Pirate Hunter's Mistress (The Virginia Brides) (4 page)

“My cousin was a rogue,” Lark bitingly observed and came to stand intimidatingly over the man. “Miss Stafford’s lack of reputation, which I’m certain must have some validity, would have appealed to him. I have no qualms about assuming his identity to get my hands on his bride’s fortune. All I want is what is due me. I will give her the house and land, she can call herself a baroness, a countess, or a queen for all I care. But this woman is my last hope of getting the money I need. I shall use her in any way I choose, Carpenter. Any way.”

Hollins understood the implication behind Lark’s words. “Not in that way, my lord.”

“Don’t cross me,” Lark warned. “The sooner she signs the papers, the sooner I’ll be on my way and you can explain to her ladyship that I coerced you into deceiving her. Then you won’t need to tell her how you, her trusted solicitor, allowed her departed spouse to spend my inheritance with your knowledge. If she were to somehow learn the truth, it might cause her to find someone more trustworthy to look after her fortune. I’m certain you’d miss your large retainer fee. Are we in agreement, Carpenter?”

“Yes, my lord,” he answered stiffly and was sufficiently moved by Lark’s threat not to argue further. “Is there anything else?”

Lark retreated to lean against the edge of the desk. “Inform Mrs. Mort of our plans. I expect you can force the woman to keep her mouth shut during the time I am in residence. Tell her not to admit any unexpected visitors, also.”

“Mrs. Mort is getting on in years and fears losing her post, my lord. She’ll do as I ask.”

Lark gave a curt nod and started for the door, intent upon going upstairs to rest. “Good, Carpenter. Do whatever you must to gain her silence.”

“I trust the outcome of so much deception shall not result in a hollow victory for you, my lord.”

Carpenter’s words caused Lark to pause. He managed a thin smile that barely warmed his eyes. “At this stage of my life, any victory is welcomed.”

As the carriage precariously climbed the steep hill upon which Marlee’s new home sat, a vicious wind blew in from the ocean. Swirling, purple clouds dipped low from the sky to threateningly graze the four-corner towers of the gray stone manor house.

With the imminent storm and the restless wind stirring the unkempt grounds, Arden Manor resembled a once elegant and wealthy woman reduced to an ugly, begging hag. Large pieces of mortar had broken from the roofline and a chimney looked ready to topple. Marlee noticed a window in one of the towers was broken. The overall impression was one of neglect.

“Oh, my,” Barbara voiced Marlee’s own thoughts and craned her neck from the carriage window to get a better view. “This isn’t what I expected.” She managed an encouraging smile. “Perhaps the interior makes up for the facade.”

“I assume the inside will be as horrible to behold,” Marlee responded with more than a hint of disgust in her tone. To think that Lord Arden’s excessive vices had caused the house’s ruination angered her. Apparently, he possessed little pride to allow this to happen to a once grand and gracious home.

“Be thankful Daphne caught a cold and Mother stayed home to nurse her. I can just imagine what their comments would be.”

Marlee nodded, indeed grateful that only Barbara had accompanied her. She didn’t think she could have endured Clementina’s sour company or Daphne’s constant complaints for the long journey. As it was, she was apprehensive about meeting Lord Richard Arden, and more than a little frightened to imagine what he’d think of her. She’d written to Mr. Carpenter over a week ago to inform her husband of her imminent arrival. She also felt certain that Arden’s palms were itching in anticipation to control her fortune.

Seeing the poor condition of the manor, Marlee now knew she’d turn her fortune over to her husband. She aimed to restore it to its former glory, confident her money was all that was needed, but she’d be damned if a notorious rogue like Richard Arden would do her out of any more of her father’s hard-earned money to support his lechery and gaming habits. Somehow she’d tame him and become the true mistress of his home and maybe, his heart.

The weather-battered doors to the house swung open just as the rain started and the carriage jerked to a halt. Inside the doorway a plump woman with a white cap atop her head dropped a curtsy. “I’m Mrs. Mort, the housekeeper, Lady Arden.” Immediately the old lady began helping Marlee and Barbara out of their cloaks and issued an order to the driver to carry their trunks up the broad staircase.

“I ain’t no lackey,” the man grumbled under the weight of one of the trunks. “Why can’t a man servant lend a hand?”

“Go on with you,” Mrs. Mort urged, silencing the man with an imperious look. Marlee flashed the housekeeper a questioning glance of her own but surmised the reason no other servant came forward when the woman began dragging the largest of Marlee’s trunks into the vestibule; Mrs. Mort was the only servant.

“Let me help you,” Marlee volunteered, quite used to doing things for herself.

“Oh, no, my lady,” Mrs. Mort protested, genuinely horrified at Marlee’s suggestion. “I can manage with the driver’s help. Please wait in the parlor while I fetch—Lord Arden. He’s in the library with Mr. Carpenter and a friend.”

They followed Mrs. Mort out of the lofty hall where high above them were clerestory windows which allowed sunshine into that portion of the house on a clear day—but with the rainstorm outside, the only light was the large, flickering candle that the housekeeper took from a wall sconce.

Trembling with uncertainty, Marlee sat beside Barbara on a divan that was in need of new stuffing. Luckily, a fire blazed in the hearth and dispelled the icy chill in the parlor, but nothing melted the feeling of dread that wrapped cold fingers around Marlee’s soul. “You’re shaking,” Barbara noted and wrapped her warm mittened hands around Marlee’s own.

“I’m being a silly goose, I know, but when Lord Arden walks into this room, my life will forever change.”

“It already has,” Barbara said wisely. “Now make the best of things, just like Papa says.”

“What happens if I can’t or my husband won’t? I’ve never been married and have no idea how to keep my husband happy or to manage a house as large as this. Goodness! Mrs. Mort is the only servant here, I’d wager.”

“Then there’s your answer. Your first chore as the baroness is to find adequate help. I predict that Mrs. Mort will be delighted to aid you in that endeavor. The poor lady seems much too overworked. As far as making your husband happy”—and here Barbara blushed—“I can’t offer any advice.”

Marlee worriedly bit at her lower lip. “Suppose he’s an ogre, a beastly man? I’ve heard such awful stories about him that I believe them. From the look of things, he’s a disreputable and lazy rake.”

“I’m certain Lord Arden is a fine man. You know how people gossip.” Despite her encouraging words, Barbara patted Marlee’s hand in grim acceptance.

They waited in companionable silence. The only sounds were the pelting of rain outside and the howling winds. Though a slice of trepidation slid down Marlee’s backside, she did wonder if Arden would find her acceptable. She’d piled her dark brown hair atop her head, as befitted a married woman. The gown she’d carefully chosen that morning was a deep blue satin, simply cut, with a square bodice that was edged with embroidered pink roses. It was her best dress but she realized it probably paled among the elaborate and jewel-encrusted clothes worn by aristocratic women, women with whom her new husband had no doubt dallied if the rumors were to be believed.

Never one to worry about her appearance too much, she accepted the compliments about her beauty in good measure. However, the men who had complimented her were common men, totally unlike the polished rake she’d married. She felt drab and as unattractive as a field mouse. No matter how Arden Manor had fallen, she was out of place here among the portraits of impressive Arden ancestors who gazed down from the walls. She didn’t belong and would never belong because she wasn’t of aristocratic birth.

Her ancestors had been poor Cornish men and women, eking a living from the land, whether by farming or mining tin. It was only through her father’s intelligence that her family had prospered. In fact, her father had barely been able to read but he’d made certain his daughter was well educated by engaging the best tutors. Marlee had loved her father with all of her heart. No man could ever take his place in her life, certainly not a rogue like Richard Arden.

The minutes ticked away. She fidgeted in her seat. Why hadn’t Arden put in an appearance by now? Wasn’t he curious about her? One would think he’d be eager to inspect her, to woo her into signing over her fortune to him. Instead it seemed he was purposely keeping her waiting and she grew annoyed at the slight.

She fingered the fraying damask on the divan then set to examining the faded draperies on the floor-to-ceiling windows.

“What are you doing?” Barbara asked and joined her by the window where the rain beat mercilessly and showed no sign of abating.

“I’m deciding how to redo this room. It’s deplorable. I think blue would show up nicely for the chairs—the same shade as my gown, I think. Don’t you agree?” Marlee didn’t wait for Barbara’s answer but went to inspect a high-backed wing chair. Taking a handful of her gown in her hand, she placed the material upon the chair cushion as a sample, totally unaware that her lace-edged petticoat and white-stockinged legs were all too visible to the two handsome men who watched from the doorway. “I think this color will do nicely. What do you say?” she asked Barbara.

“I’d say you’re a very fetching sight, my lady,” the taller and darker of the two men responded.

Both girls turned in unison, their faces blazing. Marlee was so stunned that she tripped over her own feet and fell backward into the chair she’d been appraising. Her gown twisted around her calves, preventing her from moving. Tongue-tied over her clumsiness, she wasn’t certain what to say to the black-haired man who suddenly loomed over her and extended a hand to her. He was so very tall and broad of shoulder that she was forced to stretch her neck to see his face.

Ebony eyes, darker than the heavens on a cloudless night, raked her from the top of her head to the tips of her kid slippers. A few strands of black wavy hair fell carelessly but attractively upon his forehead and skimmed his black-winged brows. A superbly molded nose was a clear indication of his aristocratic heritage as was his well-formed mouth that slashed into a disarming smile to reveal a beautiful set of teeth.

Attired in a brown velvet jacket over a cream-colored shirt, he wore buff-colored trousers and brown boots. With each movement of his upper body Marlee feared his wide shoulders would rip open the expensive material. She felt incredibly tiny as he stood over her, suddenly fragile and more than dismayed to meet her new husband in such an unladylike and less than aristocratic position. But his hand was outstretched to her, and she shyly took it, finding not the smooth, soft skin she’d expected but a hand which was tough and strong, callused, too, and surprisingly gentle.

“Forgive me,’’ Marlee began and blushed a violent shade of scarlet as she attempted to untangle her skirts. With Barbara’s assistance she managed to set her gown aright and once again stood on her two feet. After she’d put herself in order she was all too aware of his dark eyes dancing with amusement. He was silently laughing at her. How foolish and clumsy she must look to him!

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he kindly returned. “I startled you and do apologize. I trust you’re Lady Marlee.” At her curt nod, he bowed and kissed her hand. “I’m Lord Arden, Baron of Arden Manor.”

How she wished he’d have introduced himself as Richard, her husband. It was his formal introduction which dispelled any absurd fantasies she held of having a true marriage. They’d share the same home but would exist as polite strangers, and evidently her husband wanted their relationship to remain on such terms. But, of course, he would. In his eyes she wasn’t his equal and she must remember that fact. He’d married her sight unseen—only for her money—so she knew where his interests lay. But he was nothing like she imagined he’d be. She’d heard he was handsome, but not this heart-stirringly handsome, not so handsome that she gazed at his tanned face in rapturous awe. When she realized she was gaping at him like a love-struck imbecile, she quickly withdrew her hand from his.

“I trust you’re in good health, my lord. Mr. Carpenter advised me that you had been ill.” Arden looked in bloody good health to Marlee, sustaining her earlier belief that he’d not been sick at all.

“My recovery is complete, my lady. I thank you for asking.”

The other gentleman cleared his throat at this point and Arden turned to introduce him to Marlee. “May I present my best friend, Simon Oliver.”

Marlee dropped a curtsy and gave her hand to the blond-haired man. She found she immediately liked Simon Oliver. There was something in his face, something in the set of his jaw which gave her the impression that he was a dependable sort of person, a loyal friend, someone who wasn’t wild or impetuous. Already she sensed he was totally different from her errant husband. Simon paid her a nice compliment, but Marlee immediately saw that his interest wasn’t in her but Barbara. Taking Barbara by the arm, she moved her nearer to Simon. “This is Miss Barbara McBride. We are cousins.”