by Brenda Hiatt
Conscious of Susan beside her, Pen answered, “Yes. Miss Hutton has quite recovered from her earlier indisposition.”
“Ah, I am glad to hear it,” he replied, with a rather secretive smile. “I was hoping to find out how she was, having received such uncertain reports of her health yesterday.”
Apparently he had not succeeded in finding Juliana. Had he even tried? She had spent the night wondering whether she had been right to put her faith in him. The sight of his wicked smile by the light of day sent her doubts soaring even higher.
“You may rest assured that Juliana is going on very well,” she replied. “She is going to marry the Earl of Amberley.”
“Is she?” he asked, looking thoughtful. Did he think to take advantage of a potential scandal? Did he pose some threat to Juliana’s future with that nice Lord Amberley?
“Yes, so you see she has no further need of your… solicitude,” she said, hoping to convey a sense of warning through her words.
He paused before replying. Usually she was quite adept at reading expressions, but his was annoyingly unfathomable.
“Very well, Miss Talcott,” he said, in the manner of a gentleman accepting a rebuff. “Unless of course, I may assist you some time in the future?”
She supposed he was laughing at her.
“That will not be at all necessary, my lord,” she said as coolly as she could. “Unlike my friends, I prefer to have nothing to do with rakes.”
“I am relieved. When dealing with you and your friends, I find my best intentions often bring some rather unfortunate, er, consequences.”
He rolled his eyes in a droll gesture, and Pen saw that the noble contour of his nose was still somewhat marred by the punishment it had received the previous night.
“I am sorry. That must pain you greatly,” she said more softly.
“Not at all,” he said. Briefly, his smile warmed her, then, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, it departed. He gestured for his groom to bring the curricle and horses back towards them.
“I bid you farewell then, Miss Talcott. Or should I say au revoir?”
“Goodbye, my lord,” she said firmly, and watched him jump gracefully back up into the high carriage and drive away.
After the others had left, Marcus remained standing. Miss Hutton had returned to her seat across the room from him, and was now watching him coldly, as if daring him to speak. He gazed at the prim maiden sitting before him, in a concealing cap, a gown that came up to her throat, and sleeves that buttoned tightly at her wrists. Somehow, neither her apparel nor her forbidding expression could erase the memory of the charms she had revealed the night before.
“Lord Amberley? You wished to say something to me?”
His face heated as he realized that he had stared at her far longer than was polite.
“My apologies, Miss Hutton. I did not mean to stare at you so rudely.” He sat back down.
“I am sorry if my altered appearance disappoints you,” she said, with thinly disguised sarcasm.
“Not at all. You are even lovelier without the rouge you wore as Mademoiselle Juliette.”
She colored at his words, and he had the pleasure of seeing how much better a natural blush became her.
“Of course, I do look forward to seeing your true hair color,” he added with a smile, hoping for further signs of thaw.
“You have a quick tongue, my lord,” she said, recovering her complexion. “However, in this instance it will avail you nothing.”
“Miss Hutton, you must allow me a chance to explain everything that has happened.”
“Very well. Speak on.”
“First I have to assure you again that I did not know who you were until last night.”
“Do not play games with me, Amberley!” she said impatiently. “How did I give myself away? Was it my faulty French grammar, or did you suspect even before that?”
“I tell you I did not know. How could I have guessed?”
“Any number of ways, I imagine. Perhaps you saw that picture.” She gestured behind him, and he turned to see a very fine full-length portrait of her between the room’s two windows. Ah, she was lovely. He stared at the picture for a moment, realizing her hair would be golden-blonde in a month or so. Then he turned back to her and shook his head.
“No, I have never been in this room before. You have merely to ask your grandfather to learn that that is true.”
“Then perhaps you received the same information that they had at Bow Street, that I had been seen in the vicinity of Half Moon Street. It would not have been difficult for someone with your address and rank to discover that Mademoiselle Lamant came to lodge at Madame Bouchard’s house soon after I disappeared.”
“I had no idea you had run away,” he insisted. “They told me you were ill. I suspected that you did not wish to see me, as you were known to have spurned a number of suitors.”
She was silent for a moment, and he could only hope she was considering the truth of what he had said. It was impossible to read her expression.
“So your motives in bringing me to your home were purely chivalrous?” she asked, skeptically.
“No,” he answered, determined to be perfectly candid. “Not purely, that is. I did not wish Lord Verwood to continue to harass you, but I hoped my own attentions would be more welcome.”
“How odious!”
“You did not find it so odious last night,” he retorted, stung by the palpable disgust in her voice. Then he wished he had not reminded her.
She colored angrily, and fury flashed from her eyes for a moment. Then, with a visible effort, she contained her ire.
“I thought you were going to die,” she said, a trace of bitterness in her voice.
“What?”
“You lied to me. You told me your life was in danger.”
“I never said such a thing!” he replied, staring at her. What could have put such a notion in her head?
“You said you were leaving London, that you might never return again. That you might never again have such an opportunity. What was I to think but that you were going into some sort of danger?”
“I never meant you to think that,” he said, still puzzled.
“What did you mean, then?”
“When I learned that you had run away, I thought I had lost my last prospect for saving my estate. I planned to go to India, or America, to try to seek my fortune. What did you think I was going to do?”
“I thought you were going to the Continent. They—they said you were a spy.”
“Who did? Oh—Jerry and his friends! Good Lord!” He nearly laughed at the insane irony of the situation, but he knew she would not find it amusing.
“Don’t laugh at me!” she said. “I did not believe them. Not at first. But you talked so mysteriously. You would not say where you were going, or what you were doing. And your command of French is so good…”
Agitatedly, she jumped up from her chair. In a few quick but graceful strides she reached the window and looked out. Marcus said nothing. It was clear she needed some time to recover from her mortification at the mistake she had made, but his own heart felt lighter than it had since the past evening. She had cared for him. Had even been distressed at the thought that he faced untold dangers. She had cared for him.
She turned around, looking more composed, but her expression effectively chilled his budding hopes.
“Well, my lord, you have duped me quite finely,” she said. “Do not expect to do so again.”
“Can you not believe I did not mean to deceive you?”
“If you did not mean to deceive me, why did you have your friends tell me what they did?”
“It was all just a silly notion George and Oswald took into their heads. I could not convince them otherwise.”
“I can believe that,” she admitted, searching his face. She took a few steps toward him, and he struggled not to be distracted by her graceful movements, or the subtle scent of roses that clung to her.
&n
bsp; “Why all the mystery, then?” she asked. “Why did you assume a false name?”
“I did not wish to embarrass you or your grandfather. Think how it would have looked, if people heard I had come to London to fix my interest with you, and then found out I had been consorting with the most sought-after opera dancer in London.”
Stopping a few feet away from him, she looked up, a challenge in her eyes.
“Grandpapa would have turned you away from our door if he had gotten wind of it. That was your real reason, was it not?”
He winced. There was too much truth in what she said for him to deny it.
“You did not want Grandpapa to discover what a rake you really are,” she continued.
“I’m not a rake,” he protested. “That was the first time I ever—”
He broke off, overcome by a flush of embarrassment and longing at the memory of their interrupted lovemaking. Suddenly the room felt far too warm.
“Really?” she retorted, startling him with her vehemence. “How could it have been the first time? You knew just what to… just how…”
This time it was Miss Hutton who could not continue. Her cheeks flamed, her eyes blazed and the lace at her bosom rose and fell with her quickened breath. He knew she was angry, but he couldn’t help being flattered that he had pleased her so well. Perhaps he had inherited his share of the Redwyck charm, after all.
“Don’t look at me like that!” she said, drawing back. “Oh, you are a scoundrel! But don’t think I’m idiot enough to believe you.” She put a hand up to her cheek, as if hoping to cool it, then reassumed her haughty manner.
“I think I have heard enough fairy tales for one day,” she announced. “Good day, my lord. You will forgive me for not seeing you out.”
She made him a mocking courtesy, turned and strode out of the room, leaving him feeling chilled. He sat back down in the chair he had just vacated. He should probably seek out Hutton and take his leave, but he badly needed a few minutes to recover from his stormy encounter with Miss Hutton.
He had tried his best to convince her of his integrity, but he had failed. He wondered why she was so stubbornly cynical, and realized she had always been so, even as Mademoiselle Juliette. It was not difficult to understand, after all. As an heiress, she must have been subjected to the advances of any number of fortune hunters, and of course, in her role as Juliette, gentlemen sought to impose on her in other ways. And he was no better than any of them.
Except, perhaps, for the fact that he had fallen in love with her as Juliette, and was now falling even more deeply in love with her as Miss Hutton.
He got back up and took another turn around the room, still feeling unable to face anyone, still unsure of how to proceed. She had come to care for him as Dare. Was there a way he could rekindle such feelings? She would never believe him if he told her he loved her. No, words alone would never convince her, and she would regard any attempt at lovemaking with suspicion.
He continued to pace, trying to think of a way through the coil. He stopped suddenly, struck by the absurdity of the situation. His fiancée had thought him a spy, then a scoundrel, then a rake!
Perhaps all that was needed was time. Time for her to become better acquainted with him, with his home, his people, his hopes and plans. She was an intelligent woman; she would soon realize there was nothing sinister or mysterious about him.
But would she find Marcus Redwyck, seventh Earl of Amberley, a sad comedown after her association with the dashing Lord Dare?
Chapter Eleven
Five days later, the Huttons’ carriage finally turned through a set of iron gates and onto the drive that led up to Redwyck Hall. Grandpapa, though somewhat tired from the journey, straightened up and peered eagerly through the carriage window. Juliana did her best to appear uninterested, but she couldn’t help noticing the increased swaying and bounding of the carriage. She glanced out of the window, and saw many ruts, and places where stones added to the roughness of the ride. The outcroppings were of the same golden-colored stone used to wall in all the pastures they had recently passed.
“I see there is some work to be done here,” said Grandpapa, looking about speculatively.
The carriage wound on, past many fine old trees and enormous rhododendrons.
“This drive will be quite lovely in a month or so, when the rhododendrons come into bloom,” ventured Mrs. Frisby.
Juliana did not respond. It was no use telling either of them that she did not care in the least about this place, and would be delighted to leave it as soon as possible.
A moment later, they rounded a bend and came out into the open. From her side of the carriage, Juliana could see little of the house, only a lawn.
“Not particularly large, is it?” said Grandpapa, sounding anxious. Did he find Redwyck Hall a disappointment? She was glad of it, Juliana thought fiercely.
“I expect we are seeing just one wing,” said Mrs. Frisby, in a consolatory tone. “Come, sit on this side, dear Juliana, so you may see better.”
The coach was moving so slowly that there was no excuse not to fall in with Mrs. Frisby’s suggestion. Reluctantly, Juliana exchanged seats with her companion and took her first glance at Redwyck Hall.
Lit by the sun to a golden shade, the honey-colored stone seemed alive, as if it would be warm to the touch. With tendrils of ivy caressing its walls in places, the house looked as if it had been there forever. The unkempt lawn, the overgrown shrubbery behind it, only added to its aura of age and mystery. No doubt Grandpapa had expected something more grand and formal. She had shared his expectations, and had fully expected to dislike the place.
“What d’you think, child?”
She pulled herself out of her daze. “It is well enough,” she replied, trying to sound indifferent.
“You like it,” he said, shrewd eyes alight with satisfaction. “Well, it’s not what I expected, but if you care for it, that’s all that matters.”
As they approached the entrance, more of the house came into view. Larger than it had first appeared, it was clearly in need of repairs. Chimneys crumbled and in places carved stones were missing. She wished Grandpapa could be daunted by these signs of decay, but he was smiling.
Moments later, the carriage had pulled up at the front entrance. Lord Amberley and his mother had already descended from their coach. He came forward quickly to help Juliana out.
“Welcome to Redwyck Hall, Miss Hutton,” he said with a hesitant smile as he held his hand out to her.
Reluctantly, she laid her hand in his. She made the mistake of meeting his eyes. For a moment, she forgot her surroundings, caught in their hazel depths. The warmth of his clasp penetrated her gloved hand, an unexpected, potent reminder of what they had shared as Lord Dare and Mademoiselle Juliette.
Abruptly, she alighted and withdrew her hand, giving him a cool thank you before proceeding towards the steps where his mother awaited.
“Welcome, my dear Miss Hutton. Mr. Hutton, Mrs. Frisby,” said Mrs. Redwyck, with a welcoming smile.
Behind her, a massive oak door stood open. Just inside stood an elderly man in the garb of a butler, and a neat, plump gray-haired woman. They passed into the entrance hall, and Mrs. Redwyck introduced the pair as Critchley, the butler and his wife, the housekeeper. Both bowed, looking nervously at Juliana. Knowing they were probably anxious at the prospect of a new mistress, she smiled at them reassuringly. She was glad they had not chosen to assemble the entire staff for her inspection; this was embarrassing enough.
“You must all be very tired from the journey,” said Mrs. Redwyck, looking fresh as a daisy herself. “Mrs. Critchley tells me your rooms are all ready, and your servants and baggage all arrived several hours ago. Perhaps you would all like to go up and rest a bit before dinner?”
Juliana had only a brief impression of the house, as she was shown through the hall and up the carved oak staircase. There were few furnishings and decorations, in strong contrast with Amberley’s London townhouse, which had
shown no signs of the family’s straitened circumstances.
“I trust you will be quite comfortable here,” said Mrs. Redwyck, who undertook to personally escort Juliana to the bedchamber where Polly awaited her.
“I am certain I shall,” she replied politely.
Looking about, she saw that she had been conducted to a corner room, decorated in a more modern style than she had expected. The wallpaper was faded, and the curtains a trifle threadbare, but it was spacious and sunny. The tall windows offered enchanting glimpses of the surrounding lawns and gardens.
“This is not a guest bedchamber, is it?” she asked, struck by a sudden suspicion.
“No. This room has always been the countess’s bedchamber.”
“I cannot stay here,” she blurted, noticing a door that connected this room with the corresponding one at the other corner of that wing.
“Do not fret, dear,” said Mrs. Redwyck. “My son still occupies his old bedchamber. I thought you would enjoy the views from this room.”
“Thank you,” she replied, still blushing.
“Now I shall leave you to rest. We will dine at six. If there is anything either of you need,” she said, smiling at Polly, “just tell Mrs. Critchley.”
When Mrs. Redwyck had left, Juliana walked about the room, gazing out of the long windows at the untidy but somehow romantic gardens below. The hedges were overgrown and ragged, but in the flower-beds daffodils and tulips added splashes of color. She stifled the urge to go out and explore the gardens further, and turned to allow her maid to remove her pelisse and hat.
“Have they made you comfortable here, Polly?”
“Oh yes. Mrs. Critchley and the rest of them have been more than kind.” Polly paused a little, and said thoughtfully. “I think they’re all afraid to offend us, Miss Juliana, for fear you might change your mind about marrying his lordship.”
Juliana remembered the nervous expressions on the face of the butler and housekeeper. She hadn’t thought how many lives would be affected by her decisions. She hated the thought that these innocent persons were likely to lose not only their positions but their home if she did not marry their master.