Lady Dearing's Masquerade (15 page)

She increased her pace; his frustration grew.

“Will you speak to me after I’ve finished with Mary?”

“Very well. You may meet me in the library when you are done.”

Though her tone was polite, she sounded as enthusiastic as she might at the prospect of having a tooth pulled.

For now, all he could do was follow, suffering like a dumb brute, and try to compose himself for his upcoming time with Mary.

Yesterday he’d merely helped her with her lessons, and she’d shown definite signs of relaxing her guard when he did not press her about her singing.

Perhaps it was time to press a little further.

They reached the flagstoned kitchen, and Livvy introduced him to Cook and several kitchen maids, all of whom bobbed curtseys and eyed him curiously. Then she led him to the adjacent stillroom, where Mary awaited, wearing an apron and mixing something in a bowl on the long oak table that ran nearly the length of the room. The girl looked up and responded shyly to his greeting.

When Livvy had gone, Jeremy gazed about, beguiled by a mix of sweet, pungent and spicy scents. Bunches of herbs and flowers hung from beams and bottles and jars filled with cordials and preserves gleamed from the shelves.

The place exuded the bounty and good taste of its mistress.

“It smells so delightfully in here,” he commented to Mary, to break the silence.

“It does, doesn’t it?” she echoed. “It’s especially nice when we’re drying flower petals for making the rose water and other kinds. Last month we added narcissus petals.”

“What do you use it for?”

“Lady Dearing likes to use it for scent, but it’s good for washing cuts and burns, too.”

So this was the source of Livvy’s delightful scent.

“I shall have to frequent stillrooms more often,” he said, looking about him. “So what are we making today?”

“Banbury cakes, sir.”

“Should I wear an apron as well?”

Her shy smile glimmered briefly. “If you prefer to watch, I won’t tell Lady Dearing.”

“No, I’ve no objection to trying, as long as you tell me what to do. I shouldn’t like to ruin anything!”

She looked as if she didn’t quite dare to laugh, but she took a larger apron off a peg and handed it to him. He donned it, reflecting on how amused Tom would be to see him garbed so, and rejoined Mary at the table. The girl finished mixing the dough, then lifted part of it out and began to add butter to it, working it in until the mixture was soft and rich. Her hands, so small compared to his, were capable and confident, just as Ben’s had been while pruning the fruit trees. When not paralyzed by nervousness, Mary had a sweet, quiet air about her.

No wonder Cecilia had become so fond of her.

Frustration plagued him. If she’d wanted to take Mary in, why had she waited until her deathbed to ask? Mary would have given her something to live for.

“Is something wrong, Sir Jeremy?”

“No, nothing,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I was merely thinking of some business that has been a bit worrisome. Is there some way I can help you now?”

“In just a bit,” she said, relaxing her stiff shoulders. “Now I shall roll out the dough, and you may help me cut it. If you wish, that is.”

She picked up a rolling pin and pressed the dough into a large flat oblong shape. Then she picked up a saucer and pressed it down into the dough, cut out a circle and set it on a nearby baking tin. Seeing another saucer close by, Jeremy picked it up and imitated her actions.

“I’m a bit clumsy, I’m afraid,” he said, as the round he placed on the tin cracked.

“I can fix it.” Mary patted the round back together.

“You have quite the hand with pastry.”

Her smile faded a little.

“You do not care to be praised?”

“Not . . . especially,” she said, pretending to concentrate on the next round she was preparing.

“My wife was very fond of you, you know.”

“Yes.”

Frustration seized him. Mary, just like her guardian, seemed to want to keep him at arm’s length.

“Were the other girls jealous of the attention Lady Fairhill paid you?” he persevered.

“Some of them.” Mary shrugged.

“Is that why you stopped singing in the choir? Because your voice drew so much praise?”

“I just—couldn’t sing anymore,” she said, keeping her face down as she placed the last round of dough onto the tin. “It is time to fill the cakes.”

Silently, Mary lifted the cloth from another bowl on the table. It was clear that she would not confide in him today.

“That smells good. What is it?”

“Currents, sugar and a little rum,” she said, sounding glad to be on safer subject. “Banbury cakes are usually made with brandy, but Cook says Lady Dearing can’t abide the taste of it.”

She spooned some of the mixture onto each of the rounds of dough they’d prepared, then began to fold over the rounds and crimp the edges to form crescents. Sweet smells filled Jeremy’s nostrils.

“Lady Dearing is very fond of music, isn’t she? I am sure she would be happy to give you lessons on the pianoforte or the harp.”

“It’s not my place to learn such things.”

Again, calm resignation. He didn’t like hearing it from Mary any more than from Livvy.

“Mary, I only wish you to pursue what interests you. This has nothing to do with my wife’s wishes for you. I am not going to wrest you from Lady Dearing against your will.”

She paused in her work, darting a quick glance at him.

“My wife only wanted me to make sure you were happy and give you what advantages in life I can.”

“I’m a foundling. I can’t be a grand lady.”

“No, but if you decided to come live with me someday—in a few years, let us say—I would never keep you from visiting with Lady Dearing. In any case I would also be happy to provide you with a dowry.”

“I don’t expect to marry.”

“Why not? You might meet an honest and respectable man who loves you. You would not wish to marry and have children of your own?”

She shook her head, but slowly. “I like it
here
.”

“Look at me, Mary.”

Reluctantly, she met his gaze.

“Do you trust me?”

After a moment, she nodded.

“Then believe me when I say I won’t force you into a life you don’t want. But I would like to see you now and again, and I would be delighted if someday you honored me with your confidence. If there was something amiss at the Foundling Hospital, I might be able to prevent it from harming other children.”

Her lower lip quivered a little as she crimped the edge of the last cake.

“Thank you, sir. I will think about it.”

He cleared his throat, pleased that she showed even such a small sign of thawing. “What do we do next?” he asked, gesturing toward the cakes.

“We must bring them to the kitchen now.”

* * *

When Jeremy reached the library he was surprised to find the door closed. Puzzled, he opened it and stepped in.

He couldn’t see Livvy.

“Close the door. Quickly!” her voice came from a corner of the room.

Startled, he shut the door behind him. Then he saw her atop a small ladder, reaching up to one of the bookshelves and revealing shapely ankles in pink silk stockings. She held a large net in one hand.

“Ferdie has gotten loose,” she explained. “I don’t want him to fly into the rest of the house.”

The little yellow and black bird fluttered away from Livvy to an adjacent bookshelf.

“Oh bother!” she exclaimed. “I don’t know why he is being so contrary today.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, thank you. Please remain still.”

She gave out a lilting whistle, leaving Jeremy helplessly enthralled by the sight of curving pink lips. If he’d been the bird, he would have flown right into her hand.

Ferdie trilled back but remained where he was. Livvy teetered precariously from the top of the ladder. Despite her instructions, Jeremy went to her side. She continued to exchange calls with the obstinate bird as Jeremy stationed himself beneath the ladder, close enough to catch her if she fell. Also close enough to inhale her scent, redolent of rose water. He swallowed, hopelessly allured by shapely limbs. Her curvaceous bottom was outlined by her dress as she leaned toward the bird.

He forced his gaze toward Ferdie. The bird hopped closer, just within reach. Livvy reached out with the net, her skirt swinging in Jeremy’s face.

“I’ve got you, little rascal,” she muttered.

Jeremy backed away, giving her room to descend the ladder. She reached the floor without mishap and moments later had released the bird back into its cage. Ferdie promptly flew to the top and clung to it upside down, swinging and looking pleased with himself.

“Well, that’s done,” she said, turning toward Jeremy with a sigh of relief.

Then she stopped, her eyes caught, no doubt, by his hungry, aching look. Hot color flared in her cheeks; the lace at her throat rose and fell. She took a hesitant step toward him. Irresistibly drawn, he began to close the gap between them.

A sharp pain stabbed through his foot. His ankle twisted, but before he could find his balance he came crashing forward . . .

Landing squarely atop Livvy.

The impact took his breath. For a moment all he could think of was the woman pinned beneath him. Sweet smells. Soft curves. Shallow breathing.

Dear God, he was crushing her!

He pushed himself up on his hands and scrambled off of her. Fear stabbed him as he saw her oddly vacant expression, her continuing shallow breaths.

“Livvy! Are you all right? Did I hurt you?”

Then her eyes focused. She drew a few deep breaths, and then shook her head.

“No . . . I am not hurt,” she said, sitting up. “Are you?”

“No,” he said, flexing his ankle. “I am so sorry. I seem to have stumbled over”—he glanced around his feet—“an elephant.”

He laughed softly, picking up the small wooden figure.

“It is I who must apologize. Robbie was here earlier playing with his Noah’s ark set. I thought we had picked up all the pieces.”

She chuckled, then suddenly began to laugh harder, in a sudden release of tension that was infectious. For a few minutes they both sat on the floor laughing like children.

Just as suddenly they quieted.

He stared at her. Bright color flooded her cheeks; her eyes glowed. Her tucker had come unpinned at one side, revealing soft, peachy skin he hungered to taste from her throat to the swell of her breasts.

Where a tiny brown birthmark peeked just above the line of her bodice.

Chapter 11

Livvy blinked at Sir Jeremy’s sudden movement. But he was right to get up. It was time to pretend that nothing had happened, and that they hadn’t just shared a moment of tormenting awareness.

She scrambled to her feet, puzzled that he did not extend a hand to help her.

Then she saw that he was staring at her disarranged tucker.

“Oh dear, I must set myself to rights.” She lifted a hand to twitch the tucker back into place, over the betraying mark, hoping his stare was just normal male interest, nothing more.

“Stop.”

His voice was stone hard. She flinched as he caught her hand hovering over the edge of the lace. His free hand drifted over her birthmark.

“I’ve seen
this
before.”

Her skin seemed to burn as he pressed a finger into the damning mark.

“Why have you been covering yourself, Livvy?” Pain and anger mingled in his voice.

He knew. It was an agony and a relief.

“You knew from the first day I came here, didn’t you?” he asked hoarsely. “You knew we’d kissed at the Pantheon. That’s why you’ve been covering yourself up with such modesty.”

“I could not help it! When you arrived, you looked so very cold, so disapproving. I did not dare risk your censure.” Her stomach clenched. “I didn’t wish to lose the children!”

“But once you knew me better? Could you not have trusted me then?”

His shoulders were taut, his fists clenched. Anger burned in his eyes.

“I could not risk it,” she pleaded. “Everything was going so well. There was no need for you to know.”

“No
need
?”

The hurt in his voice shook her.

“I searched for you. Did you know that?”

Her breath stopped.

“I did,” he said grimly. “For months I attended every fashionable entertainment I could. Looking for the inexperienced,
innocent
young lady I’d frightened with my clumsy advances.”

She let out a ragged breath. So
that
was what he’d thought. And he’d searched for her.

Agony for what might have been had he found her mingled with her guilt. There would be no forgiveness now.

It was too late, in too many ways.

“Damn you, I worried about you!” he said, pacing the room like a caged animal. “Fool that I was, I wondered whether you had returned safely, whether the experience had shocked or harmed you in some way. I wanted to make amends.”

“As you see, I managed well enough,” she said stiffly. “You need not worry.”

“No, you
were
harmed by it,” he said, fresh rage dawning in his eyes. “Someone saw us kiss. Someone who discovered your identity and wrote about it. Am I right?”

She remained silent.

“Am I right?”

She bit her lip, then nodded.

“What gave you away? The birthmark?”

“I don’t know. It may have been that someone recognized Charles, my footman. He is such a big man, and he accompanied me everywhere on that visit to London. That oaf you rescued me from—the Turk—stared at me and Charles before you knocked him down. Perhaps it was he who started the gossip, in revenge.”

“I notice Charles is not here now. I suppose you have hidden him away during my visits!” Muscles rippled in his jaw. “So you lost your reputation, all through an idiotic lark! It might have been excusable for a miss just out of the schoolroom to embark on such an escapade, but how could you, a grown woman, behave so stupidly?”

“I can take care of myself. My loss of reputation does not concern me; it need not concern you, either.”