Corey McFadden (30 page)

“Very well, my lord.” Mrs. Formby would have given a month’s wages to know where he had arranged to place the girl. No doubt he had found a serving-girl’s position for her in the home of a friend. Well, she hoped the child could stand the restrictions of being female once again.

“Oh, and, Mrs. Formby, see about getting me a new valet, will you? I find my present one just will not do.”

He smiled at her and she could not resist smiling back.

* * * *

It was past midnight. The house was dark and silent. Martin opened the door for Radford who strolled in, pleased with himself and eager with anticipation. Everything was ready. Peabody and Peabody, solicitors to the Earls of Radford since before the Flood, had outdone themselves. They had procured a fine townhouse, tastefully appointed, let by a wealthy, elderly baronet, who had fled the epidemic over a month ago and did not fancy a return to the city at this time. He had left a small staff in residence, so the place was clean and fresh. It was filled now with freshly cut, exotic flowers, and in the master bedroom were filmy, frothy things that would look delicious against Molly’s silky skin.

There had been a few pouts and tears from Bella, all according to script with no heartfelt emotion behind them. He had taken her out to a sumptuous dinner and explained that the time had come to go their separate ways. She had brightened visibly, though, at the sight of the velvet box he laid in front of her, and her tears had evaporated entirely when the box was opened to reveal a splendid diamond necklace with a blood-red ruby pendant.

Well, that part had been easy, he thought to himself, as he allowed Martin to remove his coat and gloves. Now for the lion’s den.

“I shall not retire just yet, Martin, but you may do so. I shall require no further assistance this evening.” He would be damned glad to be through with all this sneaking around in his own house. Made him feel like a bloody schoolboy with a toad in his pocket.

“Very good, my lord.” Martin recognized the firm dismissal. The earl was, after all, a healthy young man and an accomplished rake, and was not above spiriting young ladies into the house after hours. Martin knew well enough not to interfere. He evaporated, the way a good butler should.

Radford stood, warming his hands by the fire, waiting for Mrs. Formby to appear as they had agreed. He was alive with anticipation, yet curiously reluctant to go upstairs. How would she receive him? There had been such coldness between them this morning; it seemed like such a long time ago. He had been so angry with her. It was justified, of course.

Yet, oddly enough, he did not feel any anger now, only the tingling of his nerve endings as the image of her, rosy and naked, as she had appeared in the candlelight last night, danced in his mind. Well, the awkwardness would melt when she saw what he had done for her. She would be his pampered darling, his mistress. He would be hers to command. And she would be his to ravish.

He heard the door open and shut quietly behind him. When he turned, Mrs. Formby stood erect and proper as usual, but there was just a hint of disarray in her manner, the suggestion that all was not entirely as it should be.

“Well?” He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“My lord...” she hesitated.

That was a bad sign, the earl thought grimly to himself. “Yes?”

“She is not...entirely...amenable, my lord. She is unaccountably angry. I cannot think what the child has to be angry with your lordship about.” Mrs. Formby fairly huffed with indignation on the earl’s behalf. “She has changed into the outfit that I gave her, and packed up her few belongings, but I cannot be certain she is to be trusted not to make a scene. We simply cannot have that....” Mrs. Formby would have wrung her hands had she been capable of such a gesture.

Radford sighed to himself. When had dealing with this girl ever followed the expected course?

“Very well, Mrs. Formby. Do you think you could just get her to come down here quietly? I do not dare go up to that floor and risk a scene where everyone could hear us. Is everyone in bed by the way?”

“I believe so, my lord. All the lights are out.” Mrs. Formby was just beside herself. The idea that this slip of a servant girl could discommode the Earl of Radford who was condescending to help her personally with her difficulties was just too much!

“Good. Then let’s get this over with, shall we? I’ll be happy when this household returns to normal.”

Amen, the woman thought as she nodded briskly and left the room. If the girl knew what was good for her, she would come quietly. Mrs. Formby had had about enough of this nonsense.

He waited. He poured himself a brandy. A stiff one. This was absurd. He felt like a bridegroom, nerves and all. He would surely be able to persuade her to leave quietly. The coach was waiting; all was ready. She would be grateful, adoring, pliable.

Or a perfect hellcat.

He drained his glass and poured out another. Again, he heard the door, but this time it was not so quiet. He turned. The girl stood in the doorway, Mrs. Formby, tight-lipped at her side, holding her arm, for all the world like the wardress in a gaol. Mrs. Formby held a small bag and a bonnet in her other hand, which she placed inside the room. The girl’s face was mutinous. Had he not been so keenly aware of her rage he would have burst out laughing.

She was wearing a gown, a servant’s affair, gray and plain, with a crisp white collar at the throat. Over it was a traveling cloak, serviceable, warm, appropriately dull. Black low boots peeped out from beneath. From the neck down, she was a sight to delight the heart of the most dour of housekeepers.

And then there was her hair. Curling and springing around her beautiful face were short auburn ringlets, like no hairstyle seen on any female in this or the last century. What he had taken for granted on Mike, even on the naked beauty in his bed, looked so incongruous on this prim serving maid. He must figure out a way to deflect the attention of the dressmaker tomorrow. Ah, he could say the girl had been the victim of a strange malady and her hair....

“I understand you wished to see me, my lord?” Her words were clipped, her voice like ice.

“Yes, I do. Mrs. Formby”—he nodded to the woman—“thank you very much, that will be all.”

He waited while the housekeeper took her leave. The older woman’s hand clutched at the girl’s arm and he saw their eyes meet, Mrs. Formby’s demanding, beseeching, Molly’s angry and defiant. The woman shut the door behind her as she left, leaving the two of them alone together.

They stared at each other in silence, Radford assessing the extent of Molly’s anger. If he could just calm her down long enough to get her to their hideaway, she would melt into his arms. It was just a matter of soothing her ruffled feathers, although, for God’s sake, it was he who had the right to be furious, after all.

“What the devil do you have to be angry about, I’d like to know?” The words were out before he had a chance to reflect that this approach was not calculated to soothe her wounded feelings.

“How dare you ask me that?” she spat at him, incredulous. “How dare you be so blind as not to know?”

“How the devil am I supposed to know what you have on your mind, miss?” he shouted, forgetting completely that it was noise he wished to avoid. “I didn’t even know what sex you were this time last night! I’ve spent all day taking care of your needs!”

“All day, indeed! While I sat upstairs, a virtual prisoner in that room, no one allowed to talk to me, no one to tell me what was going on... and after what had happened to me....”

“What happened to you was your own damned fault, and you bloody well know it! I gave you strict orders to stay in my room, in my bed, as a matter of fact! And you promised you would. Instead, what did you do? You put on that infernal boy outfit of yours and walked straight into the hell I told you was waiting for you! Of all the stupid—”

“Stupid! You have the nerve to call me stupid? What on earth do you think that murdering bastard would have done to you had you waltzed up to the duke’s door and demanded admittance? Served you tea? If you want to discuss being stupid, let’s talk about where he would have dumped your body a half hour later!”

“You overestimate that fool’s abilities, miss. You saw what happened to him!”

“Only because you caught him by surprise. Had you gone to the duke’s house as you had planned, he would have—”

“Enough!” he roared. “I do not need to justify myself to a slip of a girl who doesn’t know enough to rely on a man for protection when she can. My God, girl, what kind of men are you used to that you cannot trust me to take care of myself and to see to your safety as well?”

Maude was silent. The images of her poor benighted Uncle James and the fat, cruel John rose in her mind. Even her precious father had died and left her to the tender mercies of her vicious aunt. No, she had no reason to trust the power and beneficence of any man.

They were silent for a moment, regarding each other warily, as if waiting for the next strike.

“We will leave now,” he began in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. “The carriage is waiting. Do you have everything you wish to take with you?”

“Where are we going?” Her voice was flat.

“You will be pleased. Let me surprise you. It’s not far, only a few blocks away, really.” He was coaxing her. He couldn’t believe it. He had spent hundreds of pounds and a great deal of his time today to please this serving girl and here he was, begging her to accept his favors.

“I will go with you, but only because I will not endure another minute in this house where I am treated like a prisoner, like a pariah.” She picked up her bag and bonnet and stood, mutinous and glowering.

He drained his brandy, then set down the glass. “Let’s go then.”

He took her arm and her bag, and they left the room. She felt the heat from his hand, burning through the flimsy cotton of her sleeve. It felt good, his hand on her, gentle, protective. If only he were, indeed, hers to trust, to look to. But there was no such guardian angel in the life of Maude Romney. She walked out into the night with him, aware that once again she was adrift.

Chapter Seventeen

He had opened the front door himself, with an ornate brass key provided to him by his solicitor, Mr. Peabody. There were five servants in the house, including the butler, but they had all been warned to be abed at this hour, up on the third floor at the back of the house. Radford had wanted no interruptions, no explanations, no introductions to spoil the splendor of this moment.

So far, however, it had not been so splendid. His fetching mistress, after a chilly, silent carriage ride, had stepped into the hallway and divested herself of her cloak, with an indifferent glance around her. Now she stood staring coldly at him, as if waiting for instructions. Obviously, it was up to him to effect a thaw between them. Well, he had had some practice in soothing irate women. He took her arm and led her into the drawing room.

Although not as spacious as his own townhouse, this one had been decorated and furnished lavishly, with no expense spared. The walls were covered in a pale peach moire silk cloth. Matching draperies hung in the floor-to-ceiling windows that were set in carved, paneled bays. Around the room were finely carved, upholstered chairs and settees, arranged in cozy groupings, punctuated by delicate tables sprouting priceless bric-a-brac. On the walls hung rich, dark oil paintings of dignified, if dour, forebears. A large marble fireplace gave off the warmth of a blazing fire. Radford cast an appreciative eye about him, noting the exotic, freshly cut flowers set artistically about the room. Peabody had, indeed, outdone himself with every attention to detail.

Radford led Maude to a small divan where he seated her. With an eye toward warming her frosty demeanor, he turned to the decanter and glasses on a rococo table in the middle of the room. He poured brandy into two snifters, then turned back to her. She sat erect and stiff, staring at him. The flames from the fire brought a rosy glow to her beautiful skin, and were reflected in the depths of her angry green eyes. She had removed her severe bonnet and the firelight danced in her auburn ringlets. She looked so young and so vulnerable and so utterly delicious with the curls framing her exquisitely sculpted face. Radford found himself staring at her. He could not get used to the beauty he now saw in her face, where before he had seen only a freckled gamin. He found himself wishing women could cut their hair as she now wore it. It suited her so well, the soft, unruly curls, unbound and springing gloriously free.

“This will warm you, monkey.” He proffered the brandy which she accepted from him, her eyes down, wordless. She took several small sips at once. He sat down next to her, close, but not quite touching. In the firelight, her eyes had lost their icy glaze, uncertainty and sadness now shadowing the green depths.

“I would have peace between us,” he began, taking her hand in his. She did not pull away. “I am sorry you were so distressed today. I was angry with you, and in my anger, I overlooked the horror of your ordeal. I should not have left you alone all day in such a fashion. I am sorry. Will you forgive me?”

She turned to him. There was pain in her eyes, a hurt that went deep. He longed to replace the hurt with laughter.

“I am sorry, too.” She spoke softly. “You were right, of course, about the danger, and it is good of you to concern yourself with my well-being.” She turned away, back to the fire.

Ah, that was it. She was still thinking in terms of being his servant, beneath his notice, a creature from below stairs to fetch his bath water and clear his dishes from the table. Mrs. Formby had doubtless had a chat with her about her ingratitude in the face of such condescension on his part. No wonder the girl was so insecure.

“Monkey, your well-being seems to be the only thing on my mind lately. I am not able to think about anything else.” He leaned toward her; she did not pull away. He inhaled her lovely scent. She smelled of lilacs and of clean, pressed cotton, delicious, light, not at all like the heavily perfumed young ladies he was used to of the
ton
and the
demimonde
, some of whom used a cloying scent to cover a disinclination to bathe. Gently, he put his lips to her neck....