Her Mad Baron (13 page)

On the carriage ride home, Nathaniel had another spell, perhaps. God, he had no idea. One moment he sat on the seat, the next he lay supine on the floor of the closed carriage, looking up into his groom’s concerned face. He made the man swear not to say a word to anyone.

He felt even more ill when he discovered the note waiting for him, attached to a bill that made him swear and lurch towards the brandy. Better that than the vile green liquid concoction, he supposed—although soon enough he’d have to take another measure of that.

Apparently Florrie Cadero had plans to snare him in some way after all. Veiled hints made him feel sick. She employed Bessette’s tools. He sat down, scribbled a reply to Miss Cadero. He crumpled the sheet. No, he wouldn’t demand an explanation on paper. Instead he wrote a shorter note demanding she meet him as soon as possible.

* * * *

After work, Florrie was ushered into a library where the baron waited. He rose to his feet and walked around the desk. Dressed in eveningwear, he looked impossibly elegant in the black jacket with stiff snowy front and collar. Impossibly severe, as well.

She held back her greeting when she saw the way his arms were folded as he looked down at her. His mouth was tight, and the look in his eyes as harsh as anything his famous uncle could produce.

He simply watched her in silence, and she stared back until she couldn’t stand another second. “Lord Felston, obviously something is wrong. Your note was curt and now you’re glaring at me. Are you waiting for me to read your mind or are you going to tell me what you want?”

“I’d thought you a straightforward sort of woman,” he said. “But I suppose I was wrong.”

His voice was calm, sedate even, but something fierce blazed in his eyes, and she had to force herself not to flinch as he continued to stare at her. “I don’t know what you thought to accomplish. Were you insulted that I didn’t offer you more than a job?”

She started to answer, but he waved a hand and interrupted. “Never mind. I don’t need to know about your state of mind. Just tell me, what are your plans? What did you expect to get from me?”

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said. “But I suspect you think I’m guilty of some sort of plan pertaining to you. No. You’re entirely wrong, sir.” She stood, clutching her bag hard, trying not to show any emotion. Time to leave. “My plans are changed. I have no desire to have any dealings with cold, unpleasant men.”

His brow furrowed, and he pushed a palm over his forehead, a gesture she remembered from that day in the room as if he were trying to shove his thoughts into their proper places. “Take a seat. Perhaps we should talk.”

She hesitated then picked a large armchair far away from his desk. The frostiness of his expression melted slightly, and the way he looked at her was almost pleasant. “I think I understand. Yes. I suppose it would be too much to expect anyone to keep such a strange incident to himself. Herself, I mean. You’d have to tell your nearest and dearest.”

“Wait.” She pushed forward so she sat at the very edge of the huge armchair and wished she’d picked something less vast and slippery. “I did remain silent. I have told no one about meeting you in that room.”

He walked over to her, making her wish she’d left when she could. The man still held some sort of sensual power over her. Just a walk across the room...but now he reached into his waistcoat pocket, pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to her.

Even before she unfolded it, she knew. Duncan. It was a bill for the dagger, with a note scrawled along the bottom.
I should like to discuss your time in Derbyshire and your meeting with my sister there. She has requirements.

She crumpled the note and jammed it into her reticule. “I say, you can’t steal that,” he said, and for the first time sounded normal.

“My idiot brother. He knows nothing. He knew I was trapped in that house. And since I have refused to give any details of that time, he assumed the worst. At any rate, it’s pure speculation on his part that we met up and he is trying to figure out the rest.”

He stood too near her, and those eyes stared hard at her with an unreadable expression. She stood and walked behind the chair as if it could guard her from him. “He doesn’t know. I said nothing. Ha. It’s because you sought me out and he knows about your job offer. He put two and two together and added in an imaginary couple of numbers to make six.”

He looked away at last. “I do indeed owe you an apology then.”

She sighed. “You didn’t know me. You didn’t know I wasn’t going to talk to my brother. And you couldn’t guess the way Duncan thinks. But I must say,” she laughed nervously, “you were frightening as could be when I walked in here. I broke into a sweat. My brother used to talk about being hauled in front of the headmaster. That’s what you looked like.”

He gave her an odd, twisted smile.

She suddenly understood that expression. “Oh. That’s your uncle’s nickname, isn’t it? England’s stern headmaster. I’m sorry I said that then.”

The smile eased into something less mocking. “May I offer you refreshment? Shall we perhaps discuss your employment?”

She clasped her hands on the chair in front of her. “I haven’t given notice to Mr. Morris. And if you are having second thoughts about my suitability for the position, I’d rather not. I am not interested in being judged.”

He went to the bell rope. “No, Miss Cadero. I won’t turn into my uncle. I was wrong, and I hope you will sit down again and drink some tea.”

She sat in a chair in front of the desk. “No thank you for the tea. I’ve thought about your proposition and I don’t think I should take your job.”

He flinched as if she’d kicked him.

She wondered why he looked as if she’d knocked the wind out of him and decided it must be a matter of pride. “It’s not an insult to you.”

He walked back to his seat behind the desk. “I think it is indeed odd that you’d rather work in a shop than own one.”

“I like Mr. Morris’s establishment.”

He gave a small “huh” of disbelief. She again lost her temper and slid forward until she perched on the edge of the large chair, her hands resting on the desk.

“Why is this so unbelievable? Just because it isn’t precisely the life I might have chosen for myself doesn’t mean it has no consolations. I have made friends there. Good friends.”

“Are you happy?”

“I am content, and I do not wish for more than that.”

He held up a hand. “I have spent enough time with you to know that you crave something more than security. You long for the excitement of...” He paused, and she braced herself for the truth, that she longed for intimate embraces, but he finished with, “the excitement of climbing up walls and into other people’s windows.”

“I yearn for many things that are ultimately not in my best interest. Wouldn’t it be best if I learn to quell those cravings?”

Now his look was definitely wry. “You are speaking to a man who asks himself that very question every hour. The answer is yes, it would be best.” He sighed. “If only I could convince you that I have your best welfare in mind.”

“You were ready to bite my head off when I first got here.”

He nodded. “But I would have never hurt you.”

“If that is so, then don’t...don’t tempt me with the worst of myself.”

“The worst of you?” He looked startled. “Is that what you think?”

“I want nothing more than to be content,” she repeated, unable to explain that simply remaining in his presence created a dangerous hunger.

“Think it over tonight,” he said. “Come see me in the morning and we will talk again.”

“I have said no.”

“I understand.” He rose and walked around the desk. He picked up a pair of white gloves she hadn’t noticed. The interview was over. “I will leave the door open for your yes.”

“Why are you so determined to have me?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed for a moment. “Any number of reasons.”

“Go on. Tell me.” She tried not to shrink away as he stood near her.

“I have learned stubbornness from my uncle. I am in need of help that I think you are able to provide. I wish to help you. I...” He shrugged. “But I beg your pardon, I have prior engagements and must bid you goodnight. I’ll leave instructions for a carriage to be at your disposal.”

She gripped the arms of the chair to pull herself up. It practically swallowed a person. He’d dismissed her like a servant and that was reassuring even as it was galling. “Good night, my lord,” she said to his retreating back.

She allowed the footman to escort her to the waiting carriage. She considered asking him if he knew her friend’s wife’s cousin’s sister—or whatever the maid was to Mr. Wentworth.

*

Nathaniel left the library quickly because he’d come too close to grabbing her and kissing her. She’d asked him why he was determined to have her, and the image came to him as clear as any hallucination.

The idea of touching that soft skin, tasting her mouth again, aroused him to a distressing degree. She might not have noticed his difficulty, but he disliked slipping close to the edge of control. Too many times he’d left a room abruptly rather than indulge the strong emotion that poured through him, leaving him jangled and in need of the soothing green poison.

That tray, that glass was what he pictured as he spoke of his “prior engagement.”

It didn’t help knowing she wanted him. He saw her body freeze when he came near, her eager inspection of him when she didn’t think he watched her. Their attraction alone should have been enough to gently set her on her own path away from him. She was no Mrs. MacDonald, no matter how strong her appetite. Would she ever fit that demimonde’s life?

Never, because she cared too much for the world’s good opinion. He had to care, because his existence rested on convincing them all he was sane.

But maybe he wasn’t sane. He wouldn’t give up the ridiculous idea of pulling Miss Cadero into his life somehow, and that could be a symptom. He needed her nearby to keep him steady. That long night together when she’d provided the return to reality...

He felt tremors through his limbs and quickly reached for the glass that waited for him on the silver tray.

He downed it in one practiced swallow. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he walked to the desk and flipped through some correspondence without seeing any of it.

He sat, dipped a pen in ink and composed another letter to her. If she wouldn’t quit the shop, perhaps he could coax her into sparing some of her free time.

His hand trembled so much that the ink blotted. He leaned back in the chair waiting for the drug to take effect.

A few minutes passed, and he picked up the pen to try again.

He made the letter polite, not formal but not too intimate. Would she do him the honor of paying him another visit in the morning? He would be available at her convenience no matter how early she wished to call. He promised not to coerce or insult her.

* * * *

Florrie sent word by way of an eager street sweep that she would be late for work then set off for Lord Felston’s imposing grey mansion. She walked quickly, though she wanted to run off. Since her besetting sin was a peculiar penchant for danger, she ought to feel the tingle of anticipation. She did, but the risk posed by Baron Felston was new. He confused her, and worse, she confused herself when she went near him.

That strange mix of longing and intimidation made her feel naïve in his presence. Falling from a wall would produce obvious injuries. She had no idea what a man like him could do to her.

He greeted her again in the library with an apparent smile of welcome. She’d forgotten the way his smile transformed his features. “May I offer you some refreshment?” This time he didn’t wait for her answer but went to the bell pull. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Miss Cadero. I would call upon you myself, but don’t want to raise eyebrows as I suspect I did when I visited you in your place of employment.”

She smiled in return. “It did give them something to talk about, but never mind. I haven’t changed my mind, my lord.”

“I didn’t think you would. I have been trying to come up with a plan that would not disrupt your routine.”

She perched on the edge of the same chair she’d picked the night before. “The appearance of any man would disrupt a spinster’s life,” she said. “Baron, coal-merchant or coachman. I must expect keeping company with a male, no matter what his station, to give rise to talk.” She concentrated on picking a bit of lint from her sleeve rather than meet his gaze.

The footman entered, carrying a small silver calling card tray containing a single card. Felston picked it up, and his brows furrowed. “This is interesting. Your brother wishes to speak to me in person. Do you think he followed you?”

“Oh, no. He must have.” She rose to her feet started toward the door. “He’s scheming and—”

He gave her a quelling glance, and she realized she shouldn’t sound so alarmed in front of the servants. “Scheming and so forth,” she finished, with a dismissive wave of the hand as if it hardly mattered.

“Show him to the small sitting-room,” Felston told the footman. “Inform him I have only a minute to spare but will join him momentarily.”