Corey McFadden (4 page)

Radford smiled down at Maude and she tried to offer a slight smile in return but she feared nothing save discomfort showed in her eyes. She allowed him to support most of her weight as she leaned against him. Another startling irrelevancy pierced through her pain as she found herself thinking it felt good to be so close to him; he had a strong wide chest that seemed just perfect for pressing against....

All eyes turned in their direction as the trio reached the door. Those who had relished the sight of the earl and Amelia on their way to an indiscretion shrugged to themselves as they realized that as Maude had been along after all as chaperone, there would be no juicy scandal to enliven the coming winter months in their rural neighborhood.

Maude had enough pride left to attempt to appear as if she were quite well, delighted and entertained. She cast a quick glance about the room, hoping, desperately, to find the one pair of eyes she could count on for sympathy—her Uncle James. Unfortunately the pair of eyes that met her gaze belonged instead to Aunt Claire who stared as if stunned. Claire’s face flushed with anger as she saw Maude being borne in on the arm of the earl, her own precious daughter trailing, forgotten, behind.    Someone’s plans had been thwarted, Maude could see.

“We went out for a bit of air and I’m afraid Miss Romney has turned her ankle,” the earl lied smoothly. “With your permission, madam, I will help Miss Romney up the stairs as she cannot walk unaided.”

Claire nodded with a faint show of amiability, then turned a furious glance on Amelia, away from the guests. Maude saw her gesture at her daughter to follow them up, then watched as her aunt smoothed her expression, turning once more to her guests,  hiding the malevolence Maude knew was in her heart.

The trip up the stairs lasted an eternity. Maude found herself short of breath as she strained to climb each stair with as much grace as she could muster. The pain in her ankle was excruciating but it was difficult to concentrate on the ache with the earl so close. She could feel the strength of his arms and his chest as he half lifted her up each step. Surely it was the pain and her tight stays that were making her feel so lightheaded! Maude had a sense of swirling downward, being borne closer and closer to that massive chest which was warm and welcoming and felt delicious. The pain was receding. Everything was receding. There was only the sense of strong arms about her....

* * * *

The poor chit must not have realized she was slipping into unconsciousness but Radford, feeling her full weight sag against him, caught her up in his arms as they reached the top of the staircase.

“Where is Miss Romney’s room, Amelia?” he asked, as they proceeded down the dark hall.

“You can drop the spying pest here on the floor for all I care,” Amelia hissed. “I cannot see why you’re making such a fuss over her blasted ankle after what she did to us!”

“Will your mother really beat her, Amelia?” Radford asked with deceptive mildness. “Isn’t Maude a bit old for that sort of thing?”

“She never learns, no matter how Mama chastises her. She is willful and disobedient. She contradicts Mama on every point and shows no appreciation for Mama’s sacrifices on her behalf. I do not know how we bear having her in the house!”

“But it is her house, legally speaking, is it not? I seem to recall that Maude was the sole heir on the death of her parents. Your stepfather and mother are her guardians as Maude’s uncle and aunt, are they not? Didn’t you come here after their deaths?” Radford waited while Amelia pushed open a door at the end of the hallway. He noted the scowl which twisted her comely face at his words.

“Oh, it’s all hers all right, and small thanks Mama gets for having looked after her and minded her affairs these past ten years. I hope you don’t think our dear adopted papa is worth a bucket of stable muck in these matters. He never raises his head from his brandy. It is all my mother’s responsibility and there’ll be nothing in it for any of us in the end, you can be sure of that!”

Odd how he could hear Claire’s voice though Amelia spoke the words. No doubt Amelia had heard her mother express these exact sentiments often enough to repeat them as gospel. Radford knew that James Romney was a lush; everyone knew. But Amelia’s comments to one outside the family were an unpardonable breach of etiquette. To the world, a family was obliged to present a united, serene façade. Whatever his shortcomings, James Romney was a gentleman who had been kind enough to adopt this chit and her brother and give them his honorable name. He did not deserve to be insulted by this girl in front of a guest in his own home.

Radford bent down with his slender burden and placed her gently on the bed. Maude stirred a bit and moaned but her eyes remained closed. He lifted her skirts just enough to look at her ankle, oblivious to the impropriety. He had seen enough feminine ankles in his twenty-eight years to be long-since immune. It was badly swollen and an ugly bluish-purple. It would mend, of course, but she would not walk without pain for some weeks. He noticed the other ankle, trim and shapely above the pretty satin slipper. Jaded as he was, there was something about this one that struck him as unusually pleasing to the eye.

He turned away, back to the icy stare of his almost-tryst. Well, if Maude Romney hadn’t gotten a thrashing for shooting him off his horse as a child, she would pay a debt now for spoiling his seduction of the beautiful, if nasty-tempered, Amelia. Perhaps Maude had done him a favor after all.

“This ankle should be tended; it needs compresses and wrappings, or it will be all the more painful in the morning.”

“I’m sure the servants will see to it,” Amelia said carelessly, looking up at the earl through lowered lashes, a practiced effect. He wondered if she realized how many times he had seen the trick before. “Would you care to see my room, Edward, before we return to the party?” She swayed provocatively forward, coming to a stop inches before him, her very nearness exuding a luscious availability. “I believe we have a few moments to ourselves,” she purred. “And, as you remarked, we have poor Maudie here as chaperone to vouch for our purity.” She gave a low, throaty laugh, and pressed her body against his.

It was odd how unmoved he was. A quarter of an hour before he had been much intent on her seduction, easy that it was. He had paid little enough attention to this down-at-the-heels neighboring family in recent years, and had thought of Amelia, if at all, as the child he dimly remembered coming with her mother and brother to live here more than ten years ago when James Romney had become Maude’s guardian.

But seeing Amelia recently at a neighborhood fete, he had been struck by how she’d grown and how ardently she had sought to prove it to him. He had accepted tonight’s invitation, which he normally would have scorned, planning a short dalliance with this wanton, willing country girl. He had decided to amuse himself with her before he turned his attention to the latest crop of eligibles, who would be paraded in front of him all Season.

Now, as the beautiful Amelia pressed her ripe breasts against his chest, he felt no lust, no interest at all. He was conscious of a vague disgust as he carefully pushed her back, hearing in his mind again her whiny tone, her nastiness, which reminded him all too much of her mother.

“I think it unwise, my dear,” the earl said coolly. “Everyone will be awaiting our return. Let us go down and assure your mother of Maude’s eventual recovery.”

Amelia stepped back as if she’d been slapped, her face contorted with anger. “As you wish, my lord,” she said, her tone icy. “I’ll warrant you’ll not get a further opportunity to sully my reputation!” She turned abruptly and stormed from the room.

* * * *

Maude was swimming up from somewhere pleasant, and pain was stabbing at her. She heard voices mumbling low and opened her eyes just a slit. Ah, Amelia and the Earl of Radford. Amelia was hissing at him like an angry cat, then she turned and stormed from the room.

Maude squeezed her eyes shut as Radford turned toward her. Then she opened them just the tiniest slit. A smile curved his lips. “Feeling better, Miss Romney?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Yes, thank you,” she murmured, giving in and opening her eyes all the way. She had a feeling he knew she had watched Amelia’s attempted seduction. She hoped he didn’t know how relieved she had been at her step-cousin’s routing. Maude still felt a languor that somehow made her nerves tingle, an odd sensation, tied up with the feel of his arms about her. The pain, no doubt, was making her delirious.

He moved toward her to look again at the swollen ankle. Ignoring the obvious impropriety, he sat down on the bed, and probed her foot gently, noticing her wince as he touched the worst spot.

“I do not think it is broken,” he said seriously, “but you will need to rest it for some time. Do you think you can manage to stay off your feet for a few days?”

Without quite realizing it, his probing touch had turned to a gentle caress. Maude was mesmerized by his finely chiseled features and the deep blue eyes which danced with amusement. He had a shock of dark hair which he wore shorter than the current fashion, just touching the edge of his high, starched neckcloth. He smelled good, like leather and clean linen. The white of his shirt front glowed in the light of the one candle near the bed. He was quite the handsomest man Maude ever remembered seeing, next to her father, of course. Too bad he thought she was an idiot. Befuddled by the trend of her thoughts, she closed her eyes as the pleasure of the touch of his cool fingers spread through the hot, stabbing pain.

“I—I shall try, thank you. I’m sure it will be fine,” she stammered, confused and at a loss for words, an unusual state for her.

“Well, I’ll leave you then. I shall send a servant up to tend you, that is, if your good aunt can spare one from the festivities.”

He drew the coverlet up from the foot of the bed and placed it over her, carefully arranging it so that the injured ankle rested outside the blanket. Then he turned away and headed for the door. 

Maude sighed to herself as she watched the door close behind him. She was tired to death and with the earl’s departure, the pain intruded on her consciousness in full force. Tomorrow she would have to deal with her aunt’s and cousin’s fury, and John’s snide scorn. Well, she would let tomorrow take its course. Right now she would sleep. At least she would not be departing for Tibet.

Chapter Two

Amelia was married to Geoffrey Talbot, an acceptable match as far as Claire was concerned. No one so fine as an earl, thanks to that interfering little prig, Maude, but a gentleman with a decent yearly income, nonetheless. After a month-long round of merry wedding and Christmas parties the radiant couple had departed last week for a trip to the continent and Claire was well satisfied with the success of her scheme.

Amelia had made a stunning bride, as Claire had known she would. Thank heavens the girl was such a beauty. Lord knew her dowry was modest enough, only what Mr. Parsons, junior solicitor of Booth and Parks, the Romney family’s solicitors, had allowed Claire to skim over the past ten years from Maude’s estate. It had grown increasingly annoying, in this last year, to deal with Mr. Parsons. It was obvious that he had found another woman somewhere along the way, as his physical demands on Claire had dwindled, until finally it seemed he no longer had need of her body at all. That would have been just as well—Claire had always found his requests base and distasteful—but she had had nothing else with which to bargain, aside from the “small percentage” that he now took. It galled Claire to pay him for what she had once gotten free, but as a practical woman she had seen no alternative. His veiled suggestion that perhaps Amelia might accommodate him had been treated with the scorn it so richly deserved. Amelia’s favors were not to be bartered away so cheaply. Besides, there was some skimming Claire had managed to hide even from Mr. Parsons, so he had not gotten quite so much of a cut as he imagined.

She sat now in her office, waiting for her beloved boy. It was a private room, tucked away off the library, where she was rarely disturbed. The furniture was shabby, but at one time, when it had been Maude’s mother’s room, it had been gaily decorated with colorful chintzes and a fine mahogany desk, neatly organized. Now the papers spilled out at random and the colors were faded into a dim memory.

Claire cared nothing for the room; no one saw it but herself and an occasional family member or servant. She would spend none of the money from Maude’s estate on improvements to this house. Not until she was sure the house would belong to her precious John. Oh, the plan was too wonderful!

She glanced into the gilt mirror hanging on the wall over the desk. At thirty-eight she was still a handsome woman, an older version of Amelia. But pinching pennies and a lifetime of unrealized dreams had etched lines around her tight mouth and cold eyes. She was still slender in her dark green silk dress that showed off the curves that had once attracted the hapless James. Well, if Mr. Parsons was no longer interested in her charms, she would shortly have the power to cut him out altogether.

The door to the small room opened. Claire could smell the whiskey before she turned around, but to her relief, John seemed sober enough to talk business. That he was so like his rakehell of a father both amused and alarmed her. She had been immensely fond of Jack Burwell, enough to marry him at sixteen against even her ne’er-do-well family’s advice. But her life with him had been spent one step ahead of the bailiffs, and when he had been killed—shot in the back in a seamy public room on the wharf—he had left her penniless with two small children and nothing to survive on except her wits and her dark beauty.

Claire had soon wed the besotted James in desperation, as the creditors hounded her like hungry wolves. She had been married to James less than a year—enough time to know that he offered precious little of the gracious life she coveted—when the news arrived of the fortuitous accident in the channel that had taken the lives of James’s older brother, his young wife, and small daughter, leaving James sole heir. Claire had wasted no time in moving the family to Romney Manor, a rambling house in the country to the north of London. For several days she had reveled in her new-found wealth and status, as wife to a landed country gentleman.