Desired by a Lord (Regency Unlaced 5) (2 page)

Her eyes widened. “Why would I lie?”

“Possibly for the same reason you have pretended to be Edmund Marsden for the past two months,” he came back challengingly.

Emily could take one of two paths now. Deny any intention of deception. Or own up to the crime.

The first risked being dismissed as the nonsense it undoubtedly was.

The second risked further questioning on the subject of why she had perpetrated the deception in the first place. Answers she could not give this man without incriminating herself to such a degree he would immediately ask her to leave.

Emily decided to choose neither of those paths, but to forge one of her own. “Having very ably assisted my husband for the past five years, I am perfectly up to the task of cataloguing and returning order to the extensive library you have here. I am also sure that the person my husband used in London to repair and restore books will be happy to do the same for me.” In fact, Emily had always been the one to deal with Mr. Ames. Edmund could often be abrasive and tended to upset people.

She knew, with Edmund’s training, she was more than capable of doing the work necessary in the Whitney Library. If Lord Whitney would only give her the opportunity to prove herself.

If.

It had seemed like a godsend, as if it was meant to be, when Lord Whitney’s letter arrived inviting Edmund to Yorkshire to catalog the famous Whitney Library. The present Lord Whitney’s great-grandfather had been a keen collector, and Edmund had often remarked that he would relish the opportunity to inspect the rare and coveted library.

Unfortunately, Edmund had died four months before being offered the opportunity to come to Whitney Park.

Xander was not ignorant of the fact Mrs. Marsden had not yet answered his question. “I was informed you were not accompanied by your maid.”

She gave a tight smile. “Possibly because I do not have one.”

His brow rose. “You do not have one now, or you never had one?”

“I do not have one now.”

Implying that she had once. Before or after her marriage? The mulish expression on Emily Marsden’s face said she would give him no more answers on the subject.

One part of her earlier statement intrigued him, though. As it had when he read the date of her wedding to Marsden. “Surely you were still in the schoolroom almost six years ago?”

A delicate blush colored her cheeks, strawberries amid the cream, throwing those freckles into sharp relief. “Not quite,” she said quietly. “I was seventeen when Edmund and I married.”

“And your husband’s age at the time?”

“I do not see…”

“Humor me,” Xander drawled.

“My husband was aged three and fifty on the day of our wedding, my lord,” she revealed with obvious reluctance.

Xander inwardly recoiled. What had Marsden been about, to have married a girl so much younger than himself? More to the point, why would such a young girl marry a man so much older than
herself
?

Money, perhaps?

On the contrary, neither the shabby carriage this lady had arrived in nor her own appearance gave any indication of wealth. Nor did her lack of a maid.

Maybe prestige?

Edmund Marsden had certainly been lauded by his peers, but as they were as old and obscure as he was, there could not be much prestige there for a young woman either.

Love, then?

Emily Marsden’s tone had been cool when she spoke of her marriage and her husband’s death. Nor had Xander seen any sign of tears in those dark green eyes at the mention of the older man’s demise.

So not money, prestige, or love. Which left what?

Xander found he was very interested to know the answer to that question.

An interest that was no doubt founded upon the fact he was unutterably bored after being stuck in Yorkshire for the past four months. Far away from his friends and the delights London had to offer, in which he had previously enjoyed indulging on a regular basis.

Good God, he must be beyond bored if a little rabbit like Mrs. Emily Marsden and the secrets hidden in those green eyes could intrigue him!

“My age, then or now, has nothing to do with anything,” the young widow dismissed briskly. “As I said, I am more than capable of doing the task for which you have employed me. My lord,” she added uncomfortably, having obviously realized she had dropped the formality in her determination to be heard.

“For which I employed your husband,” Xander corrected pointedly. He had not said so, but he knew instinctively from the sincerity in that steady green gaze that Emily Marsden told the truth. That, unlikely as it might appear, she had indeed been the wife of Edmund Marsden.

Nevertheless, Xander knew himself to have been deliberately duped as to whom he was corresponding with these past months. And he did not care for being toyed with.

The last time he had been made a fool of, he had been a callow youth of seventeen. He had believed himself in love with, and loved by, a married woman. A lady whom, it transpired, had no intention of leaving her husband for him, when all she had wanted was his young and muscular body pounding in hers as often as possible.

A hard lesson to learn, but Xander had learned it well.

He could not help but admire Emily Marsden and her audacity—desperation?—for having succeeded where so many had failed these past twenty years.

Or wonder if it had indeed been desperation that had controlled her actions.

He inspected his visitor anew. Emily Marsden was very young, of course. Her clothes were well made, but the material was not of the finest quality, nor was she wearing a cloak, despite the fact the weather had turned from summer to autumn some weeks ago. Her black boots were slightly scuffed, and her lace gloves showed signs of having been darned, expertly so, but darned nonetheless. And not by a maid, because she did not have one, implying Emily had done the work herself.

All leading Xander to the conclusion that Edmund Marsden had not provided well for his young widow even after his death. That she was, in fact, in need of the fee Xander had intended paying her husband for his services. Services this young woman said she was capable of doing in her husband’s stead.

Except…

She
was
a woman, not a man. A young woman. A not unattractive young woman, and unaccompanied by a maid. She was also a widow.

Xander’s youthful experience had given him a cynicism in regard to matters of the heart; consequently, he had never married. At eight and thirty, he considered he still had plenty of time for marriage and the setting up of his nursery.

Nor did he have any female relatives living with him who might act as chaperone. Society had some damned funny rules, and the inadvisability of a woman—even a widow—moving into a bachelor’s household was certainly one of them.

Not that Xander
wished
to have some elderly female relative foisted upon him. Bad enough that his estranged father had allowed Whitney Park to fall into such disrepair in the fifteen years since Xander had last visited, without the added burden of being bequeathed the care of some twittering, elderly female relative.

None of which answered the question as to what he was going to do with Mrs. Emily Marsden.

The rational side of his brain said he should offer her refreshment and send her on her way back to Derbyshire. The more so because of the interest he already felt to know more about this woman.

His heart—which he did possess, despite the opinion of some of the more bitterly disappointed ladies of the
ton
—wondered exactly what he would be sending her back to. She had obviously been desperate enough, for some as yet unexplained reason, to travel to Whitney Park under false pretenses.

Perhaps she was fleeing a persistent lover?

Her husband’s debts?

Or the thought of a winter spent alone in Primrose Cottage?

For the moment, Xander would settle for offering her refreshment and so allow himself to delay making any decision either way until he was apprised of all the circumstances. All that this woman would share with him, at least, for as he had already suspected, he was now surer than ever that Emily Marsden kept many secrets hidden behind those challenging, long-lashed green eyes.

He rang for Clarke, knowing by the speed with which his father’s elderly butler answered the summons that the other man must have been standing outside the door of the study this whole time. Eavesdropping on the conversation? Almost certainly.

So far, Xander had not got round to dealing with the staff at Whitney Park, having been too occupied to date with trying to bring order to the estate and house. The opportunity to dispose of the elderly staff and bring in new had never seemed quite right. First there had been their grief at his father’s passing. Now the season was heading toward winter, and it seemed a harsh and inappropriate time to cast out the elderly and loyal members of his father’s household. Even if most of them made no effort to hide their disapproval of him. Including Clarke. Especially Clarke.

Having dealt with instructing the butler to bring the refreshments, Xander now turned his attention back to the young woman, who looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “You have traveled for some time to get here, Mrs. Marsden.” He quickly disabused her of any misconception she might have that offering her refreshment meant he was also offering her employment. “I would see that you are given a warming drink, at least, before you leave.”

It felt rather like kicking an injured puppy as he watched the hope fade from those deep-green eyes.

What on earth was he about today, allowing himself to become intrigued by a prim-looking widow and thinking of mice and puppies!

He had never been a particularly empathetic man. That early lesson of a woman’s capriciousness had taught him to be careful in regard to relinquishing his heart a second time. His complete estrangement from his father fifteen years ago following the death of his mother, meant Xander had struggled financially himself for some years, to the degree he had concentrated all his attention on making his own fortune. The fact he now possessed that fortune, completely independently of his family, was testament to how single-minded he had been in that endeavor.

Which was perhaps a good enough reason to now offer assistance to someone he believed was also struggling, for whatever reason, to survive in a world that could often be exceedingly cruel.

Xander’s emotions might recognize that, but the cool logic inside his head reminded him that minutes ago, he had actually viewed this mousy-looking woman with a lust that seemed to have affected a completely different part of his body.

He returned to his seat behind the desk as a way of hiding the evidence of the burgeoning cock inside his pantaloons. “I live alone here, Mrs. Marsden.”

“Yes…” She appeared puzzled by the statement.

Xander sighed his irritation. “You are also alone. Consequently, there is no female here to act as chaperone.”

Her brow cleared. “I am a widow, my lord.”

“A young and attractive one.”

A delicate blush colored her cheeks. “If you allowed me to stay, I would be no different from the housekeeper or maids, also in your employ, and therefore would have no need of a chaperone.”

Xander disagreed with that conclusion. But it was not his reputation to lose. It was one of the double standards of Society that it was the lady who risked losing her reputation if the gentleman who had compromised her then refused to marry her. “I doubt your family would feel the same way, Mrs. Marsden.”

Emily blinked. “My family…?”

“You are obviously well-spoken, and also educated, if you are capable of cataloguing a library. Which means your family must be also.”

“I do not have any family,” she stated flatly.

“Everyone has family, Mrs. Marsden.” The derisive tone of Xander’s voice made his opinion clear in regard to his own family.

“Mine are all dead.”

“But who were they? Come, Mrs. Marsden, it is a simple enough question to answer, surely?” he snapped as she remained stubbornly silent.

It was not a simple question to answer for Emily. If she gave Whitney the answer he wanted, then all would be over for her. For there could be none in Society who did not know the name of Stanwick and the notorious and bloody scandal attached to it…

Chapter 3

Clarke arrived with the tea tray immediately after Xander asked his probing question. 

“Thank you.” Xander accepted the cup of tea Emily Marsden had poured and now handed to him, no doubt as a way of continuing to delay answering his question. 

But Xander had seen her reaction: the paling of her cheeks, the shadows that appeared in her eyes, the slight trembling of her hand as she poured the tea into the two cups.

It led him to believe this woman’s family was another of the secrets hidden behind those cool green eyes.

Or perhaps the one that led to all the others?

Either way, Xander’s interest in her and the answer to these questions was growing stronger by the minute. Indeed, she was the first amusement he’d had these past four months.

In view of how it upset her, he decided to let the subject of her family be for the moment. If necessary, he could always instruct his lawyer to ascertain that information. Or one of his close male friends in London. He believed Lucien Brooke, Viscount Brooketon, enjoyed poking about in intrigues such as Mrs. Emily Anne Marsden.

If
Xander decided to employ her. “Do you now live completely alone in Ashingdon, Mrs. Marsden?”

She nodded. “Apart from a young girl from the village who comes in to do the heavier part of the cleaning twice a week.”

And so the mystery deepened. A well-educated young woman marries a man six and thirty years her senior, and is then widowed five years later. She is obviously short of funds. Refuses to talk about her family. Employs no maid or other household staff. Lives completely alone in her little cottage—the girl from the village coming in twice a week surely did not count.

And Emily Marsden could be a murderess for all Xander knew. Could have poisoned her husband or bludgeoned him to death in his sleep.