Scandal's Virgin. Louise AllenЧитать онлайн книгу.
in the village they said you were an earl. I must have misunderstood.’
‘I am an earl. However, I have never been married and certainly not to Alice’s mother.’ He must have interpreted her small gasp of surprise at his easy admission as one of either shock or embarrassment. ‘I see no reason why the child should suffer for the sins of her father. I will not have her pushed into the background as though she is something I am ashamed of.’
‘Indeed not.’ Laura fixed her eyes on the sharp edges of waistcoat and coat lapels and added, with malice, ‘And she looks so very like her father.’
That went home. She felt the muscles in his arms contract for a moment, but his breathing did not change. ‘Very like,’ Lord Wykeham agreed, not appearing to notice the strange way she phrased the comment.
It was so strange, fighting this polite battle while in the arms of her opponent. With a less-controlled man, and probably with a less-fit one, she might have expected his body to betray his feelings even though he commanded his expression and his voice. He could have no suspicions of her, so this composure must be habitual. And she need not fear betraying anything by being so close against his body, for he would expect any lady to be flustered by such an intimacy.
He was warm and smelled not unpleasantly of clean linen, leather and man. She had missed that, the intimate scent of male skin, the feel of muscle against her softness, the strength that was so deceptive, so seductive. It turned a woman’s head, made her believe the man would keep faith with as much steadfastness.
They had reached the top of the slope. Laura risked a glance forward and found any danger of tears had gone, banished by anticipation of the secret, one-sided duel she had just begun to fight.
The lawn levelled off beneath the spreading boughs of a great cedar. Windows stretching to the ground had been opened to the spring breeze and a table and chairs brought out to stand beneath the tree. A maid set out dishes on the table and Alice was speaking to a footman who stooped to listen, his face turned to see where she was pointing.
‘What a charming house.’ It should have been her home. Her home, Alice’s home. She had never been there, but Piers had described it to her in those brief, breathless days of their courtship. It would be their love nest, away from the smoke and noise and social bustle of London, just the two of them. She had spun fantasies of making a home in this place so that when her hero returned from war he would find love and peace here. She could almost see him now, long legs stretched out as he sat beneath the cedar, so handsome in his scarlet regimentals.
‘Yes, it is pleasant and well laid out. A little on the small side compared to Wykeham Hall and the estate is not large, but it is good land.’
‘This is not your principal seat, then?’ Laura asked as they reached the table.
‘No. I inherited it from a cousin. Here is the chair for you.’ He waited while the footman put down a sturdy one with arms and Alice, staggering a little under the weight, dragged a footstool in front of it. ‘There.’
Lord Wykeham settled her into place with a brisk efficiency that, unflatteringly, showed no reluctance to yield up possession of her. Laura watched him from beneath her lashes as he went to take his own seat. And why should he wish to keep hold of her? She had exerted none of her powers to attract him, all she had done was to suppress her instincts to storm at him with accusations and reproaches.
And if I find it necessary to charm him? Can I do that, feeling about him as I do? Why not? I am a good enough actress to attract many men when all I want to do is play with their hearts a little. It would be no hardship to look at him, that was certain. He was as handsome as Piers had been and more. This was not a young man, still growing into his body and his powers. The earl was mature and powerful...and dangerous.
Laura smiled at Alice and felt the frost that grew around her thoughts when she spoke to Wykeham thaw into warmth. She had every excuse to look at her daughter now and to talk to her. If only I could hold her.
‘Thank you very much for fetching me the footstool.’ She lifted her foot onto it and caught a flickering glance from the earl before she twitched her skirts to cover her ankle and the high arch of her foot in the tight ankle boot. Hmm, not so indifferent after all. Useful... Was that shiver at the thought of flirting with such a man or disgust at herself for even contemplating such a thing?
‘Does your foot hurt very badly?’ Alice stood right by the chair, her hands on its arm, and regarded Laura’s face intently. Her eyes were clear and green. On her, as with her true father, the winging eyebrows made her seem always to be smiling slightly. On the earl they added a cynical air that only vanished when he smiled.
‘No, it is much better now I am resting it, thank you. I am sure it is only a slight strain.’ Was there anything of her in the child? Laura studied the piquant little face and could see nothing that would betray their relationship except, perhaps, something in the fine line of her nose and the curves of her upper lip. Alice had none of her own colouring—dark blonde hair, brown eyes, pale skin. Perhaps, as she grew towards womanhood Alice would develop some similarities. It was dangerous to wish it.
‘Why are you wearing a black dress? Has someone died?’ Alice asked.
‘Alice, that is an intrusive question.’ The earl turned from the table, displeasure very clear on his face.
‘It is all right.’ It was easier to establish her story in response to the child’s innocent questions than to attempt to drip-feed it into conversation with the earl. ‘Yes, Alice. I lost my husband.’ It was true in her heart: Piers had been her husband in everything except the exchange of vows in church. ‘And then my parents died.’
Alice’s hand curled round her forearm, small and warm and confiding; the touch so precious that it hurt. ‘That is why you have sad eyes,’ she said, her own lip quivering. ‘I lost my mama. Really lost her, because she isn’t dead. Papa says she had to go away and won’t come back.’
I can’t bear this. I must. ‘I am sure your mama would if she could,’ Laura said and touched her fingertips to the child’s cheek. ‘I am certain she will be thinking about you every day. But we cannot always do what we wish, even if it is our heart’s deepest desire.’
‘Alice, run inside and ask Miss Blackstock to join us for tea.’
Laura glanced at Alice, but the child did not appear frightened by Wykeham’s abrupt order or the edge to his voice. It did not seem that she felt anything but trust and love for the man she believed was her father. She waited until the small figure whisked through the window and then said what she was thinking without pausing to consider. ‘Why did you not tell her that her mother was dead?’
Chapter Three
Lord Wykeham did not snub her as he had every right to do. ‘I will not lie to her,’ he said abruptly. ‘Do you take cream or lemon with your tea, Mrs Jordan?’
‘Lemon, thank you.’ Laura was hardly aware of the automatic exchange. ‘But you—’ She caught the rest of the sentence, her teeth painful on her tongue. But you let her think you are her father. ‘You do not think that is more difficult for her to accept?’ His expression became even more sardonic. ‘I beg your pardon, my lord, it is not my place to speak of it.’
‘Alice likes you,’ he said without answer or comment on her question. ‘Have you children of your own, Mrs Jordan?’
‘I lost one child. I have no others.’ It was quite safe to mention that she had given birth to a child, he would never associate her with Alice’s mother, of that she was confident. His natural supposition, should he trouble to think about it, would be that she had married perhaps three or four years ago, some time after her first come-out to allow for the normal processes of upper-class courtship and marriage. She was almost twenty-five now, and her mirror told her that she did not look older.
‘She is a naturally loving and friendly child, I imagine.’ He nodded and passed her a plate of small savouries. ‘Has she many playmates in the neighbourhood?’