Her Officer and Gentleman (17 page)

“I’ll tell you where he is,” Beatrice said, her jaw hard. “He is out somewhere seducing yet another woman. There aren’t enough women in the world for men like him.”

Beth’s hands curled into fists. But before she could answer, the door opened and the butler stepped in. “Sir. Madam. Miss.” He paused dramatically. “The Duke of Massingale and Viscount Westerville.”

Beth whirled to face the door. Beatrice clutched her hands to her heart, while Harry muttered an impatient oath and started forward.

A large, gold-knobbed cane in one hand, Grandfather hobbled painfully into the room. He did not spare Beth so much as a glance, though he had plenty of time to glare at Beatrice and Harry. Beth’s heart squeezed painfully, though she refused to let the tears rise.

Westerville followed Grandfather. Dressed in a riding habit of unrelenting black, his face tense, he looked as dark and dangerous as ever. He was dangerous, Beth thought miserably.

His gaze swept the room, finding Beth almost immediately. She tried to read his expression, but could not. Beth didn’t know what to think. Unlike the others, she knew Westerville had a special reason to wish to see Grandfather, and now, because of her foolishness, she’d given him the perfect excuse.

Her eyes narrowed, a horrid thought rising. Was this what he had planned all along? Perhaps Harry was right. Perhaps Westerville had purposefully seduced her to gain access to Grandfather. Her jaw tightened with each thought.

Grandfather walked straight to the large chair by the fire and sank into it, wincing as he did so. “Damned leg.” He flared a hot glance at Harry. “Well? Don’t just stand there. Get me some brandy.”

Harry started toward the small table in the corner of the room, then stopped. “Brandy?”

“Damn it, yes! And be quick about it.”

“But…it’s not even seven in the morning!”

Grandfather glared. “What? You don’t drink in this house until eight? Sissies, the lot of you!”

Harry sent a startled glance at Beatrice, who managed a weak shrug. “Very well, then,” Harry said, a note of uncertainty still in his voice. “I suppose a glass wouldn’t hurt.”

“Of course it wouldn’t hurt! Didn’t hurt me an hour ago when I had two glasses, did it? Won’t hurt me now.” He glared at Westerville. “Demmed if I didn’t need more, though, having to deal with such a frolic.”

Grandfather’s gimlet gaze now rested on Beth. Something passed over his face, a flicker of…was it uncertainty? Whatever it was, it was gone in a second and in its place was his usual, irascible expression. “There you are. Making a mess of things, are you?”

Beth took a steadying breath. “Grandfather, I was going to come and see you this morning—”

“Not before I was,” Harry said somewhat desperately. He handed the duke a glass of brandy. “My lord, something has occurred. Something dreadful. I feel—it is unacceptable what has happened, for I took your granddaughter under my roof and thought to protect her and—”

“Well, well. Can’t be everywhere at once, can you?” Grandfather said in an unexpectedly mild tone. “Demmed good brandy, Thistle-Bridgeton. Better than mine.”

A stunned silence met this. Harry looked at Beatrice, who shrugged helplessly. “My lord,” Harry tried again. “I was coming to see you after breakfast—”

“After breakfast, eh? Well, you’re a mite too late for that. You should have known Westerville here wouldn’t wait for you to come and sweep off his porch. He did it himself. Came to me last night, in fact, and told me the whole.”

Beth’s mouth dropped open. “
All
of it?”

Grandfather’s bright eyes pinned her for a moment. “Aye. How he set out to seduce you and almost did so. Won’t pretend I was happy with the whole thing, for I’m not. Westerville acted like a damned scoundrel.”

The viscount gave Grandfather a mocking smile, then bowed. “I have tendered my apology. My behavior was unacceptable.”

Grandfather snorted, sending Westerville a hard look from beneath his craggy brows. “That’s not the half of it. You’re lucky you’re young, wealthy, and titled. If you weren’t, I’d have shot you last night.”

Westerville’s mouth tightened slightly, but he merely bowed again, and said nothing more.

Beth’s cheeks heated. “Grandfather, did…did the viscount tell you
why
he did this?”

Westerville answered. “I set out to seduce you because I could not help myself.” His gaze flickered over her. “You are a beautiful woman, my dear, and I am, alas, but human.”

The fool. Beth glared at him.

Grandfather set his empty glass on the table. “Looks like her mother, she does.”

Westerville had not told Grandfather everything then. He was playing a deep game, there
was no doubt about it. One she wanted no part of. But what could she do? Announce that he had seduced her for no other reason than he was looking for evidence of a long-ago crime and needed access to Massingale House? That would solve nothing. If she knew anything about Westerville, it was that he was persistent to the point of death.

If she protested, he would simply overrule her, and now that he had Grandfather so firmly on his side…No, now was not the time. If she pressed this, there was a very real likelihood Grandfather might force her to marry the viscount. She would wait until she had him alone, and then she would make him see reason. For now, with so many people about, her hands were tied.

But if she seethed at the circumstances, it could honestly be said that Westerville smoldered. Every line of his body was tight with barely suppressed anger, and she knew it had gone sorely against his principles to confess to Grandfather what had occurred. Beth eyed him uneasily. He stood beside the door they’d come in, his arms crossed over his chest, rocked back on his heels. His black hair fell over his brow, his green eyes bright as if ready for a challenge.

He smiled at Harry, a cold, insulting smile. “I beat you to the punch, did I? You should have gone to see the duke last night, as I did.”

Harry started forward, hands fisted.

Grandfather held out his cane, hooking Harry’s leg.

“My lord! Unhand me!”

“No, damn you!” Grandfather snapped. “There’s to be no fisticuffs, not while I’m here!”

Harry controlled himself with an effort. “My lord, you don’t know the character of this man!”

“I know him well enough.” Grandfather looked at Westerville with a critical eye. “Won’t say as I like this upstart, for I don’t. But I will say this; he has more sand than most of the fluff heads who wear titles today. And more eloquence, too.”

“My lord!” Harry said, his face red. “There are rumors—I must tell you—you need to know it is said that this man was once a common highwayman!”

“That,”
Westerville said, “is a lie. While it is true I was once a highwayman, I have never been common.”

Grandfather barked a laugh. “There! See why he’s at least stomachable as a grandson-in-law? The man already told me that story last night. Told me about every despicable thing he ever did. Bored me to death, but I suppose it was for the best.”

Beatrice pressed a hand to her heart, her wide gaze on Westerville. “You mean…it’s true? You were—I cannot believe it!”

He bowed, a sardonic twist to his lips. “Gentleman James, my lady.”

Harry’s lips thinned. “Damned braggart.”

“Oh, he is a braggart, that I will give you,” Grandfather agreed. His gaze rested on Beth, and for the first time, she saw the determination
shining in his eyes. “He is also my granddaughter’s fiancé.”

Fiancé?
Beth blinked. Beatrice gave a faint scream. Harry stared. And through it all, Westerville just stood, smiling at the lot of them.

T
hree days later, Jameson motioned for the footman to lower the tea tray for inspection. The butler critically eyed the small silver pot filled with fragrant, steaming tea. A matching service of cream and sugar sat in the center, delineated by a single silver teaspoon engraved with twining roses.

A delicate china cup, painted with blue and yellow flowers, had been placed beguilingly empty to one side, while on the other sat a small china plate covered with a tempting array of tea biscuits.

The butler looked at the tray a long moment,
then added a napkin of the whitest linen and one, single rose. Satisfied all was as it should be, he nodded. “Follow me.”

He led the way to the garden. The sun peeked merrily through the trees. The wind stirred the tiniest bit, cooling the air to a perfect temperature.

He went down the main path, then through a small gate to one side, and passed under an arbor. There, at the end of the path, on a low marble bench, sat Lady Elizabeth.

Jameson paused when he saw her, for she looked like a picture—sitting in her white gown, the skirts ruffling in the wind, her blond hair framed by the dark green hedgerow behind her. There was no mistaking the downturn of her mouth, an unusual sight that sent his old heart plummeting.

For the last three days, the entire household had been under a cloud. Just this morning, the upper maid had burst into tears for no reason and one of the grooms—a stout fellow who had been in the master’s employment for years and years and never caused a single flicker of harm—had forced a fight on one of the stable hands and ended up with a broken nose.

“The mistress is a lovely woman,” the footman said softly. “Pity about—”

Jameson sent him a searing glare.

The man fell silent and red-faced.

“This way, Master Charles.
If,
of course, you are through gossiping.”

Chastised, the footman nodded miserably. Jameson turned and led the way to the end of the path. “My lady?”

Beth looked up, raising her brows at the sight of the tea tray. “Oh! Why, thank you, but…I did not request tea.”

“No, my lady. I took it upon myself to bring it. I thought perhaps you would enjoy the sunshine a bit longer.”

Her face softened. “You are too kind.”

“My lady, we are just glad to have you home.” Jameson ordered the footman to place the tea on a nearby bench and then shooed the man away. The butler made a few minute adjustments to the tray. “The tea is quite hot, my lady.”

She smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. “Unlike Grandfather, I will not hold you responsible if it’s either too hot or too cold.”

“Thank you, my lady. That is a great relief.”

Usually this dry sort of sally would have brought a smile. Today, she barely dredged up an acknowledging nod before sinking back into silence.

Jameson had to swallow a sigh. Lady Elizabeth had not been herself since she’d returned from London, engaged and disgraced. It was horrifying to think that being in town might have such an effect on such a level-headed young lady. It had been suggested that Her Ladyship had been importuned by a rakehell. Indeed, Jameson himself had witnessed the young man’s arrival late at night, and heard the subsequent verbal thrashing the duke had delivered.

Jameson shuddered thinking about it, though the young man had fared fairly well, emerging
from the library pale, his eyes flashing with suppressed fury, but his pride unbowed.

It was a pity things had come to such a pass; everyone had hoped Lady Elizabeth might meet a nice, quiet gentleman and fall in love. Jameson was beginning to wonder, judging from Her Ladyship’s face, if perhaps stronger feelings were indeed involved.

Of course, it was not his place to suggest such things. So instead, he confined himself to pouring Her Ladyship a cup of tea and fixing it just as she loved it—with cream and a liberal dosing of sugar.

Though Jameson would not admit as much, he was worried. Things at Massingale House were not as they should be. His Lordship had been unusually quiet and spent a considerable amount of time sitting at the window of his library, staring out at the garden. Lady Charlotte was staying in her room even more than usual, seeming more restless and distracted than before. But the worst was Lady Elizabeth; she had lost her smile, which was something Jameson had never thought to see.

The butler waited a moment more, busying himself by dusting the surrounding stone benches with his handkerchief. He wished he could find the words to let Lady Elizabeth know that he and the rest of the servants were with her in spirit. But no spate of brilliance descended upon him and so, with nothing more than a kind smile and a heavy heart, he left, hoping the tea might revive her a little.

Beth didn’t hear him go. She was too lost in thought, struggling with the outcome of what she’d come to think of as her Greatest Folly.

Upon making his announcement that Beth was now engaged to be wed, Grandfather had decided it was time she came home—home to Massingale House. Beth was relieved to return, though it irked when Westerville made no objection to this decision. He merely bowed over her hand and said he would see her soon.

“Soon” was now three days hence, and she hadn’t received so much as a single note from the scoundrel. Blast him, this was the invitation he’d been waiting for, to visit Massingale House. To be honest, Beth had expected Westerville on her doorstep the very next morning.

But the day passed without notice. Then another. And another. She was beginning to wonder if something was amiss.

She lifted her hand to a rose that waved in the breeze by the bench. The velvet petal warmed her fingers. The heavy rose scent lifted on the breeze, and she leaned back against the bench and tried to calm her agitated thoughts. It had all happened so fast. Even now she could not quite accept things. If Grandfather had his way, she would already be married. Just this morning, over breakfast, Grandfather had astounded her and Charlotte with the announcement that a modiste would be arriving soon to begin work on Beth’s wedding gown.

Beth had protested, of course. She felt as if she were a ball rolling downhill, out of control of either her direction or her fate.

She sighed, leaning back. Whatever Westerville had said to Grandfather, it had left the older man with a tinge of respect. Not much, of course; no nonfamily member ever merited more than that, as was evidenced by Charlotte. But still…all things considered, even that little bit of grudging admiration was astonishing.

A rustle sounded over Beth’s shoulder. She turned to find Lord Bennington standing awkwardly just inside the arbor. Beth had to force herself to smile.

He bowed and gave her a ponderous smile. “Lady Elizabeth. I am sorry to intrude. I thought Lady Charlotte might be here.”

“No. I don’t think she’s risen yet.”

Bennington looked at his watch, a displeased frown marring his expression. “It’s well after one. Wasn’t she to see the doctor this morning?”

“Yes, but she sent word last night that she hadn’t been sleeping well and that she would see him next week, instead.”

Bennington’s displeasure was an almost palpable thing. Beth wondered once again at the man’s depth of feeling for her stepmama.

“Charlotte should see the doctor when he comes.” He fell silent once again, fidgeting with the gloves he held in his hands. Suddenly, he burst out, “Lady Charlotte seems well, doesn’t she?”

Beth hid a smile. What Bennington lacked in eloquence, he made up for in ill-at-ease speech. “Yes, indeed. She has been much better since you began escorting her about.”

To her surprise, he flushed a deep red. “I think so, too. In fact, I asked your grandfather if—” Bennington glanced at Beth from under his brows, then clamped his mouth closed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t burden you with my thoughts.”

“It’s quite all right. We are almost family as it is.”

He stepped forward eagerly. “Yes! I feel the same way! In fact, I would be remiss if I did not tell you—I mean, offer you—Lady Elizabeth, I heard from Charlotte about what happened in London.”

Beth’s cheeks heated. “How kind of her to inform you.”

Bennington shook his head. “She did not mean it unkindly. She was distressed for your sake. She thinks very highly of you, you know, and she has no love for the viscount. In fact, she’s always—” Bennington stopped. “What I mean to say is that she cares for you.”

“I know. I am sorry; I did not mean to overreact.”

“It is quite understandable. I know your grandfather arranged this marriage for you. I do not pretend to know the viscount, but if for some reason you ever need a sanctuary, I hope you will let me know. I have a maiden aunt who lives in Brighton. Your grandfather would never know you were there, yet you’d be safe and well taken care of.”

Beth’s heart swelled. “I don’t know what to say. I…Thank you, Lord Bennington. That is most kind. I will keep your offer in mind if things become untenable.”

A slow, almost pleased smile touched Bennington’s face. “I hope you will, Lady Elizabeth. Your
father was quite special to me, and so, too, is your stepmother. Charlotte has always been—” He caught Beth’s gaze and winced, his former stiffness returning. “I am sorry. I should go inside and see if Charlotte is up yet. She is expecting me.”

“Of course.” Beth tilted her head to one side. Was that a carriage rounding the back of the house? How odd. No one used the back drive, unless…She straightened a bit.

Lord Bennington bowed. “I shall have Jameson find her for me. Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I will leave you to your tea.”

A low whicker of a horse, followed by the jangle of a harness, made Beth start. It
was
a carriage! It took all her composure to bow calmly to Bennington. “Thank you, my lord. Perhaps you should take Charlotte for a ride today? The fresh air might revive her.”

He brightened. “That is an excellent idea! Thank you, Lady Elizabeth. I hope you have a pleasant afternoon.” He bowed with a touch less of his usual formality, turned, and made his way back to the house.

Beth watched him go, though her mind was still focused on the sounds of the carriage.

“Did you miss me?” came a low, deep voice directly behind her.

Beth jumped. Hand over her thudding heart, she whirled around to find Christian standing in the garden, his lips curved into a sardonic smile.

“Goodness, Westerville!
Must
you do that?”

“Didn’t you hear the carriage?”

“Yes, but only a second ago. You could not have made it from there to this bench in such a short time.”

“I didn’t. I had the coachman put me down by the side gate.”

“Ah.” She clasped her hands nervously in front of her. It was at that moment that she realized how much she’d wanted to see him. “I was beginning to wonder if I was to be abandoned before I even reached the altar.”

Christian’s gaze narrowed, something warm flashing in his eyes. “I am many things, but a promise breaker is not one of them.”

For some reason, Beth suddenly felt as if she had too many hands. Her gaze fell on the tea tray still sitting on the bench and she made her way to it. “Would you like some tea? I can call for another cup.”

“No, thank you. I can’t abide the stuff.”

“Then I shall have some.” She refilled her cup, looking over her shoulder at the viscount as she stirred the sugar and cream. “We are in a fine fix.”

He smiled, his teeth flashing whitely. “So we are.”

“I must ask if this was part of your plan? To trick me into an engagement so I could not keep you from Massingale House?”

She hadn’t meant to ask the question so baldly, but it was out before she knew it.

His smile disappeared. “I had no intentions of compromising you. It just happened. Besides, you had already agreed to help me.” He shrugged. “Why would I need anything more than that?”

Beth paused with the teacup almost to her lips. He was right; she
had
already agreed to help him. Relief flooded through her and she found herself smiling for the first time in days.

He grinned back. “You hadn’t thought of that.”

“No. Somehow I kept thinking you
meant
to seduce me.”

“I did. But not for that reason. Beth, you are a damnably attractive woman. I shouldn’t have done what I did, but no man on earth could blame me.”

Beth didn’t know what to say. She forced herself to take a sip of tea before answering him. “Yes, well, we are still in this horrid predicament. Grandfather is determined we should marry.”

“As he should.” Westerville said, leaning against a tree, arms crossed over his chest. “You are ruined.”

She shrugged and took another sip of tea. The warmth of the drink calmed her nerves somewhat. “I don’t feel ruined.”

His expression darkened. “You have no idea what being an outcast can do to you. To your soul.”

She shrugged. “It means people will talk.”

“They will not only talk, they will laugh. They will forget to invite you to various places. And then they will forget you altogether.”

She paused and then replaced the cup in the saucer with a gentle click. “Like your mother.”

“Yes.”

Beth nodded, her expression thoughtful. After a moment, she lifted the cup. The sight of her lips
brushing the edge of the delicate china hit Christian like a brick. Every time he was in her vicinity, he lost sight of everything else. Which was why he’d taken three days to visit. He’d thought the time would have cooled the ardor she stirred in his blood, but he’d been wrong. Dead wrong.

She lowered her cup and glanced up at him. She was sitting on a wide pale gray marble bench, a billow of silk skirts, gold hair, and lovely brown eyes. Christian sensed that beneath her calm air was a lingering shock over what had occurred and it pained him.

Christian raked a hand through his hair and leaned back against the tree. By Zeus, how had he let things get to this pass? It was untenable. He’d just meant to rattle her into assisting him. He’d never meant to compromise her.

He suddenly realized that somewhere along the way, his goals had changed. At the beginning of this venture, he’d been more than willing to use her to get to her grandfather. Now…now, he would take only what he had to take. He had no desire to hurt Elizabeth. In fact, what he really wanted was—