His Countess For A Week. Sarah MalloryЧитать онлайн книгу.
little,’ she confessed. ‘I want to know who else was at Meon House when George was a guest there. I had hoped, tonight...’
He heard a sniff and glanced around to see her surreptitiously wiping her eyes. He paced a little more, trying to convince himself that the plan in his head was every bit as hare-brained as the one she had described.
‘Very well.’ He stopped in front of her. ‘Let us continue this masquerade for a little longer.’
She stared at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I will help you. A short note to Lady Meon tomorrow should repair any damage tonight’s little fracas may have caused and we will work on the acquaintance until the lady divulges a little more information.’
‘No!’ She was on her feet now, staring at him as if he had run mad. ‘I cannot stay here.’
‘Why not? You have been content to do so thus far.’
‘That was different!’
‘How was it different?’ He uttered the challenge, preferring her anger to the desolation he had heard in that one sniff.
She glared at him. ‘You were not here.’
‘And now I am.’ He smiled. ‘Which will make your presence here all the more plausible.’ He saw her look of horror and added, ‘By Gad, madam, I am not suggesting we should be man and wife in anything other than name, but it will be necessary to live under one roof! I have already ascertained that Beaumount has separate rooms for the Earl and his Countess, so only your maid and my man need be taken into our confidence—’
‘But you are a—a criminal,’ she interrupted him, retreating behind her chair. ‘Perhaps even a murderer!’
Ran stopped, all desire to laugh gone.
‘You should have considered that before you began this charade,’ he threw back at her. ‘Let me allay your fears, if I can. My biggest crime was to be a damned young fool! I was sentenced to be transported for fourteen years and, having survived the voyage, I was prepared to serve my time and to make a fresh life for myself on the other side of the world. Circumstances, in the form of a pardon and the death of the old Earl, conspired to bring me back to England.’
‘But it cannot be long before people know you are in England,’ she argued. ‘Word will soon get out that you have no wife.’
‘By the time that information reaches Devon I hope we shall be finished here. You will disappear and no one need ever discover your true identity.’
‘But what of your staff?’ There was a note of desperation in her voice. ‘What must be their feelings when they know you have duped them?’
‘I did not dupe them, my lady! I have merely...’ he waved one hand ‘...not corrected the misapprehension.’
‘Now you are playing with words, my lord!’
‘Very well,’ he said, goaded. ‘They will believe you were my mistress. What of it? Is that not the sort of behaviour expected of great lords?’ He shrugged. ‘I shall no doubt feel obliged to apologise for playing such a trick, but I pay them well enough. The matter will soon be forgotten.’
‘Not by me!’
She was staring defiantly at him, her head up, eyes blazing, and suddenly he did not want her to think him the sort of master to disregard the feelings of his staff. He did not want her to think ill of him at all.
He said, ‘I do not like this subterfuge any more than you, but what’s done is done. We may as well continue with it.’
The words sounded gruff, uncaring, and she continued to stare at him with angry disapproval. Damnation! Did she not realise he was trying to help her? If there had been dark deeds at Meon House then who knew what dangers might await such an innocent if he left her to continue her enquiries alone. He issued his ultimatum.
‘So, you must make your choice, madam. You can either accept my help, or you give up your investigation and go home.’
Arabella glared at the Earl. Since leaving Lincolnshire she had been aware of how vulnerable she was, how alone. True, she had Ruth. The loyal maid had been with her since she was a baby, but if there was real danger, then she was putting Ruth at risk, too. Lord Westray might well be able to help her obtain the information she required. If one could forget his past.
It occurred to her that she found it only too easy to ignore the fact that he was a convict, but she was merely being charitable. Wasn’t she? All the guests at Meon House had had no difficulty in accepting the new Earl, even with his tainted history. Although they were not pretending to be his spouse. She swallowed.
‘Very well, sir. I will accept your help.’ She hesitated. ‘I am very grateful to you.’
Some of his stiffness disappeared and she saw the glimmer of a smile.
‘No, you are not at all grateful. You would like to tell me to go to the devil.’
Her own anger seeped away. ‘That would be very uncivil, would it not? In your own house.’
‘It would indeed.’ His smile fully appeared now. ‘Off you go to bed. We will discuss this further in the morning.’
She managed a faint smile herself and with a soft ‘Goodnight’ she left the room, forcing herself not to run.
When she reached her bedchamber, Ruth was pacing up and down.
‘Oh, thank heaven!’ She took her mistress by the shoulders and turned her towards the light, subjecting her to a close and critical inspection. ‘What happened? What has he done to you?’
‘Nothing, Ruth. I have come to no harm at all.’
The maid gave a loud sigh and plumped down on a chair. ‘I don’t mind telling you, when I heard that the Earl of Westray had turned up and was bringing you back here I was that worried! I fear we are undone, Miss Arabella.’
‘Nonsense. This is a slight setback, Ruth, nothing more.’
‘Has he not exposed you as an impostor?’
A small bubble of laughter fizzed inside her. She said airily, ‘On the contrary. He has agreed to help us.’
The maid looked anything but reassured by this news. She frowned.
‘And what does His Lordship want in return?’
Arabella could not deny she had asked herself the same question, but she was not prepared to speculate about that just yet.
‘I have promised him nothing,’ she said at last. ‘Now, help me to undress, Ruth. I need to sleep!’
A short time later Arabella was alone in her room, in her bed, with just the bedside candle burning. She lay back against the plump pillows, gazing up at the intricately carved tester as she thought about the new Lord Westray. She did not know what to make of him. He did not appear outraged at her deception, merely amused. Perhaps in comparison to his own dark deeds this pretence was a trifle, but when she had mentioned his past he had flinched as if she had touched an open wound.
She wished she knew just what he had done, that she had made more enquiries into his past, but at the time it had seemed unimportant; the new Earl was half a world away.
How old could he have been when he was convicted? She did not think he was yet thirty, so he would have been almost a boy, one-or two-and-twenty, perhaps. The lines around his eyes and mouth indicated more than mere laughter. Dissipation, perhaps. Or hardship. His hands, she had noted, were not soft, but calloused from tough, physical work.
How had he survived? What deprivation had he suffered?