The stone building towered over them, a black, looming shadow against the leaden sky, but the warm glow of lamplight shone from several of the windows and an oblong of light spilled out from the open doorway and illuminated the steep stone steps leading down to the drive. As they approached, the black outline of a woman could be seen in the doorway. She hurried down the steps and handed a blanket to one of the men.
‘Here, you can use this to carry him indoors.’
Silently Guy watched as the woman issued instructions, directing the men in the best way to ease the unconscious man on to the blanket and how to hold it to cause the least movement as they made their way up into the house. He stopped for a quick word with the groom who came running out to take charge of the horses, then followed behind the ragged cortege, unheeded as they made their way through the echoing hall and up a wide stone staircase to a small chamber where a maid was hurriedly building up the fire.
Guy retired to the corner, reduced to a spectator. He was ready to advise if necessary, but the young woman was supervising the men as they laid Davey on the bed and Guy did not think he could improve upon her instructions. He watched her as she moved around the room, the candlelight glinting on her flame-red hair. Despite his concern for his friend, Guy found himself wondering how old she was: not a girl, that was certain, for she carried herself with assurance, speaking to the men—all known to her by name—in a calm, low voice. She was dressed in a grey gown that showed her slender figure to advantage and she moved with a youthful grace and agility that was very pleasing to the eye. She was clearly used to running a household. Was she perhaps the Lady Arabella the men had mentioned? He broke off from his reflections as the sound of a hasty footstep in the corridor announced the arrival of the doctor. A large, cheerful-looking man appeared in the doorway.
‘Ah, Mrs Forrester, good evening to you!’
That answered one of Guy’s questions.
The doctor approached the bed, saying cheerfully, ‘So this is the young man I have been summoned to attend, is it? Thrown from his horse, I understand.’
‘Yes.’ Guy stepped out of the shadows. ‘The mare came down on top of him.’
‘Hmm.’ The doctor frowned down at the unconscious form now laid out upon the bed. With a sudden movement he began to take off his coat. ‘Then I must get to work. The rest of you should leave me now—except for your footman, ma’am. I will need him to help me undress my patient.’
‘I will help you do that,’ said Guy quickly.
The doctor gave him a searching look.
‘I think not, sir. You would be advised to get out of those wet clothes or I shall end up with two patients instead of one! Mrs Forrester, perhaps you will take care of that—and get the rest of these men out of here! They have served their purpose and should all go away now!’
The red-haired woman immediately moved towards the door.
‘Of course. Thank you, everyone. If you would like to go down to the kitchens, Cook has prepared a bowl of punch for you all.’
‘Does that include me?’ asked Guy as he filed out of the room behind the others. The young woman’s large, dark eyes regarded him solemnly. She gave no sign that she had noticed his attempt at humour.
‘No, sir, you may wait for your friend in the great hall. I will have refreshments brought to you there.’
Guy followed her back down the stairs. He had not realised how chilled he had become until he felt the heat coming from the fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Thankfully he moved towards it.
‘And just who is this man dripping water all over my floor?’
The imperious voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked round to find an old woman standing on the far side of the room. She was dressed in severe black with a black lace cap over her snow-white hair and she was leaning heavily on an ebony cane. She looked very regal and Guy glanced down at his mud-stained clothes.
‘I fear I must present a very dishevelled appearance, ma’am, and I beg your pardon.’ He gave her his most elegant bow. ‘I am Darrington.’
‘The Earl of Darrington?’
‘The same, madam.’
Behind him he heard the young woman’s sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She had clearly not thought him of such consequence!
‘Well, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in those wet clothes! Beth, my dear, what are you thinking of?’
‘But Tilly and Martin are—’
‘If the servants are busy, then you must take the earl upstairs, girl. Immediately!’
‘I assure you, ma’am,’ Guy began, ‘I would as lief stay here beside the fire—’
Mrs Forrester interrupted him. ‘My grandmother is right, my lord, you should change,’ she said. ‘Pray forgive me for not thinking of it sooner. Follow me, if you please.’
She led him away, up the stairs and through the twisting, turning corridors. As he followed he tried to take in his surroundings. The entrance and great hall were obviously very old, probably part of the original priory, but there were signs that the house had been extended in Tudor times to make a comfortable residence. The whole building had an air of antiquity and demonstrated the family’s pride in its heritage. Everywhere was filled with fine old furniture and paintings from previous centuries; he guessed that the coffers pushed into odd corners would be found to contain a mass of unwanted objects that the old lady could not bring herself to throw away.
The young woman opened the door to a snug bedchamber with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. She walked across the room and lifted a large white cloth from beside the washstand.
‘Use this to dry yourself. And if you remove your wet clothes, I will arrange for them to be cleaned and dried.’
She avoided looking at him and, almost before she had finished speaking, she was back at the door, whisking herself out of the room before he could thank her.
Guy stripped off his wet clothes and rubbed himself down with quick, powerful movements that forced the blood around his chilled body. There was a knock at the door and he looked out. The passage was empty, but a brightly patterned bundle of cloth was lying at his feet. Shaking it out, he found it was a wrap. Unlike the fashionable silk banyan that his valet would have laid out for him on his bed at Highridge, this garment was made of fine, soft wool, warm to the touch and infinitely comforting as he shrugged himself into it and fastened the ties at the waist. It was a little short, but otherwise a good fit. He was rubbing the worst of the wet from his hair when there was another soft knock on the door. It was Beth Forrester, holding a tray in her hands. His instinct was to take it from her, but some spirit of mischief made him stand aside, so that she was obliged to enter the room and carry the tray across to a table.
‘I thought you might like a little bread and wine,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘My grandmother has asked me to look out some clothes for you, so that you may join us for supper later.’
‘Thank you. I should be honoured to do so.’ As he shut the door she whirled around, startled, and for the first time looked directly at him. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, too beautiful to hold such anxiety as he read in their liquid depths. He said soothingly, ‘Please, stay a moment—Mrs Forrester, is it not? I would like to talk to you.’ She eyed him warily and he smiled. ‘I am naturally anxious to know how my friend goes on.’
‘Doctor Compton is still with him. There is no news yet.’
‘Ah, of course.’ He moved towards the dressing table. ‘May I use this comb?’
She nodded and stood silent as he tidied his damp hair.
‘Is this your bedroom?’ His question brought her eyes to his face again and with a little smile he lifted a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. ‘There are red hairs in it.’
She nodded again.
‘It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both occupied it seemed the most sensible thing…?.’ She trailed off, a delicate flush mantling her cheeks.
‘It is not at all sensible
to let a strange man into your bedchamber,’ he murmured, guessing her thoughts. ‘But I am extremely grateful. I only hope your husband will understand.’
‘My husband has been dead these six years, sir.’
‘I am so very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Is this his banyan I am wearing?’
‘No, it—it is my brother’s, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go…’
‘Please, do not run away!’
‘I am not— I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.’
She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.
‘And will you be at supper, too?’
‘Of course.’
‘Very well, I will let you go.’
He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed in the unmistakable scent of lemons.
Chapter Two
Beth’s composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for a thin wrap that clung to every contour of his body? As soon as she realised he was not going to take the tray from her she should have placed it on the ground and walked away, not carried it into the room. She was well aware of Lord Darrington’s reputation as a dangerous rake—as well walk into a lion’s den! A laugh bubbled inside her. He was certainly built like a noble beast. That clinging wrap had left little to the imagination and, although he was so tall, his broad shoulders and slim hips were to her mind perfectly proportioned. Her mouth had grown quite dry when she had watched him pulling her own ivory comb through his hair—for one reckless moment she wished it was her fingers that had been driving through those thick, dark locks. Beth closed her eyes, shocked by her reaction to this stranger. Was this what happened to widows when they had been alone for several years? The caresses and intimate moments she had shared with her husband had never seemed very important to her, yet now she was imagining herself locked in the arms of the earl and sharing heady, passionate kisses…
Beth took another deep breath and forced herself to be calm. The tingle of excitement she had felt when he looked at her was purely nerves, brought on by the unexpected events of the evening. She had been caught unawares. Now she must pull herself together: there was much to do before she could sit down for supper.
‘So, my lord, you found something to fit you!’
Lady Arabella Wakeford looked formidable in her black-and-silver gown when Lord Darrington entered the great hall some two hours later. He walked up to her chair and gave a flourishing bow.
‘As you see madam. The embroidered coat is perhaps more suited to St James’s than Yorkshire, but much better that I present myself to you attired in this than a dressing gown.’
Standing beside her grandmother’s chair, Beth thought the earl looked magnificent in the coat, waistcoat and breeches of striped-blue velvet. The coat and waistcoat were embroidered with yellow flowers and leaves around cut-glass lozenges that twinkled in the candlelight. The clothes hung a little loosely save across his broad shoulders where the coat was stretched tight, but she agreed with him: she could not have endured to sit at supper with him dressed only in that revealing wool wrap. She lifted her eyes to his face and the wicked glint in his eye made her believe he could read her thoughts. She blushed hotly.
‘Since there is no man here to introduce us and my granddaughter seems to have lost her tongue, I suppose for formality’s sake I must do it myself.’ Lady Arabella held out her hand to the earl. ‘You have the honour of addressing Lady Arabella Wakeford, widow of the last Sir Horace Wakeford and daughter of the Marquess of Etonwood. And this,’ she continued, once he had kissed her fingers, ‘is my granddaughter, Mrs Elizabeth Forrester.’
He bowed. ‘Mrs Forrester.’
Beth dipped a curtsy, not sure if she was most relieved or disappointed that he did not reach for her hand. However, his forbearance pleased her grandmother, who thawed a little towards her guest.
‘My granddaughter is a widow. It is Mr Forrester’s court dress that you are wearing,’ Lady Arabella informed him.
‘Indeed?’ murmured the earl. ‘I am honoured to step into his shoes. And very pleased, too.’
Beth’s eyes narrowed. Was he trying to flirt with her? She said pointedly, ‘You may find they are too big for you, my lord.’
‘The clothes are a little large for you around the middle,’ agreed Lady Arabella, catching only part of Beth’s words. ‘But Forrester was inclined to corpulence.’
Darrington’s eyes were on fire with unholy amusement while Beth seethed inwardly. She was thankful that her grandmother did not notice and continued to address the earl.
‘I saw you entering your friend’s room a little earlier, my lord. How does he do now?’
‘He is sleeping, ma’am. I saw Dr Compton before he left and he explained that Mr Davies has broken his right leg.’
‘Yes,’ Beth replied. ‘And he thinks there are a couple of broken ribs. He is also a little feverish, but I had feared it would be much worse. You may have confidence in Dr Compton, my lord. He is an excellent physician.’
The earl nodded. ‘He has set the leg, but I fear Davies cannot be moved for a while yet—’ He broke off as a door opened.
‘I am so sorry to be late, Grandmama!’ said a pretty, musical voice. ‘With all the excitement no one remembered to collect the eggs, so I told Cook I would do it, and then my gown got so muddy I was obliged to change it!’
Beth stepped forwards.
‘Sophie—let me present you to the Earl of Darrington. My sister, my lord.’
She watched as Sophie made her curtsy to the earl and was relieved when they showed no more than polite interest in each other. In Beth’s eyes Sophie was uncommonly pretty, with her dark-honey curls and pansy-brown eyes, but she was only eighteen and had not yet enjoyed a season in town. Beth was afraid that the sudden entry into her world of a handsome and attractive peer of the realm might well cause her to lose her head and her heart, a complication that Beth could well do without. She listened as Sophie enquired politely after the health of Mr Davies and commiserated with the earl upon his soaking.
‘Such a pity that Beth only kept Forrester’s old court suit,’ she said, eyeing the elaborate coat with disfavour.
‘I would have borrowed a lackey’s raiment if one could have been found to fit me. The alternative was to keep to my room until my own clothes are dry.’
The smile that accompanied these words startled Beth, for it softened the earl’s rather sombre features and warmed his eyes. She felt again that delicious tingle running through her.
‘Ah, such elaborate garments are not seen much now outside London, more’s the pity,’ sighed Lady Arabella. ‘But something plainer might have been more comfortable for you, my lord. Beth my dear, could you not find something of Simon’s for the earl?’
‘They would not fit, Grandmama.’ Beth caught the earl’s look of enquiry and added briefly, ‘My brother, sir. It was his wrap I gave you.’
‘He died eighteen months ago,’ added Lady Arabella.
‘My condolences, ma’am. Was he—?’
Beth turned quickly to her grandmother, interrupting him.
‘Here’s Kepwith to say supper is ready for us. Shall we go in?’
Lord Darrington came forwards to offer Lady Arabella his arm.
‘We keep to the old ways here, my lord,’ she said as he led her into the dining room. ‘An early dinner and supper at ten. At my age I do not want to be eating dinner in the evening and supper at midnight, as I believe is quite the fashion now in town.’
‘But that makes perfect sense if one is at a ball, Grandmama,’ put in Sophie. She smiled acr
oss the table at the earl. ‘Not that I have yet been to a ball—a real ball, that is. But I shall do so next year, when Beth takes me to London.’
The earl turned toward Beth.
‘You go often to town, Mrs Forrester?’
‘No, I have never been. I—’
‘Beth hasn’t been away from Malpass for years,’ put in Sophie. ‘Except to go to Ripon to stay with her friend—but next year she has promised to take me to London for the Season. Of course, she will be Mrs Radworth by then—’
‘Sophie!’ Beth’s knife clattered to her plate. ‘Pray do not chatter on so. Lord Darrington does not want to know all our business.’
‘But it is no secret,’ stated Lady Arabella. ‘Do you know Miles Radworth, Lord Darrington?’
‘No, ma’am. I have not had that pleasure.’
‘He has a property in Somerset, I believe, but he is currently renting a house in Fentonby. He came to bring us news of my grandson’s death.’ Lady Arabella stopped, her old eyes suddenly dimmed.
‘I am very sorry, ma’am.’
The earl’s words hung in the uncomfortable silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft padding of the butler as he walked from chair to chair, refilling their wine glasses. Beth was about to speak when Lady Arabella rallied and began again.
‘My grandson was drowned at sea, you know. In the Bay of Biscay. He had been making the grand tour. It was very good of Mr Radworth to come all this way to tell us.’
‘And it was not all bad news,’ added Sophie brightly. ‘He took one look at Beth and fell violently in love!’
‘Indeed?’ The earl’s grey eyes rested on Beth.
‘Yes.’ Sophie nodded. ‘And they are to be married.’
‘Then I offer you my congratulations, Mrs Forrester.’
‘Thank you.’ Beth uttered the words quietly, keeping her eyes lowered.
The Dangerous Lord Darrington Page 2