Anne Barbour (3 page)

“But you don’t understand! I must warn Marcus. . . .”

Observing Lord Burnleigh’s implacable expression, she abandoned this line of argument. She sank back once more into her chair.

“I am the English mistress in a seminary for young ladies in Paris, and that is where I live. Marcus is two years younger than I, and with the cessation of the war, he came to England several months ago to seek employment. He is a poor correspondent, but a week ago I received a rather garbled note from him telling me that it was imperative that I join him here. He told me to travel to the town of Aylesford, where he would meet me.

“Such was the urgency of his letter that I complied at once. I set sail from Calais two days ago. I disembarked at Dover, and was en route to Aylesford by stage. The coach made a stop at the Green Man for dinner, and I ordered a meal of cutlets and peas, and a pot of tea. I recall the tea took an unconscionable time to arrive—I had nearly finished eating—and it tasted odd, as though it had been highly spiced. I had taken only a few sips when I began to feel very odd. Then—”

She broke off, aware that the earl had begun to drum his fingers on the polished surface of the small table beside the settee, and was glancing with undisguised boredom at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece.

Diana flushed, and experienced a strong desire to slap that arrogant face.

“I trust I am not boring you, my lord. Perhaps I may be excused for placing a certain degree of importance on the event.”

The earl stifled a yawn, and rose. He moved leisurely to seat himself behind the desk.

“And I trust,” he murmured, “that I may be permitted a certain degree of skepticism concerning this entire farrago. You have neglected to provide a reason for this dastardly kidnapping. Are you, perchance, the heiress of a wealthy
citoyen?
Ah, but no, that would not jibe with the schoolmistress story, would it?”

Diana clamped her lips together. How could she convince this wretched man that she was not lying?

The earl continued in an uninterested tone.

“Could we get on with it, please? Time grows short, as does my patience. I suppose you are going to tell me that your tea was drugged.”

Diana sprang to her feet and strode to the desk.

“Yes,” she replied in a gritty voice. “I believe that is what happened, because it is from that point that my memory is blurred. All I know is that I seemed to be incapable of coherent thought. I remember a man—I remember he—touched me, as though ...” Her eyes dropped, and her cheeks flamed. “But none of it seemed to register. It was as though I had no control over my actions or my mind.’’

She stole a glance into the eyes glaring into hers, but the earl’s only response was a noticeable hardening of his already forbidding expression.

Diana shivered, but she continued in haste.

“By the time I began to come out of—whatever it was, I realized that I was in a coach. There were two men with me, one of whom was the one who had—approached me in the Green Man. I never did get a good look at the other. I know only that he was short and squat, and powerfully built.

“I began to struggle, but to no avail. The two men kept questioning me.” She put her hands to her forehead, as once more the images of last night’s ordeal began dissolving into a kaleidoscope of terror. “If only I could remember!”

Observing the unpromising expression on his lordship’s face, she dropped her gaze once more and continued on.

“I slumped in my seat, pretending to have fallen back into a stupor in order to avoid their incessant queries. It was a difficult pretense, to be sure, since the coach was traveling so fast that I found myself bouncing around like an India-rubber ball. The powerfully built man kept urging the coachman to go even faster. But then the coach slowed. The two men shouted at the coachman, but we slowed even more, and at last came to a stop. The man was apparently lost. My captors climbed out of the carriage, and I could hear the three of them cursing and shouting.

“I think they both believed me incapable of movement—or perhaps they forgot about me altogether, because they moved to the front of the vehicle, where they huddled in the lamplight, poring over a map. I could hear them berating the coachman and deciding what to do next, with never a thought to me. I peeked out and saw their attention was wholly diverted, so I slipped through the door and ran as fast as I could. I was still dreadfully dizzy, and ...”

She raised a hand to her head.

“I’m not sure—that is, I don’t know precisely what happened then—everything is so muddled in my mind. I believe that’s when I met—that is, you ...”

Jared rose abruptly, and came around the desk to where she stood.

“My dear young woman, I am agog with admiration at your acting abilities. I must assume you earn your bread on the stage, when not otherwise, er, occupied.”

Ignoring her gasp of indignation, he bent to capture one slim hand, turning it over in his own.

“You have the speech and appearance of a gentlewoman, and you have not, evidently been engaged in any ungenteel labor recently. However, gently reared ladies rarely appear unaccompanied in coaching inns, sloshed to the eyeballs.”

Diana opened her mouth to retort, but Jared raised a hand.

“Nor can I recall ever seeing a lady giggling uproariously, and snuggling against supposed strangers like a cat in heat.’’

Diana whitened as though she had been struck.

“No!” she whispered brokenly. “I could not have acted so.”

Observing her stricken expression, Jared spoke in a softer tone.

“Well, I may have overstated the case, but it is no good denying you were under the influence of drink, or that you acted with your gentleman friend to rob me. Although,” he mused, ignoring the sob of protest emanating from the direction of the little settee, “I cannot imagine what a diamond of the first water like yourself was doing dressed in that wretched bombazine affair, and in the company of a third-rate Captain Sharp.”

Diana leapt to her feet once more. She was unused to having her word disputed, and she was certainly unused to being accused of robbery and—other things. She faced the earl, her eyes glittering with icy indignation.

“I have told you, my lord, what I was doing in the company of that dreadful man. I was his prisoner, my lord—his victim. As for the bombazine, it was precisely to discourage the attentions of such persons that I dressed as plainly and unattractively as possible. Now, I ask that you release me. I have important family business to pursue, and I must be on my way.’’

Patience was not foremost among the Earl of Burnleigh’s virtues, and he had exhausted his minuscule supply. Upstairs, the person who meant the most in the world to him lay fairly writhing in distress upon what appeared to be his deathbed.

If only he had listened to Grandfather’s pleas that he take a wife. There was no denying he should have been wed years ago. If he had, Grandfather, while he would certainly fight to his last breath, could face death with equanimity.

And Jared had come close, not a fortnight past. He had been within Ames ace of asking Lord Brierly for the hand of his second daughter. It was only the echo of the girl’s piercing giggles penetrating the paneling of her father’s study that had stayed him.

Now he wished with a bleak ferocity that he had girded his loins—to say nothing of his ears—and gone ahead with the proposal. If he were at least betrothed, Grandfather would not now be kneading the coverlet in his anguish.

Jared flung up his hand.

“Look here, Miss St.—whatever,” he growled, “I am not prepared to waste any more time on you. If you will not tell me what I wish to know, perhaps you will change your mind after cooling your heels for a few days in the village jail.”

He moved to the bell pull, speaking over his shoulder. “Perhaps you can convince the magistrate of your innocence. With your spurious air of gentility, and your skill on the boards, you should certainly—”

He stopped, suddenly, and turned swiftly. He stood rooted for a full minute, staring at the girl before him.

Diana returned his gaze in growing bewilderment and anger.

“Sir, you must believe—”

She, too, stopped, with equal suddenness, as the earl grasped her by the shoulders and pulled her to stand before a large window, through which the morning sun streamed into the room. To Diana’s fury, he turned her slowly about, examining her from head to toe.

“Now, see here ...” she began, but his lordship thrust her from him and turned to pace the carpet.

“Be quiet! I must think.”

He continued to travel the rug in ever-decreasing circles while Diana stood in fulminating silence. He stopped again, and once more came to stand before her, staring at her as though he were considering the purchase of an objet d’art.

“Please be silent and listen to me. Perhaps you may escape the roundhouse after all, for I have a proposition for you.”

Diana made a choking sound, her hand lifted in a protective gesture.

Lord Burnleigh’s smile was not pleasant.

“Spare me your maidenly blushes, my charming doxie, for I have no designs on your very doubtful virtue. I do not want you for a light o’love. I want you for my fiancée.”

Chapter 3

“Your fiancée!” Diana fairly rocked on her heels in astonishment. Was the man deranged? “My lord, I cannot have heard you correctly! What—”

The earl interrupted with a brusque gesture.

“I am not offering you a proposal of marriage, of course. What I meant was ...”

He broke off. She was eyeing him as though he were a dangerous lunatic. He resumed in a quieter voice.

“Please. Sit down and let me explain.”

Despite the seeming courtesy of his words, Diana could find only detached calculation in his face. His dark eyes commanded, and she seated herself on the edge of a chair.

“Stonefield Court,” began Lord Burnleigh, “is the primary seat of Peter Talent, the Marquess of Chamford. Lord Chamford is my grandfather. Several days ago he took a spring chill, and was unable to shake it. Despite all efforts, he fell into an inflammation of the lungs, and has now passed all hope of recovery. At this moment”— here the icy voice harshened—“he lies abovestairs, dying.”

“Oh!” Despite herself, Diana lifted her hand toward the earl in sympathy. The gesture seemed in no way welcome to him, and he continued as though he had not seen it.

“Perhaps I should also mention that I am Lord Chamford’s heir, my father having been killed in a hunting accident some sixteen years ago. The matter of succession has been of great concern to my grandfather of late. I am unmarried, and my younger brother, Simon, is in the Army. The next in line for the title is a distant cousin, now residing in the Indies. When Simon was transferred to the Peninsula, my grandfather took a maggot into his head that Simon was sure to be carried off by a French ball. Grandfather relaxed somewhat when Napoleon was defeated, for Simon scraped through the entire war with nothing worse than a saber nick. However, when word reached us last week of the Corsican Monster’s escape from Elba, all his fears returned. He now envisions Simon slain in some future battle.”

The earl turned to pace the floor, running strong fingers through his crisply curling hair. Watching him, Diana was acutely aware of the man’s almost mesmerizing masculinity. She forced her attention to his words.

“To me his concern seemed unnecessary. That is— Grandfather was always so alive! It seemed as though there was plenty of time for . . .”

The earl stopped, and for the first time, Diana observed signs of uncertainty in his demeanor. He turned to face the fireplace.

“He is in torment. He tosses constantly, muttering about Stonefield passing from Talent hands ...” The earl swung around to face Diana.

“Do you see what I require of you?”

His voice was harsh with strain, and Diana could only stare at him in growing apprehension.

“I have failed him, failed him terribly, but I can at least ease his last hours. If he believes me to be betrothed, he will die in peace.”

Diana gasped in disbelief. First this arrogant wretch accused her of thievery and of being the veriest trollop, and now he was trying to coerce her into some sort of mad masquerade.

“You want me to—pose as . . . ? Oh, this is abominable!” she cried. “To ask me to be a party to such a deception!’’

Lord Burnleigh moved to her in a swift motion and, grasping both slender wrists, pulled her to her feet.

“You are very quick; you have apprehended my meaning precisely. Before you refuse, however, you should remember that I am in a position to cause you a great deal of unpleasantness. Have you considered what a few months in prison—or transportation—would do to your beauty? The beauty which provides you with your livelihood? On the other hand, if you agree to my—deception—I promise you shall be well paid for your time. You will not be here above a few days.”

He surveyed her coldly, and Diana felt as though she were being stripped naked, all her vulnerability exposed to this hateful man. How was she to convince him that she had fallen in with thieves through no fault of her own? Did she truly bear the look of a lightskirt? She tried to wrench free, but her hands were still imprisoned in his. An odd sensation swept over her that her flesh would bear a permanent imprint of his fingers.

Diana raised her eyes, determined that her captor would find no fear in them. Meeting her gaze, the earl slowly released her, and she crossed the room to seat herself again. She folded her hands and gazed at him, her icy composure matching his own.

“Pray continue, sir. You have my undivided attention.”

“Very well. When I brought you here last night, the only persons to see us enter were Mrs. Ingersoll, our housekeeper, and Fishperk, my grandfather’s valet. They, and one housemaid, are the only persons who know of your presence here. They were told to keep this knowledge to themselves, and I believe they have done so. First of all, I shall install you in one of our best guest rooms, and find you a more suitable gown. Then..”  He stopped, frowning.

“And then?” prompted Diana, all politeness. “And then you will explain to your grandfather—and your household—how your fiancée showed up in the dead of night, with neither abigail nor coachman—nor coach, for that matter—and was taken to an attic bedroom.”