Haunted by the Earl's Touch

by Ann Lethbridge

  It seemed the whole party was now back together and the earl was still glowering. At her. ‘Why were you out in the street alone?’

  She felt her face heat as she remembered her mortification at the quay. ‘I went to look at the harbour and was making my way back to meet Mrs Hampton.’

  ‘She was never out of my sight,’ Mrs Hampton declared.

  Mary had no intention of giving her the lie. Indeed, she felt grateful that the widow had decided to support her story even if it was only to protect herself.

  ‘If you will excuse me,’ Mr Trelawny said, ‘I have an appointment. I will look forward to your lordship’s visit,’ he said to the earl. ‘And Miss Wilding. Please send word to the mine as to when I should expect you.’ On that he bowed and strode off.

  ‘Good man, Trelawny,’ Mrs Hampton said. ‘According to the earl.’ She bit her lip. ‘The late earl, that is.’

  The current earl said nothing. He was still looking at Mary with suspicion in those slate-grey eyes. But the throbbing in her ankle was growing worse.

  ‘Miss Wilding, you have had quite a shock, I think,’ Mrs Hampton said. ‘You are looking quite pale.’

  She was also feeling dizzy. ‘Yes, I would like to return to the Abbey.’

  She took a step. Pain lanced up her leg. Nausea pushed up her throat. The world did a cartwheel. She clutched at the nearest solid object. The earl’s arm. He caught her, held her up, the warmth of his body permeating her clothes, the scent of his cologne, something dark and musky, making her senses swim even worse.

  She leaned against his strength.

  ‘You are hurt,’ Jeffrey said accusingly.

  ‘It is nothing,’ she said, flushing hot, pulling away from the earl. ‘I twisted my ankle when I fell.’

  The earl’s eyes widened—something hot flared in their depths. Shock? Or annoyance that her injuries were so minor? ‘Jeffrey,’ he barked out, ‘do something useful. Ride for the doctor and have him come to the Abbey right away.’

  Jeffrey’s blue eyes flashed resentment. His lips compressed. Then he gave a stiff nod. ‘I will see you there.’ He marched off up the hill.

  ‘Are you able to walk, Miss Wilding?’ the earl asked in an unexpectedly gentle tone of voice. ‘If I support you?’ He offered his forearm. His large well-muscled forearm. It looked like a lifeline from where she stood with all her weight on one foot. Yet, was it not the same arm that had pushed the barrel at her in the first place? She wished she knew for certain, so she could charge him with his crime. But she wasn’t sure. Had he actually seen his chance and decided to put his drastic plan in action?

  ‘I am sure I can manage.’ She took a step and stifled a gasp at the sudden arrow of pain.

  ‘Apparently not,’ he said drily.

  Before she knew what he was about, he had swept her up in his arms and was striding uphill. Never had she ever been picked up by a man. She could not believe the strength of him. Or how weak the sensation made her feel. And not just because of her injury. It was a strange softness. One from the inside out.

  The intensity of it made her gasp. She clutched at his shoulder for balance and he glanced down at her, his gaze a blaze of silver as if he somehow sensed her strange reaction.

  Her blood ran hot at the thought.

  He lifted his head and looked straight ahead, his mouth tightening, his chest rising as he took a deep breath. ‘Not long now, Miss Wilding.’

  He sounded relieved. Clearly he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. The thought was dreadfully lowering.

  There was certainly nothing in his rigid face of the skilled seducer who had kissed her hand in the dressing room. Perhaps he had been merely toying with her, as a cat toys with a mouse. Seeking to put her off guard.

  It had almost worked. Her stomach dipped. ‘I am sure I could walk, given time,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘You would only make matters worse,’ he said grimly. ‘And who knows what would befall you next?’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault the barrel broke free.’

  ‘You should have remained with your chaperon and nothing would have happened. Next time, perhaps, you will listen.’ His voice was silky soft with menace.

  He’d known she wouldn’t stay with Mrs Hampton, otherwise why he had warned the Revenue man down at the dock? And then he’d been right there, at the top of the hill, waiting beside the cart. She had recognised him, even though she’d only caught a quick glimpse. And he was the only one who would profit by her death.

  A shudder rippled deep in her bones. And her heart ached as if it had received a blow.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Well, doctor? Is it broken?’ The earl stood in the doorway of her chamber, watching the doctor’s every move while Mary lay supine on her bed. His voice was unnecessarily harsh, Mary thought, trying not to wince as the doctor poked and prodded at the swollen flesh of her ankle, then gently rotated her foot.

  Pain. She hissed in a breath and closed her eyes.

  ‘Be careful, man,’ the earl said, his voice sounding strained.

  Mary opened her eyes and saw his fist clenched on the doorframe, his face filled with concern.

  Sympathy. Something she had not expected from him. And for a moment it warmed her, until reason prevailed. While her heart might be fooled into thinking he cared, she was far too realistic to be taken in. The only person he cared about was himself and the stupid inheritance. Now he would have to think of some other way to be rid of her.

  Once more that painful squeeze in her chest. Foolish hurt.

  Mentally, she gave herself a shake. At least she knew the truth. At least she was now thoroughly on her guard. But it seemed as though her plans to leave would have to be put off until her ankle was better. It seemed she was well and truly trapped. And at the earl’s mercy.

  He must have sensed her scrutiny, because his glance flicked to her face. He tensed, his expression becoming guarded, as if he feared she might read his thoughts.

  ‘I am sorry to be such a nuisance,’ she said bitterly.

  Beresford folded his arms over his wide chest with an implacable glare. ‘You should have thought of that before wandering off alone.’

  ‘Not broken,’ the doctor announced, apparently oblivious to the animosity. ‘Badly sprained. I recommend binding it up and plenty of rest.’ The doctor smiled at Mary. ‘No dancing for a while, I am afraid, Miss Wilding.’

  Dancing was another thing she didn’t do. Or at least not well. What man wanted to dance with a woman who could look right over his head and who had a tendency to want to lead? She smiled, albeit a little wanly. ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  With quick efficient movements, he bandaged her ankle and foot.

  Jeffrey peered around the earl. ‘How are you feeling, Miss Wilding?’

  The doctor flicked her skirts over her lower limb. ‘She is well enough.’ He smiled down at her. ‘I will give you some laudanum for the pain.’

  She shook her head. ‘Laudanum makes me feel sick.’

  ‘Then I’ll have the housekeeper make you some willow-bark tea.’

  ‘You will take the laudanum as the doctor ordered,’ his lordship snarled.

  ‘Cuz, if she doesn’t want it, she doesn’t,’ Jeffrey said in placating terms.

  Not placating at all apparently, for the earl bared his teeth. ‘Thinking to rule the roost, are you, bantam?’

  Good Lord, were they fighting over her? Nothing like an injured woman to bring out the protective side in men, she supposed. She’d heard of it, but never experienced it for herself. Being the target of such discord created a very odd feeling in her breast, to be sure. A sort of warm glow. How irrational.

  Unless the earl was hoping to have her drugged and helpless. The warm glow seeped away, replaced by ice in her veins.

  ‘Willow-bark tea will do just as well,’ the doctor said absently, packing up his bag. ‘Not everyone responds well to laudanum, my lord.’

  A triumphant gleam lit Jeffrey’s eyes, but she didn’t think the earl c
ould see it since Jeffrey stood behind him.

  ‘Let me show you out, Doctor,’ the earl said. ‘I have some questions for you.’

  Mary glowered at his back as he left. No doubt he was planning to get a more detailed prognosis. Or to convince the doctor to leave the laudanum.

  ‘Is there something I can get for you, Miss Wilding?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘Tea? Something to read?’

  Oh dear. He was also going to treat her like an invalid, when she would really rather just hop around and do for herself. Still, she would go mad sitting here staring into space if they insisted she remain lying on her bed. ‘A book, if you please. I was reading one in the library. It might still be on the table where I left it.’

  ‘At your service, madam.’ He flourished a bow and sauntered off with a jaunty whistle. He’d forgotten he was a man about town, at least for the moment. It was nice to see him with a little less cynicism.

  She relaxed against the pillows, resigned to wait for his return. From where she reclined, she could see blue sky and clouds out her window. This was the closest she was going to get to the outdoors for a while. There would be no escape for several days. Provided she survived that long.

  Her mouth dried.

  A prickle of awareness at her nape made her glance up. She expected to see Jeffrey with her book. It was the earl, his expression far from happy.

  ‘There is no need to fuss over me, Lord Beresford. Please, do continue about your business. I am sure you have many important matters requiring your attention.’

  He recoiled slightly. And she had the strangest sense she had hurt his feelings. A pang of guilt made her regret her sharp words.

  ‘What happened back there in St Ives, Miss Wilding?’ He didn’t sound hurt, he sounded as if he thought she was lying.

  She frowned. Was he worried that he had aroused her suspicions? She decided to play innocent. ‘I don’t know what else you expect me to say.’

  ‘So you did not see what caused the barrel to break loose?’

  Again the flash of memory of his hand outstretched as the barrel left its mooring. And a slender man darting away. A man who could have been anyone. She recalled the conversation she had overheard from behind his wall. Perhaps Beresford’s friend, Lord Templeton, had not left for Hampshire and the earl was worried that she might have seen his friend. That she was on to his plan to be rid of her?

  She shook her head. ‘I was too far away.’ She tried not to wince at the lie.

  His jaw flexed. ‘Why do I have the impression you are not telling me everything, Miss Wilding? Don’t you trust me?’

  At that she couldn’t help but chuckle under her breath. ‘I scarcely know you, Lord Beresford, and so far you have done nothing but issue commands and edicts.’ And talk about drastic measures in private. ‘Where might trust be found in that? Please, believe me, there is nothing more to add to what I have already told you.’

  An odd expression passed across his face. A mix of frustration and disappointment, as if he actually hoped she would believe he deserved her trust.

  Guilt stabbed her. He had rescued her from the edge of the cliff. He had carried her most tenderly up to the carriage. And sometimes she had the feeling, when she looked at him, that he was dreadfully lonely. Like now. A painful pang squeezed her heart.

  A small sneaking sensation inside her said she should trust him. A small fragile feeling that would be easily bruised if he proved her wrong. She would have trusted Sally with her life. It seemed that trust had been completely misplaced. What reason did she have to trust the earl?

  No, trust was not something she needed to hand out willy-nilly at the moment. Not if she was using her head instead of her emotions.

  ‘Here are some books, Miss Wilding,’ Jeffrey said, breezing past his lordship and setting the pile down on the bedside table. ‘You here again, Beresford?’

  The earl glared at him. ‘Not for long. Miss Wilding needs her rest.’ He looked pointedly at the younger man and raised a brow.

  Jeffrey curled his lip as he bowed. ‘I will see you later, Miss Wilding,’ he drawled. The cynic was back.

  * * *

  But she did not see the earl at dinner, nor anyone else, because she took a tray in her room. She had no wish to be carried about by his lordship or a footman. She told Manners she would stay in her room until she felt able to walk with a cane. Jeffrey had provided her with a mountain of books to read and she had managed to hop across her room after Betsy finished preparing her for bed, to set up her makeshift alarm. As a further means of defence, she kept one of the heavy iron pokers alongside her beneath the counterpane.

  For all her worries, nothing disturbed her sleep, except dreams of the earl’s strong arms around her, which annoyed her considerably.

  By the next afternoon she was able to dress and sit in the chair by her bedroom window, reading until the light began to fade.

  Betsy bustled in with some packages. ‘Two gowns arrived from Mrs Wharton and his lordship says you are to join the family at dinner.’

  Mary frowned at the parcels, wishing she could refuse them outright, but she’d been wearing the same dress for three days and it didn’t make any sense to get on her high horse after they’d been altered to fit. The earl had refused to wait for their delivery to the carriage after yesterday’s accident, so Mrs Wharton must have sent them by carter today. ‘I prefer to take a tray in my room.’

  Betsy looked anxious. ‘He said he would come for you in an hour and, dressed or not, he would carry you to the dining room.’

  A little thrill fluttered through her at this masterful statement. A thrill she should not be feeling. Heat crawled up her face. ‘How dare he—?’ She pressed her lips together. One did not shoot the messenger. If she had words to say, she would say them to his lordship.

  Betsy held up the blue muslin, the one with the dreadfully low neckline. ‘This one, miss?’ Betsy asked. ‘Or this. Such a pretty shade of yellow. And silk, too. Much more suitable for dinner. There’s a feather dyed to match for your hair.’ She held up an ostrich plume, then glanced at the clock. ‘We should hurry, miss. His lordship will be here in no time.’

  Ready to carry her to the dining room, dressed or not. He wouldn’t dare. Or would he? She had the distinct impression his lordship would dare anything at all, if it suited him.

  ‘Very well, the yellow.’

  Betsy made short work of getting her into the shift and stays that had accompanied the gowns. They were beautiful garments, much nicer than anything Mary had ever bought for herself. They felt wonderful against her skin.

  ‘And now for the gown,’ Betsy said, gently bunching up the fabric in her arms so she could slip the dress over Mary’s head.

  It went on with a whisper. So light and silky and a perfect length. Betsy fastened it at the back, handed her a pair of lacy gloves and gestured to the chair in front of the mirror. ‘If miss will sit down, I will do your hair.’

  Mary could see from the girl’s face that she was dying to be given free rein. She shook her head with a smile. ‘Do what you can, then.’

  Her hair was too straight and to heavy for anything fancy.

  She sat down and glanced at her reflection. She winced. This gown was worse than the blue one. Never had she felt so exposed. ‘Give me my shawl, please.’

  Betsy looked scandalised. ‘You can’t wear that old thing with such a pretty gown, miss.’

  She could and she would. ‘I will surely freeze otherwise.’

  With a sigh Betsy handed her the shawl and picked up the hairbrush. In minutes the maid had artfully twisted her hair into clusters of braids on each side of her head and anchored the feather on her crown. She stepped back. ‘You look beautiful, miss.’

  Beautiful? The girl had stars in her eyes. She looked like a carthorse dressed up as a thoroughbred. Just as Sally always said she would.

  A firm rap sounded on the door. It opened without giving her a chance to answer. Blast. She should have had Betsy turn the key.

&nb
sp; Lord Beresford stood staring at her for a moment. His hooded gaze ran from her head to her heels and, if she wasn’t mistaken, lingered on her bosom for more seconds that was polite. His gaze met hers and his eyes lit with genuine pleasure. Her stomach gave a funny little hop. ‘Ah, Miss Wilding. I see you are ready and waiting.’

  For a man whose plan to do away with her had failed, he looked remarkably at ease and splendidly handsome. Had her imagination played tricks on her, after all? But as he came towards her, clearly intending to lift her in his arms, it dawned on her that while he might not have succeeded in St Ives, now, unable to walk, she was well and truly at his mercy.

  Cold slid down her spine. She opened her mouth to refuse to go to dinner.

  His gaze sharpened, his expression tightening as if he had guessed her intent. She could almost see him distancing himself and she felt terribly guilty for letting her prejudices show. ‘Yes, I am ready.’

  He looked relieved. Did she really have the power to hurt his feelings? It was hard to believe.

  In the next moment, he swept her up in his arms and carried her out of the room. Her mind scrambled to catch up with her body’s pleasure of once more being in his arms.

  He glanced down at her. The earlier gladness had leached from his face, replaced by cool remoteness. ‘I won’t have poor old Manners dashing from one end of this labyrinth to the other when it is so easy for me to bring you to the dining room.’

  So this was all for Manners’s benefit. Well, that put her in her place. He was right about the Abbey being a labyrinth. A labyrinth with secrets in its walls. And she ought to be glad of his thoughtfulness for the ancient butler, but perversely she wished it had been the pleasure of her company that made him come to fetch her.

  Now that really was illogical.

  Just as illogical as the way something in her chest gave a painful squeeze each time she saw him anew. Fear. That was all it could possibly be. They were enemies, fighting over a fortune she had never wanted in the first place.

  And still she could not help her admiration for his male beauty as she stared at his freshly shaved jaw and inhaled the scent of rosemary and lemon of his soap. It was a lovely manly smell that went well with all that strength.