The Truth About Lord Stoneville (6 page)

“Fine.” He turned his back to her, and Freddy followed suit. “But be quick about it. I’d like to reach Halstead Hall in time for dinner.”

“Do as he says, will you?” Freddy put in. “I’m about to faint from hunger.”

“For once, Freddy,” she grumbled, “would you stop thinking with your stomach?”

The stockings seemed to fit, and she managed to undo her own gown so she could slip the other one on. But she could never button it herself, especially since it was small in the waist. And the bust. Mercy, she would need help.

“Freddy, come fasten me up, will you?”

Her cousin’s back stiffened. “I can’t do that!”

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Lord Stoneville strode over. “I knew you Americans were prudish, but this is absurd.”

Before she could even protest, he began fastening her gown. To her horror, the faint scent of his spicy cologne and his fingers working efficiently over the buttons made an odd sort of heat rise up from her belly. That couldn’t be good.

“You seem to know how to do up a woman’s gown very well.” She struggled to sound nonchalant. “I take it you’ve had plenty of practice.”

“You know us debauchers,” he said dryly. “Practice, practice, practice.”

That set her to wondering how many soiled doves he’d taken to his bed. Did he touch them everywhere, as her aunt said men did? When images filled her mind, she swallowed. It was hard not to imagine such things when his fingers brushed her back with every motion. Nor did it help that the process had slowed to a crawl as he struggled to fasten the lower part.

“The gown is too tight for me,” she said, embarrassed.

“It’s just these blasted small buttons.” His breath wafted over her cheek, making a shiver sweep her skin. “They’re too dainty for a man’s fingers.”

Skeptical, she sucked in a breath, which must have helped because he finally got the back done up. But now that he’d finished, she realized just how scandalous the gown was. It exposed a shameful amount of her chest. That became only more obvious when he circled around in front of her to rake her with a heated glance.

“That’ll do nicely.”

His husky words quickened her pulse, despite everything. And when his gaze lingered on her partially exposed bosom with particular interest, one of Aunt Rose’s practical warnings about suitors sprang instantly to her mind:
Men will try to touch your breasts. Don’t let them.

A nervous giggle escaped her, and he arched one eyebrow. “Not the kind of gown you’re accustomed to wearing, I suppose.”

“Hardly. Most of my gowns fit. You won’t be able to feed me, you know. One morsel of food, and I shall burst right through the cheap fabric of this bodice.”

Turning around, Freddy snorted. “Wouldn’t hurt you to take off a few pounds, Mopsy.”

When she scowled at him, Lord Stoneville surprised her by saying, “Your cousin is perfect just as she is.” His gaze raked her appreciatively. “Utterly perfect.”

Her cheeks heated. She wasn’t used to men giving her extravagant compliments. Papa was too practical for it, and Nathan too absorbed in his work at the company. It made it hard for her to trust Lord Stoneville’s flatteries. “You mean I’m perfect for your purpose.”

His mouth crooked up in what appeared to be a genuine smile. “That, too.” He watched as she bundled up her gown and other things. Then he helped her into her redingote and offered her his arm in an oddly courtly gesture. “Shall we?”

For a second, she could only stare at it. Had she lost her mind, putting their lives in his hands? The man could do anything with them, carry them off anywhere, and they could do nothing to stop him.

But at least they wouldn’t end up in the gaol.

When she took his arm, his dark eyes gleamed at her in triumph. “A wise decision, Miss Butterfield,” he said as he led her to the door. “You won’t regret it.”

Unfortunately, she doubted that very much.

A
S THE COACH
set off, Oliver took out his watch and held it up to the window to catch the light of the gas lamps. A little after six p.m. Excellent—they should arrive in time for dinner. Gran never missed dinner.

He surveyed the pretty woman seated across from him. A pity that she wore her redingote, since the gown beneath it showed her figure off to greater effect. An even greater pity that he wasn’t allowed to remove either one.

He’d had a devil of a time resisting the urge to run his lips down the sinuous curves of her neck while helping her dress. Odd sensation, that, being close enough to a female to touch her, yet not allowed to caress her body. He was used to taking what he wanted from women, something they generally encouraged.

Miss Butterfield’s neck would make a delicious first course in a feast of delicacies. Her lips alone would keep a man happy for some time, not to mention her lovely plump breasts. For half a second, he indulged the fantasy of getting her alone in a corner, kissing her senseless, then slipping his hand inside the oh-so-accessible bodice of that gown to . . .

He stifled a curse as his cock stirred inside his trousers. There was to be no seduction of Miss Butterfield. Aside from the obvious problem of her virginity, her fiancé could show up at any moment to complicate matters.

And even if the chit was amenable—a very large “if”—she would regret it later. He couldn’t afford to offend her “moral principles” and send her fleeing from Halstead Hall in a panic.

While her cousin gazed out the window in wide-eyed curiosity, she sat bristling with righteous indignation. Her soft bow of a mouth lacked any hint of a smile, and her shoulders were set for battle. She’d decided he was a wicked seducer, and even his rescuing her cousin from the hangman hadn’t changed her opinion.

It rather intrigued him.

Women rarely voiced their true opinions about his character. The virginal ones were too terrified to do so, warned by their mamas about his being dangerous. The married ones were too eager to share his bed to chide him for his perfidy. Except when they talked about him behind his back, recounting with relish the particularly nasty rumors concerning his parents’ deaths. A scowl knit his brow.

Please forgive me. It’s awful to lose your parents. I know that better than anyone.

The sudden tightness in his chest made him stiffen. Why should he care if she were sorry? Or that her soft sympathy had slipped under his guard to warm a tiny corner of the dark place inside him?

Her sympathy meant nothing. She didn’t know the gossip. Once she heard it, she would recoil from him in horror. She wasn’t the sort of woman to find the rumors of his dangerous character intoxicating; she was too “moral” for that.

He shook off the depressing thought. He had only an hour to prepare her. “I should mention a few things before we reach my estate.” When she turned a wary gaze on him, he told himself it was better if she despised him. It would make it easier to keep the pretty filly at arm’s length. “Our agreement that I help you look for your fiancé must, for obvious reasons, remain between the three of us.”

“I won’t say a word,” Freddy vowed from his seat next to Oliver.

“Nor will I, of course,” she said.

“And you must appear willing to marry me,” Oliver said.

“I understand.”

“Do you? It means you’ll have to act as if you enjoy my company.”

To his surprise, a small smile curved her lips. “I believe I can manage that.” Then, as if realizing she was softening, she wiped the smile from her face. “But you must behave responsibly, too.”

“By not trying to seduce you, you mean.”

She started. “No! I mean, yes . . . I mean, you already said you have more urgent concerns.” Alarm rose in her cheeks. “Oh dear, I forgot that you also said you have no honor or morals.”

He’d made similar assertions half his life, yet tonight he regretted making them. Shocking young ladies seemed to have lost some of its appeal.

“All the same, Miss Butterfield, I promise that your virtue is safe from me.” When she looked skeptical, he added, “You’re not the sort of woman I prefer.” A respectable woman came with strings attached.

“Of course I’m not,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Anyone can see that.”

That took him aback.

She went on. “A man with no morals isn’t going to want a woman who
has
them. She’d never let him do anything wicked.”

Freddy coughed, as if choking on something. Oliver understood why. Miss Butterfield had an unnerving way of cutting everything down to its essence.

“Yes,” he said, for lack of a better response. “Quite.” Then he narrowed his gaze on her. “So what did you mean when you said I had to ‘behave responsibly’?”

“You promised to find my fiancé, and I expect you to hold to your word.”

“Ah, right. Your fiancé.” He kept forgetting about that. It was hard to imagine any woman sailing off across the ocean to hunt down her fiancé. No female would ever do such a thing for
him.

Not that he’d want her to. That would mean someone cared for him more than was wise, given his character.

“Tell me about this Nathan,” he remarked, an edge in his voice. “Why was it so deuced important to come yourself instead of sending someone from your father’s company?”

“I told you—Papa’s money is tied up in the estate. My trustees refused to do anything about Nathan, saying he was probably just busy negotiating the deal. And I couldn’t afford to send anyone else.”

“They could have sailed on the same company ship that you did. It wouldn’t have cost any more.”

“Yes, but once they were here, they would need money to live on while looking for him. Freddy and I are . . . more used to living on little.”

“You can say that again,” Freddy mumbled.

She glared at him.

“Well, it’s true,” the chap said stoutly. “When we were young, my uncle had a hard time feeding us all. At least until Nathan came along and joined up with Uncle Adam. Then things got better.”

“Though he’s only thirty, Nathan is brilliant with money,” Maria said with pride. “Papa had the practical knowledge of shipbuilding, but Nathan knew how to make it work.”

Oliver began to understand. “So your father offered his only daughter to Hyatt as a wife.”

“It’s not like that,” she protested. “Nathan and I were already friends when Papa talked of us marrying. Since Papa had no son to pass his half on to, he said that once we married, he would leave his half to Nathan. Papa didn’t force him to agree to me as a wife. He merely—”

“Sweetened the pot,” Oliver said tersely.

A troubled frown touched her lovely brow. “It’s not that cold-blooded.”

“Isn’t it? Hyatt gains the rest of the company, and you gain a husband. It’s a common practice here, as well.” And one that sickened him.

“It isn’t . . . Papa didn’t . . . Oh, how I can explain it to you? You see everything so cynically.”

“Or perhaps,” he said softly, “you don’t see it cynically enough. Tell me, my dear, if Hyatt is so eager to marry, why hasn’t he done so before now?”

She colored. “Because Papa insisted that he spend some years learning how to run the company before the wedding took place.”

“And he didn’t squawk at that?”

“He wanted to gain Papa’s blessing, that’s all.”

The more he heard about this “betrothal,” the more it angered him. “If I were in love with a woman, I’d waste no time in securing her, father or no father.”

“Yes, but you don’t live by the rules, do you?” she snapped.

She had him there. “What happens if Hyatt doesn’t marry you?”

“Then he can buy my half from me. If he chooses not to, Papa’s trustees will find a buyer to sell to. Either way, I will receive the proceeds.”

“So it’s very much to his advantage to marry you, isn’t it?” For some reason, it infuriated him to think of her being bartered off. That never turned out well.

A shadow passed over her face. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

“I find it interesting that you and I share similar situations. Your father tried to force his will on you from beyond the grave, while my grandmother is trying to do it on this side of the grave. And neither wants to give us any choice.”

She swallowed. “You don’t understand, that’s all.”

“I understand better than you think.”

“Your situation is different.” Her eyes narrowed. “Though I’m not sure I entirely grasp it.”

“Then perhaps I should explain it to you.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want to blunder as your pretend fiancée.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. If this doesn’t have my grandmother changing her demands overnight, nothing will. It’s guaranteed to succeed.”

Chapter Five

After hearing Lord Stoneville explain how his grandmother had dictated that her grandchildren marry within the year, Maria wasn’t sure she agreed with his assessment of the matter. The woman sounded pretty formidable.

“Why are you all so reluctant to accommodate her, anyway?” she asked. “It’s not as if your grandmother is trying to force you to marry any particular person you don’t fancy. And everyone marries eventually.”

“Not everyone.” His voice softened. “Besides, it’s not right that my siblings be forced into anything prematurely. What if they can’t find someone who suits them in a year? Someone for whom they feel genuine affection? Marrying without that is more of a hell than never marrying at all.” He gazed out the window, his eyes suddenly somber.

Had he been married before? Or was he speaking hypothetically? Maria wanted to know more, but she suspected he wouldn’t tell her. Besides, it wasn’t her concern. If he was bent on getting himself and his siblings out of marrying, so be it. As long as he held up his end of their bargain, she didn’t care.

But it did annoy her that he’d been so cynical about her own prospects. Did he think no one would marry her unless Papa “sweetened the pot”?

All right, so sometimes she did wonder about Nathan’s motives, but he’d always insisted that he would have married her without Papa’s offer. He never spoke of love, but she’d never seen him flirt with other women, so he must have genuine feelings for her even if they weren’t the passionate kind she read about in books.

She frowned. The trouble with Lord Stoneville was that he saw the whole world through a heavy black veil. He had no morals, so he assumed everyone else lacked them, too. No wonder his grandmother despaired of him.

“By Jiminy, will you look at that!” Freddy exclaimed.

Maria followed his gaze out the window to a well-lit group of buildings far back from the road. “What’s the name of that village?” she asked Lord Stoneville.

“It’s not a village,” he bit out as the horse turned onto a long drive leading toward the lights. “That’s Halstead Hall. My estate. ”

Her breath died in her throat. “But how . . . there are so many roofs—”

“Yes.” For a moment, she thought he would say nothing more. Then he went on in an oddly detached voice. “It was built at a time when sprawling houses were common for the wealthy. Henry VIII gave it to the first Marquess of Stoneville in thanks for some service he rendered. It’s been in the family ever since.”

He didn’t seem happy about it, which made no sense. How amazing to own such a spectacular house. And for his family to have inherited it from a king, too!

“If you don’t mind my asking,” she ventured, “how many rooms are there?”

“A few hundred or so.”

“Or so?” she squeaked.

“No one’s ever counted beyond three hundred. We take it on faith. By the fifth courtyard and the tenth building, you get a little muddled. It’s fairly large.”

Fairly large?
It was a palace! She’d never imagined that anyone other than royalty lived in something so magnificent.

“Must cost you a fortune to keep it up,” Freddy said.

“You have no idea,” Lord Stoneville ground out. “This is the first time since my parents’ death that I’ve seen it so well lit. The candles alone . . .” He frowned. “Now that Gran is visiting, someone is clearly doing it up brown for her, blast it.”

Why on earth would that make him angry? This conversation grew more and more curious. “There’s the answer to your financial woes,” Maria said. “You just sell
that
, and your family will have enough to live on for another three centuries.”

“I only wish that were an option,” he said bitterly. “In England we have something called entailment. It means the property can’t be sold by any of its heirs, including me. Even the contents are entailed.”

“You could rent it out to a king or something,” Freddy said.

“Only a king could afford it, I’m afraid. No one leases a pile like that unless they’ve got a serious fortune. And it’s not the current fashion for the newly rich—it’s too old, and the furnishings are ancient. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

The way he spoke, as if his estate were nothing but a burden, surprised her. “I’m sure it’s very difficult for you,” she said dryly, “owning a palace and all.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, Miss Butterfield? If you can be believed, you’re not exactly destitute. Your father owned a ship company, yet here you are without funds.”

“True, but we never lived in a palace.”

“Neither do I, most of the time.” He gazed pensively out the window. “I rarely come here. It’s been closed up until recently.”

“Why?”

Silence followed, and she wasn’t sure he’d heard her, until he said, “Some places are better left to rot.”

The words shocked her. “What do you mean, my lord?”

He stiffened. “Nothing. And don’t call me ‘my lord.’ That’s what servants do. You’re my fiancée, remember?” He sounded irritated. “I’ll call you Maria, and you should probably call me by my Christian name—Oliver.”

An unusual name for an English lord. “Were you named after the playwright, Oliver Goldsmith?”

“Alas, no. I was named after the Puritan, Oliver Cromwell.”

“You’re joking.”

“Afraid not. My father thought it amusing, considering his own . . . er . . . tendency toward debauchery.”

Lord help her, the man’s very name was a jab at respectability. Meanwhile, his estate could probably hold the entire town of Dartmouth!

A sudden panic seized her. How could she pretend to be the fiancée of a man who owned a house like
that
?

“
I
was named after King Frederick,” Freddy put in.

“Which one?” asked Lord Stoneville. Oliver.

“There’s more than one?” Freddy asked.

“There’s at least ten,” the marquess said dryly.

Freddy knit his brow. “I’m not sure which one.”

When humor glinted in Oliver’s eyes, Maria said, “I think Aunt Rose was aiming for a generally royal-sounding name.”

“That’s it,” Freddy put in. “Just a King Frederick in general.”

“I see,” Oliver said solemnly, though his lips had a decided twitch. His gaze flicked to her. “What about you? Which Maria are you named after?”

“The Virgin Mary, of course,” Freddy said.

“Of course,” Oliver said, eyes gleaming. “I should have known.”

“We’re Catholic,” Freddy added.

“My mother was Catholic,” Maria corrected him. “Papa wasn’t, but since Freddy’s mother is, too, we were both raised Catholic.” Not that she’d ever taken any of it very seriously. Papa had always railed against the foolishness of religion.

A devious smile broke over Oliver’s face. “A Catholic, too? Oh, this just gets better and better. Gran will have an apoplectic fit when she meets you.”

Tired of his insulting comments about her background, she said, “Really, sir—”

“We’re here,” he announced as the coach pulled to a halt.

Maria glanced out, her stomach clenching. Halstead Hall seemed to go on forever on either side, glistening like a multifaceted jewel in the wintry moonlight. The front might be considered plain—no grand steps, no towering columns—if not for the crenellated stone façade and battlements at the corners. Not to mention the massive oak door, now opening for their arrival. It was as if she’d stumbled into King Arthur’s court.

But the footmen and grooms in elaborate livery who came running were decidedly from
this
century.

Oliver tensed. “Apparently Gran brought her own servants, as well.” A footman put down the step and Oliver climbed out, then helped her out, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm.

“Has my grandmother sat down to dinner yet?” he asked the footman in the same imperious tones he’d used at the brothel.

“No, milord.”

“Good. Go tell Cook there will be three more for dinner.”

Maria clung to Oliver’s arm, feeling all at sea. It wasn’t as if she’d never had servants. After Papa began doing well, he’d hired a few, but he hadn’t dressed them in matching livery. These servants fluttered about them, taking her redingote and the men’s coats and hats as if it were an honor to serve “his lordship.” It unnerved her. Especially with Oliver glowering at them.

The archway she and Oliver walked through led them into a stone courtyard surrounded on four sides by walls punctuated with other doors. He took them across the cobblestones to yet another heavy oak door, which opened ahead of them. It made her feel like royalty being escorted through a palace.

Then they passed into a large room of such stunning aspect that she caught her breath. “This is the great hall,” Oliver explained. “It’s rather frighteningly medieval looking.”

“I think it’s beautiful.”

“Gran loves it. It’s her favorite room in the place.”

Maria could well understand why. Two scarred marble fireplaces broke up the vast expanse of one oak-paneled wall, and well-worn benches ran along the other. But it was the Jacobean oak screen spanning the end of the room—twenty feet high and wide enough to accommodate two doors—that captured her attention. It was carved with fantastical creatures and coats of arms. At the top, near the plasterwork ceiling with its own intricate designs, was a breathtaking latticework.

She was so captivated by the screen that she didn’t notice what lay at the other end of the room until a voice called out from behind them, “I see you managed to arrive in time for dinner, Oliver.”

As she and Oliver turned toward the voice, she spotted the elaborately carved, painted, and gilded staircase that rose above the ancient entrance hall. With its paint rubbed off in places, it looked older than America itself, yet sturdy enough to easily hold the five people descending it.

At the head of them, clinging to the arm of a lovely young woman, was a gray-haired lady whose eyes surveyed Maria with sharp interest. Behind them descended two young men and another young lady, all of whom looked uneasy.

“Good evening, everyone,” Oliver said, his voice cool. “May I introduce my fiancée? This is Miss Maria Butterfield and her cousin, Mr. Frederick . . .”

Maria realized he didn’t know Freddy’s surname. “Dunse,” she murmured.

His startled gaze flew to her. “Seriously?”

She nodded.

“Mr. Frederick Dunse,” he announced.

Behind them, she heard Freddy mutter a curse. She didn’t have to look at him to know he was glaring at one and all as if daring them to laugh or make some joke.

“Maria,” Oliver said, “these are my brothers, Lord Jarret and Lord Gabriel. My sisters, Lady Minerva and Lady Celia. And my grandmother, Mrs. Hester Plumtree.”

His siblings murmured greetings. The older woman cast Maria a nod, though her eyes fixed on Maria’s shamelessly cheap and low-cut gown. “How interesting to make your acquaintance, Miss Butterfield.”

That was the understatement of all time. “I’m honored to meet you, madam.” Maria hoped that was right. And why was his grandmother called “Mrs.” when the rest were called “lord” and “lady”?

“Maria and her cousin are American,” Oliver went on smoothly. “We only met recently—it’s been something of a whirlwind courtship.” He squeezed her hand. “Hasn’t it, my dear?”

“Very whirlwind,” she replied, not sure what he wanted her to say.

“Since her lodgings are less than adequate, I invited her and her cousin to stay here.” He offered the words like a challenge. “She’ll be living here after the wedding anyway, and we do have plenty of room.”

Maria nearly choked on
that,
and it roused a chuckle from one of the other men that was swiftly quelled by a glance from Mrs. Plumtree.

When his grandmother returned her gaze to Maria, a strange light gleamed in her eyes, and Maria prepared herself for anything. This battle was being waged with weapons beyond her ken.

So she was surprised when the woman advanced down a few more steps and said, “I’ll have the Royal Suite prepared for our guests, if that’s acceptable.”

“I don’t know why you bother to ask my opinion,” Oliver said, his voice steely. “You’ve clearly moved your entire household in here without my knowledge or approval.”

“If you’re all to marry in the next year, you can’t look like paupers.”

“And appearances are everything, aren’t they?” he shot back.

She ignored his sarcastic tone. “Speaking of that, we’ll need to send a notice to the papers about your wedding. Not to mention that the Foxmoor ball is next week. You’ll want to announce your engagement there, as well. Or do you mean to have the marriage done before then?”

Oliver’s fingers tensed on Maria’s. “It depends. We may have trouble gaining a special license, since Maria is Catholic.”

Had Mrs. Plumtree actually stumbled on the step?

If so, she recovered quickly, for her blue eyes sparked fire. “Yes, that might present a difficulty. But it can be surmounted.”