Intimate Betrayal (2 page)
Authors: Adrienne Basso
“Kindly inform Viscount Mulgrave the Duke of Gillingham has arrived,” Morgan instructed. “And have someone fetched to see to my horses.”
The butler nodded his snow-white head in understanding, expertly transferred the reins to one hand, and raised his unencumbered white-gloved hand slightly. Almost magically, a thin young man appeared from behind a tall hedge to lead the horses and carriage away. Relieved of the burden of the reins, the butler walked slowly up the steps and expectantly held the door for the duke.
Morgan paused momentarily in the entrance hall as the butler divested him of his hat, gloves, and greatcoat. He was then silently led to the front salon, poured an excellent glass of brandy, and left to his own thoughts.
Alyssa Carrington sat back in the tall wooden chair clasping a lukewarm cup of tea in her hand. She had been trying to enjoy the fragrant brew for the past half hour, but thus far had been interrupted twice to attend to estate business. Listening with half an ear as the cook, Mrs. Stratton, repeated various pieces of local gossip, Alyssa now absently sipped the beverage, hoping for a few quiet moments.
“Lady Alyssa,” Mrs. Stratton admonished in a stern voice, “you have barely touched my apple tart. I made it especially the way you prefer, with extra cinnamon.”
“It looks wonderful,” Alyssa instantly replied. Hoping to avoid a long discourse on how she must eat more because she was too thin, Alyssa broke off a small portion of the tart and began vigorously chewing.
Satisfied that her mistress would comply with her wishes, Mrs. Stratton returned to the large stockpot simmering on the stove. Deftly she chopped onions and carrots, adding them to the broth. The pungent aroma drifted through the air, giving the kitchen a feeling of comfort and warmth completely separate from the heat radiating from the iron stove.
Alyssa closed her eyes and savored the warmth of the cluttered kitchen. She always tried spending at least an hour of her busy day here; partially to escape the endless flood of difficulties encountered in running Westgate Manor, but mostly because she enjoyed the friendly atmosphere.
Mrs. Stratton could always be counted upon to know the very latest gossip from the neighboring estates, and even though Alyssa knew she shouldn’t encourage it, she was frankly curious about this strange world of the aristocracy that was virtually cut off to her. For years Alyssa was concerned about her neighbors’ impressions of her unorthodox life, but after hearing about the local gentry’s reckless and occasionally shocking behavior, she doubted her eccentricities would be of much interest to them.
Her father, Viscount Mulgrave, was a man who detested country life and spent the majority of his time in the clubs and gambling dens of London, leaving his young motherless daughter to be raised by servants and a succession of governesses. It was an unconventional and oftentimes lonely upbringing, but not an unhappy one. The servants at the manor soon adopted the somber little girl into their hearts and Alyssa grew to maturity surrounded by love.
By the time she reached an age to be introduced into society, her father was too far in debt to consider wasting money on a lavish coming-out season in London. Consequently, at 24 Alyssa was unmarried, with no prospects and a realistic acceptance of her life as a spinster. She never let on if this upset her, because she had taken on a far more formidable task than marriage—the running of the estate.
It was an unlikely occupation for a young woman, but Alyssa embraced her role in her usual forthright manner. She did not hesitate to ask for help from those she trusted, the men who worked and lived on the tenant farms for generations. Her knowledge increased steadily over the years and in some instances surpassed those men who taught her. The estate flourished under her guidance, and her tenants, skeptical at first, embraced her heartily for her fairness and genuine feeling for the land and its people.
Alyssa was pleased with her success, and although the burdens became almost overwhelming at times, she felt useful and accomplished. The only dark clouds appeared when her father would make an unexpected visit. Lord Carrington was constantly looking for funds, indulging in too much drink, insulting the servants, and generally making a nuisance of himself. Thankfully his visits were short and well spaced.
Alyssa was taking another bite of the scrumptious apple tart when the butler, Perkins, suddenly appeared in the doorway. She immediately noticed he was wearing his coat and gloves. The piece of pastry fell to her stomach like a stone. Perkins only wore formal attire when there was a stranger at the manor. And strangers only came to collect on gambling debts.
“He is in the front salon, Lady Alyssa,” Perkins informed her quietly, reading the stricken look on her face.
At the butler’s announcement Mrs. Stratton turned sharply, watching Alyssa with anxious eyes. It is always the same, Alyssa thought miserably, feeling the tension building in the room.
“Did this gentleman give his name?” she questioned, slowly rising to her feet.
“He claims to be the Duke of Gillingham.”
A duke! Alyssa was momentarily stunned. This was very unusual. Only the truly desperate men came themselves; most sent a secretary or lawyer to collect on the markers Jeremy Carrington wagered when he ran short of funds but refused to leave the gaming tables. She silently prayed there was another, less costly reason for this man’s appearance.
“Do you think he really is a duke?” Alyssa asked, trusting Perkins’s opinion.
Perkins thoughtfully considered the question before responding. “He is expensively dressed and carries himself with a duke’s arrogance. He gave the impression we were expecting him, yet he arrived alone, without servants.”
This was odd, Alyssa thought. “Thank you, Perkins. I shall attend our duke at once.”
Alyssa quietly followed the butler through the kitchen and up to the main entrance hall. Pausing a brief moment outside the salon door, she successfully conquered an almost uncontrollable urge to turn and flee. Taking several deep breaths to steady her nerves, Alyssa finally nodded slightly, and Perkins opened the door.
She entered the room soundlessly and stood in the doorway. She remained unobserved until the door closed behind her. At the sound, the duke turned expectantly. She saw surprise register briefly in his face before his features took on a questioning look.
Alyssa nearly gasped aloud as she got her first good look at him. The elegant man standing before her was unlike anyone she had ever seen, or even imagined. His hard masculine presence seemed to fill the room, and Alyssa found herself unwittingly staring at his bronzed face, admiring the finely chiseled features.
The duke was a tall man, powerfully built, with broad shoulders and muscular legs. He was dressed impeccably in a slate-blue double-breasted coat, fitted snugly over a high-collared white waistcoat and accented with a faultlessly tied cravat. His fawn-colored leather breeches clung tightly to his legs and fitted expertly into his polished black knee-high Hessian boots. His hair was jet black in color, cut close to his head and curling slightly at the ends. He took several steps closer and Alyssa became captivated by his hypnotic silver-gray eyes.
Beautiful. The word echoed through Alyssa’s mind. He was positively beautiful. This stranger was such a cut above the usual men her father associated with, Alyssa felt certain she misjudged his reason for visiting Westgate Manor.
Forcefully shaking herself out of her admiring stupor, Alyssa spoke. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. I see Perkins has provided you with some refreshment.” She gracefully inclined her head toward the half-empty glass of brandy he held. “Is there anything further we may bring you?”
“I was expecting Viscount Mulgrave,” the duke replied in confusion. “Or if he is unavailable, perhaps the estate agent can be summoned.”
Alyssa’s heart sank at his words. If this beautiful stranger wanted to see the estate agent, he wanted a gambling debt settled. Unconsciously she let out a sigh of disappointment, but regained her composure quickly when she noticed the duke watching her closely.
“Please follow me.” Alyssa turned on her heel and swept out of the room with regal disdain, wanting very much to conclude this unpleasant task. The duke barely had time to catch his breath before she disappeared.
“What the devil is going on?” he shouted. Temper rising, the duke slammed his brandy glass down on the mantel and raced after Alyssa’s retreating figure.
He crossed the vast entrance hall in several long strides, catching up with Alyssa as she reached the heavy paneled doors of the drawing room. She swung the doors open in a dramatic manner and strode purposefully into the room, never once glancing back to see if the duke was following.
Alyssa headed directly for a mahogany leather-topped desk from which she produced an account ledger and a pair of small, round, gold-rimmed reading glasses. Perching the glasses on the edge of her nose, she spoke to Morgan in a cool tone. “Shall we conclude your business as swiftly as possible, Your Grace?”
The duke stood in the doorway carefully scrutinizing the room, not quite sure if his eyes were deceiving him. The last remaining rays of sunlight streamed through the open drapes, casting a golden hue on the room’s contents. It was an amazing sight. Long wooden tables joined together against the wall were filled with gold, silver, and bronze plate. Running through the center of the room were six rows of additional tables that held magnificent objects of beauty and art collected from previous centuries and various parts of the world. Unusual Chinese vases stood on one table, a set of early Byzantine chalices on another.
Venetian glass sculptures stood side by side with crystal goblets and porcelain figurines. A spectacular jade collection filled a large glass curio cabinet in the corner, and the walls were hung with countless paintings, from the Italian Renaissance to seventeenth-century Dutch. Even the regent’s most lavish rooms in Carlton House paled in comparison to the treasures housed in this room.
Alyssa observed the duke’s reaction carefully. Finally he sent a questioning glance her way, surprising her. There were always different reactions upon first entering this room, but in Alyssa’s experience a face struck with awe eventually turned to one of greed. Puzzled, Alyssa questioned the duke.
“Am I not correct in thinking you have come to Westgate Manor to collect on a debt owed you by Viscount Mulgrave?”
Morgan favored Alyssa with a long stare, his patience giving out.
“Madam, if you harbor any hope of retaining your position in this household you shall immediately produce the viscount, or his agent, or some person in authority so I may conduct my business,” Morgan declared in a tight voice.
“I run the estate, Your Grace,” Alyssa replied, matching the curtness of his tone.
“And who the devil are you?” he shouted.
“Alyssa Carrington,” she answered, her voice also rising in volume.
“His wife?”
“His daughter,” she corrected.
Her answer stunned him. She was dressed like a servant. Nay, worse than a servant. The duke’s eyes raked her in puzzled appraisal, taking in every aspect of her appearance with a critical eye. She was tall, taller than most women he was acquainted with, and she held herself erect, almost rigid. Her face was angular, with high cheekbones, a straight, defined nose, and a full, wide mouth. Her complexion was fair, with just a hint of color in her cheeks. It was, however, her eyes that drew him. Even behind the lenses of her glasses he could see they were almond shaped, deep green in color, accented by lashes that were long, dark, and full. They gave her an exotic, almost mysterious look.
Her hair was pulled back in a most unbecoming manner, making it difficult to determine the color. Her gown was a drab-brown garment, very plain and hopelessly out of fashion. It was too loose and too short and completely hid her figure. Still, her lovely face held Morgan’s attention against his will. She was not beautiful in the conventional sense, but her features were classic and she radiated an aura of confidence and refinement he found utterly intriguing.
“I was unaware Jeremy Carrington had any family living at Westgate Manor.”
“Well, he does.” Alyssa directed a withering look at the duke. He ignored it.
“You run the estate, Lady Carrington?”
“Miss Carrington,” she corrected in a tight voice.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Lady Carrington was my mother. I prefer to be addressed as Miss Carrington.”
“Very well, Miss Carrington,” the duke replied in a deep voice, punctuating each syllable. “Do you run the estate?”
“Yes, I am in charge.”
“What then, may I ask, is all of this?” Morgan queried sarcastically, sweeping his arm about the room. “Your private study where you conduct estate business?”
“Not exactly.” Alyssa responded with a distinctly challenging note in her voice and a decidedly stubborn look in her rich green eyes.
She could see he was having difficulty controlling his anger, yet she refused to volunteer any additional information. She knew she was being rude, but she honestly did not care. After all, the duke had not explained the purpose of his sudden unannounced appearance even though she understood all too well why he was at the manor. Feeling completely justified, Alyssa stood her ground.
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