Tonbridge’s gaze shot to her face, dropped to her bosom as he took in the low-necked green muslin gown. It barely covered her nipples. She’d worn it quite deliberately today. Clearly her guest did not approve, for his firm lips tightened, before his gaze rose to her face again.
She cast him a flirtatious sideways glance. ‘You don’t have a choice, my lord.’
‘The green chamber is ready, Miss Draycott,’ Gribble said. ‘I’ll have Brian bring up your valise, my lord. He will serve as your valet while you are here. May I take your coat?’
Still frowning, Tonbridge shrugged out of his fashionably caped driving coat and handed it over, along with his hat and gloves. The lack of a coat didn’t make him look any less imposing. His black morning coat clung to his shoulders as if it had been moulded to his body, an altogether pleasing sight. Or it would be if she cared about that sort of thing. Without his hat, his jaw looked squarer, more rugged, but the smooth wide forehead and piercing dark eyes surprisingly spoke of intelligence. She doubted their veracity, because although his thick brown hair looked neat rather than fashionable, his cravat was tied with obvious flare. It must take his valet hours to turn out such perfection.
Merry knew his sort. An idle nobleman with nothing to do but adorn his frame. And there was plenty of frame to adorn. A good six feet of it, she judged. Tall for a woman, she still had to look up to meet his gaze. But she’d known that already. He’d loomed over her out there on the moors. And made her heart beat far too fast.
And the odd thing was, it was beating a little too fast now, too. And grasshoppers in hobnail boots were marching around in her stomach.
Surely she wasn’t afraid of him?
Or was it simply a reaction to the events of the past few hours? The disappointment at the mill owners’ intransigence, followed by the accident. It had not been a good day. She straightened her shoulders. She wasn’t beaten yet.
She needed to talk to Caroline. ‘Where is Mrs Falkner, Gribble?’
‘In the drawing room,’ the butler replied. ‘Awaiting dinner.’
Blast. She’d have to change, which meant no time to talk over what had happened with Caroline until later. She turned to Lord Tonbridge. ‘Gribble will see you to your room. When you are ready, please join us in the drawing room.’
She ran lightly up the stairs. Dandies took hours at their toilette. She stopped and turned. Tonbridge was watching her with an unreadable expression.
‘Dinner is in one hour. Please do not be late.’
His slackened jaw made her want to laugh. He must think her completely rag-mannered. And so she was.
She continued up the stairs to her chamber. If she was quick, she could speak to Caroline before their guest arrived downstairs.
A frown gathered beneath the chestnut curls on Caro’s brow. Her hazel eyes filled with sadness. ‘There is no help from that quarter, then,’ she said, at the end of Merry’s swiftly delivered report.
No matter how drably Caro dressed—tonight she’d chosen a dark blue merino wool with a high neck and no ornament—or how serious the expression on her heart-shaped face, the petite woman was always devastatingly lovely.
‘None at all, I believe,’ replied Merry, who always felt like a giant next to her friend. ‘Do not worry, the women can stay here for as long as is needed.’
She paced the length of the drawing room and came back to face Caro. ‘I’m so sorry I could not convince them.’
Caro gently touched her friend’s gloved hand. ‘It is not your fault. We will find another way.’
‘I wish I knew how.’
‘We will think of something. What is our visitor like?’
A generous change of topic given Caro’s disappointment. Merry filled her lungs with air. ‘Tonbridge? Handsome, I suppose. Rather disapproving of me, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s because he doesn’t know you.’
If he knew her, he’d be more disapproving than ever. She sat beside her friend. ‘I hope he doesn’t take too long. I’m starving.’ She looked at the clock. In one minute the hour would be up.
Tonbridge stepped through the door. He had shaved and changed from his driving clothes into a form-fitting blue evening coat, starched white cravat and ivory waistcoat. His tight buff pantaloons fitted like a second skin over muscle and bone. One would never guess from his languidly fashionable form he had recently heaved a wrecked carriage off the road single-handed.
He’d looked magnificent, like Atlas supporting the world.
‘Come in, Lord Tonbridge,’ Merry said. ‘Let me introduce you to my dear friend and companion, Mrs Caroline Falkner.’
‘I am pleased to meet you, Mrs Falkner.’ Tonbridge made his bows, gracious, elegant and formal. Coolly distant. The highborn nobleman meeting the unwashed masses. No wonder Caroline looked thoroughly uncomfortable.
‘I hope my unexpected arrival is not a dreadful inconvenience,’ he said, moving to stand beside the fire.
Polite blankness hid Caroline’s thoughts. She sounded calm enough when she spoke. ‘I am so grateful you were on hand to help Miss Draycott.’ She rose to her feet. ‘I hope the servants took good care of you?’ She went to the console on the far side of the room.
‘Excellent care,’ he said.
‘And your quarters are to your liking?’ Merry asked. ‘Indeed.’
A consummate liar. Merry hid her smile. Like the rest of the house, the green guest chamber was a nightmare of ostentation.
‘Let me pour you a libation to warm you after your ordeal,’ Caroline said. ‘Sherry for you, Merry?’ She turned to look at Tonbridge. ‘A brandy, my lord?’
Tonbridge was looking at Caroline with a frown of puzzlement. And no wonder. Caro’s ladylike airs and modest appearance would seem at odds with this house of gross opulence.
Oppressive scarlet velvet curtains, gilt scattered with abandon, garish fabrics on the floors and wildly patterned silk on the walls—she could almost see Tonbridge wince as he looked around.
Grandfather had wanted no one to underestimate his wealth.
‘Takes a lot of brass to fill a room like this,’ she said.
His gaze came back to her face. ‘Beauty needs no adornment.’ Mischief gleamed in his eyes. Not the reaction she’d expected. The man had a sense of humour lurking beneath that haughty lift of his deeply cleft chin.
Dash it. She did not want to like him. It would only lead to embarrassment. He was simply being polite. A gentleman. No doubt when he joined his friends, he would have a mocking tale to tell.
Oh, how she’d like to peel off the polite veneer and reveal his true nature. Prove she was right and stop her foolish heart’s flutters every time he sent that cool dark glance her way.
‘A pox on your sherry,’ Merry said with a quick laugh. ”Tis brandy for me. I vow I am still chilled to the bone. Perhaps you would prefer a dish of tea, my lord?’
As she’d expected, Tonbridge turned with a frown. Clearly she’d shocked him with her teasing. Blasted nobility. They thought everyone who didn’t conform to their idea of polite society to be beneath them. While they gambled away their fortunes, men like her grandfather accumulated great wealth by hard work. He could look down his nose all he liked, she wasn’t ashamed of her background.
A small smile curved his lips, a brief softening of his harsh features and her heart gave a lurch, the kind that hurt and felt good at the same time. Not a feeling to have around such a powerful man. If he sensed it, he would see it as weakness.
‘Brandy would be equally welcome to me, Miss Draycott,’ he said.
Did nothing put him out, or did he just never show it? Too well bred. Too reserved. ‘Call me Merry,’ she said, as she had on the moors, an inner wildness overcoming good sense. ‘Everyone does. I hate formality, don’t you?’
He looked more than a little startled at that, which gave her a moment of satisfaction.
He responded cheerfully enough. ‘As you wish, Merry.’ He didn’t offer his own first name. She guessed he’d already placed
their relative stations in life and knew he was far above their touch.
Caroline poured the brandy. Merry took both glasses and handed one to Tonbridge. ‘To my knight in shining armour,’ she toasted boldly and tossed off the fiery liquid. It burned its way to her stomach.
She really didn’t need any more heat. The proximity of this man made her skin glow. She cocked a challenging brow.
He raised his glass, a smile curving his finely drawn mouth. ‘To a lovely maiden in distress.’
More devastating charm. He must practise in front of the mirror, the way the girls practised simpering before the glass at school.
He took a cautious sip and then nodded. ‘Excellent.’ He swallowed a mouthful.
‘My grandfather kept a very fine cellar,’ she said, not without a little pride. Grandfather might have lacked town bronze, as the ton called it, but he knew quality. Unfortunately, he had no sense of style. Hence the costly but dreadful decor.
Gribble opened the door. ‘Dinner is served, miss.’
Tonbridge held out both arms. ‘Ladies?’
Gribble’s grey brows shot up, wrinkling his forehead.
Speechless, Merry looked at Caroline, who lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. As usual her hazel eyes gave nothing away. Merry had found Caroline serving at an inn in York and had instantly seen her predicament. A well-bred lady brought low. She’d offered her the position of companion on the spot. But Caroline never talked about her past. And she rarely offered an opinion.
Not that Merry relied on anyone else’s judgement. Grandfather would never allow it. She made her own decisions.
She placed her hand on his right forearm and Caroline did the same on his left. As they walked, she glanced at his face and saw nothing but bland politeness. And that made her nervous. Because politeness hid lies and knives in the back.
She had a strategy for dealing with practised deceit, developed after years of misery. Frontal attack.
Chapter Two
‘Is this your first visit to Yorkshire, my lord?’ Caroline asked when the food was served and the butler had withdrawn.
Tonbridge paused in his carving of the roast duck and smiled politely. ‘Not at all. I came here often in my youth with my family. It has been some years since my last visit, I must say.’
‘Lucky for me you chose today,’ Merry said, fluttering her eyelashes in a fair emulation of the girls she’d despised at school.
Caroline cast her a startled look.
Tonbridge continued carving. ‘It seems we were both lucky. I doubt I would have made it to Skepton in the snow and I would never have found hospitality on so grand a scale elsewhere in the wilds of the moors.’
Grand meaning horribly bourgeois, no doubt.
‘May I help you to some of this fine bird, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.
‘Thank you,’ Caroline said.
‘Not for me,’ Merry said, then waved her fork and the carrot on its tines airily at the picture behind her. ‘That is my grandfather, Josiah Draycott. He rose from shepherd boy to owning one of the largest wool mills in Yorkshire.’
‘Impressive,’ Tonbridge said. He put the best slices of the bird on Caroline’s plate and took the remainder for himself.
Merry wasn’t sure if he referred to the portrait in which her grandfather, with his full-bottomed wig and eagle-eyed stare, looked as if he could eat small boys for breakfast, or his accomplishments. Strangely enough she had the impression it was the latter when she’d expected the former.
She cut her roast beef into bite-sized pieces. ‘He left it all to me.’
He stilled, his duck-laden fork hovering before parted lips. Lovely full lips. The kind of lips that would cushion a girl’s mouth. No awkward clashing of teeth for him, she felt sure.
His eyes widened. ‘You are a mill owner?’ he asked.
Hah! She’d managed to surprise him. At least he’d managed not to sneer. ‘Owner of Draycott’s Mills.’
His gaze met hers. ‘I recognised the name, of course. I just didn’t expect…’
‘A woman in charge?’
‘We sell Durn’s wool to Draycott’s,’ he said, neatly sidestepping her question. He put the duck in his mouth and chewed. How could anyone look so scrumptious, just chewing?
She dragged her gaze from his mouth. ‘And very fine wool it is.’
‘The best,’ he agreed.
‘But not producing as much in recent years.’
He blinked and she felt a little glow of satisfaction. She wasn’t just a mill owner, a reaper of profits. While she rarely visited the mill because the blunt Yorkshire men felt uncomfortable around their female employer, she received weekly reports, statements and accountings. She knew her business. Grandfather had insisted.
‘We’ve seen revenues fall off,’ Tonbridge admitted. ‘One reason for my visit.’
One reason? What would be the others?
He turned to Caroline. ‘Are you also involved in Draycott’s, Mrs Falkner?’
For a man of such an exalted position, he had exquisite manners. Merry found herself warming at the way he included Caroline in the conversation. But he’d not get carrot juice out of that turnip.
Caroline shook her head. ‘Oh, no.’
‘I don’t know what I would do without Caroline’s companionship,’ Merry said on her friend’s behalf.
Caroline smiled at her with gratitude.
Tonbridge’s dark eyes looked from one to the other. A question entered his gaze, a dark thought that caused a slight tightening at the corners of his mouth. More disapproval? ‘You are lucky to have such a good friend,’ he said quietly. The words seemed to hold more meaning than she could work out.
What on earth was he thinking? She found she couldn’t hazard a guess and that was annoying. Accompanying her grandfather on his business dealings had taught her how to read men very well. This one, however, was a bit of a mystery. A challenge.
‘What do you do when you are not visiting the outposts of the Mountford empire?’ she asked.
He laughed. ‘You are nothing if you are not direct, Merry.’ He held up a hand when she began to apologise. ‘I like it. It is refreshing.’
Refreshing meant naive. Ignorant of the social niceties. She flashed him a sultry smile. ‘I’m glad you find it stimulating, my lord.’
Glints of amber danced in his eyes. ‘You have no idea.’
Oh, but she did, because her blood was stirring and her pulse fluttering in places she shouldn’t be aware of in polite company. She felt more alive than she had for months, perhaps years. For the first time since her fall into disgrace, she felt her body tingle with interest and excitement.
Lust.
Thank goodness she knew it for what it was and could resist it.
Caroline cast her warning glance, an admonition that the flirtation was getting out of hand.
What did it matter if she flirted a little? It wasn’t as if she could be ruined. And this man with his icy reserve deserved a little shaking up. Pretending not to notice Caroline’s unspoken message, she raised a brow. ‘Well, Lord Tonbridge? You didn’t answer my question. Perhaps you are a gambler or a rake?’
‘Both,’ he said, his expression suddenly darker. ‘Have you a wish to test my skills?’
Caroline coughed and picked up her water. ‘My throat is dry,’ she muttered after a sip.
Merry only knew one way to deal with a man of his sort. Call his bluff. ‘La, sir, where would we start? With a wager? Or a seduction?’
Dark eyes observed her intently, then flicked to Caroline, who was bright pink and looking mortified. ‘I bow to your wishes,’ he said, his deep voice a silky caress on her ears.
Her stomach did a long slow lazy roll that left her breathless. And speechless. Blast him, he didn’t scare easily. Most of the noblemen she’d met in the past would be running a mile by now at the thought of an entanglement with Merry Draycott.
Gribble entered quietly with his minion at his heels to clear the table for the remove
, affording her the opportunity to marshal her defences.
‘Do you plan a long stay at Durn, my lord?’ Caroline asked, covering an awkward silence as the servants went about their business.
‘I’m not sure,’ he said, looking at Merry. ‘It depends on several factors.’
Merry really didn’t like the thrill that rippled through her at the thought that she might be a factor. Did she? He might be the handsomest man she’d ever seen, but he had an arrogance about him, a sense of entitlement, put there by wealth and position. There was also a coldness. It wafted from him like a chill wind. He’d judged her instantly and sensed his superiority. Perhaps he thought she should be honoured to fall at his feet. The thought jangled her pride. A need to take the wind out of his sails was pushing her into outrageous behaviour she could not seem to stop.
Finished with their tasks, the servants withdrew.
‘Can I offer you some of this very fine aspic, Mrs Falkner?’ he asked.
Caroline inclined her head. ‘Yes, please, my lord.’
He raised his gaze to her face. ‘Merry?’
She should not have given him permission to use her first name. It put her at a distinct disadvantage. ‘A small amount. Thank you.’
He served Caroline first. He had large strong hands. The fingers were elegant, yet not at all limp or fluttery. Grandfather always knew a man’s nature from the way he shook hands. Most of the time, men bowed over hers, so she never got the opportunity to judge their grip. She’d found other ways to assess their worth.
The way a man handled his knife and fork and the business of eating told her a great deal. This one used his implements with casual ease and ate with firm elegance and a pleasing economy of movement. The Marquis of Tonbridge exceeded all her standards.
He’d been good with the horses, too, she recalled, firm, yet gentle. Not once had he pulled on their delicate mouths while keeping firm control.
Was she letting her biases lead her astray in regard to this man? Was he merely following her lead out of politeness? If she truly believed so, she should simply bid him goodnight after dinner and retire. It would not be difficult to declare a headache or weariness from the day’s events.
More Than A Mistress Page 2