Lady Lissa's Liaison (11 page)

Gabriel's arched brow rose higher. "Very well, Manningford. Out with it," he said. "The last time you were this eager to please was when you delivered the very noxious news that all of the
haute monde
wanted my head on a platter."

Manningford cleared his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. " 'Tis rumors, my lord," he said. "I thought you should be informed of them. From
me.
Before you hear of them elsewhere."

Gabriel felt his gut tighten, then twist. It was as though a sharp and familiar blade had just been shoved into his innards.

"Rumors, hmm?" he tried to say lightly. "You and I both know, Manningford, that I've had enough of rumors swirling about my head to last a lifetime."

"That I do, my lord."

"And yet you meet me at the door to fill me with more?"

Manningford, looking as serious as a pallbearer, nodded. "I feel it is my duty."

Gabriel did not move. He suddenly felt five years younger. He felt, blast it all, as though he was once again standing within his father's home—now
his
—in Grosvenor Square, and Manningford was informing him of a certain lady's death, the cause of which had been hideously and forever pinned to Gabriel.

Quietly, he said, "Tell me, Manningford. Tell me everything."

The butler shifted uneasily. He took a deep breath. "It seems, sir, that your name has been affixed with a certain lady of Derbyshire, one who had been chastely and securely hidden from the gentlemen of London Town until recently. The passing of her father a year ago sparked a great deal of interest within the Metropolis. You see, sir, this lady is considered... er, well... 'quite a catch,' if you will. Rich as Croesus, she is, and very lovely."

Suddenly, Gabriel did not need to be told the identity of the woman. He suspected he had already met her this morning. "Continue, Manningford. Get to the point."

"The point is, my lord, that this lady has managed to make it known to one and all in Derbyshire that she is embroiled in a—a... uhm... well, a liaison, sir. With you."

"A liaison. With me?" Gabriel was thunderstruck. "Why would she do such a thing?"

"One can only assume, sir, that it is because of your famous—er... rather infamous past."

A storm gathered in Gabriel's gaze, making the butler squirm with further discomfort. "Just how did you come to that conclusion, Manningford?"

The man gulped once again, but forced himself to continue. "It is said that this lady wishes to rid herself of her many unwanted suitors, my lord. 'Tis no secret to those in Derbyshire that she has never had any interest in marriage. In fact, word has it she would sooner form a pact with the devil than be led to the altar."

"And?" Gabriel asked, rather impatient now. "I fail to see where in this twisted tale
I
play a part."

"If I may be so bold, my lord, it seems very apparent that you could play a huge part and not even know it. This lady obviously hopes to pull you into her web and relieve herself of her unwanted admirers."

Gabriel thought of Lady Lissa's wild tale about a trout needing to be hooked and how he could aid her. He felt his blood begin to boll. "Now how the devil does she think
that
will occur?" he wondered aloud.

Manningford, believing the question was one he should answer, said seriously, "She obviously hopes that by linking your name with hers she will scare away her suitors. You are, after all, known to be adept with both sword and pistol. Add that to the fact you've been known to duel to the finish for a lady's affection, and well—"

"That's enough, Manningford," Gabriel cut in. "I do not need a detailed account of my past."

"Forgive me, sir. Of course you do not. But you
did
ask."

Wylde glared at the butler, not really seeing him. His thoughts were purely on Lady Lissa. So
that
was why she had sought him out, and why she had stayed even after he'd kissed her so passionately. Not because of some locket or a trout or even because she'd felt some stirring of emotion at his touch, but
simply
because she angled to cast her name with his and frighten off all the skirters from Town who had come to dance attendance upon her.

Gabriel ran one hand through the shagged lengths of his hair, not certain whom he wished to curse more—Lady Lissa for her scheming ways, or himself for falling so neatly into her feminine trap.

" 'Tis both distasteful and disgraceful, I know," offered Manningford. "If you wish for my opinion, sir, I believe the lady is not only playing with fire by dragging your name into such a stew, but she is also placing Master Harry at a grave disadvantage."

"Harry,"
Gabriel breathed. "God's teeth, but I hadn't yet thought of what all this might mean for the boy."

"Of course you haven't, my lord. The news is still too fresh. But mark my words, sir, it will not do to have all the dust of your past kicked up and spread 'round the shire. Your whole purpose in settling here was to see Master Harry grow up far away from the ugliness of your youth."

Gabriel's insides flamed with a rioting inferno. He had lived with his own name being dragged through the mud, but he could not,
would not,
allow the same to happen to young Harry. He had spent years searching for the boy—a sweet, beautiful child who should have been of his own seed, but was not. He'd left his family and his life behind in his quest to find Harry, had been gone when his father went to the grave and his mother as well. He'd given up more than just his blood ties to save Harry from some horrid orphanage; he'd given up any redemption he might have otherwise claimed for himself.

And now Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor, some pampered heiress who did not wish to be bothered by a few harmless suitors, had decided she would not only utilize Gabriel's name, but would also bring back into light the long-buried rumors about him that he was so desperate to keep hidden from his adopted son.

Gabriel stood in the cool confines of the great hall and felt, quite literally, as though his entire world—the one he'd shed both sweat and tears to build for himself and his son—was bottoming out beneath him. It was a sickening feeling.

"You are certain of these rumors?" he asked Manningford.

"Very, my lord. Even now the lady is preparing for what is purported as being an impromptu assembly for a friend's natal day. Word has it, though, the function will be anything but informal. She has invited all the gentlemen from Town she hopes to dissuade in their pursuit of her own self. She intends to cast their eyes toward her friend. Doubtless she hopes to allow the rumors about her liaison with you to swell as well." Manningford lowered his voice, adding, "Mayhap, my lord, she even hopes
you
might be in attendance. She has issued a
carte blanche
for all of Derbyshire to attend the function. Having you among the crowd would doubtless aid her plot."

Gabriel recalled Lady Lissa saying something about her assemblage. She'd made a point of mentioning it, had just as quickly said it was to be an informal gathering—and then she'd smiled at him; a dazzling, brilliant smile. Could she have been issuing a subtle message for him to join the party?

Gabriel decided that was her ploy all along. Why else had she chosen
this
morning to meet him alongside the River Dove? Ah, but what a perfect plotter she was proving to be!

"Where is Harry?" Gabriel asked.

"In the nursery, my lord. With his governess and his finger-paints. In fact, he is looking forward to dining on kippers."

Gabriel ignored the wrinkle atop Manningford's nose at mention of kippers. "I shall sup with my son, Manningford. And afterward—"

"Afterward, my lord?" Manningford interrupted, since every evening in Derbyshire had thus far ended in his lordship reading Master Harry to sleep and then threading off to the book room to read about trout and angling.

"Afterward,"
said Gabriel, "I shall be in attendance at the gathering staged by Lady Lissa of Clivedon Manor."

Manningford sucked in an astonished breath of air, his nostrils pinching together with the act. "You
know
of the lady, my lord?"

"I know of her," Gabriel said, leaving it at that. "See that my mount is readied at precisely nine o'clock. And I'll be wearing black this evening."

"Of course, my lord," the dour Manningford agreed. "Whatever is your wish. Black will be most fitting, I am certain."

Gabriel watched as his butler took his leave. He soon stood alone in the cavernous hall of his new home, holding only Lissa's journal and her blanket. Both smelled of her. Like honeysuckle, and in full bloom, to be sure.

Gabriel scowled. He did not like being played for a fool.

So, Lady Lissa sought a suitor who would scare away all others, did she? She wanted a black mark smeared across her good name, one that would be forgiven once she extricated herself from his presence, hmm? Well, Gabriel could regale her with that. In spades!

He realized how reckless he was feeling, but ignored it. The lady had tossed him a challenge, one he was in a foul mood to meet. She should know better than to try and use him to her own advantage. And if she didn't know it, God's truth, he'd teach her! He would never again be anyone's performer on a string. He'd done that once and had lived to regret it. This time, he would turn the tables.

With that thought in mind, Gabriel headed upstairs to his son.

Chapter 7

Lissa noted that her maid visibly relaxed once they were free of the coppice of trees and walking among the manicured lawns of Clivedon Manor. Tilly even began to hum a sprightly tune and looked for all the world like the proverbial cat that had drunk deep of the cream. Lissa eyed the girl suspiciously.

"What ever has put you in such a cheerful mood, Tilly? While at the river, you seemed as like to jump out of your skin."

"La, m'lady," said Tilly, "how was I to know his lordship would allow you to leave his side with such ease? I be afeared he would try and keep m'lady with him all night long. I just be glad the Heartless One proved naught to be an ogre."

"You are not to refer to Lord Wylde as 'the Heartless One,' or even an ogre, do you hear?" Lissa said, feeling an inexplicably strong urge to come to the aid of Lord Wylde's character.

Tilly nodded her head with a bit too much vigor.

"Further, his lordship would
hardly
detain me for the day, Tilly, or even the night for that matter. Why would you say such a thing?"

"But you be telling me yourself this morn how his lordship be a never-do-well blacksheep, and how you be needing someone to darken your name for a time."

Lissa came to a sudden stop. She felt guilty about her ridiculous plot to use Lord Wylde's blackened past to her own advantage. Now that she'd met the man, she knew she could not carry out such a plot. More to the point, now that he'd
kissed
her with such heady passion—and she'd
responded
to those kisses—she did not dare do such a thing.

Lissa trembled inside to imagine what a man who could kiss with such intensity would do to a female who sought to make a dupe of him! She needed to scotch her plan and do so posthaste.

"About what I said this morning, Tilly," Lissa began, her mind in a turmoil, "you—you are to forget I ever uttered such words, is that clear?"

Tilly squinted up at her. "Which words, m'lady?"

"About Lord Wylde, of course," Lissa said impatiently, embarrassment gripping her.

"About his lordship being a dangerous sort?"

"Yes, precisely. I—I should not have spoken so freely about his past when in fact I actually know very little of what has truly transpired in his life. You will forget I ever said he could be a loose cannon, yes?"

Tilly looked relieved."I vow it," she said, and then brightened as they continued their paces homeward. The maid even began to hum again.

Lissa found the tune irritating. She was still thinking of Lord Wylde. Of his kisses. His touch.

They reached the back entrance of the manor house. A wagon laden with extra goods for the birthday celebration was just about to be unloaded. Lissa's household staff was not a large one, but it appeared that all of them had been pressed into service in the unloading and carting inside of the many parcels and goods.