A Scoundrel by Moonlight (22 page)

“James, you’ll break my heart,” his mother whispered. She looked deathly tired now that the brief vitality fueled by temper faded.

“Forgive me, Mamma,” he said softly, kissing her forehead and stroking back the strands of graying blond hair that escaped her cap.

Her expression didn’t lighten. They both knew that an appeal for forgiveness wasn’t capitulation.

N
ell finally reached the end of the meandering drive leading up to Fentonwyck. This huge baroque palace was the family seat of His Grace, the Duke of Sedgemoor. The man the papers described as Leath’s implacable enemy. The man she prayed would expose the marquess’s crimes to public scrutiny.

She was shivering and soaking wet and her feet had turned into blocks of ice hours before she’d passed through the neat village clustering around the estate’s elaborate wrought-iron gates. Her mare had started limping a good ten miles ago and now trudged at her side, head lowered in misery. After Nell’s night with Leath, riding had felt like the worst torture—until she’d tried hiking through the storm.

“Not far now, darling,” she whispered to the horse, although the wind whipped her words away.

On Nell’s other side, the taciturn gatekeeper who braved the weather to accompany her stumped along, holding his lamp high. He wore oilskins and carried an umbrella. He’d offered one to her, but it provided little protection.

Still, she appreciated his kindness. He’d suggested she wait in the gatehouse while he fetched the duke, but Nell couldn’t bear any delay. She itched to lay her evidence before Sedgemoor at the earliest opportunity. She prayed that the letters had survived the journey. They were packed in straw and sealed in a saddlebag.

“There be the house,” the gatekeeper said, the first words he’d spoken in what felt like hours. “His Grace be entertaining.”

Nell gulped, stopping abruptly at the sight of the long façade. Even through the rain, Fentonwyck’s magnificence was visible. A symmetrical row of windows, nearly all lit despite the late hour. A curved double staircase rising to a balustraded terrace.

When she’d found those damning letters, she’d thought only as far as escaping Leath and fleeing to his enemy. Now that she stood outside this enormous house, feeling friendless and bedraggled, she quailed from facing a pack of supercilious aristocrats.

“I don’t—” she began.

But the gatekeeper slogged on through the rain and didn’t hear. Nell mustered her fading strength and followed him. Her mare—she hadn’t even had a chance to ask Leath what the animal’s name was—sensed that shelter was near because she moved more readily when Nell tugged the reins. The beast had been a gallant companion and Nell had suffered more than one pang over forcing the fine-bred horse to struggle on through exhaustion.

To her relief, the man took Nell around the back into a yard surrounded by outbuildings. Everything dissolved into movement and noise so that more quickly than she’d ever imagined, she found herself wrapped in a towel and dripping onto the tiles in a small office near the kitchens. Somehow
through all the activity, she’d remembered to grab the saddlebag. Her numb fingers had trouble holding it. There was a fire in the hearth, but the heat returning to her skin was more painful than restorative.

Vaguely through her daze, she heard the door behind her open. “Miss Trim, you needed to see me urgently?”

Unsteady with cold and dread, she slowly turned. She’d never seen the Duke of Sedgemoor, although sketches of him often appeared in the papers. She couldn’t mistake that the tall, serious man regarding her with a mixture of interest and wariness was familiar with command. Leath conveyed the same air, although physically he was more heavily muscled.

“Your Grace,” she whispered, dipping into an awkward curtsy.

His hand caught her elbow as she struggled to rise. “Dear girl…”

“You’ll curse me for interrupting your evening,” she said, although that was hardly the most important thing she had to say. Tiredness and heartbreak made her stupid.

His grip was firm and strangely comforting. “That doesn’t matter. Rest now and we’ll speak tomorrow.”

She heard kindness, then reminded herself that she’d believed Leath was kind. These powerful men defied her instincts. “No, I must do this now.”

Shivering, she thrust the wet saddlebag forward. The room started to recede in an alarming way and she had a superstitious terror that if she failed at this last challenge, she’d fail altogether. “You must destroy the Marquess of Leath.”

The duke’s eyebrows arched in astonishment and he stepped back without taking the letters. “James Fairbrother?”

Bone-deep bitterness emerged through her exhaustion. “Is there another?”

“My dear Miss Trim…”

“He’s ruined hundreds of innocent girls, including my sister Dorothy. I want…”

She paused. Even through her desperation, she understood that one did not tell a nobleman of Sedgemoor’s standing what one wanted and expect him to leap to obey. She licked her lips and tried to straighten, but shudders racked her. She clutched the towel more closely, but it was as sodden as her dress and offered no warmth. She edged toward the fire, hoping to bolster her strength. Her head pounded and she had difficulty grabbing a full breath. Still, she made herself go on.

“I’m here to beg Your Grace to take action against this man.”

Nell wasn’t sure what she’d expected from the duke, but it wasn’t a cool and assessing inspection that made her feel beneath contempt. “Miss Trim, you can’t go around making wild accusations,” he said, the chill contrasting with his former kindness.

She raised her chin. She could do this. For Dorothy, who had deserved so much better. For all Leath’s victims. She didn’t count herself in that number. She’d invited her downfall. Unlike those other girls, she’d known what he was, yet she’d fallen as readily as a ripe plum from a tree.

“I have proof.” She battled to straighten her arm as again she held out the saddlebag. “You’ll see.”

He took the bag, mainly to save her from dropping it, she thought. “I’m sure there’s some mistake.”

Even through the storm in her head, a storm as violent as the one outside, a grim premonition arose that she’d made a mistake. This handsome, dark-haired man didn’t behave like someone who finally had his foe in his sights.

“No,” she croaked. “No mistake.”

“His lordship’s reputation—”

“Is a sham like his lordship,” she snapped, before reminding herself that she acted like a yahoo and that if she wasn’t careful, the duke would throw her out on her ear. If he did, where could she go to obtain vengeance? The marquess would squash any lesser man who came against him the way his boot squashed a bug.

The duke placed the bag on the floor and took her arm again. “You’re not well.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said in a rush, knowing that her legs wouldn’t support her much longer. “All that matters is that you stop him.”

“We’ll talk when you’re feeling more yourself.”

The duke’s voice echoed eerily. She’d felt so frozen when she came inside. Now the fire in the grate crawled along her skin like biting ants.

She dug her fingers into his sleeve. “Please,” she tried to whisper. Darkness edged her vision. “Please…”

The floor rose up to strike her.

In too much turmoil to sleep, Leath retreated to his library. He bitterly regretted quarreling with his mother. All his life, he’d been protective of her frail health. But making his peace with his mother meant sundering his connection with Eleanor. And he wasn’t willing to do that.

He threw himself into the leather chair behind his desk and watched John light the candles and set the fire. When he was alone, he glanced around this extravagant room that he’d always loved, and at last recognized that Alloway Chase was indeed haunted. Not by poor Lady Mary reputed to walk the battlements on windy nights, although God knew the night was windy enough to wake a hundred specters.

No, the ghost who haunted him was the woman he loved.

“Goddamn it,” he growled, slamming his hands on the leather blotter and upsetting a pile of mail.

He rose and gathered the letters, idly flicking through them. Reports from his various estates. Invitations he had no intention of accepting. Correspondence from his dwindling number of political allies. A letter from Berkshire that must report on the search for that blackmailing bastard Hector Greengrass.

Leath’s heart crashed to a stop and he ripped one particular letter from the rest. Hands shaking, he tore it open and moved closer to the fire to read it.

It was from the inquiry agent he’d engaged to check Miss Trim’s background. She’d arrived bearing impressive references from a Lady Bascombe of Willow House in Sussex. The agent had written several times saying that he was yet to locate the manor.

Urgently, Leath scanned the few lines. Far too few lines to convey much information, he quickly realized. Sykes had covered Sussex from top to bottom and side to side and he could categorically state that Willow House did not exist. Lady Bascombe was equally fictitious.

Feeling sick, Leath lowered the letter.

The knowledge that Eleanor had deceived him from the start made him crush the note into a ball. Yet while he was bewildered and angry, he wasn’t surprised. He’d always known that she wasn’t what she claimed. As his mother had said, Eleanor was a most unlikely housemaid. She hadn’t even tried to hide that she’d been educated beyond the level of most servants or that her proud spirit was unaccustomed to bowing to authority.

The problem now was that if Eleanor had fabricated her history, he had no idea where to look for her. Was her name even Eleanor Trim?

Then he recalled her father’s war records. Whatever else was false, everything she’d told him about Sergeant Major Trim was true.

Her father had been a Kentish man. With sudden determination, Leath returned to the desk and wrote instructions to Sykes to continue the hunt in Kent. Now he sought Eleanor Trim, daughter of Sergeant Major Robert Trim, late of Wellington’s Army in Portugal. Leath included all the information he had, including the timing of her mother and her half-sister’s deaths, and prayed that it was enough.

N
ell stirred from sleep and blindly slid her hand across the bed, seeking James. When she encountered empty space, she remembered everything and opened her eyes with a sharp cry.

“Miss Trim, pray be calm.” A lovely dark-haired woman leaned over her with a concerned expression. “You’re safe here at Fentonwyck.”

Behind the woman, the room was vast and decorated with paintings that Nell recognized as masterpieces. She struggled to sit, wincing as her body reminded her that yesterday she’d traveled miles.

Had it been yesterday?

“What happened?”

The stranger was round with child and wearing a beautiful loose gown in green velvet. Her black eyes were bright with amusement and interest. “Last night you appeared out of a thunderstorm, spouting extravagant denunciations against Lord Leath, then you fainted into my husband’s arms. It was a performance worthy of the Theatre Royal.”

Nell felt as though she’d been battered by rocks, but she still managed to blush. This beautiful creature must be the Duchess of Sedgemoor. “Your Grace, I’m sorry to disrupt your household.”

Her Grace laughed. “Your arrival brightened up a party that became odiously dull. Please don’t apologize.”

Nell felt increasingly awkward. This room was fit for a queen, not a mud-spattered nobody. “I’ve put you to great inconvenience.”

“Rubbish. We have plenty of space and a regiment of servants standing idle.” She rose and crossed to the window where she flung the curtains wide with a rattle that made Nell flinch. Nor did the bright light help her pounding head.

It was late morning, over twenty-four hours since she’d discovered proof of Leath’s offenses. What had he done when he found her missing? He must know that Nell’s possession of the letters meant exposure. He’d be furious, and desperate to silence her before she sparked a scandal.

She should be terrified. But it was difficult to be frightened cocooned in this feminine bower, with a duchess inquiring after her comfort. Leath couldn’t hurt her here.

She was such a fool—despite everything she knew, she found it hard to see his lordship hurting her at all.

The thought of Leath stabbed like a knife and made her want to curl up and howl out her agony. She cringed to remember that betraying moment when she’d reached for him. How was it that after one night, she couldn’t imagine waking up without him beside her?

“I planned to see His Grace then leave.”

“You’re in no fit state to go anywhere.” The duchess sent Nell an assessing look. “And I hardly think Sedgemoor will accept the documents you produced without asking about your dealings with Lord Leath.”

Curse these blushes. If she wasn’t careful, the duchess might guess just what her
dealings
with Leath had involved. “You’ve seen the letters?”

“Of course,” the duchess said coolly, crossing to a gilt and marble table where a tea tray waited.

After nigh drowning in yesterday’s rain, it seemed absurd to be so thirsty. Nell fought to leave the bed, weary muscles resisting the activity. Only then did she realize that she wore an embroidered white lawn nightdress that would cost a housemaid more than a year’s wages.

The duchess turned from pouring tea to catch Nell’s attempts to stand. “What on earth are you doing?”

“It’s not fitting for you to wait upon me, Your Grace.”

“Nonsense.” Calmly she finished preparing the tea. “Lie down. I’m surprised you’re awake at all. You looked ready to give up the ghost. But the doctor said that with rest, you’ll be fine.”

“The doctor…” Nell fell back. Whatever her mind demanded about leaving this room, her legs weren’t ready to take her.

“Yes.” Her Grace glided across the pale blue floral carpet that matched the ceiling’s plasterwork and extended a cup and saucer. “He came last night.”

Automatically Nell took the tea, although her hand shook so badly that she feared spilling it over the exquisite bedding. “I’ve put you to so much trouble. This wasn’t what I intended.”

The duchess waved a graceful hand and slid a brocade-covered chair closer. “I’ve told you no apologies are necessary.”

Why was this woman so needlessly kind to a stranger? “I must dress and see His Grace.”

The heavily pregnant duchess sat with endearing clumsiness. She leveled an unwavering stare upon Nell. “Once you’ve regained your strength.”

Before Nell could argue, a knock heralded the arrival of a striking blond woman carrying another tray. “I intercepted the maid outside. I can’t contain my curiosity any longer. Who is your mysterious invalid, Pen?”

The duchess smiled and Nell caught her breath at the woman’s beauty. In the newspapers, she’d seen sketches of the Duchess of Sedgemoor. Scandal had shadowed the union from the start, even before the duke and duchess became embroiled in Sophie Fairbrother’s elopement. “Come in, Genevieve. I’m surprised Sidonie isn’t here too.”

“She’s in the stables with Jonas, admiring your guest’s mare.” The newcomer’s ice-blue eyes sharpened on Nell with unconcealed interest as she deposited the tray on a table. “Jonas says that Leath bought that bay at Tattersall’s last week. He particularly remembers because he went up against the marquess for her and lost.”

Nell felt as if her cheeks must catch fire. “I’m sure he’s mistaken.”

“Jonas has a memory like a steel trap for horseflesh.” The blond woman paused. “Actually Jonas just has a memory like a steel trap.”

With every moment, Nell felt more out of place. The gatekeeper had mentioned the house party, but only now in the presence of these elegant women who were clearly good friends did she realize how she’d intruded.

To Nell’s astonishment, the duchess took her hand. “Miss Trim, please ignore Lady Harmsworth. She has an inquiring mind.”

The blonde laughed. “You mean I’m incurably nosy, Pen.”

Her Grace sent her friend a quelling glance before turning back to Nell. “You needn’t tell us anything you don’t want to.”

“I’d… I’d like to see His Grace as soon as possible,” Nell
said tremulously, wondering why she didn’t open her mouth and denounce Leath.

“Have your breakfast,” the duchess said in a soothing voice.

The thought of eating under Lady Harmsworth’s inquisitive gaze made her stomach revolt. The papers had been full of stories about the famous scholar who last year had married the ton’s darling, Sir Richard Harmsworth. An inquiring mind, indeed. And one Nell, in her weakened state, was in no shape to defend herself against. “Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

“Of course you are. We’ll leave you in peace.”

“But—” Lady Harmsworth protested.

The duchess stood. “Miss Trim has barely caught her breath since her ordeal.”

Resisting Her Grace was like trying to fight a cloud of feathers. Despite Nell’s demurrals, the duchess and Lady Harmsworth soon had her tucked up in bed with the tray on her knees and fresh tea on the nightstand.

At last they gave her the blessed relief of privacy. Nell took her first unconstricted breath since she’d awoken to this astonishing treatment. She told herself that if she persisted, justice would prevail. But as she contemplated the delicacies before her, all she felt was lonely and betrayed.

A soft knock disturbed Leath’s troubled doze. He shifted and wondered why his head wasn’t on its usual soft pillow, but resting on something much more unforgiving. He needed a few dazed seconds to understand that he’d fallen into oblivion at his desk. As if in disapproval, the hall clock struck ten.

Self-disgust thundered through him. How could he sleep when Eleanor was in trouble? Sitting up, he rubbed heavy eyes. He ached, and there was a crick in his neck.

Wells entered with a letter on a silver salver. “My lord, forgive my intrusion, but this just arrived from the Duke of Sedgemoor and the messenger insists it’s urgent.”

Sedgemoor? Why the devil was Camden Rothermere writing to him? They’d met occasionally since Sophie and Harry Thorne’s wedding in May. Relations had improved, thanks, Leath admitted, to the new duchess, a woman remarkably ready to forgive. But the duke and he would never be friends.

“Thank you, Wells.” Leath picked up the letter. If Sedgemoor expected immediate attention, he could rot in hell. Leath had more important matters to worry about than some trivial request from His Grace. Two footmen entered the room to set breakfast on a side table as he stared in a funk at the letter in his hand.

Leath started when Wells passed him a cup of coffee. “I took the liberty of arranging a meal, my lord.”

“Bless you.” He was still half asleep, tormented by images of Eleanor alone and unprotected. Damned fool of a woman. Why hadn’t she waited, instead of taking to her heels?

The fog in his head cleared as he sipped his coffee. The footmen finished fiddling and left. Knowing he wasted his time, and worse, incited unwelcome curiosity, he glanced at his butler. “Has there been word of Miss Trim overnight?”

Wells’s demeanor remained impassive. “No, my lord.”

Leath sacrificed his pride, and was surprised that it hardly hurt at all. “Do you know where she’s gone?”

Wells stared into the distance. “She said she returned to her family.”

“Was she likely to confide in anyone below stairs?”

“No, sir.”

Leath gritted his teeth. “Is that the best you can do?”

Wells focused on Leath and betrayed a hint of the man
beneath the servant. His voice became less clipped. “Miss Trim became her ladyship’s companion not long after starting here. She didn’t have time to develop close ties with any member of staff, my lord.”

The coffee made him feel almost human. “And she wasn’t like the other housemaids, was she?”

Astonishingly, Wells’s mouth twitched. “If she hadn’t arrived with such good references and if we hadn’t been short-staffed, I doubt I’d have taken her on. As it was, I assumed that she’d quickly prove unsuitable.”

Well, that answered one question that had always bothered him. Wells was too sharp to miss that Eleanor Trim wasn’t the usual servant. “So she wasn’t liked?”

Wells looked shocked. “My lord, you misunderstand. Of course there was some jealousy at her quick promotion, but Miss Trim never put on airs and anyone with sense could see that she was good for her ladyship. I would say that she was very well liked indeed. We were all sorry to hear that because of family illness, she had to leave.”

“So where should I start looking for her?”

Wells refilled Leath’s cup. “Her last place was in Sussex. The mistress there, a Lady Bascombe, described her in superlatives.”

And that had been a pack of lies from beginning to end, Leath now knew. “I’d appreciate it if you keep an ear open for any mention of Miss Trim’s destination.”

“Have you asked Mr. Crane? He and Miss Trim were friendly.”

Leath’s shoulders tensed the way they did before a boxing bout, even as he knew he couldn’t clout Wells. The man was at least twenty years older than he was and apart from that, he’d faithfully served the Fairbrothers all his life. “What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said, sir. Miss Trim helped Mr. Crane when he was incapacitated.”

Leath told himself to back down. If anyone knew that Eleanor had been chaste, he did. At this rate, the servants’ hall would buzz with gossip that his lordship had gone completely dotty over a housemaid.

The servants’ hall, unfortunately, would have it right.

“Her dealings with Crane were completely innocent,” Leath snapped.

“Yes, my lord. I implied nothing else.” Wells watched him steadily and Leath cringed at the lack of surprise in his eyes. For all his attempts to conceal his interest in his mother’s companion, apparently everybody at Alloway Chase had noticed it.

“I’m sorry, Wells. I’m worried about her.”

The butler bowed. “I shall make discreet inquiries.”

“Thank you.”

Once Wells left, Leath realized that he hadn’t opened Sedgemoor’s message. Sighing, he broke the seal. Then, picking up his half-empty coffee cup, he read the few scrawled words. And slammed down his cup so hard that coffee splattered across the desk.