She said, “The poor housekeeper could be discharged for leaving us alone in my chamber.”
“She worries too much.” He gestured at the attendants who poured through the door. “As if they weren’t chaperones enough.”
Of course, they weren’t. They were only servants, not proper chaperones. Not even Mary’s Scottish maid, who directed the flow of hatboxes, shoe boxes, and trunks, was chaperone enough. He could order any and all of them out if he desired, and they would go. They had no choice.
Mary knew it, too. She watched him with the same wariness she viewed Fairchilds. It wasn’t nearly enough, for he was twice as dangerous, but by her caution she acknowledged that he alarmed her.
So he set himself to distract her. “That’s not what I meant, anyway.” He leaned against the tall bedpost at the foot of bed. “That housekeeper seems horribly anxious. She acts as if she’s been abused.”
Mary’s eyes turned as cold as a Scottish lake in winter. “I assure you, a housekeeper is nothing but a thing that ensures every nobleman is comfortable and well fed. Normally she’s invisible, and if that takes some getting used to, well, that’s better than when the nobles are aware of”—she fumbled, not wanting to name herself—“the housekeeper. They only see her if they want to complain, or make trouble because they were bored, or because—”
She stopped short, but he finished the sentence with a snap. “Because they wanted a little romp with you.”
“We were speaking of Mrs. Baggott.”
“No, we weren’t.” He stepped a little closer to her. “So they tried it often.”
She ignored him and spoke to her maid. “Jill, is that the last of the trunks?”
Jill cast a worried glance toward the bed. “Aye, Miss Fairchild, so it is.”
“All the clothing will have to be ironed. Don’t ask Mrs. Baggott for help—the maids are too busy. Just do what you can as you find time.”
But no one ignored Sebastian Durant. He stepped forward and caught Mary’s puff sleeve between his fingers, then leaned down until his head was on the level of hers. She could look either at him or the wall.
She looked at him.
“The noblemen. They frequently tried to get you into their beds.”
“Not frequently, and never more than once.” Mary enunciated the words clearly, in warning. She had a haughtiness about her he’d seldom seen before. Her housekeeperly attitude had changed, not when she was revealed as a Fairchild, but when Bubb had conferred heiresshood on her.
Damn Bubb. Sebastian had hoped to publicly stake his claim on her before she heard the news. He had hoped to have her so thoroughly trapped, she couldn’t try to wiggle out of her obligations. He was her betrothed. He could not allow her any doubts about that. Her, or anyone else. Such as…
“Who is Ian?” He pointed a finger at her. “And don’t tell me he’s your cousin. Tell me what he is to you.”
“He’s the one member of the family who was kind to me during my first visit.” She answered stoically, but she blushed, damn her. She blushed.
“Visit?” Anger bubbled in him, blowing up from beneath the logical layers of his mind and exploding like noxious black tar. “Is that what you call it?”
“Would you lower your voice?” she whispered furiously. “You may believe the servants are deaf, but I assure you, they are listening to every word we speak, and I don’t care to have my name linked with my cousin’s in a romantic manner.”
“I will lower my voice when you will tell me what Ian is to you.”
“At my first visit, he spoke to me kindly.” She glanced at the lingering servants.
They were distracting her from him. He swung around and commanded, “Out.”
The men who carried the trunks dropped them without blinking, but the women who assisted Jill in stacking the lighter boxes milled around in confusion.
“Out!” He pointed to the door.
Jill rubbed her palms across her skirt. “Master…”
“I’ll send you out, too,” he warned.
Clearly unhappy, she nevertheless bobbed a curtsy at Sebastian while the last of the attendants fled.
“Smart girl,” he said, then turned back to Mary. “Now, about Ian.”
She humored him with her attitude. “He gave me money. That was what saved our lives. He saved our lives.”
“So you’re grateful?”
She didn’t seem to recognize his sarcasm. “Yes. Grateful.”
“As grateful as you are to me?”
She straightened so that her spine no longer rested against the pillows. “To you?”
“I brought you here. If not for me, you would still be an impoverished housekeeper in the outer reaches of Scotland.”
She lowered her voice, but it whipped at him. “If you hadn’t kept me ignorant of my inheritance, I would have been able to stay in London and collect the money without coming here to this vipers’ nest.”
“Ah, but then you would have never seen…Ian.” He mocked the name by his tone.
Genuine anger flashed in her eyes, but she kept her tone civil. “Why should you care about Ian? He’s no more spiteful than my other relatives. At least he didn’t walk in and attack me.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “That was just their opening volley, and it was aimed at me.”
“Aimed at you?” She bounded up, her infirmity forgotten in resentment. “Then why do I feel savaged?”
Looking down at the prim rosebud of a mouth, the rounded cheeks, the enormous eyes, all radiating fury and offended dignity, he wondered how this woman managed to project such an aura of power. Certainly her size had nothing to do with it. On the rare occasions he’d let her stand on her own two feet, the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. Her age, the age that she believed put her firmly on the shelf, was so much less than his, he could have laughed at her innocence. Yet her dignity gave the impression of maturity, so her indignation now seemed all the greater. “They were a herd of lousy swine,” he admitted.
Indignation turned to outrage. “You expected them to treat me as if I were some kind of camp follower?”
“I didn’t know for sure what their reaction would be, but your uncles are renowned for their cruel tricks and practical jokes.” Oh, yes, they were, as he could well attest.
Mary sank back onto the pillows, her brief flurry of exasperation undermined by hunger and exhaustion. “What a hornet’s nest you have brought me into, Lord Whitfield.”
He had, indeed. Seeing her right now, her eyes closed, her mouth turned down, flushed with a hectic color, he suffered the pangs of conscience. How could she fight the combined savagery of her relatives? He had to shield her against them.
“Excuse me, m’lord.”
He turned.
Jill stood behind him, holding a tray. “I have a wee bit of supper for Miss Fairchild.” She sounded patient, as if she’d been speaking for a long time and no one had been hearing her.
“Very good.” This was just the kind of safeguarding he did best. He took the tray. “I’ll feed her.”
“I can do it myself,” Mary said. “And I’ll keep Jill beside me.”
“Aye, I can help, m’lord.” Jill bravely put her hand back on the tray.
He smiled, and as always happened when he smiled, the maid paled. “I will stay to feed my betrothed.”
“I feel much restored from my traveling illness,” Mary said resolutely.
“I will not rest comfortably unless I reassure myself.” Sebastian placed the tray over her knees and shook the napkin out. He started to tuck it into Mary’s neckline, but she snatched it from him and spread it in her lap in short, jerky motions.
She supervised her ire as ruthlessly as he supervised his business dealings. She had too much in common with that housekeeper, Mrs. Baggott. Not just the experiences with the noblemen, but the wariness and suspicion, too.
But illness had revealed a different side of her. On the trip down from Scotland, she’d been soft. Helpless. A child
in need of care. And someone had had to care for her. Lady Valéry could charm a man right out of his breeches or guide a young man through the torturous maze of society, but children ran from her shrieking. So Sebastian knew if he wanted Mary to arrive at Fairchild Manor to perform on cue, he had to make sure she lived long enough to do it.
To his surprise, taking care of her had been a labor he enjoyed.
He frowned.
Perhaps he needed to acquire a pet. He obviously had some unfulfilled need to have a thing depend upon him.
Mary lifted the rounded silver cover off the tray. Neat as always, she placed the ornate cover on the table beside the bed and surveyed her repast. Baked bread pudding filled a small clay crock, and the aroma of sweetened cream and eggs, cinnamon and cloves, wafted into the air.
Sitting on the mattress beside her, he reached for the spoon.
Mary snatched it up and rapped his knuckles with it. “I’ll feed myself.”
Using the spoon, she broke the buttery bronze crust and a fresh rush of steam rose from the liberated filling. Smooth yet firm, the pudding enveloped the bread. Her lips opened and took the pudding in, and her eyes closed in ecstasy. His gaze followed the custard’s progress as she savored the taste, then as she swallowed, it slipped down her pale silken throat. Her breasts, already so full and round, expanded as she sighed. Her rosy tongue flicked out and took a crumb from her lip.
He could almost imagine the bread feeding her strength, giving a glow to her skin and a gloss to her hair. He could imagine how she would taste after she had finished the pudding, how she would rest, replete and satiated, until he had removed her clothes and pleasured her in a new way. In a way that fed her soul.
In a kind of wondrous surprise, he realized he was going to have to take her. He’d always wanted her; Lady Valéry had pointed that out. But at some point, he’d lost his choice in the matter. She was his. Perhaps not forever, but at least while they resided at Fairchild Manor.
As Mary’s appetite revived, she relished the mixed textures and the spicy flavors ever more. The divine flavor of the pudding almost masked her sense that she was being watched.
It was him, looming over her. He always loomed, and she planned to break him of the habit. He was only a man, after all. Lady Valéry swore they could be trained.
“That’s a good offering for an invalid,” he said huskily.
“Would you like a taste?” she found herself asking.
He looked startled. “You’re the one in need of sustenance.”
“Yes.” She didn’t really want to share. Yet for a single moment, that wretched man’s face had softened and grown misty with some tender emotion. Benevolence, perhaps. Or perhaps, knowing Sebastian as she did, it had simply been intestinal gas.
But his gaze followed as the spoon cut into the golden crust, then neared her mouth. He might pretend to be above the simple joys of a bread pudding, but she knew a hungry man when she saw one. She’d fed enough of them in her housekeeping days. “You’re drooling,” she snapped.
He wasn’t, of course, but when he looked into her face, his mouth was softly open and she could just see the tip of his tongue worrying the inside of his lower lip.
“I’ll send for another spoon,” she offered.
“Oh, no. I’ll eat out of yours.”
She tried to whip the spoon out of reach, but he caught her wrist and held it still. Opening his mouth, he took in the bread pudding. All expression smoothed from his face at the first taste. His nostrils flared and he greedily licked the bowl of the spoon. Turning her wrist, he polished the back. Every remnant of pudding disappeared in his hedonistic relish.
Only a man could transform plain bread pudding into a passionate experience.
Hastily, to cover her reaction, she asked, “How did you get that scar on your hand?”
He glanced down. His four fingers had been slashed in a curve, and his index finger was slightly crooked. “As a boy, I worked with horses.” Still clutching her wrist, he coerced her into digging another bite out of the crock. “It hurts when one steps on you.”
She tried to release the spoon to him, but he didn’t want it. He wanted to hold her wrist and force her to—she couldn’t believe it—to feed herself. He put the spoon to her lips. She glared.
“Eat it,” he whispered, and with his thumb he massaged the tender skin above her pulse. “You will need the vigor it brings.”
True enough, although she wondered why he said it in that tone of voice. Deciding defiance was a foolish waste of energy, she accepted the bite.
Releasing the spoon into her control, he slid along the mattress so he rested at her feet, perpendicular to her body. He leaned on his elbow and smiled at her, using the grin she hated most. The one that said he knew something she didn’t.
Jill noisily cleared her throat. “So many clothes to iron!” she fussed.
Sebastian just kept smiling, waiting for Mary to finish the bread pudding, and she ate and wondered what he had to tell her that he should assume such an intimate posture. Probably that he planned to ruin her reputation—as if she hadn’t already figured that out.
Did she care? She didn’t know. She’d committed murder once, and the weight of that great sin had changed her priorities. Then, too, the years as housekeeper had taught her to measure respectability with a new scale. The strictures of English society seemed foolish when viewed through the eyes of a woman, a servant…a criminal.
Other matters carried more weight, and if Sebastian chose to lounge on her bed and insinuate he was her lover, the only response she could work up—at least right now—was a weary shrug.
Jill marched to the side of the bed as soon as Mary had spooned the last of the pudding into her mouth, sipped her tea, and placed her napkin neatly on the tray. “Let me take that, Miss Fairchild.” She peered at Sebastian. “And, Lord Whitfield, you should leave so she can rest.”
She was a brave girl whose loyalty Mary had won, but she didn’t stand a chance against Sebastian.
“Take it to the kitchen,” he commanded.
“But, my lord—”
“To the kitchen. And shut the door behind you.”
Mary looked at him as if insanity ran in Sebastian’s family. “That is going too far, Lord Whitfield. The door must remain—”
He snapped his fingers at Jill.
“My lord, please, I can’t leave you alone with my mistress.”
He eased himself to his feet. “She’s my betrothed.”
“The proprieties!” Jill pleaded.
He ignored the maid and said to Mary as she struggled to sit erect, “Don’t get off the bed. If you do, I will be obliged to chase you.”
Mary paused. In the early days of her duties to Lady Valéry, she had been chased. It had been humiliating, and she had learned that by running, she marked herself as prey. Always better to calmly face the aggressor down.
Sebastian marched toward the retreating Jill.
Jill chattered about duty as Sebastian herded her toward the door, but he got her out in the corridor. “I’m going to get Lady Valéry,” she threatened.
But he shut the door in her face with such an ominous thunk, Mary wondered—would her strategy for discouraging youths and aging libertines work with a mad nobleman called Sebastian Durant, Viscount Whitfield?
Chapter 10
No key had been placed in the lock. Sebastian cursed in frustration and disbelief. “Don’t even try to tell me this is an oversight.” He glared at Mary as if it were her fault. “What do the Fairchilds hope to gain by having access to your room at any time?”
“Rescue?” she suggested briskly. “From a lecher such as you?”
His eyes narrowed, and he pulled a chair to the door and shoved the back under the handle.
Mary glanced around. She didn’t think a simple bowl of bread pudding had given her enough strength to climb out on the ledge outside the upstairs window.
“Lord Whitfield, I can scarcely believe a man with your wealth and
power needs to resort to such childish tactics.”
“I’m simply going to kiss you.” He made it sound as innocuous as a hand of whist.
“Then why bar the door?”
He peeled off his frock coat and waistcoat, and loosened his cravat. “You have the most amazing air of innocence about you. Something must be done to cure it.”
His linen shirt remained molded to his muscles, and she hurriedly dressed him in her imagination. “Innocence isn’t a disease, my lord.”
The cravat fluttered to the ground as he bent one knee on the mattress. “It is when other men consider it a challenge. There isn’t a male alive who could look at you, Mary Fairchild, and not want to show you the wonders that can exist between a man and a woman.”
“You don’t need to come up here.” She hoped she sounded brisk and knowledgeable. She wished she could keep her gaze away from his bare throat. “I am familiar with what men and women do between them.”
He crouched over her like a wolf, and like a wolf he growled. “How do you know that, Mary?”
“Nobles are notorious for assuming a housekeeper is deaf and blind to their antics.” She spoke briskly and without showing a sign of the nervousness his pose caused. “Some of them, I suspect, even enjoyed having me see them in flagrante delicto.”
“We’re going to have a talk someday.” He pulled two of the pillows out from behind her shoulders. “About the things you have seen and the problems you have had. You’re going to tell me who insulted you and who pursued you, and I will make them sorry.”
She sat rigid, so he grasped her arms and eased her backward. The pillows fluffed up around her, cutting her vision like a nun’s cowl. She could see only Sebastian, and the sight of an amiable Sebastian was enough to make her both fascinated and afraid.
“Relax.” As always, he loomed over her. “Kissing is a pleasant exercise. Women like it, and I’m good at it.”
“So modest.”
He eased himself down, trapping her between him and the wall, and she struggled to control her acute discomfort. She hadn’t thought it would be difficult to repel him; her sensible rebuffs had been a time-tested solution.