The Earl's Secret Passion (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 1)

by Gemma Blackwood

  Robert sighed. The last thing his family needed was an inner feud to match their outer ones. Besides, his mother would be distressed if he and his father fell out. He could not put his own pleasure above his mother's happiness. "All this simply to snub the Balfours, Father?"

  "Exactly!" The Marquess practically rubbed his hands together in glee. "They will most certainly not be receiving an invitation!"

  "You must do one thing for me in return, Father," said Robert. "I will host your masquerade – and snub the Balfours – on the condition that you do not interfere with my affairs again."

  The Marquess laughed. "Have you many secrets, son?"

  "None at all. I simply wish to live my life in the manner to which I have become accustomed – independently."

  "It must be very hard on you, Robert, that I have not already died and left you to it!"

  "Now, now. That isn't what I said. I should be very sorry to be without you – but sorrier still if I had to live my life at your beck and call."

  "That's fair," the Marquess allowed. "I will take myself back to Lilistone as soon as I can see that our family has once more become the most prominent in the district."

  "That is not exactly what I asked, Father. Stay until the ball – no longer."

  "It is not that I don't trust you, Robert," said the Marquess, putting a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "It is simply that I can see you still do not understand the importance of a family's reputation. Only when you are head of the Hartley family will you truly understand what it means."

  "May that not be for many years yet," said Robert, squeezing his father's hand. "And now, I will indulge myself in a few of those young man's pursuits we were speaking of earlier. I think I will go for a ride." He needed an excuse to get to the stables quickly, before Cecily took it into her head to go exploring. Not only was she a Balfour, but a stubborn wretch to boot. He would not be calm again until she was safely off his property.

  "A ride?" To Robert's horror, the Marquess began pushing himself up to his feet. "That sounds like the perfect way to brush of the cobwebs of a long carriage journey!"

  "Father, really," said Robert sternly, "consider your health." He glanced meaningfully at the cane. "You are in no state to join me on the sort of ride I intend."

  The Marquess's brows lowered, and, for a moment, Robert feared he was in for one of their notorious father-son battles.

  "Very well," sighed the old man, sinking back into his seat. "I suppose you're right. I will keep myself at home and rest. What is the name of the local doctor, Robert? It would not be a bad idea for me to have someone take a look at this leg."

  "Doctor Hawkins, I believe. I will send for him to visit you at his earliest convenience." Robert gave his father a brisk bow and left the library before the Marquess could change his mind about following him down to the stables.

  He took a minute to ask the butler, Peters, to send a footman to Loxton with a note for Dr Hawkins – he knew his father had very little patience where his health was concerned – and made his way to the stables as quickly as he could.

  "Lady Cecily?" he whispered, finding himself creeping into the hay-scented space as though he himself were the interloper. "Are you ready to go?"

  A horse whickered softly in answer.

  "Lady Cecily?" he asked again, louder. Had she fallen asleep?

  Robert went partway up the ladder and stuck his head into the hayloft. It was empty. Curse that girl!

  He climbed back down and began making his way through the stable, peering into every horse's stall. She'd mentioned wanting to see the horses, after all. He could only hope that she hadn't taken it into her head to sneak back into the house.

  Perhaps his father was right about the Balfours, after all. This behaviour was hardly ladylike. Robert wondered what his reaction should be if he had ever discovered his own sister had hidden in a strange man's stables. He would have been furious – and rightly so.

  "Lady Cecily!" he called again, not daring to really raise his voice. No response.

  There was one last stall to check, and he sincerely hoped he would not find her in it. Not that he wanted her to be missing, of course. It was that the horse at the end of the stables was a prize stallion of difficult temperament and unmatched power. Thunder, as he was called, was one of Robert's most treasured possessions. Few other men would even dare to ride him. If Cecily had chosen to hide in with Thunder, she could expect a sharp kick for her trouble.

  "Here, boy," he called to the horse as he approached the stall. He kept his voice soft and low, hoping to soothe a horse already troubled by an unexpected guest. "There, there."

  To Robert's surprise, Thunder's head did not appear in response to his call.

  To his even greater astonishment, when he reached the stall, he found it completely empty.

  "It's not possible," Robert murmured, staring at the empty space as though his own incredulity could somehow fill it once more with a strapping horse.

  But clearly it was possible – even if he would never in a thousand years have believed it without the evidence of his own eyes.

  Cecily was gone from the stables. She had taken his prize stallion. She was either lying in a ditch somewhere along the road to Loxwell Park, or – could it be true? – she was one of the finest horsewomen Robert had ever encountered.

  He saddled up a second horse with inordinate haste. Drat that impossible girl! He could not possibly let her go to an uncertain fate without at least trying to discover what had become of her.

  Not to mention the fact that he was absolutely not about to let her get away with stealing his finest horse!

  Chapter Seven

  The river Lox was not particularly wide, but it did run deep. Cecily experienced, to her surprise, a moment of anxiety before she kicked the stallion on to jump it. She very rarely encountered an obstacle she was not happy to jump.

  Luckily, the horse sailed over with ease. Cecily found herself suddenly on the other side of the river, back on her father's land. Her unpleasant adventure with the Hartleys of Scarcliffe Hall was decidedly over.

  Well, over except for the matter of the horse she had…borrowed. Cecily was under no illusions. A beast like this was the prize of any stable. Its absence would not go unnoticed for long.

  Still, it was not entirely her fault. The Earl of Scarcliffe could not possibly expect her to wait around in the stables like some serving maid whose dignity he could compromise at will. And as for the horse – well, she had a river to cross, and no bridge to make the crossing. She needed the animal most likely to make the jump.

  "And I chose well, did I not?" Cecily murmured, rubbing the stallion's neck as she approached the huge old house at Loxwell Park. She swung herself down from the saddle with ease and handed the reins to a waiting groom. "Take care of him. He is mine on loan."

  "Cecily!" screamed her mother, running down the wide steps towards her. "Cecily! Where on earth have you been!"

  Cecily let herself be smothered in kisses. "Don't fret, mother. I passed the night in a hunting lodge, that's all."

  Her mother sobbed on her shoulder to a degree that Cecily thought rather excessive. She had only been gone one night.

  "Cecily!" boomed her father, running down the steps a moment behind his Duchess. "Thank heaven you're alive! I have had men out searching for you all night!"

  Cecily noted wryly that her father had not thought to send a messenger to Scarcliffe Hall. The thought of her being there was completely unconscionable. She was wise to keep her true adventure a secret. "There is a little hunting lodge deep in Scarcliffe Forest that they evidently did not find, Papa. I am quite well. There is no need to fret."

  "Mr Willett!" her father called over his shoulder to the butler. "Send to the constable! Lady Cecily is found safe and well!"

  "And where did you find this awful beast?" her mother asked, eyeing the stallion with trepidation. "Really, Ceci, he looks a great deal too much for you."

  "No mere horse is too much for me
, Mama. You ought to know that by now." Cecily's cheerfulness masked her panic. She had not yet thought of an excuse for the horse.

  "Why, that's Dr Hawkins's stallion," piped up a most welcome voice. Lady Jemima Stanhope, the Balfours' ward, was leaning against Loxwell House's great doorway with an air of total innocence that, Cecily knew, invariably meant she was up to something.

  "Dr Hawkins?" repeated the Duchess, looking from Cecily to Jemima in confusion. Jemima came down the steps at a leisurely saunter.

  "Why, naturally. Though he did tell me the horse was rather too much for him, and he wanted to be rid of it again as soon as possible. I saw it the other day, when I met Miss Anna Hawkins in town." She met Cecily's eyes meaningfully. "I expect you came across the good doctor in the forest, Cecily, and he lent you the horse so that you could make your way back home as quickly as possible, to save your dear parents a few moments of worry."

  "Jemima, you are so clever," said Cecily, breathing a sigh of relief. "That is precisely what happened."

  "Did the doctor also lend you a change of clothes, Cecily?" asked her mother, eyeing the maid's dress Cecily had borrowed with ill-disguised horror. Cecily laughed lightly.

  "Oh, gracious, no! My own clothes were ruined in the rain, you see, but fortunately I found these old things in a chest of drawers in the hunting lodge."

  "It cannot have been one of my lodges," said the Duke suspiciously. "Cecily, my dear girl, you must have walked awfully far yesterday."

  "I suppose I did, Papa."

  "I am afraid that you may have ventured…" The Duke lowered his voice. "Onto Hartley land." He wrinkled his nose. "Those Hartley men are precisely the types who would need to keep women's clothing on hand in their hunting lodges."

  "Why on earth would they do that, Papa?" asked Cecily, all wide-eyed innocence. Within her chest, her heart pounded painfully. Her father had come a little too close to the truth for her liking.

  "Honestly," sniffed her mother. "Let's not speak of such things! Now, Cecily, let me take you upstairs. You must be in need of a hot bath and something to eat. Oh, my poor girl! I'm afraid this is the end of your lonesome adventures. If you cannot be responsible enough to come home again at night, I cannot stand to let you wander the grounds alone any longer."

  "Mama! That's a little harsh!" Cecily looked to Jemima for help – Jemima was usually on hand with a quick-thinking escape route for whatever rule the Duke and Duchess thought to impose upon them – but was met only with a helpless shrug. She supposed her parents must have been very distressed indeed when she did not come home. Still, the thought of being confined to Loxwell House except with a companion did not suit Cecily at all.

  She was allowed so few freedoms, as a Duke's daughter. To have her country walks taken away – that would be truly unbearable.

  "You would do best not to complain too much," said Jemima, later, when Cecily was sitting comfortably in a hot bath. Jemima had pulled up a chair beside her and was helping her wash her hair. If she noticed that Cecily's hair was a good deal cleaner than one would expect after a night hiding alone in a hunting lodge, she did not mention it. "You know what your father's like. He will forget the new rule quickly enough. Complaining will only remind him of it."

  "I still do not see why he has to be so stern with me," sighed Cecily. "It was only one night, after all."

  Jemima's hands stilled as they worked the soap through Cecily's hair. "Your parents were sick with worry. You have not lost anyone, Ceci. You do not understand what it is to truly fear for someone you love."

  "Oh, Jemima! I am so sorry." Cecily clasped Jemima's hand in her own, not caring for the soap bubbles. "You must have been worried, too."

  Jemima grimaced. She was not accustomed to admitting to weaknesses, Cecily knew. "After what happened to my poor brother, I find that I cannot be entirely happy unless I know that everyone I love is quite safe."

  "Well, let me reassure you," said Cecily tenderly. "I was never in any danger."

  Jemima was unimpressed. "And yet you weren't safe enough to tell the truth to your father. That horse doesn't belong to Dr Hawkins, Ceci. I've seen it before."

  "Oh?" Cecily knew there was no use lying to Jemima. The two girls were as close as sisters.

  "The Earl of Scarcliffe has no idea who I am, and so he does not bother to avoid me when we are both in town," said Jemima. "Now, I can't claim to know as much about horses as you do, but I certainly recognise that one. I saw the Earl riding it in Loxton only last week."

  Cecily sighed. "Then I suppose you can imagine where I passed the night."

  "Not Scarcliffe Hall?" They were quite alone, but, even so, Jemima was not brave enough to raise her voice. "Ceci, surely not?"

  "Believe me, I had no other choice. And it was not as bad as it might have been." Cecily shrugged, wriggling her shoulders deeper into the warm water. "The Earl is not the monster my father would like us to believe."

  "He did not harm you?"

  "Far from it. He was a little heavy-handed, perhaps. He seemed to be indulging in some fantasy of rescuing a lost damsel."

  Jemima smiled wickedly. "It sounds to me as though that's precisely what he was doing."

  "I am no helpless girl in a fairy-tale!" Cecily protested, splashing her a little. "I would have been perfectly fine without Lord Robert's intervention."

  "I saw the weather last night. I watched all night at the window, in fact, thinking of you caught in that awful storm. You would certainly not have been fine without help. I can only thank heaven that Lord Robert set aside your family enmity for long enough to take care of you."

  "He was certainly most displeased to do so." Cecily could not conceal her laughter at the thought of the horror on Robert's stern, rain-washed face when he first realised who she was.

  She had to admit, if only to herself, that there had been something almost thrilling about the way he had bundled her up in his arms. Not to mention the ripple of excitement that ran through her body each time she met his dark eyes. He had been angry from the start to the finish of their brief acquaintance. She had made him angry, with her very presence. She found the idea strangely alluring.

  Jemima was looking at her strangely. Knowing there was very little that escaped the penetrating mind of her father's ward, Cecily turned her attention back to rinsing the soap from her hair.

  "Pass me a towel, won't you?" The maid had hung them in front of the fire to heat through nicely. Even though it was a fine summer's day, Cecily enjoyed the warmth against her skin.

  "There's something more, isn't there?" asked Jemima, narrowing her eyes at Cecily.

  "More?" Cecily asked. "Why, isn't a night spent in the house of my family's greatest enemies enough? Isn't being introduced to the Duke of Beaumont in a dress turned practically see-through by the rain enough? Isn't stealing the Earl of Scarcliffe's finest horse enough? What more scandal do you want from one outing, Jemima?"

  Jemima rolled her eyes. Whether she believed Cecily or not, Cecily was not prepared to admit to any more than she had already.

  If she simply ignored the feelings that stirred within her when she remembered how Robert had carried her in from the rain, they would go away in time. There was nothing to worry about at all.

  Chapter Eight

  "I say, Robert, what happened to that rather splendid stallion you used to ride? What did you call him – Thunder?"

  The Baron Northmere had no idea how sorely his question ruffled Robert's pride. "Thunder has not been perfectly healthy of late," he said, kicking the brown thoroughbred he was riding into a trot. "The stablemaster advised me to give him a rest."

  "I wouldn't have thought a horse like that would be prone to illness," said Northmere. "Let me send my man round to take a look at him."

  "I'm quite happy with my own stablemaster, Northmere." Robert did not wish to be harsh with his friend, but he could not bear the shame of revealing that his horse had been stolen by a chit of a girl. The gentlemen had given him enough grief over his "heroic"
rescue of Lady Cecily as it was.

  The day she rode off, Robert had followed the horse's tracks as far as the river which separated his lands from her father's. At first, he had been unable to believe what the tracks told him. Surely there was no possible chance that a young woman riding side-saddle would be able to make that jump?

  But the evidence was before his eyes. Once Robert had ascertained Cecily was safely back on Balfour land, he had no choice but to return home and ruminate on her insolence. Her sharp tongue. Her wilfulness. Her beauty.

  In point of fact, Robert had done rather too much ruminating on Lady Cecily than was proper. It was the horse, he told himself. He could not abide the theft of his horse. Once it was returned to him, which, in time, it surely would be, he could forget all about Cecily and her blue eyes and her fierce temper.

  "Ought we to turn back, Scarcliffe?" asked Beaumont, catching him up. Beaumont sat his horse with an elegant grace that Robert would have envied, if he was the sort to envy any man. It simply wasn't right that a man should be handsome, even-tempered, a fine sportsman, and a Duke. There were few men in the world as blessed as Beaumont. "You must have an awful lot of preparations to make for this masquerade business."

  Robert groaned, not bothering to disguise it. "I must apologise again, Beaumont. My father's stubbornness…"

  "Oh, don't think of it!" laughed Beaumont, though Robert knew he was inwardly displeased. "Anything to satisfy the old man."

  Balls were a source of endless torment for the Duke of Beaumont. Although no man made his enjoyment of a bachelor's lifestyle clearer, the thought of a dance with the Duke was enough to send most girls clean off their heads. Beaumont would endure a swarm of swooning women that evening. It did not matter how often he expressed his distaste for fortune-hunting young Misses. The thought of an unloving husband was not nearly enough to deter them from the dream of becoming a Duchess.

  "It's all for a good cause, after all," Hart chimed in. Jonathan was probably the best horseman of the four of them, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. He lounged atop his horse as though he were relaxing on a chaise longue with a whisky in hand.