The Dangerous Lord Darrington

by Sarah Mallory

  ‘Then that is what we shall have,’ replied the earl. ‘Have it served in here and bring a bottle of wine, too, Burley.’

  He escorted Beth to a chair. ‘I should keep your cloak about you for a little while, madam, until I have a good blaze going.’

  Beth was very content to sit quietly while the earl knelt before the hearth, coaxing the fire into life. She watched him feeding sticks into the fragile flames, building up the heat before carefully adding the coal. It occurred to her that he was no idle gentleman and while he might well have an army of servants at his beck and call, he was quite capable of looking after himself. She thought wistfully how comfortable it would be to have such a man to look after her, then she quickly chided herself. Miles Radworth had professed himself ready to look after her—she only had to give the word. For some reason the idea made her uncomfortable and she quickly banished it. Time to think of Miles when she returned to Yorkshire. For now she would concentrate on helping Simon.

  Beth could hear sounds of activity outside the door and imagined the butler bustling about, chivvying his few underlings into preparing the house for the master. But whatever the jostle and haste outside the morning room, none of it showed on the butler’s impassive countenance when he came in presently with the wine. He was followed by a rosy-cheeked woman in a black-stuff gown, the white lappets of her lace cap bobbing on her shoulders as she walked in, a heavy tray covered with a snowy white cloth between her hands. Beth guessed that this was Mrs Burley and the woman’s first words were very much those of an old and trusted retainer. Most likely, thought Beth with an inward smile, one who had known the earl since he was a child.

  ‘My lord, what a pleasure it is to see you in town again, and after such an age! And you’ve cobbled up a fire in here, sir, that’s good, for the nights are going off chilly now, aren’t they? But what a pity you could not send a messenger before you. We would have had everything prepared! Not but what there is little to do, for I keep all the beds aired, just as you directed, and we have only to remove the holland covers from the guest suite and light a fire there to make it ready for visitors. It’s what I can give you to eat that’s bothering me, though, my lord. There’s hardly a bite in the house save this bread and cheese.’

  ‘That will be more than enough for me,’ put in Beth quickly. ‘We dined at Hatfield, so a small meal is all that I require.’

  ‘Well, there is the bit o’ broth that I was keeping for our supper—’

  ‘We would on no account take your supper,’ broke in the earl, a gleam of humour lightening his countenance. ‘Mrs Forrester will be staying for a few days, so there will be time and enough for you to show her what an excellent cook you are.’

  ‘Well, it’s very kind of you to say so, my lord, and as soon as the market opens in the morning I shall sally forth and stock up, I can tell you.’ She placed her tray down upon the table and turned to beam at Beth. ‘Now then, I’ll leave you to your supper while I go upstairs and make sure your rooms are comfortable. And if you want anything else you just ring.’ She followed her impassive husband to the door and paused again. ‘Your lordship went to all the trouble and expense of having that new bell system installed and it breaks my heart to see the bells hanging there, silent and unused!’ She bobbed a curtsy towards Beth, adding, ‘And you let me know when you want to go upstairs, ma’am, and I’ll make sure the warming pan’s ready for your bed.’

  Calm settled over the morning room again. The earl cast a rueful glance at Beth.

  ‘I owe you an apology, ma’am. I lured you here with promises of lordly comfort and all we have to offer is bread and cheese. Pauper’s fare! Are you sure that will be enough for you? I would willingly send out—’

  ‘No, no, we dined so well on the road that truly I want very little,’ Beth responded quickly, the housekeeper’s motherly address having done much to lessen her anxiety. She removed her cloak and dropped it over the back of her chair before making her way to the table and lifting the cloth from the laden tray. ‘Cheese, bread and butter, pickles—a veritable feast,’ she exclaimed. ‘I hope we are not taking poor Mr Burley’s supper.’

  ‘Not a bit of it. Did you not hear Mrs Burley say they are having broth tonight?’

  ‘Ah, yes, then we may eat this with a clear conscience.’ She moved all the dishes from the tray to the table and sat down. ‘Will you not join me, sir?’

  Guy took his place at the little table and poured two glasses of wine to accompany their simple supper. Time was of no consequence, their conversation, desultory at first, became deep and wide-ranging. The fire he had built up began to burn low, unheeded, and the noises in the street died away as they considered the troubles in France and the independence of the American states before moving on to discuss their own properties.

  As the candles burned down in their sockets Guy encouraged Beth to tell him more about her life at the Priory. It soon became clear that she not only looked after the day-to-day running of the house, but also managed the Home Farm. Tasks that he left to his very able steward fell to her lot, such as looking after the tenant rent books and discussing with her farmers which crops they would be growing. At one point he put up his hands and laughingly called halt when she began to question him about winter sowing.

  ‘I vow you are much better informed than I am,’ he told her. ‘My steward advises me of what is to be planted each season, but I only know if his decisions are the right ones by the results.’

  ‘I am not so very different,’ she replied, smiling. ‘The tenant farms are quite small, so any failure of crops will result in hardship, more so for them than for me, so it is in their interests to look after the land. We discuss repairs and improvements and they must convince me their ideas are worthwhile before I will invest.’

  ‘A heavy responsibility,’ he replied, cutting himself another piece of cheese. ‘No doubt when you are married, Radworth will look after that for you—or will he bring in a steward? You said he had another property, I believe—perhaps he intends to make that your main residence?’

  ‘No, we shall live at Malpass, at least to begin with.’

  ‘But it will be a relief for you to have someone to share your burdens.’ She did not reply immediately and he saw that she was abstracted, a crease between her brows. ‘Mrs Forrester?’

  She looked up, replacing the frown with a faint smile. ‘Yes. That can only be an advantage.’ She tilted her head, listening as the cry of the nightwatch calling the hour filtered in through the shuttered window. ‘It is very late,’ she said. ‘I should retire.’

  She made no move and in the stillness that followed Guy realised he did not want her to go.

  ‘There is still wine in the bottle—will you not finish it with me?’

  She pushed her glass towards him in silent acquiescence and a bolt of pleasure shot through him at the thought that she, too, wanted to prolong the moment. Somehow during the course of their supper they had drawn closer together, their knees almost touching under the table, their hands only inches apart on the covers. Guy carefully refilled their glasses; he had drunk only two glasses of wine, but he felt unusually alive and painfully aware of the woman sitting next to him, conscious of her every movement, every slight change of expression.

  As he handed her the glass their fingers brushed. She murmured, ‘I should drink this and go to my room.’

  Come to mine!

  Guy wondered if he had spoken aloud as her eyes flew to his face. They were large and dark as midnight pools. At some stage she had removed her kerchief from around her shoulders and several times he found his gaze wandering to the slim column of her neck, the creamy skin unadorned by any ornament. Now he saw the nervous quiver of her throat as she swallowed, observed the quick rise and fall of her breast. With an immense effort he subdued the desire growing within him, drawing on every argument he could muster to stop himself from dragging her into his arms and covering that delectable skin with hot, passionate kisses. She was another man’s bride. She was u
nder his protection. Her brother was a murderer.

  This last point brought him back to their reason for being in town. Perhaps there, at least, he might be of some use to her.

  He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to good fortune when we see your lawyer tomorrow, Mrs Forrester.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  As she looked at him over the rim of her glass her eyes were guarded. She, too, realised their perilous position. The camaraderie they had enjoyed was at an end. Guy told himself he was glad of it—she undermined his self-control far too much for his liking.

  She took a few sips of her wine and put down her glass. ‘If you will excuse me, I should go…’

  Immediately he was on his feet and crossing the room to ring the bell. ‘Mrs Burley will be here directly to show you to your room.’

  In his effort to be calm his words emerged cold and indifferent. To make up for this he took a step towards her, reaching for her hand to place a formal, parting kiss on her fingers, but she hastily moved away from him, busying herself with collecting her kerchief and her cloak.

  ‘Thank you, you have been very kind.’ She did not look at him, and when the housekeeper entered she muttered a few words of farewell and hurried out.

  The rooms prepared for Beth and her maid were warm and comfortable and drew rare praise from Tilly as she helped her mistress to undress. Beth hardly heard her. She tried to convince herself that her preoccupation was due to the forthcoming meeting with Mr Spalding, but when Tilly had left her and she was lying alone in the darkness, it was the earl’s image that filled her mind. He was smiling at her, his eyes warm and inviting, flooding her body with an almost unbearable yearning.

  With a groan she turned over, pummelling her pillow. She would not be so foolish as to believe she meant anything to the earl. A man would bed any comely woman if he was given the chance—her own husband had told her as much, when she had found him closeted with a pretty chambermaid only a few weeks into their marriage. And she had offered herself quite blatantly to the earl, had she not? He had refused her then, angry that she had tried to buy his silence, but she thought it understandable that he had reconsidered and would now be happy to enjoy her favours; perhaps he even expected her to give herself to him, in gratitude for his assistance. He had told her he would treat her as a sister, but Beth was aware of the attraction between them. She did not think it would take much to break that fragile veneer of respectability and send them crashing into a heady, passionate affair, heedless of the consequences. It had almost happened earlier that evening, when he had given her that last glass of wine. The atmosphere had been so charged with electricity she had felt the shock of it when their fingers touched. After that she had been afraid to move, to speak, lest she should betray the naked desire burning inside her.

  ‘You are undoubtedly a fool, Beth Forrester,’ she muttered into her pillow. ‘You are here to clear Simon’s name. Nothing must distract you from that.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Beth mentally applauded the housekeeper when she was shown into the breakfast room the following morning, for there was no lack of variety in the dishes on offer.

  Lord Darrington was already at the table and she returned his greeting with a shy smile.

  ‘Thank you for sending up the writing case, my lord. I did as you suggested and dashed off a note to Mr Spalding as soon as I rose. You are very good to me, my lord.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. I am merely thinking of the inconvenience to my people if your lawyer should be unavailable this morning.’

  His smiling look gave the lie to his cool words, but Beth did not respond and merely applied herself to her breakfast. She wondered if she would ever become inured to the earl’s presence. Every time she saw him she was aware of a frisson of excitement; he only had to smile at her for the now-familiar ache to drag at her insides, but she had to acquit him of any attempt to flirt with her over the breakfast dishes—quite the opposite, for apart from their initial exchange he ignored her, giving his attention to scanning the newspaper that lay beside him on the table.

  Beth was just drinking a second cup of coffee when Burley came in with a note for her.

  ‘Oh.’ She was unable to keep the disappointment from her voice as she read it. ‘Mr Spalding begs that I delay my visit to him until tomorrow, when he hopes to have more news for me.’ She folded the note, adding with false lightness, ‘It was as well you did not order your carriage, my lord.’

  ‘What do you intend to do now?’

  She spread her hands. ‘Why, nothing. I shall be obliged to kick my heels for the rest of the day. But please,’ she added quickly, ‘do not think I need you to entertain me. You have a well-stocked library here, I shall be perfectly happy…’

  ‘The devil you will,’ he growled, throwing down his paper. ‘You will fret yourself into a lather if you are cooped up indoors all day with nothing to do.’ He rose. ‘You told me you have never been to town before. Go and fetch your cloak and bonnet, Mrs Forrester. I will take you for an airing!’

  When Beth stepped out of Darrington House she was surprised to see the earl’s curricle with Holt at the horses’ heads. He touched his cap and grinned at her, correctly reading her expression.

  ‘His lordship told me to bring his horses back from Highridge,’ Holt explained. ‘Reached the stables at midnight, so I was ready when ’is lordship sent word round this morning. Which was a good thing,’ he added, casting a challenging look up at his master, ‘for I wouldn’t trust just anyone to drive these beauties. Prime goers, they are.’

  ‘I hope you did not push them too hard on the journey south,’ remarked the earl, pulling on his gloves.

  ‘If I ’ad we’d’ve been here before you, my lord,’ replied the groom, unabashed. ‘Rest assured, sir, they are well rested and rarin’ to go!’

  It seemed to Beth that the groom had understated the matter. The horses fretted and stamped as she took her seat in the racing curricle and once the groom had jumped away from their heads they sprang forwards, so eager to be off that she glanced back to make sure Holt had managed to scramble up into the rumble seat.

  ‘Do not be alarmed, Mrs Forrester,’ remarked the earl, as she gripped tightly to the side, ‘I have never yet turned over a carriage.’

  ‘There is a first time for everything, my lord,’ she replied tensely. ‘Pray do not let me distract you. Look to your horses!’

  He merely laughed at that and concentrated on guiding his team through the busy London thoroughfares. The sun was shining and Beth looked about her in wonder. Everywhere was crowded with carriages and pedestrians; building work seemed to be taking place on almost every street. She marvelled at the way the earl negotiated the crowded thoroughfares. First he took her to Somerset House, pointing out to her the headquarters of the learned societies, before turning on to the bustling wharf of the Adelphi so that she could enjoy the view of its impressive vaults that supported the fashionable terraces above.

  ‘I have never seen anything like it,’ she marvelled, gazing about her in awe. ‘However, I do not think I should like to live quite so close to the river.’

  ‘No. In summer it can become quite noisome.’ He glanced down at her. ‘Would you like to see Carlton House?’

  He drove her past the Prince of Wales’s palace and whisked her up St James’s Street, where several gentlemen stopped to stare at them.

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Beth shifted uneasily. ‘Perhaps I should not have driven out with you. Those men…’

  The earl raised his whip to salute them.

  ‘Acquaintances,’ he said briefly. ‘Surprised to see me in town. No need to fret over them, Mrs Forrester. There is no impropriety in your being seen with me at this time in the morning.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘And I am enjoying it so much, thank you.’

  ‘If you have had enough of the crowds and bustle,’ he said, turning on to Piccadilly, ‘let us drive to Hyde Park.’

  She said doubtfully, ‘Is that not very fa
shionable?’

  ‘The fashionable hour is five in the afternoon, ma’am. We should not meet too many people there this morning.’

  He drove on, skilfully negotiating the gates and soon the noise was left behind as they drove deeper into the park.

  ‘This is much more peaceful,’ admitted Beth, relaxing. ‘I had forgotten how crowded cities could be.’

  ‘You were not planning to go into society when you came to town?’

  ‘Not really. I thought only of finding the de Beaunes.’

  ‘Do you have no evening gowns with you?’

  ‘I have brought my lilac silk,’ she replied, surprised by his question.

  ‘Good. You will need it this evening when I take you to Lady Shott’s soirée.’

  Immediately she was on her guard. ‘Really, Lord Darrington, I do not think—’

  ‘Sir Henry Shott was the French Ambassador at one time,’ he interrupted her protests. ‘He still has strong connections with the country and holds a virtual open house for every émigré that comes to London. I am hoping we might be able to learn something there about the de Beaunes.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’

  ‘I hope you do.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I beg your pardon. I thought…’

  ‘I know exactly what you thought. I wish you would rid yourself of the idea that I have any designs upon your virtue!’

  Guy tried to convince himself that it was true, but acknowledged that she was wise not to trust him. He kept thinking of her in his room at the Priory, lying on the bed in a gossamer—thin nightgown that only enhanced her charms and with her hair spread out over the covers like a red-gold sunset. Since that night he had done his best to disguise his desire, but it was difficult, and doubly so when she joined him in the drawing room that evening, ready to go out.

  He had seen her wearing the gown before, but this time she had left off the white kerchief to display the low lace-edged neckline of the bodice. Her only ornament was a single string of fine pearls and one glossy curl hung down over her shoulder, teasingly drawing attention to the soft swell of her breasts. He longed to reach out and cup them in his hands, to cover them in kisses.