The Runaway Countess (18 page)

She inhaled, flustered, unsettled. Would she ever get used to how attractive he was?

Holding a bottle of claret and two glasses in his hands, he stepped into the room then closed the door behind him with his foot. Candlelight fell across his face, revealing the anger there, the dark mood. “My lady.” He dipped his head, the motion sharp.

“My lord.” She tried to sound mocking but her voice came out throaty.

Maybe he had seen her slip the book in the drawer. Maybe that was the cause for his anger. How desperately she missed the luxury of privacy, and locks on the doors, and the lack of ill-tempered, handsome men prowling about.

He walked deeper into her room and she stood, wanting to meet him measure for measure. He halted at her movement, only his gaze shifted as it slid over her from head to toe. She had prepared for bed and her hair hung loose down her back. Her feet were bare. Trent’s gaze burned through the delicate silk dressing gown Cat had given her and Mazie felt hot, tight, naked. Only two thin layers of silk separated her skin from the night, from his eyes.

From his hands.

This was a terrible idea, being alone with him. At night. In her room. Had she learned nothing? “You shouldn’t be here.”

“That is what you are wearing to bed?”

Mazie hugged her arms around herself. The motion seemed to break Trent from his daze and he continued into the room. His path took him inches from her, but she resisted the urge to step back. His now-familiar scent of sandalwood and lemon lingered, spicy and masculine, as he walked to the small sitting area and set down the claret and glasses.

Him. Her captor. Her keeper. He could do anything he wanted with her.

At this moment, she wanted him to do any manner of things. Take off his coat for one. And his waistcoat. Then his cravat. Resolve her curiosity about what lay beneath those layers of fabric.

Then he could do things
to her
. Like kiss her again, with his tongue. It had been terribly naughty and delicious, that kiss.

In fact, he could do whatever it was his eyes were saying they wanted to do.

No, no,
her mind screamed.
Fool of a girl!

It was terribly disheartening, the things her mind said.

But he did not make any untoward advances, and she did not have to choose between enjoying them and pushing him off. He simply stared, his expression fierce, as he poured the wine then arranged the glasses.

What had gotten him so angry? Would he say nothing?

She shifted on her feet. It was the second time in as many days he had come to her room irritated and prowling, frustration rolling off him in waves.

“You did not come down to dinner,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “I wanted to look in on you. I’m sure you are devising some scheme or another and I’d be a fool to leave you unattended for long.”

She blinked faster than normal. Did he know her so well, then? “I had dinner sent to my room.”

She had thought to avoid him and his questions this evening. Optimistic of her, she realized now.

“There is no use hiding from me, Lady Margaret.”

“Mazie.”

He picked up a wineglass and leaned his hip against a chair. He looked masculine, brooding against the pale feminine décor of her room. Silent, he watched her, his eyes drinking her in again.

“Come here, Lady Margaret.”

Fool of a girl, she did as instructed, her bare feet silent against the thick rug. He offered her the glass of claret and their hands brushed as she accepted it. Waves of excitement spread from her fingertips, tiny ripples disturbing the surface of her being. She stepped away and put the chairs between them.

He busied himself with tasting his wine before he addressed her again. “I received a note from the office of the prime minister. He insists that I personally keep him abreast of my investigation into the Midnight Rider.”

The prime minister?
Oh, they were in trouble deep. “I see.”

“I agreed to your fool arrangement, Mazie, but it has put me in a bind. I can no longer offer you as a key suspect in my investigation. I cannot alert Lord Liverpool of your capture, or your relationship to the Midnight Rider, now can I?”

“I suppose not.” Where was he going with this?

“Which leaves me empty handed.”

When he did not say more, she realized he awaited her response, and she nodded.

“I could tell him of Vale’s pictures, of course. But then you claimed they were false, and I would hate to play the fool. I need more information.” He paused and his body deflated with a sigh. He almost appeared vulnerable and, for one preposterous moment, she had the urge to tell him everything.

But that feeling was gone as quickly as it had come. He straightened, “I need something concrete I can tell Liverpool.”

Sweat dampened the back of her neck and she lifted her hair away, allowing the evening breeze to cool her flesh. He followed her every move with those glittering eyes. His gaze lingered on her hair, her neck. It slipped down to her breasts.

Her heart pulsed and squished in her chest and she quickly dropped her arms, tightened the belt of her dressing gown then rubbed her sweating palms on the cool silk.

He ran a hand through his hair and left it standing on end. “Why has the Midnight Rider chosen to prey on my father’s friends?”

She sank down in one of the chairs. Always the questions. They made her head ache “What do you think?”

He glared at her for a moment, obviously unhappy with her answer, which was no answer. “I think arrogance combined with ignorance is a dangerous brew.”

She nodded, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

“These men are proud statesmen, proud to serve their king.” His voice was harder now with none of the soft vulnerability he had shown earlier.

She said nothing, waited for him to continue.

A muscle leapt in his jaw. He was well and truly furious. “I have to wonder if my father would be on that list, were he still alive.”

This last thought brought a dangerous tension into the room. Trent would protect what was his. It was obvious.

It did not escape her notice that while she stood to lose a sibling, Trent stood to lose a parent. He was so proud of his father, so certain in his defense. Almost endearing in his loyalty. How would he react to the news that the man he loved and trusted had hurt others? Had sought to protect the privilege of the wealthy at the cost of the poor and hungry? Whatever Trent was, with his abundant flaws and irritations, Mazie did not believe he was a man to abuse his power. He was not one to evict a family simply because they did not vote for his burgesses of choice. While his father had turned Radford into a pocket borough, Mazie suspected Trent would allow his villagers to choose their own members in the House of Commons.

She recalled her own disillusionment toward her father. The moment she realized he was a fallible, naïve man and not the rock she had always thought. She had been terribly angry at first, learning of his great mistake and the loss of their fortune, the loss of the world as she knew it. But she had been able to talk with her father, argue with him, learn to forgive him.

Would Trent have the same opportunity? Could one argue with a ghost?

Mazie felt torn and annoyed at this difficult emotion. She did not want to worry about Trent. She simply wanted to mislead him, wanted this whole debacle to be over.

Still, he watched her. Did not look away. “I think the Midnight Rider is only in Radford because of the history here, the decades of animosity between the gentry and the commoners. He is exploiting the past for his own greed.”

She swallowed some sweet wine, hoping it would help her to relax.

“You know his reasons, yet you say nothing.” His tone betrayed more emotion now. Frustration he was not able to hide.

Trent was just a man with demons of his own. She hated to cause him more trouble, but one thing was clear—she wanted to keep the prime minister from entering the investigation himself. “He didn’t talk of politics.” Not entirely true, but not entirely false.

Silence filled the room like water until she thought she would drown in it.

Finally, he spoke. “I find it difficult to believe that you understand nothing of his motive. You said yourself you found him to be heroic.” His eyes flashed, wild, like an animal caught and unable to get free. “How am I to trust you, Mazie, and this little agreement of ours?”

Chapter Nine

“Pleasure’s a sin, and sometimes sin’s a pleasure.” Lord Byron

The blasted little agreement would be the death of her.

Mazie took another sip of her wine, stalling as she gathered her thoughts. “The Midnight Rider talked little of politics, truly. He preferred to talk of his plans for the future.”

“What plans?”

“He wanted to buy a little cottage in Tyneside.” Her heart did a little flutter as she told the falsehood.

“Tyneside?” Trent drew back in surprise. “Is the bastard interested in ship-building?”

“Oh, well…he did talk of the North Sea.”

“Do you think he fled to Tyneside?”

“It could be a possibility.” She fiddled with her wineglass. “It would make sense.”

He looked fierce. Like a hawk, he watched her every move. Mazie put down her wineglass and forced herself to cease fidgeting.

“Does he have friends in Tyneside? An alibi he might use?”

She lifted her eyebrows, hoping to look innocent. “I don’t know of any alibis. He did have a number of books on sea travel though. He liked to talk of far off destinations. We dreamed of going to St. Petersburg together.”

“St. Petersburg? Why ever would you go there?”

“Doesn’t it sound romantic and beautiful?”

“Cold, maybe. And far away.”

She nodded. Yes, very far away. It would be a huge undertaking to follow him there.

“He does have a friend in St. Petersburg,” she said, on an inspiration.

“What is this friend’s name?”

“Dmitry Ivanov, if I recall.”

“How does he know this
Dmitry Ivanov
?” He said the words almost like a sneer. She wished she had thought of a more original name. She might as well have told him the friend’s name was Joe Jones.

“Um, he didn’t say. Perhaps the war?”

“Perhaps.” He looked skeptical. “Then I will have to catch him before he leaves Tyneside, if he is truly there.”

He did not trust her. Wise man. “Are you going to ride there yourself?”

“You wish you could be so lucky. No, I’ll send some of my men.”His attention did not waver from her for a moment and she forced herself to appear undaunted.

She hated this endless ruse, day in and day out, trying to walk the lines of truth and lies. Both what she was telling Trent and what she was telling herself.

It was suffocating her. All of it.

It wasn’t that she detested telling lies. She was willing to use them to her advantage when needed—too many people refused to see good sense. But this was too many lies, piled on top of each other, with no way out. When would it ever end?

“Is that all?” She resisted the urge to glance at the door.

“No.”

Just one word. He did not elaborate, just stared for a moment, his eyes lingering on her hair, her mouth. Desire flamed to life in her belly again.

Damn him.

“There are some changes I would like to make to our ‘agreement’,” he murmured.

“You cannot—”

“I can do anything I damn well please,
Lady Margaret
.”

Mazie pressed her lips together, her chest expanding with hot emotion. Why ever had she thought he was vulnerable? The man was as solid and immovable as stone.

“First of all—” he ticked off his pointer finger, though his tone remained calm, “—you will be all that is kind and generous to my sister. I regret involving her already. Do not give me cause to lament it further.”

She nodded. Cat seemed harmless enough, despite the haughtiness of her youth.

“Second, you will attend midsummer assizes in a few days, and I will introduce you to the villagers as Lady Margaret. I want them to understand that you are a welcome guest here.”

“But they will wonder why I never told them myself.” What would her friends and neighbors think of her now?

“Such is your folly to contend with, my lady. You may say what you like, just ensure they are well pleased with your reason. I still plan to use you and your influence with them.”

She crossed her arms. Annoyance clashed through her like chaotic winds on a bluff, blowing this way and that.

“Third, I would like to remind you that if I ever, ever have so much as a whiff of evidence that you have knowingly and purposefully sought to deceive me in my search for the Midnight Rider, you will forfeit your freedom and be sent to London at once.”

Her heart stopped.

“If it comes to my attention that you have sought to thwart my investigation in any way you will face the full extent of criminal charges against you regardless of your title. Even if the highwayman is captured in a month, as per our original agreement, your deceit will land you in prison.” His eyes burned into her. “I strongly suggest you abandon any plans to mislead me.”