The Beleaguered Earl

by Allison Lane

  “You are right,” he finally said on a long sigh, looking her in the eye. “But I cannot ask him to leave, or even charge him with assaulting Missy. Whatever we think of his behavior, he’s done nothing illegal. Holding him up to public ridicule would give him a new grievance. What do you think he would do?”

  “Repeat the beating, then come after us,” she said wearily. “His eyes are evil.”

  “They are black,” he protested.

  “Color has nothing to do with it. Tommy Price has black eyes, but his are warm and full of curiosity and mischief. Dornbras’s are cold and empty, save for a flame of evil.”

  “Flame?” She wasn’t making sense, but her voice raised goose bumps nonetheless. He stooped to add coal to his fire.

  “A cold spark deep inside. It kindled when I struck him, then grew when he vowed I would pay for the insult.”

  “Blake said nothing of that.”

  “He used no words, but the vow was clear. We must drive him away from Redrock.”

  “I will terminate this gathering in another three days, but unless he chooses to leave early, that is the soonest we can be rid of him. In the meantime, I must keep everyone occupied. Have you any suggestions?”

  “Would your guests enjoy the usual diversions, or are you looking for new places to practice your debaucheries?”

  He swallowed his shock. “That is hardly a suitable subject for a lady,” he protested.

  “How am I to offer suggestions without knowing your preferences?”

  She had tried to sound matter-of-fact, but he could hear a note of fear. Obviously her distrust had returned. But who could blame her? After finding Missy, her own confrontation with Dornbras must loom even larger. “I seek the usual diversions, nothing more,” he said quietly. “Preferably an excursion or two.”

  “How about a drive to Exeter? Their theater cannot compare to London, but the current company is reputed to be good, and I can recommend the White Hart Inn for dinner. If the weather warms enough for picnicking, you can drive to Brent Tor, which offers spectacular views. Or visit Dartmoor Prison. They offer a weekly market with exquisite crafts.” She nodded toward a model of Exeter cathedral sitting on a stand. The room also contained two paintings and other personal touches lacking in the unused west wing.

  “That should keep us busy. Trust me, Miss Ashburton,” he begged, hoping to erase that elusive shadow from her eyes. “I will do everything possible to protect you.”

  “I’m sure you will try – as long as doing so serves your own interests,” she added so softly he nearly missed the words.

  “You have a low opinion of gentlemen.”

  “Can you blame me,” she demanded bitterly. “Uncle Edward plagued us for years. He would rather toss me to a pack of wolves than exchange a kind word.” Her look indicated that he’d done just that. “And other gentlemen are no better. The property adjoining Redrock is owned by Lord Millhouse. Do you know him?”

  He grimaced, for he did indeed know the man. Devereaux’s rival in the art of seduction, he had entertained every courtesan in London, and at least half of the matrons. Well-born innocents were safe, but he considered every other female fair game.

  “I see that you do,” she continued. “He’s probably another of your good friends. I’m surprised he isn’t part of this gathering.”

  “I rarely see him, and only in passing. He must be ten years my senior.”

  “But he entertains in the same way. Wise parents lock away their daughters when Millhouse and his friends descend. Between your own behavior and that of your guests, can you blame me for having doubts?”

  “Men are not all alike. One day you will recognize the truth of that statement. In the meantime, I will do everything possible to protect you, beginning with taking everyone to Exeter today. By the time we return, they should be tired enough for a peaceful night.”

  “Very well, my lord.”

  “Let me know if Missy’s condition changes. I will see that she suffers no further harm.”

  He watched her leave, his heart heavy at the blows to his pride. He had failed in so many ways of late – subjecting Miss Ashburton to insult; leading girls under his protection into danger, for how could he be sure that Dornbras would not injure someone else; and exposing society to a man who should have long since been ostracized. Perhaps she was right to distrust him. Disaster followed in his wake.

  Yet her suspicions had started long before he had arrived. And Millhouse would never harm her. Was it her uncle who had kindled that original fear?

  He still did not know why Ashburton had destroyed Redrock. Nor did he understand that card game. Did Ashburton’s absence from London mean that more danger threatened?

  Chapter Eight

  Max hastily donned a shirt and pantaloons, then let himself into the central block, locking the dressing room door behind him. The house was quiet, as if holding its breath against some new outrage.

  Shaking his head over entertaining such a fanciful notion, he slipped into Blake’s room and shook his friend awake.

  “Wha—”

  “Shh,” hissed Max as Blake bolted upright. “Meet me in the drawing room. We need to talk.”

  They could not do so here, for Dornbras was across the hall. He would take no chance of being overheard until they had decided on a plan – which precluded using the music room as well. It was beneath Dornbras’s room. Sound often traveled through shared chimneys.

  When Blake nodded, Max retreated downstairs. But he’d hardly finished a second circuit of the room before Blake joined him, wearing only a shirt and pantaloons, his chin shadowed and his hair sticking up.

  “What did Dornbras do now?” he demanded, keeping his voice low despite the closed door.

  “He beat Missy.”

  Blake cursed. Like Max, he hated anyone who used force against a weaker opponent. “We have to send him away before he does something worse.”

  “I know, but ordering him out would be even more precarious now. I can live with his attempts to discredit me – few would accept his word over mine – but he would also turn on Miss Ashburton and might do worse to Missy.”

  “How is she?”

  “Sleeping. We need to encourage him to leave, but he has to think it is his own idea.”

  “The rest of us could leave after raising a fuss about space and the lack of entertainment. If you demand that Dornbras stay to keep you company, he would be the first out the door.”

  “No. It would never work.”

  “Why?” Blake settled into a chair. “You know he never takes orders. If you tell him to go, he’ll stay, so if you demand that he stay, he should go.”

  “With most people that is true,” agreed Max, pacing to the fireplace and back. “But he wants something from me – God knows what, but he’s been cultivating me for years. So he would agree with my request, leaving me with only him in residence. How many hours would pass before boredom prompted him to explore the east wing? Besides, I would rather not involve Terrence or Reggie.”

  “Then perhaps it is time to withdraw your favor.”

  “I will, and very publicly, but if I do it while he is here, he could find any number of ways to avenge the insult. And citing Missy as my excuse to cut him will draw reprisals onto her head, so I must find another reason.”

  Blake rubbed his temple. “How badly did he hurt her?”

  “No breaks beyond cracked ribs and loose teeth, but she is head-to-toe bruises, according to Miss Ashburton.”

  Blake growled. “Damnation, Max! How could you involve her? If anyone learns that she is caring for a courtesan, her reputation will be in shreds.”

  “How could I involve her?” he repeated incredulously. “Why do you think I am up? She is the one who found Missy. She has her stashed in the east wing and won’t even let me speak with her – not that I doubt her word. Her description was too realistic to have arisen in the imagination of a country spinster.”

  Blake paled. “Damn. He was shouting last ni
ght, but I didn’t think it was serious.”

  “Nor did I. Maybe Miss Ashburton is right to distrust gentlemen.”

  Blake raised a brow.

  “She read me a scold because men like us don’t respect girls like Missy. I’ve been trying to convince her that men are not all alike, but this incident makes that difficult.”

  “Did you describe your crusade against forcing girls into brothels?”

  “She was in no mood to listen, and who can blame her? Do you know who owns the next estate?” He paused while Blake shook his head. “Millhouse.”

  “The devil!”

  “Exactly.” Setting aside Miss Ashburton’s sensibilities, he returned to business. “We need to make Dornbras’s life unpleasant, but without making it obvious. I will disband the party in three days, no matter what, but I’d like him to leave sooner. In the meantime, we will stay as busy as possible and as far away as I can contrive.”

  “Excursions?”

  “Daily.”

  “But it’s raining.” He gestured toward the window.

  “Not heavily. We will attend the theater in Exeter today. And Miss Ashburton has other suggestions for tomorrow.”

  “I don’t like pretending that nothing happened. Dornbras should pay.”

  “He will,” promised Max grimly. “I’ll not let him get away with this, but my hands are tied until I can go after him without hurting others. I just wish there was some way to proceed legally. If Missy had struck him, she would be transported for life.”

  “Or hung. Miss Ashburton is right. We should not be able to do anything we want with impunity.”

  “He won’t escape.” Rising to end the discussion, he added, “Help me keep an eye on him. I want no one else injured before I can be rid of him.”

  “Of course. I should have checked last night.”

  “Why? A gentleman never interferes with another’s pleasure. I only wish Dornbras did not abuse that privilege.”

  He let Blake precede him upstairs. What a mess. He’d repaid others for abusing women – a word here, a warning there, a collapsed deal coupled with a suggestion to control the temper, a coveted invitation suddenly withdrawn. It wasn’t public, nor had his own name appeared, but most had become more careful.

  This time he must make a public issue of Dornbras’s failings. Like many younger sons, Dornbras had nothing to do. His father was an earl, but so many brothers stood ahead of him that he would never inherit the title. His mother had spoiled him badly before he left for school, and inheriting a fortune had worsened his arrogance. With no need to work and no responsibilities looming in the future, he was bored, weary, and ripe for trouble.

  Yet even that did not fully explain Dornbras. Something wasn’t quite right about him, for he lacked any trace of a conscience.

  He is evil, Miss Ashburton’s voice echoed.

  Perhaps. Or perhaps he was merely twisted in the same way Sir Francis Dashwood had been half a century ago. In founding the Hellfire Club, Sir Francis had sought new ways to titillate his jaded senses. Eventually even orgies and Satanism had paled, sending the members scurrying for increasingly sordid – and ultimately vicious – ways to stimulate excitement. Dornbras had not yet involved other gentlemen in his exploits, but Max feared he was headed in that direction.

  It must stop.

  Shaking his head, he returned to his room, staring out at the rain as he pondered ideas for bringing Dornbras to ground. But none seemed right. Exposing this incident to society would do little beyond banning Dornbras from the better drawing rooms, and even that would happen only because they wanted an excuse to cut him.

  So he must launch an investigation that would – he hoped – turn up evidence of an actual crime. Unless Dornbras was transported, he would strike back at his accusers.

  Sighing, he turned to the estate books. An hour passed before footsteps announced that someone was looking for breakfast. He reached the entrance hall to find Dornbras jiggling a key in the office door, half a dozen others clutched in one hand.

  “That wing is dangerous,” Max reminded him. “I will not be responsible for injuring my friends.” He nearly choked on the last word, but Dornbras didn’t seem to notice.

  “I was looking for Missy.” He managed to look worried as he glanced at the rain spattering against the fanlight above the front door. “She isn’t in the house. I hope she didn’t try to explore and find herself in trouble.”

  “She’s gone. Cook sent her to the doctor after she slipped on the stairs.”

  “You didn’t talk to her?”

  He shrugged. “I was asleep. It didn’t seem bad enough to wake me. One of the grooms gave her a ride to town.” He didn’t address why she would seek out a doctor for an injury not serious enough to wake her host. Country physicians were chancy to deal with. Any injury severe enough to consult with one would make it risky to move.

  But Dornbras accepted his offhand comments, dismissing the subject. He may have threatened Missy with reprisals if she revealed the truth. “Has this rain upset any plans?”

  “No. We will drive to Exeter today for theater and a decent meal. I am heartily sick of cottage fare.”

  “What do you have in mind?” He started to slip the keys into his pocket, but handed them over when Max held out a peremptory hand.

  “The White Hart offers good food, and if the weather worsens, we can stay the night. This place feels smaller every day. We will have to return to town soon to preserve our sanity. Do you think anyone will mind? It can’t be pleasant tripping over each other every time we turn around.”

  “True. This old ruin doesn’t even run to a billiard table. Maybe we should call on Ewston. His hunting box could house fifty with no trouble, and it offers other amenities.”

  Since it was located in the heart of Quorn country, that was no surprise. Ewston also kept it stocked with the best London courtesans during the hunting season – not that he would welcome Dornbras.

  “That sounds interesting,” he said lightly, hiding his revulsion. Even with his patronage Dornbras could never join one of Ewston’s famed parties, but this was not the time to mention it. When the others left, he would remain here. Perhaps Dornbras would be stupid enough to go to Ewston’s on his own. Being refused admittance would turn his fury on Ewston, who would not hesitate to retaliate. The resulting feud would provide ample excuse to cut the connection without endangering anyone at Redrock.

  It might even solve the larger problem. Ewston was not a man to forgive and forget. If Dornbras attacked Ewston or damaged his property, he would find himself in Botany Bay.

  He accompanied Dornbras to the dining room, announced the excursion to those already eating, then withdrew, ostensibly to make preparations.

  He needed to talk to Miss Ashburton, both to allay her concerns and to share his explanation for Missy’s absence. He also wanted a clearer understanding of Missy’s injuries.

  But he could not slip into the office. Too many people were awake. Even if he entered secretly, someone was bound to see him leave. Braving the wind and rain to approach the library door was out of the question. He did not have its key, and Miss Ashburton was probably upstairs.

  Sighing, he returned to his bedchamber, took a deep breath, and unlocked the door leading to the east wing hallway.

  * * * *

  “What are you doing here?” hissed Hope as Merimont emerged from his room. “You promised not to bother me.”

  “We need to talk, but I cannot risk unlocking the office. Someone is bound to see. Shall I meet you in the library?”

  She ought to refuse, for he was frustrated, making him dangerous. Yet his eyes remained clear. Even when he was angry, they bore no hint of evil. She wanted to believe him, wanted the protection he offered, wanted—

  Him, supplied her heart when she refused to complete the thought.

  Dangerous, indeed. Plague take his charm, and her own weakness for it. Never had she suspected she might be vulnerable to a man’s smile. Learning otherwis
e added a new fear. “Rose is cleaning the library. Go down to the office. I will join you after I look in on Mother.”

  “How is she?”

  “Not good.” Her voice shook. Fever again ravaged that frail body, harsh enough to hold even the ancient memories at bay.

  “Please accept my sympathy. I will await you in the office.” He looked around, then frowned.

  “Through here, my lord.” She opened the inconspicuous door leading to a spiral servants’ stair. “Be careful. The steps are quite steep.”

  His nose wrinkled, but he plunged onto the staircase.

  Hope peeked in on her mother, then followed Merimont. She should have handled their earlier confrontation differently, but she had allowed her fury with Dornbras to overcome her sense. What had possessed her to accost a man in his bedchamber when she knew he was asleep? She was lucky he had not taken advantage of the situation. He’d left her with too many disturbing images as it was. That hastily donned dressing gown proved that his broad shoulders owed nothing to artifice. Sleep tugging at his eyelids made him seem approachable, comforting, even trustwor—

  Inhaling sharply, she diverted her thoughts. She would never trust him. If he weren’t so stubborn, they wouldn’t be in this fix.

  Exhaling in an attempt to relax, she pushed open the door. Merimont was standing at the window watching the rain.

  “Have you found a way to expel Dornbras?” she asked, taking a seat by the fire.

  “Blake has no ideas beyond what we discussed earlier. I’ve been reviewing gossip and my own observations, and can only conclude that Dornbras is worse than even you thought. He is also unpredictable.”

  “Why did you not discern his nature earlier?”

  He wandered over to stare into the fire. “I allowed him to pull the wool over my eyes,” he said at length, resting an elbow on the mantel. “He flatters me because my patronage keeps him in society.”

  “So he will do anything to remain in your good graces – such as leaving if you asked it?” Excitement stirred.

  “I wish that were true.” He took a chair facing her. “Think about it. Asking him to leave would proclaim that I no longer favor him. He is a vindictive man who would turn on Missy for carrying tales. Then he would settle with me. Even a cursory investigation would lead to you, giving him a new target.”