. “But why would Ashburton issue such ridiculous orders? They must hurt him as well.”
“It no longer matters, my lord. As the new owner, you will do whatever you want.” She rose to escort him to the door, but this time he refused to budge.
Shifting his eyes to the silk-covered walls with their patterns of brightly colored birds – the room must have been a sitting room before it was converted to an office – he switched to the next order of business. “The house and grounds are under your care. Is there staff enough, or must I hire extra during my stay?”
“You really must move either to the dower house or to the inn,” she said firmly. “Consider the situation. You are a well-known rake.”
&nb
sp; “Hardly. My proclivities are no different from what is usual in my class,” he protested.
“That may be, but your reputation is otherwise and is well known locally. I may be long on the shelf, but many would look askance at you for remaining under this roof without a chaperon.”
“Your mother is here.”
“She is too ill to know who is in the house. You would be more comfortable at the White Heron.”
“I doubt it.”
She sighed, resuming her seat. “Then move into the dower house. It is not in pristine condition, but the main bedchamber is usable. A little work will restore the rest.”
“In that case, you move there. I am expecting several friends.”
“No.”
“I assure you that my friends could arrive as early as today – certainly by tomorrow. If you do not wish to join us, you and your mother must move to the dower house.”
“We cannot.”
He glared.
“My lord,” she began, pushing her fingers into her hair – which released additional wisps of fire, “my mother’s illness is severe and growing worse. Moving would kill her. And how do I know we could return to our home? Once you are in sole possession, I am helpless.”
“I would never do something so dastardly. No man of honor would,” he swore hotly, ignoring the fact that he had proposed to displace her only a few hours ago. That was before he’d seen the lease.
She met his eyes. “Very well. I apologize. My experience with gentlemen says otherwise, but I will give you the benefit of the doubt.” Her tone belied the concession.
“Thank you so much,” he snapped sarcastically.
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped back. “We should not even be holding this discussion without a chaperon. I agree that the dower house is too small for a crowd, but you cannot entertain them here. If the White Heron is too rustic for your fine London friends, then put them up in Oakhampton.”
“No.” He would not allow this chit to throw him out. They had come to inspect his new estate, and he would see that they did. “It is only for a fortnight. The staff can care for your mother, and you can visit friends.”
“Hardly. My only friends live nearby. Not one would believe that I could leave Mother’s sickbed. And they know that my staff cannot provide adequate care.”
“Why not?”
“Mrs. Tweed often forgets what she is doing, and Rose suffers severely from rheumatism.”
“What about the others?”
“Ned? He stays in the stables.”
“That’s all?”
“Why do you think you found me dusting the hallway, my lord?”
His face heated at the memory of his initial mistake. “Very well. You will have to stay. We will remain out of your way.”
She laughed. “You are drawing conclusions without facts again. How large do you think Redrock House is?”
“Ashburton’s solicitor described it as two wings off a central block – small as manors go, but that should be large enough for us to remain separate. I’ve only invited four friends.” And five courtesans, he remembered, but it was too late to back out now. They could arrive any minute.
“Grandiose claims, my lord. Based on that description, the central block consists of the entrance hall.”
He stared. That was it?
“Each wing contains five bedchambers. Only those used by myself and my mother are clean. The east side includes this office, a morning room and the library. The drawing room, dining room, and music room are on the west side. If you insist on staying, you must hire your own staff. Mine is already overworked.”
“Five bedchambers on each side?”
“Correct, though two from the east wing have been converted to sitting rooms. And you must keep the one next to Mother’s vacant. She will go into a decline if she is disturbed. But that should not matter. There are only five of you.”
“Ten,” he choked.
“Ten? But you said—” She gasped, blanching – which made her auburn hair seem brighter even against gray skies. “My God! You cannot mean to bring—” She couldn’t force the word out.
For the first time, her breeding smote him between the eyes. He should have paid attention to Fisk’s ramblings. Miss Hope Ashburton’s father had been the heir until his untimely death. She and her mother belonged in society, though neither had made their bows in town. He could not allow her to mix with his guests.
You should cancel, warned his conscience, but he ignored it. He had invited them here. His word was sacred. He never reneged on a vow. Honor forbade lying. He couldn’t drag his friends all the way to Devonshire, then turn them away.
Yet he had to consider Miss Ashburton. Even if honor did not demand it, protecting women had long been a personal crusade. Now he had two genteel ladies under his wing. All he could do was make the best of it.
Miss Ashburton recovered her voice. “You cannot bring your mistress here. That is beyond even your reputation.”
“I have no choice.”
“Of course you have a choice. Move your party to Oakhampton. You should find the Spotted Pony entirely to your taste. The serving girls are very accommodating, by all accounts.”
“Absolutely not!” he snapped, abandoning further attempts to persuade. “We will stay on my estate. By avoiding your wing, we will not disturb your mother.”
“And how do you propose to do that?”
“Simple. Redrock is hereby divided into two establishments. You stay in the east wing; I’ll take the west. No one will enter yours without permission.”
“Do you take me for a fool, or do you still think me fair game?”
“That’s not—” But he caught himself staring at her generous bosom, his hands itching to touch. Damn the woman for diverting his attention. “You will receive the respect you deserve, Miss Ashburton.”
“Why does that not reassure me?”
“Enough!” He stood, looming over her desk. “A gentleman’s word is binding. We will leave you alone. I trust you will return the favor.”
“Gladly. I would be delighted to never see you again.” She also rose, glaring into his eyes. “And make sure your friends stay away from my mother.”
“We won’t hurt her,” he protested as she strode toward the door.
“Really?” she countered stonily, her hand on the latch. “You force your way into our home, fill it with libertines and fallen women, then have the audacity to claim we will be safe? Just what do you consider harmful?”
He could feel his face heat. “If I could change things, I would.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’ve already refused every decent solution. And don’t cite honor again,” she continued as he opened his mouth. “Honor has nothing to do with this. You are stubborn and arrogant, but since you outweigh me, I have no recourse.”
“You are overreacting.”
She held up a hand to silence him. “Let us be done with this farce, my lord. You will do whatever you please, for you are a man.” She made it sound like a curse. “I will survive this siege, as I’ve survived others, but if anything happens to Mother, you will pay for the rest of your life – and that’s a promise. If you have the slightest doubt about your friends or about your ability to control your other guests, now is the time to change your mind. Mother is unaccustomed to vice, having grown up in a vicarage.”
“So be it.” Fury suppressed second thoughts. Maxwell Longford did not take orders from others, and certainly not from a redheaded spinster with a blistering tongue. “We will remain out of your way, and no one will enter this wing. Where is the kitchen, by the way?”
She shook her head. “On your side. I will prepare our meals in the stillroom.”
“I will need servants.”
“That, my lord, is your problem.” Glaring at him, she left. He was still debating whether he should follow her when an ancient housekeeper shuffled in, a disapproving frown on her face.
“Come along,” she said. “I’m to show you t
he west wing.”
Chapter Three
Max cursed as he followed Mrs. Tweed. This would never work. The rooms were positively tiny.
The drawing room was really a cozy sitting room, with faded red walls and a threadbare carpet. The music room was little better, though its cornices and ceiling boasted Adam-style decoration, and the walls showed no signs of cracks. The dining room was pleasant but could seat no more than a dozen. He’d seen intimate family breakfast rooms that were larger.
Upstairs, the bedchambers were just as cramped. While his afforded room for pacing, the rest barely had space for basic furnishings.
Yet he had made a vow – several of them, in fact. Reneging would tarnish his image in the one way he could not tolerate. He had worked for years to prove that he was trustworthy. Only his father continued to view him as a recalcitrant child who must be watched every second.
So he must continue as he had started. Changing his mind would attract attention – not that bawdy parties were uncommon, but it was bad form to flaunt them. Montcalm would be irritated.
“That is the lot, my lord,” said Mrs. Tweed, gesturing to the last bedchamber. It lacked a dressing room but overlooked a walled rose garden behind the house. He would assign it to Reggie, with Dornbras in its twin next door. Blake and Terrence could have the larger rooms across the hall. But where could he put the girls?
“Is there nothing upstairs?” he asked, calculations circling grimly through his head.
Five bedchambers.
Five gentlemen.
Five courtesans.
Annette could share his room, but the others lacked official protectors. How would they accommodate frequent changes? And how would his friends react to sharing quarters? Even he disliked the thought.
Mrs. Tweed plodded up another flight of steps. By the time she reached the top, she was gasping for breath. “The nursery, my lord.”
He nearly groaned. No one had used the space in years. Dust lay thick on every surface; cobwebs festooned walls and ceilings. Only the governess’s room contained a bed large enough for an adult, though it appeared Spartan and uncomfortable. The children’s beds were impossible, as was the cradle. He glanced toward the east wing.