The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (20 page)

"Cheer up. We'll be in Penryn tomorrow --
and in time to make short work of finding Lord Kellow."

He frowned. "And I hazard a guess that my
scheming Mrs. Phillips already has a plan in place for meeting the
fellow."

Was she too scheming? Was that why he found
her companionship so objectionable? Her lashes dropped. "I have no
plan, my lord. Have you?"

He muttered an oath. "I will once I see the
lay of the land."

They walked the last hour in relative
silence, Louisa's only comfort her tenacious grip on Harry's
proffered arm.

A strange thing occurred at the inn in
Mevagissey. Harry had instructed that two rooms be procured: one
for him and one for his sister, Miss Smith. Louisa was fighting
mad. First, she was deeply offended that Harry was so repulsed by
her presence; then, she was furious that he'd traveled as husband
and wife for the duration of their journey. Had he originally
thought to seduce her?

She fumed. Was her rage only to mask her
grievous hurt? Now that Harry had been in her company for three
weeks, he had not only grown tired of her, he obviously had grown
to abhor her. And she felt like crying.

The private parlor was already dark, though
it was only half past the hour of four. Harry lit the candle for
their table from the hearth and sat down across from her at a table
near the fireplace.

She glared at him.

"Surely you're not still angry over the
sleeping arrangements," he said, grinning. "Have you come to crave
my body in your bed, madam?"

Her eyes narrowed. "The only thing I crave
is your absence! I am excessively displeased that you did not think
to travel as brother and sister three weeks ago. It's my belief you
thought to seduce me." She glared at him. "I have lost all respect
for you."

He shrugged, then picked up his bumper of
ale.

His indifference stung. She sat up
straighter and shot him a haughty glance, hoping she gave the
appearance of being equally indifferent.

A timid serving woman brought their haddock
and set it on the table without uttering a single comment. The two
of them ate in silence. Toward the end of the meal, he said, "I beg
that you play a hand of piquet with me after dinner. It's far too
early for bed."

Still angry, Louisa stiffened. She had no
desire to be accommodating to him. She forced a mock yawn. "I find
traveling extremely tiring, my lord." She took her last bite of
fish, then rose from the table. "I shall meet you back down here at
dawn. We should be in Penryn by noon tomorrow." Then she turned on
her heel and left.

* * *

Bloody hell! That woman and her haughty
manner sorely tried his patience. 'Twas just as good that she did
not wish to play cards with him. Every minute he spent with her was
unmitigated torture. He had been unable to allow himself to spend
another night in her bed. It had been all he could do not to force
himself on her every night since he'd regained his strength.

Each time he gazed at her,
he remembered how she had looked bent over his fevered body, worry
etched on her beautiful face. He would remember her calling
him
Harry Dearest
,
and he physically hurt with need of her. Each night as he lay
beside her, he thought of how desperately he longed to stroke her
silken skin, to feel her breasts pressed against his chest, to
touch his lips to hers . . . to bury himself within her.

'Twas just as well that he spend his evening
in the tavern away from Louisa. He picked up his bumper and decided
he just might drink himself into oblivion.

* * *

The following morning, they met silently in
the parlor, and after coffee, toast, and ham, departed the fishing
village of Mevagissey.

Louisa pushed back the curtains in the
carriage to view the town's saffron cottages with their green
porches. She watched a young boy carrying the slops to a common
ditch and dumping them, and she viewed a girl fetching water and
carrying it back to her family's granite cottage.

Soon, the village was behind them. The next
signs of habitation were clayworks north of the coast. She had
heard of the windowless huts where the claymen slept, but she had
never before seen them. Now, she watched them with a fascination
mingled with pity. How wretched it would be to be forced to sleep
with a dozen others in a single room that had neither fresh air nor
a window to allow a peek of the sun.

At least they had a place to sleep, she
conceded. In London's East End, living conditions were much worse.
Many did not have a bed on which to sleep; others paid a penny to
hang up in a vertical position for a night.

She had many years of work ahead in order to
improve such horrid living conditions.

They reached Penryn at noon, and they took a
repast in the private parlor at Oddfellows Arms. They still did not
speak to one another.

Louisa wanted to pump the serving woman for
information about Lord Kellow, but she fought the urge to do so. It
had occurred to her that Lord Wycliff might find her too
domineering. A man preferred to be the dominant partner, the
decision maker. She laughed a bitter laugh to herself. What did it
matter if she were overbearing or meek? Harry already detested her,
and nothing she could do now would ever change that.

Harry quenched Louisa's curiosity when he
glanced up from his bumper of ale and caught the woman's attention.
"Would you be able to give me the direction of Gulvall House?"

Lord Kellow's
abode
.

The fair young woman's eyes flashed with
mirth. "I thought a fancy gent like ye might be acquainted with
Lord Kellow -- especially seeings as how yer of the same age and
all."

"I was trying to recall to my sister here,"
he said, glancing at Louisa, "how long it's been since his lordship
inherited."

The young redhead raised her eyes toward the
heavens. "A good question. Let's see . . . 'is firstborn is aboot
ten, I'd say, and I know 'e 'adn't inherited when he wed the lovely
lady from Lun'en 'cause everyone was a sayin' what a fine Lady
Kellow she'd make one day. Sorry I'm no 'elp to ye."

"I'll just have to ask him
when I see him. Where
is
Gulvall House?"

"Aboot three miles from town. Don't know me
north from me south, but it's that away." She pointed north. "Take
the road what runs along the heath. The road to Truro."

Harry gave the girl a shilling, and she
curtsied her thanks.

Moments later, she returned with steaming
food. After she left, Louisa asked, "Then you plan to confront Lord
Kellow yourself?"

"I do."

She raised a brow. "But if
the man is
of your age
, as the woman said, you run a risk that he will know
you."

Harry thought on this for a moment. "It no
longer matters if he knows me since it's not he -- but his father
-- who is my sworn enemy. I care not if the son knows who I am. I
have no ill feelings toward the offspring of my father's enemy. I
only need to find out if his father was the Cornish lord."

"I hope the beast has died."

He stopped cutting his kidney. "You speak of
the man responsible for my father's demise?"

She nodded.

"I'd rather he be alive. Only he can answer
the questions I mean to ask."

Louisa shuddered and pushed away her uneaten
food. "I think I should be the one to confront Lord Kellow."

Harry's eyes flashed defiantly. "You forget
I have been out of the country for nearly a decade, and during that
time the man who is now Lord Kellow has wed and started a family
and is likely buried with duties of his Cornwall estate. It's not
likely he's met me at my London club."

Harry twirled his glass in his hands and met
her questioning gaze. "I believe it suits me that you become my
wife once again."

"But it
doesn't
suit me," she
snapped.

"I'm the one making the decisions. I'm the
one holding the purse strings, Louisa."

She shot him an icy glance. "I'd best not
defy you, else you'll be sure to renege on the bargain."

"How low you must think me."

She shrugged. Let him think she was as
indifferent as he.

He stood. "I wish to introduce you to Lord
Kellow as my wife."

She rose and flashed him a defiant look that
was completely at odds with her capitulation. "Whatever you wish,
my lord."

* * *

During the carriage ride north of Penryn,
Harry imparted his plan to Louisa. To her utter surprise, he
procured a neat stack of cards that he'd had printed in London.
Crisp black Roman letters identified him as Harold Smith,
Esquire.

Since the weather had become quite mild,
Louisa swept aside the velvet curtain and lowered the window.
Sunshine and salty air filled the carriage. Louisa thought she
could be quite happy in southern Cornwall -- if it weren't for the
obtuseness of her traveling companion.

Some thirty minutes later, she was looking
up at the aged gray stone of Lord Kellow's Gulvall House, which
sprawled magnificently along the crest of a hill that was
surrounded by verdant woods. A most advantageous situation, to be
sure. The house had been accessed from a winding road that forced
the coach to travel at a slow pace. It must have taken fifteen
minutes to ride from its base to the modest portico of Gulvall
House, where the carriage rolled to a stop.

Harry disembarked, then turned back and
offered Louisa a hand. "Ready, Mrs. Smith?"

Despite her anger, being addressed as his
wife filled her with a satisfying warmth, even though the title
meant nothing. Especially to him. She placed her hand in his,
climbed down and smoothed her skirts as she looked up at the aged,
three-storey house.

Her hand on Harry's arm, she followed him to
the front door, where he knocked.

The door was opened by a stiff-mannered man
wearing worn and frayed gray livery and a powdered wig. He raised a
brow at beholding the two of them.

Harry offered his card. "Please announce me
– and my wife – to your master."

Eying the card but saying nothing, the
servant closed the door upon them.

Louisa and Harry exchanged amused glances.
"If the card had identified you as the Earl of Wycliff, I'd wager
we would sitting in the morning room as I speak," she said.

He chuckled. "It's just as you're always
saying, Mr. Lewis, people are unfairly judged by their rank, not on
the basis of their individual accomplishment."

"Ssh," she said, lowering her voice to a
whisper. "Someone might hear you address me like that."

"I'm not so foolish as to address you as
your alter ego in public."

Before she could reply, the door swung open,
and the servant begged them to follow him to the morning room. The
room's green coloring seemed to make the chamber an extension of
the verdant outdoors surrounding Gulvall. Her eyes sweeping across
the richly decorated chamber, Louisa lowered herself onto a green
silk brocade settee that faced the door. She cringed when Harry sat
beside her.

The servant departed,
closing the door behind him. A moment later, a fair young man who
was tall and lean strolled into the chamber.
Oh, dear,
Louisa thought,
he's built exactly like our lord from
Cornwall.

Harry stood and faced the man. "Lord
Kellow?"

The young man, a quizzing look on his face,
nodded.

Harry bowed. "Forgive me for coming
unannounced, but your London solicitor would not forward my
inquiries to you – and since my wife and I are travelling to
Penzance for our wedding trip, I thought we'd swing down to Penryn
and see you in person."

"My good man," said Lord Kellow, who stood
almost nose to nose with Harry. "I do not have a solicitor in
London. Perhaps you're thinking of the gentleman who handles my
wife's father's estate?"

"Your wife's father was a peer?" Harry
asked.

Lord Kellow shook his head. "Dear me, no.
His name was Mr. Montague of Russell Square. Do you know him?"

"No."

"He's dead now." Lord Kellow glanced at
Louisa and the settee where she sat, then his gaze flicked back to
Harry. "Please sit down, Mr. Smith."

The host took a seat in a Tudor chair near
the settee. "Now what is it you wished to see me about?"

Harry's dark eyes met the peer's. "About the
Grosvenor Square townhouse."

The man's brows folded together. "What
Grosvenor Square townhouse?"

"The one your father purchased."

"You cannot be serious, my good man! My
father detested London, and I assure you he never purchased
property there. In fact, my father could never have afforded to
purchase property in the capital."

"Perhaps I'm mistaken," Harry said.

"Actually," Lord Kellow added, "I'm far more
affluent than ever my father was – thanks to the present Lady
Kellow's father's hefty purse."

"Does the present Lady Kellow not enjoy
returning to London?" Louisa asked. As soon as she spoke, Louisa
realized she was once again trying to take charge. No wonder Harry
detested her and her authoritarian ways.

With smiling eyes, Lord Kellow met Louisa's
gaze and shook his head. "She's quite as bad as my father was in
her quickness to criticize London. After our first year in Penryn,
she said she never wished to return to the Capital and its filthy
black skies. And I must say, the asthma complaints that plagued her
in London have completely disappeared since our marriage."

Harry grinned, nodding, then slid a glance
at Louisa. "Come, love," he said as he stood and offered her his
hand. "I'm afraid we've troubled Lord Kellow for nothing."