The Last of Lady Lansdown (22 page)

“Do go on.”

“Hugh spied him first, m’lady, right after we saw the glow of the fire. He was sneakin’ up the path, away from the stables.”

“A man? You recognized him?”

“Now, I’m not positive. It was dark. But I believe it was Percy Elton who I’ve known since he was a little tyke. The whole family used to live here, you know.” He nodded his head decisively. “I’m almost positive ’twas him. We found the remains of an oil lamp in the ruins. That’s what he used to set the fire. No mistake. All he had to do was toss it onto the bales of hay piled by the door.”

Percy Elton set the blaze
? Her insides went cold. Never would she have believed the fire was started deliberately. Why would he set such a fire? She had no idea, but at the moment she had best remain calm and learn all she could. “Did you see anyone else?”

“No one except Master Percy.”

“I’m at a loss for words, Timothy, but never fear, I shall look into the matter.”

“You certainly should, if you don’t mind my saying so.” An uncharacteristic look of outrage crossed the stableman’s face. “All our horses could have been killed. Whoever did such a terrible thing should be caught and punished.”

“I absolutely agree, and I shall do my best to make sure they are. Meanwhile, let’s keep this to ourselves, shall we?”

“Of course, m’lady.”

“Where is Beauty?”

“Inside. Mister Cartland is taking care of her.”

“Thank you, Timothy. Jane hastened inside, where she found Beauty in her new stall and Douglas brushing her sleek coat.

He looked up and smiled at her over the top of her horse. “Countess. I thought you would still be in bed today.”

“You were wrong,” she replied in her hoarse, cracking voice.

“You sound terrible.”

“So I’ve been told.” She ran her hand down Beauty’s nose. “She’s all right then?”

“Right as rain, as Timothy would say. There’s just the one spot near her tail where she got burnt, but I’ve put salve on it. Don’t worry, it should heal fast.”

“Thank God.” She pressed her cheek against Beauty’s nose.

Douglas asked, “Has Timothy told you how he thinks the fire started?”

“Yes, he thinks it was Percy, and I’m stunned. I don’t even want to think about it right now.”

“You had better think about it. Sure as I’m standing here, Beatrice Elton is behind the setting of that fire.”

She took a quick, sharp breath. “I find that hard to believe. Why would she do such a thing?”

Douglas threw the currying brush in the corner with more force than necessary and circled around Beauty to confront her. “How else could that fire have started? Face the truth, Jane. Beatrice wants to hurt you. I doubt she knew what to expect when she told Percy to set the stables on fire. Either she was hoping you would die in an attempt to rescue Beauty or, at the very least, she hoped the shock would cause you to lose your baby.”

She bristled. “Í am
not
—”

“You have not come ’round yet, so you don’t know what you are.” Douglas seized her shoulders in a move so swift she drew in her breath. “The world can be an ugly place, Countess. Don’t be an ostrich and stick your head in the ground. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

“It’s ... just so hard to believe that anyone could do such a horrible thing.”

“If what Timothy says is true—and I have no reason to doubt him—your life is in more danger than ever.”

Seeing the concern in his eyes, she realized her desire to avoid the truth was not going to work and she must explain. “But it’s more of the same, Douglas. Timothy is fairly certain the man he saw set the fire was Percy Elton, but he’s not positive. So how can I prove he did it? And how can I prove Beatrice put him up to it? You know I cannot.”

He bit his lip with frustration. “Then come stay with Rennie.”

“You know I can’t do that, either, but I promise I’ll be careful.” She was becoming aware of his strong hands on her shoulders and how very close he was. She did not want to argue anymore. “Douglas, please.” She lifted her hand and ran the back of it lightly down his cheek. Immediately his expression changed from anger and frustration to surprise to ... ah, there it was, that enchanting mixture of excitement and desire.

“Ah, Countess,” he whispered in her hair. “I am mad to see you again.”

Her body ached for his touch. “I know. I, too ...”

“This evening after dinner. Come to the dower house again.”

“I will be there,” she whispered back as they heard voices and hastily broke apart. “I shouldn’t.”

“Of course you shouldn’t, but you will be there.”

When Jane stepped outside the stables, she was quickly distracted by what she saw. Rennie was showing his beloved horse, Major, to Millicent. “He is a beauty. I trained him myself. Do you ride, Miss Hart? I was just thinking ...”

Say you do, Millicent
.
Say you will go riding with him.
Nothing in the world would give her more pleasure than to see her sister fall in love with Rennie. Moneywise, she would be set for life. Not only that, she would never find a kinder, more generous man, nor a man who could love her more than Rennie. If only she would open her eyes.

“I don’t ride. I fear my sister is the horse lover in the family.” Millicent looked toward Jane. “We should be getting back soon. I have a million things to do today.”

Ah, well
. Jane put the lovely dream aside. She had learned long ago that not every wish came true.

Later that day, Amelia summoned her daughter to the dining room where she sat at the table, drinking tea. When Jane entered, Amelia was taken aback. “Why are you dressed like that? Where is your mourning gown?”

“I am not concerned about my state of dress right now,” she croaked.

To her surprise, Mama switched the subject. “I want to hear what really happened last night.” Her voice hardened. “I’ll wager Beatrice had a hand in this. How did the fire start?”

Of course, Mama wasn’t going to let it go. With a resigned sigh, Jane sank in the chair across from her. “I was coming to that. Here’s what Timothy told me ...” She went on to describe how both the stableman and his helper saw Percy Elton running from the fire. “It’s more than a little suspicious. In fact, Douglas Cartland thinks Beatrice is behind it, but I’m not sure—”

“She did it. I know she did.” Startled, Jane watched her mother leap to her feet and start an angry pacing. In the middle of the room, Mama stopped and raised clenched fists in the air. “Oh, what an evil woman!”

“We cannot prove she set the fire,” Jane responded, shocked at her mother’s near hysterical accusation. “Are you forgetting she was with us in the dining room the whole time?”

“She didn’t actually set it. Obviously she sent Percy to do her dirty work.” Mama’s eyes lit up, as if she had just had a revelation. “Was he at dinner last night? No. That’s because he was down at the stables, setting them ablaze.”

“Mama, will you please sit down?” Concerned, Jane arose, took her mother’s arm and led her back to her chair. Except when Papa left, she had never seen her mother so upset.

“Can’t you see it?” Mama’s voice rose to a near-hysterical pitch. “You are sixteen days late, am I not right?” Jane nodded. “You have never been that late or even close before.” Jane had to nod again. “Then it is obvious to me you have conceived a child. I don’t care what you say. The events of last night could easily have caused you to lose that child. If you had, it would be all,” Mama was shouting now, “that horrible woman’s fault. She wanted to make you so upset you would miscarry, and she nearly succeeded, did she not? She is a scheming, evil woman.” Amelia emphasized her words by striking her fist on the table. Her action caused the saucer to jump and the cup to overturn, sending a small rivulet of tea running over the linen cloth. Jane grabbed a serviette and quickly mopped it up while she searched for the right words to say. How awful, seeing her mother, always in control of herself, so terribly distraught. With good reason. Hadn’t Beatrice tried to cause her to miscarry with the oil of pennyroyal?

“Mama, please calm down. You don’t have to explain further. I see what you mean. Douglas Cartland said the exact same thing. Beatrice could very well be responsible for setting the fire. But, just as with the oil of pennyroyal, how can we prove it? If I accuse her of setting the fire, she will suggest I haven’t recovered from Arthur’s death and my hysterics are perfectly natural. So what can we possibly do about it now?”

Mama shook her head but remained silent. She could give no helpful answer.

That night no one raised any questions when Jane announced she was not feeling well. She would take dinner in her room and go straight to bed thereafter. Strange how she felt no guilt at telling such a lie. At best, it was a harmless lie made necessary because her burning desire to see Douglas far overshadowed all the moral teachings she had learned as a girl. Perhaps tomorrow she would dwell upon her shortcomings. Not tonight.

She waited until darkness fell, slipped from the house and followed the path to the river and on to the dower house, reflecting how easy it was to slip away.

Douglas was waiting for her. Her pulse quickening, she stepped into the mad countess’ cluttered drawing room, Douglas close behind. She sniffed the air. “It smells better in here, doesn’t it? I told Mrs. Stanhope to send a maid to dust and air the place out.”

Actually, she could not care less whether the musty smell was gone or the furniture dusted. She turned to face Douglas, her heart jolting and her pulse pounding. Since the moment she agreed to come to the dower house, she knew her fate was sealed. She was going to make love with Douglas again.

“It smells much better.” He obviously didn’t care, either. His eyes never left her face. The perennial look of amusement in his eyes had been replaced by some indefinable emotion she had never seen before. Before she could reply, he pulled her close and swung her into the circle of his arms. “I worried about you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. “I couldn’t wait to get back to you.”

His admission struck a vibrant chord within her. He cared. She wasn’t just another female he wished to bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “I thought about you. I missed you ...” Any further words were stilled by the hunger of his kisses, on her nose, her mouth, sliding down to the hollow of her throat, then back to her mouth again. She eagerly responded, nothing on her mind except her hot desire for Douglas Cartland.

After a long, searing kiss, he raised his head. “Not the maid’s room again. We need a bigger bed.”

“Upstairs.” She took his hand and led him toward the staircase. “Did you know the old countess haunts the place?”

Douglas grinned. “Then her ghost had better cover its eyes.”

Laughing, they stumbled up the stairs and into the dowager countess’ bedchamber. Like the drawing room, it was filled with the old lady’s disorganized jumble of useless items. A huge, four-poster bed underneath a pink satin canopy stood amidst the clutter. A pink satin bedspread and pink pillow shams matched the canopy.

“My God, it’s pink enough,” Douglas declared. “And big enough,” he added, a devilish gleam in his eye. His hands went to the top button of her jacket. “You have too many clothes on.” He started down, unbuttoning as he went.

She giggled. “So do you.” She undid the top buttons of his white linen shirt, revealing his muscled chest and a patch of crisp, dark hair. “Hmm.” She ran her fingers through it. “You have a very handsome chest, Mister Cartland. Very masculine. Very—”

“How I want you,” he whispered, his whole body trembling in response to her touch. “I am going to strip you bare.” She stood quietly, a delightful shiver of wanting running through her body as he slid off her jacket and the chemise beneath. His eyes glowed with admiration as he regarded her full, rosy-tipped breasts, now completely exposed. “Beautiful ... beautiful,” he said with a ragged breath. “Halfway there.” He gave each of her nipples a fleeting kiss as he bent to his task and loosened her skirt and the drawers beneath.

Soon she was stepping away from her skirt and drawers, trembling slightly at the thrill of standing naked before him. There was something else that needed doing. She reached up and removed the four combs Bruta used to fasten her upswept coiffeur so that her hair came tumbling down in loose waves around her shoulders. “Is this better?”

“Much.” His voice was thick with passion. He scooped her up, carried her to the bed and laid her gently on the pink cover. “One moment and I’ll join you.” She watched, utterly fascinated as he stripped off his coat and shirt, then pulled off his breeches, revealing as he did so an erection that rivaled the earl’s at his finest moment.

When he lay beside her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling his hard body against her. “I am indeed impressed.”

“Umm, you should be.” He devoured her with his mouth, his tongue exploring, touching its tip to hers, massaging it gently. At the same time, his fingers roamed over her body. Light as feathers, they glided from her cheeks, down her neck, down her chest to where they lingered over her breasts. At first, their touch was so gentle she could hardly feel their swirling motion around each nipple. Nevertheless each subtle stroke caused a swell of excitement within her. His fingers moved away. “Don’t leave yet. More, please.”

“Of course, Countess.” Cupping both her breasts in his hands, he pushed them up into tight, white mounds, bent his head and gave each nipple a hard suck that sent such a smoldering flame through her that she cried out, “Oh, dear God, Douglas, do that again and I shall float away.”

He gave each nipple another quick suck that made her gasp. Then he raised his head. “Float away? We can’t have that. Wait right here.” He slid off the bed.

She lay waiting, curious as to what he was doing. She could hear him opening drawers, rummaging through the old countess’ things as if he was looking for something. “Aha!”

He returned to the bed carrying something in his hand. Upon closer look, she saw it was a pair of black silk stockings with a wide band of lace around the top. “Douglas, what on earth ...?”