Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (19 page)

Beside him Mildred cleared her throat in an amused way and Rufus bit back a groan. So much for hiding the truth from his great-aunt. He’d given himself away with one glance.

G
reat-Aunt Mildred was behaving herself and Rufus, who’d had his doubts, was relieved to see it. They were seated in the dining room where Southbrooks had sat for centuries. This room always made him think he was stepping back in time, with its dark paneling and candles in sconces and hunting scenes around the walls, the latter mercifully dimmed by the candles.

Across the table Beth and James were talking and smiling together as if they’d known each other for years, while Douglas was engaging Violet and Eustace in a conversation that seemed to be mostly about his pack of hunting hounds. Great-Aunt Mildred had fallen silent, and Rufus took the opportunity to lean toward Averil on his other side. From this angle he could admire the pale, creamy curves of her breasts above the neckline of her gown, and that tantalizing little hollow at the base of her throat.

She smiled up at him. She appeared to be enjoying herself, and she’d already said she was looking forward to seeing the property tomorrow. Now, when he continued to look and say nothing, she reached up a little nervously to touch the locket about her throat, and he recognized it as the same one that Mrs. Fredericks had given her—her mother’s locket.

“Can you open it?” he asked, gesturing to the locket. “Is there something inside?”

“I did try,” Averil said, a little frown creasing the smooth skin between her brows, “but the catch is broken. I don’t want to force it open, in case I break it, so I’ll have to have it fixed before I can see what’s inside.” She leaned toward him and now they were barely inches apart. “Do you think there might be a clue in there? Something to do with Rose?”

“Probably not,” he said, sorry to dash her hopes. “A likeness of Percival perhaps?”

Averil considered that, her eyes searching his. “I’d like to know what he looked like. The man my mother left her home and husband and child for. He must have been very special, I think.”

Rufus gave a wry smile. “When one is in the first flush of love one has a tendency to misread the situation badly.”

Her own smile faded; she looked serious. He wondered if he’d said too much. In an obscure way he’d been talking about his own marriage and the mistake it had turned out to be, but perhaps it hadn’t been quite as obscure as he’d hoped. Averil had a way of digging information from him that he never spoke of to anyone else.

“But I am no expert,” he added lightly, and wasn’t that the truth.

The soup course had arrived at last, and they prepared to dip their spoons in. Rufus hesitated, leaning forward to examine the thin brown liquid, but he couldn’t make out what it was. A soup of indiscriminate origins? Cautiously he took a sip and his worst fears were confirmed. He put down his spoon and narrowed his eyes at James, but his uncle refused to look at him, and polished off his own bowl with loud murmurs of appreciation. The others were less enthusiastic.

Course after course arrived and Rufus found he could barely eat a mouthful. He wasn’t alone. He could see that Averil was struggling, too, and Beth was casting her little glances of dismay across the table. Even James, who was still playacting, was beginning to flag. “Interesting,” was his comment upon a duck and asparagus creation, where the bird was dry and overcooked and the asparagus thin and curling.

In the end he could no longer remain silent. “James, where on earth did you find this new cook?” One glance at the pudding, an oddly shaped blancmange, and he knew that he’d be going to bed hungry tonight.

“Beg pardon, nephew?” James looked up, all wide-eyed innocence.

Great-Aunt Mildred leaned forward. “Yes, do tell us, James, so that we can warn, eh, sing her praises to others.”

James, looking shifty, took a moment to dab his lips with his napkin. “She’s not exactly a cook, Rufus,” he admitted.

“I would never have guessed,” Mildred murmured, reaching for her glass of wine. At least the Southbrook cellars were to be relied upon for top quality.

“You may as well tell us the truth,” Rufus said mildly. He wasn’t angry, just frustrated that his plans to impress Averil had fallen flat. “Who is it?”

James’s performance crumbled. “She’s the sister of the publican at the Black Sheep, down in the village. I’m sorry, Rufus, but it was dashed difficult to find a cook at such short notice, and that French chap I told you about wanted far too much blunt . . . that is, he was unavailable.”

Rufus wondered what the point was in blaming his uncle for something that wasn’t entirely his fault. In trying to impress Averil he’d embarrassed himself instead. After all, it was he who wanted to pretend he was a wealthy earl. Was it his pride, or was all of this make-believe just so that he could ask Averil to marry him and pretend it wasn’t her money he was after? She was going to find out the truth at some point, wasn’t she? Did he really think she’d be so deep in love with him by then that she’d simply shrug and say that was all right then?

The trouble was, Rufus knew it wasn’t her money he wanted. He didn’t have the slightest interest in her money. Well . . . perhaps that wasn’t entirely true, either. He couldn’t lie, the money would be good. But neither could he pretend he hadn’t fallen in love with her.

The wicked earl was in love.

He wanted to tip his head back and roar with laughter, but he couldn’t when Averil was gazing up at him with sympathetic eyes.

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter who the cook is,” she said, her perfect mouth curling up at the corners into a smile that made him want to kiss her. “Being here, in such wonderful surroundings, is enough for me.”

“We usually have fish pie every night when I’m here, so I don’t care who the cook is as long as she never cooks fish pie,” Eustace piped up. He seemed unaffected by the dining catastrophe, but then Eustace was used to living from hand to mouth. Was this what life had become?

Rufus’s spirits were lowered even further.

Great-Aunt Mildred prodded the blancmange. “Nursery food,” she said with a grimace. “Hardly a pudding for adults. Perhaps you can hire her on if you ever have more children,” she murmured into Rufus’s ear.

He turned his quelling stare on her but she only chuckled.

The servants were clearing the plates in their clumsy way—the sound of smashing china could be heard outside the dining room door. Rufus drew back Averil’s chair, but as he went to follow her, Great-Aunt Mildred caught his arm and waited until they were alone.

He gave her a long-suffering look.

“Oh, that won’t work, Rufus,” she said dismissively.

“I apologize for the meal,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t care about that,” Mildred retorted. “I’ve had far worse in your father’s day. The Southbrooks haven’t had two groats to rub together for years. I just wanted to tell you that I approve, Rufus. She’s a gem. Marry her, for God’s sake, and save the Southbrooks!”

A
veril stood at the French windows that led out onto the terrace, gazing longingly at the moonlit garden—James had suggested she not go out there as the paving was decidedly dangerous. The meal had been disastrous and Rufus had looked like a thundercloud. She didn’t want to let anything spoil her visit, but all the same she was beginning to have doubts about the Southbrooks and their castle. Not that she had made up her mind about anything, she told herself, not at all. Unlike Beth, who seemed to have already made up hers.

“They’re poor as church mice,” she murmured in Averil’s ear, with, Averil thought, an unbecoming note of triumph.

“Many old families are rather eccentric.”

Beth shot her a look of disbelief. “Eccentric? Averil, this isn’t being eccentric, this is being penniless!”

“Well, why the pretense?” Averil whispered back. Across the room she could see Lady Melrose making her way toward them, tugging at her shawls as she came. With her turban and old-fashioned clothing she made rather a strange figure, but Beth had assured her the old lady was completely respectable and moved in the best circles in London society.

“What pretense?” Beth hissed.

“I mean, why would Lord Southbrook pretend he was wealthy if he was not? Unless it’s his pride. Oh, Beth, that must be it! He didn’t want us to know he was in such dire straits. I wish he’d been honest with me.”

It was endearing, really, Averil thought, but she did wish he’d be honest with her. She didn’t care a jot that he had no money. Money was all well and good, but it was the use one put it to that counted. Her trustees managed her own fortune, but she knew that when she was finally given control she intended to use it to help those in need, her sister being among them.

“Averil—” Beth began, but it was too late. Lady Melrose had reached them.

“Lady Averil,” she said, with a quelling look at Beth. Beth murmured something and scuttled away and Lady Melrose smiled more warmly. “It is brave of you to come to Southbrook. I stay away, unless, of course, my great-nephew calls upon me. I am very fond of Rufus, you know.”

Averil murmured a reply. The old lady made her nervous, but she told herself not to be silly. Perhaps Lady Melrose was simply satisfying herself that Averil was not hunting a husband with a large castle.

She swallowed. “Hunting” was exactly what her friends would be urging her to do. And Rufus was the very man she had promised them she wanted to marry.

“I believe you are thinking of acquiring the dower house for your charity, Lady Averil? I remember the days when that house was full of Southbrook relatives—my father could never say no—but now there are only a few of us left. Myself and James and Rufus, and of course young Eustace. A pity. Like many ancient families we are dying out. Rufus needs to marry again and bring forth a crop of children.”

Averil wondered if Lady Melrose was hinting at something. She seemed to be staring very hard at her. The idea that perhaps, that maybe, she wanted Averil to “hunt” Rufus, just as her friends did, made her a little dizzy.

Because that was exactly what she wanted to do herself.

She was in love with him. She thought about him all the time, she even dreamed about him. This must surely be love.

“I-I . . .” she said, knowing her cheeks were hot.

“What do you think of my great-nephew?” Lady Melrose didn’t wait for a reply. “Please, do not spare my blushes. I am an old lady and I have seen most things. I remember your mother. A real beauty, but rather unstable I fear. I don’t believe you are much like her.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Good. Don’t want any questionable blood in the family. Good, strong children, that’s what we need.”

Averil looked about her for help, but there was none to be had. Douglas McInnes was speaking with Rufus, and Violet was saying good night to Eustace, who was going off to bed, and probably planning to take Hercules with him. James and Beth were in furious conversation at the table where coffee had been served.

Her desperate glance returned to Rufus, and as if she had called to him aloud, his head came up and he frowned. And then, to her relief, he excused himself from Douglas and began to make his way across the room.

“Great-Aunt Mildred, isn’t it past your bedtime?” he said sharply, his gaze searching Averil’s face.

She could hardly look him in the eye, so conscious was she of all that had been said, and all she’d been imagining.

“Very well, Rufus, I will retire now.” Mildred caught his hand with her clawlike fingers. “Don’t disappoint me,” she added.

Rufus smiled, that smile that turned Averil’s heart inside out, and gave her a glimpse of the man inside the wicked earl’s scarred exterior. “I’d never do that, Mildred,” he said and kissed her hand.

She patted his cheek fondly, and then with a meaningful nod at Averil, left them alone.

“Did she embarrass you?” His voice was deep and soft beside her, making her shiver inside. “I apologize.”

Averil shook her head. “No, she didn’t. At least.” She glanced up at him, and couldn’t help but smile. “She’s very forthright. I always think of myself as being forthright, and now I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of my sermons.”

He stepped in front of her, so that she could no longer see the people in the room and they could no longer see her. His fingers brushed her cheek, light as moth’s wings, and suddenly he was very close. Her heart was beating erratically and she felt as if she might fall forward into his arms, into his kiss. She couldn’t wait any longer, she really couldn’t.

Perhaps he felt the same, because he said, his voice husky, “Will you stroll in the garden with me, Averil?”

T
he stars were cold and far away, and covered every now and again by drifts of cloud. Averil shivered and wished she’d stopped to get her cloak, or at least a shawl. Rufus, seeing her shiver, stopped and took off his own jacket and tucked it around her shoulders, his hands lingering on her bare skin.

It was a gallant gesture and Averil thanked him with a smile, snuggling into the transferred warmth of his body.

He made her feel treasured and it was something she had never felt before from a man. Her father had treated her as a nuisance and an unwelcome reminder of his wife, and her closest relative, Gareth, was fond of her but she could hardly say he made her feel special in their day-to-day dealings. The way Rufus touched her, looked at her, the way he kissed her, made her feel precious. As if she was cherished by him.

Might he be . . . was it possible that he was in love with her? Feeling those same flutterings in his stomach and the ache in his chest as she was feeling right now? The grass might be overgrown, catching at her skirts as they walked down what must once have been a winding path, but she felt as if she were walking on air.

“Our grounds are very neglected,” Rufus spoke. “Come and sit down on the seat by the pond. James said the gardener scythed around there recently, so that he could fish in it without getting his boots wet.”