Midnight at Mallyncourt (11 page)

“Ah, Jenny,” he said, “it appears you're not quite the grand, dignified lady I took you to be. No indeed. There's a bit of the fishwife in you, luv.”

“I—I ought to slap your face!”

“I shouldn't,” he said. “You see, I don't even
pretend
to be a gentleman. I'd slap you back, promptly, Probably hurl you over the balustrade as well.”

“You—you—”

“Run along, luv. Get back in the house. It's much too chilly for you to be out here in that preposterous gown. I shouldn't be at all surprised if you caught your death of cold.”

Although I was seething with rage, I moved down the veranda with cool, haughty dignity, followed by the sound of Lyman Robb's hearty chuckle. Once inside, I walked quickly down the long hall with its patched and faded tapestries and up the wide stone steps built for the horses. In the vast, shadowy gallery, I paused, taking a few moments to compose myself before going on to the west wing apartment.

Most of the candles had been extinguished in my bedroom, one burning in a silver holder beside the bed, another on the dressing table. The bedcovers had been turned back, the fire banked down, a mere heap of glowing red-orange coals. As I entered, I was momentarily dismayed to see a diminutive creature in black dress and white organdy apron climb up out of the large chair beside the fireplace. Her short blond curls were tousled. Her comic little face wore a timid, sleepy expression. She couldn't have been much over fourteen, I thought.

“I'm Susie, Ma'am,” she said, “'n I'm to be your abigail. Jeffers, 'e told me to wait 'ere in your room 'n 'elp you get ready for bed. I've never
been
an abigail before, Ma'am. I 'ope you'll understand if I botch things up a bit till I get the 'ang of it.”

“Hello, Susie,” I replied, warming to the child immediately. “You look sleepy.”

“I
am
,” she admitted frankly, “but at least I'm not workin' in the pantry any more. Most abigails 're tall 'n skinny, usually
French
and very grand, like Miss Vanessa's. ‘You'll do in a pinch,' Jeffers told me, 'n 'e said I was to please you or
else
. Said I wasn't to chatter—oh dear, and here I am chatterin' away. I'm the one who unpacked all your things 'n put 'em away earlier on,” she said proudly. “Shall I 'elp you undress now, Ma'am?”

“I think I can manage by myself, Susie. It's very late. Why don't you run along to your room and go to sleep.”

She seemed crestfallen. With her enormous blue eyes, turned-up nose and wide pink mouth, she looked like a worried pixie. There was a scattering of light tan freckles across her cheeks, and she spoke with a decided Cockney accent.

“Oh dear, I 'ope I 'aven't displeased you! Jeffers'll be livid. 'E's a terrible bully, Jeffers. 'E'll send me back to the pantry—”

“I'm delighted with you,” I told her. “Don't you worry about Jeffers. I won't let him bother you.”

“Oh, Ma'am! You're an angel! You truly are. I was so
wor
ried, you see. I wouldn't be Miss Vanessa's abigail for the
world
. I'd rather sweep chim
neys
. I was afraid you might be like 'er. There I go—chatterin', chatterin'. If you don't require my services, then I shall retire,” she added, striving for grandness with a most comic result.

“Good night Susie.”

The girl dropped a quick curtsy, her blond curls bobbing, her wide pink mouth splitting into a pixie grin. Beaming with delight, she scurried out of the room, black taffeta skirt crackling stiffly. I smiled, enchanted with her, pleased to have discovered at least one friendly person at Mallyncourt.

Twenty minutes later, wearing only a low-cut petticoat with full ruffled skirt, I sat at the dressing table, brushing my hair. The long titian locks crackled and curled under the brush, redder than ever in the light of the candle. My green eyes were dark, my face composed, rather hard. My first night at Mallyncourt was over now, and I knew exactly what to expect in days to come. Lord Mallyn, Lyman, Vanessa: All were definitely going to present problems. No doubt I would earn every penny of that five hundred pounds before it was all over with, but I felt confident I could cope. Putting the brush aside, I stood up, weary, more than ready for some much needed sleep.

“Tired?” Edward asked.

I whirled around, startled. He was leaning in the doorway leading into the sitting room that connected our chambers, his shoulder propped casually against the door frame. Over his dark trousers and white shirt he wore a dressing robe, a splendid garment of heavy navy blue satin, tied loosely at the waist with a sash. One thick dark blond wave had fallen across his brow, and there was an odd expression in his eyes, one I hadn't seen there before. I wondered how long he had been standing there, watching me.

“I—I didn't hear you,” I said.

He smiled. It was a lazy smile. That expression in his eyes was disturbing. His lids drooped down sleepily. The sumptuous robe gleamed darkly. He was incredibly handsome, and he looked relaxed for the first time, not nearly so remote as he had been earlier.

“Thought I'd drop in to say good night,” he said.

“Oh?”

“You needn't look so alarmed, Jennifer.”

“I—I'm not alarmed.”

That wasn't true. This lazy, relaxed Edward was far more formidable than the aloof, distant stranger. I recognized that look in his eyes now, and I was acutely conscious of my half-clothed state. The petticoat left most of my bosom bare, and the waist was extremely snug, the full skirt aswirl with white cotton ruffles. Arms folded across his chest, his head tilted to one side, Edward gazed at me.

“There are one or two things I thought I should mention,” he drawled. “About our sleeping arrangements. It's perfectly customary for us to have separate chambers, but—uh—be sure you muss up both sides of the bed, be sure you dent both pillows. A servant will awaken you in the morning. Servants gossip. We wouldn't want it to get around that we're not—”

“I quite understand,” I said stiffly.

“You're blushing, Jennifer.”

“I—that door. There's a lock on it, I trust?”

He nodded, amused. “Think you'll need one?”

“I—I'm not sure.”

“No?”

“Mr. Baker—”

“Don't look so alarmed, Jenny,” he said casually. “We made a bargain, remember? Part of it was that I wouldn't—uh—molest you. You needn't fear. I've no intentions of raping you.”

“I think you'd better—”

“I'll leave in a minute or so. No, rape isn't my style. If I wanted you, I'm sure it wouldn't be necessary.”

Slowly, nonchalantly, he strolled across the room toward me, the skirt of his robe rustling with a soft, silken whisper. I watched, appalled, unable to move, to speak. He stopped directly in front of me, standing so near I could feel the warmth of his body, smell the tart, masculine cologne he'd used after shaving. Although I met his languid gaze with level eyes, I was trembling inside. My knees felt weak, and my pulses raced. Edward curled his lips into a sardonic, mocking smile.

“Not necessary at all,” he murmured.

He pulled me into his arms, lazily, indifferently. His mouth fastened over mine, and, as his arms tightened, he swung me around. Bending at the waist, I clung to his back, horrified by what was happening. The kiss was long, lazy, excruciatingly prolonged, and when he released me that mocking smile was still on his lips.

“Just thought I'd prove my point,” he said. He yawned. “Good night, Jenny. You needn't bother about locking the door. Your maidenhood is quite safe—at least for the time being.”

He sauntered out of the room, passed through the sitting room and into his own chamber. I stood where he had left me, weak, shaken, unable to even think coherently. Soft candlelight washed over the white walls. A bit of wood snapped in the fireplace, sending a tiny shower of sparks onto the hearth. I could hear Edward moving about in his room, getting ready for bed. I don't know how many minutes passed before I moved to the door. I closed it firmly. I shoved the lock in place. I blew out the candles and climbed into bed, but I didn't close my eyes. It was a long, long time before I finally slept.

Chapter Six

T
HE RAIN
poured as it had been pouring for three days, a pounding, swirling gray mass, lashing the windows, making its own monotonous music. Seemingly endless, it caused nerves to fray, tempers to grow short, and Mallyncourt was like a solitary brown island, cut off from the rest of the world, surrounded by the ceaseless, shimmering waves of water that broke against it with such constant fury. The house was cold, damper than ever. The chimneys wouldn't draw properly. The smell of smoke hung in the air. I sat at the side of Lord Mallyn's bed, examining my cards. He waited impatiently, tapping his fingers on the large wooden tray we used for a table. I smiled and placed my cards face up on the table.

“I win,” I said.

Lord Mallyn looked at the cards, bristled, lowered his brows fiercely and then swept the tray off the bed in one mighty shove. It clattered to the floor. Cards rattled loudly, flew in the air and settled on the carpet like brittle leaves. He glared at me. I gazed at him calmly, totally unperturbed. We had been playing cards together every afternoon for over a week now, and he had won only two games. I refused to let him win merely in order to humor him, and when I caught him cheating I was quite adamant. Lord Mallyn was, I think, secretly delighted, but he was a sore loser nevertheless.

“It's a shame we're not playing for money,” I remarked.

“Why's that!” he barked.

“If we were, I'd be a very wealthy woman.”

“You think
so
, dearie?”

“My dear Lord Mallyn, I
know
so.”

Brows lowered, eyes snapping furiously, mouth screwed up in disgust, he told me in no uncertain terms that I was a scheming minx, a female card sharp and a rotten sport to boot, adding that he rued the day I came to plague him with my detestable presence.

“I'm not particularly fond of cards,” I said calmly. “I'm quite willing to end these games. I find them rather a bore, if you want to know the truth of the matter. I only play because you insist.”

“Bore! You find me a
bore!
”

“I find the
games
a bore,” I replied. “You, I find a thoroughly wretched scoundrel who can't abide to lose. Just because you're old and ill doesn't give you the right to—”

“Do you realize who you're
talking
to!”

“Quite,” I said.

Flustered, irate, he continued to glare at me, but the dark brown eyes were twinkling with amusement now, and there was the faintest suggestion of a smile on those thin white lips. Cheeks a bright pink, tarnished silver hair unruly, he looked like an incredibly aged, incredibly spoiled child pretending to be a wicked old rake. His costume was as outlandish as his conduct. His fine white muslin nightshirt frothed with ruffles at the throat and wrists, and the rich brown satin robe he wore over it had wide golden stripes. An enormous ruby ring sparkled on one finger, a great hunk of turquoise on another. Ching, Zang and Blossom, the Pekes, were three feathery balls of red-brown fur arranged about him, breathing asthmatically, round black eyes bored. Quite accustomed to their master's eccentricities, not one of them had so much as lifted an inquiring gaze when he had tumbled the tray off the bed.

“Well? Are you going to pick up the cards?” he grumbled.

“I'm not a servant, Lord Mallyn. Furthermore, I have no intentions of playing another game with you this afternoon.”

“No?”

“Nor tomorrow afternoon either if you're still in this foul mood.”

“You
do
test my patience, girl,” Lord Mallyn said crossly. “I don't know why I put up with you!”

“Perhaps because no one else will put up with
you
,” I suggested.

“You might at least keep a civil tongue in your head,” he pouted. “I don't allow anyone
else
to talk to me like that.”

“If you find my company so disturbing, perhaps I'd better—”

“Don't go yet! I want to chat a while.”

I glanced at the clock over the mantle. “It's time for your medicine, anyway,” I said. “I suppose I'd better stay and see that you take it. The red bottle, isn't it?”

“Damn you!” he snapped. “I don't
want
to take that dreadful stuff! I won't!”

“It's all the same to me,” I said. “If you want to remain ill, if you want to stay in bed for the rest of—”

“Oh, all
right!
Give it here!”

I handed him the bottle and a silver spoon. Lord Mallyn took his medicine, made a face, shook his head and then grimaced again. He was in a much better condition than he had been ten days ago, when I first saw him, and both doctors attending him were amazed. They predicted that, if he continued to improve, if he took his medicine, if he ate properly and gave up his daily bottle of port, he would be up and able to exercise a bit in another week or so. Lord Mallyn fretted and stormed, threw things at the servants, conducted himself in a shocking and thoroughly deplorable manner, but he gave up the port, he ate his vegetables and beef, he took his medicine. “I intend to get well just to spite those nephews of mine,” he had confided to me, and it looked as though he was truly on the road to recovery. His growing strength pleased the doctors, but it failed to elate Edward or Lyman either one.

I was delighted with his improvement, delighted to see his strength returning, but I wondered what effect this would have on my bargain with Edward. When we made it, Edward had thought his uncle was on the verge of death, had hoped to convince him to draw up the will in his favor shortly before he died. Mallyncourt would belong to Edward then, and it wouldn't matter one way or another when people discovered we weren't really married. Now, however, it looked as though Lord Mallyn might indeed live for another ten years, and even if he
did
make Edward his heir, he would be certain to change the will when he learned the truth. I couldn't stay at Mallyncourt indefinitely … well, that was Edward's problem. I had agreed to carry on this masquerade for six weeks at the longest, and at the end of that time I intended to leave, five hundred pounds richer, no mater how things might stand with my ‘husband.'