Amy Lake (5 page)

“Miss de Lancie. Don’t move.”

She turned. In the light of the nightstand candle she could see Lord Tremayne sitting in a chair next to the bed, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Claire remembered now; she was in his house. She had the vague impression that the earl had been sleeping. His jacket was tossed over the back of the chair, and his chestnut hair had tumbled loose from its ribbon.

  In the dim light, in the lingering weakness of a day and night spent in bed, the sight of Lord Tremayne stirred something deep within her.  Claire sensed, somehow, that her life was about to change.

* * * *

Once Jody was reassured that Claire was on her way to recovery he became a nuisance underfoot. Lady Pamela finally sent him back to Jermyn Street in the earl’s curricle to fetch more clothes for his sister. Not trusting the male understanding of these matters, she had prepared a detailed list of the needed items, and Jody was happy to oblige. The Earl of Ketrick and Lady Pamela Sinclair had risen to almost mythic stature in his mind. He had been baffled and furious in those first chaotic moments after Claire was shot, especially to see a strange man leaping down from his horse and bending over his sister. But now Claire had been seen by a real physician, Lady Pamela had smiled at him–she was the most beautiful lady he’d ever seen–and the Earl of Ketrick was taking care of everything. Jody whistled happily, the only cloud on his horizon being the difficulty of explaining the whole affair to the McLeevys.

* * * *

Claire sat up against her pillows and sipped more of the bitter tea. The bed was in the middle of the loveliest room she had ever seen. Hung with damask silk in various shades of butter yellow, it was cheerful and warm. She eyed the over-stuffed lounging chair facing the fireplace, almost buried in pillows, thinking that it looked a very comfortable place to sit. She was tempted, despite the deep ache in her shoulder, to swing her legs over the side of the bed and walk to the chair. The carpet looked thick enough to swallow her feet.

There was a soft, perfunctory knock on the door, and the earl strode into the room without waiting for a reply. Claire swallowed the protest that instantly sprang to mind. It was his house, after all, and he could walk in anywhere he pleased.

But when the earl saw her, he looked startled. “I beg your pardon. I understood you were still asleep.”

“My conversation is not near so intelligent while I am sleeping, my lord.” 

“I have no doubt.” 

 Lord Tremayne pulled an armchair close to the bed and regarded Claire intently. If he was annoyed by her chiding remark, he did not show it.

“The physician says you may have laudanum for the pain, if you wish.”

“I’m tolerably sore, my lord, but I’m not a child. The willow-bark tea will be adequate, thank you.” 

The earl looked at her curiously, and Claire lowered her eyes. Why was she being snappish with the man?  She felt vulnerable in the unfamiliar bed, with Lord Tremayne’s presence only a few feet away bringing a blush to her cheeks. The whole thing was most improper, of course. She had no business being alone in a room–a bedroom at that–with the Earl of Ketrick. She’d barely known him a day.

“I’ve not seen my brother yet, Lord Tremayne. If I might speak with him, we could devise a plan for returning to our home. We are both grateful for your assistance, of course–and for Lady Pamela’s help as well–but I know you must wish us soon gone.”

“You are mistaken,” said the earl. “You are both most welcome, and your brother has already returned to Jermyn Street to fetch what things you will need for the next few days.”

“What?”

“I assure you, your presence here is no inconvenience.”

“Not for
you
, perhaps. But what if I do not
wish
to stay?”

 “Miss de Lancie,” said the earl patiently, “you are injured. The physician says you are not to be moved.”  This, at least, was how Edward had chosen to interpret the doctor’s parting remark.

“It will be most convenient for you to simply remain here.”

“Oh!”  Claire slumped into the bedpillows, then yelped as the movement jarred her shoulder.

“You see?” said the earl. “And re-injuring yourself will only prolong the healing.”

Claire had no energy for argument. She nodded weakly and closed her eyes, thinking Lord Tremayne would leave. Several minutes of silence ensued, but she heard no indication that he had risen from the armchair. Was he still there?  A peculiar tension was mounting in the room, and Claire seemed able to hear the beating of her own heart. She couldn’t pretend to be asleep a second longer, she would have to open her eyes–

He was still there. This was impossible. Did he intend to sit at her bedside all day?  Claire searched for a topic of conversation. Something impersonal.

“Your London dandies must be appallingly careless with their shooting, my lord. It’s a wonder more people aren’t killed in the parks.”

“The parks?” said Lord Tremayne. “Why do you say that?”

“Jody and I have been in town only months, and already it is twice that a stray shot has come close. I am very fond of the parks, my lord, but I begin to wonder if they are safe.”

* * * *

Pam was curled on a sofa in the Tremayne House library, sipping her evening glass of sherry.

“Claire has been shot at
twice
?”

The earl poured himself a brandy. “The first time was two weeks ago. Jody said that he heard the discharge of a pistol nearby. But neither de Lancie seems to view the incidents as a personal threat.  Apparently they imagine London to be generally full of exotic dangers to life and limb.” 

“I’ve no illusions left about London, my dear, but women do not get shot in Green Park.”

“Precisely. Nevertheless, I hesitated to add worry to injury, as it were.”

Pam mulled this over, and the earl could see something was bothering her. “Out with it,” he said.

“It’s the mother.”

“Whose mother?  You said Miss de Lancie’s mother was dead.”

“Yes. I hadn’t thought to tell you this, but Claire’s mother was Estelle Rutherford.”

“Rutherford.”  Edward frowned. The name sounded familiar.

“Sandrick Rutherford’s sister.”

“Ah.”  The earl considered this. “Sandrick Rutherford. The uncle.”

“I should imagine so. Claire and Jody must have been living with him. It would explain why she went to the trouble of establishing herself in London just to marry a bore like Clarence Aubley. Both the de Lancies should have money, but Claire’s only twenty. Rutherford must still control it all.”

“Why run now?  She would have her portion within the year.”

“But not, I would wager, the guardianship of her brother.”

The earl met this comment with silence. Finally he said slowly, “She’s not in London for herself, then. She’s here because of Jody.”

“Exactement, mon cher
. An innocent like Jody–  It doesn’t bear thinking about, does it?”

“I’ll call Rutherford out.”

Lady Pamela shook her head and stifled a laugh. Edward Tremayne was legendary in the
ton
for the coolness of his disposition. Yet here was the ever blasé Earl of Ketrick, about to issue a challenge to a man he’d never met. It was too wonderful. Didn’t he realize how thoroughly he was caught? 

“And who will protect the de Lancies if you are arrested for dueling?” she asked him.

Edward snorted. “Nobody’s going to arrest me, Pam. You know that as well as I do.”

“Probably true. But don’t kill the uncle, darling. Marry the niece.”

* * * *

His reasons hadn’t changed, Edward told himself later. Claire de Lancie was young and healthy, and it was time for him to sire an heir. She needed a husband and, despite the slap on the Pembertons’ terrace, he couldn’t believe she wouldn’t prefer him to a fat and dreary baronet. Edward told himself he wasn’t being conceited, merely realistic. He was reasonably young yet–not ten years older than Miss de Lancie–a respected member of the
ton
, and wealthy beyond most women’s dreams. Even before Frederick’s death–when his fortune and prospects were very different–women had flocked around him, so Edward supposed he was well-favored enough in looks.

And he’d had no complaints from any of his lovers, of which there had been more than a few.

It would all work out very nicely. A marriage of convenience, without emotion, in which the grateful bride would be content to stay at his country estate–with the children, of course–and his own life could continue much as before. Even better than before, Edward told himself. In London he would be free to pursue the many willing ladies of the
ton
, with no chance of an unfortunate misunderstandings regarding marriage. And during his infrequent visits to Wrensmoor he would have the delectable Claire.

The decanter of brandy was nearly empty. Pam had left several glasses ago, so he poured himself the last of it, sipping slowly and staring into the library fire.    

The uncle was a complication. He would have to see about that. Otherwise, all that remained was to speak again with Claire de Lancie. He stood up, swaying slightly. It was after midnight–too late, perhaps, for this conversation–but Edward was deep enough in his cups not to care.

* * * *

Someone gently touched her cheek, awakening Claire from a restless sleep. Her eyes flew open, and in the flickering light of the single candle she could see Lord Tremayne once again sitting in the armchair by her bed. It must be the middle of the night. Even if it was his own house, what could he mean, visiting her like this?  And he looked . . . different, she thought. Intense. A strange excitement flickered to life inside her, and she fought to maintain calm.

“Miss de Lancie?”  The earl’s voice was little more than a whisper.

It was too late to feign sleep. With one arm, Claire pushed herself awkwardly into a more upright position, hoping that she was suitably covered by the bedding. Lady Pamela had insisted she borrow one of her peignoirs, and the silk was cut along rather daring lines.

“My lord?” she said reluctantly, meeting his eye and determined not to blush. Her mind was fully alert, but her body insisted on feeling like it wanted to relax and melt back into the bed. It would be so nice just to slip back down, and stretch out beside . . .

Dear me. That was quite enough of
that
. Claire sat up even straighter.

The earl was staring at her, but he did not speak.

“My lord?” she repeated.

“My apologies, Miss de Lancie. But–”  Edward hesitated, wishing he’d drunk a little less brandy. He had no memory of what he had been planning to say.

“But?” she prompted, regarding him coolly.

“Under the circumstances . . . You’ve been in my house this day and night . . . ”  Edward faltered and came to a stop. He tried again. “Miss de Lancie, I believe we should get married. Your presence in this house without a proper chaperon is highly irregular. And your position in the
ton
is tenuous as it is.”

 Now she was glaring at him, but he forged ahead. “You’ve been fortunate, as yet–and resourceful, of course–but it’s only a matter of time before someone discovers that you and your brother are living on your own.”

“I suppose you could ensure that they find out, my lord.”

It was Edward’s turn to glare. “Don’t be a little idiot. I would do nothing to harm you, nor would Lady Pamela, but that matters not a whit. The
ton
forgives much–by necessity, I suppose– but they won’t forgive being played for fools. And when they discover what you’ve done, they will cast you out so thoroughly that you could not find a footman to marry.”

He hadn’t meant to put it quite that strongly, and the stricken look on Claire’s face was a stab to his heart. But she must be made to realize that her reputation was at stake.

“What is that to you, Lord Tremayne?” asked Claire. “You saw me for the first time mere days ago, and you could very easily see me for the last time tomorrow. I’ve offered to leave. Perhaps I should have insisted on it.”

What was it to him, indeed?   Edward realized that he wasn’t really concerned with Claire de Lancie’s reputation; he was concerned for her life. He didn’t like those two gunshots in Green Park– nor had Lady Pamela, and Pam’s intuition rarely played her wrong. But he still hesitated to tell Claire that he suspected someone might be trying to do her harm.

If they were married–when they were married–he could make sure she was safe. Edward couldn’t have explained why it was important that he be able to protect Claire de Lancie, but there it was. She would simply have to be convinced to accept his offer.

“Miss de Lancie,” Edward began again, leaning forward. “I realize I must have surprised you with my precipitate words the other evening. But you still need a husband, and, as it happens, I could use a wife.”

“How romantic,” she commented dryly.

“I was not aware that romance was on your list of requirements for a husband.”

Claire gave a short laugh. “
Touché
, my lord.” 

“The
ton
will accept the choice of the Earl of Ketrick, and they will soon forget that you were anyone at all before you were my countess. You will have no further need to invent relations or climb over garden walls. And your brother could, of course, live with us for as long as he wished.”

Claire took a deep breath. Lord Tremayne had not moved from the chair, but the tension she felt in his presence was overwhelming. She tried to speak matter-of-factly. “My lord, forgive me for being blunt. You have described this proposed marriage as one of convenience for us both. You do, however, wish for an heir?”

The question hung in the air, becoming almost palpable, until Claire wished she could reach out and snatch it back. That strange intensity returned to the earl’s expression. He leaned forward and touched a fingertip to her lips. She bit back a small cry, and then another as he rose from the armchair and sat next to her on the bed. He ran a hand over her hair and smiled lazily down at her. Claire couldn’t move, her bones seeming to melt under his touch.

He stopped abruptly, and sat back, breathing heavily.