Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) (25 page)

“I smelled the smoke all the way up to my rooms. Are you sure there’s no fire?”

“Perfectly. Don’t worry about a thing. Enjoy the rest of your day off.” Gareth would worry enough for everyone.

“You’ll need even more coal brought in if you’re heating the whole outdoors,” Martin grumbled. Annie shivered in agreement. Gareth hoped Martin did not notice the inches of shift that were visible between her bodice buttons.

“Just airing out the house. But you’re probably right. Annie, why don’t you open the rest of the windows downstairs? The front door, too. We should have the smell out in a trice what with the wind. And find a shawl or your cloak before you freeze.”

She nodded and scurried off. “And if you don’t mind, Martin, a few more buckets of coal should set us to rights and get the temperature back up. Thank you for your concern. And all your help. I don’t think I tell you enough how much I appreciate you.”

The groom colored. “I don’t need thanks, Major. Ripton Hall’s been my home, too. I’ve been here longer than you have.”

“You’ve been a true friend.” If possible, Martin’s face turned a deeper hue of red.

Leaving the man to his work, Gareth carried his melting bowl of snow to his study and set it on a corner of the desk. He pulled the clutch of newspapers up from under the tilted blotter and tossed them aside, then thrust his hand back into the cooling balm. If his bedroom was a disaster, this room was five times worse. It was past time to get rid of the yellowing broadsheets and moldy books and papers. He’d ask Annie to help him, if it wouldn’t bother her to confront her front-page past.

The poor girl. Hounded by her father and the bloody press. Whoever this Evangeline Ramsey was, she must have made Annie’s life a living hell before she turned herself into an angel.

“Do you want me to open these windows, too?” Annie entered, wearing her cloak and mittens.

“Aye. Some fresh air in this room would do it good.”

She pushed the window open and a newspaper fluttered to the floor. “What did that one say?” she asked, not moving to pick it up.

“I’m sure you remember the time you drove Lord Crandall’s phaeton into an oak tree in Hyde Park.”

“The horse was fine. The traces broke and I couldn’t stop.”

“You might have been killed.”

“Well, one doesn’t plan to get into an accident, does one? I could say the same for you. How many battles have you fought?”

“That’s a little different, Annie. I was fighting for my country.”

“And I was fighting for my independence.”

“Let’s not argue, love. The important thing is that we’re both here, mostly unscathed. Come sit on my lap. I’ll keep you warm.”

Her wool-wrapped bum felt delightful. She wriggled a little and it felt even better. Another copy of
The London List
lifted in the breeze and scuddered to the floor but they both ignored it.

“I
am
sorry about the stove,” she said.

There was only one thing to be done to stop her apologies. “Stubble it and kiss me.”

One kiss led to another, which led to the beginnings of a rather amazing ride on his cracked leather desk chair. The phaeton was taking up speed when Martin entered the room with a scuttle full of coal. The groom dropped its contents in his embarrassed haste to leave, and Annie’s quaking giggling drove Gareth to even greater heights.

“Stop. Your. Laughing. Minx.” He was breathing hard, and at each word he thrust up harder.

“Oh, G-Gareth, I cannot. This is so very improper.”

“It feels. Proper. Enough. To me.”

With his last plunge, her eyes widened and her mouth softened. He knew he touched something deep and mysterious within her. So he touched it again. Suddenly, Anne ceased laughing and tore at her cloak so she could see the union of their bodies. Gareth held her up, rocking her back and forth. She clung to him as the ride turned beautifully reckless, whispering his name over and over until they climaxed together.

When they were done, she snuggled into him. “You don’t suppose Martin saw anything, do you?”

“Apart from the obvious? You were covered by your cloak, love. But I imagine he’s shocked. And I’m afraid there’s even more of a mess in here now.” He waved his arm in the direction of the newspapers littering the old carpet.

Annie looked up at him, grinning. “It’s my day off. Stubble it and kiss me.”

As he kissed her again, he almost forgot about fires and magistrates and murder. He’d have to confront Lewys as soon as possible, but not today when he had Annie’s arms around him and her lips on his.

A
s Gareth’s mended bones predicted, they found themselves snowed in again at Ripton Hall for three days. It was no hardship to be by Gareth’s side as they finally made progress cleaning his bedroom and study together. Anne was almost sorry to see the sun, as they grew closer every day they were shut up alone in the house.

When the weather finally cleared, Gareth’s palm was still too tender from the burn to hold the reins and ride into the village, so Martin had been dispatched to fetch the mail and a loaf of bread to replace the sad rock that Anne had baked.

She had been unable to meet the man’s eye when Gareth called the groom into the house to ask him to go to Llanwyr. She and Gareth may have been engaged to be married, but to be caught
in flagrante delicto
by Martin had been very improper. Mortifying, really. Gareth had assured her that her body had been adequately covered, but the groom must think her a very wicked woman to be bouncing up and down with abandon in Gareth’s lap. She worked off her guilt by a thorough scrubbing of the formal dining room, imagining the long table set with Mrs. Chapman’s delicacies for the wedding reception.

Gareth was sorting through the mail in his study when she passed by with an armful of tablecloths she would try to iron. Most likely she’d set the wrinkles right back into them. “Is there anything for me?”

Anne didn’t really expect a letter. She and Evangeline had agreed not to communicate in case the earl’s minions somehow figured out the connection between them. Her father’s investigator Mr. Mulgrew was a demon when it came to discovering secrets. One wouldn’t think it to look at him—he rather resembled a dancing bear one saw at a street fair.

Gareth looked up, his face sober. “There’s some bad news, I’m afraid. Your father is advertising a reward for your return. There are several issues of the
London List
here, and the ad appears in all of them.”

Anne dropped the rumpled linen on a chair. “Let me see.”

Gareth folded back the newssheet and pushed it toward her. In the center of page three was a prominent boxed advertisement. Each black letter leaped from the page.

Anne’s mouth dried. He made it sound like she was a candidate for Bedlam. “My God! He’s forsaken his pride and used our names! How could Evangeline had printed this?”

“Perhaps
she
was amply compensated.”

“No. There’s more to it.” In desperation she searched through the pages of ads until she came to an item near the top of the Personals column.

For now, perhaps. “She still tries to protect me. Look.”

“Chestnut seller?”

“It’s a private joke. She might have spoken to my father’s private detective so he won’t look for me. I hope so. I don’t want to end up locked away in a lunatic asylum.”

“I’ll protect you, Annie. We’ll be married in less than two weeks.”

She bit a lip, anguished that she once again appeared in the newspaper. Where once she’d sought notoriety, she now wished to lead a far more private life. Become a respectable wife to a man she loved more each snowy day. “It must have cost him to air our family quarrel like this in public.”

“I hope the son of a bitch is miserable.”

“But don’t you see what he’s done by this? People thought me shockingly shatter-brained before, and now he says I’m truly
ill.
Mad.”

He hugged her hard. “You are no more mad than I am. The best thing you did was to run away. Once we’re married, you’ll be beyond his reach.”

Anne slipped from his arms. “We shouldn’t wait until a week from Saturday to marry. I wish we could marry right after the banns are called. I wish we could marry
today
.”

“It will be all right, my love. You want your grand party in the house, don’t you? You’ve worked so hard to get the place ready. No one save Ian knows who you are, and I’ll make sure he knows you can match your father’s reward once you get your funds. I’m sure he’s not above a bit of bribery.”

She fought back the panic. “Oh, Gareth. What if he’s not? He hates you and doesn’t wish you to be happy. He could spoil everything for us.”

“He won’t. I swear it. In fact, I’ll go into the village and see him right now. Don’t borrow trouble.” He kissed her forehead and left her standing by the desk.

He shouldn’t be riding yet. “Wait! I’ll put on your glove.” She chased him down the hall into the kitchen where he was getting into his coat. She pulled the thick leather glove from his pocket and tugged it on gently over the bandage that covered his blister.

Once he’d left, she paced the room, then slapped her hand on the kitchen table. Ian had said he never read
The London List.
He’d never read about her. Heard her name before she told him. Why should he ever see the advertisements? Gareth himself would give Ian the information to destroy her. If she could get Martin to saddle a horse for her, she might be able to stop Gareth before he got to Llanwyr.

Oh, God. Deacon Thomas Morgan had announced her name to the congregation that first week, and she had no idea what
his
reading habits were. She rushed into her room and threw the green riding habit over her dress and shoved her feet into the boots.

The thought of seeing Martin again today was embarrassing, but she screwed up her courage and ran across the kitchen dooryard to the stable. The groom was currying Penny, who had already made the trip to the village once. The brush stopped midstroke.

“What can I do for you, Mrs. Mont?”

He looked at her with dislike. He didn’t have to like her, and she didn’t have to like him, but soon she would be mistress of this house, and he would be subject to her orders as well as Gareth’s. She used her sniffiest earl’s daughter’s voice. “I need to go after Major Ripton-Jones. Kindly saddle Penny for me, Martin.”

“Don’t know as I should. He’s tired.”

That was undoubtedly true. The old warhorse looked at her with great liquid eyes, almost begging her to be spared. She patted his flank with a gloved hand.

“How is his breathing today?”

“Not good.”

Nothing seemed truly amiss to her, except it was clear Martin was not inclined to help her. Lifting her chin, she said coolly, “Very well. I’ll walk.” She spun on a booted heel and slid in horse dung.

Martin’s hand shot out to steady her, saving her from an unpleasant fall. So much for making a dignified departure. Earl’s daughter indeed.

“Thank you,” Anne said.

“You need to be more careful, Mrs. Mont. You’re accident-prone, ain’t you? The major don’t need that.” The words, delivered innocuously enough, sent a chill through her.

She shook his hand away from her elbow. “I’ll be more careful.”

“Watch yourself on the road. There’s icy patches.”

Blast.
By the time she caught up with Gareth, he’d probably be on his way home. But she wanted to talk to Ian herself and make sure he had control over his cousin Thomas Morgan’s tongue as well as his own. A large monetary reward could be a great temptation to both men, even if they endeavored to live an ascetic life.

Anne stumbled along the partially-cleared lane, grateful for the horses that had gone before her. The hedgerows were covered in snow and served as glistening walls around her. A light wind tossed some plops of snow in her direction, but she simply tied her scarf tighter and soldiered on until she heard the jingle of a harness ahead. She scooted to the side and waited gratefully, assuming that Gareth had changed his mind and turned around.

But the horse heading toward her was not the spirited Job, and the rider was not Gareth. The man was large and well-dressed, though hatless, his white-gold hair a contrast to his darkly tanned face. He pulled his horse up and raised a hand in greeting.

“Mrs. Mont, I presume. What is Ripton-Jones thinking to let you traipse out alone in all this snow? The man is damned careless with his women.”

His women
. The man made Anne sound as if she were part of a harem. “Major Ripton-Jones is not my keeper, sir,” Anne said, annoyed. “And he doesn’t know I’m here.”

She wanted to call her blustery words back. What a stupid thing for her to say. Gareth had warned her to be careful when she left the house, fearful that Bronwen’s killer was still about. “Who are you?”

“Forgive me. I am Lewys. Is Gareth at home?”

Lord Parry Lewys. Bronwen’s last lover. But he was absolved of her murder, as he had already left for his Caribbean plantation.

Unless he’d returned somehow without being seen! Anne was perfectly willing to pencil him in as the murderer, not that she wanted to converse with a deranged killer alone on a country lane.

He didn’t look much like a murderer, just a privileged man on a thoroughbred horse, excessively tanned from his sojourn in the tropics. “You’ve just missed him. He’s on his way into Llanwyr. It’s odd that you didn’t pass him on the road,” she said, trying to rein in her temper. The baron was the local heartthrob, if what Mrs. Chapman said was true. All the Llanwyr girls had thrown their caps at him, hoping to become his baroness. Of course, Bronwen had captured him once she’d jilted Gareth.

Now that Lewys was home, he would probably be taking over the investigation of the murder. It would behoove Anne to be civil, although there was something about him she could not like, murderer or not.

“I came from the opposite direction. It is such a fine day, we were out early.” He gave his horse an affectionate pat. “I see you are also taking your exercise.”

“I am not walking for pleasure, sir. I had hoped to go into Llanwyr, too.”

“Well, then, allow me to take you up on my horse.” He smiled down at her, his teeth bright against his sun-darkened face.

If she accepted his offer, she’d catch up to Gareth sooner. Anne thought of that first ride home with Gareth, when every inch of her rubbed up against his male parts. She had no intention of rubbing against this man.

“No, thank you, Lord Lewys. I don’t want to trouble you. As you said, it’s a fine day. I’ll walk.”

“Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all. I insist.” He dismounted with grace and extended his hand. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”

His attractiveness dimmed. Anne straightened her spine and tried to make herself taller. “I am a respectable widow, Lord Lewys.”

He raised a blond eyebrow. “Are you? The tales I’ve heard since I’ve come home leave that in some doubt. You and Gareth are all alone in that big house. Who knows what he’s gotten into?”

Anne had met his like before, self-important men who thought they were witty with their double entendres. Her booted foot itched to stomp on his.

“I thought you were Gareth’s friend.”

“And so I am. But I know what he’s capable of. What
any
man is capable of if he’s sufficiently provoked.”

“If you listened to Bronwen Lewys, more fool you.”

For an instant, Anne thought he might strike her. But then he threw back his head and roared in laughter. If she had so desired, she might have counted his biting teeth.

“I see Gareth has met his match. For a tiny thing, you are a bit of terror, aren’t you? Much like a wasp. A very pretty wasp. Come, Mrs. Mont, let’s cry friends. In a short while, you will be the local squire’s wife. We’ll bump into each other frequently over county dining tables, if you can keep your husband sober.”

Anne had no interest in sharing a meal or anything else with Baron Lewys. But she was a practical girl with a place to go and there was no point in arguing on the lane.

“All right. But I shall ride behind you.”

“Splendid! Hold on tight, won’t you? I wouldn’t want to lose you.” He grasped her waist and threw her up on the saddle, then managed to mount without clipping her on the head with his long legs. She pinched the back of his coat with both hands instead of embracing him, and he turned his horse around.

By pretending not to hear him over the horse’s hooves and light wind, she was spared further conversation on the short trip down into the village. Her few shouts of “What? What?” became tedious for the baron quickly and he stopped trying to be charming. Anne barely had time to enjoy the cloudless blue sky before the chapel came into view, as did Job, who was tethered to the fence around the graveyard.

She tapped Lord Lewys on his shoulder. “Let me out here.”

“I see your fiancé’s mount, and it’s not even Sunday. I thought he and his cousin Ian were not on speaking terms.”

“They have reconciled,” Anne lied.

“I’m impressed, Mrs. Mont. You seem to be a good influence on the major. I’ve been anxious to talk to him ever since I got home but the damn weather prevented it at every turn. You won’t mind if I come in with you?”

Yes, she did mind, but couldn’t think of an excuse fast enough. Lord Lewys rode up the churchyard path, jumped down and helped her dismount. Job frisked at the nearness of the new horse and Anne stepped away before she got trampled. She needed to get inside and warn Gareth that Lewys was here to see him, so she ran up the path while the baron calmed the horses.

She heard the angry voices before she got to the door. It was important that Parry Lewys not discover her secret. If he overheard a heated argument with her name thrown about, he’d be suspicious. He was a man of the ton, would know in an instant what her true history was. She made a fist, banged as hard as she could to get the men’s attention, then barged into the building.