The Wickedest Lord Alive (17 page)

“Yes, miss. Thank you ever so much for employing me, miss. I shall do my best to please you.”

Lizzie smiled at her. She wondered how Steyne had managed to engage the girl without giving a hint he was involved. Lizzie was vastly relieved her maid was young and not at all intimidating. For some reason, she’d envisioned a grim-faced martinet glowering disapproval at her when Steyne had told her he’d take care of procuring a dresser.

She only hoped Beth could be discreet. She’d an inkling that was one quality in a maid she would find indispensable over the coming days.

“I’ve taken the liberty of laying out a gown for this evening, miss.” Beth turned to indicate the gorgeous concoction that flared over the coverlet.

Lizzie nearly cried out in delight. It was the most truly exquisite creation she’d ever seen, fit for a fairy-tale princess.

At first glance, she’d thought the gown was white, but on closer inspection, she realized it was the faintest shade of pink. The neckline and sleeves were trimmed with Brussels lace, which proved to be a work of art in itself. Otherwise, the gown was perfectly plain, save for a double flounce at the hem and a twisted silk cord that tied around the high waist.

A silk gown! She had never owned a silk gown before, not even when she lived with her father. Such luxuries were not wasted on chits of seventeen who were yet to leave the schoolroom.

Lizzie made herself tamp down her excitement. She was supposed to be familiar with these gowns, well accustomed to dressing like a young lady of good birth and large fortune.

“That will do nicely,” she managed to say.

A strange kind of fever flared within her. She longed to pore over every pelisse, gown, and undergarment she now owned, thanks to the offices of Lord Steyne.

Dear Heaven, had she learned nothing while living with the vicar?

But any strictures on the hollowness of material possessions fled from her mind as an acquisitive hunger for the beauty and dazzle of new gowns possessed her. She needed to see the rest.

Lizzie managed to stop herself demanding a full display of the fashions Steyne had purchased on her behalf. Beth must not know this was the first time she’d laid eyes on the garments.

Instead, she said, “Beth, perhaps we might get to know one another a little better. Will you go through my wardrobe with me and tell me what accoutrements you think should be worn with each gown? And perhaps I’d best try them on, for I, er, have been ill and lost weight. They might require some small alteration.”

Beth entered into the exercise with all the spirit of feminine love for adornment that burned in Lizzie’s breast.

After half an hour, Lizzie’s head spun in a whirl of delight. From silk evening gowns to velvet pelisses and a truly magnificent riding habit of hunter green, everything she could possibly want or need had been provided. All of it tailored to her shape.

Bonnets and gloves and reticules—there was nothing lacking here. She thought of her drab old dimity with the stain she had not been able to remove. For some reason, she’d been loath to leave it behind, even though she knew she could never wear it again, even if she had stayed in Little Thurston.

Now, she embraced her new wardrobe with delight and a blossoming confidence. She would play the part of the noble lady, even if in her heart she was still plain old Lizzie Allbright.

When Beth had put everything away, Lizzie felt a spurt of something hot and insistent at the back of her eyes.

Why on earth should she weep? Steyne bought her these gowns so that it would not seem odd that the great Marquis of Steyne should fall in love with a complete nobody who dressed like a quiz into the bargain. There was no special meaning or message in these clothes.

Steyne did have exquisite taste; she’d give him that. Eschewing the overabundance of tiered flounces and ruching in fashion this season, he’d chosen garments that would enhance rather than overwhelm her beanpole physique.

Indeed, when she finally settled on a plain white day gown trimmed with green ribbon to wear that afternoon, Lizzie could not help anticipating Steyne’s reaction to her appearance with pleasurable expectation.

Impassive though he might seem upon slight acquaintance, she was beginning to learn how to gauge his moods. Let her see if she could not move him to some expression of admiration. After all, he was supposed to be courting her, wasn’t he?

But when she’d completed her toilette and dismissed Beth, an attack of doubt assailed her. It was not enough that Steyne admire her. She wanted him to care. And beautiful though the gowns were, they would do nothing to secure Lord Steyne’s affections.

She sat down at the ornate dressing table and stared at her reflection like a stern maiden aunt.
You can do this. You have managed other challenges before.

A scratch on the door heralded a house maid, who bobbed a curtsy. “Lady Tregarth sends her compliments, miss, and asks you to join her and Lady Davenport in the yellow saloon in half an hour.”

“Thank you.”

As the door closed behind the maid, Lizzie jumped up. Half an hour was not much time in which to explain the whole sorry mess to Clare.

She knew that the ladies the maid mentioned were Steyne’s sister, formerly Lady Rosamund Westruther, and the Countess of Davenport. She was not precisely certain of the Earl of Davenport’s relationship to Steyne. She was aware only that the earl was a Westruther and that some sort of scandal attached to his name. Clearly, he was still acknowledged and even welcomed by his family if he and his wife were staying at Harcourt.

When Lizzie scratched on Clare’s door, she found her ready to go downstairs. “Aunt Sadie is resting,” said Clare, turning from her looking glass. Her rosebud mouth fell ajar. “Lizzie! Is it really you?”

Laughing a little, Lizzie came into the bedchamber and shut the door behind her. “I don’t wonder you are surprised.” She gripped her hands together and took a deep breath. “Clare, I have something rather shocking to tell you.”

Chapter Twelve

Xavier was annoyed with himself. He’d wanted to leave the afternoon clear, for Lizzie and her entourage were due to arrive. Were it anyone other than the Duke of Montford desirous of his presence, he would have dismissed the request out of hand.

But he’d never managed to shake the sense of duty he owed his former guardian. When the duke summoned, his relations answered. Even Xavier.

He reached the stables at the appointed time and found that His Grace was there before him, astride a handsome dappled gray. The duke looked as fit and strong as ever, his face virtually unlined and his dark hair only lightly dusted with gray.

“Xavier,” said the duke. “So kind of you to join me.”

“A pleasure, sir. As always,” returned Xavier. Lord, they were a pair, weren’t they? Every comment held an ironic barb.

He knew why the duke had summoned him. He decided to take the bull by the horns as soon as they were clear of the stables.

“I must thank you for agreeing to my scheme.”

Montford glanced at him. “I find myself quite agog to meet this young lady. She must be … something out of the ordinary way.”

Indeed she was, or at least Xavier thought so. But Montford’s comment was, as usual, loaded with some obscure meaning. “Sir?”

Montford waved a hand. “To have so captured your interest.”

Xavier grimaced. “Any interest I feel is purely practical. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how vital it is that I have an heir.”

The duke’s lips twisted. “No. You need not tell me anything at all about the importance of heirs.”

Montford urged his mount to a canter. Xavier did the same, curiosity tugging at his mind. He thought he understood his former guardian rather better than most, but he had never fathomed the reason for the duke’s remaining unwed.

Some youthful disappointment, perhaps? But no, that could not be it. While Montford was ruthless when it came to arranging marriages for his own kin, he never expected more of others than he did of himself. There must be a better reason than ancient history to stop him making an advantageous union of his own.

Of course, there was Lady Arden, the beautiful matchmaking widow who was whispered to be His Grace’s mistress …

Mentally, Xavier shrugged. He had his own affairs to concern him. Besides, the duke would not thank him for speculating.

Changing the subject, Xavier said, “No doubt you’ve heard the news.”

“About your mother?” said Montford, never at a loss. “Yes. She has left Vienna, I believe. Heading for Paris.”

The duke’s omniscience was something one might always count on, so Xavier wasn’t surprised His Grace’s information accorded with his own.

Xavier’s idle tone matched Montford’s. “Do you think she killed the husband?”

“No. I think she goaded some poor young swain to do it for her.”

“Very likely.” He’d thought himself dead to any feeling about Nerissa, but he’d been fooling himself. That unhealthy mixture of pity and shame and hatred rose up in him once more.

There was no point castigating himself. Even Montford had not predicted this.

“Will she come here, do you think?” Xavier’s tone was casual. The question was not.

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Montford seemed about to say something, then hesitated.

Xavier was surprised. It was not like the duke to be indecisive. “What is it?” said Xavier.

The duke’s lips pressed together in a grim line. Then he said, “There has been correspondence. Between your mother and your uncle. One letter only.”

One letter was enough. It took all of Xavier’s will to conceal his shock and dismay. The strong presentiment he’d harbored ever since Ned and Charlie had died was justified. His own mistress had tried to murder him. He suspected she’d done it at his uncle’s behest.

Now, it appeared his mother was involved in the plot. Even knowing her, knowing how utterly without conscience Nerissa was, he still burned to deny it. He’d never been less gratified by one of his predictions coming to pass.

After a moment, he managed, “You have an informant in my uncle’s household?”

So did he, but he had yet to hear this news. The news itself was so momentous, he did not have room for chagrin that the duke had received it first.

Montford inclined his head. After a pause, he said, “Let us hope for your mother’s sake that she is distracted by the delights of Paris. I could not find it in my heart to be so lenient with her next time.”

The duke’s tone was chilling. Nerissa’s brand of conscienceless manipulation was incomprehensible to most people. Montford was the only one who had never underestimated her. The duke knew precisely what collusion between Lord Bernard Westruther and Nerissa, the former Lady Steyne, portended.

“Leave her to me, Your Grace,” said Xavier. “This time, I will finish it.” Finish her.

He hadn’t told the duke of Bernard’s attempt to do away with him through Madeleine. He wanted to deal with that in his own way.

Bernard had very sensibly gone into hiding. Martin would find him, of course, and then Xavier would deal with his ambitious uncle. But Xavier’s priority now was getting Lizzie with child as soon as may be.

He’d always considered Nerissa capable of almost anything. But was she capable of conspiring with his uncle—his heir—to murder him before he could father a son?

This clash must end it between them, for good or for ill. He did not care for his own paltry existence. He simply needed to beget that heir. Let the chips fall where they may, after that. He would have won.

The muted clop of their horses’ hooves on the turf was the only sound that broke the silence as this unpalatable truth finally hit home.

Eventually, the duke said, “Yes. It is time. But if you have need of me, I am at your disposal.”

The words astonished Xavier. Not only did Montford undertake not to mastermind his mother’s demise, but he offered his services, too.

“I’m obliged to you.” He sent Montford a swift, searching glance, but the duke was not looking at him.

Xavier cleared his throat. “How soon do you think she will be here? If she does not linger in Paris, that is.”

“I imagine you have in the region of a week,” Montford replied.

A week. That was not much time in which to persuade his absurd and rather touchingly defiant bride that she could not escape her destiny as his marchioness. Yet, with his mother bearing down on them, he couldn’t afford to wait even that long. The careful, slow seduction he’d planned was no longer feasible.

The first child they conceived might be a girl. If they were unlucky, it might take them months or even years to conceive a child at all. But he could not allow such doubts to creep in now. If there was no true pregnancy, they would have to invent one. That would at least buy him time to discover and thwart his mother’s plans.

That this need for haste accorded with his own inclinations to bed his wife without delay did not escape him. He was slightly baffled by his impatience on that score. For so many years, he’d appreciated variety almost for its own sake. Now that he wanted one woman, it was as if diffuse rays of sunlight had been focused by a magnifying glass onto one, specific point.

He burned for Lizzie Allbright.

Their encounter in the vicarage drawing room had been the perfect opportunity to begin his seduction. He ought to have given in to his inclinations and kissed her then.

Yet, anticipation could be powerfully seductive.… It was certainly heightening his own desire to an unacceptable degree.

“May I ask you a question?” said the duke, breaking in on his thoughts. “Why this girl in particular?”

The question took Xavier unawares, but he recovered in an instant. “Why?” He shrugged. “Because we are already married.”

“Given the circumstances, there are any number of ways you might get around that.”

Without answering, Steyne spurred his horse on, soaring over a hedge into the next field.

Montford followed easily, and when they rode abreast once more, the duke went on as if he had not missed a beat. “Not but what it might as well be this girl as anyone else, I suppose. Her breeding is sound. She is young enough to bear children, yet not so young that she would harbor any silly romantical notions. And if she has been living in a simple country village with the vicar, she must be pleased to find herself with such vast riches and a great position to enjoy. All of that, together with the fact that you are already married … Yes, I see your point.”