A Well Pleasured Lady (12 page)

“Don't talk that way to me!” She was so perturbed her voice rose, and she seemed unaware of the listeners who hovered behind him.

Not that he cared about the nobles who strolled past, hoping to hear a tidbit of gossip. But he did care if she embarrassed herself. In a low tone he said, “Most women would be insulted if a man
didn't
want them.”

She turned her head away as if she were afraid to have him read her expression. “I'm not like other women. I have done things other women would scorn.”

“Yes, you've worked. Perhaps it's just that I'm no different than any other man.” Reaching up to one of the gold ropes that secured the billows of midnight blue silk to the wall, he jerked it free. The shimmering cloth, still connected to the ceiling, fell around them. Not quite as good as a curtain, for the drafts in the chamber waved it back and forth, but it gave them a partial privacy, and he hoped that music from beyond the curtain would mask their voices. “Perhaps I can't resist a Fairchild woman.” A frightening thought, if true. “Lucky for me I have found the one
Fairchild with a platinum streak of honor. A rare jewel in a sterling setting.”

He stroked her round, soft cheek, but she jerked her head back. “I just want to finish our purpose here and go.” She sounded frantic, pleading. Then she lowered her voice and glanced around. “Have you looked for the diary? Have you found any clues?”

“I've looked, but without success.” He stroked her cheek again, insisting she take the comfort he offered while reveling in the sensation of living velvet beneath his fingertips. “We've been here only a full day. You surely knew finding the diary would take longer than that.”

“Yes, but I didn't know how much I would hate this farce.”

Hate him? Ah, but she didn't. He never claimed to know a woman's mind, but he knew this woman's body, and she wanted him. She didn't want to, but she did.

“I can distract Bubb's daughters while you search their rooms,” she said. “I can befriend the servants and question them. Let me help.”

She allowed his hand to cradle her face, but more in resignation than enjoyment, he thought.

“You have helped. I've avoided our hosts this last day, pleading embarrassment because of the bruises.” He smiled as pleasantly as he knew how, trying to coax a small one from her. “See? Already you've created a marvelous distraction.”

She looked at the floor, sulking like a child who
was too young to play the game but wanted to imitate her siblings. In truth, the woman never smiled. At least…not at him. “I wandered the halls,” he said, “and reacquainted myself with the layout of the manor.”

She looked up, rancor forgotten. “You've been here before?”

Damn! He hadn't meant to say that. “Years ago.” She started to question him, but he said quickly, “Tonight before I arrived in the ballroom, I searched Bubb's study.”

As he had hoped, curiosity distracted her. “What did you find?”

“Plenty. Your grandfather's will, a pile of unpaid accounts, another pile of unpaid accounts, a safe…”

Her mouth turned down. “Locked, of course.”

He grinned. “Yes, and none of the keys I brought worked.”

“You brought keys?”

“I brought everything I thought I would need to search this house inside and out.” He grimaced. “But evidently I didn't bring the proper key.”

“I could break into it.” She rubbed her fingertips together as if she remembered the sensation of a file scraping the skin.

“How would you have such a talent?” he asked forbiddingly.

“My father insisted I learn.” She looked him in the face. “He said the knowledge might be useful.”

Her father, Charles Fairchild.

Sometimes Sebastian saw the image of Charlie in her features, and he confessed, “I visited Fairchild Manor when Charlie was still a favored son.”

“You remember when my father lived at home?”

“Of course.” He found himself wanting to please her, so he revealed yet more. “In those days Charlie was older and dashing, and I wanted to be just like him.”

A subtle glow lit her features. “Everybody liked my father.”

“Except for
his
father.”

The glow was extinguished. “Papa said he was disinherited because he wasn't foul enough.”

“I believe that.” Charlie had disappeared and Sebastian had lost everything at about the same time, and it had been years before they'd seen each other again. By then, Charlie had been married, widowed, and much reduced in circumstance. Sebastian had been bitter, orphaned, and also much reduced in circumstance.

Charlie had expressed penitence for the Fairchilds' brutal prank and its deadly results. Sebastian had accepted the apology, because Charlie had not a mean bone in his body.

But Charlie had lived for gambling, adventure, excitement. The last time Sebastian had seen him, he'd borrowed money…money Sebastian had given. Money he'd known would never come back, because even the best Fairchild had a touch of larceny
in him. Sebastian mused, “I can't imagine him raising two children—especially not a girl.”

“He did the best he could after my mother died,” Mary said.

He hastened to assure her, “I liked Charlie, I really did.”

A mixture of fondness and pain shifted across her face artlessly. Then the display faded, and she slid back into that persona he'd first seen in Scotland—that of an upper servant, cleansed of all sentiment. “Every man my father ever met liked him.”

They'd gone beyond her pretending to be a housekeeper and hiding her emotions from him. Women were supposed to comprehend these sentimental intricacies; why didn't she?

He wanted to shake her, make her be Guinevere and Mary and open to him, but he knew already she wouldn't respond. Instead he paid tribute to the only decent Fairchild he'd ever known—until now. “If your father taught you to open a safe, then your father was a wise man.”

Mary relaxed. The edges of her eyes tilted up, a dimple quivered in her sweet-cream cheek, and he realized he'd done it! He'd made her smile.

A very nice smile, with teeth and lips…those pouty, kiss-shaped lips…

He was kissing her before he realized it. She didn't even struggle, although a less-skilled man might attribute that to surprise. He preferred to think that she'd acquired a fondness for his kisses yesterday.

He recognized her hesitation now as she remembered, and he loosened his grip on her waist, rubbed her back with gentle hands, disguising the greed that drove him to claim her regardless of the consequences.

“Sebastian.”

She whispered his name, and he heard the quaver of uncertainty. No matter how hard he tried, he still swamped her with desire. Too much desire for this little virgin to welcome.

Hell, he wasn't even sure of his restraint, and they were in the middle of a ballroom with only a thin sheet of silk separating them from avaricious eyes.

But he couldn't stop just yet. Not yet. Not until she responded.

He pressed his parted lips on hers gently, allowing his breath to warm her, depending on her curiosity to let him in. She took longer than he liked, but when she leaned against the wall and allowed her stiff muscles to go lax, he knew he'd won.

His sense of triumph far exceeded the accomplishment.

Her mouth opened; her soothing breath swept into him. Gently his tongue touched hers; slowly she accepted him. Her hands gripped his shoulders, then slipped around his neck.

He wanted more. He wanted to feel her slide her fingers into his hair. He wanted to discover the type of sounds she would make as he touched her bared breasts for the first time.

Blood thundered in his head. Images blossomed in
his mind. He could almost feel the globes of her bottom in his hands as he lifted her against the wall, stepped between her legs, and—

“God!” He pulled away and stared at her as she stood all sleepy-eyed and pliant.

When Guinevere Mary Fairchild was stiff and formal, he desired her. But when she yielded even the tiniest bit…oh, then he would give anything to have her.

Breathlessly the miniature siren asked, “When and where do you want me to meet you?”

His heart beat so fast, he thought he would collapse. Triumph! Here was triumph! He would go to her bedchamber, to that huge bed. He would find her waiting in her nightclothes, a little wary. He would be gentle, strip her slowly, kiss her body.

“You need me to open the safe.” She straightened. “When do you want me to meet you?”

He could lay her down, or stand her up, or kneel behind her, but however he did it, he would enjoy it.

And he'd make sure she did, too.

“No safe,” he choked. “Not you.” He'd been mad to even think he could expose her to danger. “Not ever. Don't you understand? That diary is dangerous.”

“I do understand.” She lifted her chin, and her eyes sparked. “But there are more important things to be afraid of.”

She didn't know what she was talking about. Closing his hands on her arms, he rubbed the muscles beneath the silk. She was strong, sturdy from her
years of manual labor, yet she was slight, delicate, and in need of protection. “I'm here to
steal
the diary.”

“I know that, and I'm here to help you,” she said earnestly.

“Someone else has to be here to
buy
the diary, and I assure you, he is desperate to lay hands on it. In addition, the Fairchilds need the profit from the sale, and only a fool doesn't think the Fairchilds would kill for a shilling.” Damn the woman, she could just get that mulish expression off her face. He was perfectly willing to use logic, but if she didn't see sense, he would tie her to her bed. He would
like
to tie her to the bed. “You receive all the attention because of the mystery surrounding you, your background, and most important, your inheritance. Just be a good girl and distract the curiosity from me.” He lifted her chin in his hand and looked deep into her eyes. “And I promise you a reward you'll remember always.”

Sebastian strode away from the alcove where
he'd hidden Mary, and he was smiling so delightfully, at least three of the Fairchild daughters almost swooned.

Lady Valéry wasn't impressed. In her opinion, the Fairchild daughters would never swoon for a smile worth less than a hundred thousand pounds. But when he brushed past them as if they were nothing more than pesky midges, she had to concede the boy had some taste, although she'd had to personally refine it more times than she liked to remember.

Lady Valéry watched as he stopped and spoke to that merchant, that Mr. Brindley, a pretty bit of manners considering how out of place a merchant was in this august gathering.

An august gathering that stared fixedly toward behind the blue silk curtain, riveted by Sebastian's possessiveness and anticipating Mary's appearance.
Curiosity was a vulgar emotion, and if Lady Valéry didn't make a move to protect Mary, she would be exposed in a perhaps less than perfect moment.

Tucking her cane under her arm, she walked regally toward the alcove where Mary remained hidden. In the act of pulling the curtain back, she heard Mary mutter, “A housekeeper never drives a knife though the heart of the man who is claiming to be her betrothed.”

Lady Valéry paused.

Then in a frustrated tone—“So it is a good thing I don't have a blade in my hand.”

Lady Valéry chuckled and stepped inside. “You've already marked the boy—think of the extent of your fame should you succeed in murdering him.”

Mary paled. “I wouldn't really murder him,” she said quickly. “I couldn't commit murder lightly.”

“Of course not. I never thought you could,” Lady Valéry hastened to reassure her, wondering all the while why Mary had reacted so to a simple jest.

Mary pressed her lips together and looked down at the floor, struggling to subdue what appeared to be guilt, unbridled anger, and leftover passion—emotions Lady Valéry had never seen Mary expose in all the years of their acquaintance.

Conversing casually to give Mary time to pull herself together, Lady Valéry said, “Everyone is panting to know what's going on back here, but I'll stand guard if you would like.”

“Y-yes,” Mary said jerkily. “Thank you.” She
paced toward one of the columns, rested her hand on the white fluting, and made a pronouncement. “Your godson is a boor.” She spoke with the assurance of ten years of boor-watching experience.

Lady Valéry chuckled warmly. “I would be the last woman to argue with you. What has he done now?”

“He wants to protect me from danger.”

“How rude!”

“He told me to be a good girl and act as a distraction for him.”

“I can see how that would upset you…” Lady Valéry rapped her fan on her own wrist to subdue her amusement. “Isn't that what he said he required of you when you originally spoke in Scotland?”

Mary ignored that. “He promised me a reward if I was successful.”

“How promising.” Lady Valéry was baiting Mary now. “Do you think it will be jewels?”

Mary swung around and glared. “I believe your godson plans to present himself as the reward.”

“A typical man.” Lady Valéry tucked her arm in Mary's and leaned on it, then drew her out from behind the drape. “Although you could do worse than to take Sebastian.” She nodded at the horde that swam toward them like a school of sharks. “For instance, you could wed one of them.”

“True,” Mary said fiercely, “but I don't believe Sebastian is talking about marriage.”

The girl saw all too clearly, but she remained in ignorance of Lady Valéry's plans. And to keep her in ignorance, Lady Valéry would have to let other men
have their chance. But oh, how it went against the grain to see the earl of Aggass, that putrid little pimple, descending on them.

He bowed, his coattails flapping. “Lady Valéry, I wish to dance with the estimable Miss Fairchild. Do I need to ask your permission?”

He made it clear by his tone that he only humored an old lady.

Well, this old lady could teach him respect with the business end of her cane. But she didn't. Instead she said, “Indeed you do, and you are required to bring her back to me as soon as the set is over. Miss Fairchild is not to be trifled with, Aggass, and I'm here to make sure you behave yourself.”

“I'm quaking,” Aggass answered as he took Mary's hand.

“You should be,” Lady Valéry shot back as he led her onto the floor.

He was scowling as he placed Mary opposite him in the dance, and Lady Valéry smirked. He would be surly and rude when he talked about her, and Mary would take exception, and he would have ruined himself in the eyes of the very heiress he sought to court.

Men were so easy to manipulate.

Lady Valéry turned to Mary's other suitors as they gathered around. “Which of you gentlemen wishes to dance with Miss Fairchild next?”

She decided the order of Mary's partners, and succeeded in subtly undermining the ones who might have appeared attractive to Mary. She failed with only
one—that Fairchild cousin, Ian. He stood off to the side and watched as if he were highly entertained, and more than once it occurred to Lady Valéry that the service she performed for Sebastian, that of guileful obstruction, could easily be utilized by Ian, also.

She would have to keep an eye on that young man. Besides being darkly handsome, he was intelligent and ambitious, and therefore a challenge.

Lady Valéry relished a challenge.

In fact, she delighted in the whole evening, and would have kept Mary dancing well into the wee hours, but just as the midnight dinner was served, Calvin walked into the ballroom.

She thought she had exhausted the absurd man, but there he stood, dressed in the most vibrant shade of purple she had ever seen, looking through the crowd—for her. Because he now sincerely adored her. And how was she to know that he had never been entertained in that particular fashion? Obviously he had never visited France.

Patting Mary's arm, Lady Valéry said, “Dear, I find myself fatigued. Would you mind escorting me to my chambers?”

Still bound by her duty, Mary never hesitated. She walked away from the compliments and the smiling faces without a pause. A howl of protest followed them, but she only tucked Lady Valéry's arm closer to hers.

As they walked the long corridors lit only by the occasional candelabra, Lady Valéry asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“It's odd to be the center of so much attention.” Mary nodded at the servants who waited outside the bedchambers. “The men flatter me so excessively, I doubt them even when they give me their names.”

Lady Valéry laughed. “Wise woman. They would do anything to get their hands on you…and your inheritance.”

“So Ian said.”

“Did he?” Lady Valéry still smiled, although her mirth had disappeared. “So good of him to warn you.”

“He's very kind.”

“Not a word you would use to describe Sebastian.”

Mary slanted a look at her. She obviously knew Lady Valéry was fishing, although her words proved she didn't know for what. In a lowered tone she said, “No, but such ruthlessness makes him the perfect candidate to find your diary.”

“I have no doubt he'll be successful, and I hope”—how to handle this delicate inquiry?—“you're not hurt in the process.”

A brief tremor swept Mary, but she gained control immediately. “I will endeavor to keep my person secure.”

“When I called for him, I had no idea he would be so attracted to you.” That much was true, Lady Valéry comforted herself.

“I acquit you of that,” Mary, the innocent, said. “No one could have foreseen any of this.”

“I also had no idea you would be equally attracted to him.”

Mary blushed swiftly and thoroughly. “I have no designs on your godson, my lady.”

“Of course not. Why would you want him? He's a savage with a taste for revenge against the Fairchild clan. And for good reason. Have you ever heard the tale of the Fairchilds and how they destroyed Sebastian's family?”

“No, I haven't.”

Mary's polite little voice didn't fool Lady Valéry. The girl wanted to know, but she had practice—too much, in Lady Valéry's opinion—in disguising her emotions.

No wonder Sebastian both attracted and repelled her. Being with him had torn the veil of her composure and she was revealed to him.

“The Durants are one of our oldest noble families. They claim there was a Baron Whitfield on the field of Hastings, although what noble family doesn't?”

“Not the Fairchilds,” Mary said, her tone heavy with sarcasm.

“No, the Fairchilds are newly come to the court. But when Sebastian was a boy, they had one thing the Durants did not. They had money.”

“My father claimed that money ruined his father.”

“Probably,” Lady Valéry agreed. “He made enough to buy a title, and after that he thought he could force the world to dance to his tune.”

Mary halted and glanced up and down the corridor.
Her discomfort increased visibly, as it always did when darkness threatened. “Have we taken a wrong turn?”

“I believe you are right.”

They walked to the next pool of light, a square caused by the combination of candles and firelight from an open bedchamber, and Lady Valéry snapped her fingers at the valet who lurked there. “You! Young man! Tell us where we are.”

The valet straightened. “M'lady, you're in the west wing.”

Lady Valéry saw Mary glance around. Sebastian's room was in the west wing.

“Could you direct us to the east wing?” Mary sounded pleasant enough, but when the valet stepped forward and the light fell on his face, she shrank back, jerking Lady Valéry's arm.

An older man, suave and well turned out, he stared boldly back at Lady Valéry's protégée. “Are you lost, m'ladies?”

“No!” Mary tried to step back into the shadows.

“I think you are.” He spoke well, a servant who had reached the top of his profession. “I think you're very lost.”

He spoke with a kind of baneful relish.

“No, we're not lost,” Mary repeated.

Lady Valéry had had enough of this nonsense. “I wish to go to the east wing. Direct me now.”

The valet responded to her authoritative voice, bowing his head respectfully and saying, “Go forward,
take a left. Proceed to the next left, take that. You'll be on the far end of the east wing.”

His words followed as they walked away, with Mary huddled close to Lady Valéry's side.

“Do you know him?” Lady Valéry asked.

“What?” Mary seemed oblivious.

“Did he visit us in Scotland? Does he recognize you as my housekeeper?” Lady Valéry sought to alleviate Mary's palpable horror. “I knew it could happen, but I hoped your appearance had changed so greatly no one would recognize you.”

“He recognizes me,” Mary whispered.

Lady Valéry patted her arm. “Don't worry, dear. I'll send Sebastian to warn him off and offer him money, and if he knows what's good for him, he'll take it. Sebastian's enemies have a nasty way of disappearing. It's those ships of his, you know. They travel all over the world, and the captains aren't particular about whether their passengers really want to come aboard.”

Mary turned her head and looked at Lady Valéry. Gradually she seemed to comprehend Lady Valéry's words. She turned even whiter. “No! Don't send Sebastian!”

“Why not, dear? Sebastian wouldn't really hurt him.”

“No. Really. I don't want Viscount Whitfield involved.” Mary's teeth were even chattering. “Anyway, I don't know that man. I thought I did, but I don't.”

Lady Valéry glanced back. The valet watched them, grinning in a most insolent manner.

Oh, she believed Mary. Certainly she did.

Mary's past was a mystery, but Lady Valéry had already planned her future, and nothing, certainly not an upstart valet, could contest her scheme.

In a coaxing voice Mary said, “My lady, you were telling me about Sebastian's feud with the Fairchilds.”

So the gel thought she could distract this old woman, did she? Well, Lady Valéry would allow it to seem so for the moment. “Yes, where were we? Ah. The Fairchilds had money, the Durants did not. And the Durants sought to recover a fortune by sinking everything into breeding horses. It is a marginally respectable way to earn money, and Sebastian's father had always had a way with horses.”

They turned a corner, and Mary took a deep breath, as if merely being out of that valet's gaze gave her relief. “Did they do well?”

“Very.” Lady Valéry rubbed Mary's hand through her glove. “So well that the Fairchilds decided to give horse breeding a try, also. You can imagine the tangle that was! Neighbors, with their fences right together, trying to breed the best horses in England. The old viscount was furious, and Lord Smithwick had the bit in his teeth, so to speak.” She chuckled. “Bit in his teeth. Do you comprehend?”

Mary smiled dutifully, but she couldn't fool Lady Valéry. She was still shaken, and the tale that had interested her earlier now held no appeal. “Look,”
she said. “There are our maids. Our rooms must be down this corridor.”

“So they are.” Lady Valéry allowed Mary to lead her to her door, then she brushed a kiss on Mary's cheek. “Sleep well, dear. I won't allow anything or anyone to harm you.”

Mary touched the place where the kiss had been and stared at her fingers as if she could see visible proof of Lady Valéry's affectionate gesture. Lady Valéry saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. “Thank you, my lady, but there's no need to disturb yourself about me.”

“I'm not disturbed,” Lady Valéry answered.
But regardless of what you say, I am going to discover what that valet has to do with you.

 

Thankful for the moonless night, Sebastian crept around the outside of Fairchild Manor toward the master chamber windows. He had already tried to walk the halls and simply enter the room, but a maid stood outside the door, and when he'd tried to go in, she'd explained that these were her mistress's chambers. Kindly she'd offered to call a footman to escort him wherever he needed to go. She'd imagined him lost and probably drunk; he let her think so and wandered off.