Wicked Earl Seeks Proper Heiress (5 page)

“Your father is probably right,” Averil said primly. “And he can put me down now. I can manage from here.”

Rufus gave a snort. “You can barely walk. I’ll put you down when we reach your room. Direct me if you please. We don’t want to wake Beth,” he added silkily, and then cursed himself as Eustace edged closer.

“Very well,” she said huffily, and proceeded to tell him where to go.

Along a corridor and through a door, then up some stairs and along another corridor, and then finally to Averil’s room. Eustace, a finger to his lips, reached out to open the door and they slipped inside. She’d left a lamp burning low, and Rufus could see at once that for a woman who would one day be very rich Lady Averil was modest to the point of Spartan.

Apart from the bed, with its pretty flowery quilt, the room was very plain. He might have been puzzled, he might have asked her about it, but just then he realized that Hercules had followed them up. The dog, which in the lamplight he could see was brown and short-coated with a big head, went over to a sofa by the window and jumped up, making itself comfortable with an ecstatic groan. Eustace sat down beside the dog with a smile and began to rub the big floppy ears.

Rufus took the two steps to the bed and lay Averil on it. She leaned back on the pillows, grimacing at the jolt to her knee, and looked up at him. Her creamy skin was a little pale and there were shadows under her gray eyes, while the thick waves of fair hair that had escaped her pins tumbled about her. He noticed her skirt was torn by her fall, the hem was muddy, as were her gloves, and she was still wearing her boots. And yet . . . and yet for a moment he could only stare.

Perhaps, Rufus thought, his mind had been turned by worry. Yes, that must be it. Why else was Lady Averil suddenly so incredibly desirable? It was like that night at the opera, when he had spied her across the crowded room, and there had been a moment when he’d thought he must have her. Of course, afterward, he’d wondered what on earth he was thinking. And now here it was again, that feeling. He was tempted, very tempted, tempted in a way he hadn’t been for years, to climb onto the bed with her and take her in his arms and make wild and passionate love to her.

Behind him, he heard Eustace asking Hercules if he was hungry, because
he
was, and Rufus came to his senses.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Averil said grudgingly, watching him through long dark lashes at odds with her fair hair.

Rufus laughed.

“Oh, do be quiet!” she cried out in a strangled whisper. “Beth will hear.”

Eustace jumped up and took his father’s hand. “Come on, Papa!”

Rufus took a step back, and then another, and once at the door he gave a little bow. And then he closed it and he and Eustace made their way back outside the house. They were halfway around the side when they bumped into his uncle.

“Did you know, dear boy, this is the house of the Heiress?” James said, as Rufus turned him about and bundled him back toward the coach. “Well, of course you do. That
is
the Heiress, isn’t it? You said her name was Lady Averil Martindale and even I’ve heard about her.”

Rufus, aware of Eustace’s interested expression, said, “Uncle James, this has nothing to do with you.”

His uncle was clutching at his sleeve.

“But Rufus, don’t you see? This could be the answer to all your troubles. The woman is rich, or will be. Incredibly rich. Southbrook and the London house and . . . well, you can save everything! All you have to do is marry her.”

M
arry her.

Rufus opened his mouth and then promptly closed it again. He waited until his son had climbed into the coach, cuddling up in Averil’s blanket and closing his eyes, and then drew his uncle aside.

“No,” he said in a low, angry voice. “Even if a respectable woman
would
have me, I have some pride. I refuse to marry any woman simply to steal her fortune.”

“Why not?” James said dryly. “Your father did, and his before him. You might say it’s a family tradition, dear boy.”

“I am not my father,” he said coldly.

James made a snorting sound but didn’t argue.

Back in the coach, they sat in silence as the vehicle eventually made its way into Mayfair. The Southbrook residence was old and needed repairs, but it was still impressive. Rufus tried not to notice the buckets in the foyer, to catch drips from the leaking ceiling, as he handed Eustace over to Gregson, and then took his uncle’s arm and hurried him up the stairs to the second floor.

“I say,” James complained, and then when he saw the locked room and realized he was to be a prisoner, he dug his heels in, panic in his eyes. “Rufus, please don’t send me back to Southbrook. You know how I loathe the place. And if you and the boy aren’t there, I’m on my own.”

“You make it sound as if I’m sending you to Bedlam,” Rufus said mildly. “Southbrook is our home, James. The Blaineys have lived there for centuries.”

“That’s just it. Ghosts at every turn.”

Rufus looked at him with a frown. “If you hate the place so much, why didn’t you leave long ago? Make your own life?”

“What, and leave my favorite nephew all alone?” James said with a smile. “We had some good times, didn’t we, Rufus? It’s a shame one of us had to grow up.”

Rufus could feel himself wavering. That was the trouble with James, he was a master at turning a situation to his advantage. And yet what he said was true because without his uncle, Rufus’s childhood would have been bleak indeed.

“If Eustace could come back with me . . .?” James murmured, with a hopeful glance that reminded Rufus of his son.

“Eustace has to stay here. You know why. That monstrous woman. The boy needs to feel safe right now. He still has nightmares about her.”

James shook his head. “The wretched Mrs. Slater. I’m sorry I didn’t notice earlier, dear boy. But Eustace is such a plucky fellow, never said a word. Not until I saw the bruises on his arms.”

Rufus tried not to shudder at the memory.

James sighed and slumped down onto a chair by the fireplace. “You know I’m right, Rufus. We’re in a mess. But the Blaineys have been in messes before and gotten out of them. You need to follow in their footsteps and marry money. Marry the Heiress. She is a little beauty, isn’t she? If I were twenty years younger . . . Oh well,” he added hastily as Rufus’s gaze fell on him.

“Good night, Uncle James!”

Rufus closed the door.

As if it were that simple!

Downstairs in the library, among the moldering rows of books, he poured himself a brandy and sat in his favorite chair and stared moodily at his boots.

Surely it would be better to lose everything, to walk away with his pride intact, than to inveigle a young woman into marrying him for her money? And make a fool of himself in the bargain! Rufus had no illusions about his reputation and he was content to live a life that did not consist of pandering to the whims of a society for which he had no respect, not anymore. Yes, he knew his reputation was bad—and he had been a reckless youth, and an even more reckless man—and the scar that everyone believed was some dueling injury made him look like a villain. Once he’d lost his social position he’d found his friends leaving in droves. Now he did not trust any of them, and his cool and arrogant manner, often downright hostile, did not help others to warm to him.

By God he was no young lady’s dream husband! Lady Averil would run a mile, and if she didn’t then those who loved and protected her, not to mention those who oversaw her fortune, would build walls around her that Rufus could never scale.

And yet he could not help but remember her voice in the darkness of the coach, talking about her sister in that wistful way. Would she let him help her? He might be a little rusty at it, but he used to be the best man The Guardians had in the East End. If that was where Rose was then he would find her.

And Averil would be so grateful to him that she’d marry him?

Rufus shook his head and sipped his drink.

He was out of practice when it came to wooing ladies of the upper classes. Since his wife died, on the day that Eustace was born, he’d spent his time with an assortment of former dancers and actresses, women who did not ask anything from him once he’d paid for their services. Could he really persuade Lady Averil Martindale to fall in love with him? To agree to marry him? To hand over her considerable fortune so that he could save his family home?

He took another sip of his brandy, remembering her gray eyes sparking up at him as he held her in his arms. Would it be so very hard to face her over the breakfast table every morning for the next forty years? To spend his nights in her bed?

“My lord?” Gregson was in the doorway and Rufus hadn’t even heard him knock. “Master Eustace won’t go to sleep until you say good night, my lord.”

Upstairs Eustace was in bed, a night lamp on the table beside him. Eustace would not sleep without a light since Mrs. Slater frightened him so badly with tales of hungry monsters that came in the night to eat bad boys. That was what she called him.
A bad boy.
Dear, brave, softhearted Eustace, who hadn’t a bad bone in his body.

Rufus uncurled his fists and smiled at his son. “You know you shouldn’t have gone with Uncle James to that place, don’t you?”

Eustace wriggled under the bedclothes.

“But I’m glad you did. Just don’t do it again, eh?”

The boy nodded and yawned. “Papa, I liked her.”

Rufus lifted an eyebrow but he was fairly sure he already knew what Eustace would say.

“Lady Averil. She was nice, wasn’t she? And I liked her dog. Can we visit her house soon?”

“We don’t really know her, do we? You have to be invited to visit someone’s house if you don’t know them.”

“What was my mother like?”

Rufus wondered just how many more shocks he could take today. Eustace never spoke of his mother. What on earth had made him think of her now? But of course it was Averil Martindale, and he must have overheard James’s ill-considered idea about marriage.

“She was rather tall, and pretty, and she had hair the color of autumn leaves.”

“No, I mean, what was she
like
?” The boy sounded fractious, but he was tired so no wonder. Rufus let it pass.

What was she like? It was a long time since Meredith had died but he still remembered the bitter arguments, the recriminations, the realization by both of them that they had made a terrible mistake. Meredith, the daughter of a rope manufacturer in Bethnal Green, and Rufus, the son of an earl. Their runaway marriage had caused a fracture in both their families and Rufus had found himself ostracized by society. When she died things had only gotten worse and he hadn’t had the heart to repair the damage. In truth he’d preferred to remain an outcast.

It had suited him.

He had liked the simplicity of the life of an outcast and he’d enjoyed working for The Guardians—the danger and the intrigue. When that came to an end, mainly because of Mrs. Slater, he had set himself to be a perfect father and landlord, a perfect earl of Southbrook. And now all of that had come crashing down around him, too.

“She was kind,” he said at last, knowing that his wife
was
kind, before things went sour. “She sang to you sometimes, before you were born. She wanted me to call you Eustace if you were a boy, or Eustacia if you were a girl. She’d be very proud of you if she could see you now.”

Eustace’s eyes were closing. He smiled and Rufus tucked his bedclothes about him and kissed his cheek.

“Good night,” he murmured.

As he reached the door Eustace called out, “Will you let Uncle James stay, Papa? He’s very sorry.”

Rufus tightened his hand on the doorknob. “We’ll see,” he said sternly.

But he knew he was already beaten. James was very sorry for what he’d done and had made promises not to do it again, so it looked as if James would be staying. Until the next time he lost control of his demons. But he was company for Eustace, and hopefully he would distract the boy from thoughts of visiting Averil Martindale.

The Heiress, he reminded himself, as he strode down the long corridor toward his own room. He could still feel the shape of her in his arms, smell the scent of her, and remember the way her hair tumbled about her, as if it was too rebellious to stay neatly in its pins.

It might be interesting to further his acquaintance with Averil.

Not, he assured himself, because of any thoughts he might have of marrying her, but because he found her interesting. And there was the mystery of the sister, Rose. That might give him something to distract his thoughts from his current troubles.

Would she welcome his interest?

Rufus, remembering her pink cheeks and flashing eyes, smiled. Probably not. But he was rather inclined to interfere anyway.

A
veril was dreaming.

Dreaming of Rufus, the Earl of Southbrook.

They were driving in a carriage through the park. Trees were sprouting new green leaves and walkers were strolling on the paths, and she kept glancing at him and smiling. He was looking very handsome, in a rakish kind of way.

And then the scene changed and it was dark and they were running through the narrow alleys of the East End and there was someone chasing them. Rufus had hold of her hand and he was tugging her along, and then suddenly he let go and she was alone in the dark. Hiding. Frightened.

And that was when she realized she wasn’t Averil after all. She was Rose; Rose, her lost sister.

Averil’s eyes snapped open. There was something wet and warm on her toes. She lifted her head to stare down at the bottom of the bed and saw Hercules cleaning them for her with his large pink tongue.

Last night she hadn’t been able to do more than take off her boots and outer clothing, before curling up under the bedclothes for sleep. She must have stuck her foot out at some point and now Hercules was performing her morning ablutions for her.

Slowly, carefully, she moved to swing her legs to the floor. Her knee was still very sore but now it was stiff, as well, and when she looked more closely at it she could see it was puffy and swollen.