She was on the verge of calling out when another possibility occurred to her. Had Lord Morgan come to devil her? She really was in no mood for such a possibility. She found their encounters increasingly taxing on her nerves.
A faint moan was followed by a muffled footfall. A prickle of misgiving raced up Dianthe’s spine. This wouldn’t be Morgan. The sounds of that night in Vauxhall Gardens came back to her, and she made an instinctive move toward the desk and the knee well beneath it. For the first time, she noticed that the middle drawer was open and the floor beneath it was littered with papers. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the doorknob turning. Dropping to her knees, she scooted beneath the desk, hugged herself and held her breath.
The door opened and a shaft of light from the foyer spread across the wall behind her. Whatever had been dragged was dropped, and the library door was closed with a quiet click.
Dianthe scarcely breathed. Her heartbeat hammered wildly against her rib cage and fear rose in the form of a solid lump in her throat. Oh! The candle! She’d left it burning!
A gurgling chortle slid through the silence. “I know you’re in here,” a man’s voice whispered.
Geoff left his horse saddled in the empty stables and strode toward the house. He’d only be a minute. Just a quick word of warning to Pemberton and then he’d go on to the hells. Not that he had any particular fear where Miss Lovejoy was concerned, but with el-Daibul’s whereabouts unknown, it was better to err on the side of caution than live with regrets.
Auberville hadn’t been a happy man when Geoff gave him the news that el-Daibul was “at large.” Nevertheless, he agreed that he would have to send Lady Annica and the children out of town at once. And not to the country estates. No, Auberville intended to send them all the way to his hunting lodge in Scotland until they could locate and neutralize el-Daibul. Geoff gathered that Lady Sarah and Charity MacGregor would be sent away, as well.
He let himself in the kitchen door and glanced around. A broken bowl filled with dough lay on the floor and flour scattered a white dusting across the worktable. A wooden chair was overturned and several tins of spices had spilled off the shelves. His pulse quickened and readiness raced through his bloodstream.
Weak thumping caught his attention. He followed the sound to the pantry door and opened it wide. Mrs. Mason lay bound by her apron strings and gagged with a dish towel. Geoff unfastened the bonds and removed her gag, signaling her to silence with a finger to his lips.
With tears streaking down her face, Mrs. Mason gasped for air before she whispered, “He hit Pemberton over the head, milord.”
“Who?” he asked, though he had little hope Mrs. Mason would know. “And when?”
She shook her head to deny knowledge of the first question and went on to answer the second. “Ten minutes ago, sir. I heard him rummaging in the library and upstairs in your room. Oh, milord! Pemberton was so still!”
“Miss Lovejoy? Where is she?”
Mrs. Mason’s eyes widened and she bit the knuckles of her right hand. “Oh, I’d forgot her, she’s that quiet!”
“Go out the back and bring the night watch. Run.” He slipped his dagger from his boot and turned toward the hallway to the front of the house.
Keeping his back to one wall as he edged forward, he listened intently for any noise, looked for any telltale sign of an intruder. Was it el-Daibul’s henchman? A random robbery? And what the hell had he done with Pemberton?
Geoff’s stomach seized with a biting cramp. Miss Lovejoy? Had she been the target in Vauxhall Gardens, and had the killer tracked her here to finish the job?
A piercing scream suddenly rent the air and Geoff was galvanized to action. He sprinted toward the library with an answering shout and threw the door open. He was propelled backward, flailing his arms to keep his balance. A knife blade slashed out, slicing through his jacket and vest as he and the assailant rolled over together. The other man, shrouded in a hood and cloak, stumbled to his feet and sprinted toward the front door. Geoff lunged after him and grasped an edge of the dark cloak, ripping a corner away.
Another scream sounded. His split second of hesitation to look back at Miss Lovejoy cost him the kill. If anything happened to her…. He turned again as the assailant disappeared out the front door, then back to Miss Lovejoy, who fell to her knees by Pemberton’s prone body. Geoff lurched forward and dropped to his own knees, on the other side of Pemberton, pushing the scrap of the intruder’s cloak into his jacket pocket and his knife back into his boot.
Miss Lovejoy’s hand shook as she examined a lump on Pemberton’s graying head. “He…he’s breathing.” She sighed with relief.
Geoff gripped her shoulders. “Miss Lovejoy, are you all right? Did he hurt you? What happened?”
“N-no. He heard you coming and…”
Pemberton moaned and opened his eyes. “My lord,” he said, struggling to sit up.
“Lie back, Pemberton. Mrs. Mason has gone for a constable.”
Pemberton felt the lump on his head gingerly. “I am as right as rain, sir. A small headache is all. Do not trouble yourself.”
Geoff nodded and scanned Miss Lovejoy’s form. She was just barely holding herself together. Fear burned in her eyes, her hands trembled and a darkening patch of skin on her neck just below her ear told him that the man had tried to strangle her. A moment later, she’d have been dead.
His voice was tight as he asked, “Did he say anything?”
“He said he knew I was in here—the library. I don’t know why he was dragging Mr. Pemberton with him. It all seemed so…insane.”
“Wanted…wanted me to show him where…your personal papers were, sir,” Pemberton said, ignoring Geoff’s order to lie back. “He didn’t hit me until I tried to get away.”
“What did he look like? Did you recognize him?”
“Masked, my lord,” Pemberton said.
Miss Lovejoy nodded. “And he whispered,” she said.
Yes, voices were harder to recognize in a whisper. The man knew his business. And now it appeared that the invasion had been aimed at him, not Miss Lovejoy. Geoff studied her again. Her light cotton nightgown was ripped at the shoulder, and curling tendrils of pale blond hair had come loose to form a frame about her face. The bruise on her throat stood out like a reproach. He should have realized that Miss Lovejoy would be in danger, just as he should have seen the signs with Constance. He should have been there. He should have stopped it.
Something long dormant, something nameless and primal, stirred in him, and he reacted without thinking. He stood and lifted Miss Lovejoy to her feet. “Pemberton, will you lie quietly until Mrs. Mason returns?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“I do not want you to become dizzy and fall. When Mrs. Mason brings the authorities, do not mention that Miss Lovejoy was here. It could…compromise her reputation.”
“But—”
“Tell them that I had urgent business and that I will come ’round to the offices tomorrow to give them a full report.”
“Where—”
“Somewhere safe,” he answered.
Miss Lovejoy understood and, for once, did not argue. “I’ll go pack my things.”
“No time,” Geoff told her. “We’ll send for them in the morning.”
“But I need to—”
“We need to go now, Miss Lovejoy,” he said in an undertone. “The authorities are on the way.”
She blinked. “My slippers?”
He looked down at her bare feet, peeking out from beneath the hem of her gown. “You will not need them,” he said as he swept her up and carried her toward the back of the house.
In the stables, he lifted her to the saddle of his horse and swung up behind her. She was shivering in the night air and he quickly shrugged out of his jacket to drape it over her shoulders. He reached around her to take the reins, and kicked his mount to a gallop. The well-trained chestnut stallion did not balk at the added weight, and caught Geoff’s urgency.
He
watched over his shoulder to be certain they were not being followed, and negotiated the streets quickly—a surprise, given the distraction Miss Lovejoy’s warmth and softness provided. Her scent, jasmine blended with warm feminine skin, awoke a fire in his blood and a swelling in his loins. How was he to keep his distance from the chit now that they were about to take residency together?
In the courtyard behind the house on Salisbury Street, Geoff slid off the stallion’s rump and held his arms out for Miss Lovejoy. She leaned forward, placed her hands on his shoulders and hesitated.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“My house on Salisbury Street.” He was certain she was about to give him an argument, listing all the reasons this was a bad idea, but she merely took a deep breath and allowed him to lift her from the saddle.
He carried her through a set of French doors leading into his office, or, as Giles and Hanson liked to call it, his library. He placed her on her feet and then closed and locked the door. Embers glowed in the fireplace, so Geoff touched a piece of kindling to the coals, lifted the globe of the lamp and touched the wick. Miss Lovejoy looked around as the dark corners of the room came into view.
“Not nearly as grand as the house on Curzon,” he admitted, “but more to my taste.”
She nodded with an uncertain smile.
“What is it, Miss Lovejoy? You’ve been quiet and given me no arguments. Are you in pain? Is your throat swollen?”
“I…I owe you my life, Lord Morgan. If you hadn’t come when you did…” She stopped and cleared her throat.
“Hmm, well,” he said, uncomfortable with her gratitude. He’d rather have her berating him. “We need to talk about that. What were you doing in the library at that time of night?”
“I went down to find a book to read. I was bored.”
“Still bored?”
She laughed and some of the tension seemed to leave her shoulders. “I must say, Lord Morgan, that excitement seems to follow you.”
“Me?” he chuckled. “I’d swear ’tis you, Miss Lovejoy. From the moment I saw you at Vauxhall, my life has been in an uproar.”
Unexpected tears filled her eyes and she looked down at her bare feet. “I wish I knew how to stop all this, but…”
Damn! He’d meant to lighten the mood. She looked so lost and forlorn that he stepped forward and drew her against his chest, half expecting her to resist or curse at him for trying to take advantage. Instead she laid her cheek against his chest and gave a shaky sigh.
In a voice so faint he swore she hadn’t meant him to hear, she whispered, “This is the first time I’ve felt truly safe since I stopped to help Nell.”
Bloody hell! He couldn’t, he wouldn’t, let her rely on him! He couldn’t live with her death on his conscience, too.
“If I haven’t said it before,” she said in a stronger voice, “thank you.” She tilted her face up to him, came up on her toes and pressed those unutterably soft, delicate lips to his cheek.
He groaned, wanting to claim her mouth and kiss her until those lips were swollen with his passion, and wanting at the same time to thrust her away and leave the room before his baser nature asserted itself. He leaned toward her at the very moment she stepped away from him and looked around.
“Do you live here alone?”
He shook his head, regaining his composure. “My valet, Giles, and my cook, Hanson, live in. I believe there are some other servants, but I rarely see them. About that, Miss Lovejoy. I—”
“Dianthe,” she said. “You saved my life. You have earned the right to call me by my given name, my lord.”
That stunned him. Should he reciprocate? God, no! If she called him Geoff, he’d find some way to use that familiarity to seduce her. He picked up the lantern and opened the door to the corridor. “If you will follow me, Miss—”
“Dianthe,” she corrected, softly but firmly.
“Follow me, please. I’ll show you the house. You will, of course, choose a room that suits you.” He prayed it would be in the opposite wing from his.
The first floor was quite lovely, Dianthe decided. Quietly elegant and comfortable. She was surprised by the ballroom on the ground floor, which he had converted into a practice studio for various skills, primarily fencing and boxing. Aside from his office, there was a sitting room, dining room, morning room, parlor and music room. Though he did not show her, he told her the kitchen and laundry room were below stairs, as well as staff quarters for Giles and Hanson, and he did not want to disturb them. On the second floor were several bedrooms, a privy, a bathroom that held a large tub and washstand, a private receiving room and a nursery. The third floor, which would ordinarily hold the ballroom, contained a schoolroom, governess quarters and another water closet.
“Did you win this one, too?” she asked softly.
He shook his head. “I bought it from a barrister who was moving his family to the countryside. It’s close to my work, Waterloo Bridge and the Beaufort Wharfs.”
She could tell from his wary look that he was waiting for her to make some comment about his choice to stay close to the gaming hells of Covent Garden. “It is lovely,” she commented.
“Well, now you’ve seen it, which room do you want?”
A little bubble of fear rose in her throat. She could still feel that awful man’s hands around her neck, squeezing, closing off her windpipe—could still see the flashes of light as she began to lose consciousness. “The one next to yours,” she blurted.
His eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “Miss Lovejoy, need I tell you how inappropriate that would be?”
“No,” she admitted. “But I would feel better if anyone who wanted to hurt me had to pass you first.”
A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. “Ah! And as the man is murdering me, you can make your escape?”
“Precisely,” she said. “And it is only for tonight, after all.”
Lord Geoffrey grinned. “Not exactly, Miss Lovejoy. I have run out of London houses, and my estate is far into the countryside. Would you rather go there?”
“No!” If she went there, how could she keep her promise to Nell? “I must stay in London. My brother-in-law is on his way to fetch me now. It is too late to intercept the letter, so how would he find me in the countryside?”
“I know the McHugh. I could contact him and—”
“There must be somewhere else I can go?”
His jaw tightened. “I regret to say, Miss Lovejoy, that you will have to remain here if you remain in London. I cannot be certain what was behind this attack tonight, and I doubt you will want to return to Curzon Street. If you would prefer to go to the country, I shall make my estate available to you and staff it with guards. Your choice.”
She longed to argue with him, but she could see he was implacable. Dianthe desperately wanted to flee to safety but, in the end, there was only one decision she could make. “I shall stay. If I must, then I’ll stay here. I know how inappropriate this whole situation is, and I know that my reputation is already in ruins. Society may not believe we are blameless, but my family will.”
“If we are careful, Miss Lovejoy, no one need ever know. Your secret is safe with me and my servants will never gossip.”
His assurance surprised her. Indeed, his behavior the entire evening had surprised her. Perhaps he was not quite the scoundrel she thought him. Her aunt had not considered him “beyond the pale,” nor had certain members of the Wednesday League spoken out against him. When he’d put his arms around her in the library, Dianthe had felt so safe and peaceful. Only that dreadful awkward moment after she’d kissed him had marred his composure. To Lord Geoffrey’s credit, he had not berated her, but his unwillingness to use her given name was a certain sign he did not welcome her familiarity.
“Very well, Lord Geoffrey. I am sensible to how difficult it would be for you to protect me if you cannot be near me.”
He winced and his lips thinned into a tight line. “I am not protecting you, Miss Lovejoy. Never
mistake that, and never count on it. I am giving you safe harbor. Shelter—that is all. And just how safe it is depends entirely upon your behavior.”
She stepped back, feeling his vehemence like a bitter wind. “I shall remember that, Lord Morgan. See that you do.” She turned away from him and climbed the cold marble stairs to the room she intended to claim as hers. And to think she had nearly let her guard down—had nearly confused the arrogant lord with a human being!
Chapter Six
The harsh morning sun glared through the French doors of Geoff’s office, washing over Hanson and Giles, who sat across the desk from him. They were staring in unabashed astonishment. That was not a good sign.
“A woman, milord?” Giles asked again, as if certain he had misheard.
Geoffrey nearly scalded his tongue on his second cup of coffee. Would that it were whiskey! He was still trying to figure out how he’d fallen into this trap. “She’s the cousin of a friend of mine. I am required to lodge her until her cousin can return to town and reclaim her. She appears to be in somewhat of a pickle. Danger of some sort. I want you both to keep an eye on her.”
“Are…are we to follow her, milord?” Hanson asked, a look of horror on his usually placid round face.
“Of course not. But during her residence, I do not want you admitting any strangers, no matter the excuse or explanation. I want all outside doors locked at all times. It would be best if you put the day staff on leave until further notice. Paid leave, of course.” Geoff watched the two shocked faces across from him with a modicum of sympathy. They’d always been a household of males, and now he was asking them to accept and serve a very feminine female.
“But, my lord,” Giles said in a pleading voice as he sat forward in his chair, a look of earnest confusion on his face, “we have no female staff. Who will attend her?”
“She will attend herself.” Geoff suddenly wondered if Miss Lovejoy required an abigail. She seemed fairly self-sufficient, and Mrs. Mason had not mentioned her needing assistance in dressing or bathing. Surely Giles and Hanson wouldn’t intrude on… “I expect you will respect her privacy in all ways.”
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