Morning sunshine streamed through several full-length windows that offered a fine prospect over the sculpted grounds. The walls were lined with bookshelves, the worn nature of the spines indicating that they weren’t just for show. Leah’s heart lurched at this reminder of happier times. Under other circumstances she would have begged permission to see what treasures lay buried there, spending as long as she could get away with losing herself in the old masters she had once studied with such pleasure.
A large desk dominated the centre of the room, papers piled neatly to one side, a blotter perfectly centred, a selection of pens arrayed beside the inkwell. An arrangement of comfortable chairs was situated around a table in front of the windows. He indicated one, still not saying a word. She sank into it, only to regret it when he remained standing, looming over her like a very angry, decidedly predatory demon.
“Have the goodness to explain this.” He threw the paper onto her lap.
Glancing down, she observed that her snippet about his lordship’s pending nuptials took pride of place at the top of the page. It was set in bold type that looked cheap and gaudy, and was placed beneath a caricature of the marquess himself. Her first instinct was to plead ignorance, her second to impishly wish him joy.
She chanced another glance at his features and understood that denial, or indeed flippancy, wouldn’t serve. He clearly knew what she had done. It was equally apparent that he was furious with her interference, as indeed he had every right to be. “What would you have me say?”
He expelled a long breath. “So it was you?” He sounded disappointed.
“How did you know?”
“There was no one else at the dinner party whom it could possibly have been. They are all well known to me and too well-bred to do such a thing.”
Ouch! She probably deserved that.
“Besides, you wrote the article about the mill.”
“What makes you suppose that?”
“The same premise as before. The gentlemen who attended wouldn’t have done it, the workers couldn’t write that fluently. Most of them can’t write at all, come to that. Besides, no man would describe a fistfight in such flowery language.” He fixed her with a hard glare. “And so we come back to my original question. Explain, if you possibly can, why you felt the need to spread such a malicious rumour.”
“Is it not true?” she asked, playing for time.
His lip curled. “Is that all you can say?”
“I heard it spoken of as quite a settled thing,” she said weakly.
“Which was excuse enough to abuse my sister’s hospitality, to say nothing of her friendship? Does that mean so little to you, or do you exploit every situation you find yourself in for monetary gain?”
She lowered her eyes, wishing he would sit down so they could discuss this in a more rational manner. Not that there was much to discuss, she could quite see that now. She was in the wrong, had jumped to conclusions without checking her facts and owed him an apology.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think it would do any harm.”
“You clearly didn’t think about anything other than your own comfort,” he said coldly.
“I still don’t see—”
“No, you don’t, that much is apparent, so let me explain the consequences of your selfish actions.” He paused to draw breath. “Lady Bentley will see this, or have it drawn to her attention. She will lose no time in spreading word of it amongst her acquaintance and, before you know it, I will find myself engaged by default.” He favoured her with an icy glare. “Or more to the point, through your fault.”
“But I thought you liked Miss Bentley.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” He looked genuinely perplexed by her assumption. “In your profession I should have thought you’d understand how unreliable gossip and innuendo can be.” He paced in front of her, placing his feet down so heavily each time he passed her position that the floorboards shook. “It would be too much, I suppose, to expect you to verify your information before publishing.” He fixed her with a scathing glance. “Where would be the fun in that?”
He was like a caged tiger, pacing, striking out—albeit verbally—gouging dents in her heart with his contempt. Too late to do anything about it, she realised how much she had treasured his brief good opinion.
“I’m sorry if I got it wrong,” she said softly. “Does it matter so very much?”
He stopped pacing and loomed over her again. “Are you so wrapped up in yourself that you’ve not listened to a word I’ve said?”
“No, of course not. I merely don’t see why it should—”
“I guarantee that Lady Bentley will call here before today is out, on the pretence of seeing my sister, but in reality to lay claim to the prize she’s had in mind for her daughter ever since she came out.” He pinioned her with a scathing gaze. “That would be me, just in case you still harbour any doubts.”
“Oh, Lord!” Leah buried her face in her hands. “I’m so very sorry. You’re right, I didn’t think about the consequences.” He had resumed his pacing but abruptly stopped still again. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him but could sense his gaze assessing her. “You are a gentleman and so you can’t issue a public denial, which means you could be forced into a union just to protect the lady’s reputation.”
“It’s a little late for regrets,” he said coldly.
“It seemed to me that you were quite comfortable with Miss Bentley.”
“She has been my neighbour for years, we mix in the same circles.” He threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated by her slowness. “Of course I’m comfortable with her. But, as an observant member of the newspaper fraternity,” he added harshly, “it will not have escaped your notice that I deliberately avoided taking her into dinner precisely so as not to excite her expectations.”
“Ah, so that’s why you took me in.”
“Why else?”
“Why else indeed.” Leah shook her head. “I really did think you had an understanding.”
“Even if we did, it would have been between the lady and myself. In polite society we invite people into our homes secure in the knowledge that they won’t regale the world with any snippets of unsubstantiated gossip they might happen to hear there. But,” he added, concentrated fury radiating from his eyes, “someone like you couldn’t be expected to know that.”
Something inside Leah changed as he flung this latest accusation at her. She had apologised, felt terrible for the trouble she’d caused, but simply would not allow him to insult her. What had happened to the suave sophisticate—relaxed and agreeable—who had entertained her on his boat the previous evening? The man who had treated her as an equal, making her feel witty and amusing and leaving her with the impression that he admired her? Well, he might think poorly of her but what she had done was nothing in comparison to harbouring enemies of the state on his property, and she would lose no time in telling him so.
She sprang to her feet and confronted him, arms akimbo. “Thank you. You have made your position perfectly clear and I now understand precisely what you think of me.” It was her turn to pace as she struggled to contain her temper. She brushed past him, forcing him to give way. She made no apology for her rudeness. He already had such a low opinion of her that it hardly signified. “But there are worse things to be than socially inadequate.”
“We are talking about you, not ambiguities.”
“Then let me make myself plain.” She had her back to him but whirled to face him so fast that she almost tripped over her skirts. He reached out a hand to steady her—instinctively, she suspected, since he clearly had no desire to touch her. “Hiding enemies of the state on one’s boat is hardly on the same level as indiscreet gossip.” She snatched her arm from his grasp and glowered at him, daring him to defy it. “There, is that equivocal enough for you?”
The brittle silence that greeted this remark caused a chill settled on Leah’s spine. The icy set to his features, his aura of b
arely suppressed menace, pierced her to the core, causing her to wonder what she had set in motion. As always, when riled, she had spoken without first considering the wisdom of her words. It was too late to recall them and so she faced him without blinking, determined not to break the silence herself.
“I suggest you think very carefully before you put pen to paper on this occasion,” he said tersely, his brows drawn together in an expression of extreme distaste.
“Why should I?” She shrugged. “The young man is French and you are very evidently hiding him. You knew how I make my living before you took me to your boat, you just admitted as much.” She shook her head. “I could only conclude that you were playing some very clever game, dangling a prize scoop under my nose, thinking I would be too timid to pursue it.” She paused, nibbling at her lower lip as she thought it through. “But why?”
He caught hold of her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. Taken by surprise, her teeth sank into her lip, drawing blood. She cried out in pain.
“So, you now consider me to be an enemy of the state,” he said witheringly.
She lifted her shoulders. “What else am I to think? You keep your ship hidden in the bay, you have watchmen patrolling every inch of this estate, you won’t allow your sister to travel even as far as Dover unescorted and, besides all that, Mrs. Wilkinson says you did nothing to support the British cause during the war.”
He barked an angry laugh. “Mrs. Wilkinson is three farthings short of a shilling.”
“Then why won’t you tell me who the young man is?”
“You first.” He propelled her towards the seat she’d just vacated and forced her to sit. With a defiant toss of the head she did so. Leah was relieved when, instead of continuing to prowl around, he took the seat next to her. “Tell me why you write for that god-awful rag,” he said wearily.
She wanted to tell him to go to the devil. It was no business of his how she occupied her time. One glance at his handsome face, the harsh planes softened a little now that his temper appeared to be spent, and she had a change of heart. After all the trouble she’d caused, he deserved to know the truth. She and Beth would no longer be welcome at the Hall, so what did it matter? He could hardly think worse of her than he already did.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to worry about feeding your family,” she said in a challenging tone. “Nor have you had to concern yourself with debt collectors, scraping together the money for the rent or—”
“You’re referring to the time after your parents died?”
“Yes.”
“But your uncle. Surely he—”
“My mother was Sir Percy’s elder sister. My father was their younger brother’s tutor.”
“Ah, now I start to see.”
“My father was the youngest of six children, born to a respectable middle-class family in Hertfordshire. He was an academic who flourished at Oxford and obtained a first in English. As a younger son he was, naturally, expected to make his own way.”
“Which is how he became a tutor?”
“Yes, Mama’s younger brother was an invalid and couldn’t attend school. Fortunately, from Papa’s perspective, he had an enquiring mind and so the two of them were ideally suited. The problem was that Papa had the temerity to fall in love with my mother, and that love was reciprocated. My grandfather wouldn’t countenance the union, and so they eloped.”
“Your grandfather disinherited his daughter?”
“Yes, he did.” Leah sighed. “I never met him but I understand he was a cold man, used to having his way in everything, and there was no place in his heart for an undutiful child.”
“How did they survive?”
“Mama had a small inheritance left to her by her grandfather, which her own papa could do nothing to curtail. They moved to the unfashionable district of London where Beth and I still reside, and Papa started a small bookshop, mostly dealing in rare first editions.” Leah smiled. “Times were not easy but my earliest memories are of nothing but love and laughter.”
“Go on,” he said softly when she paused, lost in the past.
“We were never cold or hungry, and never wanted for reading material.” Her eyes greedily scanned the loaded shelves in the marquess’s study. “Papa educated us both, taught us to question everything and never be afraid to search for the truth.” The marquess settled an indolent gaze on her, reminding her that was precisely what she hadn’t done when passing on gossip to Mr. Morris. She blushed and hastily continued. “Unfortunately Papa wasn’t business-minded. Sometimes he enjoyed a book so much that he couldn’t bear to sell it, even if he had a customer desperate to own it. Other times, people would come to the shop, spin a hard-luck story, and he would part with rare tomes at a fraction of their value.”
The marquess nodded. “I’ve known such people.”
“Mr. Morris came upon us one day.”
His lordship sat a little straighter and frowned. “Morris?”
“The gentleman who owns the newspaper I write for.”
“Humph, I’d hardly call the owner of that rag a gentleman.” He rolled his eyes and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Excuse me, pray continue.”
“Morris was a travelling book dealer. He convinced my father to go into printing books as well as selling them. Papa’s assistant, Jenkins, thought it a good idea and persuaded Papa that they would be able to produce books more cheaply for those most in need of them. Papa felt everyone was entitled to the pleasure of reading, you see, and, unlike Mr. Morris, barely gave the profits a second thought.”
“So your father dealt in rare books, produced new ones and...let me guess, started a scandal sheet as well.”
“No, not the newspaper. Mr. Morris kept suggesting it but Papa was adamantly opposed. It caused endless arguments between them but Papa held firm.”
“How old were you at the time?”
“Fourteen. I spent every spare second in the shop, helping to catalogue the books, although a lot of the time I got distracted into reading them.” Leah smiled at the memory. “I learned a lot about the printing process at the same time and knew almost as much about running the business as Papa and Jenkins did.”
“How did your father die?” he asked softly.
“A fire,” Leah said on a heavy breath. “We lived above the shop but thankfully we were not at home when the fire broke out. Or ought not to have been. Papa went back for something...” Her voice caught and it took her a moment to recover. “And got trapped in the fire.”
“I’m sorry.” His lordship covered her hand with his own. Leah held his gaze for a protracted moment, aware of the tears swamping her eyes but strangely unembarrassed by them. “That must have been hard for you.”
“Yes, his books mattered so much, right to the end.” She took a deep breath, conscious of the dark weight of his gaze still focused on her profile, assessing her. “But,” she added, sighing, “nothing could be saved and he died for no reason.”
“And your mother never got over it?”
“No, she didn’t. I was sixteen and everything was left to me to arrange. With what little money we had saved I found new accommodation for us and tried to take care of Mama. But she didn’t want to be looked after. She lost interest in everything and, no matter what Beth and I tried, we couldn’t regain the mother we loved so much.”
“What did Morris do?”
“A few of the most valuable books had been locked in a strongbox. Even so, they were damaged by smoke and couldn’t be sold for their full value. He did what he could and gave me the proceeds.”
The marquess hoisted one brow. “And offered you employment?”
“No, that came later. After Mama died we were desperate. Beth’s illness didn’t help. She was weak all the time, unable to do much for herself, plus the cost of her medicine, you understand.”
He nodded. “You must have been terrified.”
“Yes, that’s a fair assessment of my state of mind. I had lost my parents and had no int
ention of losing my sister too.”
“I begin to understand.”
“I knew a lot of people in the vicinity—maids, footmen, ostlers and such, all employed by the important families in London. They often let snippets of information about their employers drop. Mr. Morris had become a pamphleteer and I offered him whatever I picked up in return for remuneration.” She stopped talking and met his eye. “It didn’t seem so very bad when it was impersonal. I didn’t know the people involved and the stories couldn’t be traced back to me.” She paused and found the courage to meet his eye. “I understand now the sort of damage I must have done. I’m very sorry. Can you forgive me?”
He took her hand in his, turned it over and gently placed his lips to the inside of her wrist. It was the very last reaction she had expected, and the seductive stroke of his lips as they made contact with her skin caused her insides to melt.
“Think no more about it,” he said gruffly.
“I shall ask Mr. Morris to print a retraction as soon as he can.”
“No, that would only make matters worse.”
“Then what can I do to put things right?”
“I daresay I’ll think of something.” He released her hand and smiled, all predatory male again, causing her breath to lock in her throat and for the room to suddenly feel over-warm. “Could you not have found some other way to support yourself and your sister? With a voice like yours I should imagine that the theatrical agents would have fallen over themselves to procure your services.”
She smiled, already shaking her head. “My mother encouraged me to sing from an early age. She had a beautiful voice too. I had classical lessons all the time, no matter how short money was.”
“It shows.”
“Thank you. I believe Mama harboured hopes of my singing in society, earning a reputation and a husband into the bargain.” Leah flashed a brief smile. “But she was adamant that I not go into the theatre. She and my music master, Mr. Davidson, frequently quarrelled about it. He felt I could have forged a career in the opera but Mama considered that vulgar, and I promised I would never go down that path.”
Compromising the Marquess Page 12