"I came to collect the soiled linens."
"You may take my nightgown and have it washed—oh, and tell me where Lord Raiford is. I wish to speak with him."
" 'E's gone to London, miss."
"London?" Lily frowned. "But why? For how long?"
" 'E told Silvern 'e'd be back tonight."
"Well, that's a quick journey. What could he possibly accomplish in so short a time?"
"Nobody knows what 'e went for."
Lily had a feeling the maid knew something she wasn't telling. But Wolverton's servants were closemouthed and quite
loyal to their master. Rather than press the issue, Lily shrugged indifferently.
* * *
Westfield was built on one of the three heights to the northwest of London. In good weather, it was possible to stand on the
hill and obtain a view of nearly a dozen counties. The most venerable of public schools, Westneld had produced great politicians, artists, poets, and military men. As a youth, Alex had been a student there. Although he had memories of the strict discipline of
the masters and the tyranny of the older boys, he also remembered the high-spirited days of close friendship and mischief. He
had hoped that Henry would do well at the place, but evidently that was not to be the case.
Alex was shown into the headmaster's office by a sullen-looking boy. Dr. Thomwait, the headmaster, stood up from a large multidrawered desk and greeted him without smiling. Thomwait was a lean man with stringy white hair, a narrow grooved face, and bushy black brows. His tone was thin and disapproving. "Lord Raiford, I would like to express my relief that you've come
to collect our culprit. He is a young man of dangerously volatile temperament, quite unsuitable for Westfield."
During this little speech, Alex heard his brother's voice behind him. "Alex!" Henry, who had been seated on a wooden bench against the wall, rushed toward him with a few quick strides, then checked himself, trying to look chastened.
Unable to prevent a grin, Alex grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him near. Then he held Henry back, regarding
him closely. "Why does he say you're dangerous, boy?"
"A prank," Henry confessed.
Alex smiled ruefully at that. Henry did have a lively sense of fun, but he was a fine boy, one that any man would be proud of. Although short in stature for a lad of twelve, Henry was husky and strong. He excelled in sports and mathematics, and
concealed a secret love for poetry. Usually an infectious smile danced in his intense blue eyes, and his white-blond hair
required frequent combing to restrain its unruly waves. To make up for his lack of height, Henry had always been daring and assertive, the leader of his group of friends. When he was in the wrong, he was always quick to apologize. Alex couldn't imagine what Henry had done to require expulsion. Gluing the pages of a few school books, no doubt, or balancing a pail of water on
top of a partially opened door. Well, he would soothe Thornwait's ire, apologize, and convince him to allow Henry to stay.
"What sort of prank was it?" Alex asked, looking from Dr. Thornwait to Henry.
Thornwait was the one to answer. "He blew up the front door of my home," he said sternly.
Alex stared at his brother. "You did what?"
Henry had the grace to look away guiltily. "Gunpowder," he confessed.
"The explosion might have caused serious injury to me," Thornwait said, his spidery brows drawing low over his eyes,
"or to my housekeeper."
"Why?" Alex asked in bewilderment. "Henry, this isn't like you."
"On the contrary," Dr. Thornwait remarked. "It is typical of him. Henry is a boy of rebellious spirit—resentful of authority,
unable to accept discipline in any form—"
"Bugger you if I ain't!" Henry shot back, glaring at the headmaster. "I took all you had to give and more!"
Thornwait regarded Alex with a you see? expression.
Gently Alex took the boy by his shoulders. ''Look at me. Why did you blow up his door?"
Henry remained obstinately silent. Thornwait began to answer for him. "Henry is the kind of boy who doesn—"
"I've heard your opinion," Alex interrupted, giving the headmaster a freezing glance that silenced him immediately. He
looked back at his brother, his gaze softening. "Henry, explain it to me."
"It don't matter," Henry mumbled.
"Tell me why you did it," Alex said in a warning tone. "Now."
Henry glared at him as he answered reluctantly. "It was the flogging."
"You were flogged?" Alex frowned. "For what reason?"
"Any reason you could think of!" A flush came over Henry's face. "With a birch, a rod . . . they do it all the time, Alex!" He
threw a mutinous glance over his shoulder at Thornwait. "One time I was a minute late for breakfast, once I dropped my
books in front of the English master, once my neck wasn't clean enough . . . I've been thrashed near three times a week for months, an' I'm damn sick of it!"
"I mete out the same punishment to other boys with similar rebelliousness," Thornwait said crisply.
Alex kept his face expressionless, but inside he was roiling with fury. "Show me," he said to Henry, his voice clipped.
Henry shook his head, his face reddening even more. "Alex—"
"Show me," Alex insisted.
Looking from his brother to the headmaster, Henry sighed heavily. "Why not? Thornwait's seen it enough by now." He turned, reluctantly removed his jacket, fumbled at his waist, and dropped his britches a few inches.
Alex stopped breathing as he saw what they had done to his brother. Henry's lower back and buttocks were a mass of welts, scabs, and bruises. Such treatment would not be considered usual or necessary by anyone, not even the strictest disciplinarian. The floggings had not been done for the sake of discipline—they had been done by a man who got perverse pleasure from inflicting pain on others. The thought that this had been done to someone he loved . . . Trying to control his rage, Alex raised a shaking hand to his jaw and rubbed it roughly. He dared not look at Thornwait, or he'd kill the bastard. Henry jerked up his
britches and turned back to face him. His blue eyes widened as he saw Alex's cold eyes and rapidly twitching cheek.
"It was entirely justified," Dr. Thornwait said in a self-righteous tone. "Flogging is a normal part of the Westfield tradition—"
"Henry," Alex interrupted unsteadily. "Henry, did they do anything to you besides the flogging? Did they hurt you in any other way?"
Henry looked at him in confusion. "No. What do you mean?"
"Nothing." Alex motioned to the door with a jerk of his head. "Go outside," he said quietly. "I'll be right there."
Henry obeyed slowly, glancing back with unconcealed curiosity.
As soon as the door closed, Alex strode to Dr. Thornwait, who instinctively backed away.
"Lord Raiford, flogging is an accepted method of teaching the boys—"
"I don't accept it!" Roughly Alex seized him and shoved him back against the wall.
"I'll have you arrested," the headmaster gasped. "You can't—"
"Can't what? Kill you as I'd like to? Perhaps not. I can come damn close to it, though." Gripping his collar, Alex held him up
until Thornwait's toes barely grazed the floor. He relished the faint choking sound coming from the headmaster's scrawny
throat. Thornwait's blurring vision was filled with Alex's steely eyes and snarling white teeth. "I know what kind of perverted bastard you are," Alex sneered. "Taking out your frustrations on boys. It satisfies you to whip some poor lad across the
backside until you draw blood. You're not fit to be called a man. I'll bet you enjoy the hell out of beating my brother and the
other innocents in your care!"
"D . . . discipline ..." Thornwait managed to gasp painfully.
"If any permanent damage re
sults from your so-called discipline, or if Henry reveals that you've abused him in other ways, you'd better flee before I can get my hands on you." Alex gripped Thornwait's throat then, pressing inward as if he were molding clay. The man writhed and gurgled in terror. Alex waited until the headmaster's face turned gray. "Or I'll have your head stuffed and mounted on Henry's bedroom wall," he growled. "As a memento of his days at Westfield. I think he'd like that." He let go of Thornwait suddenly, allowing him to collapse to the floor. The headmaster choked and wheezed. Wiping his hands on his coat in distaste, Alex opened the office door with such force that it slammed against the wall and the bolt fell from one of the hinges.
Finding Henry out in the hall, he took the boy by the arm and began walking rapidly. "Why didn't you come to me about this?" he demanded.
Henry struggled to match his long strides. "I don't know."
Suddenly the memory of Lily's accusations about his being unapproachable and unfeeling rang in Alex's ears. Was it possible
there had been some truth in her words? He scowled darkly. "Did you think I wouldn't be sympathetic? That I wouldn't understand? You should have told me about this long ago!"
"Hang it," Henry mumbled. "I thought it might get better here ... or that I could take care of it myself ..."
"By setting off explosives?"
The boy was silent. Alex sighed grimly. "Henry, I don't want you to 'take care of things' yourself. You haven't come of age yet and you're my responsibility."
"I know that," Henry said in an offended tone. "But I knew you were occupied with other things, like the wedding—"
"Damn the wedding! Don't use it as an excuse."
"What do you want from me?" the boy asked hotly.
Gritting his teeth, Alex forced himself to stay calm. "I want you to understand that you're to come to me when you're having trouble. Any kind of trouble. I'm never too busy to help you."
Henry nodded shortly. "What are we going to do now?"
"We're going home to Raiford Park."
"Really?" The thought nearly brought a smile to the boy's face. "My things are still at the boarding house—"
"Anything important?"
"Not really-"
"Good. We're leaving everything here."
"Will I have to come back?" Henry asked with dread.
"No," Alex said emphatically. "I'll employ a tutor. You can study with the local boys."
Giving a whoop of joy, Henry tossed his school cap in the air. It fell on the floor behind them and lay there unretrieved as
they walked out of the school together.
* * *
"Shhh. I think he's coming." Having observed Alex's carriage moving up the drive, Lily had yanked Zachary away from the
music room. He, Totty, and Penelope had been happily involved in singing hymns and playing the piano.
"Lily, tell me what you are planning."
"My guess is that Wolverton will come to the library for a drink after traveling all day. And I want him to see us together." Energetically Lily pulled Zachary to a heavy leather chair. She threw herself into his lap and clapped her hand over his mouth
as he protested. "Quiet, Zach—I can't hear a thing." Tilting her head, Lily listened intently to the sound of approaching footsteps. A heavy, measured tread ... it had to be Wolverton. She took her hand from Zachary's mouth and wound her arms around his neck. "Kiss me. And make it look convincing."
"But Lily, must we do this? My feelings for Penny—"
"It doesn't mean a thing," she said impatiently.
"But is it necess—"
"Do it, dammit!"
Meekly Zachary complied.
The kiss was like any other Lily had ever experienced, which was to say unremarkable. Heaven knew why the poets conspired
to describe something vaguely distasteful as such a rapturous experience. She tended to agree with the writer Swift, who had wondered "what fool it was that first invented kissing." But couples in love seemed fond of the custom, and Wolverton must be made to think she and Zachary were enamored of each other.
The library door opened. There was a scorching silence. Lily touched Zachary's fine brown hair, trying to look involved in the passionate kiss. Then she raised her head slowly, as if becoming aware of the interruption. Wolverton was there, looking rumpled and dusty from his travels. A scowl was gathering on his bronzed face. Lily grinned impudently. "If is isn't Lord Raiford, with his usual cheerful countenance. As you can see, my lord, you've intruded on a private moment between—" Abruptly she stopped as she noticed the boy standing next to Wolverton. A short, blond boy with inquiring blue eyes and the beginnings of a smile. Well. She hadn't counted on anyone besides Wolverton witnessing her embrace with Zachary. Lily felt herself blush.
"Miss Lawson," Alex said, his expression thunderous, "this is my youngest brother Henry."
"Hello, Henry," Lily managed to say.
Meeting her wan smile with an interested gaze, the boy wasted no time with small talk. "Why were you kissing Viscount
Stamford if you're going to marry Alex?"
"Oh, I'm not that Miss Lawson," Lily replied hastily. "You're referring to my poor . . . that is, to my younger sister." Realizing
she was still on Zachary's lap, she leapt away and nearly fell on the floor. "Penny and Mother are in the music room," she said
to Alex. "Singing hymns."
Alex gave a curt nod. "Come, Henry," he said flatly. "I'll introduce you to Penelope."
Appearing not to hear him, Henry wandered over to Lily, who was straightening her gown. "Why is your hair chopped like
that?" he asked.
Lily laughed at the description of her fashionable style. "It got in the way, hanging in my eyes when I went hunting and shooting."
"Do you hunt?" Henry stared at her in fascination. "It's dangerous for women, you know."
Lily glanced at Wolverton and found he was staring at her. She couldn't prevent a teasing grin. "Why Henry, your brother
said the same thing to me when we first met." Their gazes held. Suddenly there was a betraying tug at the corner of Alex's
mouth, as if he were holding back a wry smile. "My lord," Lily said impishly, "don't worry that I'll be a bad influence on Henry.
I'm must more of a danger to older men than to younger ones."
Alex rolled his eyes. "I believe you, Miss Lawson." Ushering Henry from the room, he left without a backward glance.
Lily did not move. She was flooded with confusion, her heart thumping irregularly. The look of him all tired and disheveled, the protective hand he had placed on his small brother's shoulder ... all of it had made her feel strange. She was not the kind of woman who would fuss over a man, and yet she had a sudden wish that someone would smooth his hair, order a light supper
for him, and make him confess what had put the troubled look in his eyes.
"Lily," Zachary questioned, "do you think he believed our kiss was genuine?"
"I'm certain he did," she replied automatically. "Why wouldn't he?"
"He's a very perceptive man."
"I'm getting bloody tired of the way everyone overestimates him," Lily said. Immediately she was sorry for sounding so sharp.
It was just that she was astonished by the image that had come to mind. Her wilful imagination had conjured a picture of herself embracing Wolverton, feeling his hard mouth against hers, his blond hair underneath her hands. The idea made her stomach tighten. Unconsciously she raised a hand to soothe the prickling on the back of her neck. She had been held by him only once, when she had fallen during the Middleton hunt and Wolverton had picked her up and nearly strangled her. The power in his
hands and the violence in his face had frightened her.
She doubted he had ever shown that side of himself to Caroline Whitmore.
Lily was immensely curious about the mysterious Caroline. Had she loved Wolverton, or had she agreed to marry him because
of his inordinate weal
th? Or perhaps his aristocratic lineage . . . Lily had heard that Americans were quite impressed with titles and blue blood.
And what had Wolverton been like around Caroline? Was it possible he had been warm and smiling? Had Caroline made him happy?
The unanswered questions annoyed Lily. She rebuked herself silently. It didn't matter what Wolverton's lost love had been like.
All that was important was that she rescue Penelope from him.
* * *
Alex bid the tutor good-bye and sighed as the man left. The man, a Mr. Hotchkins, was the fourth he had interviewed for the position of Henry's tutor. So far none of them had been satisfactory. He guessed that it would take some time before he found a tutor with the right balance of discipline and understanding to suit Henry's needs. Between that and the meetings he had held for the last few days with irate tenants, Alex had been busy. The tenants were angry because of the damage done to their crops by an abundance of marauding hares and rabbits. At the same time, his gamekeeper had informed him with some distress that the amount of poaching had increased considerably. "'Tisn't bad that they poach t' rabbits, sir," the gamekeeper said. "But they's trappin' an' poachin' at night, an' they's interferin' with the pheasants breed'n. There willnae be pheasant to shoot this year!"
Then came you, by lisa kleypas.txt Page 10