A Scoundrel by Moonlight (21 page)

Eleanor Trim hadn’t easily consented to be his mistress and only powerful desire—and he hoped, something stronger—lured her to his bed. Perhaps seeing herself as a kept woman in black and white had chased her off.

Except she was braver than that. And if the agreement didn’t meet her approval, the woman who had stood up to him so often was perfectly capable of expressing her displeasure.

Leath supposed that he should be annoyed that she riffled through his private papers but right now, he was too desperate to learn where she’d gone—and more important, why—that he hardly cared. He’d lifted the satchel to slip the contract inside before he noted the absence of the other papers he’d carried ever since they’d started arriving at Alloway Chase in appalling numbers.

No, no, no.
If she’d found those heartbreaking letters, what the hell had she thought?

He’d been worried since he’d come downstairs. Now horror shrank his belly to the size of a walnut. He checked each pocket in the satchel. The letters from the women the Marquess of Leath had betrayed were missing.

At last he knew exactly why Eleanor had left.

A
s he galloped through rain and wind back to Alloway Chase, Leath had plenty of time to condemn his recklessness in taking the satchel to Derbyshire and his even greater recklessness in leaving it unattended. Although what else could he do but keep those letters with him? If they fell into the wrong hands, the scandal would put every other scandal dogging his family into the shade.

He should have stowed the satchel somewhere safe when he’d reached the cottage. But he’d wanted Eleanor for so long and so desperately that when he’d seen her, he could think of nothing else.

Too late for regrets. What he had to do now was find her and explain.

Wet, angry, worried sick, lonely, he slammed into the great hall well past dark. Even after one night in her arms, Eleanor’s absence carved a rift inside him. He’d hoped against hope that he might catch up with her on his way. No such luck.

He flung his dripping greatcoat at John and asked with a snap, “Is Miss Trim here?”

The footman looked startled. “No, my lord. Miss Trim has returned to her family. A relative’s illness, I understand.”

The story they’d concocted when planning their affair. Except one night surely didn’t constitute an affair, damn it.

If only Nell had waited to confront him.

He sighed. Today “if only” had been a constant refrain.

Might his mother know where Eleanor had gone? They’d always chattered away like a pair of magpies. In the days when he hadn’t trusted the helpful Miss Trim, that swift intimacy had troubled him.

Did he still trust Eleanor? Those letters could do enormous damage to the Fairbrother name and destroy his political career. Something in him insisted that the woman who had surrendered her virginity with such breathtaking sweetness wouldn’t betray his secrets.

So why had she taken the letters? He hoped he’d soon have the chance to ask her.

It was too late to disturb his mother. But if the marchioness had some clue to where Eleanor went to ground, he needed to talk to her.

He mounted the elaborate marble and gilt staircase two steps at a time and strode toward his mother’s rooms. A sharp knock at the door summoned Nancy, his mother’s maid.

“My lord,” the woman stammered, curtsying. He’d caught her at her mending. In one hand, she held a lacy fichu with a torn border. “Her ladyship has retired.”

To assuage her insomnia, his mother usually took a book to bed. She’d told him that since Miss Trim’s reading recommendations, she’d started to enjoy the hours before sleep. “Can you see if she’s awake, Nancy?”

He stepped into the sitting room and watched Nancy light a couple of candles before disappearing into the bedchamber. Impatiently he prowled to the window, staring
into the stormy night. Was Eleanor out in this weather? He prayed wherever she was, she was safe.

“My lord?”

“Yes?” He whirled around and his face must have betrayed his frustration. Nancy, who had known him since he was a boy, retreated swiftly.

“Her ladyship will see you.”

Leath struggled for a shred of civility. Yet every hour without Eleanor pushed him closer to exploding. “Thank you.”

He entered the shadowy vastness of his mother’s bedroom. She was propped against the pillows, wearing a cream lace peignoir and a cap over her fair hair.

He hadn’t been in here in years. His mother guarded her privacy, although he knew that she suffered excruciating pains in her legs when it was cold and wet as it was tonight.

“James,” she said in concern, taking off her spectacles and extending her hands in his direction. “What’s the matter?”

He caught her hands and kissed her cheek. “Mamma, I’m sorry to barge in, wet as a herring and covered in all my dirt.”

“Has something happened?”

Damn it, he should have taken a few minutes to wash and change before intruding on his mother and frightening her. “Yes.” He frowned. “No.”

She patted the mattress beside her. “You don’t sound very sure.”

He sighed and slumped onto the bed, retaining her hands. It had been such a bugger of a day, he appreciated the loving connection. “I need to find Miss Trim.”

“Nell? You know she left last week.”

“Do you know where she went?”

“Home to her family, she said. Her aunt is ill.” A frown lined the fine-drawn face that retained traces of youthful beauty. “It’s odd. I thought she was an orphan.”

“One can be an orphan and have aunts,” Leath said, trying not to squirm. His mother had always guessed when his younger self was up to no good. Not that he’d been much trouble. Family expectations had weighed too heavily. “You must miss her.”

His mother didn’t smile. “Of course I do.” She paused. “But nonetheless I’m glad she’s gone.”

Shocked, he tugged free. For the first time since Eleanor’s disappearance, her whereabouts weren’t paramount in his mind. “What the devil?”

His mother tapped his cheek in fond reprimand. “James, my life may be restricted, but I’m not blind.”

He stiffened, even as dismay knotted his gut. It seemed he was no better at keeping secrets from his mother than he’d been as a lad. Still, he tried to cover his tracks. “I liked Miss Trim.”

His mother finally smiled. “Not at first.”

“I was worried at how quickly she gained your confidence.”

“James, I’ll say it again—I’m not blind. Nell made an unlikely housemaid, but her heart was true. I believe because her heart was true, she left.”

Leath had a sinking feeling that was the case. She’d seen those incriminating letters and decided she’d tossed her chastity away on a rake. But he wouldn’t give her up without a fight. Once he bloody well found her. “You think the aunt is a lie.”

“I think that Nell recognized what was happening between you and made the only choice she could.”

James hid a wince. “I—”

His mother raised a hand. “Don’t bother prevaricating. The air all but sizzled.”

“She didn’t encourage me,” he said uncomfortably.

“No, but that didn’t mean she was unaffected.” Regret
tinged his mother’s voice. “I’m not so old that I can’t remember temptation. I blame myself for flinging you together. By the time I’d realized what trouble I’d caused trying to get you to acknowledge Nell’s qualities, it was too late.”

“I’m a man of principle.” What a liar he was.

“Yes, I thank God that you are. If you were like your uncle, I’d despair for the title. But sometimes attraction is too strong, even for a man of principle. You’ve never chased the servants before, James.”

“I didn’t chase her,” he said uncomfortably, feeling like he’d been caught stealing bonbons from the larder.

“No.” Her voice hardened. “Because you understand that the only role Nell can occupy in your life is as your mistress.”

“Mamma, a man doesn’t discuss such—”

She made a dismissive noise. “Don’t treat me like a fool. Eleanor Trim is no man’s temporary bedmate.”

“You’re right.” All last night, he’d lain awake, holding the precious woman who had given herself with such wholehearted joy, suffering similar qualms.

“And you can’t marry her.”

With a low growl, he surged to his feet and strode across to the window. He rattled the curtains aside to reveal the storm. What was the point of lying? His mother had apparently known for weeks that he had a yen for Eleanor. “She’s the most exceptional woman I know. She should have the world at her feet.”

“I agree.”

Surprised, he turned away from the depressing weather. “I don’t understand.”

His mother’s body might have failed her, but her spirit remained strong. The stare she leveled on Leath cut to the soul. “She’s not for you, James.”

He gritted his teeth and spoke the words that had beat
in his head like a drum since last night. “She’s intelligent, beautiful, perceptive, generous, conscientious. In everything but her humble birth, she makes the perfect marchioness.”

His mother, always pale, turned ashen and recoiled against the pillows as if he’d threatened to strike her. “Oh, James, I’m so sorry.” Compassion weighted her voice. “You’re in love with her. I should have realized.”

He wanted to deny it. But how could he? He loved Eleanor and in making that love a shameful secret, he’d done her a heinous wrong. “Surely that, most of all, qualifies her to be my wife.”

His mother no longer looked like Boadicea ready to mow down a Roman legion. Instead her gaze was agonizingly sad. “Yes, it does. But as you said, her birth makes your marriage unthinkable.”

“You always lecture me on equality,” he said resentfully.

“Darling, she’s a wonderful girl. But she and I both see what you refuse to recognize. The Marquess of Leath can’t marry his housemaid and expect society to shrug its shoulders. You’d lose all the respect you’ve earned as a future leader of the nation. And a woman as proud as Nell would rankle at the world’s disdain.”

Did he want to marry Eleanor? She deserved a more honorable role than mistress. He’d always known that. That left two alternatives—make an honest woman of her or part from her forever. The second option condemned him to a barren wasteland. “There’s no legal impediment.”

His mother sighed with impatience. “We both know society’s rules. Marrying the girl who cleans out your fireplaces, however worthy she is, would turn you into a pariah.”

“Perhaps it would be worth it,” he muttered, facing the window again to avoid his mother’s disapproval. Wondering where Eleanor was, he caught the gold brocade curtain in
one hand. He was no closer to knowing. When he’d asked his mother about his beloved’s whereabouts, he hadn’t expected an inquisition. He’d been naïve in the extreme.

“James, I beg of you, don’t sacrifice your ambitions because you’ve lost your head over a pair of pretty brown eyes.”

Numbly he stared into the night. “It’s more than that, Mamma, and you know it.”

Another sigh. “Yes, I do,” she said reluctantly. “You aren’t a shallow man.”

“All of this is moot. I don’t know where she is.”

“And you want me to help you find her?”

He turned and bit out an appalled curse. His mother stood unsteadily, clinging to one of the carved posts rising from the baseboard. She hadn’t stood without assistance in years. His conscience, already twitching over Eleanor, howled. Her expression warned him against helping her.

He’d driven his mother to this. For a man who prided himself on his scruples, he’d made a sodding mess of things.

“I fear for Miss Trim’s safety.” That at least was true.

His mother frowned. “She’s safer away from you, wherever she is.”

“So you won’t help me?” This was the closest he’d come to a serious quarrel with his mother since adolescence.

“I won’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked for.”

Angry words rushed to his lips, but when he saw her face, he bit them back. “Please tell me.”

His mother straightened against the bedpost. The burning light in her eyes made mockery of physical frailty. “Even if I knew where Nell is—and I don’t—I wouldn’t tell you. She’s left for your sake as well as her own. This ridiculous infatuation hasn’t overturned her mind the way it’s overturned yours.”

“I intend to find her.”

His mother’s hand tightened around the column until the
knuckles shone white. “And if you find her, what will you do? Crush all my hopes? All your father’s hopes?”

He flinched. “I just want to make sure she’s safe.”

His mother’s face crumpled and tears glittered in her eyes. Despite her constant pain, his mother never cried. “Stop lying to me—and stop lying to yourself. No man who marries his housemaid will become prime minister. You’ll be a laughingstock. And for what? A girl who can never play her role as the Marchioness of Leath with any conviction? Surely you’re not so far gone in madness that you think that a fair bargain.”

Was he? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he felt like the lowest worm in creation for distressing his mother. He crossed the room and put his arm around her waist to stop her falling.

“I’m sorry I’ve made you unhappy.”

She was unyielding in his arms, although she couldn’t hide her relief once he’d returned her to bed. “But you’re not sorry about this destructive path you take.” His mother’s hand closed convulsively on his arm. Her voice vibrated with urgency. “I beg you to reconsider.”

He straightened. “I won’t do anything rash.”

All his life, she’d worked toward her son achieving the political greatness that fate had denied his father. If it became public knowledge that Eleanor was Leath’s mistress, the world would snicker. But if one of the nation’s greatest noblemen married his housemaid, an almighty scandal would ensue, one that would echo down the generations.

His mother was right. The kindest thing Leath could do for Eleanor was to let her go, let her find a good, respectable man who would love her and give her the life she deserved. Except that she was no longer a virgin. Guilt cut deeper every time Leath thought how he’d wronged her. Guilt that
came with a wicked serve of pleasure as he recalled her body opening to his.

His mother was right about something else—Leath loved Eleanor and given his steadfastness, the affliction was likely to be permanent.