Penny hovered instead of leaving.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I will eat once I get home.’
‘You are home. And if you are determined to continue working then you need something in your stomach.’
‘I’m fine... I’ll be leaving soon. But I wouldn’t say no to some coffee.’ He looked up again and he appeared so lost and alone she decided not to take a blind bit of notice. Coffee! He seemed to live on the stuff. Someone had to look after his health and well-being if he was going to continue to neglect them.
‘Very well.’
She strode out of the room, leaving the door ajar, and headed directly to the kitchens. On the stove, slowly bubbling away, was the hearty stew that the cook had prepared to sustain the men on watch through the night. She ladled a healthy portion into a bowl. Sawed off two thick slices of bread which she buttered, then retrieved the remains of the apple tart that had been served for dessert which she finished with a huge dollop of cream. In deference to his request for coffee, she poured him a large glass of milk instead, then balanced the whole lot on a tray.
She practically kicked the door open as she marched back into the room and deposited the whole lot noisily on the sideboard. Lord, she was fuming at him! His head had snapped up and he was staring at her confused, but by that time she was in no mood to be trifled with. Like a mother tested to the furthest limits of her patience, she briskly went to his desk and scooped as much of the paperwork to one side where she hastily gathered them up into a pile, then snatched the list from under his fingers. ‘You are going to make yourself ill, you silly man!’
‘Silly man?’ If he was angry at her rude outburst, she neither noticed nor cared.
‘Yes! Silly man! You are being so stubbornly thorough and so determinedly meticulous you are working yourself into the ground. And neglecting yourself horribly in the process!’ He went to defend himself, and she found her forceful mother’s finger had attached itself to her hand from beyond and started to wag itself in front of his stubborn face. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself! This is the biggest trial of the century! The government are depending on you! And you risk it all with your own disgraceful carelessness! What good will you be to anyone if you are laid up in bed?’ Now that the papers were all gone, she fetched the tray again and dropped in unceremoniously in front of him. ‘I was employed to ensure the smooth running of this house and the comfort and safety of all of its occupants. While you are under this roof, that also includes you! There will be no more work until you have eaten a proper meal, Lord Hadleigh.’ She folded her arms for good measure. ‘So eat!’
He stared down at the food and then back up at her, his expression as unfathomable as it always was. She watched him take a deep breath in and then wondered what had possessed her to be so direct and so loud. She needed this job. Needed the money and the references that came along with it. He was well within his rights to give her a jolly good carpeting for her insubordination. Had she dared speak to Penhurst like that, he’d have hit the roof. But just as she was about to cave in and issue a grovelling apology, he picked up the spoon and sighed.
‘Well, that was a well-aimed kick up the backside. One I suppose I deserve.’ He dipped the spoon into the bowl and stared at the thick stew. ‘I was going around in circles anyway... This case is sending me mad.’ Then he took a mouthful and chewed thoughtfully until his eyes locked with hers once more. Amused this time. ‘If you are going to keep watch to ensure I comply, you may as well sit while you’re doing it.’ He gestured to the empty chair with his spoon.
Penny sat, feeling both relief at his reaction and that he was finally putting something wholesome in his belly. When sitting and watching made her feel awkward, she decided to make conversation. ‘What has you going around in circles?’ It was a bad question and she winced. She had no right to ask about the case. ‘What I mean is...’
‘It’s—how did you put it?—gilding the lily. I have built the case and as it stands it’s a solid one. But because I am doggedly thorough and meticulous, I’m trying to mitigate against the defence tearing Jessamine’s testimony apart. As the main prosecution witness, there is a chance they can call hearsay on some of the details. That’s what I would argue in their shoes. The word of one person against another is not conclusive proof of guilt. What I want to establish, and which I am failing to do in the case of some of her co-conspirators, and prove is a direct link between them and Viscountess Gislingham to knock those arguments down with. Three have already laid the blame firmly at her door and have put forward tangible evidence or witnesses who can corroborate their version of events. One was a childhood neighbour, the other two regulars in her...social circle.’
Polite code, she assumed, for the Viscountess’s bed.
‘The remaining three are refusing to talk at all. Lady Gislingham herself is pleading complete ignorance of any of the charges laid against her. While the state has a great deal of evidence to the contrary, including all the evidence we have been able to glean from the three turncoats, there is a slim chance that with the right counsel, one or two of those other peers will escape justice because the evidence we have is circumstantial. We can prove the smuggling—but not the treason. The long and the short of it is, I wish I had more names on my witness list for Jessamine’s sake. That is a heavy burden to rest entirely on her shoulders.’
He spooned up another mouthful, looking despondent. ‘Were the other traitors her lovers, too?’ Penny asked.
‘They could be. She was rather free and easy with her favours and we know for certain she had an affair with Saint-Aubin during her first Season. That was quite the scandal at the time, because of the wars with France and his links to Old Boney. That scandal forced her out of London society then and years later that damning link couldn’t be overlooked, seeing that it was Saint-Aubin who provided all the smuggled brandy in the first place. But proving she seduced the other men into treachery won’t be easy if they refuse to admit it.’ He picked up the milk and frowned at it. ‘What made you ask that?’
‘Because Penhurst and Lady Gislingham were also lovers—both before we married and after.’ One of his earlier indiscretions in their short marriage, back when his affairs had still hurt.
The lawyer’s eyebrows rose and he sat forward. ‘How do you know they were intimate?’
‘He told me.’
Penhurst had found pleasure in parading his virility in front of her while listing her many failings. Usually her prolonged barrenness was his chosen emotional stick to beat her with, when he needed an heir and her womb remained defiantly empty, but he wasn’t restricted to just that hurtful barb. Her figure was disappointing, her personality lacklustre. She wasn’t pretty enough, enthralling enough, alluring enough. Her breasts weren’t anywhere near big enough, she lacked the passion he enjoyed in his other lovers’ beds and he had only married her because of her dowry. Never mind that it was hard to feel passion for a man who ruthlessly pursued his own pleasure to the detriment of everything else. From that first night when he had swiftly and roughly taken her innocence at the start of their marriage to the last time he had drunkenly demanded his conjugal rights a few days before she learned she was carrying Freddie, Penny had felt debased and disgusted by her husband’s touch.
They had only been wed a few months when she came to welcome his frequent affairs. While he was laying with another woman, he wasn’t laying with her. Thankfully, as soon as he had made his heir, he never visited her bedchamber again. ‘My husband never saw the point of keeping that sort of secret. Ironic, really, when so much of his life was kept hidden. Beyond his nocturnal relationship with the Viscountess, I am afraid I know nothing more to aid your conundrum.’
‘That you have proved there was a link between them is enough for the purposes of my investigation. It does prove a theme...and suggests the Viscountess had a tried-and-tested modus operandi as a seductress. It might be exactly what I
need—if I can find witnesses to the infidelities.’
‘Have you spoken to the wives of the men who refuse to talk?’
‘I confess, I am reluctant to speak to the wives.’ He had not spoken to her after Penhurst’s initial arrest either.
‘Why ever not? Nobody knows better her husband’s affairs than the poor little woman left at home.’ She watched him look down at his food blandly and then realised exactly why he had left her alone. ‘Are you are trying to protect them?’ While that was noble, it was also foolhardy for his purpose.
‘Legally they are exempt unless they choose to speak out and I am going to be sending their husbands to the gallows—surely that is humiliation enough after all they have endured? If they want to come forward, they know where to...’
‘Do they? Have you explicitly offered them the opportunity?’ Penny reached across the desk and touched his hand, a huge mistake because she found she didn’t particularly want to let go. ‘If you had asked me about Penhurst again before the trial, once the shock had worn off and reality had settled in, I would have told you everything I knew. I felt so angry, so betrayed and so terrified he would be released into my life again. Instead, I had to wait and hope his lawyers would call me to the stand to say my piece. And in leaving me—and please do not think I blame you—I was left all alone feeling impotent and aggrieved and ashamed of who I was. My voice was stolen from me during my marriage, but I found it again in the witness stand. Perhaps their husbands weren’t monsters at home and perhaps they might refuse to co-operate. But unless you give them the opportunity to speak, how do you know those women don’t feel the same?’
Chapter Twelve
She had left him to eat. The stew proved much easier to digest than her insights. The way Penny told it, being part of the proceedings had been the start of the healing process for her, a way to fight back and matter again. With the clarity which only came with hindsight, he realised that perhaps her life during those weeks leading up to and during the trial might well have been easier if she had been named as a witness for the prosecution. A traitor’s wife still, but publicly seen to be both brave and honourable herself because she had chosen her side.
Hadleigh had also grossly underestimated her. In blindly honouring the law and allowing her the right not to testify against her husband as was the norm, he had cast her as a victim who needed cosseting rather than giving her the chance to prove her mettle. He should have asked her. Should have granted her a voice sooner.
He was ashamed of himself for not treating Penny with the same rigour as he had treated all the other witnesses during that trial, something he had avoided because he had known beforehand she had suffered Penhurst’s violence. Ashamed, too, that part of his reticence came from his own experiences. His mother had not wanted to speak of her turmoil, therefore he had wrongly assumed Penny—and every other abused wife out there—would feel the same. He had assumed they would all be like his mother and deny any wrongdoing from the monsters they had married for fear of what? Judgement? Retribution? Shame?
Did it also follow that he took it upon himself to shield them from having to admit it because he had failed to protect his mother all those years ago? That uncomfortable truth left a sour taste in the mouth, because, whichever way you looked at it, he was tarring every abused woman with the same brush when he prided himself in always seeking the truth—no matter what. Yet he had purposely left stones unturned.
That knowledge was preventing him sleeping.
That knowledge and the fact he had agreed to the unthinkable and was currently attempting to sleep at Chafford Grange.
To be fair, she had ambushed him when his mind was still reeling. She had come back to collect his tray and announced she thought it careless and foolish to ride home so late, especially when he was intent on returning on the morrow. That it made no sense, which of course it didn’t unless he confessed to his guilty conscience. She also reminded him that his friends were worried about him and that the Flints had better things to concern themselves with at the moment than his selfish insistence to put himself unnecessarily at risk of footpads. Then she had played her trump card, one which tugged at his emotions more effectively than any other argument possibly could have.
I worry about you, too.
Five words which had done odd things to his heart. Her solemn blue gaze had instantly dipped as soon as she said them, as if she was bearing a little bit of her own heart and was embarrassed by that, yet his soared gratefully at the admission.
So he had said yes. He would stay the night just this once and take better care to leave before dark in the future. Then hastily concocted a series of unbelievable excuses why he couldn’t possibly stay in the family wing tonight, when the truth boiled down to two things. Firstly, there was no way he would ever set foot in his father’s bedroom which she had readied weeks ago for him as the designated master of the house. Flint and Jessamine were already in his mother’s while the Dowager slept in his old bedchamber. There were too many memories in both those rooms, too, so he was relieved they were taken. And secondly, and perhaps most importantly, he wanted to avoid the main staircase. None of those were things he would tell her—or anyone. He might well be a pathetic coward, but hell would have to freeze over before he admitted it out loud.
Perhaps Penny had worked that out, because she hadn’t argued and had, of her own accord, led him up the servants’ stairs to the row of guest rooms located at the front of the house. Not only did that allow him to avoid the stairs which had killed his mother, they didn’t come with walls crammed with ghosts either, so he had assumed he might be able to snatch a few hours of rest.
How wrong he was.
* * *
After hours staring hopelessly at the ceiling, he had decided enough was enough. If his mind was whirring from Penny’s revelation and the way his body had reacted when she had briefly touched him, he might as well work! He could snatch a few hours before the first servants woke and sneak back up here before Penny was any the wiser. He flung the covers angrily aside and shoved his feet in his breeches. The blasted woman had got under his skin and was making him rest when he had better things to be doing! Like preparing the single biggest case of his career! He grabbed his shirt before he stormed out of the room and tugged it over his head as he retraced his steps down the dimly lit servants’ staircase once again.
As he made his way down the narrow corridor to the rear of the house, he noticed a light coming from the kitchen. One he would have ignored had he not heard a child’s fractious cry as well.
‘Shh, Freddie darling, or you’ll wake up the house.’
Hadleigh stopped, then shook his head. It didn’t matter that his first instinct was to rush to her, it was none of his business and she probably wouldn’t appreciate him barging in on her while she was trying to calm the child. Besides, at this ungodly hour, there was every chance she was in her nightgown and he really didn’t need to see that any more than he needed to be willingly alone with her in the cosy intimacy of the kitchen. More distractions in a head already crammed with them!
Furthermore, in his haste to escape his mattress prison, he had neglected to put anything on his feet. Wasn’t wearing either a waistcoat or coat. No cravat. He really wasn’t decent himself. And what did he know about crying babies?
Nothing.
‘Please, darling...try to calm down...shh.’
Penny’s voice was soft and soothing, but like a siren’s it called to him. Rather than let his bare feet take him to the music room where his overly occupied mind had intended to go, they transported him quietly to her instead.
At his first sight, she had her back to him. The glowing fire at the furthest end of the kitchen gave the room its only light, but that light floated through the gauzy linen of her nightdress and cast the contours of her body into a dark silhouette, forcing him to watch her delectable round bottom undulate as she rhythmically rocked the g
rumpy child in her arms. Her feet were bare, too, while her dark hair fell between her shoulder blades to the middle of her back in one thick, loose plait. That, too, swayed as she did, giving him alternate views of both sides of her swan-like neck. Beautiful and seductive.
Utter torture. Exactly as he had known it would be.
Yet for several moments he still stood transfixed, simultaneously panicked that she would turn and see him loitering while wondering what the hell he was going to say when she inevitably did. His throat had gone so dry and tight with unexpected longing, he feared whatever he said would come out in a strangled croak and he’d look foolish and guilty at being caught red-handed. Or worse, look utterly charmed and bewitched.
Better to pre-empt the embarrassment. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’
Despite his whisper, her head whipped around and her expression was alarmed. ‘I am so sorry, my lord, I didn’t mean to wake you!’
‘You didn’t.’ And his wayward feet were off again, walking directly towards her. His mouth was smiling. His eyes drinking her in. ‘Like Freddie there, I couldn’t sleep. I’m afraid sleep and I have not been bedfellows for a while.’ Bedfellows! What a horrendously appropriate word which hinted at the direction his thoughts were headed.
Her lovely face softened and her body turned around to him. ‘Poor you. Insomnia is awful, isn’t it?’ As she rocked her child innocently in her arms, she had no idea that the firelight gifted him with the willowy shape of her legs, the steep, alluring curve as her trim waist flared to hip. Nor was she aware how the embers added copper and red tones to her dark hair or deepened the colour of her eyes to make them seem more sultry.
‘It is.’ But it had its benefits. His feet scandalously took him to stand right in front of her. They were clearly marching to their own agenda now and had formed an alliance with his overactive and lusty imagination. ‘What’s wrong with your little man?’
The Determined Lord Hadleigh Page 13