by Anne Stuart
The contessa let out an unaffected little trill of laughter. "You are obviously wondering what my relationship to Sir Maurice is but are much too polite to ask. You are wondering perhaps if I am his mistress, and what the old dragon would think if her brother-in-law's light-of-love married her son."
"No," said Elizabeth, but then her honesty took hold. "Well, actually, yes, I was wondering something of the sort. But I thought for once I might be discreet and watch my unruly tongue. Curiosity is one of my many flaws."
"Pooh. To be curious about other people is to be alive. I have no use for people who profess to have no interest in gossip, it is usually because they are only interested in themselves. I am afraid I cannot answer your unspoken question, however."
"But why not?" She finished the apple and contemplated a suitable repository for the core.
The contessa smiled a secret smile. "Because, my dear, you are that handsome clergyman's sister and a Christian young lady, and I can tell from your eyes that you would much rather not have to condemn me for my sins. So I shall spare you a recitation."
"Recitation?" Lady Elfreda strode back into the room, her olive skirts swirling behind her lanky figure. "Don't tell me you're some sort of playactress, Contessa! My brother-in-law would surely have more sense than to bring that sort beneath my roof."
"Your brother-in-law, Lady Elfreda, is fully conscious of what he owes the name of Wingert," the contessa said smoothly. "Miss Traherne and I were discussing poets we have known, were we not?"
Thus adjured, Elizabeth nodded solemnly. "Where is Brenna?" she questioned, not from any real interest but to change a somewhat dangerous subject.
Lady Elfreda gave her the customary smile of cold disapproval. "Off seeing to her duties. We're expecting another friend of Maurice's tomorrow. I doubt you're acquainted with Sir Henry and Lady Beatrice Hatchett; they don't precisely move in your limited circles." She gave a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I cannot even trust the maids nowadays without someone standing over them all the time. Brenna does admirably. So suited in every way to be chatelaine of a large estate."
"Well, when Adolphus gets married, perhaps Brenna might find a job as a housekeeper somewhere," Elizabeth said sweetly, dropping her apple core on the coffee tray in front of her. "It is so useful to have a trade."
"Winfields is such a lovely place," the contessa interrupted hastily. "You must be very proud."
Her ladyship's lizardlike eyes glimmered faintly at the blatant flattery, and with a great show she turned her narrow, ramrod-straight back on her obstreperous guest, smiling graciously at the no longer despised contessa.
"I am indeed, dear Contessa. Wingerts have been in residence here since the thirteenth century, and Wingerts have served the Crown in various capacities down through the years. My brother-in-law Maurice is merely the latest in a long line of proud and loyal Wingerts devoted to their king and country." She allowed herself a glare in Elizabeth's direction. "Wingerts have always been soldiers and statesmen," she added proudly.
"Rather than clerics and artists," that damsel spoke up inadvisedly. "I had noticed a somewhat bellicose attitude in your ladyship. It must run in the blood."
Lady Elfreda's strong jaw snapped shut, and she rose to her full height, towering over the uncowed Elizabeth. Before she could order the unrepentant girl from the room, however, the miscreant rose with a great yawn.
"I believe I'll retire and not wait for the gentlemen, difficult as it is for me to tear myself away from such company," she announced with a limpid smile. "If you'll make my excuses to Adolphus and Sir Maurice?"
"And what about poor Michael?" the contessa asked suddenly, with a sly smile that made Elizabeth momentarily quite uncomfortable. "Don't you wish us to make your excuses to him?"
"Certainly," Elizabeth said coolly, with a betraying flush. Before Lady Elfreda could unburden herself of the harangue bubbling just beneath her armorlike surface, she was off. As she closed the door, she heard Lady Elfreda's snort of outrage.
"Unprincipled baggage!" that lady announced. Strain as she might, Elizabeth couldn't quite hear the contessa's muffled reply.
The sounds of boisterous male laughter carried down the hall from the dining room, and Elizabeth breathed a ' small sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was run into any of the four gentlemen now well into their port and cigars. Most of all she wished to avoid Adolphus with the greedy hands, though the surly Michael Fraser ranked a close second. Never had she met a man more ill- bred, cold-blooded, unfriendly . . . and quite handsome, she found herself adding with her customary honesty. What a shame such attractive looks were wasted on such a villain. She mustn't forget that he was Jeremy's enemy and therefore her own.
She passed Brenna in the upper hall, and the Irish girl met her expression incuriously. "Retiring so soon?" she questioned with the slight Irish burr Sumner doubtless found so attractive. "The gentlemen will be desolate."
Having vented her spleen recently, Elizabeth met Brenna's catty remark with a calm smile. "I doubt they'll even notice. I'm afraid I didn't leave Lady Elfreda in too charitable a temper."
Brenna grimaced, tossing back her midnight curls with a gesture Elizabeth wished she could duplicate. "That would be nothing new. You're having more company at your end of the hall. I've put Sir Henry and Lady Beatrice on the other side of your room. At least they'll be able to protect you from Michael Fraser if he proves to be as bad as he's suspected."
"Is he a villain?" Elizabeth questioned incuriously, and Brenna shrugged her slender shoulders.
"I really have no idea, nor do I care. The man is hardly my type. Nor, should I think, would he be yours, Elizabeth."
"And what do you suppose is my type?" Elizabeth asked with great interest. "I have yet to discover it myself."
"I cannot imagine. But I wouldn't think it would be a dangerously attractive rogue such as Michael Fraser. Good night, Elizabeth." Before she could reply, Brenna had sailed off down the hall, leaving Elizabeth chuckling softly.
Not for one moment had she failed to interpret Brenna's motives. There was nothing more likely to excite a woman's romantic imagination than to call a man a dangerously attractive rogue. And he was that, Elizabeth had to admit. Curse Brenna's facile tongue. No doubt she'd dream of the creature tonight. It was only fortunate that he was so obviously ineligible; otherwise, she might be bothered by his cold lack of interest in her.
Once she reached the vast confines of her room, however, Elizabeth was not the slightest bit tired. A good fire was blazing in the marble hearth, the massive four-poster bed was turned down, and beside the bed on the papier- mâché table was Elizabeth's newest French novel and a tin of comfits thoughtfully provided by the reliable Mrs. Gibson. Elizabeth gave a sigh of pure pleasure and prepared to abandon herself to sin.
She was well into the third chapter of Le Cri d'amour when her stays began to dig into her tender flesh. The house was quiet except for the muffled bumps of the maid as she prepared the Hatchetts' room for their arrival tomorrow. The one problem with her new silk dresses, Elizabeth thought as she scrambled off the bed, was that she required help in undoing the thirty-odd buttons that trailed down her backbone. She usually preferred to do without the ministrations of a maid, but after fifteen minutes of struggling behind her back, she gave up. The dress was undone halfway down and falling off her shoulders, but despite the most absurd contortions she couldn't reach the remaining buttons.
Hampering the situation was the fact that she had taken down her thick chestnut hair and the waist-length locks were tangling with the remaining buttons. She would have to ring for a maid; there was no help for it. From bitter experience Elizabeth knew just how unhelpful and elusive Lady Elfreda's servants could be. They obviously modeled their behavior after that of their ungracious mistress. Sighing, she rang the bell and then sat down to wait.
Four rings and twenty minutes later, Elizabeth gave up. The knocks and bumps still emanated from the bedroom next to hers. There was nothing she could
do but quietly seek the aid of the chambermaid next door and trust that no one would catch her in her deshabille. Her reputation was undeservedly shaky as it was, and to be caught wandering around Winfields half naked would have put her beyond the pale.
Tiptoeing across the room on stocking feet, she listened for a long nervous moment. There still was no sound but the cautious bumping of the maid. She slipped out into the deserted hallways and whisked into the Hatchetts' room.
"I wonder if you could help me undo my dress."
The words faltered on her tongue. The shadowed figure turned and moved into the light. Staring down at her was Michael Fraser, his coat gone, his shirt open, and his dark hair awry. A handsome devil indeed, Elizabeth thought, as a wave of embarrassment washed over her.
"I beg your pardon," she breathed, her face flushed as she tried to pull the slipping gown around her. "I thought you were the maid."
"Obviously I am not."
Struggling to regain her composure, she cast a harried glance about her. There was no sign of his possessions anywhere. "I thought this was the Hatchetts' room."
"It is."
Elizabeth was startled by the bald statement. "I suppose Sir Maurice asked you to check and make sure everything was in order for their arrival," she said, offering him an excuse for his odd presence in the empty room, momentarily forgetting her own precarious situation.
"You could suppose so, but he didn't. I'm here on my own."
"Why?"
"I have no intention of satisfying that formidable curiosity, Miss Traherne," he replied calmly, moving across the room with a pantherish grace. "I believe you wished your gown undone?"
There was a gleam in those dark blue eyes, and Elizabeth began to back away hastily. She took no more than two steps, when he caught her, his cool, impersonal hands holding her prisoner and making her uncomfortably aware of just how helpless she was. The heavy curtain of hair was moved gently out of the way, and she felt his hands deftly undo the recalcitrant buttons. A moment later the dress was loose, the hands released her, and she jumped away as if burned.
Very dangerously attractive, she thought absently, staring up at that dark face for a long, breathless minute. "I . . . thank you," she stammered, and was surprised to see a small smile quirk his mouth.
"My pleasure, Miss Traherne." The low voice was curiously caressing. "Any time."
For once Elizabeth's facile wit deserted her. The cold daylight with her clothes safely about her was one matter, but alone in a bedroom with her dress slipping down her shoulders and her hair unbound and Michael Fraser looking at her out of those unfathomable blue eyes—that was a different story. A rogue indeed, and certainly more than she was used to handling. She knew she should run away, back to the safety of her room.
"Should you be in here?" she questioned.
"Should you?"
She ignored that. "What would Adolphus and Sir Maurice say?"
"You could always tell them and find out," he suggested amiably.
"No, I don't think I'll do that."
Interest lit his dark face. "Why not, pray tell?"
An impish grin flitted across her expressive features. "Because, my dear Captain Fraser, if you really happen to be a spy and a traitor, then I intend to be the one to catch you red-handed. I see no reason to let the men have all the fun and excitement."
The small smile vanished from his face. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that notion is?" he demanded harshly. "Spying doesn't happen to be a parlor game."
"I bow to your superior knowledge," she said demurely. "Are you a spy?" This was sounding unexpectedly close to a confession.
"Don't be absurd. You've been reading too many French novels."
Elizabeth looked at him with swift suspicion. If he could gain entry to the Hatchetts' room, there was no reason why he should not have searched hers as well. The mention of the French novels was a bit too fortuitous. But what in the world would he expect to find in the bedroom of a vicar's sister? Or was it her other brother who interested him—the British soldier involved on a secret mission?
"How did you know I read French novels?" she questioned sharply.
"You look the type," he said in a blunt voice. "Go to bed, Miss Traherne. This is hardly the time or place to be holding a tête-à-tête on espionage."
With great dignity Elizabeth wrapped the falling dress more securely around her. "I don't need you to tell me correct behavior, sir," she said proudly.
"No? You don't seem to pay any heed to your clerical brother. Are you going to bed, Miss Traherne, or will I have to take you there?"
There was a silken threat in his voice, and Elizabeth judged it time to depart. She only wished she could think of something cold and withering to leave on, but her usually quick brain failed her.
"Good evening, Captain Fraser," she snapped, and swept from the room, giving the door a solid little slam behind her. Once inside her own chamber she propped a chair under the gilt doorknob to prevent unwanted visitors and then threw herself down in front of the mirrored dressing table.
Her golden-brown eyes were wide and shining, her cheeks flushed, her lips breathlessly parted, with the tousled curtain of hair sweeping her pretty white shoulders. "If this is what the type of person who reads French novels looks like," she remarked aloud, "then I should cultivate the habit even more assiduously."
Then, humming a cheerful little tune, she stripped off the rest of her clothing and crawled wearily between the heavy linen sheets. She shut her eyes and then opened them again as his words returned with sudden, ominous meaning.
"Your clerical brother," he had said, his tone suggesting that he knew full well she had another, less conventionally employed sibling. If he knew about Jeremy and his covert activities, he was dangerous indeed. A sudden thrill of fear shot through Elizabeth's stomach, and she thrashed restlessly in the bed, punching the soft feather pillows, determined to keep her ears open for any more compromising noises from Captain Fraser. A moment later she was sound asleep.
Chapter 5
"What were you doing for such a long time?" The dulcet voice drifted to Michael's ears as he silently let himself back into his room. Whirling around, he saw the contessa's languid black-draped figure stretched out on the damask-covered bed. He shut the door noiselessly behind himself and moved into his room.
"What do you think I was doing?" he countered mildly. "And do you think you should be in here? What if somebody saw you?"
The contessa's ruby lips pouted prettily. "I am offended, my dear Michael. You of all people should know that I'm an old enough hand to be able to sneak in and out of bedrooms without anyone being the wiser. And there's hardly anyone in this rambling mausoleum worthy of my talents. I'm certain everyone else is sound asleep, snoring mightily."
"Including Sir Maurice?" he asked cynically.
"Oh, I made certain dear Maurice was dead to the world before I started on my nocturnal perambulations. He won't be bothering me any more tonight." She smiled lazily.
"You know, Leonora," Michael said casually as he stretched himself out on a chair quite a ways from the
comfortable bed and its enticing occupant, "there are times you are so efficient you frighten me. What else have you accomplished in between drugging Sir Maurice insensate and sneaking into my bedroom?"
"Did I say I drugged Sir Maurice?" she purred. "There are other ways of making an elderly gentleman sleep the sleep of the dead." She patted the coverlet invitingly.
"I am sure there are." Michael ignored the gesture, and Leonora shrugged her pretty white shoulders philosophically.
"I did happen to overhear the most enlightening conversation," she offered slowly, and his attention was immediate. "I was completely amazed."
"Was it with-"
"It was between the young English lady and a certain gendeman of somewhat tarnished reputation behind a closed bedroom door. I swear, I was all agog when he offered to take the chit to bed. Especially when he's refused so many other offers."
For a moment the expression in those dark blue eyes was dangerous. Then he smiled. "You will learn, Leonora, to mind your own business."
"I doubt it. At this point in my life my business is other people's secrets." She leaned back and sighed. "It would be so nice to retire from our questionable profession, Michael. I rather fancy our distinguished host. Don't you think I might make an excellent baroness?"
"Without question. You might run into a bit of opposition from Lady Elfreda, however. I'd be more frightened of her than anyone you've met with in your varied career."
"I could handle her," Leonora said with a confident toss of her elegantly tousled coiffure. "However, that's not to say that I wouldn't prefer throwing in my lot with you, dear boy. I'd be willing to put up with a great deal of . . . shall we say uncertainty . . . for the sake of those beautiful blue eyes."
"I am more than flattered, Leonora. But you know as well as I that we simply wouldn't suit. You'd be off with someone a great deal richer and a great deal less demanding than I would be, leaving me and the children bereft."
"The children?" she questioned, and shuddered. "Perhaps you're right, dear boy. Ours is a love that will never be."
"You wasted your talents, Leonora. You should have been on the stage."
"Don't be absurd. My acting talent is put to much better use in my present field, and I make a very great deal more money than I ever would in Drury Lane. I have no regrets."
Michael shifted in the chair, his deep blue eyes narrowed in the dim light from the banked fire and his long, lean legs stretched out in front of him. "Apart from having no regrets, would it be too bold of me to inquire whether you have any pertinent information to impart? Or did you just make this foray to eavesdrop on Elizabeth Traherne?"
"No information as yet," she said pertly. "Which I thought you might like to know. Also, I came for the sake of those blue eyes. I am getting very tired of Sir Maurice."