Luckily Marlee grabbed onto the bedpost for support or she’d have fallen like a rag doll at his feet. Dimly she wondered what she’d done to cause him to act this way. One second he was kissing her like he truly wanted her, and then he was pushing her away without the least hint of regret. What had she done? What hadn’t she done? She didn’t know, just didn’t know how to please a man like Richard Arden. “My—my lord—what?” She also didn’t know what to ask.
He didn’t bother turning around to look at her as he made his way to the door. “Sleep well, my lady. I shall see you in the morning.” His strong hand pulled open the door and closed it with a resounding thud behind him.
She waited by the bed for what seemed an eternity. Her mind whirled with images of the passion she’d seen on his face, the memory of the kiss which so completely destroyed her senses. Never had she imagined a kiss could be filled with so much fire and longing, and now she felt unfulfilled and bereft. She had wanted Arden to keep kissing her, to hold her in his arms forever. She had wanted him to love her, to make her his wife—and now he was gone. He’d left her confused, humiliated, and disappointed. But soon her disappointment gave way to something else—something akin to anger.
“The bloody bounder!” she hissed under her breath. Regaining the use of her legs, she went to the dressing table and grabbing a thick, silver hairbrush within her slender hand, she hurled it with uncharacteristic force against the oaken door. “Play games with me, will you! How dare you, Lord Richard Arden! How dare you stir my passions and then run away like the cowardly rogue you are. I’ll not have it. I’ll just not have it!”
But Marlee wasn’t certain what she would have. She only knew as she plopped herself on her bed and gritted her teeth that she wouldn’t allow Richard Arden to use her. He’d come to her to make her his wife, and then left her before performing his husbandly duty. Was he playing some sort of perverse game with her? Was he dangling before her the fleshly pleasures which awaited her in his arms if she signed the document of her own volition? And if she did sign, would he willingly bed her? Did he believe he could make her a slave to her own base desires?
Yes. She was inexperienced but something wild and hot had flared between them and she wouldn’t deny what she’d felt for him. Yet if Arden thought to tantalize her with his kiss as a way of bringing her to heel, he was mistaken. Oh, she’d sign the document and be done with it, but all in her own good time. First, her husband must learn a lesson about women—about her. That kiss had taught Marlee a great deal about herself, and she knew that with Arden as a lover, she’d enjoy marriage very much. But if he thought to make her a slave to passion, he was mistaken.
“Before I’m through with you, my dear husband,” she whispered to the ornately scrolled ceiling, “you’ll beg me to love you. Then we’ll see who is slave to whom.” And with that, she blew out the candle and plotted how to tame a rogue.
CHAPTER
FIVE
The following morning Mrs. Mort appeared at Marlee’s door with a small silver tray, filled with a freshly baked cinnamon muffin and a cup of hot tea. As Marlee ate, the old lady pulled a gray and white day dress from the wardrobe and laid it across Marlee’s bed. “I hope the gown meets with your approval, my lady,” Mrs. Mort said and smoothed down the wrinkles in the bodice.
Marlee assured her it did, unused to being addressed so formally and knowing it would do little good to ask the housekeeper to address her any other way. After Marlee finished eating, Mrs. Mort proceeded to brush Marlee’s hair into a becoming bun atop her head, but Marlee’s mind wasn’t on her hair or her gown at the moment. She wondered about her husband and what would be his reaction to her after their burning kiss last night. Her face still felt warm just to think about how she’d responded to him.
“Have you seen my husband this morning?” she casually questioned the housekeeper after she’d changed into her dress. For just a second Mrs. Mort stopped working her fingers on the buttons at the back of the gown before dutifully continuing with her chore.
“You mean himself, Lord Arden,” the old woman ground out through clenched teeth.
Who else did the woman think she meant? Sometimes Marlee wondered if Mrs. Mort might be addled. She’d met her only the previous day and had immediately liked her, but there was something malevolent in the woman’s attitude whenever Arden was near or whenever Marlee mentioned him. Marlee puzzled over this, sensing something wasn’t right but couldn’t discern what might be wrong. “Of course I mean Lord Arden,” Marlee said with a smile. “I wondered if he’d eaten yet.”
“Aye, he has and off he went.”
“Do you know where he’s gone?” Marlee felt slightly disappointed to discover Richard wasn’t in the house and that she might not see him that morning.
“No idea, my lady,” Mrs. Mort replied stiffly and shook out Marlee’s skirts. “His lordship tells me nothing, and I don’t want to know what he’s about.” She hobbled over toward the table where the tray was set and gingerly picked it up. “Now if you’re finished with me, Lady Arden, I have to help Miss Barbara dress, then see to me chores in the kitchen.”
“Mrs. Mort, will you be free sometime this afternoon?”
“What have you in mind, my lady?” The large green eyes settled tiredly upon Marlee, almost as if she expected another task to be doled out to her.
“I’d like your assistance in interviewing people from the village. The manor needs a competent staff of servants, and I trust you’ll help me choose the best qualified people. Do you think you might know anyone who’d be interested in working here? If so, I’d appreciate your sending word to them.” Marlee could tell her words eased the old lady’s fears and her burdens when a large grateful smile spread across the woman’s lined and weary face.
“Oh, my, that would be grand!” she exclaimed in breathless surprise. “Aye, I know just the people who would welcome the chance to work. I’ll send word with me nephew who lives in the village. He always comes on a Wednesday to see how I’m faring. In fact, my lady, he would be a good stable lad, if you’d consider hiring him. ‘Tis been a long time since the stables were cleaned out, and I know other members of me family who’d like to work here—and would do you proud—if you’d consider taking them on, that is.”
Marlee laughed at Mrs. Mort’s enthusiasm. This was the first time she’d seen the old woman really smile. “I’ll be happy to interview all of them.”
Half an hour later, Marlee threw on her white shawl and headed downstairs. Arden Manor was such a dark, dingy house with little natural light allowed inside because of the heavy drapes on all of the windows. She could visualize how the house would look, how elegant and grand it would be, once she finished redoing it. And it would be so nice to have her husband’s involvement in the refurbishments. She couldn’t help giggling to herself to imagine her swarthy and broad-shouldered husband surrounded by mountains of colored fabrics and tapestries as he dutifully helped her in the choosing. In fact she realized that attaining Richard’s help in the redecorating was the first step in taming him—and that was a project she truly relished.
In the vestibule she found herself face to face with Hollins Carpenter and grew annoyed to find him still in residence, however, she knew why he stayed on. No doubt he’d remain there until she signed her fortune away. “Have you seen my husband this morning?” she inquired.
“Yes, my lady.”
“Where is he?”
“He—uh—he had business to attend to.” Hollins blinked steadily behind his spectacles, but Marlee guessed he was hedging, not willing to tell her where her husband had gone. The rogue had probably ridden into the village to take up his dubious ways again. Anger suffused her face to think he was still up to his old tricks, but Hollins hurriedly put her worry to rest when he said, “Mr. Oliver is with him, my lady.” This was Carpenter’s way of saying that Simon was a steadying influence upon Arden.
Marlee breathed a relieved sigh. “Then he is in good hands, as his home shall soon be.
I shall conduct interviews this afternoon to find adequate help. Mrs. Mort’s family members might be interested in working here.”
For a second, Marlee thought Hollins’s face was about to explode. His cheeks puffed out and turned from their usually pale color to apple red. “Oh, Lady Arden, I can arrange for help. Don’t trouble yourself,” he hastily declared.
“For heaven’s sakes, Mr. Carpenter, you look ready to die of apoplexy. I’m capable of hiring a competent staff. Mrs. Mort has agreed to help me.”
“I’m certain you are quite capable, but shouldn’t you wait and consult Lord Arden?”
“I see no need to trouble him with such mundane matters. I am mistress here now and Lady Arden, as you have reminded me a number of times. I’m certain I can engage a staff of able and capable workers.”
“But there will be strangers here, my lady.” Carpenter’s countenance suddenly paled. Marlee thought he looked positively frightened at the thought.
“They won’t be strangers for long,” she assured him, totally baffled by the man’s uneasiness. “Have I your help if I need it?”
Carpenter swallowed hard and inclined his head in what Marlee took to be a nod. “Strange man,” she mumbled under her breath as Carpenter excused himself and headed for the library. Going into the drawing room, she found Barbara sitting on the divan and sipping tea from a dainty damask tea cup.
“Mrs. Mort makes the most delicious tea,” Barbara uttered after bidding Marlee a good morning. “This is my third cup. And her cinnamon muffins melt in the mouth. She is so efficient, considering she has no help.”
“I’m going to interview people today for positions here, but when I told Mr. Carpenter about what I plan to do, he looked ready to have a fit,” Marlee confessed worriedly to Barbara. “He thought I should consult Lord Arden first, and now, I wonder if I should. After all, Carpenter knows Richard and his tastes. I don’t want to offend Richard, but I must assert myself and take
over the household matters.”
“Hmmm, I’m not certain why hiring a staff would bother Lord Arden. I tend to think that Mr. Carpenter sometimes anticipates problems where none exist.”
“I understand that Simon is gone off somewhere with Lord Arden.” Marlee glanced out of the floor-to-ceiling window, not expecting to see Arden on the grounds but her heart beat hard as if she did, or would have liked to see him. “Do you know where they went?”
“No,” Barbara admitted glumly. “I had hoped Simon would take me for a carriage ride this afternoon since the rain has stopped. There’s precious little to do here for amusement.”
That was true, but Marlee didn’t mind. Somehow the quiet and serenity of the house had seeped into her soul. More than anything she wanted to remain as mistress of the estate and somehow find a place for herself in Arden’s affections.
~
“I’ve cooked and cleaned for all me fifty years, my lady, and if I do say so meself, I’m a fine one with a rag and a broom. You’d not see a speck of dust if you hire me on.” The pleasant-faced woman who sat stiff-backed in the large chair before Marlee shifted uncomfortably but continued in an earnest voice, “Me sister Rose Mort can swear on the good book about me housekeepin’. And me son would make a fine stable lad for you.” Her tone became low and almost imploring. “Life has been hard since me husband passed on last year. The farming t’ain’t been good with just me and Denney to do the plowing. Me husband was a strong fellow until he got sick.”
Marlee appraised Mary Carter, finding her to be a candid woman. Her hair had once been brown but was now streaked with silver. Her large green eyes, so much like Mrs. Mort’s, clouded with tears but there was something strong and vital about the woman, an honesty about her which appealed to Marlee.
Marlee had no doubt that Mary would be a fine addition, as would Denney, her fourteen-year-old son, whom Marlee had already interviewed and who now sat near the library window with his cap clutched in his grimy hand. Marlee could tell the mother and son were in need of jobs by the shabby clothes they wore and a good meal by the thin look of them—and she intended to remedy their unfortunate situation very soon.
Already that afternoon she’d interviewed and hired a gardener, a woman to help in the kitchen, and an upstairs maid—all relatives of Mrs. Mort. When Mrs. Mort had told Marlee that she had family eager to work at Arden Manor, the woman hadn’t lied.
“I believe both of you shall do very nicely. I’ll have Mrs. Mort show you to your quarters and ready a warm plate of stew for you. It’s nearly supper time.” Marlee felt her insides light up at Mary’s reaction.
“Oh, thank you, my lady! You’re so good and kind. Me Denney thinks so, too, don’t you, lad?” Mary rose from her chair and clapped her hands in delight as she cast a beaming smile in her son’s direction. The boy bobbed his head eagerly.
“I’ll work hard for you, my lady, I swear I will,” Denney assured Marlee.
“I’m certain that with your help, all shall be efficiently run.” Marlee rose from her chair and called to Mrs. Mort who waited outside the library door and told her to take Mary and Denney to the servants’ wing.
For some reason Marlee noted that Mrs. Mort cast sidelong glances at the door. “Is something wrong?” Marlee queried.
“It’s Mr. Carpenter, my lady,” she admitted with a sniff of disdain. “He’s pacing the halls, not too thrilled about your hiring a staff, I think.”
“Why ever should that bother him?”
“You’d best ask him, my lady. Or your husband,” Mrs. Mort whispered so low under her breath that Marlee scarcely heard her.
Her husband. Marlee’s heart jolted at the thought of him. She hadn’t seen him all day. Where was Arden? Was he in the village, carousing with tavern wenches? She didn’t want to think about such a thing, in fact she didn’t have time to dwell upon Arden’s vices when she heard Carpenter’s voice in the hallway. “My lord, please don’t go into the library now…”
“Why ever not?” came Arden’s crisp retort and Marlee heard the impatient clicking of his boot heels on the marbled floor as he headed in her direction.
“Because Lady Arden—is hiring a staff.” But Carpenter’s response came too late. Already Arden waited in the doorway when Marlee turned from the others to gaze upon him.
Her heart fluttered like a dowager’s fan to see him again. The corners of her mouth started to turn into a pleased smile but the welcome faded from her eyes at his appearance. Standing there with a riding crop in hand, his dark hair windblown and ruffled, Arden looked like the devil himself. It wasn’t so much the fact that he was dressed entirely in black or that his usually shiny boots were now caked with wet sand that caused her uneasiness. In a corner of her mind, Marlee thought the clothes suited him more than the properly attired aristocrat she’d come to expect. There was something else, something more disturbing.
It was his eyes.
They glowed hot, almost like black pearls drenched in blazing sunlight. Her pulses beat hard as his sweltering gaze settled upon her. “What is going on here?” he asked in a silky controlled tone of voice, but Marlee noticed the displeasure concealed beneath the polished facade.
She curtsied as she’d been trained to do by Clementina, not out of a sense of deference but because she was so nervous at taking the household duties into her own hands she didn’t know how else to react. After all, this was his home, not hers. Not really. Not yet.
“I’ve hired a staff, my lord.” And that was the simple truth of the matter. If he didn’t like it, she couldn’t help his feelings, but she wouldn’t apologize—not in front of the help.
He looked about to explode, and she braced herself for an outburst. Instead, his demeanor and stance relaxed. He nodded in what she perceived was a dismissal. “I’d appreciate some privacy. I have things to discuss with Carpenter.”
“Yes, my lord.” Marlee hurried her charges out of the room, conscious of his onyx gaze upon her back. When she’d closed the door behind Arden and Carpenter, she sp
otted Simon and Barbara at the far end of the hallway. She’d have fled in their direction, but Mary Carter’s voice rooted her to the spot as the woman and her son followed after Mrs. Mort to the kitchen.
“Rose, that didn’t look like Lord Arden. Tis been some time since I last saw him, but he looks different somehow, I can’t explain it but—”
“Hush, Mary!” Mrs. Mort demanded and Marlee saw her take her sister roughly by the arm, pulling her along beside her.
“Me mum’s right, Aunt Rose,” Denney insisted. “That man t’ain’t Lord Arden, not Lord Richard. I know —I saw his lordship just a few weeks back when I visited and—”
“Quiet the both of you! Now keep your silly ramblings to yourselves and come fill your bellies and mouths with me stew.” Mrs. Mort’s voice became low then drifted away to nothing.
A draft suddenly rushed through the hallway and Marlee’s skin chilled at what she’d heard, or rather what she’d seen. It wasn’t what Mary and Denney said about Arden that bothered her, it was the way Mrs. Mort reacted. The housekeeper had practically used force on the both of them as she whisked them off to the kitchen. Why had she done that? Was it to silence them, to keep her from overhearing. But why?
The man in the library with Hollins Carpenter was Richard Arden, Baron of Arden Manor, her husband. There was no good reason for servants’ silly prattle to unnerve her. It was only when Barbara and Simon called to her to join them for tea in the parlor did she forget what she’d overheard. Yet for the rest of the afternoon, a vague uneasiness settled upon her.
~
“I’ve found the perfect ship, Carpenter. She’s strong of timber and sleek of hull. With the proper rigging and crew, I shall soon be able to sail after Manuel Silva.” Lark finished gazing out of the window and with his arms folded resolutely across his broad chest, he turned to Hollins. “I’ve been interviewing able-bodied crew men from the village.”
“Is that wise, my lord? I mean, suppose someone becomes suspicious—”
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