Earl of Scandal (London Lords) (4 page)

“Mr. Faraday, would you like some more stew?” Elizabeth’s soft voice jolted him from his thoughts.

“No, thank you. Really, this has been splendid. Hot food for a cold night.” He smiled at the two sisters, thinking how inane he sounded.

“I’m sorry my father couldn’t join us, but he often eats dinner late,” Elizabeth said.

“That’s quite all right,” he answered. “As an unexpected guest, I certainly don’t want to put you out.”

There was a noise at the door and Bob came into the dining room. “I led both of the mares back here, but the rig’s done up bad. You’ll have to see about getting someone from Derlingham to tow it into the blacksmith’s.”

“Thanks so much for your help,” Christian said. “I’ll look to it first thing in the morning. I really hate to trouble you further, but if you could give me a lift to the next posting station, I’d be very much obliged.”

Bob looked doubtful. “We’ve no carriage lanterns, and with the roads the way they is, I don’t think it would be wise to be drivin’ anywheres tonight.” He looked to Elizabeth. “I’m certain the Reverend would want us to have Mr. Faraday stay until morning.”

“Of course.” Elizabeth stood and began clearing away dishes. “We wouldn’t dream of asking you to travel under these circumstances. The cold would be the worst possible thing for you.”

“But I’m perfectly fine,” Christian protested. “I really don’t want to put you out.”

“I’ll drive him,” Merissa said. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Nor a bit of ice on the roads.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Faraday will stay here.”

“But where will he sleep?” Merissa asked. She looked as if she favored banishing him to the barn.

“I can stretch out on the settle if necessary,” Christian said quickly. “I’ve slept in less comfortable arrangements, I assure you.”

“He’ll sleep in Charles’ room,” Elizabeth said.

Merissa gave a cry of protest, but Elizabeth shook her head. Christian regarded the two sisters keenly. Who was Charles, and why was Merissa reluctant to let anyone use his room? The hint of mystery intrigued him.

When the women began to carry dishes to the kitchen, Christian, tried to help. Elizabeth immediately intervened. “You’re our guest,” she said, taking his arm and leading him towards the parlor. “It wouldn’t be proper for you to help us with the household chores. Please, come and sit by the fire.”

“Actually, I’d rather have a look at my horses, thank you.”

Bob rose from the table where he had sat down to eat. Christian waved him back. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’m certain I can find the stables on my own.”

“Dress warmly,” Elizabeth said.

Christian smiled at her as he retrieved his coat, hat, and gloves from a rack in the entryway. What a sweet creature. She reminded him of one of his governesses. If only the younger sister displayed half of Elizabeth’s concern!

Christian frowned as he left the house. Women adored him. And not just ladies, either. He’d turned the eye of many giggling parlor maids, and charmed costermonger wenches and orange girls as well. He liked to think that he had an unpretentious, friendly nature which put even the lower classes at their ease.

Except for Melissa Cassell. Almost from the first, she had appeared to view him as some sort of repulsive creature, as if he were a rat from the London docks. What would it take to make the frosty little wench thaw?

He found the stable easily and proceeded down the handful of stalls until he found the grays. Jezebel’s hock didn’t seem tender now, and Christian wondered if he had overestimated her injury.

After examining Delilah, Christian retrieved the lantern and started back to the house. He paused briefly in the yard and looked around the farmstead. What a simple life the Cassells lived. It could hardly be more different than the excitement and excesses of London.

Must be a dashing boring existence, he decided as he began walking again. Still, there was something tantalizing about this place and the quaint, pretty sisters who lived here. After the stilted affectations of London ladies, the Cassell misses were a breath of fresh air.

Quietly entering the house, Christian heard the low murmur of voices in the kitchen. He stepped into the parlor and tried not to listen. It would be terribly impolite of him to eavesdrop, but there was definitely something heated and intense about the conversation.

The voices stopped and Elizabeth appeared in the doorway. “There you are. Did you find your horses well, Mr. Faraday?”

“Quite. I thank you for Bob’s excellent care of them. And your hospitality to me, of course.”

Elizabeth gave him a gentle smile. “Can we get you anything else before you retire?” she asked.

“Actually, I would fancy a bit of brandy if you have any.”

“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “We don’t keep spirits in the house.”

“No matter.” Christian wondered if he would ever sleep. It could hardly be half-past eight. He could not recall going to bed before midnight since he was a schoolboy.

Elizabeth led him to a bedchamber in the back of the house. “Would you like Bob to bring in a brazier?”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m certain I’ll be warm enough.”

After wishing him pleasant dreams, Elizabeth left. Christian gazed around the small chamber. Plainly furnished, with a narrow, old-fashioned bed enclosed by curtains. There was also a washstand, a straight-backed chair, and a bookshelf. Christian took the candle Elizabeth had left him and bent down to peruse the titles. Classics like the
Illiad
and the
Odyssey
, in translation. Modern stories by Defoe and Fielding. A whole stack of copies of the
Sporting News.

A young man’s reading material. Could this Charles be the girls’ brother? But why did they not mention him?

A most peculiar family, Christian thought. He would be well out of their company when he left in the morning. A relief to get back to the fashionable world he was familiar with.

But he would regret not getting to know Merissa Cassell better. She was an intriguing bit of muslin.

And clearly not for him. What the devil would he do with such a prim, sour-tongued miss?

Provocative images filled his mind. Of kissing those saucy lips. Holding that slender form in his arms. The wench was a challenge—and one his body rose most eagerly to meet!

Christian sighed as he loosened his neck cloth. If he began conjuring erotic images, he’d never sleep.

~ ~ ~

Merissa tossed and turned on her small bed and tried not to think about their guest down the hall. His sparkling blue eyes, his mouth which always seemed turned up in a teasing smile, his cunning dimples...

No! She would not be taken in by appealing features and an easy manner. She knew Christian Faraday for what he was, a shallow, depraved nobleman. A most despicable sort of character, his flawed nature cloaked in an outer raiment of beauty and refinement. Had he not admitted that his main occupation was amusing himself? He was exactly like the unprincipled devils who had enticed Charles into a life of debauchery.

Thank heavens, he would be gone in the morning and she would never have to see him again.

Three

Christian walked out into the vividly bright February day after a solitary breakfast. The sound of a vehicle approaching made him turn his attention to the lane. The wagon rattling up the drive had only one occupant, a young miss with silver spectacles who guided the vehicle along with obvious skill. Christian smiled. Merissa wore a different hat today, an old-fashioned bonnet which served to better restrain her abundant curls. She pulled the wagon to a halt and tied the reins. As she prepared to alight, he caught a glimpse of flowered muslin skirts peeping out from under her cloak.

“You look delightful today, Miss Cassell,” he said. “That hat is most becoming.” She frowned, but allowed him to assist her from the vehicle. As he helped her down, Christian enjoyed the feel of her supple form, letting his hands rest on her waist for a moment. He expected her to draw back, perhaps even slap him or chide him for his rudeness. Instead, she froze, staring at him. Rays of’ cobalt pierced the irises of her expressive eyes and her plump, pink lips parted. Christian leaned forward, drawn by the sudden erotic energy that danced between them.

He was on the verge of kissing her when she jerked back so violently she almost tripped and fell against the carriage. When he grabbed her arm to right her, she recoiled again. This time she caught her foot in one of the frozen ruts and twisted her ankle. As she gave a cry, Christian reached out for her once more.

“Get away from me, you loathsome man!” Her face was flushed, her eyes brightening with tears.

“I’m sorry, I only meant to help.”

“Help? Can’t you see what your miserable help has already accomplished!”

“But you’re hurt. Let me aid you.”

“No!” She turned and attempted to hobble towards the house, but he caught up with her in two strides, grabbed her, and swept her into his arms.

“You bastard, put me down!”

At the unladylike epithet, he halted and gazed down at her in astonishment. She went crimson at his glance. “My word,” he said, “you have an interesting vocabulary.”

“It’s your fault! You provoked me!”

Christian smiled, his irritation vanishing. Damn, but this woman excited him! He released her legs slowly, so her feet didn’t quite touch the ground. Their bodies were pressed together; their lips inches apart. No longer did she struggle, but gazed at him with a helpless expression. He bent his head, prepared to kiss her silly.

The sound of horses in the distance made him hesitate. Christian sighed and slid his arm beneath her legs to lift her once more.

“What? What are you doing?” she asked breathily.

“Someone’s coming up the lane. Although I can explain why you are in my arms by saying I’m helping you to the house because of your injury, I fear kissing you goes beyond the bounds of propriety.”

“Kissing?”

“Yes, kissing,” he said. “What did you think was going to happen?” He gave her a brutal look. “You might think twice before you let a man hold you as I did. I warn you, kissing tends to lead to other things that are not quite so innocent.”

She went pale and then grew angry again. “It’s your fault! You’re a despicable rogue!”

Christian ignored her insults as he reached the porch and carried her into the house. He was well used to women blaming him for their own sexual urges, and he knew there was no point to arguing that they were as much at fault as he. They merely grew angrier. Besides, he wasn’t at all comfortable with his part in what had almost occurred. Appalling to imagine that he might have repaid the Cassell family for their kindness in such a fashion. Regardless of whether the chit asked for it or not, his behavior was unacceptable.

After gently transferring Merissa to the settle in the parlor, Christian kneeled down and began to examine her ankle.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’m seeing how severe your injury is.” He moved her skirts aside to expose her feet in their sturdy half-boots.

“It’s much better.” She sat up and tried to pull away.

“Don’t be a twit! I’m not molesting you; I merely want to see how bad the swelling is.”

“Keep your hands off of me!”

Christian took a deep breath, searching for strength. What did she think—that he was going to lift her skirts and ravish her in the parlor?

Perhaps she had a point, he decided. A distinctly lascivious image of slim, shapely legs flashed into his mind. It might be better if he waited for someone else to tend to her.

He stood and went to the window. The approaching vehicle had reached the yard. A man and woman he had never seen before rode in the open phaeton. “Someone’s here,” he said, “but it doesn’t look like your sister. Or Bob.”

“Who is it?” Merissa asked.

“An older woman and man. And she’s wearing an absolutely atrocious green hat.”

“Mrs. Hammond!” Merissa said in a stricken voice.

Christian turned and raised a quizzical brow.

“She’s our neighbor... and a notorious busybody. She’s always after me about taking the wagon alone.”

“Sounds like sensible advice to me.”

Merissa glared at him. Then she sat up straighter. “What are we going to do? If she finds you here, she’ll lecture me until my ears ring!”

“I could hide,” Christian suggested.

“No, no, that won’t do. She may have seen you carry me into the house.”

Christian nodded. “I could tell her the truth. How you sprained your ankle, and I came to your aid.”

“But how will I explain why you are here?”

“It really isn’t so insurmountable. I had a carriage accident last night. You found me and brought me home so I wouldn’t die of exposure. Simple Christian charity, as you said.”

“But you and I... we’re alone together.”

“Quite true. She’ll probably think the worst no matter what we say.” Christian smiled at Merissa, enjoying her discomfiture. The brazen little wench really did need to learn not to go around without a proper escort.

A knock sounded at the door. Merissa attempted to get off the settle, and then grimaced from the pain of her injured-ankle.

“Lie down,” Christian ordered. “I’ll handle this.”

He went to the door and opened it. A stout woman with a long nose and formidable chin met his gaze. Her glance traveled over him. Christian watched her expression change from amazement to disapproval to vaguely speculative.

“Good day, ma’am,” he said bowing. “I presume you’ve come to call on the Cassell family. The truth is, the youngest Miss Cassell is indisposed at the moment, and the rest of the family is—”

“They’re still at church,” Mrs. Hammond interrupted. “I just took leave of the Reverend and Elizabeth there. But who are you?”

Christian cleared his throat and bowed again. “I’m Christian Faraday, earl of Bedlington. Charmed to meet you, ma’am. The fact is, I had a carriage accident last night and the Cassells were kind enough to put me up. I was on my way out now to drive to the blacksmith’s in Derlingham to see about getting my rig repaired.”

“The earl of Bedlington?” Mrs. Hammond gave him a disbelieving look. Christian wondered if he was going to have prove his identity. Then the matron once more assessed his person and apparently decided his clothes were fine enough to bespeak an earl.