by Deb Marlowe
Yes. This, whispered her soul. And she knew her instincts had been right and this was exactly where they were meant to be.
Except it wasn’t.
Not yet.
So she blinked and the world came back into focus and he, too, looked like he was awakening from a dream.
Gradually, her wits returned. “So, how did you fare in your hunt, my lord?”
“I . . . hunt?” He sounded more than a little befuddled.
“For Lady X?” she prompted.
“Oh.” He shook his head a little. “I hit a bit of a wall.”
“I hope you won’t be offended if I say I am glad.”
His gaze cleared as he met hers directly. “You don’t think she deserves to be held up to the same scrutiny that she focuses on others?”
“I think revenge or retaliation rarely does anyone good, and can rebound upon the person seeking it.”
A thunderous frown wrinkled his brow and he fell silent for a moment. “Perhaps I don’t need to expose her. But I do wish to confront her. I want her to look at me and hear about the shambles she’s contributed to in my life.”
Hope didn’t respond. The waltz was coming to an end. She squeezed Tensford’s hand. “My lord, I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain, bringing you tonight. Now it is your turn. The dance is winding down. Can you make sure we end it near those potted plants?” She nodded toward the corner.
Surprise, and a mix of mischief and curiosity, chased his frown away. He nodded. “I am a man of my word, Lady Hope.”
The waltz ended. The musicians stood and stretched and set their instruments aside. Couples joined the guests moving toward the rooms set up for dining, but Hope pushed Tensford behind the palms, placed conveniently to hide a servant’s door.
“All of the servants are occupied with dinner,” she whispered. “The way should be clear.”
She slipped through the door and started down a narrow set of stairs.
He followed. “What are you up to? Have you an heiress hidden down in a coal larder?”
“No. Shhh!” The stairs let out onto a wide passage. Kitchen sounds and barked orders sounded at the far end. She peered out, watching for her moment. “Now!”
She dashed a short distance toward a wide door. He followed and then they were through, and out in the night air.
“Quickly,” she told him. “We have to get there and back before the late supper is finished.”
She pulled him past stacked crates, a privy and the kitchen gardens. A gate in the back led to a narrow street that stood between the house grounds and the mews.
“What are you doing, Lady Hope?” he whispered, balking at last. “You cannot wander in the mews and back lanes! It could be dangerous.”
She shook her head. “Bedford Square, my lord, if you will recall? It’s all locked up tight.” She gestured behind them, where the lane narrowed and eventually ended at a locked gate. “Perfectly safe.”
“Unless you don’t get back before you are missed!”
“Miss Nichols will cover for us. There are two separate dining areas. She’ll just tell her mama she saw us in the other one.”
He considered that. “But where in blazes are you taking us?”
“Just up here.” She dragged him along the row of houses. At the fourth one she stopped and traversed a path to the house that echoed the one they had already taken, where she knocked on the closed door.
It opened immediately. “Come in quickly, Miss.” The maid led them further into the house and to a staircase on the other side of the similarly wide passage. The house lay dark and mostly quiet around them, although the clink of dishes could be heard from the kitchen area ahead. “This one leads to the family wing. Stop at the third landing and you’ll know where you are.”
“Thank you, Mary. We won’t be long.” She started up the stairs.
Lord Tensford did not immediately follow.
“Hurry on, sir,” Mary urged. “It’s best for everyone if you are not seen.”
Hope breathed a sigh of relief as his footsteps started after her.
“Whose house is this?” he whispered. “What in hell’s bells are you up to, young lady?”
She didn’t answer, just exited the stairway and counted doors until she found the right one, opened it and entered.
He stopped on the threshold.
She beckoned him in.
“I think I will require an explanation before I enter a young lady’s bedroom,” he said sardonically.
She crossed her arms. “I took a gamble bringing you here, Tensford. I did it because I know you are not Lord Terror, no matter what the ton says. I trust you. Now it is for you to decide. Do you trust me?”
Heaving an exasperated sigh, he stepped in. “If we are caught . . .”
“We will not be caught.” She closed the door behind him and turned up the two small lamps in the room. “This is the home of my friend, Miss Emma Atherton.”
“If you wished me to meet her—”
“That’s not why I brought you here,” she interrupted. “Miss Atherton is a fine young lady, but she and her family are away from Town, attending the Hadleigh fair.” She turned to him and put her hands on her hips. “I said I would prove to you that worthy young ladies do exist in the peerage. Miss Atherton is one, and she allowed me to set this up, so I could tell you about another. I want you to judge this girl’s heart, without the bias of family, connections, or money to interfere.”
“Anonymously,” he said.
“Yes.” Eagerly she gestured toward a writing desk. It was cluttered with fashion magazines, sketches, notes and letters. “I wanted to show you these. They belong to a young lady who was brought to London with her family, all save for a younger sister left at home. The younger girl is lame, you see. A withered leg, I believe. The light, diaphanous fashions of the last years put her at a disadvantage, emphasizing her uneven gait and crooked stance. It has made the girl shy about meeting people or appearing in public.”
“A shame.” He frowned. “She would do better to let it show without comment. If she treats it as matter-of-fact, others will too, eventually. Though it may take some time.” He shrugged. “In any case, there’s no use hiding.”
Was that what he was attempting, with the state of his own misfortunes? She’d seen the gentlemen talking with him earlier. Perhaps he was right, and it would work for him.
“Her sister certainly wishes for the girl to go out into the world more. The fashions are changing, you see. Waists are lowering, fabrics are growing more varied, and heavier. This girl is searching out fabrics at linen drapers and in the shops of all the modistes. She’s making notes of fashions and how they might be adjusted. She’s drawing pictures and giving elaborate descriptions about current fashions and the ladies who wear them and the events to which they are worn. It’s a letter campaign, full of excitement and ideas. She’s trying to convince her sister that new styles and heavier fabrics will help disguise the first, obvious notice of her condition, working to persuade her that a slow and careful gait can look elegant and not just different.”
He was listening. She could see it. But he hadn’t yet taken the point.
She moved to pick up a letter. “I wanted you to see that this young lady is more than a flirt and a careless gossip. She might have frivolous moments. I’m sure we all do. But she’s investing a substantial amount of time into this project and in trying to draw her sister into the idea, developing her interest, and coaxing her out of her nest.”
He nodded. “It is admirable. I grant you that.” He gazed across the cluttered desk. “It’s a lot of work and a fine cause. I wish her success.”
She relaxed. She hadn’t been sure he would see what she wanted to show him.
He gave her a pointed look. “You have a younger sister at home, do you not?”
There it was. She’d been worried that he eventually would begin to put pieces together and make connections—and it was the first thing out of his mouth.
“Yes.” She allowed herself to smile at the thought of her hey-go-mad sister. “Her name is Glory. Oh, and she’s a handful, that one. My brother is going to have a time taming her and I look forward to watching from afar.” She laughed. “Although, if he is smart he will just bribe her with a prime, blooded mare. Glory is horse mad. She’s probably riding hell-for-leather across the Downs even as we speak.”
She dropped herself into the desk chair. “But you have a sister as well.” She waved a hand over the collection of papers. “I’m sure you understand the urge to help out a sibling.”
He shrugged. “My sister is older than I. The relationship is different.”
“Are you two not . . . amicable?” The thought troubled her.
“We were friends once, when we were younger. Though she swears I was a terrible pest, she did relent to my pleading once in a while and consent to a game of spillikins or hoops. She also hosted elaborate tea parties for her dolls and learned that our cook would provide real cakes if she invited me.” He chuckled.
“What happened?”
“We grew older. I was sent to school. She married and became concerned only with her status amongst the ladies of the ton.” His mouth twisted. “I think that now she could give your sister-in-law a run for Most Shrill.”
Hope shivered.
“Yes. But it’s not all bad. She’s not thrilled with me at the moment because I don’t have the funds to fulfill her latest loan request, but as she’s married and gone, she’s not utterly furious with me for destroying her status in the neighborhood at home.”
“Oh. Your mother?”
“And my aunt as well,” he nodded.
“Because of the rumors?”
“No. Because I leased Greystone Park.”
She frowned, trying to understand.
“Not the entire estate. Not the dower house where my mother and aunt live. Not the farms or orchards or tenancies. Just the main house and the gardens. I leased them to a merchant named McNamara. He’s obtained a staggering amount of success with his shipping concerns. He has the money, and now he wants his wife and daughter to learn the ways of the gentry so that he might get a noble grandson. He decided to give them a trial run in country society before he launches them on London.”
Silently, she absorbed all this. Then she frowned. “But then where do you live?” He hadn’t said we when he mentioned the dower house.
“I took one of the empty tenant’s cottages.”
She blinked.
“It’s just temporary. The lease was only for a year. Not far to go on it now. My mother despised the idea—and she only grew angrier when she met Mrs. McNamara. But it had to be done. There were urgent needs on the estate and no money for this year’s seed, had I not done something.”
“You amaze me, Tensford.”
He laughed. “When my mother says that, she doesn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“I do.” She shook her head. “I greatly admire your ingenuity, not to mention your resilience and your commitment to your people.”
“Yes, well, my people are well worth it.” He picked up a rough sketch from the desk. “My own family may not be . . . close, but there are any number of devoted families at Greystone. And you speak of sibling connections? One of my tenants has a pair of twin boys. You’ve never seen such a bond. I swear, they can hatch a plot with just a shared look. No conversation required.”
She laughed.
He took her hand and pulled her from the chair. “I want you to know I understand what you meant to show me here. It is good to know that there are such family attachments in Society, too.”
She heaved a sigh. It had been a gamble, but he had responded just as she’d hoped.
“But truly, we must get back.” He grimaced. “I don’t want to give Lady X a real scandal to write about.”
“Yes, let’s go. The dancing will begin again soon, no doubt.”
Silently, they slipped back the way they had come, moving together like shadows through the darkened house and along the quiet lane. As he held open the Westmore’s gate, though, he leaned in. “You do know, Lady Hope, that you are fortunate that I enjoy your company?”
She paused.
He eased the gate closed. “This is the second ball I’ve spent in your company and gone unfed.”
She laughed softly. “Oh! I hadn’t considered . . . I am sorry, my lord.”
“It’s fine,” he said airily. “Unless I hear there were lobster patties—and then I will have to seriously reconsider our friendship.”
“Then I will pray that Lady Westmore served only cold, uninspired sandwiches.” She cracked the door leading to the servant’s hall and peered in. “All clear!” She ducked in and raced for the back stairway, feeling him hot on her heels. She rushed upward. “Oh, I hear the musicians tuning their instruments!” she threw over her shoulder. Picking up her skirts, she climbed faster.
He caught her at the top, taking hold of her arm before she could test the door leading into the ballroom.
“Hold a moment. I confess, I am enjoying your scheming, Lady Hope. I can’t wait to see what you’ll come up with next. But we’ve successfully evaded exposure so far, this evening. I’d hate for a stray curl to betray us at the end.” His eyes smiling, he caught a lock of hair that she’d hadn’t felt slip its moors.
The smile faded, though, as he tucked it back into place, adjusting a hairpin to anchor it. His gaze grew heated as, almost reverently, he leaned in to press his face into her coiffure. He breathed deeply. “Rosemary,” he said roughly.
Her pulse still raced from the climb. She felt hot and flushed and a tad out of breath—and happy. More than that. Triumphant. His hand lingered in her hair. Without thought, she leaned toward him. They breathed together, sharing the same air, feeling the same . . . want.
His hand slid down, trailing along the curve of her neck, sending shivers up and down her spine, and then, easily, naturally, she stood on her toes and kissed him.
He stiffened.
A great shudder passed through him. She thought he would rear back, but instead he yanked her closer. She had started it, but he quickly took over, moving his mouth over hers, searching and finding all the ways their lips fit together.
Desire was a spear that transfixed her. Everything else was lost in heat and the forbidden thrill of his lips coaxing hers and the velvet touch of his tongue.
His hands moved to her back. She tilted her head as the kiss deepened, but then gasped in shock and pleasure as he brought her hard against him and she was confronted with the large and thrilling evidence of his enthusiasm.
The sound must have broken the spell. He ended the kiss, dragging his hands from her and taking a step back.
She stared up at him, breathing heavily.
Silence stretched between them.
“Bad idea,” he whispered.
“But—”
“No. We cannot.” He said it flatly.
On the other side of the wall, a sprightly reel struck up.
“You should go out there.” He gestured.
“Alone?”
“Yes. If someone asks, say you needed a maid to help you with your gown.”
“You’ll follow?”
He waved her on.
She stepped to the door, looked back over her shoulder. “I would offer an apology, but it would be a lie.”
Without waiting for an answer, she slipped into the ballroom and strolled casually out from behind the palms. She quickly found an acquaintance nearby and struck up a conversation.
He did not follow. And once more, she watched and waited for him to appear.
He never emerged.
Chapter 6
Dynastic marriages, political alliances, unification of lands or fortunes, love matches. There are many reasons for marriage in Society, my dear young ladies. Be sure that the one you end up with works for you . . .
—Whispers from Lady X
Tensford woke the next morning after a bad night, and still
in a dark mood.
Foolish. Foolish. Foolish. What an idiot he’d been, to kiss Lady Hope Brightley.
He’d made sacrifices, attempting to restore Greystone. Most had barely registered. He didn’t miss his rooms at the manor house—they had been a refuge from his mother’s harangues, but not more. He couldn’t care less about eating simply or bemoan spending his time working out on the estate, next to his people.
But he’d felt a twinge at selling his sporty curricle and he’d hated passing up fossil hunting jaunts with Sterne.
That kiss, however, was another thing entirely. He’d walked right up to the edge of a precipice with that one.
She was so damned tempting. Soft and full of wit and humor—and passion. She’d gone to so much trouble, put her own reputation at risk, just to soothe his troubled spirit and make him more at ease with . . . the world. And to perhaps find a girl who would see past his money troubles and into his heart?
It was a kind gesture, generous and . . . dangerous.
He didn’t want another girl—he wanted more of her. And he didn’t want to want her.
He didn’t want to find himself having to sacrifice her.
Still fuming at the imbalances of fate, he went down to the breakfast room . . . and stopped dead on the threshold.
His mother sat at the table.
“There you are, Tensford. Don’t stand there gaping like a fish. Do come in. Breakfast is waiting.”
He gaped at the groaning sideboard. “So I see. What is this, Mother? Why are you here?”
“I have come for the Season. It’s time I had a bit of a frolic.” She made a face. “Your aunt has worn my nerves to a frazzle—and that McNamara woman! Between the two of them I thought I might go mad. So, here I am.”
To drive him mad? He went to stare at the array of food. “Are we expecting guests? At breakfast?”
“That is a typical breakfast for an English lord, Tensford. Hundreds of peers across London are surveying the same sort of spread. You are an earl. It’s time you lived like one.”
“I am an earl with few funds. We are a family with very little money, Mother.” Thanks in largest part to her. “And I’ve told you time and again, you must learn to live like it.”