It was late morning, over twenty-four hours since she’d discovered proof of Leath’s offenses. What had he done when he found her missing? He must know that Nell’s possession of the letters meant exposure. He’d be furious, and desperate to silence her before she sparked a scandal.
She should be terrified. But it was difficult to be frightened cocooned in this feminine bower, with a duchess inquiring after her comfort. Leath couldn’t hurt her here.
She was such a fool—despite everything she knew, she found it hard to see his lordship hurting her at all.
The thought of Leath stabbed like a knife and made her want to curl up and howl out her agony. She cringed to remember that betraying moment when she’d reached for him. How was it that after one night, she couldn’t imagine waking up without him beside her?
“I planned to see His Grace then leave.”
“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.” The duchess sent Nell an assessing look. “And I hardly think Sedgemoor will accept the documents you produced without asking about your dealings with Lord Leath.”
Curse these blushes. If she wasn’t careful, the duchess might guess just what her dealings with Leath had involved. “You’ve seen the letters?”
“Of course,” the duchess said coolly, crossing to a gilt and marble table where a tea tray waited.
After nigh drowning in yesterday’s rain, it seemed absurd to be so thirsty. Nell fought to leave the bed, weary muscles resisting the activity. Only then did she realize that she wore an embroidered white lawn nightdress that would cost a housemaid more than a year’s wages.
The duchess turned from pouring tea to catch Nell’s attempts to stand. “What on earth are you doing?”
“It’s not fitting for you to wait upon me, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense.” Calmly she finished preparing the tea. “Lie down. I’m surprised you’re awake at all. You looked ready to give up the ghost. But the doctor said that with rest, you’ll be fine.”
“The doctor…” Nell fell back. Whatever her mind demanded about leaving this room, her legs weren’t ready to take her.
“Yes.” Her Grace glided across the pale blue floral carpet that matched the ceiling’s plasterwork and extended a cup and saucer. “He came last night.”
Automatically Nell took the tea, although her hand shook so badly that she feared spilling it over the exquisite bedding. “I’ve put you to so much trouble. This wasn’t what I intended.”
The duchess waved a graceful hand and slid a brocade-covered chair closer. “I’ve told you no apologies are necessary.”
Why was this woman so needlessly kind to a stranger? “I must dress and see His Grace.”
The heavily pregnant duchess sat with endearing clumsiness. She leveled an unwavering stare upon Nell. “Once you’ve regained your strength.”
Before Nell could argue, a knock heralded the arrival of a striking blond woman carrying another tray. “I intercepted the maid outside. I can’t contain my curiosity any longer. Who is your mysterious invalid, Pen?”
The duchess smiled and Nell caught her breath at the woman’s beauty. In the newspapers, she’d seen sketches of the Duchess of Sedgemoor. Scandal had shadowed the union from the start, even before the duke and duchess became embroiled in Sophie Fairbrother’s elopement. “Come in, Genevieve. I’m surprised Sidonie isn’t here too.”
“She’s in the stables with Jonas, admiring your guest’s mare.” The newcomer’s ice-blue eyes sharpened on Nell with unconcealed interest as she deposited the tray on a table. “Jonas says that Leath bought that bay at Tattersall’s last week. He particularly remembers because he went up against the marquess for her and lost.”
Nell felt as if her cheeks must catch fire. “I’m sure he’s mistaken.”
“Jonas has a memory like a steel trap for horseflesh.” The blond woman paused. “Actually Jonas just has a memory like a steel trap.”
With every moment, Nell felt more out of place. The gatekeeper had mentioned the house party, but only now in the presence of these elegant women who were clearly good friends did she realize how she’d intruded.
To Nell’s astonishment, the duchess took her hand. “Miss Trim, please ignore Lady Harmsworth. She has an inquiring mind.”
The blonde laughed. “You mean I’m incurably nosy, Pen.”
Her Grace sent her friend a quelling glance before turning back to Nell. “You needn’t tell us anything you don’t want to.”
“I’d… I’d like to see His Grace as soon as possible,” Nell said tremulously, wondering why she didn’t open her mouth and denounce Leath.
“Have your breakfast,” the duchess said in a soothing voice.
The thought of eating under Lady Harmsworth’s inquisitive gaze made her stomach revolt. The papers had been full of stories about the famous scholar who last year had married the ton’s darling, Sir Richard Harmsworth. An inquiring mind, indeed. And one Nell, in her weakened state, was in no shape to defend herself against. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“Of course you are. We’ll leave you in peace.”
“But—” Lady Harmsworth protested.
The duchess stood. “Miss Trim has barely caught her breath since her ordeal.”
Resisting Her Grace was like trying to fight a cloud of feathers. Despite Nell’s demurrals, the duchess and Lady Harmsworth soon had her tucked up in bed with the tray on her knees and fresh tea on the nightstand.
At last they gave her the blessed relief of privacy. Nell took her first unconstricted breath since she’d awoken to this astonishing treatment. She told herself that if she persisted, justice would prevail. But as she contemplated the delicacies before her, all she felt was lonely and betrayed.
A soft knock disturbed Leath’s troubled doze. He shifted and wondered why his head wasn’t on its usual soft pillow, but resting on something much more unforgiving. He needed a few dazed seconds to understand that he’d fallen into oblivion at his desk. As if in disapproval, the hall clock struck ten.
Self-disgust thundered through him. How could he sleep when Eleanor was in trouble? Sitting up, he rubbed heavy eyes. He ached, and there was a crick in his neck.
Wells entered with a letter on a silver salver. “My lord, forgive my intrusion, but this just arrived from the Duke of Sedgemoor and the messenger insists it’s urgent.”
Sedgemoor? Why the devil was Camden Rothermere writing to him? They’d met occasionally since Sophie and Harry Thorne’s wedding in May. Relations had improved, thanks, Leath admitted, to the new duchess, a woman remarkably ready to forgive. But the duke and he would never be friends.
“Thank you, Wells.” Leath picked up the letter. If Sedgemoor expected immediate attention, he could rot in hell. Leath had more important matters to worry about than some trivial request from His Grace. Two footmen entered the room to set breakfast on a side table as he stared in a funk at the letter in his hand.
Leath started when Wells passed him a cup of coffee. “I took the liberty of arranging a meal, my lord.”
“Bless you.” He was still half asleep, tormented by images of Eleanor alone and unprotected. Damned fool of a woman. Why hadn’t she waited, instead of taking to her heels?
The fog in his head cleared as he sipped his coffee. The footmen finished fiddling and left. Knowing he wasted his time, and worse, incited unwelcome curiosity, he glanced at his butler. “Has there been word of Miss Trim overnight?”
Wells’s demeanor remained impassive. “No, my lord.”
Leath sacrificed his pride, and was surprised that it hardly hurt at all. “Do you know where she’s gone?”
Wells stared into the distance. “She said she returned to her family.”
“Was she likely to confide in anyone below stairs?”
“No, sir.”
Leath gritted his teeth. “Is that the best you can do?”
Wells focused on Leath and betrayed a hint of the man beneath the servant. His voice became less clipped. “Miss Trim became he
r ladyship’s companion not long after starting here. She didn’t have time to develop close ties with any member of staff, my lord.”
The coffee made him feel almost human. “And she wasn’t like the other housemaids, was she?”
Astonishingly, Wells’s mouth twitched. “If she hadn’t arrived with such good references and if we hadn’t been short-staffed, I doubt I’d have taken her on. As it was, I assumed that she’d quickly prove unsuitable.”
Well, that answered one question that had always bothered him. Wells was too sharp to miss that Eleanor Trim wasn’t the usual servant. “So she wasn’t liked?”
Wells looked shocked. “My lord, you misunderstand. Of course there was some jealousy at her quick promotion, but Miss Trim never put on airs and anyone with sense could see that she was good for her ladyship. I would say that she was very well liked indeed. We were all sorry to hear that because of family illness, she had to leave.”
“So where should I start looking for her?”
Wells refilled Leath’s cup. “Her last place was in Sussex. The mistress there, a Lady Bascombe, described her in superlatives.”
And that had been a pack of lies from beginning to end, Leath now knew. “I’d appreciate it if you keep an ear open for any mention of Miss Trim’s destination.”
“Have you asked Mr. Crane? He and Miss Trim were friendly.”
Leath’s shoulders tensed the way they did before a boxing bout, even as he knew he couldn’t clout Wells. The man was at least twenty years older than he was and apart from that, he’d faithfully served the Fairbrothers all his life. “What do you mean by that?”
“Exactly what I said, sir. Miss Trim helped Mr. Crane when he was incapacitated.”
Leath told himself to back down. If anyone knew that Eleanor had been chaste, he did. At this rate, the servants’ hall would buzz with gossip that his lordship had gone completely dotty over a housemaid.
The servants’ hall, unfortunately, would have it right.
“Her dealings with Crane were completely innocent,” Leath snapped.
“Yes, my lord. I implied nothing else.” Wells watched him steadily and Leath cringed at the lack of surprise in his eyes. For all his attempts to conceal his interest in his mother’s companion, apparently everybody at Alloway Chase had noticed it.
“I’m sorry, Wells. I’m worried about her.”
The butler bowed. “I shall make discreet inquiries.”
“Thank you.”
Once Wells left, Leath realized that he hadn’t opened Sedgemoor’s message. Sighing, he broke the seal. Then, picking up his half-empty coffee cup, he read the few scrawled words. And slammed down his cup so hard that coffee splattered across the desk.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Not until afternoon could Nell escape the duchess’s benevolent tyranny and arrange an appointment with the duke. Physically she felt stronger, although the wound in her heart over Leath’s treachery seeped perpetual poison.
A footman escorted her across a gleaming parquet floor to a closed door. Nell squared her shoulders, but she feared that she’d left her courage in the cottage in the Peaks. She smoothed her skirts, unaccustomed to the feel of the rich fabric. Apparently her dress was still drying. This gorgeous dark blue gown belonged to Lady Hillbrook, who was close to her size. The duchess was long and lean like an elegant greyhound. Lady Harmsworth was built like a valkyrie.
Lady Hillbrook, another beautiful brunette although less inclined than the duchess to insist on her own way, had provided a couple of dresses more extravagant than anything Nell had ever owned. Although she reflected sourly that Leath’s mistress would wear clothes like this. She vaguely remembered a dress allowance in that prosaic contract. Probably she should be flattered that he’d had it drawn up. If those pathetic letters were any indication, he hadn’t taken such trouble with the other women he’d duped.
The thought of those letters and what she owed Dorothy steadied wavering courage.
The door opened and she stepped into a spacious library, more leather and mahogany than Leath’s extravaganza in marble and gold, but just as impressive. She gulped back traitorous weakness, as memories of hours working with the marquess overcame her. Hours when she’d deceived herself that she served a man of principle. She’d fallen in love with that man, but he was a chimera. Her love had been fatally misplaced, but the effort to crush it hurt. Dear God, it hurt.
She blinked back tears and realized that this encounter would be even more daunting than expected. The room overflowed with tall, well-dressed men. She blinked again and raised her chin. She’d risked so much for this moment. She couldn’t falter. Even if, despite everything, some shameful element deep in her soul recoiled from Leath’s destruction.
Nell told herself that she felt guilty about the marchioness. But the truth was that her foolish, faithful heart hadn’t relinquished its love. And the futile hope that she was mistaken. That those letters were meant for some other Marquess of Leath. That she’d misunderstood Dorothy’s dying words.
“Miss Trim, how are you feeling?” The duke abandoned his companions and approached with a ground-eating stride that reminded her painfully of Leath’s prowl.
Stop it, Nell. You’re only torturing yourself. Avenge Dorothy, then go away and establish a life.
Except that even now, she couldn’t imagine a life without the vile, duplicitous Lord Leath. She really was a hopeless case.
“Your Grace.” She dipped into a curtsy, hopefully more graceful than last night’s stumble.
He took her arm with a firm gentleness that reminded her of the duchess and drew her toward a seat near the fire. The crowd dwindled to a handsome blond man and a brawny figure with horrific scars marking his saturnine face. Both took chairs near her while the duke stood before the hearth.
A rough-coated brindle hound rose in front of the fire and wandered lazily across to Nell. For a moment, intelligent dark eyes inspected her, then he settled on the floor at her side with a doggy groan.
“Don’t mind Sirius,” the fair man said.
“I’ve ordered tea. Would you like some?” Sedgemoor clearly sought to put her at ease. But her eyes immediately fastened on the papers near his elbow on the mantelpiece. Familiar papers. Papers condemning the Marquess of Leath.
“No, thank you,” she said faintly, grateful to be sitting. She had a horrible feeling that if she tried to stand, her legs might crumple beneath her. Her hand dropped to fondle the dog’s soft ears. At least one creature in this room seemed to be on her side.
As if understanding her nervousness, the blond man sent her an encouraging smile. Thanks to the newspapers, she knew who these men were. The Adonis was Sir Richard Harmsworth, arbiter of fashion. The scowling beast was Jonas Merrick, Viscount Hillbrook, reputedly the richest man in Europe. All this masculine power in one room made her feel short of air. She gulped against faintness.
“Miss Trim, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve invited Lord Hillbrook and Sir Richard to hear what you have to say,” Sedgemoor said.
The two men bowed in her direction as Sedgemoor performed the introductions. She straightened and told herself for Dorothy’s sake, she could do this. She’d failed her sister in her last months. She wouldn’t fail her now.
Nell steadied her voice, although she was sure they heard the betraying huskiness. “The more people who know about Lord Leath’s offenses, the better. The whole point of bringing you the letters, Your Grace, is for you to make their contents public.”
There. She was committed. She ignored her heart’s anguished entreaties to give Leath the benefit of the doubt. She had no doubts.
“Before I take this further, I need to know a little more. Whether the letters are genuine, for example.”
Surprised, Nell stared at him. All through yesterday’s purgatorial journey, she’d played this scene out in her mind. She’d imagined that she’d show the duke the letters, he’d gratefully accept this chance to crush his enemy, then he’d take control of the mar
quess’s comeuppance. Stupidly, it had never occurred to her that His Grace might doubt the letters’ authenticity.
“We’re not questioning your honesty, Miss Trim,” Sir Richard said. “But it’s possible that someone is using you to harm Leath, some political enemy perhaps.”
She stifled a bitter laugh. “The letters are real. I took them from his lordship’s personal luggage yesterday morning.” She paused. “And I have my own reasons for wanting to bring Lord Leath to his knees.”
Hillbrook and Sir Richard shared a speaking look, and she clenched her fists in her lap, trepidation retreating behind rage. Finding those letters had reawakened her anger and grief over Dorothy’s death. That anger now gave her impetus to continue.
In a low voice and with a firmness that surprised her, Nell set out the tale of Dorothy’s ruin and her decision to seek justice for her half-sister. She spoke about her weeks at Alloway Chase and her thwarted attempts to find proof of the marquess’s debauchery. The only part of the story she didn’t share was her idiocy in falling victim to the libertine. She made no attempt to hide her deceptions and failures, apart from her heart’s failure to recognize a liar.
By the time she’d finished, the short twilight had deepened into night. His Grace had lit the candles, but the room was shadowy and the atmosphere felt increasingly conspiratorial.
She was grateful that the men had listened without interruption. If she’d needed to stop and defend her statements, she’d have lost all confidence. “When I found the letters, I came here, seeking a champion.”
“But why come to me?” Sedgemoor asked. “Had we met?”
“No, Your Grace. The newspapers said that you and Lord Leath were at outs. I hoped you’d have a vested interest in helping.”
Sir Richard frowned. “If what Miss Trim says is true, the man is a rabid dog.”
Hillbrook too looked troubled. “If it’s true. I must say I haven’t seen anything to indicate villainy at this level.”
A Scoundrel by Moonlight Page 21