A Belated Bride (19 page)

Having come into his inheritance at a young age, he knew the disappointments that awaited those courted for wealth alone. At the tender age of seventeen, he’d barely

escaped marriage to an avowed fortune hunter, coming to his senses just in time. Since then, he’d been cautious not to let anyone suspect his wealth and contented himself with short-lived flirtations with safely married women.

But in all of his years of confirmed bachelordom, none had had the power to fascinate him like Jane Hadley. A sudden crease furrowed his brow. It was inconceivable that he could feel such a strong attraction for such a woman. She was not his style at all, far too plain and gangly for his palate, which tended to favor younger, more rounded women. Not to mention that she was self-sufficient to a fault, stubborn to the point of belligerency, and the most thoroughly maddening woman of his acquaintance.

All this, and he hadn’t even tossed her addiction to gam- bling into the equation. It was unfortunate that his less- than-gentlemanly impulses had overtaken him and, in a moment of weakness, he had lured her into wagering a huge sum. It was also unfortunate that he had compounded his error and refused to allow her to gracefully withdraw when it became apparent she could not pay. But her every breath seemed a challenge, and he’d refused to bend his knee to such impulses.

Having reflected over the distress he must have placed her in, though, he’d decided to relieve her of her anxiety and dismiss the wager.

Yes, he decided, feeling magnanimous, he would for- give Jane her debt. She would accept, albeit stiffly and without real gratitude, and that would be that—he could end an association that was showing a deplorable ten- dency to develop into something more than it should.

He frowned. For some reason, acting with such nobil- ity of character didn’t feel as fulfilling as he’d thought it would be. He glanced at Wilson. “Walk the mare a bit, would you? I won’t be long.”

“Ye don’t think it?”

Sir Loughton nodded, annoyed at the knowing gleam in the groom’s eye. “I am on my way to town and I haven’t time to linger.”

“Ye’ll stop long enough to see the dook, won’t ye? I don’t trust him as far as I kin see him.”

“After Miss Arabella, is he?”

“There ye are, guv’nor. I’ve always held ye was as sharp as ye could stare.”

Though touched by such unexpected approbation, the baron merely nodded. “I will have a look at your guest. And if there is any question as to his respectability, I will send him on his way.”

“If’n the ladies will let ye,” Wilson said, suddenly glum.

“Is Miss Arabella favoring his suit, then?”

“It ain’t her. It’s Lady Durham and Lady Melwin.” Wil- son wrinkled his nose as he led the horse away. “It’s the first time we’ve ever had a dook at Rosemont.”

Sir Loughton glanced at the house. There had been one other time Rosemont had hosted a duke beneath its multi- garreted roof . . . but that had been long before Wilson’s arrival, and long before Lady Jane and Lady Emma had come to stay.

He approached the door and knocked. After a pro- longed wait, the huge oak door creaked open.

Sir Loughton stepped into the foyer and pulled off his bright muffler. “Hello, Mrs. Guinv—”

Instead of the glum housekeeper, an exceedingly cor- rect individual dressed in somber black faced him. The paragon bowed with just enough depth to indicate his uncertainty as to Sir Loughton’s title.

“Who the devil are you?” Sir Loughton asked.

The man looked down his long, thin nose, his sandy

lashes casting shadows across his colorless cheeks. “I am Hastings, my lord. The Duke of Wexford’s valet.”

“Wexford? So that’s who—” He broke off when he encountered the valet’s interested stare. Sir Loughton gave a short laugh. “I suppose it makes perfect sense, now that I think about it.”

“Indeed,” Hastings said, his expression holding just the faintest tinge of boredom. “Shall I take your coat, sir?”

Sir Loughton obligingly allowed the valet to help him shrug out of his greatcoat. He tried to alleviate the awk- wardness of the moment with a jovial laugh. “You haven’t been forced to pay for His Lordship’s lodgings by serving as butler, have you?”

Hastings was not amused. After a lengthy pause that effectively melted Sir Loughton’s grin, he permitted him- self a small, polite bow. “Hardly, my lord. I am merely making myself useful, as I always do.”

The tone implied that Sir Loughton had never done anything so noble. The baron had experienced enough seasons in London to recognize a master servant when he faced one. “It is very kind of you to help the ladies of Rosemont. You are to be commended.”

“Of course, my lord,” Hastings said in a voice that implied the valet thought the baron was being impertinent in even mentioning such an obvious fact. “May I ask for whom you are calling?”

“Lady Melwin. I came to see if she has a commission for me, as I am on my way to town. I am Sir Loughton, a friend of the family.”

“Of course, my lord.” Hastings opened the door to the morning room.

The valet waited until the baron had entered, and then he cleared his throat and announced, “Your Grace, Sir Loughton has just arrived for Lady Melwin.”

Lucien looked up from where he was writing yet another letter to Liza and assessed his visitor. Tall and ath- letic in build, the man possessed distinguished white hair and a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Lucien smiled as he rose. “I believe you knew my father.”

“Lud, yes. He and I were members of White’s.”

“Then you probably saw more of him than I.” Lucien’s father had ever been conscious of his standing, maintain- ing his memberships in the best clubs despite the wear on the family purse. “He once told me he felt more at home there than anywhere else.”

A reluctant smile creased the baron’s face. “Heard you’d been wounded, but you look right as rain.”

“A minor injury I sustained when I fell from my horse. Miss Hadley found me and kindly brought me here for her aunts to patch up.” Lucien sealed his missive and held it out for Hastings. The valet immediately crossed to take it and bowed his way from the room.

Loughton gave a sharp nod. “If you were in Jane’s hands, then you were safe. I can’t vouch for Emma.” He tapped his forehead with a finger and said bluntly, “All wind, no bellows.”

Lucien chuckled. “You seem very intimate with the household.”

“I should. I hunted with James Hadley every year for fifteen years before he stuck his spoon in the wall.” The sharp blue gaze pinned Lucien. “Did you know him?”

“I only had the pleasure of seeing him twice. Once here and once in London.” Lucien shrugged. “He was a very well-spoken man.”

“Hmmm. I thought you would have known him better than that.”

“I wasn’t allowed that pleasure,” Lucien said shortly.

The door burst open and Aunt Jane swept in. “There you are, Your Grace! Arabella must visit the vicar to deliver some jams. I thought perhaps you could—” Jane came to a sudden halt when she caught sight of the baron.
“You,”
she said, her voice rich with loathing.

Sir Loughton grinned. “Who else, m’dear?” “You are not welcome at Rosemont.”

Sir Loughton chuckled. “Don’t be a gudgeon, m’dear.

No need to air your dirty laundry in public.”

She cast him a dagger glance. “There is nothing we need speak about that cannot be said in front of the duke.” “Very well. If he is such a confidant that I can discuss

your losses—”

“However,”
she continued, her accents as frigid as her glance, “since I am busy today, you may return to see me at another time.”

There was such an undercurrent between the two that Lucien found himself wondering what had caused such unrelenting animosity on the lady’s part and such keen interest on the gentleman’s.

Sir Loughton shrugged. “I am free to discuss our busi- ness matters whenever you are.”

“That is certainly accommodating of you,” she said stiffly.

“It is, isn’t it?” He crossed his arms over his barrel chest and rocked back on his heels. “Hm, let me see. I am free on Thursday. Perhaps I shall stop by at dinnertime.”

“You cannot just invite yourself to someone’s house.

Of all the impertinent, rude, overbearing—”

“Arrogant, pompous, and boorish.” Sir Loughton gave a wolfish grin. “I believe you called me those names just last night. Pray strive for some originality.”

Last night
? Aunt Jane and Aunt Emma had retired to

their room immediately after dinner. Could they have gone to Sir Loughton’s? But why?

Jane’s glare would have sent a normal man into imme- diate hibernation, but Sir Loughton was made of sterner stuff. “Till Thursday, then.” He stared at her from beneath bushy brows, openly challenging her.

Jane’s mouth folded in frustration before she finally burst out with a testy, “Oh, very well. Come to dinner. I don’t care.” She stomped to the door, her color high, her shoulders ramrod straight. “And pray try to find some proper clothing.”

Sir Loughton blinked his surprise. He looked down at his sober brown coat. “What’s wrong with—”

But it was too late; Jane had already whisked out of the room.

Lucien pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “Well.”

Sir Loughton grinned, deep laugh lines appearing to either side of his eyes. “Don’t let her bluff you. It is the way of the Hadley women, you know. They don’t like to feel dependent on any person.” Sir Loughton gave Lucien a long, shrewd look, then stuck out his hand. “I must be going, but I enjoyed meeting you.”

Lucien shook the baron’s hand, then moved to open the door. “Shall I walk you to your horse?”

“Thank you. I’d welcome the company.” Sir Loughton limped out the door, accepting his coat and hat from Hast- ings and then progressing to the front step. Once there, out of hearing of the servants, he shot a hard look at Lucien. “How long does Your Grace plan to stay at Rosemont?”

“A few more weeks, perhaps. Why do you ask?”

The old gentleman’s blue eyes didn’t waver. “Just won- dered. I heard you were staying only until you’d healed, but you seem fit to me.”

“I daresay I would be in worse case, except Aunt Jane happened to have some of her sheep tonic at the ready.”

“Good God! Surely she didn’t!”

He looked so alarmed that Lucien felt it necessary to add, “Lady Melwin assured me it wasn’t poisonous.”

“I’m damned glad to hear it. What in the hell was Jane thinking to allow such a thing? That woman needs to be—” He clamped his mouth closed, his brows lowered. “I beg your pardon.” He walked silently beside Lucien, a frown on his face. “I say, while you were ill, you didn’t happen to hear what was in this tonic, did you? It is the most damnable thing, but Jane and Emma have discovered some sort of sheep . . . I don’t know. A sheep love potion, I suppose you would call it.”

Lucien choked.

Sir Loughton reddened. “Oh, it sounds foolish, I know. But since they started dosing their flocks, they’ve tripled the number of lambs.”

Lucien stopped.
“Tripled?”

“Or more.” Blue eyes surveyed Lucien from head to toe. “How did it make you feel? I mean, did it . . .” The baron reddened even more. “I was wondering how the potion worked. Supposedly, it besets the sheep with lust.” Lust? Oh, Lucien had experienced lust, all right.

Unfortunately, it was the same lust that had flamed him to intemperate actions all those years ago. The sheep tonic had nothing to do with it. “All it does is make one very, very sleepy.”

The old gentleman’s face fell. “Is that all?”

“Perhaps you should ask for a sample and see for your- self.”

Sir Loughton gave a rueful shake of his head. “If I did that, I would have to admit that there’s a possibility that

this tonic works.” A twinkle lit the blue eyes. “Jane would never let me forget it.”

From across the stable yard, Lucien watched as Ara- bella and Ned turned the old cart onto the road. Sensibly clad in a gray coat that would have made a farmer’s wife proud, Arabella held the reins and urged Sebastian to a brisk trot. The wind tossed her hair, tugging long chestnut strands free so that they blew across her cheeks and wrapped beneath her chin.

As the cart turned onto the road, its bed came into view. Two large, tarp-covered mounds were clearly visi- ble, with straw sticking out of the sides. The perfect place to hide casks.

Lucien took a step forward. He had to saddle Satan and follow them, discover if they were—

Sir Loughton’s voice came from behind him. “An amazing woman, Arabella Hadley. Keeps Rosemont run- ning almost single-handedly.”

With great difficulty, Lucien managed to nod politely, his every instinct to race after them. “She shouldn’t be going out by herself.”

“Ned is with her.”

“You obviously haven’t had the benefit of speaking with him.”

Sir Loughton chuckled. “Bubbleheaded, isn’t he?” “Yes,” Lucien said shortly, watching as the cart rum-

bled from sight. He raked a hand through his hair. “You could as easily tell a dead person to roll over as tell Ara- bella Hadley to be cautious.”

“You seem to know her rather well.” The baron’s hard blue gaze met Lucien’s again. “I hope you don’t mind my asking, but as a friend of the family, just what are your intentions regarding Miss Hadley?”

“My intentions are every bit as honorable as yours are toward Lady Melwin,” Lucien returned instantly.

Sir Loughton gave a bark of laughter. “I suppose you have me there. It is none of my business, anyway.” He held out his hand. “I am glad you came to Yorkshire, Your Grace.”

“As am I.” Lucien shook the offered hand.

As he watched the baron ride away on a showy chest- nut, Lucien cast one last, grim look toward the road where Arabella and Ned had disappeared, then turned and stalked to the stables. He had a sinking feeling that a cer- tain man by the name of Mumferd would know exactly what was happening at Rosemont. Cursing his suspicions, he saddled Satan and rode toward the Red Rooster.

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Chapter 14

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ight was her favorite time. Arabella loved the end- less black of the sky and the wildness of the sea. Breathing deeply of the tangy salt air, she reached the low stone wall that lined the cliff and peered back over her