The Houseparty (6 page)

Lady Elfreda gave her the customary smile of cold disapproval.
"Off seeing to her duties.
We're expecting another friend of Maurice's tomorrow. I doubt you're acquainted with Sir Henry and Lady Beatrice
Hatchett
; they don't precisely move in your limited circles." She gave a heavy sigh. "I'm afraid I cannot even trust the maids nowadays without someone standing over them all the time.
Brenna
does admirably.
So suited in every way to be chatelaine of a large estate."

"Well, when Adolphus gets married, perhaps
Brenna
might find a job as a housekeeper somewhere," Elizabeth said sweetly, dropping her apple core on the coffee tray in front of her. "It is so useful to have a trade."

"Winfields is such a lovely place," the
contessa
interrupted hastily. "You must be very proud."

Her ladyship's
lizardlike
eyes glimmered faintly at the blatant flattery, and with a great show she turned her narrow, ramrod-straight back on her obstreperous guest, smiling graciously at the no longer despised
contessa.

"I am indeed, dear
Contessa.
Wingerts have been in residence here since the thirteenth century, and Wingerts have served the Crown in various capacities down through the years. My brother-in-law Maurice is merely the latest in a long line of proud and loyal Wingerts devoted to their king and country." She allowed herself a glare in Elizabeth's direction. "Wingerts have always been soldiers and statesmen," she added proudly.

"Rather than clerics and artists," that damsel spoke up
inadvisedly
. "I had noticed a somewhat bellicose attitude in your ladyship. It must run in the blood."

Lady Elfreda's strong jaw snapped shut, and she rose to her full height, towering over the
uncowed
Elizabeth. Before she could order the unrepentant girl from the room, however, the miscreant rose with a great yawn.

"I believe I'll retire and not wait for the gentlemen, difficult as it is for me to tear myself away from such company," she announced with a limpid smile.
"If you'll make my excuses to Adolphus and Sir Maurice?"

"And what about poor Michael?" the
contessa
asked suddenly, with a sly smile that made Elizabeth momentarily quite uncomfortable. "Don't you wish us to make your excuses to him?"

"Certainly," Elizabeth said coolly, with a betraying flush. Before Lady Elfreda could unburden herself of the harangue bubbling just beneath her
armorlike
surface, she was off. As she closed the door, she heard Lady Elfreda's snort of outrage.

"Unprincipled baggage!" that lady announced. Strain as she might, Elizabeth couldn't quite hear the
contessa's
muffled reply.

The sounds of boisterous male laughter carried down the hall from the dining room, and Elizabeth breathed a ' small sigh of relief. The last thing she wanted to do was run into any of the four gentlemen now well into their port and cigars. Most of all she wished to avoid Adolphus with the greedy hands, though the surly Michael
Fraser
ranked a close second. Never had she met a man more ill- bred, cold-blooded, unfriendly . . . and quite handsome, she found herself adding with her customary honesty. What a shame such attractive looks were wasted on such a villain. She mustn't forget that he was Jeremy's enemy and therefore her own.

She passed
Brenna
in the upper hall, and the Irish girl met her expression incuriously. "Retiring so soon?" she questioned with the slight Irish burr Sumner doubtless found so attractive. "The gentlemen will be desolate."

Having vented her spleen recently, Elizabeth met Brenna's catty remark with a calm smile. "I doubt they'll even notice. I'm afraid I didn't leave Lady Elfreda in too charitable a temper."

Brenna
grimaced, tossing back her midnight curls with a gesture Elizabeth wished she could duplicate. "That would be nothing new. You're having more company at your end of the hall. I've put Sir Henry and Lady Beatrice on the other side of your room. At least they'll be able to protect you from Michael
Fraser
if he proves to be as bad as he's suspected."

"Is he a villain?" Elizabeth questioned incuriously, and
Brenna
shrugged her slender shoulders.

"I really have no idea, nor do I care. The man is hardly my type. Nor, should I think, would he be yours, Elizabeth."

"And what
do
you suppose is my type?" Elizabeth asked with great interest. "I have yet to discover it myself."

"I cannot imagine. But I wouldn't think it would be a dangerously attractive rogue such as Michael
Fraser.
Good night, Elizabeth." Before she could reply,
Brenna
had sailed off down the hall, leaving Elizabeth chuckling softly.

Not for one moment had she failed to interpret Brenna's motives. There was nothing more likely to excite a woman's romantic imagination than to call a man a dangerously attractive rogue. And he was that, Elizabeth had to admit. Curse Brenna's facile tongue. No doubt she'd dream of the creature tonight. It was only fortunate that he was so obviously ineligible; otherwise, she might be bothered by his cold lack of interest in her.

Once she reached the vast confines of her room, however, Elizabeth was not the slightest bit tired. A good fire was blazing in the marble hearth, the massive four-poster bed was turned down, and beside the bed on the
papier
-
mâché
table was Elizabeth's newest French novel and a tin of comfits thoughtfully provided by the reliable Mrs. Gibson. Elizabeth gave a sigh of pure pleasure and prepared to abandon herself to sin.

She was well into the third chapter of
Le
Cri d'amour
when her stays began to dig into her tender flesh. The house was quiet except for the muffled bumps of the maid as she prepared the
Hatchetts
' room for their arrival tomorrow. The one problem with her new silk dresses, Elizabeth thought as she scrambled off the bed, was that she required help in undoing the thirty-odd buttons that trailed down her backbone. She usually preferred to do without the ministrations of a maid, but after fifteen minutes of struggling behind her back, she gave up. The dress was undone halfway down and falling off her shoulders, but despite the most absurd contortions she couldn't reach the remaining buttons.

Hampering the situation was the fact that she had taken down her thick chestnut hair and the waist-length locks were tangling with the remaining buttons. She would have to ring for a maid; there was no help for it. From bitter experience Elizabeth knew just how unhelpful and elusive Lady Elfreda's servants could be. They obviously modeled their behavior after that of their ungracious mistress. Sighing, she rang the bell and then sat down to wait.

Four rings and twenty minutes later, Elizabeth gave up. The knocks and bumps still emanated from the bedroom next to hers. There was nothing she could do but quietly seek the aid of the chambermaid next door and trust that no one would catch her in her
deshabille
. Her reputation was undeservedly shaky as it was, and to be caught wandering around Winfields half naked would have put her beyond the pale.

Tiptoeing across the room on stocking feet, she listened for a long nervous moment. There still was no sound but the cautious bumping of the maid. She slipped out into
the deserted hallways and whisked into the
Hatchetts
' room.

"I wonder if you could help me undo my dress."

The words faltered on her tongue. The shadowed figure turned and moved into the light. Staring down at her was Michael
Fraser,
his coat gone, his shirt open, and his dark hair awry. A handsome devil indeed, Elizabeth thought, as a wave of embarrassment washed over her.

"I beg your pardon," she breathed, her face flushed as she tried to pull the slipping gown around her. "I thought you were the maid."

"Obviously I am not."

Struggling to regain her composure, she cast a harried glance about her. There was no sign of his possessions anywhere. "I thought this was the
Hatchetts
' room."

"It is."

Elizabeth was startled by the bald statement. "I suppose Sir Maurice asked you to check and make sure everything was in order for their arrival," she said, offering him an excuse for his odd presence in the empty room, momentarily forgetting her own precarious situation.

"You could suppose so, but he didn't. I'm here on my own."

"Why?"

"I have no intention of satisfying that formidable curiosity, Miss Traherne," he replied calmly, moving across the room with a
pantherish
grace. "I believe you wished your gown undone?"

There was a gleam in those dark blue eyes, and Elizabeth began to back away hastily. She took no more than two steps, when he caught her, his cool, impersonal hands holding her prisoner and making her uncomfortably
aware of just how helpless she was. The heavy curtain of hair was moved gently out of the way, and she felt his hands deftly undo the recalcitrant buttons. A moment later the dress was loose, the hands released her, and she jumped away as if burned.

Very dangerously attractive, she thought absently, staring up at that dark face for a long, breathless minute. "I . . . thank you," she stammered, and was surprised to see a small smile quirk his mouth.

"My pleasure, Miss Traherne."
The low voice was curiously caressing.
"Any time."

For once Elizabeth's facile wit deserted her. The cold daylight with her clothes safely about her was one matter, but alone in a bedroom with her dress slipping down her shoulders and her hair unbound and Michael
Fraser
looking at her out of those unfathomable blue eyes—that was a different story.
A rogue indeed, and certainly more than she was used to handling.
She knew she should run away, back to the safety of her room.

"Should you be in here?" she questioned.

"Should you?"

She ignored that. "What would Adolphus and Sir Maurice say?"

"You could always tell them and find out," he suggested amiably.

"No, I don't think I'll do that."

Interest lit his dark face. "Why not, pray tell?"

An impish grin flitted across her expressive features. "Because, my dear Captain
Fraser,
if you really happen to be a spy and a traitor, then I intend to be the one to catch you red-handed. I see no reason to let the men have all the fun and excitement."

The small smile vanished from his face. "Do you have
any idea how dangerous that notion is?" he demanded harshly. "Spying doesn't happen to be a parlor game."

"I bow to your superior knowledge," she said demurely. "Are you a spy?" This was sounding unexpectedly close to a confession.

"Don't be absurd. You've been reading too many French novels."

Elizabeth looked at him with swift suspicion. If he could gain entry to the
Hatchetts
' room, there was no reason why he should not have searched hers as well. The mention of the French novels was a bit too fortuitous. But what in the world would he expect to find in the bedroom of a vicar's sister? Or was it her other brother who interested him—the British soldier involved on a secret mission?

"How did you know I read French novels?" she questioned sharply.

"You look the type," he said in a blunt voice. "Go to bed, Miss Traherne. This is hardly the time or place to be holding
a tête-à-tête
on espionage."

With great dignity Elizabeth wrapped the falling dress more securely around her. "I don't need you to tell me correct behavior, sir," she said proudly.

"No? You don't seem to pay any heed to your clerical brother. Are you going to bed, Miss Traherne, or will I have to take you there?"

There was a silken threat in his voice, and Elizabeth judged it time to depart. She only wished she could think of something cold and withering to leave on, but her usually quick brain failed her.

"Good evening, Captain
Fraser,"
she snapped, and swept from the room, giving the door a solid little slam behind her. Once inside her own chamber she propped a
chair under the gilt doorknob to prevent unwanted visitors and then threw herself down in front of the mirrored dressing table.

Her golden-brown eyes were wide and shining, her cheeks flushed, her lips breathlessly parted, with the tousled curtain of hair sweeping her pretty white shoulders. "If this is what the type of person who reads French novels looks like," she remarked aloud, "then I should cultivate the habit even more assiduously."

Then, humming a cheerful little tune, she stripped off the rest of her clothing and crawled wearily between the heavy linen sheets. She shut her eyes and then opened them again as his words returned with sudden, ominous meaning.