“You won’t see anything to her detriment.”
Nell took a moment to appreciate the marchioness’s trust. Trust she didn’t deserve. Her whisper of guilt swelled to a clamor. She might be grateful that her ladyship won this battle, but Leath was right to be wary.
“You’re an obstinate wench.”
“Of course I am, darling. Where do you think your stubbornness comes from?”
He laughed with genuine humor, and began to speak about someone they both knew in London. Very quietly, Nell shut the door.
For the moment, she was safe. But only for the moment. Leath wouldn’t let the matter go. And he’d do his best to discredit her with the marchioness. From now on, she must move carefully. She also needed to resume her search for the diary, no matter the danger.
The marchioness made no mention of her son’s attempt to dismiss Nell, but her manner became if anything, more affectionate. Nell tried to steer clear of Leath, but it was inevitable that they should pass in the corridor or encounter each other when she slipped into the library to select a book for the marchioness.
The lady’s taste for novels grew apace. When Nell had started as a companion, her duties had involved conversation, playing cards, and writing letters. Occasionally she assisted with treatments during the marchioness’s bouts of ill health. Now they’d rushed through Pride and Prejudice and had just finished Sense and Sensibility. Apart from the dreary Clarissa, Nell had no idea what to choose next. The Alloway Chase library was crammed with dispiritingly worthy v
olumes.
Nell enjoyed reading aloud and the activity was undemanding, welcome when she managed so little sleep. The last three nights, she’d devoted fruitless hours to searching the library. Fear goaded her to haste. If the marquess caught her, he’d dismiss her for sure, whatever his mother said.
“Shall we continue with Don Juan this morning, your ladyship?” Nell had started Byron’s poem yesterday and the marchioness was enjoying the change.
“Yes, please, my dear. Such a wicked fellow.”
“Byron or Don Juan?”
The marchioness laughed, although a flat note in her amusement worried Nell. Blast Leath for harrying his mother.
“Both. Help me to sit up, if you please. I’m feeling a little tired.”
Her request didn’t surprise Nell. The fair, delicate features, so different from her son’s saturnine intensity, were drawn. She settled the marchioness more comfortably and opened the morocco-bound volume where she’d left off, with the youthful philanderer seducing the virtuous but hot-blooded Lady Julia.
Settling the parcel he carried more securely, Leath paused on the threshold to observe the two women in the sunny room. Capricious autumn offered up a few perfect days before winter descended.
With a tenderness that he couldn’t mistake, Miss Trim was arranging his mother’s pillows. It was possible, even probable, that the girl was a self-serving schemer, but at this moment when she thought herself unobserved, he couldn’t mistake her affection for his mother.
When he’d tried to have the chit dismissed, he should have expected to fail. He was honest enough to admit that his reasons for wanting to banish Miss Trim extended beyond her influence over his mother. He wanted her out of his house because he wanted her out of his mind. She was far too distracting. Hell, she was far too tempting.
Her veiled hostility didn’t douse his sexual interest. It fired him up. There was something exciting about a woman who didn’t fawn over him and imagine herself either his marchioness or his mistress.
With a turn of her graceful body that made his heart leap, the girl reached for a book. She sat in profile, so he saw the delicate nose and resolute chin so incongruous on a housemaid. His hands itched to tear away the pins torturing her bright hair. He mightn’t trust her, but by God, she was a pleasure to behold.
Whereas his mother didn’t look well. He frowned, hardly hearing Miss Trim begin to read. Then, like his mother, he found himself caught up in the racy tale.
But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?
Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;
A little still she strove, and much repented
And whispering, “I will ne’er consent”—consented.
On the line’s sting in the tail, Miss Trim noticed Leath in the doorway. While the duchess snickered, the girl’s cinnamon eyes widened. Fleetingly he saw no trace of dislike. He wished to Hades he did. Instead he was astonished to discover that his reluctant attraction wasn’t one-sided.
Like wanton Lady Julia in the poem, Miss Trim’s expression spoke of resistance—but also desire. If they were alone, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she yielded to what they both wanted.
This was a bloody disaster.
“Go on, Nell. This is so delicious.”