A Scoundrel by Moonlight (12 page)

“When I first arrived, I was terrified.”

“The moors are terrifying. Bogs that will swallow a cow. Crevasses where you can fall and break a leg and nobody will ever find you. The weather crashes down cold and misty from a perfectly blue sky.” Like today’s, although instincts honed through a lifetime told him that the sunshine would hold, at least until tonight.

“Now I see magnificence. It’s so big. Nothing petty or unworthy can survive under this sky.”

Surprised, he stared at her. “I always feel free out here,” he admitted, before he recalled that sharing confidences with Miss Trim was a bad idea.

“Do you miss it when you’re in London?”

A month ago, he’d have laughed at the thought. Missing the wilds of Yorkshire when he was in the hurly-burly of power? Stagnating in this backwater instead of deciding his nation’s destiny? Living quietly with his mother instead of exploring the amusements that the capital offered a bachelor with endless wealth and no domestic ties?

He surveyed this uncivilized landscape that had taught him so much when he’d been a restless boy. “Yes, I do.”

“So why stay away?”

His smile was grim. “I can’t become prime minister from an obscure hamlet thirty miles outside York.”

“You can, however, lead a useful, satisfying life caring for your estates and your people.”

“Miss Trim…”
Eleanor.
“This is a mere interlude while the world forgets the Fairbrother scandals.”

“Lady Sophie’s courtship had a respectable conclusion.”

“How innocent that sounds when she set every tongue in London wagging. An heiress eloping with a disreputable member of a family known to be at odds with the Fairbrothers? It’s the stuff of those sensational novels you read to my mother.”

“At least Lady Sophie’s happy.”

“Oh, she’s that. The worst is that Sophie’s rebellion came hot on the heels of my uncle’s exposure as a thief and murderer.” He faced Miss Trim directly. Perhaps he mistook the situation, but he needed to clarify the issues between them. For her sake and his. “I can’t risk further scandal.”

She had such fine skin, fluctuating color betrayed her faintest emotion. “You needn’t warn me off, my lord.” Her response was curt. “I have no wish to become a rich man’s plaything.”

Bitterness tainted his laugh. “Then stay out of rich men’s bedrooms.”

“I learned my lesson.” Her color flared hotter, making her eyes flash caramel fire. In her lap, her hands tightened around each other. “I know my place and I’m willing to keep to it. I hope you’ll do the same.”

“I’ll do my best, Miss Trim,” he said flatly and set the horses to a fast canter that precluded further discussion.

N
ell was reading one of the new books to Lady Leath when his lordship arrived the next afternoon. After the abrupt ending to yesterday’s strangely intimate conversation, he’d reverted to Business Leath.

Business Leath had an impressive grasp of agricultural and industrial matters. Business Leath never fumbled to recall a name or date. Business Leath bit out his words with a crispness that made her want to salute the way some raw recruit had once saluted her soldier father.

Business Leath would never kiss his secretary.

This version of the multifaceted marquess might promise safety, but there must be something in the air. Every day safety became less appealing.

Until yesterday, she’d wondered if he even remembered kissing her. Now she realized that he too fought their attraction. She was ashamed at how difficult her struggle was. She’d told herself over and over that Leath was the man who had ruined Dorothy and only a self-destructive fool would consider yielding to him. But as the days passed, she had a
horrible feeling that she might be just such a self-destructive fool.

She rose on legs that always went weak in his presence and curtsied. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

The stern nod was pure Business Leath. “Miss Trim.”

She should be glad. Business Leath posed no threat to her willpower. But she missed yesterday’s closeness when he’d spoken of his home with such love that she’d made that stupid suggestion for him to stay. Fleetingly, she’d glimpsed this man’s soul, and what she’d seen had intrigued and moved her.

“How are you feeling today, Mamma?” Leath kissed his mother’s cheek with the fondness that always chipped at Nell’s dislike. “It’s another fine day. Perhaps we can sit in the gardens.”

“That would be lovely, James,” the marchioness said. “If you can spare the time. I know you’re busy.”

He shrugged as he took his usual seat. “If I lag behind, I have a very efficient secretary to help me.” He sent Nell a mocking glance. “Please, Miss Trim, cease hovering.”

His attention leveled on the chair she’d been using. Clearly he’d noted the way she retreated to the window seat half a room away when he visited his mother. His quick perception made her wary. He might appear focused on his own purposes, but a week as his secretary had taught her that those gray eyes missed nothing. Willing her heartbeat to slow, she sat where he indicated.

The marchioness smiled her delight. “I told you that Nell was just the woman to get you out of this mess.”

“You were right.” He paused. “But she falls short in one important skill.”

Nell cast him a fulminating glance. She thought she’d done a fair job in a role that tested her. “My lord?”

He wasn’t smiling, but the faint relaxation of his mouth indicated amusement. She’d never met a man who hid his reactions like this one. He must be a devil of a politician. She felt a twinge of sympathy for his opponents.

“The admirable Miss Trim doesn’t ride.”

Nell struggled to sound properly respectful. “A woman of modest means rarely has her own stables.”

He sighed, and now she was certain that he teased. “I have stables.”

The marchioness clapped her frail hands. “James, are you going to teach Nell to ride? What a wonderful idea. She’ll love it.”

“I appreciate your kindness, sir,” Nell said, although appreciation was the last thing on her mind. Hoping that the marchioness wouldn’t see, Nell narrowed her eyes on Leath. How on earth did this chime with yesterday’s warning? “But this is unnecessary. As you pointed out, you’re already busy.”

Lady Leath regarded her with admiration. “My dear, I’m so glad that you don’t let my son trample all over you. He can be overbearing.”

“Mamma, for pity’s sake,” Leath protested.

“Well, you are,” his mother said unrepentantly. “Poor Paul is a complete dogsbody.”

“That’s not true.”

Nell hid a smile. “His lordship will be happy when his new secretary arrives.”

At least that diverted the marchioness’s attention from her companion. “James, what have you done about replacing Paul?”

Leath looked uncomfortable. Almost… furtive. “Matters are in hand.”

Nell frowned in puzzlement. If he’d sent to London, or even York, for Mr. Crane’s substitute, he must have written the letters himself. She certainly hadn’t.

“Most mysterious,” the marchioness said.

“Not at all,” he said, and to Nell’s annoyance, returned to the issue of riding lessons. “Until I get a new secretary, it’s imperative that Miss Trim can sit on a horse.”

“We managed with the gig yesterday,” she said.

“We’ll need to go cross country.”

“Nell, James is right. Doesn’t the idea of galloping over the moors thrill you, even just a little?” Regret that she usually fought gallantly to hide filled Lady Leath’s voice. “I remember as a bride riding for hours beside James’s father, discovering the estate. I’ve never felt so free.”

Odd. Free was the word the marquess had chosen to describe his reaction to the moors too. “Horses are so big.”

“Don’t tell me you’re frightened, Miss Trim,” the marquess said. “I’m convinced that not even a herd of charging elephants could ruffle a hair on your head.”

Little did he know that her attraction to one difficult marquess made her quake with terror.

He surveyed her down his long nose. “Or perhaps that’s the devilish unbecoming way you pull it back.”

It was her turn to protest. She raised a hand to where her hair strained from her forehead. “My lord!”

“He’s right, my dear,” the marchioness said. “I wish you’d let Nancy arrange it for you.”

Nell hid a shudder. Nancy, Lady Leath’s maid, was so jealous of Nell that she was more likely to tear out every hair on her head than create a becoming style. “It’s not fitting.”

“Nonsense,” the marchioness said. “You and my son dwell too much on questions of rank.”

“My mother is a revolutionary,” the marquess said drily. “She’d happily march me off to the guillotine in the name of liberty, equality, and fraternity.”

“Don’t be silly, James. But sometimes you’re ever so
stuffy.” She sent Nell a disapproving glance. “And that stuffiness has rubbed off on you, my girl. I’m disappointed.”

Reluctantly, Nell smiled. When she wanted her own way, the marchioness was more formidable than her formidable son. “I’ll try riding.”

“Excellent,” the marchioness said.

Nell hadn’t finished. “But if I show no aptitude, I ask that you both drop this subject.”

“And if I need to visit some isolated corner of the estate?” Leath asked.

“If you’re not home for supper, we’ll arrange a search party.”

To her surprise, he laughed properly. She’d never heard him express full-scale amusement before. The sound was wonderful. Liberated and joyous and rich. She found herself smiling at him.

Then she caught the marchioness’s speculative expression and her smile faded to nothing. What on earth was she doing? Anyone would say she flirted with the marquess. And anyone would be right.

Already they spent too much time together. She told herself that she sought the diary, but it was days since she’d looked for it. Instead, she fell victim to Lord Leath’s charm and intelligence. Now, heaven help her, she’d just agreed to riding lessons which she feared must involve physical contact. And she was too susceptible to the touch of those strong, elegant hands.

As Leath approached the stables the next day, the sun crept over the horizon. He wasn’t surprised to see the woman who was his torment and his fascination waiting. Why the devil he did this, he couldn’t say. In truth, he’d manage quite well without someone at his side in his estate’s less accessible areas.

But when they’d shared the gig, he’d recognized Eleanor’s longing as she’d gazed across the hills. She might repress her fiery spirit, but he knew its power. Her wildness called to him, just as the wild, magnificent landscape did.

“Miss Trim,” he exclaimed, slamming to a standstill.

Strengthening light revealed one of those damned beguiling blushes. “Her ladyship lent it to me.”

He told the reckless heart that always raced at the sight of her that Miss Trim in a scarlet riding habit was nothing extraordinary. “Those gray dresses are almost as much of an abomination as your hair.”

The habit was old-fashioned. Of course it was. His mother hadn’t been well enough to ride since Sophie’s birth twenty years ago. But that didn’t take anything away from the fetching ensemble.

“You’re so rude.” Self-consciously one leather-gloved hand touched the fiercely restrained hair. He winced to see it. She’d been extra severe this morning, as if to defy yesterday’s criticism. A high-crowned beaver hat tied with a jaunty red scarf dangled from her other hand.

“You strike me as a woman who appreciates frankness,” he said.

“Perhaps you should check whether I also appreciate a few kind lies,” she snapped back.

Miss Trim had clearly started the day in a prickly mood. He must be completely insane to relish her peppery responses. He raised one hand and circled his finger, indicating for her to turn around.

She cast him a darkling look. “I may work for you, sir, but I’m an independent soul, not a doll.”

“You and my dear mother are both rebels,” he said wryly. “Indulge me.”

Her sigh indicated impatience, but she cooperated with
a theatricality that made him want to laugh. His life was crammed with seriousness and purpose. Laughter wasn’t a regular presence. Yet Miss Trim made him want to laugh—when he wasn’t burning to haul her into his arms.

“Very becoming.” In the beautifully tailored habit, she looked poised and elegant. She looked, he was shocked to see, like a woman of his own class.

How he’d love to banish every gray rag and adorn her in rich colors. Peacock blues. Emerald greens. Garnet reds. In his imagination, she dressed as the alluring woman she was.

Dear God, in his thoughts, he kitted Miss Trim out as his mistress. Heat shuddered through him at the forbidden idea. And somewhere, a terrible temptation stirred.

“Thank you,” she said drily. “I don’t need to learn to ride.”

“You lost that argument yesterday.”

Her lips firmed. “Only because you asked me in front of your mother.”

This time he couldn’t contain his amusement. “I’ve learned a few tricks from my years in politics.”

She almost smiled. An almost smile from Miss Trim was more dazzling than the sun. “I’ll have to be on my toes, I see.”

She would indeed. Or she’d be on her back.

Luckily, he was saved from making that wish reality when a groom led out her pony. “Miss Trim, allow me to introduce one of nature’s gentlemen, Snowflake.”

At his name, the fat, white pony nodded his shaggy head. Miss Trim laughed. “I had nightmares about this. Snowflake isn’t exactly what I imagined.”

“I’ve decided to save the fire-breathing monster for tomorrow.” Leath thanked the groom and took the reins. “Have you ever been on a horse?”

“No.”

He regarded her searchingly. “You’re not really frightened, are you?”

“No.” She hesitated. “Maybe. Yes. A little.”

“You’re close to the ground on Snowflake.”

“Easy for you to say.”

He laughed again. “Do you need me to help you up?” Snowflake was too small for a woman of Eleanor’s height, but Leath wanted her first ride to soothe her fears.

“I think I can manage.”

Pity. His hands itched to circle that willowy waist.

Snowflake stood while Miss Trim settled gingerly on his back. Leath was surprised at her uncertainty. He’d believed her completely indomitable. This vulnerability was dangerously appealing.

He passed her the reins and she grabbed them so hard that Snowflake whickered in protest. Knowing that contact was a mistake, Leath placed his hands over hers. “Gently.”

“Sorry,” she muttered and sat stiff as a board in the sidesaddle as he checked her stirrup. She wore half boots, and when he twitched away the voluminous red skirts, a glimpse of white stocking crashed through him like a cannonball.

He stepped back. “How do you feel?”

She looked very unsure. “Like I’m sitting on a volcano that’s about to erupt.”

He snickered. “Old Snowflake is pushing twenty, Miss Trim. If he erupts, it will be into a mind-numbingly speedy stroll.”

“That’s scary enough.”

“Courage. If you can face down a cranky marquess, this old pony is a doddle.” He patted Snowflake, who looked half asleep—so much for Miss Trim’s worries—and took the halter. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“You can’t sit in the stable yard all morning.”

“It’s my first lesson.”

“So start learning.” Clicking his tongue to the somnolent horse, he moved forward.

“Oh, dear.”

He glanced back. Miss Trim clutched the front of the saddle as though about to topple off. She looked utterly terrified.

“Deep breath.”

“I think you should stop.”

“I think you should let yourself fall into the rhythm of the horse.”

“Please don’t say ‘fall.’ ”

He laughed again. Good God, at this rate, he’d be the life of the party once he got back to London. “Someone as graceful as you should have no trouble riding. Listen to your body.”