A Scoundrel by Moonlight

by Anna Campbell

  She smiled. “I hope you’ll take note of this moment.”

  He narrowed his eyes. He knew that she referred to her unsuitability as a bride. “You can stay in London with Lady Harmsworth,” he snapped. “If she won’t have you—and who can blame her?—you’ll stay at Leath House. Locked in the cellars, if need be.”

  Nell shot him an unimpressed glance. “We’ll see.”

  “Come into the carriage with me, Miss Trim,” Lady Harmsworth called. “We never finished our discussion on Mansfield Park.”

  “With pleasure, your ladyship.” Nell’s smile held a mere hint of triumph, whatever victorious fanfares rang out in her heart.

  James dismounted and stalked across to lift her from Ginger’s back. “If you think I’m not angry that such an inexperienced rider as you galloped hell for leather across this wilderness, you’re much mistaken.”

  She regarded him under lowered eyebrows as he set her on her feet with a decided bump. “You’re not my keeper, my lord.”

  “If you sign the contract in my luggage, I will indeed be your keeper.”

  She refused to blush, despite his attempt to discomfit her with a reminder of her surrender—something the long day in the saddle had made painfully apparent. “A mistress has more freedom than a wife, my lord. A mistress may leave as she pleases.”

  “Damn you,” he muttered, although his hands were gentle at her waist. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re mistaken, my lord. I’m going to Berkshire.”

  To her surprise he laughed. It was a weary laugh, but she knew she’d won when he caught her hand and squeezed it briefly. “You’ll make my life a nightmare.”

  Her smile widened. “Undoubtedly.”

  Knowing he watched, she exaggerated the sway of her hips as she strolled toward the carriage. There was something heady in owning her power over him. If he tried to keep her in London with Lady Harmsworth, she’d fight again, but for now she had her way. And the memory of his touch to fortify her.

  The cavalcade started up, except Sir Richard now rode, claiming he’d only be an intruder inside the carriage. Nell approved of Sir Richard. Behind his lazy smile, he was kind and perceptive, and he adored his wife.

  Last night, Nell had cried herself to sleep. But she’d woken this morning determined to take charge of her life. She’d be Lord Leath’s mistress. If there were children, she’d love them so much that they wouldn’t care about their illegitimacy. And when time came for James to marry, she’d leave him with her head high and the knowledge that, whatever the world’s opinion of her, love had guided her actions.

  “You’re looking very intense,” Lady Harmsworth said from the seat opposite. She had a book open on her lap and Sirius snoozed at her feet.

  “I’m thinking about meeting Greengrass,” Nell said, which should have been true. Despite facing down James, Nell didn’t underestimate the danger.

  Lady Harmsworth settled against the leather upholstery and surveyed her with a piercing intelligence that reminded her uncomfortably of Lord Hillbrook. “Greengrass is seriously outmatched with our four knights in shining armor on his trail. I have no doubt that right will prevail.”

  “Lady Harmsworth, you misunderstand,” Nell said unsteadily.

  Her lips firmed with amused impatience. “You think I’m unforgivably nosy.”

  Nell did, but she couldn’t say so. She braced herself against the coach’s sway and looked out the window. “You’ve all been so kind.” That was true too. “But until last night, I blamed Lord Leath for my half-sister’s death.”

  Sympathy shadowed Lady Harmsworth’s vivid face and she reached for Nell’s hand. “Neville Fairbrother has so much to answer for. I gather that you’ve accepted Leath’s innocence. You were arguing like old friends just now.”

  “You always knew he was innocent,” Nell said, flushing with mortification. She’d lain awake last night, cursing her recklessness in Sedgemoor’s library. Anyone could have come in. She was almost more discomfited that nobody had. It hinted that her affair with James was no secret. “All of you did, from the moment I produced the letters.”

  Lady Harmsworth straightened, releasing Nell’s hand. “Leath has a reputation as a man of principle. The wretch who ran around England ruining innocent girls sounded more like the uncle than the nephew.” Her eyes conveyed loathing. “But of course, I have personal experience to rely on.”

  Something in Lady Harmsworth’s face indicated that she’d endured horrors at Lord Neville’s hands. After a shocked moment, Nell returned her attention to the bleak winter landscape. She’d only met this woman a few days ago. Too short a time for these intimate revelations.

  “I’ve apologized to his lordship for misjudging him.” Then she wished she hadn’t spoken. An apology implied a relationship more equal than marquess to housemaid. To distract her ladyship—although she had a grim feeling that nothing distracted Genevieve Harmsworth when she pursued answers—she spoke quickly. “I misunderstood so much. I believed that his lordship and the duke were sworn enemies.”

  “There were a few sour notes. Leath’s political ambitions hit a wall once his uncle’s crimes became public, and he blamed my husband and Sedgemoor for that. Things got even more fraught when Harry and Sophie ran away. Of course, the press exaggerated the feud.”

  “Those stories made me bring the letters to His Grace.”

  “Thank goodness you did.”

  “Thank goodness I did.” To think that Nell could have gone to the newspapers. To think that she could have destroyed James’s political career completely and forever.

  To think that if she agreed to marry him, she’d achieve that anyway.

  “I hardly know Lord Leath,” Lady Harmsworth said in a neutral voice. “But I have a feeling that won’t remain the case. I see signs of growing rapport with the others.”

  A relieved breath escaped Nell. Perhaps her ladyship didn’t intend to interrogate her about the marquess. She was glad to see the seeds of friendship between James and these dynamic men. She’d long ago recognized his isolation.

  When Nell didn’t speak—anything she said would reveal unsuitable familiarity with James’s private life—Lady Harmsworth continued thoughtfully. “Which means, I imagine, that we’ll see more of the marquess.”

  Nell remained silent, but she raised an unsteady hand to the leather strap by the window. The weather outside was bitterly cold with a wind that would slice through steel, and she was too inexperienced a rider to enjoy long hours in the saddle. Nonetheless she wished she’d stayed on Ginger and never stepped inside this spider’s web disguised as a luxurious conveyance.

  Lady Harmsworth sighed. “You’re a sphinx, Miss Trim.”

  “I enjoyed Mansfield Park,” she said with an edge of desperation.

  To her surprise, Lady Harmsworth laughed. “Well, I didn’t. There, that’s covered our literary discussion.” She regarded Nell searchingly. “It’s not easy loving an exceptional man. I speak from experience. As would Sidonie and Pen, if you asked them. Although you’re far too discreet to do such a thing, I know. You really will make the perfect politician’s wife.”

  Nell made a distressed sound. “You’re speaking cruel nonsense.”

  “You think I torment you for my entertainment,” Lady Harmsworth said with a regret that even to Nell’s hostile ears sounded sincere. “I’m sorry, Miss Trim.” She paused. “Blast, I can’t have a good coze with a woman I call Miss Trim. Can’t I call you Eleanor?”

  Nell regarded her stormily. “That isn’t appropriate, your ladyship.” She placed an ironic emphasis on the formal address.

  Lady Harmsworth smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re a snob.”

  “Not at all,” Nell said coldly. How could she have liked this woman?

  “I told you, I’m a humble vicar’s daughter.”

  “You’re a famous scholar,” Nell snapped, tired of Lady Harmsworth downplaying her status purely to winkle out her secrets.

  “I wasn’t w
hen I met Richard. And a female scholar doesn’t meet general approval, believe me. Most people consider our match completely laughable. I’m such a bluestocking and he’s society’s beau ideal.”

  “He has lovely manners,” Nell said.

  To Nell’s surprise, Lady Harmsworth laughed. “I deserve that.” She spoke more softly. “I’m going about this completely ham-fisted. Richard would be ashamed of me. I just want you to know that you’re not the first woman to fall in love with a man she believes is impossibly out of reach. If you need advice or help or a shoulder to cry on, I’m offering my friendship.”

  Nell, who thought her cheeks couldn’t get any hotter, met Lady Harmsworth’s eyes. What could she say? Admitting that she was Leath’s mistress would put her further beyond the pale than working as a housemaid.

  She managed a smile, slightly wobbly, and spoke with a genuine warmth that she didn’t have to work to summon, to her surprise. “Please, I’d be honored if you called me Nell.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  He’s there.” Leath stepped into the hired coach on a side street. Inside, Sedgemoor, Hillbrook, and Harmsworth were ready for action. At least he’d convinced Eleanor to wait at Maidenhead’s best inn. She’d reluctantly cooperated when he’d pointed out that fears for her safety would distract him from the confrontation.

  He went on. “Or at least the driver says that a heavily built bald bruiser is sitting at a table between the two doors. If it’s not Greengrass, it’s someone who wants more than one exit available.”

  “Ugly as sin,” Harmsworth said.

  “Sounds like our man,” Leath said.

  “At last the weasel has emerged from cover,” Hillbrook said with grim satisfaction. “You’d think he’d be more cautious about collecting his blood money than to meet you face to face.”

  Leath’s smile was equally grim. “In the note arranging this rendezvous, I told him that I got the diary before I handed over the money, or we had no deal.”

  “He didn’t threaten to publish?” Sedgemoor asked.

  “I told him to go ahead. It was my terms or nothing.”

  “That was rash,” Harmsworth said.

  Leath shrugged. “Not really. If he publishes, I won’t pay him to keep quiet. And however scandalous the diary, I doubt any newspaper can amass ten thousand guineas.”

  “I still take my hat off to you, Leath,” Sedgemoor said. “You’re a cool devil.”

  “After this last year, I’m becoming inured to scandal,” he replied drily.

  “Gad, you’re well behind the rest of us,” Harmsworth drawled. “We three drank scandal with our mother’s milk.”

  Leath laughed, then returned to the business at hand. “So you’ll cover the doors?”

  “Yes,” Sedgemoor said. “We three and the coachman should be plenty.”

  “Don’t budge until I’ve got the diary and you see me leave the inn. Any trouble inside could injure innocent bystanders. Once he’s outside, we nab the sod wherever and however we can.”

  Hillbrook glanced at the others. “Good luck, gentlemen. I’ve wanted to take Greengrass down since last year.”

  Sedgemoor and Harmsworth looked ready for murder. Leath wasn’t surprised. Now that he knew the full details of his uncle’s crimes against them, crimes committed with Greengrass’s aid, he finally admitted that any grudge he’d carried against these men was unjustified.

  He left the shabby coach and strode toward the Laughing Bullock. A good ten paces behind, the coachman Brown followed, armed and ready.

  Leath pushed his way into a taproom buzzing with afternoon trade. He’d deliberately dressed down in breeches and a plain buff coat, but speculative stares indicated that he still didn’t blend in.

  He looked over the sea of heads and quickly located a man fitting Greengrass’s description. Despite the crush, the fellow sat alone at a table for four. Clearly the other patrons recognized the wisdom of giving this hulking thug a wide berth.

  Greengrass glanced up, as if sensing Leath’s eyes on him. Ugly as sin indeed. The piglike eyes narrowed with gloating pleasure and he made an exaggerated gesture of welcome toward one of the empty chairs. His other hand hoisted a tankard of beer.

  “Your lordship, how kind of you to come.” The rough voice had an Essex accent.

  Leath stared down his nose. “I realize you want to savor your triumph, Greengrass. But let’s get this over with.”

  Greengrass’s fleshy lips stretched in a nasty smile. “Lord Neville always said that you think your shit doesn’t stink.”

  “Charming.”

  “Sit down and take your medicine, my boy.”

  Leath raised his eyebrows in contempt and sat with a nonchalance designed to tell Greengrass that he didn’t have the upper hand. The man’s eyes lit as they leveled on Leath’s satchel. “Is that it?”

  “Yes. Let’s end this.”

  “Not here. If anyone gets wind of what’s in that bag, we’ll have a bloody riot on our hands.”

  “I don’t trust you away from witnesses,” Leath said coldly.

  “We’ll not go far, just the alley behind the inn.” He licked his lips in anticipation. “But give us a look first.”

  “First show me the diary.”

  “Don’t you trust me?”

  “Call me a cynic.”

  With a slowness that grated, Greengrass reached into his surprisingly smart dark green coat and produced a leather-bound book. “Here it be.”

  Heart racing, Leath took the pestilential journal. He’d never doubted that the diary was real. Greengrass had sent a few pages of filth when he opened negotiations. And it was just the sort of touch his uncle would give his villainy, keeping a detailed record as if his victims formed part of his collections.

  Greengrass snatched it away. “Uh-uh. Show me the color of your gold.”

  Carefully, Leath cracked open the satchel to give Greengrass a glimpse of the handful of ten pound notes that rested on top of piles of cut newsprint.

  “Paper?” Greengrass spat in disgust.

  “Use your head, man. I can’t lift that amount in coin.”

  “Paper money can be traced.”

  Leath laughed drily and lied. “Once I’ve got the diary, you can disappear with my blessing. Do you think I want you and your flapping gums before a judge?”

  Greengrass took a swig from his tankard, then banged it down on the noisome table. One beefy hand splayed over the book. “That makes sense. Although don’t imagine I’ll keep quiet if you gyp me.”

  “Prove that’s the diary,” Leath snapped.

  “You’re mighty pushy for a bloke whose reputation hangs by a thread.”

  Coldly Leath regarded Greengrass. “Right now I’m two minutes from consigning you to hell and your threats with you.”

  Greengrass grinned, unconvinced. “Brave words. You’re here and you’ve got my brass. I’d say you’d do pretty much anything to protect your high and mighty family name.”

  “Show me the diary,” Leath bit out.

  After a pause to demonstrate his power, Greengrass opened the journal and, holding it, slid it toward Leath. The light in the inn was terrible, Leath suspected to stop patrons inspecting their purchases too closely. But he recognized his uncle’s incongruously beautiful copperplate and caught some words he wouldn’t use in polite society.

  Greengrass snapped the book shut and tugged it back. “Satisfied?”

  He’d kept Greengrass talking as long as he could to give the others time to take their places. Brown the coachman stood at the bar to back him up. “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go.” Greengrass drained his mug and rose, tucking the diary into his coat.

  Hell’s bells, Harmsworth and co were right about him being a huge bugger. Greengrass’s hairless head brushed the blackened beams on the stained ceiling. Leath dwarfed most men, but he felt like a molehill beside a mountain.

  Greengrass gave a mocking wave toward a door that Leath hadn’t noticed. As they stepped into a
dark corridor, he slid his hand into his pocket and curled his fingers around a pistol. He hoped like hell that the others found this exit. He hoped like hell that the strapping coachman saw that he and Greengrass used neither of the identified doors. Brown’s orders were to report any deviation from the plan to Sedgemoor.

  Still, Leath was armed with two guns and he had a knife in his boot. If Greengrass played up, he was prepared.

  Greengrass pushed a small door and crouched to go through. Leath bent to follow and found himself in a choke hold as he emerged.

  “Give me the bloody money.”

  Leath raised his pistol. “There’s no need for this.” With Greengrass’s arm squeezing his windpipe, the words emerged as a croak. “A clean exchange, then we go our separate ways.”

  “You’re too easy, my fine lordship,” the man grunted into his ear, ignoring the gun. “Lord Neville called you the proudest cove in England. Proud coves don’t bend so polite to blackmail. There’s some trick.”

  Leath wrenched Greengrass’s arm from his throat. He gulped air into his aching lungs and aimed the gun. “I want the diary.”

  Greengrass sneered. “You’re not a man to kill in cold blood.”

  “Perhaps not, but I’d maim without blinking,” he snapped, sidling to bring the end of the alley into view. It was ominously empty. How the hell had they missed this exit? Last night, he and the others had thoroughly checked the inn. He’d have laid money that they’d counted every door and window.

  “Just testing your mettle, my lord.” Greengrass reached for the diary.

  Behind Leath, running feet thudded in the corridor. Greengrass’s hand stilled.

  Good God, no. Not now.

  Clearly the Almighty wasn’t listening. The coachman burst through the door. “My lord!”

  Greengrass stiffened and swore. “You bastard.”

  Faster than lightning, he punched Leath in the head. Pain exploded behind his eyes and he staggered into the rough brick wall. Brown grabbed him before he fell, but he was in no mood to thank the fool.

  When Leath’s vision cleared, Greengrass aimed a pistol at Brown. Leath might be furious with the dolt, but he didn’t want him dead.