Gambling on a Scoundrel (24 page)

"I'm sorry I doubted you." Tempy said. "I never imagined the kind of man he really was. He looked so normal." She shook her head and sighed. "He's a monster hiding in plain sight." She turned her attention back the fire.

Lucien followed her gaze and became mesmerized as he watched flames swirling around the logs in a loving embrace. As he watched, the flames became Formsworth, consuming and laying waste to everything he touched. The room fell silent except for the sound of the hissing flames and the collapsing logs.

21 - Dinner in the Conservatory

Warm air, redolent with the rich scents of fruit trees, enveloped Tempy as she entered the conservatory. At first, the sound of rain hitting the glass panels of the building and the low murmur of running water muffled any other noise, but as she followed the path toward the center of the conservatory, she detected the low murmur of voices.

She followed the sound. Delicate gas torches lined the gravel walkway, lighting her way like fairy lights. When she passed a bushy tropical plant and rounded a bend, she found herself in a large open area. Lucien and Millicent were already there, seated at a dining table in the center of the space.

Lucien stood as soon as he saw Tempy, his large form in the black frock coat making an inky blot of darkness against the shiny green foliage. Tonight, he wore a rich purple waistcoat that seemed to drink in the light.

"Welcome," he said. "Did you have any trouble finding us?" His gaze scanned her from head to toe, causing her to warm slightly.

What did he see when he looked at her that way? She glanced down at her white dress, wondering if it was an appropriate choice for dinner in an indoor garden. When she glanced back up at Lucien, his expression remained impassive. That was fortunate; otherwise she was certain she would have blushed even more. Something seemed different about the man. Or perhaps it was simply that she was learning more about him. He was more complex than she'd imagined. And perhaps a bit more dangerous. At least, dangerous to his enemies.

The tension in her shoulders eased a bit. "I had no trouble all," Tempy replied as she moved toward her seat at the table. "I simply followed the torches."

A silver charger plate was set in front of each of the three chairs at the small table, and the crystal wine glasses glittered in the torchlight. Tempy took her seat.

Millicent cleared her throat. "You had an inspired idea to have us dine in the conservatory this evening, Lucien. This room feels so lush and primal. We really should be reclining on couches while someone feeds us grapes, just like in ancient Rome." She touched a handkerchief to her upper lip.

One of the young footmen lost his stoic expression, showing momentary shock at hearing her words before restoring his face to its formerly impassive state. The poor man must actually think Millicent wanted him to feed her. Tempy couldn't stop herself from grinning at his discomfort. "I can't imagine living such a decadent lifestyle," she said, in an attempt to put the young man at ease. "Having someone feed me that way would make me quite self-conscious."

Millicent's gaze flickered toward the now-composed footman, and Tempy realized that she had noted his reaction as well. "I've always thought that in one of my former lives I must have been a pampered citizen of Rome. I can easily see myself being carried about in a sedan chair and wearing a toga, although how they managed to keep all that draped fabric from falling off their bodies, I'll never know."

The group of footmen worked silently through dinner. As each small course of the meal arrived, one of the footmen would whisk away the last dish while a second footman set a plate bearing another tempting dish in the center of Tempy's charger plate.

Toward the end of the meal, Millicent suddenly turned her head to one side and let out an odd little chirping sound three times in quick succession. "Chew-chew-chew."

Tempy stared at her for a moment, startled, and then comprehension dawned on her. "Bless you," she said.

"Thank you, dear," Millicent said. "It must be the rich air in here."

Tempy inhaled deeply, breathing in the floral and citrus aromas as she watched the footmen noiselessly clearing away the remaining dishes. "It's a shame that it doesn't agree with you." She turned her gaze to Lucien. "This conservatory must have been a wonderful place to explore as a child."

Lucien looked at Tempy blankly for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, it must."

His face revealed nothing, but that very lack of expression made Tempy look at him more closely. "But you didn't do any exploring here, did you?" Her words contained a note of sadness, and she immediately regretted speaking them.

A footman set a small dish of raspberry trifle in the center of Tempy's charger plate. Topped with fresh raspberries, it looked too tempting to resist.

"Growing up, I was never allowed in here," Lucien replied, his voice sounding tight. "My grandfather was protective of this place. Children were prohibited."

Judging by Lucien's clipped tones, there was something more to this story. Of that, Tempy was certain. She put a small spoonful of trifle into her mouth, savoring the taste, but that small distraction did nothing to keep her from asking more questions as she searched for an answer to this new puzzle. "You don't seem the type of man to be dissuaded by a grandfather's tight rein."

The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile, and his gaze flashed toward her. "Normally you'd be right, but on our visit I made an effort to refrain from disgracing my father."

Tempy pressed her lips together. That comment raised so many questions, she couldn't decide which to pursue first. "You mean before today, you've only been here once?"

That Gallic shrug rippled across his shoulders. "Only once to this house, but we visited the nearby village more frequently." He scooped up a fresh raspberry with his spoon and popped it into his mouth. "How did you enjoy your meal?"

"It was excellent," Tempy replied. "Why did you visit the village so often?" she continued, unwilling to be sidetracked.

Millicent interrupted with another of her triple-sneezes, and Tempy repeated a "God bless you."

Lucien settled back in his chair. "There are always maintenance tasks that need to be performed around an estate such as this. My father liked for us to be here to help with the swaling each year." He pronounced the strange word as though it rhymed with
whaling
.

"Swaling?" Tempy parroted. "I've never heard that word before. What does it mean?"

Lucien sipped from his glass of red wine. "After we left the inn, did you notice some of the burned areas on the moor?"

Tempy gave a nod. "Yes. I thought perhaps lightning had struck. The areas seemed to have burned recently."

"It wasn't lightning. The fires were intentionally set. It's important to keep the heath and furze under control in the common, so we regularly burn it off. It's a process called swaling. For a number of years, my father and I helped the villagers swale. Our job was to ensure that the fire didn't jump out of control and threaten any homes."

"It sounds exciting. And dangerous."

"And hard work. But you're right about it being exciting."

She noticed he didn't comment on the danger. "How old were you when your father first had you help?"

"About ten or so. I took part in the swaling over the next four years."

Tempy tried to picture him as a boy, his dark hair tousled and unruly, trudging through the heath and digging firebreaks to inhibit the spread of the fire.

"We'd keep the fires small so they couldn't escape our control. They couldn't burn too hot or too long, or they would've killed the plant roots rather than simply keeping the gorse under control." He sipped his wine. "A quick, sharp fire is what's needed. It keeps the land strong and healthy, and helps prevent fires that might take homes or lives."

"It sounds like important work," Millicent said, her voice cracking on the words. She cleared her throat and winced slightly.

Tempy noticed that Millicent hadn't touched her raspberry trifle, and recalled that she'd only picked at each course that had been served. "Are you well? Your voice sounds slightly husky."

Millicent cleared her throat and then grimaced. "Perhaps some tea would help."

One of the footmen gave a slight nod and slipped around a tree, presumably intent upon fetching tea for Millicent.

"Perhaps you caught a chill in the rainstorm," Tempy said.

"Perhaps," Millicent agreed. She pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. "My head has been aching all day, but now it's getting worse. I believe I'd prefer taking my tea up in my bedchamber. Can you have it sent up?" She pushed back her chair and stood, perhaps too abruptly, because she gripped the seat back and wobbled slightly. She glared at Lucien and Tempy. "Why is it that the two of you were drenched to the skin and are entirely sound, whereas I stayed dry and am now feeling wretched? It is quite unfair." She tried to smile at them, but instead she sneezed again. This time, her ladylike little
chew-chew-chew
repeated itself twice. Millicent glared at them balefully, as though annoyed with them for their apparent good health.

"Goodnight." Millicent moved toward the path as she sneezed once again, and one of the footmen hurried to join her. Tempy could just overhear his murmured offer to escort Millicent to her room. She nodded and took the young man's arm.

"She'll feel better once she's slept," Lucien commented. "It's been a busy day." He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "Would you care to walk with me? I wanted to explore the conservatory."

Tempy tilted her head back to look up at him. "Now that it's yours?"

Lucien arched his eyebrows in surprise, and then he grinned sheepishly. "I think you're right. I need to stake my claim on a place that used to be forbidden to me." His gaze lingered on her face for a moment, but she couldn't decipher his expression. He moved closer and then stepped behind her chair. He pulled it back as she rose to her feet, and then he pushed it back in place.

For a moment, Tempy simply looked at his proffered arm. The memory of that night in the casino when she'd taken Lucien's arm and had gazed up into his eyes engulfed her, and she remembered how the jolt of emotion she'd felt had startled her. Now she tucked her hand around his arm and noticed, again, that it felt much more substantial than Ernest's arm had ever felt. More solid and muscular. Her hand tightened slightly, and she felt his muscles flex under the fabric in response to her pressure.

He glanced down at her, but she wouldn't meet his gaze. She knew better. He was too attractive, and she couldn't risk a repeat of that kiss they'd shared. "I can hear running water over there," she said, pointing with her free hand. "I'd love to investigate."

He said nothing, but turned and escorted her in the direction she'd indicated.

"Tell me what it was like when you'd visit the village as a boy," she asked, hoping the question would distract them both.

He made that dismissive shrug again, and she knew she had blundered into something important to him. She no longer interpreted his shrug as indicating a lack of interest, as he intended it to. Rather, she now saw it as a cue that she'd somehow stumbled upon a delicate subject area. And that made her curious.

"It was easy there," he said. "Not the work, of course, but the way people treated me. Us," he corrected. "Here at the estate, we were in the way. My grandfather didn't want us here. But in the village, everyone seemed happy to see us."

Tempy's heel slid to one side as a piece of gravel under it shifted, and she clutched a little more tightly to Lucien's arm as she caught her balance. "Millicent told me you didn't want the title. Is that why? Because your grandfather was such a..." Tempy couldn't figure out how to finish that sentence. Such a cold monster? Such a short-sighted man? Such an imbecile? But it didn't seem to matter, because Lucien already understood.

"I suppose so," he said, holding her hand more securely against his side.

Tempy felt a surge of protection at his movement, and hated herself for it. She pulled away slightly.

"I would have loved throwing the title back in his face just to see his expression, but since he's dead, that's really not an option."

He tilted his head to one side to avoid a low-lying branch, but his head still grazed it, and to Tempy's surprise, drops of water splashed down on both of them. Had the gardeners recently watered everything? Lucien glanced down at her and brushed a droplet of water from her cheek with the side of his thumb. The gesture was completely natural, but the heat of his hand left an imprint on her cheek that lingered.

She touched her face as she tried to ignore the way her heart beat faster than normal. "Formsworth seems to have a vendetta against you."

"It isn't just me. He always took my grandfather's side against my father, too, and I never understood why."

"Really? That's curious. Perhaps there was some personal animosity between them." One of the water droplets from the branch must have landed on her head, because she could feel it sliding along her scalp. She rubbed at the spot.

"I've wondered that myself." He took a deep breath and released it slowly, shaking his head. "It's hard to accept the role of Earl of Cavendish when people like Formsworth come with it. He'll stop at nothing to turn the people here against me."

"Could there be some reason other than personal animosity that makes him want to make life here in Porlock difficult for you?" she asked. "As I see it, the only way driving you away would benefit him would be if you were to sell off sections of your land."

The gravel crunched as Lucien came to a sudden stop. He looked down at Tempy. "I'd never sell to Formsworth."

"Perhaps not." She shrugged. "But you'd no longer have control of the property once you sold it. Formsworth might decide to purchase a piece of it, or even all of it, from whomever you'd sold it to just to spite you."