Cavendish Brothers 02 - To Enchant an Icy Earl (5 page)

Indeed, Miss Bartlett’s eyes widened
at the vulgarity while Mrs. Cavendish passed her husband an anxious
expression. Fordingham couldn’t blame them, either one. He’d always
hated the expression his brother so favored, and it had no place in
conversation with ladies.

Even as his younger brother was
tossing his own napkin to the table and pushing his chair back,
Fordingham leveled his stare upon him.

“
Sit down,
Wesley.”

But Wesley did not sit
down. Instead, he reached down to take his startled wife’s hand and
assist her in rising. “
Sit down. Tell me
what I wish to hear. Come to supper
.” His
tone rose with each phrase, almost slapping Fordingham in the face
with the agitation behind his words. He shoved his chair from
behind until it rattled against the edge of the table. “Everything
is a damned order from you! I’ve had enough. You insisted we come
without telling us why, you didn’t let us know that you’d invited
some poor, unsuspecting chit along for us to chaperone, and there
seems to be no reason for any of it other than for you to deliver
all of us commands. I’ve had enough.”

And yet again, Wesley was
unequivocally correct. There was nothing Fordingham could say to
refute the harsh accusations. His arms felt irrationally heavy,
like his hands were weighted and causing his shoulders to
droop.

“
Send in a maid to act as a
chaperone for Miss Bartlett,” Wesley barked at one of the waiting
footmen. “We’re leaving.”

While Wesley and Mrs. Cavendish
hastened from the dining room, the demure woman arguing
unsuccessfully with her doggedly determined husband, Fordingham
felt like the most loathsome creature ever to grace London with his
presence.

Equally as damning as his behavior had
been was the fact that Miss Bartlett was now without a proper
chaperone. A maid did scurry in and take up a position along the
wall only moments after Wesley’s departure, but that wasn’t the
same.

Fordingham turned to her, prepared to
issue her the truest apology he had ever uttered in his life. He’d
yet to say a single word when she gave him a tentative
smile.

“
I see you have some
squabbles with your brother.”

Was she joking with him? It sounded as
though she was, but he couldn’t be certain. The art of joking was
as unfamiliar to him as happiness.

He snapped his jaw closed and bit back
the retort on his tongue that his family affairs were a private
matter.

The corners of her lips quirked upward
and a wicked gleam sparkled in her eyes again, returning the joy
that had been present and fled. “My sisters and I have had more
than just a few squabbles over the years. And my brothers, as well.
It’s only natural to have disagreements with siblings, I should
think. One spends far too much time in their company to avoid
them.”

So perhaps she was jesting with him.
Good God. No one ever jested with him.

“
Quite so,” he somehow
managed to choke out. Then reason returned to his mind, and he
signaled one of his footmen over. “Have my carriage readied so I
may return my guest to her brother’s home after our meal.” Taking
his fork in his hand once again, he attempted to resume
eating.

As the footman inclined his head and
turned to do Fordingham’s bidding, Miss Bartlett’s forehead
wrinkled. “Oh, is that necessary, my lord? Surely having a maid and
your footmen present will be sufficient to prevent any
scandal.”

But there was nothing in the world
that would convince him leaving her reputation to chance would be
acceptable in the least. “I hope to one day make you the Countess
of Fordingham, Miss Bartlett. There can be no hint of shame
surrounding your name.” There was already too much scandal
surrounding the Cavendish family, from the rift between Father and
Wesley…and now between Fordingham and Wesley. He couldn’t add to it
any more than he already had. When her mouth opened to once again
counter him, he set the fork down again with more force than he’d
intended. “I am sorry, but I have ruined too many things already in
this life. Your reputation will not join the others upon the
list.”

Miss Bartlett pressed her lips tightly
together, but she kept her displeasure to herself. Fordingham
fought down the bile that rose up in his throat upon realization
that he’d yet again decided what was to be done and simply ordered
it, without taking into consideration what Miss Bartlett might
wish.

He had a great many things left to
learn in this life. The time to begin the learning process had
arrived.

Thick, splattering raindrops pelted to
the ground just outside the door of Fordingham House—a heavy enough
rain that Lord Fordingham placed a hand on Calista’s elbow,
effectively stopping her from delving outside into the
deluge.

The simple touch sent a flurry of
awareness racing through her body. She turned to him and found the
same impassive expression he so often bore. What a complicated man
he was turning out to be. True, he was everything that she’d
thought he would be, everything she’d hoped he would be…but there
were a great many facets to Lord Fordingham she suspected she’d
hardly come close to discovering.

A footman stood just outside the door,
waiting to escort her beneath an umbrella to the crested Fordingham
carriage which was to return her to Marston House on Curzon Street,
but Lord Fordingham was not looking at his footman or the umbrella.
His gaze was instead focused entirely upon the street.

Calista followed the path of his eyes
to the near river racing along the side of Hanover Square and
wending a rapid path toward Oxford Street. The two of them remained
inside his home, but the depth of the water could not be in doubt.
It would easily reach halfway to her knees. In order to board the
carriage, she would have no choice but to make a mad dash through
the flooding waters.

“
I cannot allow your gown
to be ruined by the rain.”

That was all the warning Calista was
granted before Lord Fordingham lifted her high into his arms. She
let out a squeak of surprise, but then quickly put her arms around
his shoulders and neck so she could steady herself. In the
darkness, she still couldn’t make out the shade of his eyes—only
the steely intent behind them. He was as determined in his decision
as she’d ever seen a man.

But surely since they weren’t yet
betrothed, and since they were all alone with only servants around
them, this could hardly be considered proper. “My lord,
I—”

“
Umbrellas,” he commanded,
cutting her off. And then he carried her out into the weather, his
strong arms like steel bands around her.

Somehow, despite the corded strength
in his arms, he was so gentle with her. His firm grip left her
feeling safe and protected, like a crystal vase in steady hands…and
at the same time rather disconcerted at his nearness.

The footman who’d been waiting angled
his umbrella to cover Calista’s head, and another footman appeared
seemingly out of nowhere to protect the rest of her body with a
second umbrella. They matched Lord Fordingham’s stride. Coursing
water splashed around their booted feet, and the earl lifted her
higher in his arms to keep her from getting wet from below. By the
time he had her tucked away in his carriage, scarcely a drop had
touched her.

Once she was settled, Lord Fordingham
boarded and took up the opposite bench. “Shall we?” he
asked.

Calista nodded.

But he hesitated, the corners of his
mouth turning downward ever so slightly and his brow furrowing ever
so slightly. “I ought to bring a maid along for your protection,
but in this weather…”

“
I’m certain it isn’t
necessary,” Calista assured him. It was bad enough that he had
insisted upon bringing her home himself, instead of sending her
with his servants to handle the task. His lower half was drenched
all the way through. “My brother’s home is only on Curzon Street.
It’s not all that far. I’m sure this will be fine for such a brief
amount of time.” She gave him a shy smile, hoping he would respond
favorably to it.

Lord Fordingham nodded curtly, dashing
her hopes that he might soften a bit. He rapped a hand on the roof,
and the conveyance lurched into motion as the steady rhythm of rain
beat down overhead.

For a few moments, the two of them sat
together in silence. For that matter, much of their supper had been
spent in silence, aside from those tense moments between Lord
Fordingham and his brother. She’d tried, after Mr. and Mrs.
Cavendish left, to bring a bit of levity into the room, but she
wasn’t entirely certain the earl had found her remarks even
remotely humorous.

Lord Fordingham was proving to be a
very difficult man to understand. His expression rarely changed, he
did not seem to find amusement in anything, and she never had the
slightest inkling as to what he was thinking.

It was bewildering, all things
considered, to be in his presence. Not quite unpleasant—but she
never knew what to expect. Despite his thoroughly predictable
demeanor, she thought he might very well be the most unpredictable
man she’d ever known.

A constant stream of water dripped
from his Hessians onto the floor of the carriage, the soft sound of
it in direct counterpoint to the barrage overhead. After a moment,
he looked down. “Your slippers will be ruined. Lift your feet and
rest them on my bench.” Even as he said it, he shifted to the side
to make room for her to do so.

Denying him was the furthest thing
from Calista’s mind. She lifted her head to meet his gaze as she
brought her feet up like he’d instructed. He stared at her so
intently, so resolutely, it left her breathless. When at last his
gaze broke, her eyes dropped to the hands resting beside him. They
clenched and released, clenched and released.

Much as her lungs seemed to be doing
within the limited confines of her chest.

But still, he said nothing. It seemed
that if he wasn’t issuing her an order—as Mr. Cavendish had pointed
out at supper—he didn’t know what to do or say. For whatever
reason, Calista couldn’t force herself to mind about his
heavy-handed manner. When he told her to do something, there seemed
to be great care behind it. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to
care for her. Perhaps, in time, he could learn to do so without
taking on such a despotic air.

In the meanwhile, she supposed it
would be her responsibility to engender conversation.

Discussing his family ought to be a
good starting point, since he’d thought to introduce her to his
brother straightaway. “Have you always been close with your
brother, my lord?”

Lord Fordingham gave her the most
curious look then, some queer combination of confusion and abject
horror. Perhaps asking him about his family was not the best tack
she could have taken.

She fought not to blush yet found it
exceedingly difficult, as his gaze never so much as
wavered.

“
I do not believe I
am…
close
, as you
say…with him even now,” he said at great length. Then he fell
silent again.

“
Oh,” Calista murmured when
he didn’t go on. It was difficult for her to fathom two siblings
not being close. Certainly there were always times when one sibling
might wish to cosh another over the head with a wooden post, but
those moments were the minority. Weren’t they?

“
I’d hoped to remedy that
situation tonight,” he said, straightening his spine even more than
it normally was, until he looked painfully erect. His shoulders
moved back, and the muscles beneath his coat tensed to the point
she could see them bunching but not releasing, similar to what his
fists had done moments before.

He wanted to repair his relationship
with his brother, and yet he’d invited Calista along as well? That
didn’t really make much sense.

“
Perhaps it might be best
for you to attempt to make amends with Mr. Cavendish when you two
are alone,” she suggested. “It might be easier to discuss your
differences without Mrs. Cavendish and me listening in.”

Lord Fordingham cocked his head to the
side in a manner that reminded her very much of a curious pup, as
though he was trying to examine her from a different angle. “I do
believe it is safer for all parties involved if my brother and I
are not alone together—at least not at this juncture.”