To Love a Wicked Lord (19 page)

After a moment's hesitation, she moved and positioned herself so that she sat back against his long lean back, and waited.

“My father,” he said into the air, “has his faults, to be sure, but, in all, is a good man, but unfortunately not lucky with women. My mother was, I understand, a lovely little thing, an escapee from the Terror. She had dark hair and beautiful dark eyes, a charming trace of a French accent, and a clever mind. He adored her, and she, him. But she didn't live long after I was born. She died when I was an infant, and my poor distracted father took to drink.

“He wasn't a nice man when he did it, but was wise enough to know that wouldn't help him. He needed a mother for me but, mostly, a companion for himself. He was lucky enough to meet a lovely Scots woman before he became a complete sot. She was beautiful and in no way like my mother, being a tall and hearty sportswoman. She was a merry
soul, with red hair and a flashing smile. I do remember her. She bore my father another son, and then when he was still in small clothes she was thrown over the head of her horse while riding, and died on the field.

“This time, Father was desolate. So he reasoned that it was bad luck to marry for love and believed he was king of bad luck. But he couldn't face living without a woman. So he married the Honorable Harriet Broome. She had neither charm nor beauty nor wit. But he was right. Father's luck did change. She bore him another child. The problem is that the child is a terror, and Father can't bear to be in the same room as his wife, nor can anyone else. She's a nag with the soul of a fish. And she flourishes like the green bay tree.

“And so,” he said, “you can see why I choose to live independently. I never wanted to deceive you, Pippa,” he said, turning his head toward her. “I thought you were an experienced woman. I just wanted us to share some light and aimless pleasure before we parted, and thought you felt the same way.”

“Well, who said I didn't?” she asked, somewhat childishly, even to her own ears.

He laughed. “Oh, Miss Phillipa, you didn't know what you wanted, and I apologize for that. But you
are a lady, and I am a gentleman, and we may both regret it, but there it is. What we must do now is to wait for Martin and your maid, pack up, and take you home. And then send you and your grandmother all the way home.”

“What you must do,” a deep voice said, “is to see if there's anything left in that basket for me.”

Maxwell sprang up, fists clenched. A tall, lean, auburn-haired gentleman stood smiling at him. “I'm glad you're disarmed,” the gentleman said. “Literally. I mean, with your pistol out of reach. I wouldn't want to be perforated for my jest.”

“By all that's unholy,” Maxwell cried, “Duncan! What are you doing here?”

The man limped toward him, and the two embraced, clapping each other on the back.

“I've been following you,” the man he'd called Duncan said as he stepped back. “Trying to keep you out of trouble. I wasn't very successful, was I? Good afternoon, Miss Carstairs,” he added.

She'd never seen the man before, but he knew her, and lord knew what more. How long had he been watching? Pippa ducked her head, feeling her face flaming.

“Oh. Miss Phillipa Carstairs,” Maxwell said, “may I present my brother, Duncan, Lord Sutton.” He turned to his brother again. “I saw you, but
never recognized you,” Maxwell marveled. “That limp deceived me. It's real, is it? What happened?”

“The war,” Duncan said with a shrug. “Do you have any bread or cheese left? I'm starved.”

“First, why the devil are you here?” Maxwell asked, his hands on his hips.

“I am my brother's keeper,” Duncan answered piously and then grinned. “Father's orders, Lord Talwin and the war office's permission. The cheese, please? And Miss Carstairs,” he added, as he sat down next to the picnic basket, “don't worry. I saw nothing, there was nothing to see.”

Pippa couldn't color up any more than she already had. She nodded. He was lying, but she was grateful for it. And now all she wanted was to just go home, all the way home.

B
ad form,” Duncan said.

He seated himself in a chair before the hearth in his brother's rooms and grunted as he used both hands to raise his leg and rest it on a padded bench before him.

“Is that leg hurting?” Maxwell asked. “Why don't you use a walking stick?”

“You're avoiding my comment,” Duncan said, “but as a matter of fact, a glass of something warming might help it a lot. What I was saying before you so rudely interrupted was that it's bad form to seduce a female and then leave her before the job is done. You and I both know it's no pleasure to be abandoned, unfulfilled. The Carstairs woman seemed too well bred for that sort of thing anyway. You shock me, brother.”

“Because I tried to seduce her, or because I didn't do it?” Maxwell asked as he went to a nearby table,
picked up a bottle, and poured a glass of cognac.

“Both,” Duncan said, taking the glass from his brother. He drank, and shuddered. “Not Scot's made. But it will have to do.”

“I tried to seduce her because I thought she was up to snuff,” Maxwell said, sitting down opposite his brother, head down, hands clenched and hanging between his knees.

“And adorable,” Duncan added.

“Yes,” his brother admitted. “Very much so. And willing. But she didn't know exactly what she was willing to do, and of course when I realized that, I would not and could not accommodate her.”

“Ah. You like her?”

“Yes. But before you begin playing matchmaker, remember that I'm not planning on marriage, and she deserves nothing less. And I'm promised to find her damned runaway fiancé for her. I don't think she'll know what she wants until we find him or what happened to him. Why don't you use a walking stick?”

“Sensible idea,” Duncan nodded. “A spy trailing after someone while using a cane. He certainly wouldn't be noticed. Very clever.”

“You shouldn't be a spy. You've done your bit.”

“And my further bit is to protect you. I must add that our father was greatly relieved when I told
him that I would. He dotes on you, you know.”

“And you,” Maxwell said. “The thing is that he doesn't dote on either of us when we're around.”

“A secret doter, in fact,” Duncan said.

The two men threw back their heads and laughed. Only then was their family resemblance clear to see.

Maxwell arose and took his brother's empty glass. “More?”

“Aye,” Duncan said.

Maxwell went to the table again, and picked up the bottle of cognac. He gestured to his brother's leg. “Shot or sword?” he asked as he filled the glass again.

“Horse. It fell on me. I'm lucky to be walking, even hobbling as I do. There's hope it will strengthen in time. So, as for the lovely Phillipa? You intend to just let her go?”

Maxwell sat again, this time with his head against the back of the chair. “S'truth, brother, I don't know.”

They sat in silence until they heard someone at the door.

“You don't actually expect me to get that, do you?” Duncan asked.

“No,” Maxwell said, rising. “I hesitate because I have a feeling that the way things are going there
won't be good news on the other side of that door.”

He opened the door. His curly-haired servant stood there, smiling. “Note for you, my lor',” he said, touching his forehead. “I thought you'd want it right off.” He winked. “It's from you know who.”

“Ah, my faithful correspondent, you know who,” Maxwell said, taking the note. “Thank you, Samson.”

He closed the door, unfolded the note, and read it. His expression grew grim.

“It's from Talwin,” he said in a tight voice before his brother could ask him. “All our plans are shattered. The peace of Amiens is broken. We're at war again.”

Duncan whistled, low. “Not expected, but not a surprise either, I suppose. And your commission to find the lady's lost fiancé and discover if he was only fickle as to his promises to her, or in deeper, spying for someone else while using her grandfather for information he could pass on? Talwin told me everything, you know.”

“All I know is that all of it is over. He wants me, and you, and the Carstairs women home again.”

“Good luck to us,” Duncan said. “What with the young Carstairs furious at you, and the older one, I hear, not too steady in her mind.”

“Nevertheless, we have our orders. By luck, or force if need be, we are all going home,” Maxwell said, with more confidence than he felt.

 

“I really do think we should go home,” Pippa said.

“And I really do think we ought not,” her grandmother replied. “Never have I had such a lovely trip,” she went on as she inspected her maid's work on her hair in the mirror. “Everyone is so pleased to see me. And I am thrilled to see them.”

“But, Grandfather—” Pippa began to say.

“Your grandfather,” Lady Carstairs said, “probably has not noticed I'm gone yet.”

Pippa fell still. This might well be true. Not in the sense that her grandfather's wits were so far gone that he didn't know his wife wasn't at home. But now she realized it was true that he paid little attention to her when she was.

“I know,” Pippa said desperately. “But grandmother, I want to go home. I know now that I won't find Noel, and I don't want him even if I do. That's the reason we came here, and now that reason is gone. I miss the peace and quietude of the countryside. I don't thrive on social gatherings as you do, and in fact, you didn't used to either. Haven't you had enough of it?”

“There is never enough gaiety in this world,” her grandmother said, nodding at her reflection in approval and sending the purple plumes set in her bright hair swaying. She wore an elegant spangled purple gown with yellow flowers set at the neck and sleeves.

Pippa sighed and took in a breath. “Then I'll wait for you to come around to my way of thinking. But, Grandmamma, don't you see? We don't have an excuse to be here anymore.”

“We need no excuse,” her grandmother said. “We are Carstairs, and free to do as we wish.”

“So then I'm free to not go to the party tonight,” Pippa said sadly. “And I don't want to. I'm exhausted.”

Lady Carstairs turned to look at her granddaughter for the first time since Pippa had come into her room. Then she noted that Pippa wasn't dressed for an evening out. Her hair was simply tied back at her nape, and she wore a plain blue day gown. Her mood obviously matched it.

“Are you sickening?” her grandmother asked.

Pippa wanted to say yes, but refused to lie. She didn't want to tell the truth either, which was that she was deeply humiliated, disappointed, embarrassed, and feeling more worthless and cast off than ever. Noel had run away rather than marry
her. She hadn't felt half as much for him as she did for Maxwell, but Maxwell had refused to lie with her even without any promises given on either side. She was done with men, and wanted only to go home and hide her head and grieve.

“I'm sick of frivolity,” she said.

“Then I'm sorry for you,” her grandmother said, turning back to her looking glass.

Pippa rose and went to the door. When she opened it she startled—the page from the hotel was standing there. He bowed. “Visitors, mesdames,” he said, presenting a card to her. “They wait. Do I tell them you come?”

Pippa took the card and read it. Her hand shook.

“Well, hand it here, Phillipa,” her grandmother ordered. She took the card and her face became wreathed in smiles. “Tell the gentlemen we shall be down tout suite,” she told the page. “Well, my love?” she asked Pippa. “Surely you feel good enough to see Lord Montrose and his brother?”

“Surely,” Pippa said dully, because for all she didn't want to, she supposed she was a true Carstairs too. She refused to run away.

They didn't look like brothers, Pippa thought again when she saw them waiting in the downstairs hallway. They both wore immaculate eve
ning clothes, neither gaudy nor opulent, but rather, neat, clean, and well fitted, in the style of English gentlemen. Duncan was very tall, with dark auburn hair, and his striking eyes were crystal clear, blue ice, not a deep warm brown like his brother's. But Pippa could see a certain resemblance in their well-shaped mouths and occasional fleeting expressions.

“Ladies,” Maxwell said after he'd introduced his brother to Lady Carstairs, “can we go into the salon? There's important news I must share.”

Pippa was apprehensive. Her grandmother only gave him a stately nod and took Maxwell's arm. She went with him into the blue salon, Pippa following, accompanied by Duncan. She didn't dare look at or speak to Maxwell's brother, because she was sure he'd seen more of her botched misadventure with Maxwell in the grass than he'd admitted.

Oddly, for this hour of the evening, the salon was otherwise unoccupied. Maxwell exchanged a knowing look with his brother as the ladies were seated.

When Maxwell was sure they were the only ones in the room, he spoke. “The peace is ended,” he said abruptly.

For a moment Pippa thought he was saying that he was angry at her. It took another moment for
the real import of his news to occur to her. “France broke the treaty?” she asked in horror.

“No, England. But it hardly matters. Neither side wants peace. I think it was just a brief respite for both sides, a time to gather troops and make plans. Perhaps the news of Napoleon's real intentions reached us and alarmed us. He's not through with his ambitions; we knew that. So we're nominally at war again. I believe it's time for you ladies to return to England.”

Pippa sighed with relief.

Her grandmother swelled with indignation. “Carstairs do not run from danger,” she announced.

“Is there rioting in the streets?” Pippa asked anxiously. “Are English persons being arrested?”

“No, in fact, it's strangely quiet,” Duncan said.

“We think neither side is ready for out and out warfare just yet,” Maxwell said. “But it won't be long.”

“Or ever, possibly,” Lady Carstairs said with a sniff. “And so we shall see. I have an appointment for the evening and I shall keep it. It is a party in the best part of Paris. If there is any difficulty, then I will think about retreat. But even then, I won't return to England until I know what my friends are doing.”

“Packing, if they have wits,” Duncan murmured.

Maxwell bowed. “Then so be it. We don't advise it but are sworn to protect you. We'll come with you, my lady, and judge the situation ourselves. But please remember to tell your English friends that France is no longer a comfortable place for us.”

Lady Carstairs smirked. “What, with thousands of us already here? I doubt we'll come to harm. There are no jails big enough to hold all of us.”

“I'm not so convinced,” Maxwell said. “Rather the opposite. There are worse things than jail, and ransom is very profitable. But the end of peace was just announced. We'll be with you tonight and at the first sign of danger we'll leave. I want you to test the waters and see the truth for yourself, my lady.” He glanced at Pippa, his expression bland. “Now we have only to wait for Miss Phillipa to dress and we'll go,” he said.

“She's not coming,” Lady Carstairs said bluntly. “Refuses, in fact. Not sick, she says. She's homesick, I think. She'll be well enough staying here. Unless,” she added with a smirk, “you think a battalion of French soldiers will burst in and abduct her.”

“I doubt that,” Maxwell said.

“I want to stay here,” Pippa put in quickly.

“Then, we'll go without you,” Maxwell said
with a frown. “But, my lady,” he asked her grandmother, “may I have a word alone with her before we leave?”

“Of course,” Lady Carstairs said. “I must send for my wrap before we go anyway. We shall wait in the hall. It's a mild evening, but it is spring, and one never knows how quickly the weather will change.”

“I wish she really understood that,” Maxwell said to Phillipa when Lady Carstairs and his brother had left them.

She stood facing him, refusing to look down at the floor, though she longed to. They made a handsome couple, he, tall and straight, only his dark head bowed to her; she, shapely and slender, looking up into his face.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “The whole episode wasn't worthy of you or me. If I were another sort of man, I'd offer for you straightaway. If you want me to, I will, no matter my mode of living.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “No, please. I wouldn't say yes. Let's forget it.”

“I can't,” he said simply. He took her cold hands in his warm ones, and looked down at them. “I wish I were like other men. That I didn't have so many reservations, that I could be free to do as I want, without pondering the matter over and over.
You didn't deserve the treatment you received from your unworthy Noel, nor did you deserve my blundering, licentious actions.

“Again,” he said, “I apologize. None of it is due to any fault in you. Please know that if things were different—if I were different, I'd ask for your hand and never let it go.”

He slowly opened his hands and let hers free. Then he looked down into her face again. “You'd be within your rights to despise me whatever I say. I can only hope someday you'll forgive me, even though I don't deserve it. We will continue to search for Noel Nicholson, one way or another. But I'll stay with you until you're returned safe to England. And I promise, I'll do all I can to speed that day.”

She nodded, not contented at all by what he'd had to say.