As subtly as she could, Nell had quizzed the other servants about the marquess. Some of the maids had hair-raising stories about lecherous employers in other households, but nobody had a bad word to say about Leath. She’d failed too in all attempts to obtain evidence of his lechery from women living on the estate.
It was decidedly annoying. And a little unsettling. Nell had imagined that the people who knew him best would despise him for the monster he was.
His lordship had been home nearly a fortnight and he was yet to spend a night away from the house. For a heartless seducer, he was a diligent worker. Reams of correspondence came in and out, and he also paid conscientious attention to the estate.
Clearly his licentious impulses were under control. So far, she’d only seen him behave inappropriately with one woman. When he’d caught Nell Trim about the waist that first night. When he’d spoken to her as his equal. And more, the shameful awareness that hummed endlessly between them.
When they were together, dislike set the air sizzling. It must be dislike. She refused to admit that she found the man who had ruined her half-sister attractive.
His lordship’s presence was impossible to ignore. The air buzzed with energy, the staff were on extra alert, the marchioness glowed, the gardens bloomed with extra color. Goodness, even the sun shone more brightly, now that the master returned.
If Nell had remained a housemaid, avoiding his lordship would have been simple. For his mother’s companion, it was impossible. With every day, maintaining her loathing
became more difficult. And each moment felt more like a betrayal of Dorothy’s memory. Nell could almost believe that there were two Lord Leaths. One despoiled innocent girls and abandoned them to suffer the consequences. The other was kind to his mother and considerate of his staff and careful with his tenants.
She couldn’t believe Dorothy had deceived her—her half-sister’s dying words had rung with anguish and burning sincerity. But still Nell couldn’t match the Leath she came to know with the man who so callously had destroyed an innocent girl.
Her desperation to find the diary built to a frenzy. Hatred alone gave her courage to carry out her scheme. She didn’t want to think how Leath’s sternness softened when he smiled at her ladyship. She needed instead to remember Dorothy lying quiet and unmoving after breathing her last.
Wariness—and awareness—deepened every time that enigmatic gaze settled upon Nell, as if the marquess added up all he knew about her and found the total wanting.
As Leath approached the library after his morning ride, he heard the unexpected sound of laughter. Frowning, he opened the door and paused, observing the tableau before him. A tableau that didn’t please him at all.
He was used to everyone snapping to attention. He wasn’t by nature a vain man, but how irritating that neither of the people sharing a jolly chat noticed him. Paul Crane, his staid-as-a-maiden-aunt secretary, poised halfway up the library stairs, passing books down to a beautiful woman who smiled at him as if she enjoyed the most wonderful time.
Of course it was Miss Trim. Miss Trim who never looked so animated nor so happy in the company of the man who paid her wages. Morning sun poured through the tall windows to light her graceful figure. She looked unassuming in one of her ubiquitous gray dresses. Her hair was scraped back in its severe style. She made a most unlikely seductress, but something in Leath stirred to savage resentment that she smiled at Crane in a way she’d never smiled at him.
“Clarissa will keep her ladyship busy,” Crane said.
“It’s rather dour,” Miss Trim said. “What about something by Miss Austen?”
“At least they’re shorter.”
Who knew his secretary read novels? And what other housemaid discussed books with such familiarity? She was an unusual one, Miss Trim. So unusual that Leath felt like grabbing those straight shoulders and shaking her until she confessed her secrets.
“Here’s Pride and Prejudice. That’s a favorite in my family.”
“Mine too.”
Family? She claimed to be an orphan. Leath tensed like a hunting dog on a fox’s scent.
“Her ladyship might have read it.”
“His lordship needs to get something more recent for his mother,” Miss Trim said, making Leath bristle at the implication of neglect. “It’s odd that she doesn’t get a standing order of the latest books from Hatchards. Surely Lady Sophie wanted to read something published in the last ten years.”
“Lady Sophie wasn’t much of a reader,” Crane said. “If I can assist with making a list for the marchioness, I’d be happy to oblige. My sister is always mentioning some book or another in her letters.”
“Clearly I’m not keeping you busy enough, Crane,” Leath said acidly.
Silence crashed down. Crane wobbled on the ladder and dropped the leather volume onto the carpet. “My lord…”
Miss Trim turned more slowly. “Your lordship,” she said coolly, curtsying and lowering her eyes.
Damn it, Leath already regretted the loss of that glorious smile. It was possible he made her uneasy—God knew, his constant physical yen for her made him uneasy. But he didn’t think she was frightened. Instead, he felt like she watched him, waiting for some slip. He had no idea why. But his skin prickled when she was in the room, and not just because of his inconvenient interest.
“My lord, Miss… Miss Trim wanted some reading for her ladyship. I didn’t think you’d mind if I helped her.” On unsteady legs, Crane descended and bent to retrieve the book. “I can only apologize most sincerely if I’ve overstepped the mark.”
Damn it, Leath had reduced his obliging and efficient secretary to a stuttering wreck. He hated feeling like the specter at the feast. Illogically, he blamed the girl whose gaze was focused on the floor. The girl who looked as if she’d never permit an insubordinate thought to cross her mind.