The Reluctant Earl (10 page)

“Well, I must consider that if too many mothers followed her example, women like me would find themselves without means.”

“I think there will always be enough women like my sister that your future is secure.”

Secure. Would she ever know true security?

Chambelston drew his sister back to the picture-strewn table where Leah and Lady Caroline had been working before his interruption. “What have the two of you been doing?”

“Your sister has been learning the alphabet.”

He blinked, those long dark lashes sweeping against his cheek. “The alphabet?”

Leah lifted a picture card and showed it to Lady Caroline. “Tell your brother what this animal is.”

“Lion!”

“Very good! And what sound do lions make?”

The girl discharged a credible roar, her blue eyes alight with amusement. Even Chambelston emitted a chuckle.

“Exactly.” Leah picked up a card with a letter. “And what is this?”

“C!”

“And what sound does C make?”

“KKK. Like Caro.”

Leah patted the back of her hand. “Perfect.”

“This is wonderful, Caro.” Lord Chambelston tilted his head, a lock of gilded hair coming to rest across his brow as he looked from his sister to Leah. “But do you really think—”

Leah forestalled the rest of his question with a raised hand. “Perhaps you would like to look at pictures with your sister for a moment?”

He arched a brow at this command but obediently asked Lady Caroline about the next picture while Leah painfully crossed the room and rang the bell. She hovered there in the corner, watching the interaction between brother and sister, once more feeling the outsider.

The door glided open again. “Yes, Miss Vance? Oh, my lord!” Molly dropped into a curtsey, eyes downcast.

Leah patted the maid’s shoulder. “Molly, would you help Lady Caroline see to her, um, personal needs?”

“Of course, Miss Vance. If my lady will come with me?” Molly offered the girl an understanding smile as she took her arm and led her to a door at the far side of the schoolroom.

Leah waited until it shut behind them. “Yes, I think Lady Caro could learn to read.”

“Read?” Hope mingled with skepticism in his eyes. “Miss Vance, when I asked if there was anything you could do for my sister... I love Caro dearly, but she can barely feed herself. She needs assistance with the simplest tasks—such as even now.” He glanced meaningfully at the door where Lady Caroline had vanished with Molly.

“All those tasks involve her hands. Reading would engage her mind.”

“But she has the mind of a child of five years or so.”

“And many children of that age do read. Perhaps not Shakespeare, but they can recognize basic words. Consider, my lord, Lady Caroline can identify pictures and letters. Why not simple words?”

“I...don’t know what to say.” The blue in his eyes smoldered with...approbation? Even admiration?

As the silence stretched, tension tightened around her lungs. “I doubt Lady Caroline will ever be able to write so much as her name, but I see no reason why she couldn’t learn to read it.” Leah pushed the words through her constricted throat.

“When I asked you to assess Caro, I never expected... That is, like everyone else, I underestimated her.” He cupped Leah’s cheek, his palm warm and hard and strong against her skin. “Thank you, Miss Vance. Thank you for letting me see my sister in a new light.”

A door squeaked and footsteps tapped against the floor. Leah jerked back, her face still burning from Chambelston’s touch, as Molly and Lady Caroline returned. “I...ah...” She pulled her gaze from that mesmerizing stare and focused on anything other than the larger-than-life man in the room—the desk, the window, the wall, the clock.

The clock.

Lady Caroline had returned to her brother’s side, happily identifying pictures and even a few letters on the cards scattered across the desk.

Leah sidled closer to the maid. “Has Lady Teresa returned from her ride?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Molly’s mouth flattened, her lips fading to white as she glanced from the clock to the window where the waning afternoon warned of coming darkness. “She went with Mr. Fleming, didn’t she?”

The two women shared a look that sent shock reeling through Leah. Molly, too?

“I’ll ask Mrs. Anderson.” The maid slipped out of the room.

Leah ambled to the desk where Chambelston still patiently plied his sister with questions. Her stomach churned with anxiety. And the proximity to the man in her schoolroom.

The one who looked up at her approach and smiled. “Miss Vance, may I talk to you about a position?”

“A position? I thought you already...employed me.”

“This is for a more traditional role. And perhaps more enduring. Caro enjoys your company, and you see potential in her no one else has. My niece is of an age where her need for a governess is coming to an end, and you will need a new situation. Would you consider a position in my household?”

A shard of disappointment sliced through her before she could stifle it. How silly, how ridiculous the longings of a lonely spinster. Instead she focused on what his offer meant for her future. Money—possibly more than customarily provided to an ordinary governess. Enough to cover Phoebe’s expenses? “Caring for your sister?”

“At our family seat in Somerset.”

The ray of optimism crashed against the shores of reality. Given the rift between Chambelston and Lady Sotherton, how often would the family travel to Northamptonshire? How could she visit Phoebe from so great a distance? “I—”

“Miss Vance?” Molly stepped into the schoolroom. “No one in the household has seen Lady Teresa since this morning. Would you like me to check with Wetherel?”

Leah glanced at the snow-covered gardens beyond the window, feeling the chill grow within her.

“I’ll go.” The gentle baritone rumbled along Leah’s spine. “If she hasn’t returned, I’ll mount a search,” Chambelston said.

“I’ll come with you.”

The tawny brows arched. “Miss Vance, may I remind you that by your own admission, you aren’t a proficient rider.”

“But I know the countryside.”

“So do Sotherton’s grooms, I imagine.”

Unfortunately he was right. Leah would slow him down. But she couldn’t let him go without her. What if Teresa had been thrown from her horse or shot at like Leah...or worse? Leah let her eyes fall shut for several long seconds. Images flashed through her mind, a combination of horrific memories and terrible imaginings. Bile raced to her throat at the dreadful possibilities. She couldn’t let Teresa be found without a woman present. “My lord, please...”

“Very well, get your things. You’d probably just follow anyway and then if you got lost, we’d have three missing people from the household.” He gave his sister a smile and a hug. “Molly can stay with Caro if that is agreeable.”

Despite the concern shadowing the maid’s eyes, she smiled. “I should enjoy that, my lord, but I must confirm that with Mrs. Anderson.”

“I’ll speak to her when I get my coat.” Chambelston pivoted and marched to the corridor.

Leah hobbled into her small chamber next to the schoolroom and glanced at her simple gown. Hardly a riding habit, but it would have to do. She shoved her feet into her battered boots, wincing as the stiff leather squeezed her bruised, swollen foot. She rammed her tattered bonnet over her hair, wrapped a scarf around her neck and grabbed her coat and gloves. Worry and hurry made her movements clumsy, and she was still struggling to find her coat sleeve as she limped into the hallway.

An assisting hand on her collar halted her. Her stomach tensed even before she turned and looked into blue, blue eyes. So close. Much too close. He had already retrieved his cloak, and she spied a brace of pistols tucked in his waistband. Did he also expect trouble?

“Ready?”

She nodded and led him down the narrow stairs that led to a door near the stable. The sun sat low on the horizon, warning of coming cold and darkness. Not even the stable’s warmth and sweet smells of hay and horses alleviated the horrible knot around Leah’s ribs.

Wetherel’s eyes widened at the sight of the two of them in the stable again.

Chambelston stepped forward. “Have Lady Teresa and Fleming returned from their ride?”

“No, my lord. Not yet.”

“Did they take a groom with them?”

“Lady Teresa assured me she didn’t need one to accompany her, seeing how she had her cousin.”

As if Fleming would be of assistance in a crisis. And indeed he would mostly likely be the cause of it.

“Saddle horses for Miss Vance and me—and for the grooms. We’ll search for them.”

Wetherel nodded and shouted orders to the stable boys. A swarm of activity ensued.

“Do you know where they intended to ride?”

“They were heading east when they departed, my lord.”

East. Toward the location where only yesterday Leah had encountered Fleming, Chambelston and a gunshot.

“Very well, we shall begin in that direction.” Chambelston led Leah outside and lifted her onto a calm sorrel mare, his hands strong and solid under her foot. “An excellent choice of horse for you.” He mounted the black with an easy, masculine grace and then barked orders to the grooms to fan out on either side of them. His voice boomed with authority over the snowy landscape, offering Leah a glimpse of the commanding captain he’d once been.

Leah threaded the reins through her fingers and concentrated all her attention on maintaining her seat as they set off at a sprightly cantor. She peeked at the ground, so far below and disappearing so rapidly behind. No, better to keep her eyes focused on the darkening horizon. The chilly air gusted against her cheeks and tugged at her bonnet. They crested a knoll when one of the grooms exclaimed, “My lord, there!”

The groom on the far left pointed to a riderless bay trotting toward them. Lord Sotherton’s prize stallion. The group pushed their horses to even greater speed. Leah’s stomach fell as if it had tumbled from the horse when she spied the figures milling around a prostrate form. Cudgels rose and fell while a lone rider circled the group, weaving in and out of the trees, her frantic pleas carried on the wind.

Teresa.

Brave, foolish girl. Leah’s pride mixed with terrible fear.

Chambelston whipped out a pistol and raised it in the air. The shot reverberated over the rolling fields like the one Leah had heard only the day before. The attackers paused, then scattered in all directions, most heading to cover in the nearby trees.

Teresa vaulted from her horse and crouched next to the unconscious man on the ground as the five from the Abbey—three grooms, a governess and one English earl—drew near.

“See to Teresa!” Chambelston shouted as he wheeled his horse and pursued one of the fleeing assailants.

Leah pulled the mare to a halt and clambered out of the saddle. Her legs trembled and her foot ached as she trudged through the snow and knelt at Teresa’s side. The girl’s hat had disappeared during the fray. Locks of dark hair drooped from her chignon and wisped around her wide, frightened eyes.

“Are you injured?” Leah tugged on her arm, noting the rent in the fabric of the fine riding coat.

“Not me.” Teresa’s hands shook as she pressed a handkerchief against her cousin’s temple near to the spot where Leah’s poker had left its mark three years ago. Bright red blood infected the white linen and the supple dun of her gloves. “But Reggie...”

Leah’s gaze traveled over Fleming’s abused body. In addition to the gash on his head the angry shadows of forming bruises stained his eyes and cheeks. His hat had long vanished, and the tattered remnants of his coat waved in the breeze. She tugged a glove off his hand, noting the swelling already stretching the red skin. Despite her loathing of the man, a fragment of sympathy lodged in her heart.

Approaching footsteps tossed snow against Leah’s skirt. She glanced up as Chambelston squatted beside them. “Did you catch any?”

“They all got away. Knew just where to hide.”

Which meant they were local. Some of Alec’s...friends?

Leah pulled her gaze from the mesmerizing pools of blue and glanced around. Only then did she realize how close they were to the place where someone had fired a shot only yesterday. At her.

Chapter Seven

J
ulian studied Fleming’s swollen, broken body where he lay amid snow trampled by boots and spotted with blood. The slash across his cheek—administered by Julian only yesterday—had disappeared under dozens of angry welts. A warning or an interrupted murder? “How is he?”

Miss Vance’s troubled gaze met his. Did the same questions whir through her mind—or did she know the answers? “He needs a doctor, and soon.”

“I sent two of the grooms back to retrieve a sleigh.” Julian ripped his stare from the unruly tendrils defying her normal tidiness and focused on his niece. “Teresa, did you recognize any of your attackers? Were they from nearby?”

“I don’t know.” Teresa’s chignon slipped a bit farther as she tilted her head to peer up at him. Her cousin’s blood sullied the trim of her riding habit and the fingers of her gloves. Anger and pride warred in Julian. No fainting spell or hysteria for his niece. She had kept her head during the assault, indeed her bravery bordered on foolishness. “That is, they spoke like local men, but they’d blackened their faces with soot, of course.”

“That should make them remarkable. We’ll ask around. Someone will have noticed a man covering his face with soot.”

Miss Vance tapped his arm. “It’s Plough Monday, my lord.”

“What day?”

“Plough Monday. Do you not celebrate the day in Somerset?”

“I can’t say I’m familiar with the term.” But then, Julian had spent most of his life at sea, not in England at all.

“On the first Monday after Twelfth Night, it is customary for the farm workers here to cover their faces with soot. They decorate their ploughs and pull them from house to house asking for money.”

“Must be a local custom. I’ve never seen any such procession.”

“It provides farm workers with a few extra coins during the depths of winter.”

“How convenient that of all days of the year, Fleming would be attacked on a day when half the men in the district have blackened faces.” What a perfect opportunity to commit mayhem.

“Perhaps someone will remember a gang of painted plough boys without a plough.”

“But why Fleming, a mere visitor to these parts?” Ugly thoughts invaded Julian’s mind. A visitor, yes, but one who had attacked a local woman only yesterday. A local woman with a connection to the violent rabble who had fatally injured his father? He looked to Teresa again. “Do you remember the size of this mob? I counted five.”

She pursed her lips. “That is probably correct, but it seemed like more.”

No doubt. “Did they have any weapons? A pistol perhaps? A knife?”

“Not that I saw. Only the cudgels.”

In other words, they were perfectly inconspicuous.

“My lord!”

Julian whipped his head up as the two grooms reappeared with the sleigh. They drew the horses to a stop near Fleming. “We’ll have to lift him. Grab his feet,” he instructed one of the grooms. Julian positioned himself behind the prone man’s head.

The groom clamped his arms around Fleming’s boots. “Ready, my lord.”

“Lift!”

The two of them hoisted the wounded man onto the upholstered seat. A moan escaped Fleming’s lips once and his eyelids flickered, then he fell back into his swoon. Teresa followed them to the side of the sleigh.

Julian covered her hand with his. “Would you prefer to ride with your cousin?”

The blue of Teresa’s eyes hardened to crystal and her skin tightened over her cheeks. “I would be more useful on horseback if they return.”

“They won’t.” Julian hoped. He led her toward Wetherel, who held her horse.

She accepted the reins, then paused when Julian would have assisted her into the saddle. “I’m glad you arrived when you did, Uncle Julian.”

“The credit belongs to your governess. Miss Vance worried when you didn’t return home in a timely manner.”

A smile flickered on her mouth despite the shadows that lingered in her eyes. “Then I’m pleased she persuaded you to join the search.”

He hoisted her onto the horse, then sidled closer to Miss Vance. The breeze ruffled the collar of her coat. Fleming had harassed her at the piano and assaulted her on the path. And more? She had good reason—perhaps even more than he knew—to detest the man and wish him ill rather than well. “Someone needs to ride in the sleigh with Fleming and monitor his injuries.”

“And as the least experienced rider, I’m the preferred candidate.” Resignation darkened the hazel eyes to brown.

“I realize this is difficult for you. Fleming doesn’t deserve your kindness.” He smoothed a finger along a cheek pinkened by the cold. “Just don’t take advantage of his swoon to complete his attackers’ mission.”

As he’d hoped, the dimple momentarily flashed before she straightened her shoulders. “I’m surprisingly resistant to such urges. Consider, my lord, you know a secret dangerous to my well-being—and I haven’t yet murdered you in your bed to prevent you from publicizing it.”

“For which I am vastly grateful.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, lifted her into the sleigh and waited while she arranged a blanket over Fleming’s motionless form. “How far to the nearest doctor?”

“Assuming he isn’t out with another patient, you’ll find him several miles to the north in the village.”

Past the copse where the assailants had disappeared. Julian considered the assembled group. With the miscreants possibly yet lurking in the vicinity, he couldn’t send a single man alone into the area. “Wetherel, take a man with you and fetch the doctor. And take this also. Just in case Fleming’s friends return.” He extracted the second, still-loaded, pistol.

“But my lord, you may have need of it.”

“I have another.” Julian thrust the weapon into the man’s hand.

“Already discharged, sir.”

“But they won’t know which is which. You are riding toward them while we are riding away. You have the greater need.”

A silent look passed on the long gaze the groom leveled at him. “Thank you, my lord.” He gestured to one of the other men who mounted Miss Vance’s horse, and the two rode away.

* * *

Leah lifted the edge of Teresa’s handkerchief and examined the wound on Fleming’s head. At least the bleeding had subsided to a trickle. The fiend would probably survive. She returned the cloth to his forehead, applying pressure to this bloody injury so near to the jagged edges of his three-year-old scar. The one she’d drawn with a poker.

“Whoa!” The driver gave a shout and the sleigh skidded to a halt before the grand entrance to Rowan Abbey.

Long established boxwoods directed visitors toward the door that now swung open. Lights blazed from the windows in expectation of their return. Stable boys rushed forward to take the horses while footmen—and even Hawkesworth the butler—scrambled from the house to carry the injured man. Lady Sotherton swept into the fray, her frown drawn more tightly than usual as she studied her nephew.

Leah backed into a corner of the sleigh while men seized Fleming and lifted him out of the vehicle. “Watch his head.”

The butler gave a crisp nod. “I’ll see to him, Miss Vance.”

Lady Sotherton retreated a step as the servants carried Fleming past, then she looked to her daughter. Her eyes, normally so cold and hard, widened as her gaze swept over the disheveled hair and blood-spattered coat. “Teresa? Are you...are you injured?”

“I’m unharmed.” Teresa dismounted from her horse, then sagged against her mother.

Leah scrambled to exit the sleigh, but a hand on her shoulder forestalled her.

“Give them a moment together.” Chambelston’s deep voice rumbled in her ear and his warm breath wafted against her cheek.

“I...” Leah watched in wonder as mother and daughter clung to each other. Conflicting emotions collided within her—happiness for Teresa’s sake, and yet, a redoubled sense of exclusion—as the two moved to the house.

“She still needs you.”

“Not really. Not for much longer.”

“And she’ll always love you.”

“But it’s her mother she most wants.” As it should be. Still...Leah pulled her gaze from the women disappearing into the manor and stared at her hands. With Fleming’s blood staining the threads, her gloves were well and truly ruined now. Absently she tugged them off her fingers and dropped them onto the upholstery.

Chambelston’s hand, still resting heavily on her shoulder, gave her a squeeze. “Come. You need to get inside, too.”

Except for the groom waiting to drive the sleigh away, they were alone, all the others having retreated to the house. “Yes, thank you.”

Chambelston held forth his hand. The dark fabric of his greatcoat disappeared into the deepening gloom of twilight, but the lights from the house glimmered on his face. After a flicker of hesitation she placed her palm against the leather and let him assist her out of the conveyance. “Where are your gloves?”

“I...” In what way could she explain her revulsion to all things related to Reginald Fleming?

As the groom urged the horse into motion, Chambelston tugged the leather from his fingers, then wrapped his hand—big, strong, warm—around hers. His thumbs stroked the sensitive skin of her wrists right above her frantically beating pulse. “Your skin is like ice. I hope you haven’t succumbed to frostbite.”

How could she think of cold when his actions filled her with warmth? Nightfall spawned shadows. And intimacy. The quiet closed around them as the horses retreated to their stable. She should move away—run, even—lest she create more heartache for herself.

Instead she raised her gaze to his face.

His eyes gleamed with unfamiliar intensity and...yearning? Time slowed. Stopped. Tension coiled low inside her as he lifted her hands—both of them—and pressed them to his cheeks on either side of his face. Warm skin and rough stubble tingled against her touch. “Leah.” He whispered her name, the name only her cousin had used in...how long?...and lowered his face. His lips brushed hers. Soft. Seeking.

The breeze tossed silken strands of his hair against the sensitive skin of her knuckles, a whisper-light caress. A spark of delight ignited in her heart and radiated through her, a sweet burning ache in her chest. The power of her loneliness and longing flared through her, melting the strength from her bones.

And then he withdrew. Only inches, yet far enough to let the rush of common sense and regret return.

Leah lowered her hands and retreated a step on shaky knees. Foolish, foolish woman with no more sense than a silly girl. How could she ever allow herself to suppose that one of her position, of her past and with her insane sister could aspire to a match with a wealthy lord? “We should go in the house before we are missed.” Or seen.

He stretched forth his arm—as if to tempt her to imprudence once again—and then as if he too realized the absurdity of their actions, he let his hand fall to his side. With a nod of his head, he fell into step beside her. “Miss Vance, it was unpardonable of me to put your reputation at risk like that. Still, I beg your forgiveness.”

“Of course.” The dull throb in her foot paled beside the intense agony in her heart.

“Good. For the world, I wouldn’t have you think me the kind of man who takes advantage of unprotected females.”

Lord Chambelston had offered her a position, but she could never serve on his staff. Even if she hadn’t had Phoebe to concern her, she could never live in his household and subject herself to the agony of seeing him day after day. Not after these sweet, reckless moments.

Once inside the entrance hall Chambelston passed his coat to the hovering butler. “I trust the men have Fleming safely settled in his chamber?”

“Indeed, my lord.”

“Good.” Chambelston stared thoughtfully at the servant. “Hawkesworth, do you know of any unusual activity involving Mr. Fleming? Have any been inquiring about him of late? Or did he receive any messages recently?”

“No, my lord.”

“Thank you. The doctor should be here presently. Notify me when he arrives.”

Hawkesworth withdrew while Chambelston escorted Leah across the entrance hall.

At the bottom of the staircase she paused and labored to imbue her words with a lightness that revealed none of the heaviness inside her head and heart. “Thank you for all your assistance today. What with Lord Sotherton and Viscount Killiane’s departure for London, I don’t know what we would have done without you.”

“My niece is fortunate to have you in her life. And perhaps my sister has at last located some of her misplaced humanity. A pity it took such an atrocity.”

“Better now than never, I suppose.” With a final nod, Leah scaled the stairs to the schoolroom above.

What did it mean? She brushed a finger against her lips, as if she yet felt Chambelston’s touch. A momentary lapse...or something more? The better she understood the man, the less she thought him capable of trifling with the affections of an impoverished governess. After all, he hadn’t used his power over her when he’d had the opportunity, nor seen her fired or charged for her crimes. Why would he put her position in jeopardy for whim?

Painful memories assailed her with familiar doubts. Once before she’d placed her hopes in a man’s attachment, only to find his ardor wane when faced with the reality of her situation, her sister. The jaws of responsibility snapped around her again, imprisoning her in her nebulous existence. No doubt with the weight of an earldom on his shoulders, Lord Chambelston would find such connections—to her, to Phoebe—equally intolerable.

Unless he didn’t know until after the vows had been spoken.

So many advantages—for her. Funds for Phoebe’s care. Safety for Alec. Even security for herself. But could she be so callous as to take advantage of his regard for her own gain?

Leah paused in the schoolroom entrance and watched the maid playing with Lady Caroline. The two held hands and twirled, then dropped to the floor in a flourish of giggles. Sorrow tightened around Leah’s chest as memories of a young Teresa bombarded her mind. Her life here was coming to a close. Where would she go?

Molly glanced up, her anxious gaze flickering over Leah. “Miss Vance?”

“We found Lady Teresa. She is fine.” Leah strolled to the other side of the room to join the two women. She extended a hand and helped Lady Caroline to her feet. The light of the laughter in her eyes reflected on the soft blue of her gown.