A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  When she reached the paragraphs mentioning progeny, her hand curved over her belly. She wasn’t overjoyed about bearing the marquess’s bastard, but she accepted that pregnancy was likely. Perhaps a baby already grew inside her. The thought of a child never free to claim its father shaved a few layers off her contentment. Perhaps she should wake James and make him remind her why she’d taken this reckless step.

  Sighing, she set away the contract. James had drawn it up for her protection, but she couldn’t like it. The dry language left her cringing. She felt like something the marquess had purchased.

  A pile of letters bound with cord lay beneath the contract. Nell had no right to pry into James’s correspondence so she bundled everything up.

  Until a word caught her eye. A word that turned her blood to ice.

  Baby.

  Knowing she committed an unforgiveable breach of privacy, she snatched up the sheet of cheap paper. The hand was unformed, as though the woman writing it had little or no education. It was dated a week ago and signed “Your dearest Celie.”

  Bile stinging her throat, she read the pathetic lines addressed to the great marquess, pleading for money to support the little girl they’d made together. Fumbling, she knocked aside that letter and read the next. The same, except signed Mary and dated a fortnight ago. This child was a boy.

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.

  Nell’s mind insisted she stop, pretend that she’d never seen those pathetic words. But a force stronger than self-protection gripped her.

  She read each letter more quickly, until she barely glanced at the last one. Another name. Another girl who could barely write. Another baby. Another desperate plea sent within the last month.

  Numbly she stared down at the papers littering the sofa and the floor.

  Leath had seduced all these women after he’d abandoned Dorothy, and there had been multitudes before Dorothy if Nell believed in the diary of debauchery.

  She believed.

  One letter had slipped behind a cushion. She straightened it and started to read.

  This one was different. Someone called Hector Greengrass wanted Leath to pay him ten thousand guineas in return for a certain document. The short note, written in a vilely knowing tone that made her skin crawl, invited the marquess to arrange a meeting via a tavern in Newbury. It mentioned no names, but she immediately knew that he was talking about the diary of Leath’s sexual exploits. The lecherous marquess had fallen into a blackmailer’s clutches.

  Nell closed her eyes and struggled to calm her pitching stomach.

  Dorothy hadn’t lied. Even down to the diary.

  On a muffled cry, Nell lurched to her feet and rushed outside, leaving the door banging in the wind. She retched into the flowerbed, bringing up watery tea and not much else.

  Feeling woozy, she stumbled upright, clinging to the cottage’s whitewashed wall. Her legs trembled near collapse. Behind her eyes, the sad, begging, incriminating letters marched, one after the other. Each representing an innocent girl who had fallen foul of a rake’s lies. Each representing a life destroyed.

  She vomited again, although nothing was left inside her. Still she heaved until her stomach hurt. But nowhere near as badly as her heart.

  Eventually she stood, head swimming. With an unsteady hand, she wiped cold rain from her face. More than anything, she wanted to scrub every inch of her skin. But she couldn’t risk returning upstairs. Not when that brute lay in wait.

  Disgust threatened to crush her into the mud. But this wasn’t time for self-hatred. She’d have years to regret her stupidity and weakness.

  Now she needed to escape. The scale of Lord Leath’s evil staggered her. She couldn’t comprehend that the man she thought she’d known turned out so rotten. Turned out to be the man she’d originally believed him. He’d used her. Worse, she had an agonizing premonition that after her blistering anger cooled, she’d discover that he’d broken her heart too.

  But she wasn’t defeated. Finally she had proof of his sins. And, she thought, straightening, she was in Derbyshire. She’d always intended to enlist the Duke of Sedgemoor’s influence to bring down the wicked marquess. His Grace’s family seat, Fentonwyck, was mere hours away.

  Leath’s preparations for their affair had included delivery of a sweet little bay mare for Nell. She almost smiled. Before she was done, he’d be sorry he’d taught her to ride.

  She must go. Before he woke. Before she saw him and recalled his filthy hands all over her. Worse, how she’d begged him to touch her.

  Her stomach revolted again, but she placed a quelling hand over it. She might want to curl up somewhere dark and lonely and hide for the rest of her life. But she’d promised her beloved half-sister vengeance, and by God, she meant to get it.

  Lifting her chin and squeezing her betrayed love into a tiny rancid ball deep in her soul, she rushed into the house and collected the letters. All the time, she strained to hear any sound from upstairs.

  If Leath knew her plans, heaven knew what he’d do to her. Once she’d thought he was the last man to resort to violence. But then, she’d also convinced herself that he wasn’t Dorothy’s seducer. Nell’s instincts when it came to the marquess were tragically flawed.

  She flung her cloak around her and ran, slipping and sliding through the rain, to the stables. In her heart, one prayer echoed over and over: that she’d never see the Marquess of Leath’s lying, handsome face again as long as she lived.

  Leath stirred to what sounded like a horse galloping away. But surely that couldn’t be. He’d chosen this cottage for its seclusion—and for the rugged beauty of the countryside. It must just be the wind rattling the windows.

  He yawned and stretched luxuriously. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept this late. He had no idea of the time, but the light outside, even with the rain, indicated a morning well advanced. He’d stayed awake most of the night, dwelling on transcendent pleasure, the woman who lay so confidingly beside him, and the paths his life had taken. And might yet take.

  Through the long, quiet hours, Eleanor’s presence had filled him with gratitude. What had happened extended beyond the physical realm. Their union changed everything. He wasn’t a fool. He knew this bond was rare and precious. He knew that to prove himself worthy of this gift, he must overturn all his old certainties.

  When he’d stirred in the early hours and found her so sleepily sensual, he couldn’t stop himself. She’d taken him into her body and he’d felt like he’d found home. In a way he didn’t understand, she turned the world to light. But he understood too well that if she took the light away, he’d languish in eternal darkness.

  Now he was hard and ready for Eleanor who, by the feel of the sheets, had left the bed hours ago. He shivered. Odd to be so cold and so hot at once. And he was hungry. Unprecedented sexual satisfaction gave a man a big appetite. For food and for the woman he wanted.

  He rose against the pillows. Where was Eleanor? The cottage was eerily quiet. He was a little disappointed that she hadn’t wakened him with a kiss—and with what came afterward. When he found her, he’d seduce her back to bed. After breakfast. Smiling at his plans, he scratched his chest and rolled out of bed.

  To save her modesty, he tugged on his breeches. He let his shirt hang loose around his hips. He should wash. He should definitely shave—which meant retrieving his luggage from where he’d abandoned it in his elation at seeing Eleanor.

  He pounded down the stairs to the neat parlor. But it was empty. Clearly Nell had been about. The room was tidy and he was almost sure that the roses on the windowsill hadn’t been there last night. A fire blazed in the grate, making the room deliciously warm.

  Where the devil was she? The weather was vile, too vile for a ramble across the hills. Frowning, more curious than worried, he searched for his mistress. He didn’t need long. The house was little more than a cottage.

  Leath grabbed his greatcoat, now neatly hung beside the door, and noticed with relief that her cape wa
sn’t there. She must be in the stables.

  His increasingly frenetic hunt through the outbuildings turned up no Eleanor Trim. And no sign of the Arab mare he’d bought her. He burst into the windswept yard between the stables and the house, flummoxed. The weather had deteriorated, yet she’d gone riding. Why?

  He recalled those pounding hoofbeats. Not the wind after all.

  What on earth was her game? The house was stocked with all they needed. And this wasn’t a day for a pleasure jaunt.

  Had he mistaken everything last night? Had he frightened her into running away? Dear God, don’t let him have hurt her. He’d tried his best to be gentle.

  Sick with worry, he trudged back to the house, huddling into his coat against the driving rain. He hoped to Hades that wherever Eleanor was, she was warm and dry and safe. He tried to reassure himself that she’d merely wanted some fresh air. But he couldn’t quash the certainty that something was vitally wrong.

  He let himself back into the house and searched more thoroughly for some clue to her whereabouts. This time, he noticed his satchel on the sofa.

  He frowned and crossed to empty it onto the upholstery. The contract slid out. Had that scared her away? Everything there was for her benefit—and the benefit of any children they produced. But after a night of passion, perhaps she balked at hard practicalities. He grimly recalled her reaction to his last attempt to discuss provisions for her welfare.

  Eleanor Trim hadn’t easily consented to be his mistress and only powerful desire—and he hoped, something stronger—lured her to his bed. Perhaps seeing herself as a kept woman in black and white had chased her off.

  Except she was braver than that. And if the agreement didn’t meet her approval, the woman who had stood up to him so often was perfectly capable of expressing her displeasure.

  Leath supposed that he should be annoyed that she riffled through his private papers but right now, he was too desperate to learn where she’d gone—and more important, why—that he hardly cared. He’d lifted the satchel to slip the contract inside before he noted the absence of the other papers he’d carried ever since they’d started arriving at Alloway Chase in appalling numbers.

  No, no, no. If she’d found those heartbreaking letters, what the hell had she thought?

  He’d been worried since he’d come downstairs. Now horror shrank his belly to the size of a walnut. He checked each pocket in the satchel. The letters from the women the Marquess of Leath had betrayed were missing.

  At last he knew exactly why Eleanor had left.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  As he galloped through rain and wind back to Alloway Chase, Leath had plenty of time to condemn his recklessness in taking the satchel to Derbyshire and his even greater recklessness in leaving it unattended. Although what else could he do but keep those letters with him? If they fell into the wrong hands, the scandal would put every other scandal dogging his family into the shade.

  He should have stowed the satchel somewhere safe when he’d reached the cottage. But he’d wanted Eleanor for so long and so desperately that when he’d seen her, he could think of nothing else.

  Too late for regrets. What he had to do now was find her and explain.

  Wet, angry, worried sick, lonely, he slammed into the great hall well past dark. Even after one night in her arms, Eleanor’s absence carved a rift inside him. He’d hoped against hope that he might catch up with her on his way. No such luck.

  He flung his dripping greatcoat at John and asked with a snap, “Is Miss Trim here?”

  The footman looked startled. “No, my lord. Miss Trim has returned to her family. A relative’s illness, I understand.”

  The story they’d concocted when planning their affair. Except one night surely didn’t constitute an affair, damn it.

  If only Nell had waited to confront him.

  He sighed. Today “if only” had been a constant refrain.

  Might his mother know where Eleanor had gone? They’d always chattered away like a pair of magpies. In the days when he hadn’t trusted the helpful Miss Trim, that swift intimacy had troubled him.

  Did he still trust Eleanor? Those letters could do enormous damage to the Fairbrother name and destroy his political career. Something in him insisted that the woman who had surrendered her virginity with such breathtaking sweetness wouldn’t betray his secrets.

  So why had she taken the letters? He hoped he’d soon have the chance to ask her.

  It was too late to disturb his mother. But if the marchioness had some clue to where Eleanor went to ground, he needed to talk to her.

  He mounted the elaborate marble and gilt staircase two steps at a time and strode toward his mother’s rooms. A sharp knock at the door summoned Nancy, his mother’s maid.

  “My lord,” the woman stammered, curtsying. He’d caught her at her mending. In one hand, she held a lacy fichu with a torn border. “Her ladyship has retired.”

  To assuage her insomnia, his mother usually took a book to bed. She’d told him that since Miss Trim’s reading recommendations, she’d started to enjoy the hours before sleep. “Can you see if she’s awake, Nancy?”

  He stepped into the sitting room and watched Nancy light a couple of candles before disappearing into the bedchamber. Impatiently he prowled to the window, staring into the stormy night. Was Eleanor out in this weather? He prayed wherever she was, she was safe.

  “My lord?”

  “Yes?” He whirled around and his face must have betrayed his frustration. Nancy, who had known him since he was a boy, retreated swiftly.

  “Her ladyship will see you.”

  Leath struggled for a shred of civility. Yet every hour without Eleanor pushed him closer to exploding. “Thank you.”

  He entered the shadowy vastness of his mother’s bedroom. She was propped against the pillows, wearing a cream lace peignoir and a cap over her fair hair.

  He hadn’t been in here in years. His mother guarded her privacy, although he knew that she suffered excruciating pains in her legs when it was cold and wet as it was tonight.

  “James,” she said in concern, taking off her spectacles and extending her hands in his direction. “What’s the matter?”

  He caught her hands and kissed her cheek. “Mamma, I’m sorry to barge in, wet as a herring and covered in all my dirt.”

  “Has something happened?”

  Damn it, he should have taken a few minutes to wash and change before intruding on his mother and frightening her. “Yes.” He frowned. “No.”

  She patted the mattress beside her. “You don’t sound very sure.”

  He sighed and slumped onto the bed, retaining her hands. It had been such a bugger of a day, he appreciated the loving connection. “I need to find Miss Trim.”

  “Nell? You know she left last week.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “Home to her family, she said. Her aunt is ill.” A frown lined the fine-drawn face that retained traces of youthful beauty. “It’s odd. I thought she was an orphan.”

  “One can be an orphan and have aunts,” Leath said, trying not to squirm. His mother had always guessed when his younger self was up to no good. Not that he’d been much trouble. Family expectations had weighed too heavily. “You must miss her.”

  His mother didn’t smile. “Of course I do.” She paused. “But nonetheless I’m glad she’s gone.”

  Shocked, he tugged free. For the first time since Eleanor’s disappearance, her whereabouts weren’t paramount in his mind. “What the devil?”

  His mother tapped his cheek in fond reprimand. “James, my life may be restricted, but I’m not blind.”

  He stiffened, even as dismay knotted his gut. It seemed he was no better at keeping secrets from his mother than he’d been as a lad. Still, he tried to cover his tracks. “I liked Miss Trim.”

  His mother finally smiled. “Not at first.”

  “I was worried at how quickly she gained your confidence.”

  “James, I’ll say it
again—I’m not blind. Nell made an unlikely housemaid, but her heart was true. I believe because her heart was true, she left.”

  Leath had a sinking feeling that was the case. She’d seen those incriminating letters and decided she’d tossed her chastity away on a rake. But he wouldn’t give her up without a fight. Once he bloody well found her. “You think the aunt is a lie.”

  “I think that Nell recognized what was happening between you and made the only choice she could.”

  James hid a wince. “I—”

  His mother raised a hand. “Don’t bother prevaricating. The air all but sizzled.”

  “She didn’t encourage me,” he said uncomfortably.

  “No, but that didn’t mean she was unaffected.” Regret tinged his mother’s voice. “I’m not so old that I can’t remember temptation. I blame myself for flinging you together. By the time I’d realized what trouble I’d caused trying to get you to acknowledge Nell’s qualities, it was too late.”

  “I’m a man of principle.” What a liar he was.

  “Yes, I thank God that you are. If you were like your uncle, I’d despair for the title. But sometimes attraction is too strong, even for a man of principle. You’ve never chased the servants before, James.”

  “I didn’t chase her,” he said uncomfortably, feeling like he’d been caught stealing bonbons from the larder.

  “No.” Her voice hardened. “Because you understand that the only role Nell can occupy in your life is as your mistress.”

  “Mamma, a man doesn’t discuss such—”

  She made a dismissive noise. “Don’t treat me like a fool. Eleanor Trim is no man’s temporary bedmate.”

  “You’re right.” All last night, he’d lain awake, holding the precious woman who had given herself with such wholehearted joy, suffering similar qualms.