The Runaway Countess (10 page)

“Lord Arlington and the serving girl?”

Did he know everything?

“You needn’t look so worried, Lady Margaret. It is not your confession I seek. I ask merely to understand.”

She held her tongue.

He stared at her, took a sip of wine but never took his eyes off her. “Was Lord Arlington involved with the Midnight Rider?”

She looked at Catherine, who was no help. Trent’s sister seemed oblivious to the tension in the room. Or perhaps she enjoyed it.

“Come now, Lady Margaret. There is no cause to be embarrassed.”

She wasn’t embarrassed and he knew it. Just as he knew he held all the power here.

“Perhaps the Midnight Rider—”

“Lord Arlington attempted to force his attentions on the chambermaid. He caught her in a room alone and scared the wits out of her. Was she to pretend it didn’t happen?”

“Lady Usling’s prize roses?” Tap, tap, tap went his hand on his thigh.

“Her gardener’s pension was a pittance after his apoplexy, not enough to pay for the help he needed.
He
was the one who tended to the roses.
He
deserved the reward.”

She had helped those who were forgotten. She had taken justice in her own hands, yes, but for a good cause. The rights of the underprivileged, the soft at heart, the young and the old, were too often overlooked. Who else would take care of them, if not her? The system was not just, or fair. Easy for Radford to lecture her when he was given riches and opportunities beyond compare.

He rubbed his face in his hands, then looked at her. His jaw was set in a grim line. “I see.” His voice was low, defeated. It almost seemed like he was disappointed in her.

“All with a good cause,” she defended herself.

“I would like a written statement from you.”

She pursed her lips. Perhaps she had said more than she should.

Radford’s expression remained incredulous and arrogant. As if he couldn’t conceive of such inequalities or such a need for vengeance. Either he truly didn’t know what was going on, or he was blindly self-centered.

“The villagers asked about you, of course,” he murmured. “It is known that you are here.”

“What did you reply?”

“That you were staying as a guest of my sister.”

“Did you tell them of my title?”

“Not yet, though I don’t think it will be a secret much longer.”

She would not think of it. She reached for her wineglass and noticed that he still studied her. Again, the scrutinizing. She met his steady gaze, held it and forced herself to sit tall though her spine wanted to curl inward with the weight of worry.

Not that her corset would allow such deflated posture. The thing was a nuisance, binding her ribs and making her feel, well, voluptuous. And vulnerable. And altogether too breathless.

Mazie looked down at her meal. Her appetite had abandoned her, but she took a bite anyway to refrain from further conversation. She did not want the villagers to find out about her past. It would change everything. Why he insisted on telling them—

Of course. The thought struck her between chewing and swallowing her potatoes. The strife between the villagers and the gentry was legendary in Radford. She had the friendship of the villagers, and if they believed she herself was gentry and supported the earl, they might begin to trust him. He would use her for political reasons.

Somehow, she had to bargain her way out of captivity. And she had to present her plan in such a way that Radford would not say no. That, in itself, would be a challenge.

Trent reclined on the settee, Cat tucked in his arm. They had always had a close bond, driven together by the aloofness of their father and the early death of their mother.

Mazie sat across the room, teasing out a Mozart Minuet in D Major. She played uncommonly well. In fact, she played the entire act of a lady of the
ton
with surprising deftness. He never would have put together the woman before him with the woman who had arrived, bound and bleeding, on his doorstep.

He was stunned by her transformation. Of course, he knew she was attractive, but tonight she literally took his breath away. The upsweep of her hair drew attention to her high cheekbones and the graceful arch of her neck. Her rich brown eyes slightly tilted up at the outer corner, making her look perpetually mischievous. And her mouth, damn.

Her beauty set him on edge, brought a fierce tension to his muscles. He reminded himself that she was scheming, untamed and dangerous. That she was probably the mistress of his enemy. She certainly held the power of information over him. Yet every time he looked at her he recalled the fevered kiss they had shared. He was doing it now as he watched her play the piano, tracing the lovely arch of her collarbones down to the white skin of her décolletage. Such lovely, plump—

“Is that truly necessary?” Cat murmured.

“Is what necessary?” He glanced at his sister, his embarrassment a sharp burn.

“The footman standing guard outside as if Lady Margaret would dash out onto the veranda and become lost in the night.”

He shrugged and his arm bumped against Cat’s shoulder. “Lady Margaret has information I must know. All she needs to do is answer my questions truthfully and she is free to go.”

“Are you going to keep her here? Knowing she is one of us?”

“One of us?” he scoffed. “She is a confessed thief, Catherine. You heard it for yourself.”

“Yes, chickens and roses. I cannot think”

“She could be hanged for treason.”

“Oh.”

The lilting melody of Mozart fell between them.

“You’re not going to hang her, of course. Whatever has happened, Lady Margaret is still a gentle creature.”

Gentle creature? Mazie? He recalled her fighting him in the woods, scratching him. The way she had tried to seduce him before slamming her hand into his jaw. “The Midnight Rider is a traitor to the crown and must be sent to London. Harrington would have me send Lady Margaret as well.”

Cat inhaled sharply. “Harrington knows? He is terrible, Trent. I fear for the peace of the shire. The villagers are uneasy, and Harrington isn’t helping matters.”

His breath whooshed out of him as if his sister had elbowed him in the ribs. It was his duty to keep peace in Radford, and he was failing. If he did not handle this situation perfectly he would be the earl famous for desecrating the ancient and honored family name. “I know. That is why I am here.”

“The Corn Riots, Peterloo, the grain shortage. Unrest is spreading all over England.”

“Yes.” He studied his sister. She had never been one to express an opinion about politics before. She had changed much over the last few years. He was proud that she had grown out of her self-centered ways, yet he did not like her to worry.

“You’ll think of something. I’m sure you will.” She patted his hand.

He kissed her hair. She was right. He would emerge the victor. There was too much at stake to fail. “Thank you, brat.”

The music ended and both he and Cat sat up and clapped. Mazie stood and bobbed a playful curtsey. Despite himself, his eyes consumed her like a starving man. He noticed the way her fingertips held the satin of her skirts, the way her skin flushed above her bodice. How her red lips curved at the edges. She sat to play another piece and he forced his gaze across the room, pretending interest in the marquetry mirror designed by Boulle himself.

“Delightful, Lady Margaret,” Cat called across the room. Then, in a lower voice only he could hear, “Such a lovely woman, don’t you agree?”

“Mmmmf,” he managed in reply.

“And she is to stay here?”

He cleared his throat and looked back to where Mazie sat on the piano bench. His gaze landed on the rounded tops of her breasts. No, not there. He glanced up at her face. Her eyes were half-closed as she concentrated on the music, and she appeared to be in the throes of passion. Good God, don’t think about that. He cleared his throat again and shifted his gaze down to her arms. Yes, he would look at her arms.

Cat laughed and shot him a sly, teasing glance. “I cannot wait to see how you resolve this one, brother.”

He ignored her challenge. Just stared at Mazie’s delicate arms.

How in the world had Mazie become involved with a criminal? And just how much of her skin had the man seen? Did he know what she tasted like? Was she as delicious as she looked?

Good God, he lusted after his enemy’s woman.

He shifted in his seat and turned toward his sister. “Perhaps you should come act as a chaperone.”

Her lips titled up like she was about to laugh again.

“For propriety’s sake, of course.”

“Of course.” A flush lit her cheeks. “How exciting.”

He didn’t want her to think he needed to be supervised like a schoolboy. He was the earl. He hadn’t lost his head over a girl in a decade. “I also need help with some redecorating. Just the parts father redid after mother died.”

“The weapons and dead animals, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

“I would love to. I’ve been so bored of late.” Her shoulders deflated with a sigh.

“Any word from Forster?”

“None.”

A silence settled between them. He knew his sister was unhappy, knew she was trapped in her life.

“Would you like me to contact him?”

“No.” Cat shook her head. “He will come home when he is ready. You find your highwayman, Trent. You needn’t search for my husband as well.”

Mazie played the last haunting notes of Beethoven’s famous piano sonata. Titled
Piano Sonata No. Fourteen in C minor “Quasi una fantasia”
,
it
was
like a fantasy, like a dream. Her hands stilled and she stared at the ivory keys. The grace of the music entranced her, made her feel both endlessly sad and very much alive in beauty at once. She had played this piece for days after her parents’ death, until the men came and took the piano away along with everything else of value. She had watched them pack her mother’s things—her dresses and combs, her jewelry and headgear, everything that bore the mark of her mother’s life. Gone. Her father’s as well.

Sick with the fever that killed her parents, grieving and paupered, she realized then that she had been left alone, utterly to her own defenses, to fend for herself. That everything, every possible thing one could hold or touch or cherish, had been taken from her.

Except one bracelet, gold with an interlacing leaf pattern. It had been her father’s first gift to her mother. That Mazie had pocketed when nobody was looking. She also took a pair of her father’s cufflinks for Roane. It had been her first theft, if one considered it that.

“I look forward to hearing more of your playing,” Lady Catherine spoke from Mazie’s side, drawing her out of her reverie. “I regret I must be on my way.”

“Oh.” Mazie came to her feet. She glanced at Trent standing on the other side of the room, his posture was stiff. Propriety required Mazie to retire as well, now that they were to be left alone. But she had not cared for such rules for many years and made no move to leave.

“I will escort my sister to her carriage.”
Then return.

Cat raised a brow and glanced between her brother and his captive. “I will return first thing tomorrow.”

The Radford siblings left the room and Mazie sat back down at the piano, playing the Mozart sonata once more. Trent seemed attentive to his sister, almost sweet. She couldn’t deny him that praise.

A few minutes later, the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she was certain he was looking at her. Watching her.

“You play well,” he murmured from the doorway.

Mazie brushed aside the warmth his compliment stirred within her. “I find the piano a useful distraction.”

Silence settled as he studied her and she studied the keys on the piano. The very expensive keys on the very expensive piano.

She looked up at his uncomfortable handsomeness and looked away again. “It is well tuned,” she said for want of conversation.

“I should suppose it would be. I am seldom here, but my housekeeper is fiercely competent.”

“You’re seldom here?” She made herself face him, her brows lifted in what she hoped was a friendly invitation to speak. Could it be he was ignorant of the true situation in Radford?

He walked to one of the three sets of windows, drew back the heavy damask curtains and opened a tall glass door. A warm breeze stirred the room and brought the scent of turned earth.

“Since I became the earl, I visit once or twice per annum.”

“And before?”

He hung back in the shadows by the window. “My father and I had not been close for many years. I was rarely here, if at all.”

She was not sure how she felt about this new piece of information. While he admired his father, he was not privy to the man’s personal interactions. “Did Parliament keep you so busy you couldn’t visit your home?” It was impolite to press the issue, but she needed to know the answer.

He lingered in the shadows and did not reply.

“Perhaps Lady Catherine has her own version of the story.” Her voice was teasing but it held the truth.