Mary Jo Putney (20 page)

Laughing, she headed off to join her family. Interesting was indeed a good thing.

R
ob was hiding in his father’s dismal little study calculating costs when Sarah ran him down the next afternoon. She sailed into the room with her shining smile. “I thought you might be lurking here. Feeling overwhelmed by my relations?”

The sight of her made Rob’s muscles start to unknot. “A bit. Individually they’re all pleasant, but collectively”—he shook his head—“I’m starting to feel rather hunted.”

“Soon we’ll all be gone and you’ll be able to relax again.” Sarah folded gracefully into a chair on the opposite side of the desk. “If you’re going to use this place as a retreat, it could use some redecorating.”

“If I make it attractive, more people will come,” he said with irrefutable logic as he feasted his eyes on Sarah. She’d always looked lovely, even in scruffy boy’s garments. Now that her own wardrobe had arrived from Ralston Abbey so she was wearing clothing that fit, she looked even better.

“You’re probably right,” she agreed. “The library is thoroughly infested with guests. That’s the drawback of turning it into your office. Perhaps you need two libraries, one for you and one for everyone else.”

He smiled at Sarah’s whimsy. They’d not been alone together since the sky had filled with falling relatives, and he missed talking to her. “I’ve already been interrogated about my intentions toward you by Ashton, your father, and your uncle.”

“Good heavens,” she said blankly. “Why would they do that?”

“There is the small matter of you and me traveling across Ireland unchaperoned,” he pointed out.

She frowned. “That seems so long ago that I forget how scandalous it could be considered. Did any of my relatives tell you we had to marry to save my reputation?”

“On the contrary, they all seem rather relieved to hear that I had no intentions and was in no position to consider marriage to anyone,” he said dryly.

“My mother and sister have been asking indirect questions about you and us. As if there was an
us
. Such foolishness.” She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “One reason I hunted you down was to see if you have more information about the estate’s financial status. You and Adam and my uncle have been having such long discussions.”

“They’ve both been very helpful. Your father has had less experience as a landowner, but he made a couple of good suggestions also.” Rob drew a quill pen through his fingers. Steel pens lasted longer but cost more. Lately, he found himself thinking about the cost of everything. He didn’t like the idea of living like that forever. “I still don’t have firm information, though. It’s only been four days since I wrote the Kellington lawyer. I expect I’ll hear from him soon.”

“I hope so. The uncertainty must be maddening. But it will pass.” She looked apologetic. “The main reason I’m here is that your grandmother has ordered me to produce you for predinner drinks in the salon, and when she gives orders, I obey.”

Rob frowned. “Is she being rude to you?”

“Only her natural rudeness,” she assured him. “I’m growing rather fond of her. Did you know she’s teaching Bree advanced embroidery techniques?”

He blinked. Bree? His grandmother? “I’m having trouble envisioning this. Are we talking about Bree, my pony mad daughter? When she and I talk, it’s mostly about horses. Or has some other Bree moved into the house while I was busy elsewhere?”

Sarah laughed. “There’s only one Bree. She’s hungry for all these new experiences. Riding, needlework, new friends, the conversation of older women. She absorbs it all. She rather reminds me of what I was like at that age.”

“I’m glad she’s settling in well.” He sighed. “Apart from the riding lessons, I haven’t spent much time with her. I need to do better.”

“Bree is well looked after,” Sarah said. “Speaking of which, earlier this afternoon I took her to the vicarage to meet the vicar, Mr. Holt, and his family. They’re schooling their own three young children, and they’re willing to include Bree for a modest fee. They’re pleasant people and Bree liked them. Do you want to proceed with that?”

“Yes, and thank you! It sounds like just what she needs.” He straightened the papers he’d been working on and got to his feet. “So. Predinner drinks in the salon. Do I look sufficiently respectable?”

“It’s your house, you can wear bearskin and feathers if you like,” she said with a chuckle. “But yes, you look suitably lordly. Like me, you’ve benefited by having your own clothing delivered so you needn’t wear garments foraged from the attics.”

She flattered him; he was dressed like a doctor or lawyer, not a lord. But since he didn’t possess a lordly wardrobe, his dark blue coat and buff trousers would have to do.

As he moved around the desk, she said quietly, “This is something of a going away party. Tomorrow, all your uninvited guests, including me, will be leaving.”

He felt as if she’d punched him in the midriff. She was leaving tomorrow? So soon? He’d known she must go, but somehow, he hadn’t thought of all his intense consultations about the state of the estate as subtracting time from being with her. It was suddenly hard to breathe. “Which of your homes will you go to? Your sister, your parents, or your uncle?”

“My sister,” she said immediately. “The Ashton houses are so large that I don’t feel underfoot, and this way I get to spend more time with my adorable little nephew. I intend to be a model aunt.” Her tone was light, but a little wistful.

She should be having babies of her own, but he couldn’t bear to let his thoughts run in that direction. “I’m sure Mariah will be glad of your company as well. You two are thick as thieves.”

“We have years of conversation to catch up on.” She shrugged. “Quite apart from the pleasures of gossiping with my sister, there’s a gentleman near Ralston Abbey who has shown signs of interest in me. Now that I’ve had my fill of adventuring, I intend to take a closer look at him. Mariah assures me that he’s wealthy, witty, and kind as well as quite passably good looking.”

Once more he had breathing problems. Was she tormenting him deliberately? No, they’d both accepted that they had no future together. Having discussed his marital prospects, there was no reason for her not to mention her own. “I’m sure your protective male relatives will make certain that he’s a suitable mate.”

“They’re allowed opinions, but the decision will be mine.” She stood. “We’d best get to the salon before your grandmother sends a hunting pack after us.”

He opened the door for her. “After you, princess.”

She did a brief, elegant curtsy. “Thank you, my lord. By the way, I’ve wondered. Did you know that Sarah means princess in Hebrew?”

“No. It just seems to suit you.” He drew her into his arms for a hug. Not a kiss; that would be too dangerous. But he needed to feel the warmth of her body against him one last time. Soft and female and so very dear. “I’m going to miss you,” he said softly.

“I’ll miss you, too, Rob. It was a grand adventure, wasn’t it?” She pulled away, her usually expressive face unreadable.

A grand adventure that was over. Silently he escorted her out into the hall and they headed across the sprawling house while a drumbeat in his head said,
She’s leaving, she’s leaving, she’s leaving.

The shortest route to the salon was through the vast front hall. As they entered, he surveyed the walls and wondered if he really needed so many stuffed animal heads.

The knocker sounded. Since there was no servant in sight, Rob opened the door himself. Standing on the front steps was a very fashionable young man about town.

The man stepped inside, his gaze lingering appreciatively on Sarah before returning to Rob. He produced a card with a flourish. “I’m here to see Lord Kellington.”

“Why?” Rob looked at the card. The Honorable Frederick Loveton.

Loveton looked offended. “My business is with his lordship, so take him the card, my man.”

“I’m Kellington, and not your man,” Rob said dryly. “I have no recollection of ever doing business with you.”

Loveton gave a quick, startled glance at Rob’s unfashionable attire. “So sorry, my lord! I knew your brother, poor fellow. Which is what brings me here.” He produced several folded papers from his pocket. “These need to be settled.”

“Gambling chits for . . . ye gods, almost ten thousand pounds?” Rob said after a quick scan of the papers.

“Nine thousand seven hundred pounds, to be precise.” Studying Rob’s expression warily, Loveton said, “I’m willing to offer a discount since you’ve just inherited and must be still sorting matters out. Perhaps ten percent? Say, a nice round nine thousand quid?”

Rob was not in a good mood, so he didn’t bother with subtlety. He ripped the papers in half, then again, and handed the ragged quarters back to Loveton. “You’ve wasted your trip from London, Loveton. But at least Somerset is pleasant in the spring.”

“But, but . . . it’s a debt of honor!” Loveton sputtered.

“Nothing to do with my honor,” Rob said, feeling more cheerful.

“I shall see that every gentleman in London hears of your churlish behavior,” his visitor growled. “There won’t be a club in town that will allow you into the card room.”

“Feel free to tell the tale. With luck, that will mean that other cardsharps with my brother’s vowels won’t bother me,” Rob replied. “Since you must have horses chilling outside, I suggest you leave.”

Loveton’s lips thinned as he shoved the torn gambling chits into his pocket. “You, sir, are no gentleman!” he spat out before slamming the door behind him.

Rob turned to find Sarah helpless with laughter. “That was splendid!” she gasped. “His face when you tore them up . . . !”

His brows arched. “You don’t mind that I have no honor?”

“You’ve got honor of the kind that matters,” she retorted. “Your brother doesn’t seem to have had any of that.”

“I’ll try to repay tradesmen’s debts,” Rob said, “but I’ll be damned if I waste what money I can scrape up paying Edmund’s gambling debts.” He offered his arm again. “The predinner drinks had better include brandy.”

“Ask for whiskey,” she said with an endearing giggle. “It’s not a gentleman’s drink, as I understand it, and you must be true to your colors.”

He was laughing when the knocker boomed again. With a sigh of exasperation, he left Sarah and turned to open the door. “I hope that twit’s carriage hasn’t broken down. If he needs to stay here for the night, he’ll have to settle for the stables.”

He threw the door open—and found himself confronting a tall, voluptuous brunette wearing a magnificent black satin mourning gown with a feather-trimmed black cloak. He blinked at her décolletage. If she was a new widow, she appeared to be shopping for a replacement husband.

She studied him with interest before asking in refined accents, “Are you by any chance the new Lord Kellington?”

“I am,” he said shortly. “If you want to collect a gambling debt, you’re out of luck. I just ripped up a pack of vowels and sent their holder away.”

“Is that why Freddie Loveton was just leaving? No matter. My purpose is very different.” She gazed at him with soulful eyes. “I’m Vivien Greene.”

He searched his memory. “Sorry, I don’t know you and don’t believe I’ve ever heard your name. Unless you wished to engage me for a job? If so, I’ll have to decline. I’m about to resign from the Bow Street Runners.”

Her gaze intensified. “You were a Runner? How delicious! But my purpose is not to engage you. At least, not in that way. I was betrothed to your brother and I’ve been mourning since he was tragically taken from us. I’ve come to mourn with you.”

She embraced Rob so fervently that he stumbled backward a step. As her lavish curves flattened against him, he noticed she wore far too much heavy perfume.

He tried to peel her off, but the damned woman was like ivy. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he said as he removed her arms from around his neck, “but surely you should seek comfort from your friends and family and vicar.”

When he managed to put some distance between them, she looked up reproachfully and batted long, dark lashes. “You were Edmund’s brother, I his beloved. Surely we can comfort each other better than anyone else!” Great tears formed in her blue eyes. “He fell from his horse in Hyde Park and was trampled by a coach and four, you know. He spent three days in agony before he mercifully died on . . . on what would have been our wedding day.” She produced a lacy handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.

The last time Rob had seen Edmund, his brother was gloating as he sold Rob into what was damned close to slavery. “Three days of agony are nowhere near enough,” Rob snapped. “I hope he burns in hell for eternity. So you see that we have nothing in common, Miss Greene. It’s time for you to leave.”

She looked shocked, then calculating. “I’m sorry the two of you were so estranged. But that doesn’t mean you and I can’t be friends. I’m not Miss Greene, but Mrs. I’m a very wealthy widow with complete control over the fortune my dear old Walter left me. Edmund and I suited each other very well. He wanted an heir and a fortune, and I wanted a title and entrée into the highest levels of society.”

She laid a suggestive hand on his arm. “There’s no reason why you and I can’t make a similar bargain. Your estate badly needs an infusion of cash, and I’d like a husband.” She ran a frank gaze over him. “And I must say you’re a good deal more attractive than Edmund. What do you say, Robert? Shall we further our acquaintance?”

He felt like he’d fallen into a really vulgar dream. Sarah had said that he needed a merchant class heiress, and Vivien’s accent had been getting less refined the longer she spoke. There she was, the opulent answer to Kellington’s problem, because her fortune had to be real or Edmund wouldn’t have proposed to her.

He’d marry her over his dead body.

Where was Sarah? He scanned the hall and saw her standing to his right, looking fascinated and bemused. When their gazes met, her brows rose in a look that clearly said, “Well, what are you going to do now?”