Книга - The Dangerous Lord Darrington

The Dangerous Lord Darrington
Sarah Mallory


THE MOST NOTORIOUS RAKE IN TOWN!The Dangerous Lord Darrington is not a man to be welcomed into a house of unprotected women! He may be an earl, but even in the wilds of Yorkshire Beth Forrester has heard tales of the incorrigible rake that make her toes curl…Unexpectedly hosting such a scandalous celebrity is only the first of Beth’s problems. Now the wicked Lord Darrington has found out about the dark secret she will do anything to protect. How to buy a rake’s silence? There is only one way – with her body!










‘Why are you doing this, Beth?’

Guy was sitting on the bed beside her, positioned so that he did not prevent the candlelight from falling on her face. She smiled, but he detected a wariness at the back of her eyes.

‘Does there have to be a reason?’

He did not reply. Desire still raged through him, and he had to work hard to fight against it.

‘You think that you can seduce me, so that I will not betray you?’

‘No! I—’

He put a finger on her lips.

‘Do not lie to me, Beth.’

She sat up, pulling up the neck of her nightgown, not realising that the flimsy covering did nothing to hide her body. It merely heightened her charms.

‘I th-thought I might persuade you …’

‘I am not so cheaply bought!’


The Dangerous Lord Darrington

Sarah Mallory






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




AUTHOR NOTE


THE DANGEROUS LORD DARRINGTON sees the return of a favourite of mine: Guy Wylder, the older brother of Nick, my hero from WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE. I always planned that both the Wylder brothers should have their own book, but Guy has had to wait a little while! He is the Earl of Darrington and, while he is the more serious of the two brothers, he has gained a reputation as a dangerous flirt. Woe betide any woman who loses her heart to him!

Fate brings Guy to Malpass Priory, where he finds Beth Forrester, a beautiful young widow. She is not impressed by his title, and is wary of his reputation, but when she is obliged to accept his help in clearing her brother’s name she finds the Dangerous Lord Darrington to be a true friend.

This romantic adventure has everything—a spooky old house, French émigrés, greedy villains and wicked villainesses. And of course it has a hero and heroine who are clearly made for one another. But they both have secrets and must learn to trust each other before they can find happiness.

Happy reading!




About the Author


SARAH MALLORY was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for Dance for a Diamond and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for Gentlemen in Question.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE WICKED BARON

MORE THAN A GOVERNESS

(part of On Mothering Sunday) WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE THE EARL’S RUNAWAY BRIDE DISGRACE AND DESIRE TO CATCH A HUSBAND … SNOWBOUND WITH THE NOTORIOUS RAKE (part of An Improper Regency Christmas)

THE DANGEROUS LORD DARRINGTON

features characters you will have met in

WICKED CAPTAIN, WAYWARD WIFE

Did you know that some of these novelsare also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk


For TGH




Chapter One


The news that Dangerous Lord Darrington was staying with Edwin Davies at his Yorkshire hunting lodge had spread, but it posed something of a dilemma for those fond mamas with unmarried daughters. Guy Wylder, the Earl of Darrington, was a bachelor and it was generally agreed that it was time he settled down and produced an heir. There had been a serious scandal in his younger days, but most parents were prepared to overlook that in view of his wealth and his title. However, the earl resisted all attempts to lure him into matrimony; any young lady who forced herself too openly upon his attention was likely to suffer, for the earl would embark upon a furiously intense flirtation, setting tongues wagging and leading the young lady in question to suppose that he had quite lost his heart. Then, just when she was in daily expectation of receiving an offer of marriage, the wicked earl’s ardour would cool and he would have difficulty remembering her name when they next met.

Such behaviour had caused more than one young lady to go into a decline and, despite Lord Darrington’s wealth and wickedly handsome appearance, all sensible parents now went out of their way to warn their daughters against encouraging the earl’s attentions. Unfortunately, in Guy’s opinion, there were not enough sensible parents.

On this occasion, however, precautions proved unnecessary. Mr Davies’s shooting party at Highridge comprised only gentlemen; apart from an occasional sighting at the White Hart, the sporting company kept very much to Mr Davies’s extensive acres or rode over the largely uninhabited hills and moors that stretched eastwards to the coast.

‘I shall be given the cut direct when I go into the town,’ was Mr Davies’s laughing complaint. ‘To have had a peer of the realm staying with me and not paraded him at one assembly. My neighbours will be ready to pluck any number of crows with me!’

‘Davey, you know I came here only because you promised me a couple of weeks’ sport in the company of friends,’ replied Guy.

‘And that’s what you have had, but I cannot see what harm there would have been in attending a dance or two in the town.’

One side of the earl’s mobile mouth lifted a fraction.

‘Ah, but that is sport of a different kind, Davey, and we would be the quarry.’

They had been roaming the hills for some time, climbing to ride along the ridge that looked over the lush green farmland to the west and the hills and moors of north Yorkshire to the east. Guy stopped for a moment, taking in the view.

‘That is always a danger, of course,’ remarked Davey, bringing his horse to a stand beside him, ‘but surely the cautionary tales about your cavalier behaviour towards the fairer sex give the ladies pause.’

Guy shook his head.

‘Some, perhaps, but not all.’ He added bitterly, ‘I might be a veritable Bluebeard and some parents would still be offering their daughters to me. It seems my title and my fortune outweigh every other consideration!’

‘Your fortune and title certainly mean you are constantly mentioned in the society papers. Those damned scoundrels who write the Intelligencer are happy to print any amount of gossip about you.’

‘That scandal-sheet!’ Guy’s lip curled. ‘Ignore it, I do. What they cannot find out they make up, and as long as it is only about my amorous adventures it does not bother me at all. Besides, if the scandals are bad enough, perhaps those ambitious mamas will finally give up the chase.’

‘I know the gossip doesn’t bother you, but it does anger your friends. Take the latest on dit about the Ansell chit, for example.’

‘By heaven, I dance twice with a girl and immediately I am thought to be in love!’

‘Well, her mother thought so, at all events. Told everyone you had invited them to Wylderbeck.’

‘They invited themselves. Ansell started telling me how his daughter was interested in architecture and that she had heard such wonderful things of Wylderbeck. I told ‘em they were welcome to take a look at the old house.’ Guy shot his friend a quick glance, his grey eyes glinting. ‘I hope they enjoyed it. I had a letter from my steward last week saying they had come hotfoot to Yorkshire, only to be told I was not at home! My housekeeper showed ‘em around the house and suggested they could put up at the Darrington Arms.’

Davey laughed, but shook his head at him.

‘A devilish trick to play, Guy.’

‘One becomes weary of being constantly pursued. Scandal goes some way to reduce the problem.’

‘I sometimes think you are happy for people to think you betrayed your country,’ muttered Davey, frowning.

‘If you think that, then you are a fool,’ Guy retorted. ‘I regret my youthful folly more than I can say, but the damage is done. However, I prefer that the news-sheets and the ton should talk about my scandalous love life and leave the past alone. It may be forgotten now, but the smear is there, and always will be.’

‘But it could be erased—indeed, it was never more than a salacious rumour, but your withdrawing from politics was taken by some as an admission of guilt. Come back to London,’ Davey urged him. ‘There are many in government who know your worth and would welcome your help, especially now, with the unrest in France.’

‘Mayhap I will, but I would be happier to do that if those matchmaking dragons would leave me alone.’

‘There is a simple answer to that,’ remarked Davey. ‘Take a wife.’

‘Never!’ Guy shook his head, laughing. ‘Now that …’ he grinned, kicking his horse into a canter ‘… is a step too far!’

A speedy chase along the ridge followed but when they reached the highest point Guy brought his horse to a stand and looked around him, enjoying the freedom of the wide open space. He thought he could smell the sea on the light breeze, even though they were nearly thirty miles from the coast.

‘Are you sorry now that you suggested we should stay on here?’ he asked as Davey came alongside him. ‘Would you have preferred to go on to Osmond’s house with the others?’

‘Not at all! Much as I like having a large party at Highridge, I prefer this: we can do away with ceremony, rise when we wish, do what we want and talk or not, as the mood takes us.’

Guy reached across to lay a hand briefly on Davey’s shoulder.

‘You have been a good friend to me, I appreciate that. Always there to support me, even when the whole world thought the worst—’

‘Nay, there were plenty of us who realised you were not to blame, even though you preferred not to defend yourself. Too chivalrous by half, Guy.’

‘What would you have had me do?’

Davey scowled. ‘Put the blame squarely where it belonged.’

Guy shook his head.

‘The woman had fled the country: my protests would have looked very ungallant.’

‘Gallantry be damned,’ exclaimed Davey. ‘You gave up a promising career for that woman and robbed the country of a most able politician! Your talents have been wasted, Darrington.’

‘Not at all. I have spent my time putting my estates back into good heart. My father almost bankrupted the family, you know, with his profligate ways. And it was useful to be in the north while my scapegrace brother Nick was away—I could keep an eye upon his estates.’

‘But it must be five years since he settled down. Surely you might make a push now to return to politics.’

‘To be subjected to ridicule and constantly reminded of my disgrace?’ Guy stared out across the hills. ‘No, I thank you!’ He gave himself a mental shake. ‘But this is dismal stuff for such a fine September day! Let us press on. What else did you wish to show me?’

Realising confidences were at an end, Davey pointed to the north-west.

‘Thought you might like to visit Mount Grace Priory. I know the family, so there will be no difficulty seeing the ruins. I know you have an interest in antiquities of that sort.’ He grinned. ‘Not quite in keeping with the image of the Dangerous Lord Darrington, which is why I didn’t suggest it while the others were here.’

Guy laughed. ‘Much I care about that! But you are right, they would not have enjoyed such a visit.’ He glanced up at the sun. ‘But it is midday already—is there time?’

‘Of course. We can spend a couple of hours looking at the ruins, then take the lower route back to Highridge, stopping at Boltby. The inn there is famous for its dinners.’

‘Very well, then, let us go to it!’

In perfect accord the two gentlemen set off at a canter, enjoying the freedom of the hills before they were obliged once more to descend to the lower ground.

The ruins of Mount Grace had occupied most of their afternoon and by the time they set off again for Highridge the sun was far to the west.

‘Looks like rain is coming,’ observed Guy, eyeing the heavy grey clouds building on the horizon.

‘We should crack along if we are to avoid a soaking,’ agreed Davey. ‘Come along then; mayhap we’ll forgo dinner at Boltby and cut across country. What do you say?’

‘Why not? We have been jumping these walls for the past couple of weeks; my horse is accustomed to it now.’

Davey laughed.

‘It will be the muddier route, but that will make the roaring fire and rum punch all the more enjoyable when we get home!’

Davey led the way through the winding lanes for another mile before turning off on to a narrow track. As they left behind them the little villages that lined the main highway the country became ever more barren and soon they were riding across a wilderness with no houses in sight. Guy glanced up at the sky. The sun had disappeared behind thick clouds the colour of lead and the air was heavy with the threat of rain.

‘How much farther is it?’ he asked as they slowed down to a walk, resting the horses.

‘About another five miles,’ replied Davey. ‘I am sorry we did not think to bring our greatcoats. If this rain comes down, it will be heavy, I fear.’

Guy shrugged.

‘No matter. We may yet beat it.’

‘We may indeed. We can at least cover the next mile or so at speed, if we cut across the fields.’ With that Davey spurred his horse and they were off again, galloping across the large, rectangular fields. Guy’s powerful hunter took the dry stone walls in his stride, but he silently cursed his friend’s recklessness as they scattered sheep and a herd of milch cows in their headlong flight. The daylight was reduced to a gloomy twilight and a soft rain had started to fall as they thundered towards another grey stone wall. It was not particularly high, but as they approached it Davey’s bay mare stumbled. They were too close to stop and she made a valiant effort to clear the wall, but a trailing hoof caught one of the topstones, sending horse and rider tumbling to the ground.

Guy did not hesitate. He put his own horse to the jump, but reined in as soon as he could, turning back to help his friend. His heart sank when he saw the mare on the ground, legs flailing, and Davey trapped beneath her. Quickly he dismounted and dashed across to the stricken pair. The bay rolled over and clambered to her feet. She stood, trembling and snorting, but appeared otherwise unhurt as Guy dropped to his knees beside his friend.

Davey’s face was ashen and one leg was twisted in an unnatural position. He opened his eyes and looked up at Guy.

‘Pushing … too … hard,’ he gasped.

‘Don’t talk and keep still,’ barked Guy. ‘I need to see just what damage you have done to yourself.’

‘Damned fool,’ muttered Davey. ‘Light was going … didn’t see the rabbit hole …’

There was the thud of heavy boots as two farmhands ran up.

‘We saw the fall from the road, sir,’ called the first, grimacing as he gazed down at the injured man. ‘‘Owt we can do?’

‘We need a doctor,’ said Guy. ‘And somewhere to take him out of this rain.’

‘There’s the barn on t’other side o’ beck,’ offered the second man, coming up. ‘Or t’owd Priory just over there.’

Guy followed his pointing finger and noticed for the first time the outline of a steeply roofed building in the distance.

‘The Priory would be best, if it is inhabited.’

‘Oh, aye, Lady Arabella will be at home. She never leaves the place these days.’

Guy nodded. Quickly he gave instructions for the men to fetch help while he removed his jacket and threw it over Davey. He sat by his friend’s head, leaning forwards to shelter him from the worst of the drizzling rain.

‘This is a damned nuisance,’ muttered Davey, wincing.

‘Don’t try to move. We will carry you to that house yonder and soon have you comfortable again.’

‘Comfort, hah! Didn’t know my legs could hurt so much.’

‘You are growing soft, then,’ retorted Guy, secretly relieved to know his friend could still feel pain. He was no doctor, but he suspected at least one leg was broken, but he hoped there would be no more serious damage. He took his friend’s hand. ‘Don’t worry. Help will be here soon.’ Davey gave a slight nod and squeezed Guy’s hand, then his eyes closed and his head fell to one side. Only the tiny pulse throbbing at one side of his neck told Guy his friend was still alive.

Guy had no idea how long he had sat beside Davey, the sky growing ever darker and the rain falling steadily. It felt like eternity, but he guessed it was less than an hour later when he heard the welcome sound of voices. Half-a-dozen men arrived with a donkey pulling a small cart. Guy tried to ensure that Davey was lifted as carefully as possible into the cart, but he was profoundly thankful that his friend was still unconscious. He winced when the cart rocked on the uneven field; by the time they reached the gravelled drive leading to the old Priory he felt as if he had been walking for miles.

The stone building towered over them, a black, looming shadow against the leaden sky, but the warm glow of lamplight shone from several of the windows and an oblong of light spilled out from the open doorway and illuminated the steep stone steps leading down to the drive. As they approached, the black outline of a woman could be seen in the doorway. She hurried down the steps and handed a blanket to one of the men.

‘Here, you can use this to carry him indoors.’

Silently Guy watched as the woman issued instructions, directing the men in the best way to ease the unconscious man on to the blanket and how to hold it to cause the least movement as they made their way up into the house. He stopped for a quick word with the groom who came running out to take charge of the horses, then followed behind the ragged cortege, unheeded as they made their way through the echoing hall and up a wide stone staircase to a small chamber where a maid was hurriedly building up the fire.

Guy retired to the corner, reduced to a spectator. He was ready to advise if necessary, but the young woman was supervising the men as they laid Davey on the bed and Guy did not think he could improve upon her instructions. He watched her as she moved around the room, the candlelight glinting on her flame-red hair. Despite his concern for his friend, Guy found himself wondering how old she was: not a girl, that was certain, for she carried herself with assurance, speaking to the men—all known to her by name—in a calm, low voice. She was dressed in a grey gown that showed her slender figure to advantage and she moved with a youthful grace and agility that was very pleasing to the eye. She was clearly used to running a household. Was she perhaps the Lady Arabella the men had mentioned? He broke off from his reflections as the sound of a hasty footstep in the corridor announced the arrival of the doctor. A large, cheerful-looking man appeared in the doorway.

‘Ah, Mrs Forrester, good evening to you!’

That answered one of Guy’s questions.

The doctor approached the bed, saying cheerfully, ‘So this is the young man I have been summoned to attend, is it? Thrown from his horse, I understand.’

‘Yes.’ Guy stepped out of the shadows. ‘The mare came down on top of him.’

‘Hmm.’ The doctor frowned down at the unconscious form now laid out upon the bed. With a sudden movement he began to take off his coat. ‘Then I must get to work. The rest of you should leave me now—except for your footman, ma’am. I will need him to help me undress my patient.’

‘I will help you do that,’ said Guy quickly.

The doctor gave him a searching look.

‘I think not, sir. You would be advised to get out of those wet clothes or I shall end up with two patients instead of one! Mrs Forrester, perhaps you will take care of that—and get the rest of these men out of here! They have served their purpose and should all go away now!’

The red-haired woman immediately moved towards the door.

‘Of course. Thank you, everyone. If you would like to go down to the kitchens, Cook has prepared a bowl of punch for you all.’

‘Does that include me?’ asked Guy as he filed out of the room behind the others. The young woman’s large, dark eyes regarded him solemnly. She gave no sign that she had noticed his attempt at humour.

‘No, sir, you may wait for your friend in the great hall. I will have refreshments brought to you there.’

Guy followed her back down the stairs. He had not realised how chilled he had become until he felt the heat coming from the fire blazing in the huge fireplace. Thankfully he moved towards it.

‘And just who is this man dripping water all over my floor?’

The imperious voice stopped him in his tracks. He looked round to find an old woman standing on the far side of the room. She was dressed in severe black with a black lace cap over her snow-white hair and she was leaning heavily on an ebony cane. She looked very regal and Guy glanced down at his mud-stained clothes.

‘I fear I must present a very dishevelled appearance, ma’am, and I beg your pardon.’ He gave her his most elegant bow. ‘I am Darrington.’

‘The Earl of Darrington?’

‘The same, madam.’

Behind him he heard the young woman’s sharp intake of breath and smiled to himself. She had clearly not thought him of such consequence!

‘Well, you will catch your death of cold if you remain in those wet clothes! Beth, my dear, what are you thinking of?’

‘But Tilly and Martin are—’

‘If the servants are busy, then you must take the earl upstairs, girl. Immediately!’

‘I assure you, ma’am,’ Guy began, ‘I would as lief stay here beside the fire—’

Mrs Forrester interrupted him. ‘My grandmother is right, my lord, you should change,’ she said. ‘Pray forgive me for not thinking of it sooner. Follow me, if you please.’

She led him away, up the stairs and through the twisting, turning corridors. As he followed he tried to take in his surroundings. The entrance and great hall were obviously very old, probably part of the original priory, but there were signs that the house had been extended in Tudor times to make a comfortable residence. The whole building had an air of antiquity and demonstrated the family’s pride in its heritage. Everywhere was filled with fine old furniture and paintings from previous centuries; he guessed that the coffers pushed into odd corners would be found to contain a mass of unwanted objects that the old lady could not bring herself to throw away.

The young woman opened the door to a snug bedchamber with a cheerful fire burning in the grate. She walked across the room and lifted a large white cloth from beside the washstand.

‘Use this to dry yourself. And if you remove your wet clothes, I will arrange for them to be cleaned and dried.’

She avoided looking at him and, almost before she had finished speaking, she was back at the door, whisking herself out of the room before he could thank her.

Guy stripped off his wet clothes and rubbed himself down with quick, powerful movements that forced the blood around his chilled body. There was a knock at the door and he looked out. The passage was empty, but a brightly patterned bundle of cloth was lying at his feet. Shaking it out, he found it was a wrap. Unlike the fashionable silk banyan that his valet would have laid out for him on his bed at Highridge, this garment was made of fine, soft wool, warm to the touch and infinitely comforting as he shrugged himself into it and fastened the ties at the waist. It was a little short, but otherwise a good fit. He was rubbing the worst of the wet from his hair when there was another soft knock on the door. It was Beth Forrester, holding a tray in her hands. His instinct was to take it from her, but some spirit of mischief made him stand aside, so that she was obliged to enter the room and carry the tray across to a table.

‘I thought you might like a little bread and wine,’ she said, not looking at him. ‘My grandmother has asked me to look out some clothes for you, so that you may join us for supper later.’

‘Thank you. I should be honoured to do so.’ As he shut the door she whirled around, startled, and for the first time looked directly at him. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown, too beautiful to hold such anxiety as he read in their liquid depths. He said soothingly, ‘Please, stay a moment—Mrs Forrester, is it not? I would like to talk to you.’ She eyed him warily and he smiled. ‘I am naturally anxious to know how my friend goes on.’

‘Doctor Compton is still with him. There is no news yet.’

‘Ah, of course.’ He moved towards the dressing table. ‘May I use this comb?’

She nodded and stood silent as he tidied his damp hair.

‘Is this your bedroom?’ His question brought her eyes to his face again and with a little smile he lifted a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. ‘There are red hairs in it.’

She nodded again.

‘It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both occupied it seemed the most sensible thing ….’ She trailed off, a delicate flush mantling her cheeks.

‘It is not at all sensible to let a strange man into your bedchamber,’ he murmured, guessing her thoughts. ‘But I am extremely grateful. I only hope your husband will understand.’

‘My husband has been dead these six years, sir.’

‘I am so very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Is this his banyan I am wearing?’

‘No, it—it is my brother’s, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go …’

‘Please, do not run away!’

‘I am not—I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.’

She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.

‘And will you be at supper, too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very well, I will let you go.’

He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed in the unmistakable scent of lemons.




Chapter Two


Beth’s composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for a thin wrap that clung to every contour of his body? As soon as she realised he was not going to take the tray from her she should have placed it on the ground and walked away, not carried it into the room. She was well aware of Lord Darrington’s reputation as a dangerous rake—as well walk into a lion’s den! A laugh bubbled inside her. He was certainly built like a noble beast. That clinging wrap had left little to the imagination and, although he was so tall, his broad shoulders and slim hips were to her mind perfectly proportioned. Her mouth had grown quite dry when she had watched him pulling her own ivory comb through his hair—for one reckless moment she wished it was her fingers that had been driving through those thick, dark locks. Beth closed her eyes, shocked by her reaction to this stranger. Was this what happened to widows when they had been alone for several years? The caresses and intimate moments she had shared with her husband had never seemed very important to her, yet now she was imagining herself locked in the arms of the earl and sharing heady, passionate kisses …

Beth took another deep breath and forced herself to be calm. The tingle of excitement she had felt when he looked at her was purely nerves, brought on by the unexpected events of the evening. She had been caught unawares. Now she must pull herself together: there was much to do before she could sit down for supper.

‘So, my lord, you found something to fit you!’

Lady Arabella Wakeford looked formidable in her black-and-silver gown when Lord Darrington entered the great hall some two hours later. He walked up to her chair and gave a flourishing bow.

‘As you see madam. The embroidered coat is perhaps more suited to St James’s than Yorkshire, but much better that I present myself to you attired in this than a dressing gown.’

Standing beside her grandmother’s chair, Beth thought the earl looked magnificent in the coat, waistcoat and breeches of striped-blue velvet. The coat and waistcoat were embroidered with yellow flowers and leaves around cut-glass lozenges that twinkled in the candlelight. The clothes hung a little loosely save across his broad shoulders where the coat was stretched tight, but she agreed with him: she could not have endured to sit at supper with him dressed only in that revealing wool wrap. She lifted her eyes to his face and the wicked glint in his eye made her believe he could read her thoughts. She blushed hotly.

‘Since there is no man here to introduce us and my granddaughter seems to have lost her tongue, I suppose for formality’s sake I must do it myself.’ Lady Arabella held out her hand to the earl. ‘You have the honour of addressing Lady Arabella Wakeford, widow of the last Sir Horace Wakeford and daughter of the Marquess of Etonwood. And this,’ she continued, once he had kissed her fingers, ‘is my granddaughter, Mrs Elizabeth Forrester.’

He bowed. ‘Mrs Forrester.’

Beth dipped a curtsy, not sure if she was most relieved or disappointed that he did not reach for her hand. However, his forbearance pleased her grandmother, who thawed a little towards her guest.

‘My granddaughter is a widow. It is Mr Forrester’s court dress that you are wearing,’ Lady Arabella informed him.

‘Indeed?’ murmured the earl. ‘I am honoured to step into his shoes. And very pleased, too.’

Beth’s eyes narrowed. Was he trying to flirt with her? She said pointedly, ‘You may find they are too big for you, my lord.’

‘The clothes are a little large for you around the middle,’ agreed Lady Arabella, catching only part of Beth’s words. ‘But Forrester was inclined to corpulence.’

Darrington’s eyes were on fire with unholy amusement while Beth seethed inwardly. She was thankful that her grandmother did not notice and continued to address the earl.

‘I saw you entering your friend’s room a little earlier, my lord. How does he do now?’

‘He is sleeping, ma’am. I saw Dr Compton before he left and he explained that Mr Davies has broken his right leg.’

‘Yes,’ Beth replied. ‘And he thinks there are a couple of broken ribs. He is also a little feverish, but I had feared it would be much worse. You may have confidence in Dr Compton, my lord. He is an excellent physician.’

The earl nodded. ‘He has set the leg, but I fear Davies cannot be moved for a while yet—’ He broke off as a door opened.

‘I am so sorry to be late, Grandmama!’ said a pretty, musical voice. ‘With all the excitement no one remembered to collect the eggs, so I told Cook I would do it, and then my gown got so muddy I was obliged to change it!’

Beth stepped forwards.

‘Sophie—let me present you to the Earl of Darrington. My sister, my lord.’

She watched as Sophie made her curtsy to the earl and was relieved when they showed no more than polite interest in each other. In Beth’s eyes Sophie was uncommonly pretty, with her dark-honey curls and pansy-brown eyes, but she was only eighteen and had not yet enjoyed a season in town. Beth was afraid that the sudden entry into her world of a handsome and attractive peer of the realm might well cause her to lose her head and her heart, a complication that Beth could well do without. She listened as Sophie enquired politely after the health of Mr Davies and commiserated with the earl upon his soaking.

‘Such a pity that Beth only kept Forrester’s old court suit,’ she said, eyeing the elaborate coat with disfavour.

‘I would have borrowed a lackey’s raiment if one could have been found to fit me. The alternative was to keep to my room until my own clothes are dry.’

The smile that accompanied these words startled Beth, for it softened the earl’s rather sombre features and warmed his eyes. She felt again that delicious tingle running through her.

‘Ah, such elaborate garments are not seen much now outside London, more’s the pity,’ sighed Lady Arabella. ‘But something plainer might have been more comfortable for you, my lord. Beth my dear, could you not find something of Simon’s for the earl?’

‘They would not fit, Grandmama.’ Beth caught the earl’s look of enquiry and added briefly, ‘My brother, sir. It was his wrap I gave you.’

‘He died eighteen months ago,’ added Lady Arabella.

‘My condolences, ma’am. Was he—?’

Beth turned quickly to her grandmother, interrupting him.

‘Here’s Kepwith to say supper is ready for us. Shall we go in?’

Lord Darrington came forwards to offer Lady Arabella his arm.

‘We keep to the old ways here, my lord,’ she said as he led her into the dining room. ‘An early dinner and supper at ten. At my age I do not want to be eating dinner in the evening and supper at midnight, as I believe is quite the fashion now in town.’

‘But that makes perfect sense if one is at a ball, Grandmama,’ put in Sophie. She smiled across the table at the earl. ‘Not that I have yet been to a ball—a real ball, that is. But I shall do so next year, when Beth takes me to London.’

The earl turned toward Beth.

‘You go often to town, Mrs Forrester?’

‘No, I have never been. I—’

‘Beth hasn’t been away from Malpass for years,’ put in Sophie. ‘Except to go to Ripon to stay with her friend—but next year she has promised to take me to London for the Season. Of course, she will be Mrs Radworth by then—’

‘Sophie!’ Beth’s knife clattered to her plate. ‘Pray do not chatter on so. Lord Darrington does not want to know all our business.’

‘But it is no secret,’ stated Lady Arabella. ‘Do you know Miles Radworth, Lord Darrington?’

‘No, ma’am. I have not had that pleasure.’

‘He has a property in Somerset, I believe, but he is currently renting a house in Fentonby. He came to bring us news of my grandson’s death.’ Lady Arabella stopped, her old eyes suddenly dimmed.

‘I am very sorry, ma’am.’

The earl’s words hung in the uncomfortable silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft padding of the butler as he walked from chair to chair, refilling their wine glasses. Beth was about to speak when Lady Arabella rallied and began again.

‘My grandson was drowned at sea, you know. In the Bay of Biscay. He had been making the grand tour. It was very good of Mr Radworth to come all this way to tell us.’

‘And it was not all bad news,’ added Sophie brightly. ‘He took one look at Beth and fell violently in love!’

‘Indeed?’ The earl’s grey eyes rested on Beth.

‘Yes.’ Sophie nodded. ‘And they are to be married.’

‘Then I offer you my congratulations, Mrs Forrester.’

‘Thank you.’ Beth uttered the words quietly, keeping her eyes lowered.

‘You and your friend are quite far from home, I believe,’ remarked Lady Arabella.

‘Yes, Davies has a hunting lodge at Highridge. I am staying there as his guest.’

‘You must consider yourself a guest here,’ came the gracious reply, ‘until your friend is fit enough to return to Highridge.’

‘No!’ Beth coloured, and added quickly. ‘What I mean is, surely there can be no need for Lord Darrington to stay. We can look after Mr Davies perfectly well.’

‘But I should like to remain with my friend, if Lady Arabella permits,’ the earl responded.

‘But it is only a few miles to Highridge, and I am sure you would be much more comfortable there.’

‘Nonsense, it is more than ten miles.’ replied Lady Arabella. ‘Lord Darrington must stay here, if he wishes. We have room to spare.’

‘But … but we do not have so many staff—certainly not as many as an earl is accustomed to.’

‘Oh, this earl is not at all high in the instep, I assure you,’ came the mild reply. ‘And I am quite undemanding.’

Again that amused glint in his eyes. Beth found it quite infuriating.

‘To have you in the house as well as an invalid will create a great deal of extra work, no matter how undemanding you may be,’ she ground out.

‘I shall send to Highridge for Davies’s valet to join us,’ replied the earl, smiling in a way that made Beth long to hit him. ‘He will be able to nurse his master and look after my very minor requirements. And I am sure that some of the other staff from Highridge would come, too, if they could be of use.’

‘There is not the least need for anyone to come,’ retorted Lady Arabella briskly. ‘Really, Elizabeth, you are behaving very oddly this evening. My lord, I assure you we have sufficient servants to deal with everything that is required. You catch us at a disadvantage today because I gave some of my people permission to go to the market, leaving only a couple of maids and one footman to attend us. I have no doubt the rest are all returned now, but by all means bring your friend’s manservant—and your own, for that matter, if you wish—we will find room for them all.’

‘Since you do not object, ma’am, I shall summon Peters, who is Mr Davies’s valet, and Holt, my groom. I shall not require my own man to attend me, although I will ask him to pack up my clothes and send them over.’

‘That will be perfectly acceptable, my lord,’ Lady Arabella responded regally, her frowning gaze fixed upon Beth. ‘As the daughter of a marquess,’ she said pointedly, ‘I think I may be expected to know how to entertain an earl.’

‘Yes, Grandmama.’ Beth looked down at her plate and acknowledged herself beaten. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Guy said little for the remainder of the meal; when Lady Arabella announced that the ladies would retire to the drawing room and leave him to enjoy a glass of brandy alone, he bent his mind once more to Beth Forrester’s outburst. She had been quite determined that he should not stay. It could only be that she was uneasy with his presence. They lived very isolated here, but perhaps she was aware of his dubious reputation. Perhaps he should not have teased her so. Certainly it had been wrong of him to keep her talking alone in the bedroom, but she was a married woman, or at least a widow, not an ingenuous schoolgirl. He sipped at his brandy. One thing was certain, he wanted to remain at Malpass Priory at least until he knew that Davey was recovering well. He would apologise to Mrs Forrester and assure her that he would in future be the model of propriety. That should ease her mind.

Having made his resolve, Guy drained his glass and made his way to the drawing room, where he was disappointed to find only Lady Arabella waiting for him, the younger ladies having retired. However, she assured him that his room had been prepared and beckoned to the hovering footman to show him the way. With an inward smile Guy bowed over the beringed hand held out to him and prepared to leave. He had been dismissed for the evening.




Chapter Three


Martin the footman showed Guy to his room, a comfortable chamber that bore all the signs of having been a gentleman’s bedroom.

‘Was this Mr Forrester’s room?’ he enquired, glancing around him.

‘No, my lord, this was Mr Simon’s room,’ offered the footman. ‘My lady wouldn’t have anything changed in here after she heard he was drowned and you will find the press still full of his clothes. But Mr Simon was much smaller than your lordship, so the mistress has searched out one o’ Mr Forrester’s nightgowns for you. And Mrs Forrester said to tell you that your own clothes will be brought to you in the morning.’

Nodding, Guy dismissed the servant. He removed his coat and draped it over the back of a chair, glad to be free of the restriction about his shoulders. He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was not yet midnight and, despite the excitement of the day, he did not feel sleepy. He prowled around the room, inspecting the sporting prints upon the walls and idly flicking through the few books that were stacked carelessly on the mantelshelf. The room had a cluttered, lived-in look, as if its master was expected to return at any time. The only exception to this was the dressing table, which was bare of the brushes and combs that one would expect to find in a gentleman’s room. He supposed that Simon Wakeford had taken these items with him when he went travelling and they would have been lost at sea. He felt a sudden sympathy for Beth Forrester. His own brother, Nick, was a sailor and Guy could well imagine the pain of losing him. How much worse must it be for a widow, left to shoulder the burdens of running this old house and at the same time looking after her grandmother and her younger sister?

‘Not that it is any of your business,’ he told himself, coming back to the fire and throwing himself down into the chair. ‘She has made it very plain that you are here on sufferance, so do not waste your sympathy where it is not wanted.’

He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but stopped when he heard a faint cry break the silence. Before he undressed he should look in on Davey and make sure he was comfortable. Picking up his bedroom candle, he let himself quietly out of the room. The borrowed shoes he had worn at supper were too loose to walk without tapping noisily on the polished boards of the corridor and he left them behind, padding silently through the darkened house until he came to the door at the top of the stairs.

There was a faint line of light beneath the door and as he entered the room he saw that a single lamp glowed on a side table, illuminating the curtained bed, but leaving the corners of the room in deep shadow. A movement beside the fire brought him to a stand.

‘Mrs Forrester!’ She rose as he whispered her name, the dim light muting her fiery hair to a deep auburn. He continued, ‘I heard someone cry out and thought perhaps he might be …’

Guy waved towards the figure in the bed. She looked discomposed and took a step as if she would leave the room, then thought better of it.

‘Mr Davies has not moved,’ she said quietly. ‘It must have been a peacock, or some night creature that you heard, my lord. The night time is full of noises.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. But why are you here, ma’am?’

‘Doctor Compton suggested someone should sit with your friend tonight,’ she said softly.

‘But he did not mean you, ma’am.’

She spread her hands. ‘I wanted to be sure he was comfortable. Besides, the servants need to be fresh for their duties in the morning.’

‘And you do not?’ He placed his candle on the mantelshelf before turning his attention to the figure in the bed. ‘How is he?’

‘Still sleeping. He grows a little restless now and again, but nothing serious.’ She added with a thread of humour in her voice, ‘It is very tedious keeping watch over a sleeping man.’

‘Then may I sit with you for a while?’

‘Oh, no—that is, I did not mean to imply …’ Beth trailed off, disturbed lest he should think she had been hinting for him to stay.

‘Of course not, but surely a little company would be welcome to while away the long night hours.’

Beth could not deny it. With a little nod she resumed her seat beside the fire and motioned him to a chair opposite, her eyes dwelling for a while on his stockinged feet.

‘Ah. I did not wish to wake the household by clumping along in those court shoes.’

‘I did not hear you approach; that is unusual for this house—the building is very old, you see. It is full of rattling doors and creaking boards.’

‘I was aware of that as I came along the landing earlier this evening. A person with a more fevered imagination might well have thought there were spirits abroad.’

‘The wind does howl through the corridors and rattle the locks.’ She was glad of the opportunity to explain away any noises he might hear in the night. ‘Some guests think they hear voices, others declare the Priory to be haunted. All nonsense, of course. I hope you will ignore any strange sounds, my lord, and remain comfortably in your bed.’

‘You may be sure I shall, madam.’

They lapsed into silence. After a few moments the earl said slowly, ‘I am glad of this opportunity to speak to you, Mrs Forrester. We have given you a great deal of extra work, I fear.’

‘Think nothing of it, my lord.’

‘But you were very much against my remaining here overnight.’

‘Oh, no! It was … I mean—if I was ungracious, my lord, I beg your pardon.’

‘There is no need. I quite understand, given the circumstances.’

Startled, Beth looked up. What did he know, what had he guessed?

‘My lord?’

‘To have me walk in, wearing your late husband’s clothes. I should have realised how distressing my appearance must be to you.’

‘Oh.’ She breathed again, relieved. ‘I have been a widow for nigh on six years, sir. I barely remember that suit of clothes. Besides, you are nothing like my husband.’ Beth wished she had not spoken. Would he think she was trying to flirt with him? She added hastily, ‘I mean, sir, that Mr Forrester was a very good man.’

‘As I am not?’

‘I have no idea!’ she retorted, flustered.

He laughed at her. ‘I beg your pardon, madam. I could not resist the opportunity to tease you.’

Beth pressed her lips together, determined not to respond, but she could feel the heat in her cheeks and was aware that in other circumstances she would quite enjoy his teasing.

She was thankful when a groan from the bed claimed their attention. Mr Davies was stirring. He was muttering incoherently and Beth picked up a cloth and dipped it into the small bowl on the bedside table.

‘Lavender water,’ she explained as she gently wiped the patient’s brow. ‘It is very soothing.’

However, on this occasion it did not calm Mr Davies, who continued to mutter and began to move restlessly in the bed.

‘Perhaps you should leave him to me?’ suggested Lord Darrington as the injured man cried out and began to curse when the movement tore at his cracked ribs.

‘My dear sir, I am no schoolroom miss! I have heard much worse from my husband and my brother, I assure you. We must give him some laudanum,’ she decided. ‘Can you support his shoulders, my lord?’

The earl proved himself surprisingly useful in a sickroom, using his strength to gently raise his friend while Beth administered the drug. He continued to hold him up while Beth turned the pillows and straightened the covers. Soon Mr Davies was growing calmer again as the laudanum began to take effect and Beth could return to her seat. She wondered if the earl might retire now, but instead he sat down again. Neither of them spoke, yet the silence was not uncomfortable. It was surprisingly companionable sitting together, listening to the steady, rhythmic breathing of the man in the bed and Beth did not wish to break the spell. Her eyelids drooped and she dozed.

It was some time later that Beth woke and noticed that the earl’s bedside candle had burned itself out and the fire was reduced to glowing ash. She reached for the poker, but the earl forestalled her.

‘Allow me.’

She sat back in her chair and watched him as he knelt before the fire, stirring up the embers before building it up with small logs from the basket. He was still wearing the embroidered waistcoat she had found for him. The strings had been pulled tight across the back to make it fit and the white sleeves of his shirt billowed out, accentuating the wide shoulders that she knew lay beneath the soft linen. His movements were quick and assured and he soon coaxed the fire into a blaze. Beth gazed at his face as he sat back on his heels and regarded his handiwork. He had a handsome profile, she decided. The straight nose and sculpted lips would not have looked amiss on a Greek statue, although the heavy black brows and the line of his jaw were a little too strong to be called classical.

He turned his head at that moment and she found herself unable to look away, her gaze locked with his rather hard grey eyes. A presentiment of danger swept over her. She had become far too complacent; it was the middle of the night and they were the only beings awake in this twilight world. Her throat dried. There was a distant cock crow somewhere outside the window.

‘The servants will be stirring soon.’ Her voice sounded strained. ‘Perhaps you should retire, my lord.’ His brows rose and she went on, ‘I know one should not listen to gossip, but I am well aware of your reputation, my lord. We subscribe to the London Intelligencer …’

‘Ah. That explains a great deal.’

She heard the dry note in his voice and added quickly, ‘I am aware that much of what they write is untrue. No one knows better than I—however, it is not wise to be alone.’

‘But we are not—we have Davies here as our chaperon, after all.’

A twinkle of amusement banished the harsh look in his eyes and she found herself responding with a smile.

‘So we have, my lord. But there are some hours yet until breakfast and you should get some rest. You need not be anxious for me,’ she added quickly. ‘My maid is coming to relieve me shortly.’

‘Then if there is nothing else I can do for you, I shall return to my room.’ He stood up.

Intimidated by him towering over her, Beth rose, but even when she drew herself up her eyes were only level with his mouth. She was momentarily distracted by the curve of his lips and the tiny lines on each side of his mouth, indicative of laughter. An entertaining companion. The thought occurred to Beth and was instantly dismissed. She had no time for such luxuries.

‘Thank you, my lord, for your assistance.’

‘It was my pleasure, ma’am.’

With a slight bow he left the room. As soon as the door closed Beth was aware of a chill of loneliness wrapping itself around her.




Chapter Four


Lady Arabella did not believe in the modern notion of nuncheon and it was usually close to noon before she left her apartments to break her fast. By that time Beth had normally been up for hours and busy with her household duties, but after a night keeping watch in the sickroom she had slept the early morning away and was roused by her maid coming to tell her that Dr Compton had arrived to see his patient.

The hour was therefore quite advanced by the time Beth made her way to the breakfast table. Lord Darrington was already there and appeared to be upon the very best of terms with his hostess. They were bandying names unfamiliar to Beth as she came in and she heard her grandmother sigh.

‘Of course I never go to town now and most of my old friends have passed on, so I am no longer in touch with the world.’

‘Nonsense, Grandmama,’ said Beth bracingly. ‘Sophia and I read the London papers to you every day!’

‘Including the Intelligencer?’ murmured Guy.

Beth avoided his laughing eyes.

‘But that is hardly the same,’ stated Lady Arabella. ‘I was telling Darrington he should go to town more.’

‘London holds no charms for me,’ said the earl apologetically. He was dressed once more in his fine wool riding jacket and tightly fitting buckskins, but all traces of mud and dirt had been removed.

‘I am pleased Mrs Robinson managed to clean your clothes for you,’ said Beth as he rose and held out a chair for her.

‘Yes. They were delivered up to me earlier this morning. Please thank your housekeeper for me. However, I shall be happier once Holt has arrived with my baggage. I would prefer to wear something a little more formal—and my own!—before I sit down to dinner again.’

Beth refused to respond to his charming smile.

‘There is not the least need for you to put yourself to the inconvenience of staying another night—’

‘That is enough, Elizabeth.’ Lady Arabella’s voice cut across the table. ‘I have invited Lord Darrington to stay with us for as long as he wishes.’

‘But our household cannot be what the earl is accustomed to,’ objected Beth.

Lady Arabella silenced her with the wave of her hand and turned again to the earl.

‘My granddaughter appears to think we are not good enough for you, Darrington. I do not know why. The Wakefords can trace their line back before the Conqueror and my own family rose to prominence in the time of good King Hal. Your own title, I believe, was not created until the time of Charles the Second.’

The earl nodded. ‘That is correct, ma’am. I am a veritable up start.’

‘That is not what I meant at all,’ protested Beth, flustered. ‘I was … concerned for your comfort, sir.’

His sceptical look brought the colour flooding to her cheeks and she was pleased when Sophie arrived to create a diversion. Her young sister was prettily polite to their guest and enquired solicitously after his friend’s health.

‘I have not yet seen him this morning, Miss Wakeford, but I believe he is comfortable.’ The earl looked an enquiry at Beth, who nodded. He continued, ‘I am much in Mrs Forrester’s debt. She attended Mr Davies throughout the night.’

‘Ah, then that accounts for her crotchets this morning,’ remarked Lady Arabella with no little satisfaction.

Normally Beth would have laughed off such a comment, but the fact that the earl was present to hear it made her feel out of reason cross. She turned to her sister.

‘Sophie my love, will you have time to help me today? We need to gather more comfrey leaves.’

‘More?’ said Lady Arabella. ‘But you went out collecting comfrey only last week. Surely you have enough?’

‘Rudge tells me the old mare requires another poultice, ma’am,’ Beth explained patiently.

‘Then let him go and gather the leaves,’ retorted her grandmother. ‘He is, after all, the groom—or he could send the stable boy.’

‘Really I do not mind going,’ said Sophie quickly. ‘I know exactly where to find the best comfrey plants and shall collect a whole basketful. Then we shall have leaves to dry as well as fresh ones to use now.’ She smiled across the table at Lady Arabella. ‘You need have no fear, Grandmama. I shall be back in time to read the papers to you while you are resting before dinner.’

‘You have both forgotten our guest may need entertaining.’

The earl shook his head. ‘Not at all, my lady. I am very happy to amuse myself.’

‘Lord Darrington is, of course, welcome to join us on our expedition,’ Beth offered politely but Guy did not miss the look of relief that crossed her features when he declined.

He said, ‘I expect the carriage to arrive from Highridge at any moment and I propose to take a stroll along the drive to look out for it.’

‘Then if you will excuse us, we will collect our baskets and be off. Come, Sophie.’

The two young ladies disappeared, Lady Arabella made her way to the morning room, declaring that she was going to write her letters, and Guy was left alone. After assuring himself that Davey was still asleep, he made his way to the entrance and descended the steep stone steps to the drive. It was a bright, sunny morning with just a hint of autumn in the air and it was hard to believe that only the night before he had followed the farmhands as they carried Davey’s body through the rain, up these same steps and into the house. He looked around him with interest at the old building. The original refectory with its gabled roof now housed the main entrance and great hall. Beside the steps was an ancient arched doorway, leading to the undercroft. Intrigued, Guy tried the door, but it was locked. Wandering on, he soon spotted the stable block and made his way across to it. He noted with approval the tidy yard and quickly strode across the swept cobbles and through the high-arched entrance to the stables. Inside he found an iron-haired groom inspecting Davey’s bay mare. The man touched his cap when he saw Guy approaching.

‘Rudge, isn’t it?’ Guy addressed him pleasantly and nodded towards the mare. ‘No injuries, I hope?’

‘No, sir, she’s in fine fettle. As is your hunter, my lord. We brushed ‘em down, fed and watered ‘em as we would our own. They was a bit shaken, but they’re both as good as new, now.’

‘Well, that’s good news.’ Guy smiled. ‘I would not want to add to your work when you already have one lame horse to worry about.’

‘Sir?’

‘Your mistress said this morning there was an old mare needed a poultice.’

Slowly the groom shook his head. ‘Not in these stables, my lord. I check them all every morning and I’d know if there was summat wrong.’

Guy frowned for a moment, then shrugged.

‘No matter, mayhap I misunderstood her.’ He heard the rattle of an approaching carriage. ‘Ah, that should be Mr Davies’s man—and my groom. I hope you will be able to accommodate Holt in your stables, Rudge? He is a useful man, and of course he will defer to you,’ he added quickly, making a mental note to talk to Holt before he set him to work.

Guy made his way back to the front drive in time to see his travelling chariot sweep into view. Holt was riding on the back seat and jumped down nimbly even before the carriage had stopped. A few words sufficed to send him hurrying off to the stables and Guy was then free to observe Peters, Mr Davies’s diminutive but very efficient valet, and the various trunks and bags that he had brought to the Priory.

In a very short time Peters had made himself at home in the sickroom, unpacking the bags and even finding time to shave his master in readiness for Dr Compton’s next visit. However, Guy would not allow the valet to remove Mr Davies’s borrowed nightshirt until the doctor had pronounced the patient well enough to be moved. Davey himself, sleepy from laudanum and irritable from discomfort, swore roundly and wished them at the very devil, his outburst bringing a rare smile to his servant’s rather austere countenance.

‘It is good to see that you are recovering, sir,’ he murmured as he walked out of the room with the shaving apparatus.

‘Damn your eyes, why did you have to send for him?’ grumbled Davey. His fair hair was ruffled and his boyish face was uncharacteristically glum.

‘Because he is the best person to look after you,’ returned Guy, unperturbed. He perched himself on the edge of the bed. ‘But tell me truthfully, how do you feel?’

‘Like the very devil! I don’t think there is a part of me that doesn’t hurt. Can’t laugh or cough without a stabbing pain in my ribs, my wrist feels as if it’s sprained and my leg—’ He glanced up and Guy saw the anxiety lurking in his guileless blue eyes. ‘Is it …?’

‘Broken, nothing more serious. The doctor has set it and thinks it should heal perfectly, if you will be patient.’

‘And where are we? I don’t recognise this house, nor the servants.’

‘Malpass Priory, near Fentonby. It is the home of Lady Arabella Wakeford. Do you know her?’

Davey frowned. ‘No. I’ve heard the name, though.’

‘So have I.’ Guy frowned. ‘Cannot quite recall where I have seen it. They are a very old family, I understand.’ A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘The Wakefords were ennobled long before the Wylders gained their earldom.’

‘Well, their house is certainly old enough,’ remarked Davey, staring at the gracefully arching window with its leaded lights. ‘But thankfully they have had the wisdom to renew the mattress on this old bed! Have they put you up, too? Are you comfortable?’

‘The room is comfortable enough.’

Davey did not miss the hesitation in Guy’s tone and he said bluntly, ‘Are we inconveniencing the family?’

‘I am not sure.’ Guy rubbed his chin. ‘The old lady seems happy enough to have us here and they were quick enough to take you in last night, but I have the distinct impression her granddaughter doesn’t want me here.’ He shrugged. ‘Perhaps I am unjust. It may be that she is uneasy having gentlemen in the house. The old lady lives here alone, you see, with her two granddaughters—there was a grandson, but I understand he died at sea some eighteen months ago.’

‘That will be it, then,’ said Davey sagely. ‘The women are afraid of being ravaged by the Dangerous Lord Darrington! Don’t worry—I’ll soon make it known that you are house-trained and only seduce women who throw themselves at you.’

‘Thank you, my friend, but I would prefer you to say no such thing.’ Guy noted his friend’s pallor and rose. ‘All this talking has tired you. Rest now until the doctor arrives. I could send for your own doctor from Helmsley if you prefer, but Compton seems able enough.’

‘No, no, I don’t want anyone else fussing over me.’ Davey waved his hand. ‘Go away, now, and let me sleep. And tell Peters to keep out of my sight until after the sawbones has been to see me!’

Encouraged by his friend’s return to spirits, Guy went out. He intended to go back to his own room and check his bag to see what changes of clothes his man had sent for him, but the sound of voices coming from the great hall drew him instead to descend the stairs.

He observed a tall, fashionably dressed gentleman standing before the fireplace. He had removed his Holland hat of brushed beaver to display a heavily powdered wig tied back into a queue with a green ribbon. He wore brown breeches and highly polished topboots, and the gloves and cane that lay on the bench beside his hat suggested he had arrived on horseback.

As Guy reached the bottom stair the man became aware of his presence and swung round towards him. He subjected Guy to a searching scrutiny before giving a little bow.

‘You must be Lord Darrington,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Allow me to present myself. Miles Radworth, at your service.’

Ah, thought Guy. The fiancé. That might explain the underlying reserve.

‘Kepwith has been telling me of the accident,’ continued Mr Radworth. ‘I trust your friend has sustained no serious injury?’

‘A few cracked ribs and a broken leg, but nothing more, we hope. We are awaiting the doctor now.’

‘Excellent, excellent. Let us hope he has good news for you. You will be wanting to get your friend back to his own house, I don’t doubt.’

Guy met Radworth’s smile with one equally bland.

‘All in good time,’ he responded. ‘Lady Arabella has been most hospitable. We are very comfortable here.’

‘Ah. I’m glad to hear it,’ came the insincere reply.

A rustle of skirts made both men look towards the door.

‘Miles! I did not expect you here today.’

Beth Forrester came in, pausing to remove her straw bonnet, and at that moment the sun shone in through the high window in the gable wall, bathing her in a golden glow. Guy could not but appreciate the effect: her red curls flamed about her head, accentuating the whiteness of her skin and the deep, liquid depths of her brown eyes. With the grey redingote hanging open from her shoulders and her white skirts billowing as she moved, Guy was suddenly reminded of an oil painting he had seen once, by one of the old Italian masters: an angel descending to the earth. As if to confirm his impression the glinting sun created a halo around her flaming head as she tossed aside her bonnet and held out her hands to Miles Radworth.

‘I had not planned to come,’ he said, lifting her fingers to his lips, ‘but when word reached me that there had been an accident—’

‘But not to me.’ She smiled up at him, her fingers squeezing his briefly before she disengaged herself and moved away. ‘You have met Lord Darrington?’

‘We introduced ourselves,’ murmured Guy. ‘Was your search successful, ma’am? Did you find the leaves you required?’

‘Yes, two full baskets! I gave them to Sophie to take to the still room rather than trail them through the house.’

‘Comfrey leaves, was it not?’ he asked. ‘To make a compress for your lame horse?’

She shot a quick look at him.

‘Why, yes, comfrey has many uses. We shall dry some, of course. The weather is turning now and the leaves are dying back, so this was our last opportunity to gather them.’ She turned to Miles Radworth again. ‘So you rode over to assure yourself that all was well here? That was kind.’

He bowed. ‘I was hoping you might invite me to stay for dinner, even though Lady Arabella might look a little askance at my informal dress.’

Guy wondered if he imagined the heartbeat’s hesitation before her reply.

‘But of course, Miles, that would be delightful. You know us too well to stand on ceremony, so you will not be offended when I say that I shall be obliged to leave you to entertain yourself for a while. I am expecting Dr Compton here at any moment to attend Mr Davies.’

‘I have no wish to add to your burdens,’ Radworth replied quickly. ‘Perhaps there is something I can do, read the newspaper to Lady Arabella, for example. You know you may trust me to do that.’

She smiled at him. ‘Yes, of course I do, Miles, but Sophie has offered to read to Grandmama, so there really is nothing for you to do.’

‘You insist upon treating me as a guest,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Come November …’

‘Come November everything will be different,’ she responded quietly. ‘For today, however, perhaps you could show the earl the library, Miles? You are almost as familiar with the rare books and artefacts in there as I am.’

‘Thank you, but I had planned to accompany Mrs Forrester and Dr Compton to the sickroom,’ put in Guy, mildly irritated by the thought that others should organise his time.

‘Is that quite necessary?’

Radworth’s question was posed lightly, but Guy found his hackles rising.

‘Perhaps not, but perfectly understandable,’ Beth interposed smoothly. ‘I have no doubt Lord Darrington is anxious for his friend. In fact, we will go upstairs now, my lord, if you wish, and make sure all is in readiness. Doctor Compton is no stranger here and will make his own way up when he arrives. So, Miles, I pray you will make yourself comfortable in the library and I will join you again as soon as I can.’

Thus dismissed, Radworth nodded and walked away. Neither Guy nor Beth moved until the library door had closed behind him.

‘As a matter of fact, I have just come down from Davies’s room,’ said Guy. ‘He was looking tired so I promised he would not be disturbed again until the doctor’s arrival.’

She raised her brows at him. ‘But you did not think to say so before I sent Miles away?’

‘I did not think Radworth desired more of my company.’

‘He is anxious that you should not impose upon me.’

‘You are very quick to defend him.’

Her chin went up a little. ‘Of course. We are betrothed. Besides, he has been very kind to us. A true friend.’

Guy met her eyes, trying to interpret her look, halfdefensive, half-defiant.

‘And you will marry him in November.’

‘Yes.’

Even to Beth’s own ears the word sounded stark and cold. It should not be, for she was very happy about her forthcoming marriage, was she not? It was merely that she could not look forward to that happy day until she had resolved the problem that weighed upon her spirits.

‘Then Davies and I must be very much in your way,’ said the earl.

She wanted to disclaim, but honesty tied her tongue and it was with relief that she heard the doctor’s hearty voice at the entrance. Moments later Dr Compton was striding across the hall.

‘Good day to ‘ee, Mrs Forrester, and to you, my lord. Glad to see you haven’t been laid up after your soaking yesterday! And how is my patient, awake by now, I hope! Passed a reasonable night, did he? Good, good. Well, then, take me to him!’

* * *

Beth soon realised that she was not needed in the sickroom. Mr Davies’s valet was eager to attend his master, so she left him taking instruction from the doctor, with the earl standing by, ready to lend a hand if necessary. Doctor Compton cheerfully dismissed Beth, promising to find her and give her his report before he left.

She went downstairs, but after staring at the library door for a few moments she decided against joining Miles and instead made her way down to the lower floor.

Beth emerged a short time later, shaking the dust from her skirts before hurrying back to the great hall where she spotted the butler coming out of the library.

‘Kepwith, is Dr Compton still upstairs?’

‘Yes, madam.’ He gave a little cough. ‘I am to fetch refreshments for Mr Radworth, madam. He informs me he is staying to dinner.’

‘That is correct. Perhaps you would see to it that another cover is laid, if you please.’

The butler bowed, hesitated, then said anxiously, ‘Is that wise, ma’am? In the circumstances …’ His meaning was not lost upon Beth.

‘Perhaps not,’ she said quietly, ‘but it cannot be helped.’

‘But if he should become restless, madam, and cry out again—’

She put up her hand to stop him. ‘Tilly will make sure that does not happen again. There is no reason our guests should find anything amiss, Kepwith, as long as we keep our heads.’ She looked up to see the doctor and Lord Darrington coming down the stairs. ‘Very good, Kepwith, that will be all. Well, Doctor, how is Mr Davies?’

‘Progressing, Mrs Forrester, progressing, but I would as lief he was kept very still today. Lord Darrington suggested carrying him in his own travelling chariot, loaded with cushions, but even so I would not wish to move him yet. We shall see how he goes on after another night or so. I shall return again tomorrow, madam. Until then Davies’s man is on hand now and he seems a competent fellow. He will look after his master.’

He began to move towards the door.

‘But what should I give him for fever?’

Doctor Compton stopped. ‘Put your mind at rest, madam, the fever has passed now.’

‘Of course, but if he should wake up …’

‘A few sips of water, perhaps, or have some lemonade on hand, if you wish.’

‘Nothing stronger?’ Beth persisted. ‘He may be in pain and I have used up the laudanum you left us. I’m afraid I spilled some of it on the floor this morning.’

The doctor smiled at her. ‘Why this sudden anxiety, Mrs Forrester? This is most unlike you.’

She spread her hands. ‘I am concerned that Mr Davies should be comfortable.’

‘Well, make him up a saline draught, if you wish, it will do no harm. And if he is in pain—which I do not at all anticipate as long as he is kept quiet—I have more laudanum in my saddlebag, I’ll give it to your butler. Now, I must get on. Come along then, Kepwith, if you please! I have two more patients to call upon today.’

Beth watched the butler escort him to the door, then turned to find the earl waiting for her in the great hall.

‘You may be easy, Mrs Forrester. Peters is a good man and will know how to look after his master, I am sure.’

‘Yes, of course. I m-merely wanted to ensure Mr Davies does not have a disturbed night.’ She added lightly, ‘Poor Mr Radworth will think I have forgotten him! Shall we go into the library, my lord?’

He declined gracefully. ‘I wish to check all is well with my groom.’

‘As you wish, my lord. You may recall we dine early at Malpass. Shall I send a man to help you dress in, say, an hour?’

He shook his head. ‘Peters can do all I require—you look incredulous, Mrs Forrester. I told you I am not at all high in the instep.’

She was disarmed by his smile and as she gazed into his cool grey eyes she found herself thinking that it was no wonder he broke so many hearts. The click of heels on the marble floor recalled her; a footman was making his way to the library, a tray bearing a decanter and glasses balanced on one hand.

‘Oh, heavens. Miles!’ Her hands flew to her mouth and with a quick glance of apology towards the earl she hurried off.




Chapter Five


When Beth went upstairs to change for dinner she decided not to wear the grey silk laid out in readiness, but asked her maid to fetch her new lavender silk gown with the white muslin petticoat.

‘Ah, dressing up for Lord Darrington, are we?’ giggled Tilly.

Beth frowned at her. ‘Not at all. Mr Radworth is staying for dinner.’

‘So you won’t be wanting to hide your charms beneath a white fichu?’

‘That is enough of your insolence!’ Beth grabbed the fine muslin scarf and arranged it becomingly to fill the low neckline of her gown. She said, trying to sound severe, ‘I do not know why I put up with you, Tilly.’

Her maid merely laughed at her. ‘Because you know I love you and Sophie and Lady Arabella very dearly. And because no one else can dress your hair quite so well. So do sit down now, Miss Beth, and let me brush your curls for you.’

Beth had submitted to her maid’s ministrations and was rewarded by the look of approbation that she received from Miles Radworth as she entered the drawing room. She was disappointed to receive no such acknowledgement from Lord Darrington, who was conversing with Sophie and Lady Arabella on the far side of the room. He glanced across when she came in, but made no attempt to approach. As Miles took her hand and murmured any number of flowery compliments, Beth watched the earl from the corner of her eye, noting that he gave all his attention to her grandmother. She was piqued; she did not need Miles to tell her that the lavender silk set off her copper-coloured curls. One glance in the mirror had informed her that she presented a very striking figure, and while she would have been offended if the earl had been so impolite as to ogle her, she would have liked to see some sign of appreciation from him.

‘ … what do you say to that, my love?’

She dragged her attention back to Miles, who was obviously wanting an answer to his question. She summoned up her most charming smile. ‘I beg your pardon, Miles, I do not understand you?’

‘I was merely suggesting, in my roundabout way, that since you have done nothing yet about your bride clothes, I should take you to York. I am sure Lady Arabella can manage perfectly well without you for a few days.’

‘Ah, Miles, how thoughtful, but there really is no need. I intend to go and stay with my good friend Maria Crowther in Ripon and I will be able to buy everything I need there.’

She excused herself and moved towards Lady Arabella. The earl rose as she approached.

‘Mrs Forrester.’ He bowed and held the chair for her. ‘Perhaps you would like to sit next to Lady Arabella?’

Beth inclined her head and sat down, but she could not relax while the earl remained standing behind her. It took great strength of will not to turn her head to see if his hands were still resting on the back of her chair. She forced herself to say something.

‘Grandmama, I hope Sophie has taken care of you this afternoon?’

‘Of course, as she always does,’ replied Lady Arabella. ‘Such a good girl, and she reads so beautifully, not a hint of impatience when I am sure she would rather be elsewhere.’

‘Not at all, Grandmama!’ Sophie cried out at this and the old lady chuckled and patted her cheek.

‘Perhaps, my lady, you might allow me to read the newspaper to you tomorrow,’ offered the earl, moving around to stand beside Miles Radworth. ‘It would be a little something I can do to repay your hospitality.’

‘Aye, and I have no doubt you would do it admirably with that deep, smooth voice of yours,’ agreed the lady.

‘Oh, but I am very happy to read to you, Grandmama,’ said Sophie quickly.

‘So, too, am I,’ declared Beth. ‘We do not need to trouble the earl with such a task.’

‘What, would you deny me the company of such a handsome gentleman?’ Lady Arabella’s eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘I do believe they want to keep you for themselves, Darrington.’

The earl gave a little bow. ‘I am flattered, my lady.’

The inconsequential thought entered Beth’s mind that his dark hair, cut short to collar length and with its tawny highlights glowing in the candlelight, was much more attractive than Miles’s curled and dully powdered wig. She scolded herself silently. She had invited Miles to take dinner with them, so it was unjust to make any comparison when he had not been able to change for dinner. She must not contrast his velvet jacket with the earl’s dark coat that seemed moulded to his form, nor should she compare topboots and riding breeches with satin knee-breeches and stockings that showed Lord Darrington’s athletic limbs to great advantage. When it came to ornaments, she thought the honours equal, for apart from a large signet ring and the diamond that flashed discreetly from the folds of his snowy cravat, Lord Darrington had only his quizzing glass, hanging about his neck on a black ribbon. Miles, however, wore an emerald pin in his neckcloth and was sporting a few fobs and seals at his waistband, as well as his ornate watch. No, she would not compare them, nor would she dwell on the fact that with his splendid physique, the earl looked very like the heroes that had once filled her dreams. Her marriage to Joseph Forrester had taught her to put aside such romantic notions. It had been a struggle to curb her impetuous nature, but Joseph had soon taught her that a husband did not want a wife constantly hanging on his arm or displaying affection. She did not think her life with Miles would be any different, for her feelings for him were well-regulated, unlike the disturbing turmoil Lord Darrington roused in her.

Looking up, she met his amused glance and her face flamed. She hoped he could not read her thoughts!

A glance at Miles showed that he was not too happy with the conversation and she said quickly, ‘Grandmama, you are very wicked to tease us so. We must not forget that when Dr Compton calls tomorrow he may declare Mr Davies well enough to return to Highridge and we will be obliged to say goodbye to our guests.’

‘And very sorry I shall be to see them go,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘The Priory has been far too quiet since Simon died. We have become positively reclusive.’

‘You know I would willingly move in, my lady,’ offered Miles, ‘if it would comfort you to have a man in residence.’

Lady Arabella stared at him for a long moment, her face quite impassive. She said at last, ‘Thank you, Mr Radworth, but no one can replace my grandson.’

The silence hung uneasily about the room. Beth rose in a whisper of silk.

‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

Beth did not enjoy her meal. Lady Arabella presided over the table with her usual grace, but although the two gentlemen were perfectly polite to each other, Beth was uncomfortably aware of a tension in the air. Even Sophie cast uneasy glances at them. When she considered the matter dispassionately she did not think that any blame could attach to Lord Darrington, who was seated next to Lady Arabella and responded to her questions and remarks with perfect ease and good humour. Miles, however, was above being pleased. He found fault with every dish and, although Lady Arabella did not appear to notice his ill humour, his barbed remarks made even Sophie lapse into uncharacteristic silence. He was also drinking heavily, calling for his glass to be refilled with such regularity that Kepwith was obliged to fetch up another bottle.

The covers had been removed and the dishes of sweetmeats placed upon the table when matters came to a head. Miles was reaching for a dish of sugared almonds when his cuff caught the edge of his wineglass and sent the contents spilling across the table. The earl quickly threw his napkin on the pool of wine as Miles jumped up, cursing under his breath.

‘No harm done,’ said Beth, placing her cloth over the earl’s. ‘We have contained it. Sophie, if you give me your napkin, too, I think that will do the trick.’

‘I beg your pardon, that was dashed clumsy of me,’ muttered Miles, standing back and watching proceedings. ‘That last bottle was bad.’

‘Very possibly,’ said Beth in a tight voice.

A footman brought in more cloths to finish wiping the table.

‘There, all is well again,’ remarked Lady Arabella. ‘Pray sit down again, Mr Radworth.’

‘Aye, I will, but first I am going down to the cellars to find a decent bottle!’ He grabbed the butler’s arm. ‘Give me the key.’

‘Sir!’ The butler’s exclamation was a mixture of outrage and alarm.

Sophie gasped. Beth put a hand on her shoulder, aware that the earl was watching them.

‘There is no need for that, Miles.’ She kept her voice calm. ‘Kepwith shall bring another bottle if you wish for one.’

‘Aye, I do wish it, but I’ll have none of his choosing. It’s my belief he is fobbing you off with poor stuff and keeping the best for himself.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Beth sharply. ‘I do not keep disloyal staff. Neither do I allow my guests to venture into the servants’ domain.’

Her hauteur had its effect. Miles glared at her, but she held his gaze steadily and at last he resumed his seat, saying with a little laugh, ‘You are quite right, m’dear. Plenty of time to discuss how the household is run once we are married, eh? Very well, Kepwith, you may go and find another bottle of claret, and be quick about it!’

Lady Arabella led the ladies away to the drawing room soon after, and Beth was not surprised that the gentlemen did not tarry over their port. Miles seemed to realise that he had gone too far and tried to approach Beth and apologise, but she would have none of it, turning a shoulder to him, only relenting when he announced he was leaving shortly after they had drunk tea together and humbly begged her to accompany him to the door.

‘My dear, I can only apologise for my outburst,’ he said, unclipping his watch and putting it safely in his waistcoat pocket.

She shrugged. ‘The effects of inferior wine, I collect.’

‘Not only that, Elizabeth. I fear I was jealous of seeing Darrington so at ease here.’

She blinked. ‘You are jealous of the earl? You have no need, I assure you. I have no interest in him at all!’

‘Ah, but what if he is interested in you?’ said Miles. ‘I observed how often he watched you this evening.’

‘No, I am sure you are mistaken,’ she cried, her colour heightened.

‘I think not. I fear he may wish to fix his interest with you.’

She raised her brows. ‘How can he, when I am already betrothed to you?’

‘Betrothed, yes, but how I wish we were wed!’ He pulled Beth into his arms. ‘I would have married you the moment you came out of mourning—’

‘I know, but we must give Grandmama time to grow accustomed. You have been very forbearing,’ she said softly. ‘Pray, Miles, be patient for a little longer.’

‘Why must we wait?’ His arms tightened. ‘You are no innocent schoolgirl, Beth—can you not tell how much I long for you? You need have no worry that I am making you false promises to get you into my bed. The contract is signed, ‘tis only the priest’s blessing we are lacking—’

‘Good heavens, Miles, would you have the shades of this old place rise up against us?’ she asked him jokingly. She placed her hands against his chest and held him off when he would have kissed her. ‘But, to be serious, Miles, the church vows are very important to me. I would have nothing spoil our wedding.’

She gazed at him steadily and was relieved when the hot, ardent look died from his eyes and he smiled at her.

‘Very well, my love, you know I can deny you nothing.’

He pressed a last kiss upon her fingers and took his leave. Thoughtfully Beth made her way back to the drawing room.

‘Has Mr Radworth gone now? I cannot say I am sorry,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘How oddly he behaved tonight. I do hope he is not sickening.’

‘I am sure he is not, Grandmama. I think it is as he says, a poor wine.’

‘More like the quantity,’ put in Sophie bluntly. ‘You did not feel any ill effects, did you, my lord?’

Beth frowned at her sister. She could not be happy about the way Grandmama and Sophie had taken to Lord Darrington. It would be better for everyone’s peace of mind when he and his friend had gone.

Guy noticed the change as soon as Radworth had left the Priory. Lady Arabella’s outward demeanour did not alter, but he sensed she was a little more at ease. Sophie, too, became more talkative. Only Beth remained aloof, but Guy suspected that might be because she was embarrassed at her fiancé’s behaviour.

He was still pondering on the events of the evening when he made his way up to Davey’s room after supper.

He found his friend propped up in bed and thumbing idly through one of the newspapers that littered the bed. He tossed it aside as Guy came in and greeted him with a cry of relief.

‘Darrington, thank heaven you are come! I thought I should expire with boredom!’

Guy grinned at him. ‘You are looking much better, old friend, and sound much more like your old self. How are you?’

‘Everything still hurts like the very devil, but only if I move.’ Davey beckoned him forwards. ‘Come and sit down here and tell me all that is going on downstairs. Have you kissed any of the ladies yet?’

Guy laughed. ‘Only your broken ribs prevent me from punching you for that, Davey! Of course I haven’t! Lady Arabella is a matriarch, born to command, and her two granddaughters are both completely ineligible, one being a schoolgirl, the other a widow.’

‘A very beautiful widow, if Peters is to be believed.’

‘True, but she is also about to be married.’

‘And her future husband dined with you tonight?’

‘Why on earth should you want me to tell you anything?’ demanded Guy irritably. ‘You know it all already.’

‘Devil a bit! Peters has passed on the little he has gleaned. Most of it was nonsense about the ghosts that walk during the night. Peters tells me some of the servants even swear they have heard wailing and crying in the gardens after dark! Tales set about by the housekeeper, I suspect, to keep them in their own beds at night! I’m hoping you can give me all the details about the family.’ Davey put his head on one side and narrowed his eyes. ‘And by your frown I’d say something is puzzling you.’

‘Aye,’ said Guy slowly. ‘It is.’

He related the details of his evening and at the end of it Davey merely nodded.

‘Seems simple enough to me. The widow is marrying a fool. Nothing unusual in that.’

‘Not such a fool that he hasn’t tied up the business all right and tight,’ retorted Guy. ‘Over the port he made a point of telling me that the contracts were all signed, and even if Mrs Forrester should cry off now all the property would pass to him.’

‘Does she want to cry off?’

‘No—that is—I cannot say. I do not believe she is in love with him. The story goes that Radworth brought news of the brother’s death to the family, fell in love with the widow and had been courting her ever since. I don’t think the old lady is too enamoured of him, though.’ A smiled tugged at his mouth. ‘It should prove a stormy marriage—I saw the way she ripped up at Radworth when he threatened to go down to the cellars himself! I had the impression she might actually call upon the servants to restrain him, if he had persisted.’

‘It’s the red hair,’ muttered Davey. ‘It might look glorious, but she’ll make the very devil of a wife.’

They fell silent and Guy realised that Davey was looking rather pale. He stood up.

‘Thankfully, the problems of the Priory are nothing to do with us and I for one cannot wait to leave them behind! With good fortune, by this time tomorrow we shall be back at Highridge. Now sleep well, my friend. I shall call on you again in the morning.’

Guy made his way to his room where he was pleased to see the fire had been built up and a small basket of logs placed on the hearth beside it. Peters had unpacked his nightgown and it was draped across the bed, a pale, ghostly spectre in the shadows. A gusty wind was blowing, stirring the curtains that covered the ill-fitting leaded window and causing the occasional puff of smoke to blow into the room. Guy regarded the old stone hearth with disfavour and thought longingly of his own house, refashioned in the past ten years to provide such modern conveniences as small, iron fireplaces that threw out more heat and kept the smoke going up the chimney. Even Davey’s hunting lodge seemed luxurious in comparison to the Priory!

Guy was not used to keeping such early hours and as he put his coat over the back of a chair and kicked off his shoes he knew that sleep would elude him for some time yet. He picked a book at random from the mantelpiece and threw himself into the chair beside the fire, adjusting the candles to give him as much light as possible on the page. It was one of the volumes of Tristram Shandy and Guy was happy to amuse himself for an hour. He heard the board creak outside his room as someone padded along the passage. It was not the brisk step of a servant going about his business, but rather a slow, creeping tread. If they were trying not to disturb him, then their efforts were wasted, he thought sourly as another cloud of smoke belched from the chimney. He gave a wry smile. Perhaps Mrs Forrester was correct; he was grown too puffed up in his own conceit. He had stayed in much more uncomfortable houses in the past and never thought to complain. He stirred up the fire and threw a couple of small logs on to the flames, making up his mind that he would read until these had burned down, then go to bed.

The wind died down and the house grew quiet. The silence of the room settled around Guy and the slow tick, tick of the clock lulled him until he began to doze over his open book. He jerked himself awake. This would not do, he thought, stretching. He should go to bed.

At that moment he heard a cry. It was like a shout in the distance. It was not loud, and he thought that if he had been asleep it would not have roused him, but now he froze, his ears straining to catch the least noise. He heard the soft thud of a door closing, a murmur—it could have been the wind, or low voices, he could not be sure—then the definite sound of feet hurrying past.

Guy hesitated. Perhaps Lady Arabella had been taken ill, or one of the servants. It was none of his business, after all, and they would not thank him for his interference. But perhaps it was Davey—he hoped Peters would wake him if that was the case, but Guy could not be sure. Snatching up his bedroom candle, he opened the door and stepped out.

The passage was empty and silent. Moonlight filtered in through the mullioned windows at each end of the corridor, creating grey patterns on the floor. To his left the passage led to Davey’s room and the stairs down to the great hall, to his right it continued the length of the old building, then turned and provided access to the rest of the house. Guy walked towards Davey’s room. There was no bead of light from beneath the door, no sound save the sighing of the wind outside. As Guy stood, indecisive, a sudden cold draught hit his back. He might have put it down to imagination if his candle had not blown out. He turned. The cold had passed, as if a door somewhere in the house had been opened briefly.

Guy put down the candlestick. There was sufficient moonlight pouring in through the windows to light his way. He padded along the corridor in his stockinged feet, the only noise he made came from a creaking board. When he reached the end wall he hesitated. Mrs Forrester had led him this way to her own room, so he knew the passage led away into the Tudor wing of the house with the family’s apartments. He had no business here, but he was curious to know who might be about in the house in the middle of the night. Treading carefully, he made his way through moonlit passageways, past a series of doors in the polished-oak panelling until he rounded a corner and saw the dark rails of a narrow staircase before him. That would lead up to the servants’ quarters and down to the kitchens. His ears caught the soft sound of a footstep and at the same time a faint glow appeared in the stairwell as someone began to ascend from the basement. Quickly Guy drew back out of sight. It was most likely a servant, who could continue up the staircase to the bedchambers above. He strained to listen, heard the lightest footfall, the slight creak of a board, barely had time to note the approaching glow before a figure came around the corner and stopped with a small shriek of terror to find him blocking the way. Guy had the advantage of knowing someone was approaching, but he was surprised to find himself gazing into the terrified face of Beth Forrester.

‘Do not be afraid.’ Guy reached out and took the lamp from her shaking hand, holding it up so that she might recognise him. ‘I heard noises and thought I might be of assistance.’

She was shaking so much that he put out his free hand and caught her arm, feeling her trembling beneath the thin sleeve. She had changed her silk evening gown for a more serviceable closed robe in some dark colour. Her hair, free of lace and feathers, hung in a thick braid over one shoulder, gleaming in the lamplight like a trail of fire.

‘I suppose I am allowed to wander where I will in my own house!’ she retorted in a fierce whisper, pulling her arm free.

‘Could you not ring for a servant?’

She was regaining control. Guy noted that her large, dark eyes were no longer dilated with terror, although her look was still guarded.

‘It is not my habit to rouse my maid from her bed when I am perfectly capable of finding my way to the kitchen.’

She’s hiding something, thought Guy. Was there a man, perhaps? An assignation with someone other than her fiancé? He thought not. He hoped not. She had roused his admiration with the calm way she had dealt with Davey’s injury and, despite her coolness towards himself, Guy had thought her honest and honourable.

But he had been wrong about a woman before and it had cost him dear. He allowed his eyes to travel over her again. Would a woman go to meet her lover wearing such a homely gown? True, the soft wool clung to her figure, accentuating her tiny waist and the soft swell of her breasts, but its long sleeves and high neck looked almost Quakerish. What he had first thought was a pattern around her skirts at a second glance was seen to be dust. He frowned.

‘Where have you been, Mrs Forrester?’

‘That,’ she said haughtily, ‘is none of your business. Now, if you will please give me the lamp, I will show you back to your room.’

‘Surely I should be escorting you.’

Her eyes flashed scornfully, but she said sweetly, ‘But I wish to assure myself that you find your way safely back to your room, my lord.’

‘Are you afraid I might discover your horrid secret?’

Her eyes flew to his face and he was startled to see the stark terror in their depths again. He stepped closer.

‘My dear Mrs Forrester, pray do not look so alarmed. I was jesting.’

He noted the pale cheeks, the way the tip of her tongue ran nervously across her full bottom lip. Only a few inches separated them. He had to steel himself not to reach out and pull her to him. Her eyes were locked on his. They were cocooned in the lamplight and for a long moment neither spoke. Guy did not even breathe.

Oh, heavens, what is happening to me? The thought screamed in Beth’s head while her eyes remained fixed on the earl. His blue-grey eyes, hard as granite, held her transfixed. Even in his stockinged feet he towered over her, like a bird of prey hovering over its victim. Yet she was not frightened. Instead she felt an irrational desire to close the gap between them, to cling to the earl and allow him to take the cares of the world from her shoulders.

No! With enormous effort Beth tore her eyes away. The impression that they were imprisoned together in a bubble of lamplight was merely an illusion and she must break free of it. She must stay strong and keep her own council.

She swallowed, cleared her throat and said huskily, ‘Thank you, but I am not alarmed.’ She added in a stronger voice, ‘Neither am I in the mood for funning.’

She reached for the lamp, her hand trembling as her fingers brushed the earl’s. She held the lamp aloft and led the way back through the darkened house. The earl walked beside her, his long, lazy stride easily keeping up. Neither spoke until they reached Guy’s bedchamber, where a faint shaft of light spilled out from the open door.

‘It is never wise to leave your bedside candles burning unattended, Lord Darrington.’

‘I hope I shall not have cause to do so again.’

‘You had no cause to do so tonight.’

In the doorway he turned to face her and they stood, irresolute, as if neither of them wished to bring the moment to an end. But Beth knew that was mere foolishness. Lord Darrington had received only the barest civility from her while he had been at the Priory and must be longing to return to more hospitable surroundings. For her part, the sooner the earl took himself and his friend back to Highridge the better.

Beth put up her chin and, bidding the earl a chilly goodnight, she turned and hurried back to her own room.




Chapter Six


‘Elizabeth, my love, you are looking haggard this morning. Far too pale.’

Lady Arabella’s greeting as Beth took her place at the breakfast table was direct and to the point. Beth ignored the earl sitting opposite her. It really was of no consequence to her that he was looking as if he had spent an undisturbed night with an army of servants to shave and dress him.

‘I did not sleep well, Grandmama.’

‘I think I know the reason for that.’

Lord Darrington’s remark brought Beth’s eyes to his face, her heart plummeting, then soaring to her throat, almost choking her as she waited fearfully for him to continue. He held her eyes for a long moment.

‘It was the wind,’ he said blandly. ‘It was rattling the window for most of the night.’

The suffocating fear was replaced by anger. He was teasing her! He met her furious glare with a look of pure innocence.

‘Would that be it, Mrs Forrester?’

Relieved laughter trembled in her throat at his impudence. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she said unsteadily. ‘I think you must be right.’

‘If the blustery wind kept you awake, I am sorry for it, my lord,’ declared Lady Arabella. ‘I cannot think it would affect Beth, however. She has lived here long enough to grow accustomed to it.’

‘Thankfully it does not appear to have disturbed everyone,’ said Beth quickly. ‘I saw Peters on my way downstairs and he told me Mr Davies passed a very peaceful night.’ She threw a quick look towards the earl. ‘I am hopeful Dr Compton will declare him fit to travel today.’

Sophie came in at that moment, hurrying towards the table, words of apology tumbling from her lips.

‘Grandmama, I beg your pardon for being late, I have been helping Mr Davies with his breakfast—’

Beth almost spilled her coffee at this artless speech. ‘Sophie! There was no need for that, especially now that Peters is here.’

‘I know, Beth, but I heard the most dreadful clatter as I passed his room and the door was open so I peeped in, just to ask how Mr Davies went on, and I could see that his valet was having difficulty because his master had thrown his spoon across the room.’ She twinkled. ‘I fear poor Mr Davies is quite uncomfortable, you see. He told me his wrist hurt far too much for him to feed himself.’

‘Couldn’t hurt that much if he could hurl his spoon at his valet,’ remarked the earl.

‘I fear the pain from his injuries had made him short-tempered,’ said Sophie innocently. ‘So I offered to help him with his porridge. He was very grateful, I assure you.’

‘I am sure he was,’ murmured Beth. She suspected that few gentlemen would object to being attended by a pretty young lady and she had to admit that Sophie was looking particularly fetching this morning in her yellow muslin gown and with her soft brown hair curling around an open, smiling face.

‘I have no objection to Sophie visiting the sickroom,’ pronounced Lady Arabella. ‘It is not as though Mr Davies is infectious and I am sure the sight of her will raise his spirits. But I must insist that she does not do so unaccompanied.’

‘No, indeed, Grandmama,’ Sophie assured her earnestly. ‘Peters was in attendance all the time. And I should like to help—perhaps I may read to Mr Davies later …’

‘Let us wait to see what Dr Compton says when he calls this afternoon,’ put in Beth quickly.

‘Well, I do not see that he will object,’ returned Sophie. ‘And since Grandmama approves, I shall go back to sit with Mr Davies when I have broken my fast. Peters is going to let me know when he has made his master presentable, for Mr Davies insists upon being shaved before I visit him again.’

Sophie applied herself to her breakfast, unaware of the effect of her words upon her sister.

‘It does appear that Davies is vastly improved this morning,’ murmured the earl as he helped himself to another slice of cold beef.

Beth did not reply. She hoped he was improved enough to leave the Priory. She had cares enough without adding a blossoming love affair between her sister and the invalid.

She was just emerging from the wine cellar when Kepwith announced that Dr Compton had arrived.

‘The earl was waiting for him on the drive, madam,’ the butler informed her. ‘He has taken him up to the sickroom.’

‘Has he indeed?’ declared Beth, angrily shaking the dust from her skirts. ‘And who gave him the right to do that?’

Kepwith bent a fatherly eye upon her. ‘Now, Miss Elizabeth, you know the doctor never stands upon ceremony in this house and would have gone up anyway.’

‘That is not the point,’ she declared, stripping off her apron and hurrying to the stairs.

She entered the sickroom just as the doctor was pulling the bedclothes back up over the patient.

‘Well, now, things are mending very nicely indeed,’ he declared. ‘Your ribs will be sore for a few weeks, I dare say but I think if you are careful there is no reason why you shouldn’t sit out of bed …’

‘Does that mean Mr Davies could manage a carriage ride?’ asked Beth hopefully.

‘To take him home, you mean?’ replied the doctor. ‘Well, I don’t see any reason why …’ his jovial gaze went past Beth and after an infinitesimal pause he continued ‘ … why he shouldn’t be fit enough to travel in a—um—a week or so.’

Beth swung round. The earl was standing behind her, his countenance impassive.

‘I thought, Doctor, that you said Mr Davies was much improved,’ she said suspiciously.

‘He is, my dear Mrs Forrester, but one cannot be too careful with a fracture such as this.’

‘It is still as sore as the very devil,’ added the patient, giving Beth a soulful look.

‘But I am informed the earl’s travelling carriage is very comfortable,’ Beth persisted. ‘And I am sure we can find mountains of cushions to protect Mr Davies’s leg.’

‘Out of the question,’ returned the earl. ‘I could not go against the doctor’s advice.’

‘No, it would not be wise.’ Doctor Compton shook his head. ‘Let us give it another week and I will call again.’

‘A week!’ cried Beth, dismayed.

‘Well, there is little point in my calling before that. Time is the great healer, madam!’ He picked up his bag. ‘You may send for me if there is any change, but if not I shall call again in a se’ennight.’

With a cheerful word of farewell the doctor went out and Beth followed him, closing the door upon the two gentlemen.

‘If I were a more sensitive soul,’ remarked Davey in thoughtful tones, ‘I should think our hostess was wishing me at Jericho.’

Guy grinned at him. ‘Not you, Davey, it is I she wishes to see gone from the Priory.’

‘And I thought you shared the sentiment. Why, man, only yesterday you were saying how much you wanted to leave.’

‘That was yesterday.’

‘Well, I must say it suits me very well to stay, especially if Miss Sophie is here to entertain me.’ He looked up at Guy, an added glow in his blue eyes. ‘Is she not an angel?’

‘She must be if she could persuade you to eat porridge!’

‘Yes, well, it isn’t so very bad, you know, especially when served up by Miss Sophie.’

‘She will provide you with a very pleasant diversion,’ laughed Guy.

‘But that does not explain your change of heart,’ Davey persisted. ‘I made sure the old sawbones was going to say I was ready to go home, then he caught your eye and changed his mind.’

‘There is some mystery here, Davey, and I am intrigued.’ Briefly he told Davey about meeting Beth in the corridor.

‘So she has a lover,’ said Davey, shrugging. ‘That is not so un usual.’

‘No, I don’t think that is it,’ said Guy slowly. ‘When I discovered her last night she looked truly terrified. And little things do not add up, such as telling me she is making poultices for a lame mare when the groom knows nothing about it, and strange noises in the middle of the night.’

‘Perhaps she keeps her husband locked up in the dungeons,’ declared Davey, his lips twitching. ‘I fear you have been reading too many Gothic novels, my friend. Perhaps you should accept the fact that Mrs Forrester is not enamoured of the great Lord Darrington.’

‘I am not such a coxcomb,’ protested Guy. ‘No, there is some mystery here and I want to get to the bottom of it.’

Beth soon realised that she was the only member of the household who was unhappy at the doctor’s verdict. Lady Arabella declared herself delighted to have company at the Priory, especially since the earl was content to while away an hour or two each evening playing backgammon with her. Beth was disappointed that Sophie did not share her anxieties. Although she did not neglect any of her duties, Sophie spent all her spare time with Mr Davies, entertaining him with card games and word puzzles or reading to him. After two days of this behaviour Beth tried to remonstrate with her, pointing out that all the time she spent with Mr Davies left the earl with nothing to do but to wander about the Priory.

‘I have hinted to him that he might as well go home and leave Mr Davies to us, but he will not.’ She twisted her hands together. ‘I fear he suspects something.’

‘Oh, nonsense, you are in a panic over nothing,’ replied Sophie. They were alone in the library and she was running her fingers along the spines of the books, searching for a title.

‘He is forever asking questions.’

‘He is merely taking an interest, as any guest would. Besides, he will not trouble us today. He has gone out riding and is not expected to return until dinnertime.’ Sophie pulled out a book. ‘Vathek—I wonder if Mr Davies would like Mr Beckford’s novel?’

Beth regarded her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. ‘I do not think it matters, as long as you are the one reading it.’

‘No, I am sure that is not true,’ said Sophie, blushing a little. ‘He … he is a very pleasant gentleman, do you not think so?’

‘Excessively,’ declared Beth. ‘But he must do without you for a little while, because I am expecting Miles to call this afternoon and I will not be able to read to Grandmama, so I will be obliged if you will do so. And I need you to make up another poultice.’

Sophie’s expression immediately became anxious. ‘Could we not take Dr Compton into our confidence?’

‘No, I dare not do that. We must keep our secret as long as we can. Besides, I do not think he is so bad as he was and I hope, with careful nursing, we will bring him through.’

Sophie gripped her hands. ‘You know I am only too happy to help where I can. I will go down for an hour before I read to Grandmama. But you will not object if I read a little to Mr Davies after that?’

Having given her assurances, Beth watched her sister dance out of the room. To be sure, the idea of a burgeoning romance between Sophie and Mr Davies was a little worrying, but it was good to see Sophie smiling again, despite all the anxiety that hung over them.

Perversely, when Miles Radworth called and showed every inclination to sympathise with her for having Mr Davies and the earl with her for at least another week, Beth found herself making light of the matter.

‘Ah, it is your sweet nature that makes you so compliant,’ said Miles, raising her hand to his lips. ‘I do not like the idea of you being here on your own.’

‘But I am not on my own,’ she protested. ‘And there is no denying that the earl is very good with Grandmama. He takes her for a gentle airing in the grounds on sunny days and entertains her royally each evening. And even Sophie is proving useful, reading to Mr Davies and keeping him amused.’

‘I wish you would let me stay, at least while the earl is in the house.’

‘No, Miles, especially not while Lord Darrington is here!’

‘You are thinking of my behaviour the other day,’ he said ruefully. ‘Will you not accept my apology for that?’

‘I have already done so, but since you declare it was jealousy that made you lose your head, I think it best if you spend as little time as possible here at the moment.’ She smiled at him. ‘Now, my dear, if you want to please me, take me for a stroll about the gardens, for I have been cooped up in the house all day!’

They spent a pleasant hour walking through the grounds of the Priory and Miles exerted himself so much to please that Beth found her anxieties about her forthcoming marriage fading. They were making their way back to the house when they encountered Lord Darrington coming from the stables.





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