“What does he think that will accomplish?” the countess asked indignantly.
“Perhaps he thinks I might notice some resemblance to Michael?”
“Possibly.” Luc suspected that his motives were far less altruistic, but kept that thought to himself. “What else has he done?”
She wrinkled her brow. “I can’t recall that he mentioned anything else specifically.”
“Did the document carry any official seals?”
“I think so, but he only waved it in front of me for a second or two, and I was too distracted to take it in.”
“Has he attempted to contact the offices of the attorneys who drew it up?”
“He didn’t say.” Clarissa paused. “I’m sorry, I should have thought to ask these questions.”
“Not at all.” Luc placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I think I shall make a call upon this Twining person myself. Will you allow me to act for you in any way I see fit, Lady Hartley?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask it of you.”
“Nonsense, dear,” his mother said briskly. “Lucian is very good at this sort of thing. I’m sure it’s all a huge misunderstanding and he’ll sort it out in no time at all.”
“We mustn’t give Lady Hartley false hopes, Mother. But still, I believe further investigations are called for. Would you sign this for me?” Luc produced a parchment from his coat pocket and placed it in front of her.
“What is it?”
“A document authorising me to act in all aspects of your affairs. It gives me full access to any records held by Twining which he might otherwise attempt to hold back.”
“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t do that. He’s as anxious to sort matters out as I am.” She moved to the escritoire in the corner of the room, signed without hesitation, sanded her signature, and handed the paper back to Luc. “Thank you,” she said. “But I fear Mr. Twining will be distressed to discover that I doubt his competence.”
“He’ll get over it. This is too important to worry about the feelings of one insignificant attorney. Now then, where are his offices situated? I think I’ll call right away.”
She gave him the direction. “But he’s too busy to see people without appointments.”
“Oh, no; I think a surprise is called for. Make no mistake about it, he’ll see me.”
“Thank you, Lord Deverill.” She offered him a brief glimpse of her old spirit as she turned grateful eyes in his direction. “I appreciate your help. Is there anything I can do to help whilst you are gone?”
“Yes, my lady, you can eat your breakfast. You’ll be no good to me if you wilt for want of sustenance.”
“Very well.” She tilted her head, as though considering the matter. “Perhaps I could manage something light after all.”
“I’ll go to the kitchen and see if I can arrange something special to tempt you with, my lady,” Agnes said, beaming.
Luc presented his card to an overawed clerk who, with deferential bows, disappeared in the direction of Twining’s rooms. He returned a short time later. Regrettably Mr. Twining was too busy to see anyone without an appointment. If his lordship would care to state the nature of his business and make an appointment, then Mr. Twining would be delighted to place himself at his lordship’s disposal at a later time.
This response was all wrong, causing Luc’s suspicions to multiply tenfold. Any attorney of Twining’s comparatively lowly status would give their right hand for the opportunity to be of service to an aristocrat of Luc’s ilk. The kudos alone would work wonders for his business. His casual dismissal of Luc’s presence, his disinclination to voice his apologies in person, simply didn’t ring true.
“In here, is he?” Without waiting for a response, Luc headed for the room at the back.
“Yes, my lord, but you can’t…”
Luc threw open the door and discovered a rotund person, presumably Twining, sitting behind a pristine and paperless desk. He was leaning back in his chair, a large cigar clamped between his lips and Luc’s card resting between his splayed fingers. Twining staggered to his feet, by which time Luc had already taken him in active dislike.
“What is the meaning of this invasion, sir?”
“I’m the Earl of Newbury. I’m so sorry to disrupt your busy morning.” Luc’s voice dripped sufficient command to instantly cow Twining. “However, I have urgent business that can’t wait.”
“I’m expecting a client at any minute,” Twining blustered defensively. “It would be more expedient if your lordship was to arrange an alternative appointment, at a time when I would be honoured to give my full attention to your lordship’s business.”
“Your client, if he exists, can wait. I, however, cannot.”
Luc threw Clarissa’s authority in front of Twining.
“What’s the meaning of this?” He scanned the document and his attitude of pompous indifference gave way to alarm. “Lady Hartley? What connection does she have to you?”
“She’s my mother’s god-daughter and a guest in my house.”
“Lady Deverill is Clarissa’s godmother?” Luc enjoyed the satisfaction of watching Twining pale as he absorbed the enormity of this revelation. But he recovered himself quickly, and his whole attitude changed to one of snivelling obsequiousness. “My apologies, my lord, she didn’t mention the fact. Now, if you would kindly be seated, I shall be glad to know what service I can offer you.”
Luc remained standing. He towered over Twining, dominating him with his stature and aristocratic bearing. He wasn’t accustomed to being challenged, nor was he prepared to have this callow jackanapes persist with his impudence.
“Lady Hartley was too distressed to recall precisely what steps you’ve taken to disprove Salik’s presumptuous claim upon her late husband’s estate.”
“Well, my lord, I’ve arranged for translations of the birth certificate and the will. I’m also arranging for the signature on the will to be authenticated.”
“Nothing else?” Luc feigned disbelief. “How long have you had this document in your possession, Twining?”
“A little over a month, my lord.”
“And you’ve done nothing else in that time, knowing what a blow Salik’s claim was likely to be to Lady Hartley? What’s your explanation for such procrastination, man?”
“One must proceed cautiously with such delicate situations. It doesn’t do to rush.”
“There appears to be little danger of that in your case.”
Twining absorbed the insult, pacing the length of his office, his knuckles white as a result of the force with which he was clutching the lapels of his coat. “Besides, if the signature is deemed to be genuine, I don’t actually see what more can be done.”
Luc pulled himself up to his full height and glowered at Twining in a manner designed to intimidate. “That’s hardly the sort of response I would have expected from a professional man with his client’s best interests at heart.”
“Well, I — ”
“Have you made any attempt to contact the firm of advocates in Alexandria that handled the monetary payments, and presumably drew up the will as well? What information were they able to yield?”
Twining was obviously becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. “Well, no. Strangely, they aren’t the same establishment.”
“What?” For the first time Twining had said something that surprised Luc. “That surely can’t be correct? Sir Michael trusted the same people to handle his monetary matters for more than twenty years, but didn’t use them to draw up the will? Doesn’t that strike you as odd, Twining?”
“Not really. In my experience people often keep these matters separate.”
“Indeed?” Luc quirked a brow. “Am I to understand that you haven’t contacted either establishment then?”
“Er, well, not as yet, my lord, no.”
Twining was sounding increasingly defensive, his voice reduced to an irritating, petulant whine. He seemed anxious to appease Luc, but clearly disliked having his acti
ons questioned. His answers became increasingly sullen, his manner even more pompous and deliberating. Luc’s irritation rose in direct proportion to his temper, as he observed Twining’s clumsy efforts to cover his inefficiency. They were supposed to be on the same side, both fighting for Clarissa’s rights. To observe Twining at that moment, one would never have guessed it.
“I understand you have not made any funds available to Lady Hartley since her husband died. Why is that?”
“Well now, that’s not quite right.” He flashed a sleazy smile, clearly relieved that their conversation had taken a different turn. “Naturally I offered to make an interim arrangement, but she declined and said she could manage.”
“The situation has changed. She’s now in need of fiscal support, and you’re going to make it available to her. Draw up your suggestions in that respect for my immediate approval.” Twining glowered but remained silent. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Not exactly, my lord, But it just occurred to me that if…” Luc waited him out in silence, already anticipating his next words. “It’s just that if Salik is proven to be the rightful heir? Then Lady Hartley is actually entitled to nothing.”
“So, you’d have her starve?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then see to it. I want full access to the estate’s financial records too, going back to the time of Lady Hartley’s father’s death. See to that as well.”
“She should have accepted my offer,” Twining muttered mutinously.
“What offer was that, Twining?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, nothing of consequence.”
“I gather that you wish Lady Hartley to meet this Salik person.”
“Well yes, I thought — ”
“I will escort Lady Hartley here tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock. Make sure that Salik’s here. I don’t care for her ladyship to be kept waiting.”
“But, my lord — ”
“Good day, Twining. I’ll not detain you further. Your client must be getting impatient. Oh, dear.” He opened the door to an empty outer office. “He doesn’t appear to have arrived yet. I wonder what could have kept him?”
Upon his return home Luc found his mother, Agnes, and Mulligan still with Lady Hartley.
“What news?” She half-rose from her seat.
“Not so fast.” He held out a hand to ward off her questions. “First, I need to know if you’ve kept your side of the bargain.”
“Two servings,” Agnes said, beaming.
“Once I started, I found I had an appetite after all.” She tossed her head, still looking at him with barely concealed impatience.
“You’ll be glad to hear that Twining didn’t appear to be nearly so occupied today, and was able to see me immediately.”
“Really? How strange. I couldn’t detect the surface of his desk yesterday because of the profusion of papers upon it.”
“Strange indeed.” But Luc didn’t think it was the slightest bit strange. Twining was attempting to manipulate Lady Hartley in some manner, but he knew it was pointless trying to make her understand that; she still trusted him implicitly. “If you feel up to it we’ll go together tomorrow morning and meet Salik at his office.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “I’m quite prepared to go with you. It would be better to get it over with once and for all.”
Luc told her little more about his meeting with Twining, other than to say he had lines of enquiry he wished to follow on his own. She appeared to have a touching faith in his ability and accepted his explanation without question. It seemed that the effort of running two estates and making the decisions alone for so long had drained her of all her energies, leaving her ill-prepared to tackle the delicate intricacies pursuant to legal fraud. A surge of anger coursed through him as he realised Twining was probably aware of the fact, and was taking shameless advantage of it.
“Upon your return you will have access to sufficient funds to carry on your work,” he told her.
“Thank you. But how did you manage that?”
“It’s quite normal to have access for running costs pending probate. In fact, Twining says he offered you the opportunity, but you declined. Is that right?”
It was Agnes who responded. “He muttered something, but her ladyship’s husband had just died, and naturally she was preoccupied.”
“It’s of no importance,” Luc said. “But, tell me, did Twining make you some sort of other offer yesterday?”
Again Agnes answered. “Not again!”
“Mr. Twining kindly offered to help me out of my difficulties by marrying me.”
“Good God, you wouldn’t marry that weasel, surely?”
“I don’t intend to marry anyone.” She sighed. “But it was kind of Mr. Twining. He was only concerned for my welfare.”
“His first proposal came just after her father had died and she was prostrate with grief.” Agnes sniffed her disapproval. “Can you imagine the insensitivity of the man?”
The luncheon gong sounded. His mother jumped up, suddenly recalling something that urgently required her attention, and ran off ahead of them.
“My lady.” Luc offered her his arm. “What you need,” he told her softly, “is something to look forward to. What say you to taking a ride in the park tomorrow before meeting the weasel?”
She visibly brightened. “Oh, yes please, I would love that above all things!” She paused and her face abruptly fell. “Oh, but, no. Thank you, my lord, but I must reluctantly decline.”
“Why?”
“I have nothing to wear. I don’t have a habit.”
“You mean you didn’t bring one with you?”
“No,” she countered with deliberation, “I mean I don’t own one.”
“But you’ve told me that you ride all the time in Northumberland.”
“I ride to work and can’t round up sheep perched on a delicate side-saddle. I ride astride,” she said, flashing her eyes at him defiantly, “and I wear breeches.”
“Now that,” said Luc with a wolfish smile, “I’d like to see. All right, Lady Hartley, we’ll have to ride a little earlier, that’s all. How about it? You’re an early riser. Meet me at the side door to the mews at six o’clock. I’ll supply you with appropriate clothing.” She cast him a dubious glance. “What, don’t tell me you’re not game?”
“No, it’s not that. It’s just that I would prefer not to ride at all if I can only trot sedately about. I prefer to ride hard and fast.”
“That’s precisely why we’ll ride before anyone else is about.”
Luc was rewarded by a radiant smile that lit up her already beautiful face, reducing him to an embarrassing state of concupiscence that he hoped she wouldn’t notice.
“Agreed!” she said.
Chapter Eight
Luc waited at the side door the following morning, wondering if Clarissa would keep their engagement to ride. His question was answered when she appeared at the end of the corridor a short time later, wearing one of her drab black gowns and walking stealthily in order not to disturb the still sleeping household.
“In here,” he said, quietly, opening the door to the boot room. “I’ve brought a pair of Anthony’s breeches which I think might fit you.” Luc held them against her, pretending to consider the question, until Clarissa snatched them from his hands.
“They’ll do!”
“And here’s a shirt, a jerkin, and a cap. Help yourself to whichever pair of boots fits you the best. Today,” he said with a salacious smirk, “you’ll pose as my groom.” She narrowed her eyes at him, clearly doubting his motives. “I’ll wait for you outside,” he said, laughing.
When she rejoined him a short time later Luc simply stared. His brother’s breeches fit her like a second skin, graphically displaying the long, lean thighs which had occupied so many of his conscious thoughts recently. They led to a small and delightfully rounded derrière. Her stomach was perfectly flat, in spite of her healthy appetite, and her waist was in fa
ct far too small for his brother’s breeches. The cap was woefully inadequate for the purpose of restraining her magnificent hair and already long strands were escaping. To Luc she’d never looked lovelier, not even in that ball gown he’d so admired on her.
“Let’s hope no one else is about, my lady, for you’ll never pass as a groom at close quarters.”
“We’re wasting time,” she said, blushing.
Luc led her into his stable yard where one of the grey geldings that had pulled his curricle the previous day was saddled and patiently waiting. She went straight up to him, smiling as she stroked his muzzle. The horse dropped his nose and snorted into her hand.
“That’s Albert,” Luc said. “He’s strong and forward-going, but I believe you’ll be able to handle him.”
“I’m sure I shall.” She gathered up the reins and prepared to mount.
“Here, allow me.” Luc took Clarissa’s foot in his hand and legged her into the saddle. He watched for a moment as she efficiently settled herself, checked Albert’s girth, and adjusted her stirrups. She looked entirely at home, and the expression of anticipated pleasure on her face sent a warm glow coursing through his body.
“Who’s this?” She ran an expert eye over the fine looking black thoroughbred being led from one of the stalls.
“That’s Marius.”
“Did you breed him?”
“No, he’s an Irish stallion. He’s responsible for many of the youngsters now eating their heads off on my estate in Berkshire.”
“He’s truly magnificent, but he also looks impatient to stretch his legs.” As though understanding her words, Marius pawed the ground and swung his quarters from side to side, almost knocking a groom off his feet. “I think we’d best not keep him waiting.”
They were in the park in a matter of minutes and had it to themselves. As soon as the horses’ hooves hit the cinder track, Marius, in particular, became impatient and fought Luc for his head.
“Shall we let them go?”
She nodded her agreement, and they galloped flat out the entire length of the track, Clarissa whooping with delight. Luc watched her with half an eye, but she knew exactly what she was doing and was in no danger. He’d been right; this was precisely the distraction she needed to take her mind off her troubles. He felt sure that after this she’d be able to face their meeting with Salik with a far greater degree of equanimity. He needed her to ignore her emotions and think dispassionately. If Salik really was Sir Michael’s son, then surely she must have had some inkling as to his existence. She needed to think hard about conversations she might have had with her husband over the years, particularly those pertinent to his time in Egypt. He might well have said something that, in retrospect, could prove to be decisive.
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