Compromising the Marquess (10 page)

“No, I just said that because Hal was behaving like a beast and I needed to fight back. Besides, I have my drawing instructor coming later. Do either of you draw?”

“Beth does,” Leah said. “Personally, I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.”

“Anyone who sings as beautifully as you needs to do absolutely nothing else.” Flick rose to give Leah a sisterly hug. “The rest of us mere mortals must strive to do the best we can.”

* * *

Hal slept badly and was out of sorts with everyone, most of all himself. Whatever had possessed him to take Leah to
The Celandine?

He regretted snapping at Flick, it was hardly her fault, but until this business was cleared up he really couldn’t have her traipsing all over the place, even if she was protected. It would be inviting trouble since Flick never did anything quietly. She didn’t seem to realise it but she had presence, charm, exuberance and great beauty—attributes that would tempt not just the people Hal was concerned about. Compromising Flick would be an ideal way to get him to do their bidding, which was why the Hall was so heavily guarded. Until this matter was resolved, Flick would not travel beyond Denby unless he escorted her personally.

Rob threw him speculative glances across the breakfast table, clearly wondering what was wrong. Hal would have to tell him sooner or later, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t need his brother to tell him what an imbecile he’d been.

“You were a bit hard on Flick earlier,” Rob remarked.

“She needs to learn to do as she’s told.”

Rob rolled his eyes. “Miracles take a little longer. Besides, there’s no need to take your frustration out on her. She only wished to go shopping.”

“I know.” Hal sighed. “It’s all the waiting, it’s getting to me.”

“It’s getting to us all.”

“Where’s Flick now? Perhaps I’ll apologize and offer to escort her to Dover myself.”

“She’s gone into Denby. I gather she wants to bring the two Elliott girls back here for the day. She didn’t think you could object to that.”

“Damnation, I really don’t—”

“Good God!”

“What’s the matter?”

Rob waved the newspaper he was reading beneath Hal’s nose. “I didn’t realise I should be offering you joy,” he said, smirking.

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“You and the Bentley girl. It would appear that your betrothal is all but a foregone conclusion.”

Hal snatched the paper from Rob’s hand and read the article. “God’s teeth, she’s gone too far this time!” He slapped his thigh with the flat of his hand.

“The Elliott girl?”

“Who else.” Hal stood to pace the room, quietly fuming. “I thought she was well-bred enough not to write about anything she heard in this house.”

“She might not have heard it here. Lady Bentley is deliberately spreading the rumours, you know that. Mrs. Wilkinson is her ally, so—”

“Verbal rumours are one thing, but this—”

“Calm down, Hal,” Rob said, frowning as he stood also. “It means nothing. It isn’t like you to get so agitated about a little gossip.”

“It puts pressure on me, keeping me in people’s minds when I most want to be invisible. Every matron in the district will call here now, on the pretence of seeing Flick, of course, just to discover if it’s true.”

“Hmm, I see what you mean.” Rob leaned his chin on a fisted hand as he thought it through. “You can’t deny it without seeming discourteous, and if you say nothing it will be taken as the truth.”

“Exactly.”

“Well then, big brother, you’d best stop procrastinating and get yourself leg-shackled. That would squash the rumours soon enough.”

Hal glowered. “Is that the best suggestion you can make?”

“It’s high time you led by example,” Rob said, laughing.

“I’ll be damned if I’ll marry the Bentley girl.”

“Then take yourself off to town when the season starts and find someone else.”

“I’d take myself off somewhere anyway, if I could. That would put paid to the rumours. But I can’t leave here until we’ve resolved the problem of Jean-Philippe, and in the meantime Lady Bentley and her wretched daughter will lead me a merry dance.”

“Very true.” Rob managed a brief expression of sympathy, even though he still appeared to find the situation diverting. “So what shall you do?”

“Right now?”

Rob nodded.

“Right now I intend to have it out with Miss Elliott.” Hal stormed from the room, still clutching the offending newspaper, and banged the door behind him with considerable force before a footman could step forward and close it for him. He strode along the corridor, causing another footman to hastily flatten himself against the wainscoting before Hal bowled him over. He took the stairs three at a time and made his way to his sister’s sitting room. Feminine laughter emanated from within, further souring his mood. No one deserved to be so carefree when he had the problems of the world resting on his shoulders.

He tapped on the door and threw it open before Flick could respond.

“Hal,” she said, glancing up from a sketch pad and frowning. “Whatever’s the matter? You look ready to commit murder.”

Hal forced himself to bow to the Misses Elliott, both of whom had risen and curtsied when he entered the room.

“Excuse me, Flick,” he said through gritted teeth, “but I have urgent need of a word with Miss Elliott.”

“With me?” Leah looked suitably surprised, as though she didn’t know damned well what he wanted with her.

He waved the newspaper in her direction. “Now, if you please.”

The colour drained from her face when she saw the reason for his agitation. Ignoring the shocked expressions on the faces of their two sisters, he held the door open and ushered a reluctant-seeming Miss Elliott through it.

Chapter Ten

Leah followed Lord Denby along the corridor, scurrying to keep up with his breakneck pace. The rigid set to his features indicated an incipient rage and she didn’t dare ask him to slow down. She was slightly breathless when, having passed what seemed like a thousand closed doors, he finally stopped and opened one. He ushered her inside with an exaggerated bow that could best be described as insulting.

With no other choice open to her, she defiantly tilted her chin, determined not to be bullied even if she deserved his displeasure, and entered the lion’s den. She found herself in a man’s study—his, presumably. It wasn’t the same formal room in which Lord Gabriel had received Mrs. Wilkinson and her deputation. This one had a used feeling about it, function winning out over formality. Anxious though she was about the forthcoming confrontation, she still took a moment to appreciate its basic appeal, approving of what she saw.

Morning sunshine streamed through several full-length windows that offered a fine prospect over the sculpted grounds. The walls were lined with bookshelves, the worn nature of the spines indicating that they weren’t just for show. Leah’s heart lurched at this reminder of happier times. Under other circumstances she would have begged permission to see what treasures lay buried there, spending as long as she could get away with losing herself in the old masters she had once studied with such pleasure.

A large desk dominated the centre of the room, papers piled neatly to one side, a blotter perfectly centred, a selection of pens arrayed beside the inkwell. An arrangement of comfortable chairs was situated around a table in front of the windows. He indicated one, still not saying a word. She sank into it, only to regret it when he remained standing, looming over her like a very angry, decidedly predatory demon.

“Have the goodness to explain this.” He threw the paper onto her lap.

Glancing down, she observed that her snippet about his lordship’s pending nuptials took pride of place at the top of the page. It was set in bold type that looked cheap and gaudy, and was placed beneath a caricature of the marquess himself. Her first instinct was to plead ignorance, her second to impishly wish him joy.

She chanced another glance at his features and understood that denial, or indeed flippancy, wouldn’t serve. He clearly knew what she had done. It was equally apparent that he was furious with her interference, as indeed he had every right to be. “What would you have me say?”

He expelled a long breath. “So it was you?” He sounded disappointed.

“How did you know?”

“There was no one else at the dinner party whom it could possibly have been. They are all well known to me
and
too well-bred to do such a thing.”

Ouch!
She probably deserved that.

“Besides, you wrote the article about the mill.”

“What makes you suppose that?”

“The same premise as before. The gentlemen who attended wouldn’t have done it, the workers couldn’t write that fluently. Most of them can’t write at all, come to that. Besides, no man would describe a fistfight in such flowery language.” He fixed her with a hard glare. “And so we come back to my original question. Explain, if you possibly can, why you felt the need to spread such a malicious rumour.”

“Is it not true?” she asked, playing for time.

His lip curled. “Is that all you can say?”

“I heard it spoken of as quite a settled thing,” she said weakly.

“Which was excuse enough to abuse my sister’s hospitality, to say nothing of her friendship? Does that mean so little to you, or do you exploit every situation you find yourself in for monetary gain?”

She lowered her eyes, wishing he would sit down so they could discuss this in a more rational manner. Not that there was much to discuss, she could quite see that now. She was in the wrong, had jumped to conclusions without checking her facts and owed him an apology.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think it would do any harm.”

“You clearly didn’t think about anything other than your own comfort,” he said coldly.

“I still don’t see—”

“No, you don’t, that much is apparent, so let me explain the consequences of your selfish actions.” He paused to draw breath. “Lady Bentley will see this, or have it drawn to her attention. She will lose no time in spreading word of it amongst her acquaintance and, before you know it, I will find myself engaged by default.” He favoured her with an icy glare. “Or more to the point, through your fault.”

“But I thought you liked Miss Bentley.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” He looked genuinely perplexed by her assumption. “In your profession I should have thought you’d understand how unreliable gossip and innuendo can be.” He paced in front of her, placing his feet down so heavily each time he passed her position that the floorboards shook. “It would be too much, I suppose, to expect you to verify your information before publishing.” He fixed her with a scathing glance. “Where would be the fun in that?”

He was like a caged tiger, pacing, striking out—albeit verbally—gouging dents in her heart with his contempt. Too late to do anything about it, she realised how much she had treasured his brief good opinion.

“I’m sorry if I got it wrong,” she said softly. “Does it matter so very much?”

He stopped pacing and loomed over her again. “Are you so wrapped up in yourself that you’ve not listened to a word I’ve said?”

“No, of course not. I merely don’t see why it should—”

“I guarantee that Lady Bentley will call here before today is out, on the pretence of seeing my sister, but in reality to lay claim to the prize she’s had in mind for her daughter ever since she came out.” He pinioned her with a scathing gaze. “That would be me, just in case you still harbour any doubts.”

“Oh, Lord!” Leah buried her face in her hands. “I’m so very sorry. You’re right, I didn’t think about the consequences.” He had resumed his pacing but abruptly stopped still again. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him but could sense his gaze assessing her. “You are a gentleman and so you can’t issue a public denial, which means you could be forced into a union just to protect the lady’s reputation.”

“It’s a little late for regrets,” he said coldly.

“It seemed to me that you were quite comfortable with Miss Bentley.”

“She has been my neighbour for years, we mix in the same circles.” He threw his hands in the air, clearly exasperated by her slowness. “Of course I’m comfortable with her. But, as an observant member of the newspaper fraternity,” he added harshly, “it will not have escaped your notice that I deliberately avoided taking her into dinner precisely so as not to excite her expectations.”

“Ah, so that’s why you took me in.”

“Why else?”

“Why else indeed.” Leah shook her head. “I really did think you had an understanding.”

“Even if we did, it would have been between the lady and myself. In polite society we invite people into our homes secure in the knowledge that they won’t regale the world with any snippets of unsubstantiated gossip they might happen to hear there. But,” he added, concentrated fury radiating from his eyes, “someone like you couldn’t be expected to know that.”

Something inside Leah changed as he flung this latest accusation at her. She had apologised, felt terrible for the trouble she’d caused, but simply would not allow him to insult her. What had happened to the suave sophisticate—relaxed and agreeable—who had entertained her on his boat the previous evening? The man who had treated her as an equal, making her feel witty and amusing and leaving her with the impression that he admired her? Well, he might think poorly of her but what she had done was nothing in comparison to harbouring enemies of the state on his property, and she would lose no time in telling him so.

She sprang to her feet and confronted him, arms akimbo. “Thank you. You have made your position perfectly clear and I now understand precisely what you think of me.” It was her turn to pace as she struggled to contain her temper. She brushed past him, forcing him to give way. She made no apology for her rudeness. He already had such a low opinion of her that it hardly signified. “But there are worse things to be than socially inadequate.”

“We are talking about you, not ambiguities.”

“Then let me make myself plain.” She had her back to him but whirled to face him so fast that she almost tripped over her skirts. He reached out a hand to steady her—instinctively, she suspected, since he clearly had no desire to touch her. “Hiding enemies of the state on one’s boat is hardly on the same level as indiscreet gossip.” She snatched her arm from his grasp and glowered at him, daring him to defy it. “There, is that equivocal enough for you?”

The brittle silence that greeted this remark caused a chill settled on Leah’s spine. The icy set to his features, his aura of barely suppressed menace, pierced her to the core, causing her to wonder what she had set in motion. As always, when riled, she had spoken without first considering the wisdom of her words. It was too late to recall them and so she faced him without blinking, determined not to break the silence herself.

“I suggest you think very carefully before you put pen to paper on this occasion,” he said tersely, his brows drawn together in an expression of extreme distaste.

“Why should I?” She shrugged. “The young man
is
French and you are very evidently hiding him. You knew how I make my living before you took me to your boat, you just admitted as much.” She shook her head. “I could only conclude that you were playing some very clever game, dangling a prize scoop under my nose, thinking I would be too timid to pursue it.” She paused, nibbling at her lower lip as she thought it through. “But why?”

He caught hold of her shoulder, forcing her to look at him. Taken by surprise, her teeth sank into her lip, drawing blood. She cried out in pain.

“So, you now consider me to be an enemy of the state,” he said witheringly.

She lifted her shoulders. “What else am I to think? You keep your ship hidden in the bay, you have watchmen patrolling every inch of this estate, you won’t allow your sister to travel even as far as Dover unescorted and, besides all that, Mrs. Wilkinson says you did nothing to support the British cause during the war.”

He barked an angry laugh. “Mrs. Wilkinson is three farthings short of a shilling.”

“Then why won’t you tell me who the young man is?”

“You first.” He propelled her towards the seat she’d just vacated and forced her to sit. With a defiant toss of the head she did so. Leah was relieved when, instead of continuing to prowl around, he took the seat next to her. “Tell me why you write for that god-awful rag,” he said wearily.

She wanted to tell him to go to the devil. It was no business of his how she occupied her time. One glance at his handsome face, the harsh planes softened a little now that his temper appeared to be spent, and she had a change of heart. After all the trouble she’d caused, he deserved to know the truth. She and Beth would no longer be welcome at the Hall, so what did it matter? He could hardly think worse of her than he already did.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever had to worry about feeding your family,” she said in a challenging tone. “Nor have you had to concern yourself with debt collectors, scraping together the money for the rent or—”

“You’re referring to the time after your parents died?”

“Yes.”

“But your uncle. Surely he—”

“My mother was Sir Percy’s elder sister. My father was their younger brother’s tutor.”

“Ah, now I start to see.”

“My father was the youngest of six children, born to a respectable middle-class family in Hertfordshire. He was an academic who flourished at Oxford and obtained a first in English. As a younger son he was, naturally, expected to make his own way.”

“Which is how he became a tutor?”

“Yes, Mama’s younger brother was an invalid and couldn’t attend school. Fortunately, from Papa’s perspective, he had an enquiring mind and so the two of them were ideally suited. The problem was that Papa had the temerity to fall in love with my mother, and that love was reciprocated. My grandfather wouldn’t countenance the union, and so they eloped.”

“Your grandfather disinherited his daughter?”

“Yes, he did.” Leah sighed. “I never met him but I understand he was a cold man, used to having his way in everything, and there was no place in his heart for an undutiful child.”

“How did they survive?”

“Mama had a small inheritance left to her by her grandfather, which her own papa could do nothing to curtail. They moved to the unfashionable district of London where Beth and I still reside, and Papa started a small bookshop, mostly dealing in rare first editions.” Leah smiled. “Times were not easy but my earliest memories are of nothing but love and laughter.”

“Go on,” he said softly when she paused, lost in the past.

“We were never cold or hungry, and never wanted for reading material.” Her eyes greedily scanned the loaded shelves in the marquess’s study. “Papa educated us both, taught us to question everything and never be afraid to search for the truth.” The marquess settled an indolent gaze on her, reminding her that was precisely what she
hadn’t
done when passing on gossip to Mr. Morris. She blushed and hastily continued. “Unfortunately Papa wasn’t business-minded. Sometimes he enjoyed a book so much that he couldn’t bear to sell it, even if he had a customer desperate to own it. Other times, people would come to the shop, spin a hard-luck story, and he would part with rare tomes at a fraction of their value.”

The marquess nodded. “I’ve known such people.”

“Mr. Morris came upon us one day.”

His lordship sat a little straighter and frowned. “Morris?”

“The gentleman who owns the newspaper I write for.”

“Humph, I’d hardly call the owner of that rag a gentleman.” He rolled his eyes and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. “Excuse me, pray continue.”

“Morris was a travelling book dealer. He convinced my father to go into printing books as well as selling them. Papa’s assistant, Jenkins, thought it a good idea and persuaded Papa that they would be able to produce books more cheaply for those most in need of them. Papa felt everyone was entitled to the pleasure of reading, you see, and, unlike Mr. Morris, barely gave the profits a second thought.”