To Love a Wicked Lord (2 page)

“You look charming!” her grandmother exclaimed when her maid opened the door.

Pippa wished she could say the same. Lady Carstairs wore a silver gown that Pippa had never seen before. It was, doubtless, because the gown had been last worn before she was born. It was too tightly laced, too overly adorned, and too silver. Low cut, it belled out at her corseted waist and was supported by many petticoats, as had been the fashion in past years. Lady Carstairs also wore an ornate necklace that would have been lovely had the diamonds not been of such an old and heavy cut. She had too much rouge on her round cheeks, and her hair had been combed monstrously high and contained sparkles. But she was smiling, and somehow, oddly, the ancient fashion suited her.

“My, my,” Pippa said. “We're very formal tonight, aren't we?”

“Needn't take that tone with me, my girl,” her grandmother said. “I know I'm dressed to the teeth. But such a gentleman! I want to make a good impression on him.”

“Grandmamma,” Pippa said. “Why make such an effort? I mean to say, he's not very cordial; in fact he seems amused by us. I don't think the queen herself could impress him. Why bother to try?”

“He's very
comme il fault
. And your grandfather recommended him.”

“But why should a fine nobleman act like a Bow Street Runner?” Pippa's eyes grew wide. “Is grandfather paying him a fortune? I won't have that!”

“You will have what your grandfather says,” Lady Carstairs said haughtily. “Anyway, Montrose doesn't charge a penny-piece. The man's rich as a heathen king. They say he wanted to fight on the battlefield, but can't because he's the heir. So he does what he can for his country where he can. As for his airs? That's how all fine noblemen behave.”

“No, it's not,” Pippa argued.

“Well, if not, then it's how they used to behave,” her grandmother said, snatching her wrap from her maid's hands, and marching out the door. “All strut and pose and airs and graces.”

“Grandfather? Never!” Pippa exclaimed, shocked.

“Well, not he, perhaps,” Lady Carstairs admitted, taking her granddaughter's arm. “But all the rest, to be sure. They were forever drawling their words and posing like a pack of poets.” She sighed. “Still, it suited their looks. They wore diamonds and pearls, brocades and silks, powder and paint, buckles and clocked hose, even high-heeled shoes, not the shockingly casual clothes gentlemen wear now. The French have a great deal to answer for. They discarded elegance when they started chopping off fashionable heads. I don't know why we let their Revolution shape our fashions,” she complained.

“Anyhow, Pippa,” she continued, “if you want to find Noel, Montrose is the only man left that we can appeal to if we hope to discover anything. Your grandfather vows he knows all and everyone. And,” she added as they approached the stair, lowering her voice, “just be grateful he isn't like his father, the duke. Now, there's a cold fellow. Handsome as he could stare, and he wore wonderful clothes and jewels and wigs. He had airs, and yet no graces, at least not when I met him. Of course, the poor man had cause for his megrims. Lost two
wives in a row, and wished he could lose the third one. At least his son is charming.”

“To some,” Pippa grumbled.

“Yes, he was sweet to me, wasn't he?” Lady Carstairs asked, visibly preening. “But he wasn't nasty to you, Pippa my dear, and I can't see why you've taken such an instant dislike to him?”

“He seems to be amused by me,” Pippa said.

“Ah, that,” her grandmamma said, relaxing. “He obviously mimics his father. That's only his way. You would have despised all the men of that time. I vow you'd have remained a spinster had you lived in my day. Oh,” she said, stopping and looking suddenly stricken. “You realize I meant nothing by that. Of course, you aren't a spinster. You're spoken for. You are engaged, but in waiting.”

Pippa laughed. “What a lovely way to put it! And true. That's why I'll endure your most affected lordship Montrose.” Her expression became serious again. “He may drawl and pose and ogle the world through his eyeglass all he wants. He may think whatever he likes too. If he can find Noel, I vow I will love him.”

“Oh my heavens, no!” her grandmamma exclaimed. “Even in my day, we were only allowed one husband apiece.”

Which was why when the ladies entered the pri
vate dining room the Marquis Montrose had engaged, the two of them were laughing merrily.

The marquis rose, and bowed. He was, as before, impeccably dressed, but this time in formal evening clothes. The black-and-white attire suited his grave good looks. But he still surprised Pippa when he spoke, because his tone was as light and bored as ever.

“Good to see you in such high spirits, ladies,” he said, bowing as he greeted them. “And in such high good looks as well. I am a lucky fellow. Will you be seated? I've ordered the most delectable meal for you.”

He held a chair for Lady Carstairs as a footman did the same for Pippa. The footman, Pippa realized, wasn't from the inn, he was in house livery, evidently that of his master, Lord Montrose. The gentleman who, Pippa thought darkly as she sat, had taken it upon himself to order for her. Noel had always asked her what she wanted. But Noel was a true man of the world, and one of her generation. This fop was obviously a throwback to his father's era. She vowed to bite her tongue and be silent about it. If it took a fool to find Noel, so be it. She'd already trusted wise men to do the job and they'd all failed.

Pippa smiled at her host. “Thank you, my lord,”
she said sweetly. “We are so pleased you've taken our commission.”

“Ah, but I have not yet committed myself, my dear young lady,” he said. “I don't wish to appear rude, but neither do I want to give you false hopes. I must hear more.”

Pippa nodded. “We're ready to tell you about my missing fiancé if you wish.”

His looked at her as he sat down, his expression bland. “Of course I do. I must hear all. But I'd prefer we do that after we dine. Is that all right with you?”

He meant that they should discuss Noel out of the earshot of servants, Pippa thought. She was well bred enough to know that even if he implied she was committing some kind of social solecism, he was wrong. She had often heard grandfather and his friends, gentlemen of birth and title, discussing much more serious things over dinner. But she wasn't the marquis's friend, she reminded herself, and whatever his reason, important or whimsical, she had to placate him. He might be able to help her.

“Yes,” she said, casting down her gaze, “of course.”

“Good,” he said. “Now, shall we dine? We can speak of lighter things, of course. Later, we can
speak of graver matters. An excellent meal deserves our concentration, don't you agree?”

She didn't, but she nodded, forced another smile, and kept her mouth closed until she was served her soup. Then she opened her lips, but only to swallow the soup—and her temper.

N
ow,” Lord Montrose said, when their table had been cleared of dishes and the private dining room of servants, “tell me how I may assist you ladies.”

“I thought my grandfather had done that,” Pippa said.

“So he did,” her grandmother said, looking puzzled.

Lord Montrose smiled. “Indeed. You're right, my lady. But I need a bit more information. I only know that your granddaughter has misplaced her fiancé.”

“He never said it quite that way,” Pippa's grandmother protested, her objection laced with titters.

Pippa scowled. “I know he didn't, Grandmamma,” she said and glared at the gentleman. “Not really, my lord, not quite. Rather it seems he's misplaced himself. He left our house almost seven
months ago, just before our wedding was to be, and hasn't been seen or heard from since. Well, there was one letter from London, three weeks later, in which he said he regretted how long his business was taking him, and promising to be back soon. I've heard no more.”

Before he could say anything, she raised a hand. “We've asked after him everywhere and heard nothing. He simply hasn't returned.”

Seeing a slight quirk on his lips, she added defiantly, “He showed no inclination by word or deed of wanting to sever our engagement. If he'd wanted to be free, he'd only to ask me and he knew it. The months passed, and I—we—began to worry about his having met with mischief.

“We asked locally, and then decided to go further. Grandfather has many knowledgeable connections here and abroad, you know,” she went on. “He tried to find out more, but couldn't. An inquiry was sent to justices of the peace along the route from here to London and there've been no unidentified men found injured or dead. Even his horse, his favorite, a highly trained roan named Trueheart, hasn't been spied—and he'd go nowhere without Noel's command. When the trail went dry, grandfather suggested we leave and make inqui
ries of our own. He gave us your name, among others, of course. And here we are.”

“Indeed, so we are,” Lord Montrose said thoughtfully. “So then, what can you tell me about him?” he asked Pippa. “I know little but his name: Noel Nicholson. What more can you tell me?”

Pippa sat up straighter. He wasn't mocking her now. It made answering him easier, and her attitude became less hostile.

“What would you like to know?” she asked.

“His appearance, for a start,” he said. “Can you give me a mental image of how he looked when you last saw him? Better yet, have you a miniature of him? Many lovers give them as remembrances before they embark on long journeys.”

“No,” she said, shaking his head. “Because he wasn't going on a long journey. He said he just had some business to clear before our wedding.” She closed her eyes, concentrating on an interior image. “He was—is, I mean—about your height, with black hair. His eyes were—are—brown, and his face is considered very handsome, with no scars or pitting.”

“Lucky lad!” his lordship said merrily. “He must look exactly like me!”

She opened her eyes and stared at him dispas
sionately, although she wanted to jump up and stalk from the room. “Not a bit like you, my lord,” she finally said through gritted teeth.

“Then,” he asked simply, “where is the difference? I can't go about asking people if they've seen my twin, you know.”

She glowered at him.

He waved a hand. “Never mind. A horse's colors can be changed, along with his name, no matter how obedient he is. A fellow can alter his appearance even more easily if he wishes. He can grow military whiskers if he has none, or a beard if he wants to look ancient. He can color his hair, wear different clothing, even shave his head. He can alter his height by the boots he wears and the way he walks in them. Average height and dark-haired, then. What of his family? Where are they situated?”

Pippa looked down at her hands. “He was an orphan, like me; brought up by his own grandmother, but she passed away years ago. He said he'd only a few cousins left and those, far-flung.”

“I see. And where did all this tragedy occur?”

She looked at him blankly.

He sighed. “Where was he born? Where did he pass his childhood?”

“Oh!” she said, coloring slightly because she
hadn't understood him. Then she sat up straighter. “He was born in Maidstone. He was seven when his parents died in an accident. Then he went to West Houghton to live with his grandparents.”

“West Houghton?” her interrogator mused. “That's between Folkestone and Dover. Both busy ports to and from France when we are not at war. And,” he added with a slightly twisted smile, ”perhaps even more so when we are.”

“Are you implying that he was a spy, or a smuggler?” she asked incredulously.

He waved a languid hand. “Oh, everyone is said to be a spy or a smuggler these days.”

“Even you?” she shot back.

He smiled. “Aye, even I.”

“I can't believe that.”

“Why not?” he asked with interest.

She bit her lips.

“Because I am personable?” he asked. “Or because, with more honesty, I am considered a fribble? You mustn't judge a book by its cover. Why, just look at your lost love, Noel…if you could, of course. He seemed forthright and true, didn't he?”

Pippa bridled, trying to think of something unspeakable to say, after she'd make it more speakable, of course.

Her grandmother interrupted excitedly, “But, my dear Pippa, his lordship could only be pretending to being a fribble, like that fellow in my youth, oh, what was his name?”

Pippa winced.

Her grandmother didn't notice, she was obviously thinking too hard. “You know, my dear, the nobleman who dressed in exquisite laces and satins and pretended he hated to get his toes wet, when all along while no one was watching he became France's greatest enemy because it was all a hum. It was a disguise. He was really a brave spy and brilliant at freeing trapped English persons from French prisons. He was a fine duelist and the blight of the French secret police. Oh, what was his name? Percival or Perry or some such.”

“He was a legend, a rumor, a fantasy,” Pippa said flatly, refusing to look to see how the fribble seated opposite them was taking this. She doubted he was insulted. Or if he were, that he would let anyone see it. She didn't know what got her angrier, his boredom or his interest. She thought his amusement was worst. “No one knows if he even existed, Grandmamma,” she said gently. “But the nation needed such a legendary hero then, King Arthur or Robin Hood.”

“Oh, but King Arthur was real,” her grand
mother protested. “There are so many books about him and shrines dedicated to him and his knights. And what of Merlin? You're not saying he didn't exist? I'm surprised at you, my love. Robin Hood was real too. Your grandfather wrote a famously brilliant discourse on him. It appeared in the
Gentleman's Magazine
.”

“Indeed,” Lord Montrose said. “I read it.”

Pippa ignored him and smiled at her grandmother. “Whatever the case, I am positive our guest is not such.”

“Your host,” Lord Montrose put in, “I do not let the fairer sex pay for my dinners.”

“Exactly what I expected your attitude toward our gender to be,” Pippa said with satisfaction. “So be it. I excuse you of spy-Dom, my lord. In fact, I'd bet against it, and I'm very good at cards.”

“To be sure, and to my regret,” her grandmother said. “I owe her twenty pins at Snap, my lord, and twice as many for Patience.”

“Impressive,” Lord Montrose said, his eyelids seeming to grow heavy, shielding the boredom in his eyes.

“Don't worry, Grandmamma,” Pippa said. “I don't mean to call in my debts yet.” She turned to their guest, or host, or whatever he wished to be.

She didn't know why she wanted to disagree
with him so much this evening. But she longed to say something to wipe that supercilious smile from his lips or shake his composure. It was distracting that such a good-looking fellow could be so artificial and condescending. In spite of her contempt for him, she found him attractive. But he didn't seem to think the same of her. She found that demeaning. She was generally considered very attractive. His lordship didn't appear to notice. Perhaps he didn't care for females. Perhaps he was hiding it. They were speaking of real people, and she suddenly yearned to see the real man behind his affect, if there was one.

“So, my lord,” she said, “to get back to what we were saying, you believe Napoleon is still a threat, even with the peace pact at Amiens signed and declared?”

“Especially with the peace declared,” he said languidly.

“You don't believe it will last?” she asked with amazement.

“Of course not. Bonaparte has no use for peace. Peace won't help him rule the world.”

Lady Carstairs watched their exchange with growing worry, her head turning to note each combatant in turn, as though she were watching houseguests playing badminton.

“Napoleon Bonaparte is a Republican,” Pippa said coldly, reining in her emotions. “He wants to better his country, and perhaps, yes, the world, in time. He believes in equal rights for all citizens. That is revolutionary and was bought by war; it's true, in both America and France. But he didn't start either revolution and I can't see it being part of his plan. Have you read his doctrines?”

“Of course,” his lordship said. “That does not mean I believe him. By the by, have you read his latest screeds?”

She shook her head.

“You ought,” he said. “I believe you'd be surprised. And you will recall, he is no longer merely a general but has named himself ‘First Consul.'”

“Better than King,” Pippa retorted. “Although, of course, I mean no disrespect to our king.”

“Of course,” he said calmly. “But though I dote upon gossip, and politics is, after all, only elevated gossip, we are going far off topic. Noel is the fellow we're supposed to be discussing. Unless, of course, it is Napoleon you prefer? Then I suggest you abandon Noel as he did you, and travel to France to become a true follower of the man you admire most.”

She glowered. “I am an Englishwoman. I have no wish to see our king deposed. We have no need
of it. We wrested a Magna Carta from a king centuries ago. That allows us to rule our lives more than the French or the American colonists ever could. We have no need for revolution. And because of that, I'm allowed to have my own ideas. And I do.”

“And did Noel agree with those ideas?” he asked with what seemed to be real interest, at last.

“We didn't discuss politics much,” she said, looking away from him.

He sat back, seeming satisfied. “Ah, yes.
L'amour
in any language chases out reason, or so I hear.”

Pippa swallowed her retort. She began to believe he was deliberately seeking her hostility. She wouldn't be baited. She refused to give Lord Montrose the pleasure of showing him how much he annoyed her.

“Well then, onward,” he finally said.

She was pleased with herself because of the faint hint of disappointment she thought she heard in his voice because she didn't rise to his bait.

“What of Noel's education? What schools did he attend?” he asked her.

“He was schooled at home and then went to university. He attended Oxford,” she said, her head high again. “We didn't discuss that either. We laughed, my lord, and we rejoiced in our com
monality of spirit. And by the by,” she added as coolly as possible to answer his inference about
L'amour,
“Noel was too much the gentleman to indulge in that with me before we were wed. He respected me.”

“Of course, a true English gentleman,” Lord Montrose said, obviously holding back a yawn. “And his friends?” he asked.

“I met some of them,” Pippa said. “They came to stay with us for a day or two. Remember, Grandmamma? Mr. Arnold and that charming Martin fellow—Martin West! And he often spoke of his good friend, Charles August.”

“They lived in London,” Lord Montrose said flatly. “And you haven't seen or heard from them since.”

“Why, yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

“It follows,” the gentleman said obliquely.

“Well then, did he have an occupation?”

“Of course not,” Pippa said. “He inherited an adequate income from his late parents and grandparents.”

“What of Noel's interests?” he asked. “Why did he seek out your grandfather?”

“He was doing research on the last century,” Pippa said, “to try to find traces of his family.”

“Did he?”

“No,” she said. “At least, he hadn't yet.”

There was a silence.

Pippa spoke up at once. “But he came to us recommended by Lord Bellamy, who thought highly of him.”

“Bellamy,” Lord Montrose mused. “And I suppose he's abroad now?”

“Why yes. Do you know him?” Pippa asked.

“Many do,” Lord Montrose said, his expression becoming bored again. “So here we have your fiancé, Noel Nicholson, who comes from Maidstone and West Houghton, and went to Oxford and thence to London and then to your grandfather's house. How long did you know him before you became engaged?”

“Two months,” she said. She raised her head and looked at him directly. “Two wonderful months. Noel was—is—kind and thoughtful, well bred and well educated. Best of all, his wit was so keen he made everyone merry, even grandfather, and he's not been very cheerful of late.”

“He's been distracted, my dear,” her grandmother put in. “He often says he has so much to do and when he considers his age, he realizes how little time he has to do it in. I can't nudge him out of his moods, but your Noel could.”

“How old is Lord Carstairs now?” Lord Montrose asked.

“He has two and eighty years on his plate,” Lady Carstairs said quietly.