The Housemaid's Scandalous Secret (11 page)

‘I believe the woman to be an impostor—an opportunist, out for all she can get,’ Wilhelmina remarked sternly.

‘Not necessarily, Aunt,’ Giles dared to argue, draining his glass and nodding to Lumsden.

Lumsden went to an alcove where a huge trough of Sicilian jasper was filled with iced water and bottles of wine. Taking out a bottle of white wine he replenished the glasses.

‘I read the letter,’ Giles went on, ‘and I have to say she came over as pretty genuine to me.’

‘I think if you had troubled to read it properly—between the lines as I did—you would have realised that she is not what she seems,’ Wilhelmina retorted. ‘But if her claim is proven, then how could Jamie have let this happen—and for a child to have been born of their union is just too dreadful to contemplate and will set in motion all manner of inheritance issues. It is bound to cause bad feeling within the family.’

‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ Giles said.

‘But it will happen,’ she exclaimed sternly, having been brought up to understand that good breeding mattered more than wealth. ‘For generations the bloodlines of this family have been unsullied. The Montagues are descendants of the nobility. Yet Jamie may have married an utter nobody, a person without bloodlines or breeding or ancestry to produce the next heir. We know absolutely nothing about this woman. Little wonder your father’s mind is unhinged with all this going on.’ In supreme frustration, she turned her ire on her nephew. ‘You must see my point, Giles.’

Giles leaned back in his chair, his expression wry. ‘Very well,’ he said amiably. ‘It is certainly desirable and fortunate to be well descended, but until it is proven otherwise we must give her the benefit of the doubt.’

Wilhelmina cast him a killing glance, but she said nothing more on the subject and the rest of the meal passed in silence.

* * *

Three weeks after coming to Castonbury, while her mistress was dancing her feet off at the Assembly Rooms in the nearby town of Hatherton and entrancing more beaux, Lisette sat in Mrs Stratton’s comfortable parlour sharing a cup of tea and mending some fine Brussels lace on one of Araminta’s petticoats.

When Mrs Stratton was called away to attend to a crisis in the kitchen, feeling strangely restless and in need of some fresh air, Lisette put down her work and, wrapping a shawl about her shoulders and begging a couple of apples from Monsieur André, she left the quiet buzz of conversation in the servants’ hall and went outside.

It had been raining all that day and at last it had stopped. It was a clear night, the sky littered with stars. Walking away from the house and trying to avoid the puddles, she followed the path to the stables, a path she often took when she found she had time to herself. Walking into the shadowy dimness of the yard where an occasional lantern attached to the walls cast an orange glow and filled the yard with shadows, the familiar fecund smells of straw and grain and warm animals and manure assailed her nostrils. There were several grooms who had their quarters over the stables which were quite extensive, for besides housing horses to ride, there was also space for carriages.

Going inside she smiled when she saw Bengal. His head reached out to her over the door of his stall where he was quartered. He whickered in welcome, pleased to see her.

‘You can wait,’ she said laughingly, bypassing him and stopping by another horse. This was Merlin, a magnificent chestnut stallion. He belonged to Lord Jamie, the Montague heir who had disappeared in Spain. Stretching out his long neck, he took the proffered apple with obvious delight.

‘Do you need help, Miss Napier?’

She turned and smiled when she saw Tom Anderson, the elderly head groom, coming towards her, a pitchfork in his hand. ‘No, thank you, Mr Anderson. I just wanted some air so I thought I’d come and see the horses. I’ve brought Merlin an apple and Bengal too. See, Bengal is reaching for his.’

Having told him of her love of horses and her experience with them in India, Anderson gave her a conspiratorial smile. ‘No doubt you’d rather be on his back than feeding him apples.’

‘I most certainly would, Mr Anderson, but think of the shock and horror should the household—both upstairs and down—see Miss Araminta’s maid riding hell for leather through the park.’

Anderson chuckled. ‘They’d be no more shocked and horrified than they were when Lady Phaedra took to wearing breeches when she started working the horses. She’s a firm believer that they must have regular exercise and she does know good horseflesh when she sees it. Aye, well, fed and watered they’re all settled for the night so I’ll bid you goodnight, miss.’

Lisette watched him go. He was going badly. With his arthritis he was not as able as he was. Holding her shawl with one hand Lisette offered Bengal the apple, smiling broadly when he greedily snatched it from her hand and began to munch. Reaching out with the other she stroked his nose, laughing softly when he tried to nibble her fingers, too wrapped up in her enjoyment to notice Ross’s approach.

Returning from his club in Hatherton and reluctant to enter the house just yet, Ross was drawn to the stables and his horse. Being close to his precious mount never failed to soothe him. However, he was surprised to find Miss Napier stroking Bengal’s nose. Ross’s cool gaze took in the fetching scene. Standing in an orange glow highlighting her gleaming dark hair held in place by a black net, her profile was serene. With long black lashes shadowing her cheeks and a faint suggestion of a smile playing about her generous lips, she had a look of complete absorption on her face as she spoke softly to Bengal.

‘And what brings you out here at this time?’

Lisette spun round and looked at him. She had not heard him approach and in that moment he might have been a figment of her imagination for he did not seem real. He had stepped, silently, from the dark shadows of the yard and as her eyes sharpened with the return of her senses she saw him clearly.

‘Oh, Colonel Montague! You—you startled me.’

‘Miss Napier! We seem destined to meet in the oddest places, do we not? But I’m sorry if I surprised you.’

‘I came out to see the horses,’ she replied simply. ‘Miss Araminta is attending a dance at the Assembly Rooms in Hatherton. I felt like some air and I couldn’t resist coming to take a look at the horses. Is something wrong?’ she asked when she saw him staring down at her feet.

He felt compelled to point out the obvious. ‘You are standing in a puddle.’

‘Oh,’ she said, following his gaze and seeing that she was and that the hem of her skirts was wet. ‘So I am.’

‘You appear to have a fondness for getting your feet wet.’

Knowing he was referring to the time he’d caught her dangling her feet in a stream, she laughed. It was a joyous sound, happy and full of the magic of youth and moonlight. It took Ross completely by surprise, and for a long moment he stared down at her incredulously, conscious of a swift flash of admiration.

‘When I was in India there were times during the dry seasons that I would have given anything to see a puddle,’ she confessed. ‘Indeed, when it rained I often went outside to dance in them. You more than anyone should understand that—how it felt with the never-ending heat and drought all year round, except for the times when the monsoons came.’

He smiled, leaning against the stable door, which Bengal took as a cue to push his nose against his shoulder. ‘I shall never forget,’ he said softly. ‘The summers are so hot that the air shimmers over the land in waves—it’s often so hot it’s difficult to breathe.’

‘And the heat makes your flesh feel stretched so tight over your bones it hurts,’ she murmured, closing her eyes and rubbing her cheeks with the tips of her fingers as if in remembrance of the hot Indian sun.

Ross lowered his gaze to her face, watching her fingers brush her skin. Though it may have been stretched tight in the tropical heat, there was nothing but softness to it now. Lust hit him with such unexpected force that he could not move.

Opening her eyes Lisette met his gaze. ‘I never did mind the rain. I loved it.’

‘As much as you love horses?’

She laughed again. ‘Perhaps not as much as that. The rain here in England is especially nice. It’s so gentle and the gardens look beautiful afterwards. The fragrance of wet grass and damp leaves is lovely.’ She let out a breath in a deep sigh and he could almost hear her regret.

‘But?’

‘But it’s not India. In India I would love the feel of the rain on my face. I would often become soaked to the skin—which always roused my mother’s wrath and she would scold me unmercifully.’

For the moment Ross could not form a coherent reply, for in some dim part of his consciousness, he could appreciate what she meant. But after what she had said he could not do much in the way of thinking. Standing close to him was a woman whose body he was certain was a hidden treasure, a woman whose hair was as black as jet, a woman whose eyes were the exact shade of warm amber, a woman who loved the fragrance of damp grass and leaves—and a woman whose innocent pleasure of getting soaked in the rain was proving as erotic to him as any aphrodisiac could be.

Recalling their kiss and her rejection of his suggestion that they take matters further, with all the discipline he could muster, he set his jaw and reminded himself of his position and hers. She worked for him, she was a servant, and there were rules about men of his stature getting too close to servants. But as his gaze remained focused on her face, he found it virtually impossible to think of her as a servant. To know her better, to spend time with her, was well worth the risk of being caught out.

‘I get the impression that you are homesick,’ he murmured.

Lisette met his gaze. His voice had deepened to a husky timbre that plucked at her senses like clever fingers unlacing her stays. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I think I am.’

‘Since you and I have much in common—’

‘Only our shared love of India,’ she was quick to point out.

‘Which is a great deal considering the size of the country.’

‘You will go back to your regiment?’

He frowned and shook his head, his expression hardening. ‘I shall return in some capacity. No doubt I shall resume the rank in the service to which my seniority and my talents entitle me. I only hope that as a result of my promotion to colonel I will not be removed from regimental duty and set to work in an administrative capacity which often happens. Why do you smile?’ he asked when he saw the corners of her lips twitch.

‘Because I cannot imagine you sitting at a desk.’

Ross’s vivid blue eyes, which had darkened to almost black in the dim light, captured hers. ‘No? Then in what capacity do you imagine me?’

‘Governing and controlling vast expanses of lawless territories, and with a lust for conquest without tainting your love and understanding of the country and its peoples. I imagine you leading your regiment into battle and claiming victory.’

What she said made him laugh. ‘You are too generous, Miss Napier—you also have a fertile imagination. I wish I could share it, but I suspect I shall not be permitted to return to my regiment.’

Her expression became serious. ‘Then for your sake I hope you are mistaken.’

‘Thank you. So do I. And talking about my love of India and your own, I would like to show you some of the art that I’ve collected on my travels and brought back with me. It’s still packed in crates, but when I’ve unpacked it I would like to show it to you.’

Lisette quivered. She knew what Colonel Montague was doing, casting that spell of his again, with his dark-velvet voice and beguiling little smile. As simple and innocent as she was, she knew what game he played, and yet she could not understand why a person of quality would wish to tarnish their reputation by publicly associating with a maid.

She looked at him lounging against the stable door, two hunting hounds sniffing about his feet. In the dim light his face had a melancholy cast and he seemed to be totally indifferent to his inherited position. It was something Lisette rarely saw, but she recognised it instantly. It was something that could not be acquired or reproduced. It had to have time to develop, like a patina that told everyone you had no doubts about your place in the world or that you were concerned about others’ perceptions of you.

The noise of the horses moving about in the stalls brought her back to the present and she rubbed Bengal’s nose to soothe him when he whickered loudly, tossed his head and banged his hoof against the door. ‘The horses seem restless tonight.’

‘The reason for that is there’s a mare on heat. All the stallions start kicking their stalls and nipping the grooms—even the geldings start to misbehave.’ Looking at her soft features, with tendrils of her black hair brushing her cheeks, desire still stirring his loins, Ross was tempted to say that men were like geldings when physical passion was denied them.

His explicit talk embarrassed Lisette and she looked away to hide her flaming cheeks. When he chuckled softly, clearly amused by her embarrassment, she turned and met is gaze. Shoving himself away from the door, he reached out and pushed a strand of hair away from her face, finding himself unable to pull his hand away. The skin of her cheek felt warm and soft beneath his fingers, and he wondered how a woman who had lived in the heat of India for most of her life could have skin as soft and fine as this. He touched his fingers to her lips, remembering their kiss. How could her lips feel as velvety as this? If anything, the feel of her flesh beneath his fingertips added to the awareness of sensuality he felt emanating between them.

‘When I first saw you,’ Ross said quietly, ‘I had this strange feeling that we had met before. It was as if a moment out of time burned between us. But how could that be? I asked myself. Surely I would have remembered. How could I forget?’

Unable to move, Lisette was looking at him, her eyes wide with surprise, but in their depths, there was also something else, something that reflected what he was feeling. Remembering how it had felt to be held by him, to be kissed by him, desire was in her eyes and in the rapid wisp of her breath against his fingers. It was in the way she stood so still, tense and poised like a young deer about to flee. If he lowered his hand to her chest he would feel her heart beating as hard as his own. It moved a little in that direction before he drew it back.