by Nicole Byrd
Taking a deep breath, John descended the stairs and headed for the drawing room. The ladies had been neglected long enough. He paused at the entrance and rubbed his face to make sure that no evidence of emotional confrontation remained. Then he nodded to the footman to throw open the double doors, and he entered.
The two women were seated at the far side of the room. Darkness had fallen outside, and the windows had been shut and the heavy curtains drawn. But the room looked better in the candlelight, the long years of neglect harder to distinguish. The butler had already brought in the tea tray.
“My lord,” Louisa said, jumping up. “We were wondering where you were. Is Lord Gabriel not joining us?”
“He was fatigued after riding so far and has retired to his bed,” John explained.
Louisa looked disappointed, and Marianne’s glance was concerned.
He sat down, allowed Louisa to fuss about him and put an unneeded pillow at his back and then pour him a cup of tea.
It was Marianne who remembered to add a little cream, just as he liked it.
He listened to Louisa chatter for several minutes and did his best to respond. No need to make her suffer, too, from slights real or imagined. Somehow, John seemed to be acquiring a better understanding of how much small actions, or the lack of them, could linger in a person’s heart.
Eventually, Marianne suggested that Louisa play for them, and even though the pianoforte was sadly out of tune, the younger woman did her best, playing and singing with her usual sprightly cheer. It gave him the freedom to sit beside Marianne and enjoy the illusion of being—almost—alone with her. While applauding Louisa at the appropriate times, he managed to steal covert glances at Marianne.
“I have apologized to my brother,” he told her very quietly, under cover of Louisa’s music-making.
The approving glance she gave him was more than enough reward for the effort it had cost him.
“I am so glad. I’m sure that there is brotherly love there, still, and in time, perhaps you both can recover from the injuries of the past.”
“Perhaps.”
“At least you have tried,” she assured him. “And Lord Gabriel seems an honorable man.”
She seemed to assume, without speaking the words, that John’s intentions could also be trusted.
And while he sat in her presence, John could believe that he, too, was an honorable and civilized gentleman, not the brute he had always feared he might be—his father’s son at heart—never to be worthy of a lady’s love, even before the maiming illness had struck him down.
As Louisa rattled her way along the ivory keys, Marianne gazed at him with trust, and he felt bigger, better because of it.
It was such a difference from the corrosive suspicion his father had emanated. John felt as if the very walls of the house seemed to breathe more easily, releasing their decades’ accumulation of poison, allowing it to ebb away, ready to be replaced by more positive, more healthy emotions.
When Marianne suggested that it was time that the ladies retired, too, John felt a sharp pang of regret. He did not wish to let her go. He could have sat up all night—if propriety did not allow a closer connection—just sitting close to her, enjoying her presence.
But he hid his regret, bowed over their hands, and allowed both ladies to depart up the stairs to the guest wing. He was no Mongol, who could throw a lady over his steed and decamp, as he had once wished he could do when he had first come to London and was decrying the necessity of a long and awkward courtship.
Now he thanked God he had stayed; he would never have met Marianne, else.
And that thought carried him up to his bedroom, reasonably content. Runt frolicked about him as the butler helped him out of his clothes and into his nightshirt, and then the servant was sent off to his own bed. John washed his face sloppily with his one good hand and, while the dog took her usual position on the rug beside it, threw himself upon his bed, thinking with rising need about how much he wished for Marianne to lie beside him, to turn willingly into his arms. Or would she turn away in distaste?
He thought about how she had touched his face, and his whole body tingled with desire. If he could just hold her close—
He had to put these thoughts away, or he would not sleep at all tonight. He wondered what she was doing in the guest wing, if she could possibly be thinking of him? He could so easily rise, go down the hall—
And what? Ravish his guest in his own house? In the chamber next door to the one occupied by his fiancée?
A most honorable man that would make him!
Groaning with unfulfilled desire that left his groin aching and his whole body tense, John pulled a pillow over his head and tried to think of something dull and unexciting, like the list of repairs needed for his house.
The next morning John rose early. He had slept little, but he was too eager to see Marianne again to linger in bed. In the hallway he found Gabriel, already in his riding coat, about to depart.
“I hope you supped—and I devoutly hope you found something on the buffet edible?” John asked.
Gabriel gave a wry grin. “The toast is tolerable, if you scrape off the black edges. I would not recommend the kippers.”
John shook his head, then turned to matters of more import. “Thank you for all your assistance and for seeing me safely home. As for last night—I suppose you found my change of heart hard to credit, but my words were sincere.”
His brother nodded. “I, too, have been lucky enough to find a woman who believes in my honor and my decency, despite all the sins I committed earlier in my most wanton days. And as a result, I have found that I must live up to her beliefs, be the man she trusts me to be. I am not surprised to find that you feel constrained to do the same.”
Silent with surprise, John found no answer.
“I hope you untangle your love life soon,” Gabriel added, his smile now tinged with wicked humor. “Unslaked desire makes for unsettled nights.”
John bit back an oath. Was it so obvious? But he found it in himself to offer his hand, and somewhat to his surprise, Gabriel accepted it.
“Our father is dead,” his younger brother pointed out. “Let us leave him in his grave and not reenact old roles inflicted upon us in childhood.”
“Agreed,” John said.
He walked outside with his brother and watched Gabriel mount the handsome beast the groom brought up for him. The horse tossed his head and took a few restless steps before his rider tightened the reins and settled him. Gabriel’s chaise was ready to follow, but his brother still preferred to ride.
“Safe journey,” John said and was conscious of the unspoken irony of his words. Both he and Gabriel had come a long way over the last two days. Perhaps someday his brother would be able to visit his childhood home without the oppressive weight of bad memories, and perhaps John could shed some old nightmares, as well, and accept that his mother had loved him after all.
He raised his hand in a farewell wave and was even able to smile at his so-long-hated sibling. Whatever was the truth about the identity of the younger man’s sire, Gabriel and he shared a mother, and she was the better part of their heritage. Perhaps Marianne was right about family ties.
Which reminded him, how soon could he expect to see the woman whose face now haunted the few scraps of sleep he had managed to obtain? He had a vague notion that upper-class women did not rise early, so he might have to wait. But just knowing that she was under the same roof gave him enormous pleasure, as well as—he had to admit—a constant rippling of desire that he was forced to keep in check.
He hurried back inside and found a footman hovering in the hallway. “Let me know as soon as Mrs. Hughes is up and about,” he told the servant.
The man shifted his feet. “But she is up, my lord.”
“What? I didn’t see her in the dining room.”
“I believe she is—ah—upstairs in the laundry room, my lord,” the servant murmured, but for some reason, he did not meet John’s eye.
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John blinked. “What the devil—never mind; I’ll see for myself.” Had his wretched excuse for a household staff ruined one of her dresses? Fearing more catastrophe, he hurried toward the staircase.
On the first landing he paused, aware of unusual activity in the drawing room. A footman stood on a ladder gathering up armloads of faded brocade, and in the corner where the dust had been the thickest last night, a housemaid could be seen on her hands and knees, scrubbing hard with brush and bucket.
John gazed at them, then decided this could wait. He had to check on Marianne first, make sure she had not been inconvenienced in some way he might remedy.
He continued up the stairs. When he reached the upper level, he realized he had no idea where the laundry room was, but fortunately he ran across a maid hurrying on some errand, and although she looked flustered, she was able to direct him.
When he found the right chamber, which was pleasantly redolent of starch and drying linen, he was perplexed to find Marianne in the middle of the room, directing several of his female staff.
“Now, first, make a list of all the bedroom linen that needs to be replaced. Put the sheets that can be mended in this pile, and the ones that are beyond hope and should go into the rag basket over here.” Marianne looked up and met his startled gaze. She crossed the room quickly.
“Mrs. Hughes, do I owe you an apology? Have you had a problem with my staff or the service?”
“Not at all,” she told him cheerfully. “And I fear I am the one who owes you an apology, my lord. It is a poorly behaved guest who takes over the direction of the servants, and I regret to say that I have done just that.”
He struggled to conceal his bewilderment. “My dear Mar—Mrs. Hughes, I assure you, you may give any orders that you wish. I want to ensure your every comfort, and I fear I have not done a very good job of it.”
She grinned. “You had best wait to hear what I have done, my lord, before giving me carte blanche. And I should certainly have talked to you first, but—” Perhaps aware of the servants who had to be listening intently, although they flashed only covert glances toward their master and his unexpected guest, she paused. “Perhaps we should discuss this downstairs?”
John hastened to agree. He had not meant to inflict household chores onto his guest; she would have a poor opinion of him, indeed. And he could not tell her what a flood of warmth and longing flooded through him when he saw her so at ease even in such a pedestrian setting, as if she were the mistress of the house in truth as well as in his deepest dreams.
He made a gesture for her to precede him, then followed her down to the morning room, which was so far untenanted by servants. Marianne led the way into the room, then turned to face him, but she did not sit.
“I gather you have given some direction for cleaning?” he suggested.
She bit her lip, for the first time looking uncertain. “I know it is the rankest incivility for me to take charge of your staff, but—”
“Mrs. Hughes, you do not have to pretend that we are not both aware of my household’s deficiencies. If you choose to offer my staff guidance, I will be grateful, although chagrined that you should be put to such trouble.”
“It’s no trouble,” she said quickly, her face clearing. “Only, I did not wish to embarrass or anger you. You have obviously kept your land in good order; I heard the discussion between you and your brother. But the house—I do not expect a man to be aware of all that a well-run household needs.”
He grinned slightly. “I thank you for your forbearance.”
“Now, I said I was sorry—” Then she paused, as if aware that he was teasing. “You reprobate! I have never found a mere male to be aware of when the sheets need to be replaced, or how well or how ill the housemaids are doing their jobs. But Louisa put her foot through her sheet last night, and I thought that the linens must be sorted out right away, in order to save your reputation as a good host.”
His smile faded, and he could not bite back the beginning of a curse in time. “Oh, bloody—I mean, I am sorry to hear that.”
“Not to worry, but the next time you have guests, perhaps Lord Gabriel and his wife, your guest rooms will be better stocked. And I think he will return,” she added. “I happened to be on the landing when you said good-bye, and I was happy to see the two of you shake hands. I am proud of you, my lord, for making peace with your brother. I promise you, you will not regret it.”
Warmed by her words, he wasn’t sure how to answer. “Much of the fault is mine, so it was right that I take the first step. I have not been the best of brothers,” he told her, his tone gruff.
“But there is always time to change that,” she suggested.
“Perhaps. I’m not sure I know how. Nor do I know if I can be a good husband, though perhaps I should not confess that.”
She lifted her hand for a moment to touch his cheek, the same light touch that had inflamed him yesterday, a memory that he still held close to his heart.
“With the right woman, I’m sure that you will, my lord.” Her voice was husky.
Except that Louisa was not the right woman, and they both knew it; he was sure that Marianne understood how much he wanted to put his arms around her and pull her close. The spark that always lay ready jumped between them, and he held his breath. He saw the awareness in her eyes, and the slight flush to her cheeks, and he hoped that beneath the respectable neckline of her blue dress, her heart was beating as hard as his own.
Oh, God, how long could he contain these surging desires? And could she, would she—even if he were free—be able to return his passion? He was still not the man that Marianne deserved . . . he was flawed in face and form as well as in his family heritage. He was the child of a savage father and a mistreated mother; if she knew the full truth, would she dare to risk her life, her heart, to him?
He hesitated, this time held back from more than just an awareness of the impropriety of any closeness when he was still promised, at least nominally, to another woman.
Walking more briskly than usual, his arms full of something John could not make out, a footman passed the doorway. Marianne stepped back.
He hated to lose the moment. “I think that perhaps a good many of my staff need to be replaced,” he suggested, hoping to hold her here by any means, even a discussion of his servants’ shortcomings.
She smiled. “I think most of them merely need better supervision. The cook, however, I cannot guarantee.”
He gave a reluctant laugh.
“I’d best see if Louisa is up. I plan to give her the task of overseeing the pruning in the garden. She’s actually quite a good gardener,” Marianne told him.
He had to press his lips firmly together to repudiate any suggestion of Louisa playing the role of mistress here. Seeing Marianne taking charge was one thing, but Louisa was a different story.
He had a task ahead much more difficult than bringing his servants into an awareness of how to correctly run a household. How did one break an engagement, even one somewhat accidentally embarked upon, with a young woman of gentle birth without breaking her heart in the process? Because not only did he have no desire to hurt Louisa, who was not to blame for this quagmire—if he had been both more focused and more cautious, this situation would not have come about—but hurting her would not endear him to her aunt.
He would rather have scrubbed the floors himself, John thought ruefully. But he followed Marianne Hughes to the dining room, where they found Louisa seated at the long table. She nibbled on a piece of blackened toast.
“Good morning, my lord,” she said. “I hope you are not pained by your injury? You look as if you’ve had little sleep.”
There was no looking glass in the dining room to check his face, so he had to accept her judgment.
“My arm is improving,” he told her. “I hope that you slept well?”
“Oh yes,” she said, though she looked away from his glance, toying with her breakfast.
He could not think of what else to
say. “I have horses in the stable, if you enjoy riding,” he told the ladies. “But I would not suggest going far afield. Until we learn more about the person who threatens Miss Crookshank, I think she should stay close to the house. I have instructed my male servants, inside and out, to be vigilant and on guard for any strangers lurking near the estate.”
That was one way his father’s paranoia could be of benefit, John thought. The house and its immediate grounds were surrounded by a high stone wall, and no one would find it easy to approach.
Louisa looked somewhat less than enthused by his suggestion, but she nodded.
“I thought after breakfast, you might wish to spend some time in the gardens,” Marianne Hughes told her ward. “You have a good eye for landscaping, and some of the shrubbery is badly in need of shaping and pruning. If you were on hand to instruct the gardeners, I think the finished product would benefit from your excellent eye.”
Louisa agreed. “I shall fetch my parasol,” she said, looking a little more cheerful.
To John’s disappointment, Marianne was ready to return to her supervision of the indoor staff, so, with Runt pattering behind him, he went to his office on the ground floor.
News had already gone out that he had returned, and two tenants were waiting to see him about a dispute over a cow that had gotten into a neighbor’s garden. This somehow took a good part of the morning. Then he felt he should ride out and check on the progress of the hay and grain fields and also be on the lookout for any strangers in the area. He sent instructions for his favorite horse to be saddled, then walked outside into the sunlight, wishing he could show Marianne around the grounds, not leave her to boring tasks she should not have to labor over. He threw his leg over the saddle and mounted, but cast one more wistful glance toward the house before riding away.