Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (4 page)

"I didn't bite her back, if that's what you think," she replied in mock indignation. "I put a large black spider in her bedcovers. She all but screamed the dormitory down!"

He grinned at her self-satisfied chuckle. "I detest spiders. Remind me never to bite you," he said.

The double entendre was not lost on her as he slipped easily from the hack and offered her his hand. She could feel the thrill of contact the moment she placed her fingers in his palm, in spite of the fact they both wore gloves. "A number of the girls at Miss J's bit and did other things far more heinous than I could ever have imagined," she said, attempting to cover her reaction to his touch.

"Henderson, my uncle's cook, had a dog when I left for America. Smart mutt was known to take a nip or two when he disliked someone—but his only victim was my cousin Cletus."

"The one you dislike so?" she asked, but before he could reply they were interrupted.

"Welcome home, m'lord," a small, frail looking man said as he climbed down the front stairs. He was amazingly spry, possessed of a booming bass voice...and completely bald. His shrewd gray eyes crinkled at the corners with pure joy as he looked Max over from head to foot. "America has certainly agreed with you, if I may be so bold as to say."

"So happy for your approval, Baldwin, although I know you wish I'd never left 'civilization.' "

"But then, m'lord, you'd never have found such a lovely lady," the butler replied with a cheeky grin. He bowed handsomely to Sky while Max made the introductions.

She had worried about the welcome she might expect from the longtime retainers of Harry Stanhope, Max's beloved uncle. This warm greeting was a good omen. Although she did have to stifle a tiny smile at the shiny-pated man's name. "You are most kind, Baldwin. I feel welcome, in spite of the sad circumstances that have brought us here."

A fleeting expression of deep sorrow crossed the old man's face, but was quickly banished as he replied, "His lordship will be sorely missed. He was a fine man who lived a long and full life."

"Baldwin was with my uncle for most of it," Max said as they entered the foyer, where a line of servants stood expectantly on the polished marble floor.

Sky took in her surroundings, feeling like those first Native American chieftains must have when summoned to the Great White Father's "lodge" in Washington D.C. A staircase wound upward to the second floor, and a glittering chandelier of breathtaking crystal hung suspended from the twenty-foot ceiling. Vases of fresh cut flowers were placed about the large space, their summer fragrance vying with the succulent aromas wafting from the kitchen at the rear of the house.

All the cooks, maids and footmen appeared respectful to her, hiding any curiosity about her racial background quite well except for one young lad who stared in rapt awe as if she were a goddess from another planet. As Max greeted them, each by name, and introduced his lady to them, all exhibited genuine joy at his return. He must have indeed been his uncle's favorite nephew.

Her husband had explained that Harry Stanhope had been devoted to his wife Lodicia and never remarried after her death at the tender age of five and twenty. The couple was childless, so after her untimely passing, Harry had devoted his life to amassing a huge fortune in trade, acquiring vast estates, woolen mills and other manufacturing interests. He also dabbled in railroads and shipping.

Harold Stanhope, the sixth Baron Ruxton, had inherited a minor title yet become one of the wealthiest men in England. He would have given it all in exchange for his beloved wife's life. The sad tale only served to make Sky ache for her own loss of Will...and feel an unidentified stirring deep in her innermost heart for Max. She quashed it, knowing that any hope for a love match with the new baron was foolish, not to mention disloyal to Will's memory. But her curiosity remained about why a man so beloved by his uncle and all these people would leave his home in the first place.

* * * *

Max puffed slowly on an excellent cigar offered to him by Jerome Bartlett's assistant and surveyed the lavishly appointed office of the family solicitor. "Business must be very good, indeed," he murmured to himself as he waited for his uncle's old college chum. Jerome had sent profuse apologies via his assistant for being detained at a luncheon engagement.

The delay amounted to less than a quarter hour. Bartlett, a pudgy man of medium height with watery blue eyes and thinning tan hair, rushed in breathlessly. "Please forgive me, Max, or should I now address you as m'lord?" he asked as the two shook hands heartily.

"Why on earth since you always called my uncle 'Harry' and you've known me since I was in knee britches?" Max replied.

"Very well, Max. So sorry about the delay. Some beastly old harridan of a widow, who shall, of course, remain nameless, has set her cap for me. Since her deceased husband, poor sod, was one of my best clients and I must see to her estate, there is little to do but humor the old bat."

Max barked a laugh. "I thought you had moved up in the world as soon as I arrived at your new office. Quite impressive."

"I owe a good deal of my success to Harry, God rest his soul. We prospered together." Bartlett's shrewd gaze swept over Max. "You've changed since leaving for America...even more than you did in the army—"

"I would prefer not to discuss ancient history, Jerome," Max interjected. "I have here my marriage lines, as you will note, duly signed by a Church of England cleric, albeit an Episcopalian one in America. Now, let us turn to the matter at hand. Fulfilling the terms of my uncle's will and keeping that bastard Cletus from receiving anything more than the law absolutely allows."

Bartlett nodded. "Please, be seated and I will go over the will with you...in some detail." There was the faintest hint of a smile in his expression as he rummaged about his large desk, extracting a sheaf of documents. "As you will see, your uncle made a few changes since last you saw the document."

"I don't give a fig about the title or the unentailed money. You know that. I simply intend for Cletus not to get his fat paws on it."

"Indeed," Bartlett replied, adjusting a thick pair of spectacles over his narrow nose. "Rumor has it that your wife is quite a beauty."

"Rumor travels quite fast, considering we only reached London this very morning," Max said, uncomfortable speaking about Sky and the way he was using her. As to his other feelings for her...he suppressed the thought.

"My widow client far exceeds the telegraph when it comes to gossip. You had only to disembark for word to spread that the infamous 'Limey' had returned with a lovely American wife. And that she has, perhaps, a touch of exotic Red Indian blood."

Max bristled. "Does her pedigree signify?" he asked in a baronial tone.

Bartlett chuckled wryly. "Good heavens, please don't go all lordly on me, Max. You know me well enough to understand I meant no offense. If she's half as beautiful as word has it, the two of you will produce very striking offspring for the Stanhope line."

"I have no particular desire to turn myself out to stud, Jerome. I intend—"

"Oh, I believe I understand quite well what you intend, young man. Your marriage was rather hasty," he said, glancing down at the date on the papers Max had given him. "The ink must scarcely have dried before you set foot aboard ship for home."

"You have no way of knowing how long Sky and I were acquainted prior to our marriage, not that it matters in regard to the will."

Bartlett extracted a single sheet from the pile of papers on his desk and handed it to Max with a twinkle in his eyes. "This is a codicil to your uncle's will, written after we filed the original document. It...rather changes the provisions of inheritance, as you shall see."

The wily old man was positively gloating. With growing unease, Max began to skim down the page. By the time he'd finished, he was cursing. "I thought Uncle Harry had some regard for me, even though I went to America and refused to live on his stipend."

"Harry Stanhope loved you dearly, Maxwell," Bartlett said in a stern voice. "The day you received the Victoria Cross was the proudest of his life. You were the son he and Lodicia could not have."

"Then why this?" Max asked, honestly bewildered.

"Harry feared you were losing your way. Recall, we heard the American news stories about the Limey and your infamous reputation. You see, he charged me with keeping track of you from the day you left the army. All you did was exchange one dangerous profession for a far more dangerous...job, for want of a better word."

"I did what I'm best at doing. Hunting and killing men," Max said bitterly.

"Yes, quite so," Bartlett replied quietly. "And precisely the reason Harry hoped that these terms would force you to end your self-destructive odyssey. With not only a wife—but a child as well—you would be forced to settle down. He knew you cared nothing for his money or the title. In truth, since Lodicia passed, he cared little for either himself."

"Yet, if I don't produce the heir, the money and the rest pass to Cletus," Max gritted out.

Bartlett chuckled. "Harry was not so medieval as all that. As you can plainly read, there is no provision that your offspring need be male. And no time limit, as long as you are cohabiting with your wife and trying to start a family. Considering that he and Lodicia were childless, he was well aware of how painful such a problem could be."

He paused, now somber, and studied Max. "Harry understood perfectly how you felt about Cletus. Indeed he shared your aversion to the worthless sot—"

"Hell of a way to show it, offering him a fortune to squander," Max said bitterly.

"He knew you better than you know yourself, Maxwell. You will do your duty and settle down, if for no other reason than to prevent Cletus Stanhope from laying waste to an immense fortune." Jerome consulted the documents before him. "Several million pounds in factories, railroads, shipping—"

"I understand enough about my uncle's varied financial interests," Max said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Does Cletus know he may well be the next Baron Ruxton and heir to millions?"

Bartlett shook his head, then adjusted his spectacles before replying. "As far as he is aware, his settlement amounts to twenty thousand pounds with an additional four thousand pounds annual living allowance for the rest of his life. I've arranged matters so that this last codicil your uncle requested is 'buried,' so to speak. It would take another quite keen solicitor to discover it. Only you and I and two legal witnesses—friends of mine—are aware of Harry's deathbed changes."

"So, if I fail to produce an heir and predecease Cletus, my cousin will inherit the title as well as the fortune." Max made this a flat statement, not a question. He looked as if he'd just sucked on a very sour lemon. "He's responsible for Edmund's death, dammit! Both Uncle Harry and I agreed."

"Your brother's drowning was rather suspicious, I certainly concur. The river was shallow, Edmund was a strong swimmer, and Cletus apparently was found standing on the bank in dry clothing..."

A hard, cold light came into Max's green eyes. "Well, one thing is certain. Uncle Harry was right. I will do anything to prevent Cletus from becoming the next baron."

"Even starting a family with your lovely bride?" Jerome could not resist asking.

Max did not give him the satisfaction of a reply, but instead asked the well-connected solicitor to draft a will for him as the new baron...and to make some discreet inquiries.

* * * *

Propriety demanded that no formal entertaining be done during the year of mourning for the late Lord Ruxton, but family gatherings were expected, especially when the heir returned from abroad with a new wife. Sky let Baldwin and the housekeeper arrange all the details for the evening meal, a simple repast for four—the baron, her and the only other remaining Stanhopes. She felt nervous about the confrontation between Max and his detested cousin Cletus, but it was a formality that could not be ignored. The last guest was his second cousin Phillip. Like his father before him, Phillip managed the Ruxton country estates for the family.

She had just finished inspecting the dinner table with its daunting assortment of crystal and flatware at each place setting when her husband returned from his day's outing in an exceedingly foul mood. "You look as if you've just swallowed a live skunk," she said when he glowered at the chair with a card for Cletus set discreetly beside the wine goblet.

Max looked at her, studying her as if he'd never laid eyes on her before in his life. "I can assure you, my indisposition has nothing to do with diet, but much to do with my 'skunk' of a cousin. Damned if I know why I agreed to let that little drunken bounder darken my door."

"He is your cousin, no matter his faults. Baldwin claims that I must be presented to him and to your cousin Phillip..." Her voice faded as a disquieting thought flashed through her mind. "You're not...you aren't worried about my Sioux blood, are you?" Was he ashamed of her now that they were in London and faced with meeting the Stanhopes?

For a moment, he simply stared at her, seeing a startlingly beautiful woman even in her black silk gown which shone almost as richly as her gleaming raven hair. Then he realized what she had asked and vehemently shook his head. "Don't be absurd. I would never have offered marriage if I felt you weren't quite perfect as my baroness."