To Tame a Dangerous Lord (5 page)

“Why the black garb?” he asked about her unbecoming
bombazine gown as the well-sprung coach settled into a gently rocking rhythm.

“I am wearing mourning in honor of my late employer,” she replied.

Her attire was appropriate to a governess or a companion, he supposed. Additionally, she now wore her hair pulled tightly back from her face in a coiled braid, with no curls to soften the angular lines of her features. The severe effect was rather unbecoming, yet her large gray eyes saved her from being completely plain. And her full, red-ripe lips were sin itself.

Rayne shifted uncomfortably in his seat, remembering the taste of those sensual lips and her ardent response. From outward appearances he never would have guessed such a colorless-looking creature would have such a passionate nature.

He regretted his own lustful physical response to her, however. In the interest of distracting his mind, Rayne decided he might as well occupy the hour-long journey learning more about her.

“Your mother was French, I understand?”

A soft smile curved her lips. “Yes.
Maman’s
parents fled the Revolution and settled near Chelmsford in Essex, a district that is heavily populated with émigrés. She met my father there when he was on leave from the Army, and they were married a fortnight later. It was a case of love at first sight, yet the haste was also necessary since he had to return to his post.”

“I thought your father owned a farm.”

“He did … an inheritance from his late uncle, which was passed down to my brother. But it is neither very large nor very profitable. I lived there until I was eighteen, when my father died, but with Gerard to support
and his schooling to fund, I decided to seek outside employment in order to make ends meet. And Lady Talwin’s estate was only three miles away.”

“Can you not return now to your farm to live?”

“I could, but Gerard has—” She paused suddenly, as if reconsidering what she was about to say.

“He has what?” Rayne prodded.

Miss Ellis shrugged. “He has his own future to see to. And I don’t want to burden him when I am perfectly capable of earning my own living.”

“Ah, yes,” Rayne said lightly. “Your vaunted independence.” When she gave him a quelling glance, he added, “It cannot be easy for a lady to make her way in the world alone, which is why I assumed marriage would seem a preferable alternative for you.”

That amused gleam returned to her eyes. “How singular that a bachelor such as yourself would be so interested in my marital prospects, Lord Haviland.”

In point of fact, he had indeed been thinking of matrimony a great deal of late, since he’d promised his grandmother he would settle down and produce heirs. “Most women of your age are interested in marriage,” Rayne replied, keeping the focus of the conversation on her.

“In my position as companion, I had little opportunity to meet any eligible gentlemen. At least not any I would want for my husband. And a good marriage is not readily made if you have neither rank nor fortune to recommend you. It is even more difficult if you lack beauty.”

She seemed to hold a pragmatic attitude about her looks and her fortune as well. Miss Ellis ran her gloved hand admiringly over the plush velvet squabs. “I confess I am not accustomed to such luxury. Lady Talwin’s carriage
was nearly an antique, since she rarely left the house during her last years.”

His mouth curved wryly. “It is one advantage of having a wealthy family. My grandmother was an heiress.”

Her brow furrowed. “If I may ask, how did a wealthy nobleman’s son end up serving in the Foreign Office?”

“I suppose you could say I was the black sheep of my family.”

He neglected to mention the boyhood incident that had utterly changed his life, when he’d saved a young thief from arrest and probable hanging. As a consequence, Rayne had received a unique education in the lower classes and the London stews—including the squalor and the criminal elements who resided there—and thus had developed any manner of skills that had served him well later in his chosen profession.

“Did your family approve of your avocation?” she asked when he was silent.

Rayne’s mouth twisted with humor. “Not in the least. Spying is not a particularly honorable profession.”

“I know. Papa was barely considered a gentleman, even though he was an officer.”

“My family preferred to pretend I was off traveling the world, sowing my wild oats. That was how my grandmother in particular explained my frequent absences from England.”

“Then why did you choose such a career?”

“The truth is,” he replied honestly, “I wanted to make a difference in the world.”

She nodded. “That was Papa’s sentiment exactly.” Madeline’s gaze searched his face. “And now? I should think you would miss it after so many years of dedication to a cause.”

Rayne felt surprise that she seemed to understand why he found himself at loose ends. It was not that he regretted the war’s end. On the contrary, he was infinitely glad to see the last of death, destruction, and deception. Yet he missed his fulfilling life as a spymaster—saving lives, righting injustices, championing the weak, and experiencing daring adventures.

For most of his adult life, he’d been driven by one single overriding purpose—to win the bitter, bloody struggle against Napoleon Bonaparte—and he had yet to find a suitable replacement to fill the emptiness of his days. He still had not grown entirely accustomed, either, to the stark changes he’d faced upon his return to civilian life. Nor had he adapted well to the meaningless social expectations of the ton.

“I do indeed miss it,” he said finally, “but my familial obligations take precedence for now. My own father died last year, far earlier than I could have wished. I never wanted to inherit the earldom, but it was my lot since I am an only son.”

She smiled. “I suspect there are very few gentlemen who would feel as you do.”

“Perhaps so,” he agreed congenially.

“I would have preferred to be born a man,” she said rather wistfully. “When I was a child I wanted to march off to war and fight evil and tyranny. It was only when I grew older that I realized how terrible war can be.” Her voice turned quiet. “My father rarely spoke of his experiences, but the haunted look in his eyes….”

“Your father was an incredibly courageous man,” Rayne said softly.

“How did he save your life?”

“He had gained intelligence about a scouting party in
the area where we were traveling and so was more alert than usual when we came upon an ambush. When we were attacked, he startled my horse to one side just as one of the enemy soldiers fired at me. The bullet lodged harmlessly in the tree behind me instead of my head or my chest.”

“I am glad you were spared,” she said quietly.

She fell silent then, apparently lost in thought, while Rayne’s reflections shifted from his past to his future.

He planned to marry to fulfill his duty to his new title but more to appease his persistent grandmother, since the family seat was entailed and would go to Rayne’s uncle if he failed to produce an heir.

He wasn’t eager to forfeit his bachelorhood or his freedom, but he bore his aging grandmother great affection. Mary Kenyon, the dowager Countess of Haviland, had practically raised him after his mother died in childbirth and so thought of him as her own child. She’d claimed to be on her deathbed and wrung a promise out of him to marry and give the title an heir before she expired of a heart condition, which she’d severely exaggerated.

Rayne was well aware he was being manipulated, but this was the only significant thing his grandmother had ever asked of him. And at three and thirty, it was time he settled down.

And so he had agreed to diligently search for a bride. In fact, he had already interviewed numerous possible candidates, although thus far he’d found none who appealed to him.

He was more than willing to make a marriage of convenience. Indeed, he wanted nothing more intimate,
since his one hapless experience with love had cured him of the sentiment entirely.

Abruptly cutting off that line of thought, Rayne glanced over at his companion, aware that the silence between them had drawn out.

Yet it was not uncomfortable in the least. In fact, Rayne greatly appreciated a female who knew how to hold her tongue instead of chattering on and on to fill a gap in the conversation. For all Madeline Ellis’s claim to be outspoken, she seemed keen-witted and eminently sensible. Come to think of it, she reminded him of a favorite governess he’d once had who was also inclined to speak her mind and who wasn’t afraid to discipline him when he sorely needed it.

Except that never once had he ever entertained thoughts of bedding his former governess the way he did Madeline Ellis.

Remembering her suppleness and womanly warmth, Rayne shifted his position to relieve the pressure at his groin. She might not be a beauty, but her lush figure and kissable mouth had unquestionably stirred his blood.

Her appeal was out of character for him, he acknowledged. Like most men, he was drawn to beautiful women. In the past year since returning from the Continent, he’d indulged his physical needs with temporary liaisons among the demimonde, never frequenting any one Cyprian for more than a few months at a time. He wouldn’t risk becoming more intimate, for intimacy invited betrayal.

Perhaps he could be forgiven for mistakenly thinking Miss Ellis a lightskirt when she’d sought refuge in his hired parlor this evening, given that she’d been barely
dressed. He knew better now, but deplorably, the urge to have her still teased at his loins.

He wanted her. A dangerous sentiment, considering that she was forbidden to him. He had no business lusting after the spinster daughter of the friend who’d once saved his life when he should be helping and protecting her.

He would not touch her again, Rayne promised himself, forcibly tamping down his carnal desires.

Even so, the temptation would be there. Which was another excellent reason to billet her at Danvers Hall rather than allow her to spend the night in his own home.

He could perhaps have taken her to stay at his grandmother’s London residence, but he knew Lady Haviland would not readily welcome a servant into her home as a guest—even an upper-class servant—or relish being reminded of his former indecorous career. Nor, likely, would his elder sister. And his younger sister was in Kent at present, which was too great a distance from Chiswick.

He hadn’t realized the passage of time until the carriage slowed to make a turn. Glancing out the window, Rayne recognized the large stone pillars that guarded the entrance to the Danvers estate.

“We are nearly there,” he observed.

Miss Ellis gave a start and sat up, looking embarrassed that the rocking motion of the carriage had lulled her into relaxing her straight posture. Reaching for her bonnet, she donned it and began tying the ribbons.

“I believe you called your home in Chiswick ‘Riverwood’?” she remarked, peering out the window into the dark night.

“Yes. The property abuts the River Thames, as does Danvers Hall. I only came to the neighborhood this past year, since I wanted a place of my own. My grandmother resides at Haviland Park in Kent much of the year, and my sisters live nearby. That is too much family for my tastes.”

“You have sisters?”

“Two in fact, one older and one younger. They each have two sons of their own, ranging from ages four to twelve. I enjoy my nephews, but they are still rather young and their mothers fear my influence.”

Miss Ellis raised an eyebrow, and he could hear the humor in her tone when she responded. “Are you so very dangerous then? Or are your sisters merely inclined to coddle their sons?”

“The latter.”

“My brother worshiped my father,” she admitted. “If your nephews are anything like Gerard, they adore you as well.”

Rayne couldn’t deny that the boys seemed extremely fond of him, and he returned their affection. His nephews were one of the brightest spots in his regrettably dull life these days.

When the carriage finally drew to a halt before the Danvers Hall manor, Rayne handed Miss Ellis down and escorted her up the front entrance steps. She wore her bonnet but carried her damp cloak, and the black bombazine gown did not appear to provide much protection against the chill night air. Rayne had to stifle the urge to wrap her in his greatcoat again. She would have warmth and shelter soon enough.

Once he’d applied the knocker, however, it was some time before an aging butler dressed in a nightcap and
dressing robe opened the door and held his candle high to inspect the newcomers. Obviously, the household had already retired for the night.

“My Lord Haviland,” the butler greeted Rayne calmly before admitting them to the vast entrance hall.

“Good evening, Simpkin. I should like to speak to Lord and Lady Danvers, if I may.”

“Regrettably they are away at present—in London. But they are expected to return sometime tomorrow morning.”

“Then I must ask you to do me a service. This is Miss Madeline Ellis, a family friend. She needs lodging for the night, but naturally she cannot reside with me. So I would be obliged if you would put Miss Ellis up for tonight.”

“Certainly, my lord,” Simpkin replied without batting an eyelash at the uncommon request. “Welcome to Danvers Hall, Miss Ellis,” he added with a polite bow. “I will call for Mrs. Simpkin to show you to your room. May I take your cloak and bonnet?”

Miss Ellis, however, held on to her garments, looking chagrined. “I should like a word with you, my lord,” she said in an urgent undertone.

When Rayne obliged by drawing her aside a short distance, Madeline gazed up at him in disbelief. “You do not mean to simply leave me here?” she whispered in dismay.

“You have some objection to remaining?”

“Of course I have an objection! I cannot impose myself on people I have never met when they are not even at home.”

“You know propriety will be better served if you remain here. And Danvers Hall has ample guest rooms.”

“That is hardly the point.”

“Do you wish to go home with me?”

She hesitated. “No,” she said with obvious reluctance.