Her Mad Baron (26 page)

Once Florrie emerged, dried and dressed in her grubby gown, Miss Brock met her with a measuring tape and introduced her to the dressmaker. The three of them sat in the old-fashioned drawing-room and discussed fabrics and fashion. Or rather the two other women spoke. Florrie only nodded or shook her head. This was a world she didn’t know. Her mother had been too sickly to care, and the housekeeper, nursemaid and then governess who took care of Florrie only made sure she was dressed in clean clothes that fit, usually.

Now Miss Brock and the dressmaker argued over colors, holding swatches of fabric under Florrie’s chin to see if they suited her complexion. Despite her lack of conviction or strong opinions, the two women treated her politely and waited to see if she agreed with them.

This is deference, she thought. She’d better get used to it and the strange sense of responsibility it seemed to bring into play.

After an hour, the butler and two footmen appeared with tea and plates of food. Florrie wondered who ordered the food or perhaps the servants in this house prowled the rooms looking for residents to be fed at regular intervals.

He had to have returned by now. She interrupted a discussion of necklines to excuse herself. Florrie still wore the rumpled grey gown, but at least Miss Brock had managed to bully her hair into a respectable bun, something she had yet to achieve on her own.

She stopped herself from running and made her sedate way down the stairs, nodding to a footman.

He was in the library with Mr. Burnbridge, dictating something. Both men stood at her entrance. Nathaniel looked politely bored.

She considered shrieking at him but instead smiled. “I need to speak to you,” she said. “Lord Felston.”

Burnbridge must have seen the light in her eye for he excused himself at once.

Could she start with “how dare you”? No, she couldn’t, even though there were lists of questions starting just that way echoing through her mind. Maybe she could just inform him that she would not allow anyone, not even him, to make her choices. Not even after they were married.

“Your hair is different,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.

That would be a place to start. “Your Miss Brock put it up for me,” she said. “The lady you hired without informing me.”

His expression didn’t change. “You said you knew of no one, and she is a distant relation. My cousin, who is always in the mode, says she has excellent taste and is much sought after as a lady’s companion. What more could you want?”

She put her hands on her hips, but at least she didn’t stamp her foot. “A word, perhaps? A hint that you had engaged her? You could at least pretend to consult with me.”

“I thought I had said something.” He came closer and squinted at her. “I don’t know if I like this more severe hair style.”

“I do.” Even if it did feel as if her hair was being pulled from her head by the roots and pins had been jammed into her scalp.

He gave her a faint smile. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention the matter to you. I should have. I have been distracted lately.”

And now he patronized her. She ground her teeth together. “And if I wish to fire her?”

He frowned, disconcerted at last. “I suppose it is your choice to make.”

“Good.” She turned and walked away, wishing she wore a pretty gown and proper footwear and not the peculiar climbing shoes.

“Will you dismiss her?” he asked. He remained planted in the middle of the room, not moving to open the door as he usually would.

She stopped, one hand on the door handle, to look back at him. “Of course not.”

He walked to her and lightly grasped her shoulders. “I’m glad,” he said. “You are a good person, Florrie. You don’t release your anger with me on her.”

She tried to read his face, but he was imitating a plank of wood again. “Tell me, Nathaniel, do you expect me to lash out at others when I’m angry with you? Berate servants for no good reason? You don’t have a high opinion of me.”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. “I am going home soon.”

His fingers dug into her upper arms. “Will you return?”

Not only his fingers had tightened, his mouth was a thin line too.

“Yes.” She rolled her shoulders, and he let go of her at once.

“Pardon,” he said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I won’t let you,” she said, and she wasn’t sure if he meant causing pain with his hands or by ignoring her wishes. “We haven’t just been intimate so why do you look as disapproving as your uncle just now?”

The smallest flinch flashed across his face. “I may physically resemble him, but please be assured I am nothing like him.”

Recalling his uncle reminded her of the night before. “The letters from that man. Now I recall you left the bed and read them.”

He nodded. “This morning I went out to deal with the situation.” Florrie could tell he didn’t want to explain what he meant.

“The police?”

He nodded.

She stepped closer to him, unable to resist touching his shoulder despite the iciness she saw in his eyes. “Was Maller a friend?”

“No. No. But he was sympathetic.” He moved to stand near the fire. “When he spoke to me in Willsbourne, it was as if he was reluctant to believe I was mad. Even when he thought I was asleep...”

He drew in a deep breath. “My mother said when he told her of my illness, he assured her he was certain I might recover. But when I asked her, she didn’t know who made the decision to lock me up. She never asked who was behind the idea.” He shot Florrie a swift glance but then turned his attention back to the flames. “I think I trusted him in part because he was the only one to say it wasn’t just Grub behind the plot.”

“Is he still in your employment?”

“By now I expect he’s being questioned by the police, but yes, he was my employee. He’s been working with Burny to rebuild the missing records.” He laughed bitterly. “I remember now that Burny said he was intelligent. How could a sharp man allow embezzlement to slip past him? Much more likely to indulge in it.”

He rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen the hunched muscles. “Burny knows but I still haven’t told him the full details yet. I have to grow better at confiding in people, don’t I?”

Florrie wanted to cheer this sentiment. Instead she stood next to him by the fire and gave his arm a tentative stroke. “It does fit. I mean it makes sense this Maller would want power over you. Your uncle, the late baron, was ill for years. He wasn’t interested in his estate or money. Didn’t he slip into dementia?”

He nodded. “Then I came along, ready to take up the reins and stop the flow of money into Maller’s pocket. He couldn’t kill me because I have no heirs. The barony would revert to the crown. He had only to put me into a similar dependent state as my uncle. Perhaps drive me mad and even have me committed.”

Nathaniel’s lips tightened, but he resumed in a steady, almost indifferent voice. “Meanwhile Maller remained far away, in London. Never on the scene until formally summoned. Silly reason not to suspect him.”

He gazed into the fire, but at least he didn’t flinch as she moved closer. He muttered, “I think it’s because I liked the man. And I almost hoped Bessette was guilty.”

“He’s guilty of silence at the very least.” She frowned. “He had those letters that mentioned you. I didn’t have time to read more than a paragraph or two, but it was clear he thought he was being clever and obscure. I caught sight of odd phrases such as ‘opportune illness’ and ‘symptoms that can be brought under control.’” It’s obvious. Your uncle knew or at least had to suspect the truth, and yet, he said nothing.”

“I expect he likes having a hold on a man like Maller. I’m only surprised he left these letters where anyone could find them.”

She covered her mouth with a hand when she remembered the mess she’d left behind in her hurry. For once she hadn’t taken the bother to work carefully. Getting information was more important than not leaving a trace of her visit. “Um, well,” she said.

“What’s wrong?” For the first time he looked her full in the face.

“I, ah, did have to break a lock on a desk. I didn’t mean to, but I was in a hurry and I’m not very good at picking the locks yet. I need more practice.”

He actually smiled. “It doesn’t upset me that you broke that lock. He’ll know I am responsible, too, before we’re done. I left a note saying I’d called. But I do worry that you think you need practice. As if you’ll do this again.”

“What will you do?”

“Besides buy a variety of locks for you?”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Yes, besides that.”

He hesitated. “I have already given the letters to the proper authorities.”

“What about your mother?”

“What has she to do with this?”

He sounded fierce, but she only raised her brows and said, “Will you tell her about Lord Bessette’s duplicity?”

He didn’t answer for a long minute. “I believe she knows what her brother is capable of.” Drat. He’d been driven back into his lord of the manor state.

He cleared his throat and folded his arms across his chest. She braced herself for another pronouncement or blast of icy politeness.

“Florrie, I know we have called the banns, but it would be best if we married as soon as possible. I will get a special license. We will be married quickly.”

She kept her jaw from dropping but just barely. Though she’d anticipated his formal manner, his words were a huge surprise. “Why?” she asked.

“Last night is reason enough.”

He was right, of course, but the way he made an announcement rather than a request annoyed her. “You say you’re nothing like your uncle, but the way you speak to me sometimes I think you take your power for granted,” she said. “That might be the mark of a man used to having his will obeyed. I haven’t met many such men.”

“I beg your pardon, but I think you misread me.” No one could speak with more polite chilliness. “I’m not used to obedience.”

She smiled. “Good.”

His eyes narrowed, and he moved closer to her. “The special license,” he began.

“All right.”

His body, leaning towards her, almost touched hers. To her disappointment, he stopped before he pressed against her, so close she could feel his whoosh of exhaled breath on her forehead. “What did you say?” he whispered.

“I don’t want a big church wedding. So why should we wait?”

Drat. He moved away from her, ending the interesting ripples of heat in her body.

Oh well, she’d return to the subject at hand. “Do you think your uncle knows that his office was, um, slightly ransacked? Has he returned to London?”

“Not yet.”

“We should see your mother before he does,” she said. “Perhaps we might visit her tomorrow morning.”

“We?” He examined her up and down in a pointed manner.

“Don’t worry, I promise to be presentable. The dressmaker has gowns that can be quickly altered to fit me.”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you afraid she’ll meet me and then persuade you to call off the wedding?”

“Florrie,” he said softly. “She will never be able to turn me against you.”

That was reassuring. “All right. If you wish, you should go see her alone.” She went to the door again. “The dressmaker and Miss Brock are waiting for me. They’re planning a wardrobe that will cost you a great deal of money, Nathaniel.” She waited for a response, but he only watched her. “I was going to refuse some of their choices and save you hundreds of pounds. But I think I’ll tell them to go ahead and make the morning and day dresses and tea-gowns and ball-gowns and riding habits.”

“Good.”

“I’m still irked with you for not mentioning Miss Brock or mentioning your plan to go to the police. I am your partner in crime.” Soon to be his partner in life.

She waited again, hoping he’d kiss her or give her that small heart-breaking smile of his. He only bowed. “Please feel free to spend my money.”

She left, wishing she could finish with the ladies upstairs then run away alone to the boarding house to think. But, no, she’d have to beg for money or a carriage. Time to at last learn to behave like a lady. And besides, she didn’t want to walk across London in her thin-soled shoes.

*

Nathaniel watched her leave, her shoulders back, her head high as she slowed her usual fast walk. Trying for dignity, he guessed. He watched and wanted her. The whole night together, the times he’d held her and had her wasn’t enough to slake his desire for her. He needed to follow her upstairs and drag her back to his room. Tie her up again. Jesus. Thinking of that strange, intense episode made him blush, and made him as hard as he’d ever been.

Last night he’d forgotten about breaking into his uncle’s house. He’d even forgotten about the reason behind the foolhardy scheme. For the first time since his escape, he hardly cared who’d held him in that room. It wasn’t the effect of the fit he’d had, or the lingering craving for medication.

Everything had fled from his mind when he had a chance to hold Florrie and make her a captive in his bed.

Her trim figure disappeared as she turned a corner, but he still gazed after her and thought of their night together. He’d guessed she would like the danger of the play, but his own response had surprised the hell out of him. Trouble was she controlled him even when she lay under him, tied and vulnerable.