The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (17 page)

She waited for a long while until Godwin
himself opened the front door, which only happened when his
mysterious visitor came. Then Louisa crept forward to where the
light from below reached the landing where she stood, and she
stopped and stood at the end of the wall to which the banister was
attached. Like a turtle poking its head from the cover of its
shell, she moved around the corner and glanced below.

The two men had walked
toward the library, the lord nearly a head taller than Godwin, who
was no more than five-feet, seven inches. She had been struck by
the other man's almost regal posture and the excellent cut of his
clothing. There was something distinguished looking about his
appearance. She was not surprised that Godwin had addressed him
as
my lord
.

She snapped out of her reverie when the door
opened, and she turned to see a man who was far younger than
Godwin's benefactor.

Lord Blamey was much the same age as Harry.
He sported a thick head of auburn hair and a thick waist he
attempted to disguise beneath a striped waistcoat.

His brow elevated, his hand still on the
handle of the door he had not shut, Lord Blamey closed the door and
walked forward. "I am Lord Blamey," he declared as she stood up to
face him.

"Forgive me for interrupting you, my lord,"
she said nervously. "I fear you will think me rather silly when you
find out why I am here."

Lord Blamey gave her another quizzing look,
but apparently satisfied from her voice that she was a lady of
Quality, asked her to sit down.

Though she sat, he continued to stand as she
began her story.

"I've been journeying from London in my
traveling coach with only my dog, Cuddles, for company." She gave a
little laugh. "As you can imagine, one must stop every so often so
the little fellow can. . ."

"Yes, I understand," he said with a
chuckle.

"The naughty fellow ran off into the woods
not far from here. My coachman and I have looked everywhere but
have been unable to find the little pooch. You can imagine how
distraught I am."

"Yes, quite, but I assure you I have seen no
sign of your dog."

"Allow me to describe him to you," she
continued. "He is small." She lowered her hand to less than a foot
off the carpeted floor. "He is ginger colored and answers to the
name of Cuddles." She fluttered her lashes. "I would be ever so
grateful if you and your servants would treat him kindly if you see
him." She stood up, "And please send word to the tavern in
Bodmin."

Then she peered at him and came to a sudden
stop. "Your butler referred to you as Lord Blamey. I'm thinking I
may have once met your predecessor in London. A tall, distinguished
looking man?" She was prepared to further describe him, but that
wasn't necessary.

Lord Blamey chuckled. "That is not my
father. I'm afraid I am the image of my late father."

She dropped into a curtsy and walked to the
door of the morning room. Just beyond the door stood a well dressed
lady -- obviously Lady Blamey -- whose eyes raked over Louisa as if
she were a lady of the night.

* * *

Once back in the carriage, Louisa patted the
seat next to her for Harry to share, covered them with the rug,
then burst out laughing.

After she told him her tale, he broke out
laughing too. "I can see the poor bloke running about the park
shouting, "Here, Cuddles," Harry said between laughs.

She tried to get serious. "I'm truly sorry,
my lord, that we have not found your man."

He stopped laughing. "Are you sorry only
because you are hungry to gain my money?"

"That's an unkind thing to say. I truly want
you to regain your family's possessions."

"So I can give them to the poor?" he
asked.

"No," she said with a pout. "So that you can
speak on behalf of the poor in Parliament."

She made him feel bloody
wretched. He
had
told her he would take his seat in Parliament once he settled
his affairs. It was just another of his blasted lies that the naive
Louisa Phillips had seemed to believe. Which made him feel quite
low. But then, he was a rather low person.

"How's the bad arm today?" she asked with
concern.

"Somewhat bad, I would say."

Her face turned solemn. "When I said my
prayers last night, I asked the Lord to spare your arm."

Bloody hell!
Like a bloody Methodist or a Quaker, she was
praying for him. Not bloody likely he had any points left with his
Creator. Not after all he had done. Nevertheless, he was touched
over her concern.

"I thought intellectuals were not
believers."

"Then I must be a very poor intellectual,
indeed," Louisa said quietly. "You will find I'm not nearly as
pious as Hannah More has become."

"Which, I would think, is a good thing."

She laughed at this. "It would not surprise
me that you, though you're not an intellectual, have little faith
in an almighty power."

He felt uncomfortable. "You already know
more about me than I ever wanted a woman to know."

A satisfied smile turned up the corners of
her lips. "Then we are in the same boat, my lord, for you know far
more about me than I would like for any man to know."

Now he smiled.

"Which brings up the matter of my alter ego.
. .You have admitted you read -- and admired -- Mr. Philip Lewis
when you thought he was a man. I expect now your opinion will
change completely."

He thought for a moment,
remembering the essays he'd read in the
Edinburgh Review
. "Actually, I think
not. Sound opinions that are fully supported with examples and
logic are most difficult to refute."

"I am glad to learn that, my lord."

"Stop addressing me
as
my lord
,
Louisa.

"I will think on it," she said.

Lopping from side to side by the fierce
winds, the carriage churned forward toward the south coast. The
barren land gave way to more interesting -- though still sparsely
inhabited -- terrain. The closer they came to the coast, the more
the landscape became dotted with cottages and people and plump
trees. The more, too, the sun shone, and warmth replaced the
cold.

Harry pulled out the basket Mrs. Winston had
packed for them. He gave Louisa a hard-cooked egg and a thick slice
of bread that had been baked that morning. There was good country
cheese and a large apple for each of them.

They ate their fill, then followed it with a
jug of water fresh from the Winston's well.

Harry sincerely hoped Louisa did not notice
how difficult it was for him to move his arm. The last thing he
needed was a bloody bluestocking pitying him.

He could tell the swelling was becoming
worse in his left arm, while the right one was far better today. At
least, since he was right handed, he was glad that if he had to
lose an arm, it be the left.

Such reasoning did little to cheer him. If
he lost his left arm, he doubted he would be effective at sword
fighting. And it would be quite difficult to hold the reins and
whip the horse all at the same time. Then there was the matter of
placing his arms around a desirable woman. He glanced at Louisa,
who was becoming more desirable with each passing day.
Excruciatingly so at night when he would lay beside her, tortured
with longing to take her in his arms and make her forget that a
ruffian like Godwin Phillips had ever made love to her.

The thought of her making love to Godwin
Phillips stung painfully.

He slid a glance in her direction. Her head
had dropped, and her lashes swept low. A full stomach and the
lulling movement of the carriage must be working together to make
her sleep.

And he was the freezing one who'd gone
without sleep the night before!

If only he could sleep. That would give him
some relief from the blasted pain in his arm.

As wide awake as if he'd drunk a pot of
strong tea, Harry watched as the coach rolled into Polperro, a
quaint fishing village. The coachman went into the local inn to
procure their rooms. Harry's eyelids began to grow heavy.

* * *

After the second of Jeremy Bentham's
speeches, Edward was seeing Miss Sinclair home when she startled
him by asking him if he carried a weapon.

"I have no need, ma'am. We are in
Mayfair."

"Is that supposed to assure me that there
are no cutthroats in Mayfair?"

He thought for a moment. "You will be quite
safe here, Miss Sinclair."

"I don't feel quite safe.
Just this morning I read in the
Gazette
that a woman's throat was
slashed in Whitechapel."

He laughed. "If I were to
go to Whitechapel -- which I'm not likely to do -- I
would
carry a weapon. The
borough is notorious for crimes of every sort. I hear there are
prostitutes on every corner, selling themselves for a
penny."

Miss Sinclair's mouth opened to a perfect
oval, and crimson crept into her cheeks.

"I beg your pardon, I should not have spoken
so in front of a lady."

As they drew near Grosvenor Square, he
glanced at her and spoke again, "I thought perhaps tonight you
would do me the goodness to accompany me to Vauxhall Gardens. With
your. . .er, cook to chaperon, of course." Demmed if he'd ever
heard of young lady being chaperoned by her blasted cook! Edward
would be only too happy to have his cousin return. It was most
embarrassing traveling about London – and to a neighborhood he
would not normally visit – with Harry's gig rattling behind him
with the plump cook, who must be sixty years old, demmed near
spilling out of the seat. Most embarrassing indeed.

The young lady's face turned white, and she
grew stiff as a poker. "Miss Grimm said Vauxhall was no place for
gently bred ladies."

He turned the corner that would take them to
Grosvenor Square. "I take that for an insult, Miss Sinclair. Was
just there last month with my sisters, and if they ain't well bred,
I'll eat your bonnet."

"I mean no offense, sir. I am only repeating
what was told to me by Miss Grimm, whom, as I have told you, had
been with Sir Sedgeley's daughters the year before she came to me."
Miss Sinclair said that as if he was supposed to know who the
demmed Sir Sedgeley was.

If ever he met Miss Grimm, Edward would take
great pleasure in throttling her.

When he pulled up in front of Harry's old
house, Edward leaped from the vehicle and assisted Miss Sinclair in
alighting from it.

Though he was not nearly so tall as his
cousin, Edward towered over Ellie Sinclair. The top of her head
barely reached the center of his chest. She looked up at him, her
blue eyes smiling, and he was deuced glad he had spent the
afternoon with her. Her blush had completely disappeared, leaving
her skin the color of fresh snow. She was dainty and fair and had
such a helpless quality about her that he would have been here with
her even if Harry had not instructed him to do so.

"I cannot tell you how grateful I am that
you have taken me to see Mr. Bentham. I don't know what I would
have done if it weren't for you," she said.

He inclined his head. "It was my
pleasure."

"Wasn't Mr. Bentham enlightening?"

He hadn't understood a word
the man said.
Bloody
intellectual
. "Oh, most
enlightening."

"Poor Louisa, I know she must be sorry,
indeed, to miss Mr. Bentham."

"Quite unfortunate," he agreed as the chubby
cook swept past them.

* * *

Louisa woke from her nap when the carriage
stopped. She was disoriented at first. She had been dreaming that
she was in a warm bed at home in Kerseymeade, her mother bending
over her lovingly.

When she awoke she realized she was in Lord
Wycliff's coach. Then she realized Lord Wycliff's head was in her
lap. Which seemed terribly out of character for him. She peered
down at him. He seemed to be sleeping like the dead.

Unconscious of her own movement, Louisa
gently swept her hand across his brow.

He was burning with fever!

Had Harry been cold instead
of hot, she would have taken him for dead. For his body, blazing
with heat, had gone completely limp. She looked down into his face.
Rivulets of perspiration streaked it. Her breath grew short and she
seemed paralyzed with fear.
His arm! The
infection had spread to the rest of his body. He was going to
die!

She couldn't have said for
how long she sat there in a frightened stupor.
No, God!
she kept saying until she
finally realized her utter helplessness was doing him no good.
Running her hand across his forehead once again, she called his
name.

He did not respond.

She raised her voice and called him again.
"Harry! Harry! Wake up!"

When he did not respond the second time, she
poked her head from the window and yelled to the coachman. Not that
he could restore Lord Wycliff to good health. With her pulse
racing, she sat there waiting, stroking Harry's heated face.

Finally the coachman opened the carriage
door. His eyes darted first to his lifeless master, then up into
Louisa's frightened gaze.

"Lord Wycliff's terribly ill."

The coachman's dark eyes passed
sympathetically over the lifeless form of his employer. Louisa
realized the servant must have been as frightened as she.

"It's a good thing we've reached the inn."
He flung the door open wider, then bent forward to help Harry out.
But it was too much of a job for one man. Harry was too large.