The Maddening Lord Montwood: The Rakes of Fallow Hall Series

by Vivienne Lorret

  “Do you have an urgent desire to see the atlas, Miss Thorne?”

  The corners of her mouth curled up. “I am quite curious. It must be a rare and beautiful atlas.”

  Worth ten thousand pounds to them, was Lucan’s guess. He resumed playing, albeit lightly in order to keep conversing. “They like you a great deal. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone to such ends to leave us alone.”

  “With the wager between you, I imagine your friends want to believe you are incapable of resisting me.” She glanced to the open door, amusement fading from her expression. “They do not know how simple it has been for you thus far.”

  How little she knew her own power over him.

  “As simple as nailing my feet to the floor in order to keep from crossing the room. As simple as binding my hands to keep from reaching out for you. Yes, simple indeed,” he said quietly, wanting her to know how difficult it had been each day and night.

  By her surprised gasp, he knew she’d heard him. Yet he wasn’t used to admitting such weakness. Therefore, he began to play a more elaborate piece, the music too loud for talking. She saw through him, regardless. He could tell in the way she watched him over the rims of her spectacles, her gaze never leaving his.

  Sitting on the piano bench, with Frances as his only audience, he felt uninhibited. Usually, the only time he felt this way was when he played for himself, after everyone else had fallen asleep. But he wanted her to see who he was through his music.

  Halfway through the score, he altered the tune and began to play one of his own melodies. It was new to him, and he wrote it only as the notes flowed from his fingertips. Unexpectedly, the words that Calliope and Hedley had taunted him with echoed in his head, rising above the music. A sharp note accompanied them.

  A king will decide her fate . . . within a fortnight.

  Why hadn’t the fortune-teller gone with the obvious response and told Frances that she would marry a man with dark hair? He was the one who’d slipped her the silver, after all.

  Of course, the gypsy merely told fortunes for money and entertainment. It wasn’t as if the woman was a prophet. Yet he admitted, it still bothered him to think of it. He reasoned it was because Frances fit so nicely within their group and within these walls. Clearly, she belonged here.

  Still watching him from over the rims of her spectacles, Frances hardly paused to blink at all. Her smoky eyes were focused solely on him, as if only he existed. In that moment, he wished it were true—that there was only the two of them. Here. Alone.

  The melody dipped into the lower notes, a seductive arrangement he hoped she could feel. From across the room, he stroked her cheek and brushed her lips with the music. This was his only way of kissing her without losing control. As if attuned to him, Frances adjusted her spectacles and wet her lips. She was feeling it.

  Shamelessly, he continued to caress her with each chord. He closed his eyes and felt the keys beneath his fingertips. But they weren’t keys anymore. With each press, he imagined her skin, her throat, her breasts, her stomach, her hips, her sex . . .

  The music altered again, delving deep, sinking lower. He lifted his gaze and connected with hers. She was flushed. Her breasts rose with the force of her inhalation. She shifted in her chair, pressing her knees together. He was breathing hard now. The melody gained momentum with firm, swift strokes of each key—

  Until he recalled, quite suddenly, that they were not alone. The door was open, and his friends were nearby. He pulled back from fortissimo and eased into a soft pianissimo before rounding off the music with a far from satisfying trill.

  Beside him, RJ panted, tail wagging, apparently pleased about something. Then again, the Beast of Fallow Hall was always in high spirits. Lucan wished he could say the same. At present, he felt surlier than ever.

  Frances parted her lips to breathe. “I have never heard music like that before. It was almost as if I could . . . feel each note.”

  He felt a certain amount of pride in gaining that reaction, but at the same time, he wanted to continue what he started. Unless he wanted to lose the wager, however, he couldn’t. “I will play for you whenever you wish.”

  “I would like that, Lucan,” she said, her voice lower, softer.

  Then, hearing footsteps in the hall, she glanced to the open doorway. So did he.

  Lucan was tempted to cross the room and lock them inside. That way he could finally satisfy the yearning tearing him apart. Yet he’d already sacrificed his honor by wagering against his best friends. He would just have to sacrifice any other desires as well.

  “Perhaps it would be best if we joined the others,” he said.

  “Then why are you looking at the door as if you intend to bolt it shut?”

  “Miss Thorne, I was doing no such—” He’d intended to deny it. But when his gaze met hers, he knew that she saw the truth. “You are too perceptive by half.”

  His honesty earned him another smile and a blush before she dipped her head and began to clean her spectacles.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Frances returned to Whitelock Manor later that afternoon.

  Leaving Lucan was more difficult than she imagined. Not to mention, she was still trying to sort out the sensations his music had evoked. Even now, it left her weak-kneed and eager to see him again. She was not too naive to understand the reason. It was desire.

  Yet even more than that, her desire was focused solely on Lucan. The most frightening part of this realization was that her own scruples seemed to have gone missing. Here she was, trying to free her father from prison and looking for any remaining goodness in men, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Lucan. What would she have done if he had bolted the door? She suspected that she would have surprised herself by walking directly into his arms. Was she truly considering having an affair with a man who would never marry her?

  These thoughts continued to distract her when she joined Lord Whitelock for dinner in the evening. Frances gazed toward the windows for a measure of comfort. Beyond the billowing flounces of draperies and through the glass, the golden sun sank beneath the horizon, leaving a thin band of dark orange behind. Above that, striations of violet and deep blue merged into the night sky.

  Inside, however, the immense dining room with its gilded adornment seemed suffocating, which was odd, considering that only she, Lord Whitelock, and two footmen were within.

  “Is the fish not to your liking, Miss Thorne?” Lord Whitelock asked.

  They sat in closer proximity than usual, with him at the head of the table and her place directly to his right. Before, she’d always been further down and left to converse with the viscount’s guests. She wished there were guests here tonight.

  “The fish is lovely.” She smiled and then glanced at the footmen, offering a nod and knowing they would take the compliment with them down to the kitchens. “I suppose my thoughts are somewhat distracted since I learned that your other guests were unable to dine here this evening. I feel it is my place to take dinner in my room during such circumstances.”

  “Perhaps your previous employment leaves you mindful of the servants and their roles. Yours differs now. I expect you to be at ease in my company. Therefore”—Lord Whitelock gave a pointed look to the footmen—“I will send the servants out of the room for your comfort.”

  “It was not my intention to imply that I was ill at ease,” Frances quickly explained. Unfortunately, it was too late. The footmen disappeared through the door, leaving her quite alone with the viscount.

  “There. Now you must engage only with me.” He turned to her and smiled. “Although perhaps this was your design all along. By holding your conversation captive, you’ve steered me into finding this one solution. Quite clever, but do not worry. I shall you keep your secret.”

  He made it sound as if she’d wanted to be alone with him. Yet it was said in such a teasing manner that arguing would have been seen as a petty endeavor. She decided it prudent to let the matter rest.

  Rising slightly
from his chair, he extended his arm and seized her wine glass, holding it out in an unspoken command for her to take it from him.

  She did but carefully kept her fingers to the stem to avoid contact with his on the bowl. Obligingly, and because she needed a drink, she took a sip. A reminder that it was highly improper for him to serve her in any fashion waited on her tongue, but she bit down on it. Being a viscount, he likely knew that already. Still, she could not dislodge her own ingrained manners. “Thank you.”

  His dark eyes gleamed in apparent pleasure before he turned his attention back to his plate. “I understand that you only returned a short while ago. I hope you did not lose your way on my grounds.”

  “I did not restrict my walk to your grounds, my lord.” Frances tried to keep the bite out of her tone. His pretending that he was keeping her secret left a sour taste on her tongue. She’d been under the impression that, when given time off, she was free to do whatever she chose with her time. “In fact, I spent the majority of my day with new acquaintances. Perhaps you know Viscountess Everhart and Mrs. Danvers?”

  “Then I see that I needn’t have worried for your safety,” he said with enough sincerity that she felt a pang of guilt for her previous tone.

  “I apologize if my absence caused you any alarm.”

  He took a lengthy swallow from his glass, watching her from over the rim. “It is merely my wish that you come to me first if ever you are in need of conversation or a tour of the countryside. There are days when I could use the pleasant distraction of your company to ease my burdens. This morning affected me as well.”

  Of course it had. Now, Frances felt uncharitable. Seeing his wife in such a state and having experienced many other episodes must weigh on him greatly. “In the future, I will come to you first.”

  Again, pleasure showed on his face. “I could ask for nothing more.”

  And yet, it still seemed like more of an order than a request. Frances shrugged off the sensation and thought back to her afternoon at Fallow Hall to lessen her disquiet. That was when she recalled Lucan’s concerns for Henny Momper, in addition to setting Arthur Momper’s mind at ease. Frances wanted to help as well. And what better way to learn where Miss Momper was than from the man who paid her salary?

  However, she would have to phrase her questions carefully. After all, it would seem odd to inquire directly about the whereabouts of a young woman whom she’d never met.

  “The countryside here is beautiful,” Frances remarked with a glance out the window. “As you know, I’ve never been out of London until now. I was wondering if this county resembles where your hunting box resides in Wales.”

  “I find Lincolnshire more to my taste at present.” His answer was all charm, revealing nothing.

  She tried again. “I understand that Lady Whitelock’s previous companion now resides there.”

  “Excuse me, while I call for our next course,” he said and tapped his fork against the side of his water goblet. A footman appeared instantly and bowed after hearing the request. Then, as if they’d been waiting, the other footmen carried in a silver platter of partridge and a dish of glaze carrots.

  After they were served, the footmen left again, and Whitelock regarded her with a steady gaze. “Forgive the interruption. Were we discussing my wife’s previous companions or the country of Wales?”

  “Whichever you prefer, my lord. I am eager to hear of both.” She felt her smile turn brittle. Lord Whitelock preferred to keep a firm hand on the direction of the conversation.

  The viscount cut into his partridge. “I found Miss Momper begging on the streets of London alongside her younger brother. When I learned they were alone in the world, I felt compelled to improve their circumstances. During the time of her employment, she did not disappoint me in her abilities. That was the reason I knew she was capable of being elevated in her position.”

  Frances shifted in her seat at his reprimanding tone. “It was noble of you. In fact, I’ve heard nothing but accounts of your charity in the way that you’ve helped so many. Your servants are fortunate indeed. Myself included. In fact, I often wonder where I would be if you hadn’t appeared at Mrs. Hunter’s when you did.”

  “You are generous with your praise. I am quite flattered,” he said, watching the bite of glazed carrot slip past her lips. “The truth is that I found many of my servants by serendipitous events. Some were forced to endure the conditions of workhouses or were living on the streets. And of course, let us not forget the value of the registry.”

  “Do you seek out the less fortunate on purpose?” she asked. To her, it seemed like an odd question to find amusing, but the viscount grinned nonetheless.

  “I enjoy all aspects of altering a person’s circumstances—removing them from a dire fate, welcoming them into my home, and most especially in elevating their positions. I have great wealth, and I see no reason not to use it to my full advantage.”

  His statement struck an odd chord with her. To his full advantage? Didn’t he mean to their advantage?

  The conversation turned to his art collection and how much it was admired. He spoke at length of his various acquisitions. During this time, she wondered how to weave Henny Momper back into the conversation. At first, Frances thought of mentioning the illness of which Mrs. Darby had spoken. It could be an easy matter to express concern and garner information about whether or not his lordship knew of Miss Momper’s health.

  Then, quite unexpectedly, something clicked inside of Frances’s head, like gears of a clock fitting together. Earlier, Hedley had mentioned that her illness caused her to miss the village fair. Yet her illness would assuredly not last much longer since it was because she was with child.

  According to Mrs. Darby, Henny’s illness had not lasted either.

  Lucan said that she was not expected to arrive at Wales for two more months. When Frances began this position, both Lord Whitelock and Mrs. Riley had mentioned that Lady Whitelock had been without a companion for six weeks. That was nearly two weeks ago. Therefore, Miss Momper had been absent for two months already.

  Frances reached for her wine. Her hand shook. Had Miss Momper been with child?

  Knowing nothing of Miss Momper’s character or personal life, Frances couldn’t be certain. However, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed like a possibility. That would explain her illness, and the reason she was not in Wales as of yet. Perhaps she was somewhere having the baby and not in training to become a housekeeper. Perhaps Lord Whitelock had found out about Miss Momper’s delicate condition and sent her away. Although, that still did not account for her not writing to her brother.

  When Frances had lived in London, she would have come to this conclusion sooner, if not immediately. Yet here, in this idyllic setting, she wanted to see only the good. Was that a selfish mistake on her part? She clung to that dream in the hope of having a brighter future for herself. She didn’t want to be cynical and jaded. Instead, she wanted unfettered joy and perhaps even . . . love.

  “The painting in your chamber is one of my particular favorites,” Whitelock said, drawing her back into his dialogue on art and unsettling her further.

  “It’s . . . lovely.” She swallowed nervously. The wine and rich foods did not mix well with her trepidation. Her stomach churned, and her temples began to throb. And the only thing she wanted was the comfort of Lucan’s embrace. “Pray, forgive me, but I’ve a sudden headache. Would you mind terribly if I retired?”

  Unmasked disappointment hardened Lord Whitelock’s features, but he inclined his head and rose to assist her. He hesitated, bending down to speak near her ear. “I’m feeling even more generous than usual, Miss Thorne. I believe another afternoon away from the manor would set you to rights. Therefore, tomorrow, once you’ve concluded your duties, you are free to roam.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” she said on a breath of relief as the chair slid from the table. At last, she stood and stepped away from him.

  He smiled at her. “With that settled, I off
er myself as your guide. I would be more than happy to take you on a tour.”

  “Actually, I was going to request tomorrow afternoon away because Lady Everhart and Mrs. Danvers have invited me to shop in the village,” she said in a rush. It was a complete fabrication, of course, but she felt a spark of pride at thinking of such a plausible excuse without any forethought.

  “Ah. A disappointment, to be sure,” he said, holding her gaze. “Some other afternoon, then, and soon.”

  She backed up a step toward the servants’ door. “Yes, of course, sir.” And with a quick curtsy, she made another escape.

  Shortly after Lucan had parted with Frances that afternoon, he and RJ found their way to Whitelock’s stables. He’d timed it carefully. This was the time that the grooms congregated near the south of the estate to watch the maids gather the laundry that had been hanging all day. A familiar sheaf of wheat-colored hair disappeared behind a loft amongst the rafters overhead. And then Lucan saw the driver in the tack room. The man looked at him with surprised recognition, obviously remembering him from the night he’d gotten drunk in Stampton.

  Devising an excuse for coming here, Lucan tossed him a leather coin purse. “I found this shortly after you left the inn.”

  The driver snatched the purse out of the air. With a skeptical frown, he weighed it in his hand. “A lot of trouble for a few shillings.”

  “I could have left it with the butler at the main house, I suppose,” Lucan said, pausing long enough to note the look of alarm that the driver tried to conceal, “but something tells me you wouldn’t want Whitelock to know of your evening. I thought I would do you a small favor.”

  The man narrowed his eyes. “In return for . . . ”

  Lucan wouldn’t insult him by prolonging this game. “I’m looking for a young woman who used to be employed here as companion until recently. She has family who are worried for her welfare.”