Nell stared at Leath. Could a man so attentive to his invalid mother treat his paramours with such indifference? Last night he could have thrown Nell down and taken her. Yet he’d been gentle, allowing for her fears. Was that just a rake’s stratagem to ensure a willing partner?
“Nor are you agreeing,” the marchioness said drily.
“I’ll agree that my sister’s rash marriage isn’t the disaster I predicted.”
“James, you’re a devil,” his mother said with a laugh. “Just admit that you were wrong.”
Had he forgotten Nell’s presence? She’d never heard him speak so frankly on family matters, although the dramatic events leading to his sister’s marriage were no secret. The newspapers had been full of the elopement of pretty, rich Sophie Fairbrother with impecunious younger son Harry Thorne, the Duchess of Sedgemoor’s dissolute brother.
Leath arched his marked black eyebrows, a smile hovering around his lips. Traitorous heat rippled through Nell. He looked dangerously attractive as he teased her ladyship. “My dear mother, I’m never wrong.”
His mother laughed again and caught his hand. “Of course not, darling.”
“I’ll come and have luncheon with you, shall I?”
He raised his mother’s hand to his lips and kissed it with a respect that set that forbidden corner of Nell’s soul aching with longing. And bafflement. What was true? Dorothy’s accusations? The man Nell came to know? The way she felt when she saw him?
She was only certain of one thing. Right now, the prospect of leaving the marchioness and, God forgive her, the marquess pummeled her heart with misery.
“That would be lovely.” Pleasure rang in Lady Leath’s voice.
He stood. “I’ll see you later.”
Nell braced for him to insist on dismissing the wanton Miss Trim. Surely he wouldn’t leave his mother in a Jezebel’s clutches. Her hands closed in her skirts and she stared at him so hard that he ought to burst into flame.
He nodded in her direction without looking at her. “Miss Trim.”
Then he was gone.
Nell felt as if he left her dangling from a wire high above an abyss. What cruel game was he playing?
After two days, Nell was in such a state that she jumped at every sound. This was like waiting for an ax to fall. Yet still Leath didn’t betray her to his mother.
This morning, she could bear it no longer. Once she’d settled the marchioness, Nell ventured downstairs. After his kisses, she’d lacked the nerve to seek him out. But if he meant to send her away, she had to know.
Her courage went for naught. His lordship had ridden to York with Mr. Crane and wouldn’t be back until nightfall. So she had another day’s respite, except that anticipating the blow was worse than facing her fate.
Once the household retired, apart from the footman assigned to let his lordship and the secretary in, Nell set up vigil at the top of the main staircase. She settled on a padded bench so old and dark with age that she imagined King Alfred must have sat on it.
It was still raining. October on the moors was bleak. Mearsall was only a few hundred miles south, but Kent seemed the work of a kinder, gentler Creator.
The hallway clock had struck eleven before Nell heard the great iron doorknocker. Curled up on the bench, she’d drifted into a doze. When she moved, she bit back a groan. She’d leaned against the wall at an awkward angle, and she was stiff from sitting still. And cold. She drew her cashmere shawl around her. It was finer than anything she’d ever owned, a gift from the marchioness. Yet again she muffled a pang of guilt at plotting trouble for the family. The marchioness was ridiculously generous. The difficulty was restraining the lady from showering her with luxuries.
The knocker sounded again before the footman pulled back the bolts with a crash and grind of metal. Alloway Chase had been built to keep out medieval marauders.
“Good evening, my…” The footman’s voice faded to nothing.
Nell tottered forward. The wind was so strong it whistled through the great hall and up the stairs to press her heavy woolen skirts against her legs. Below, John the footman reeled back.
“Help me, man,” the marquess snapped, stumbling inside. “Don’t stand there like a dead fish.”
Her heart racing with fear, Nell descended a few steps before she realized that Leath wasn’t hurt. Over one shoulder, he carried Mr. Crane.
“Yes, sir,” John stammered, reaching forward. Mr. Crane’s groan bounced off the stone walls.
“Not like that, you fool. Take his legs.”
Nell rushed down. “My lord, what’s happened?”