Bella and the Beast (31 page)

“I'm afraid you've come at an inconvenient time,” she said tightly. “His Grace requested that I take my brother and sister for a tour of the statuary in the ballroom. If we don't leave now, we'll be late.”

“You never told me that,” Cyrus said, glancing up from the scarabs.

“Aylwin sent me a message earlier,” she fibbed. “And we dare not disobey his command.” Taking Lila and Cyrus each by the hand, she stepped toward the couple. “If you'll excuse us.”

Oscar and Helen retreated in a huff, though not without bending their heads together to mutter back and forth about uppity servants and their deplorable manners. As the pair went out the door, and Bella towed her siblings in the other direction, she distinctly heard Oscar's voice echo down the vast corridor.

“Miss Jones looks much older than those two,” he said with a snigger. “Can we be certain they're not
her
whelps?”

Bella very nearly turned around and marched back to give him a well-deserved tongue-lashing. Instead, she pulled her brother and sister onward down the passageway with the tall white pillars along the walls.

Perhaps she
was
old enough to be their mother. There was nothing wrong with that. She had raised them from the time of Mama's death, shortly after their birth, when Bella had been fourteen. She had cooked for them, bandaged their scrapes, taught them their lessons, nursed them through childhood illnesses.

But being nearly thirty years of age didn't make her a withered crone. Miles certainly hadn't found her too old to arouse his lusts. He had been more than happy to …

“Ouch, must you squeeze so hard?” Cyrus said.

“And pray don't walk
quite
so fast,” Lila added rather breathlessly.

Bella released their hands and slowed her pace to a stroll. “Sorry, darlings, I must have been lost in thought.”

Lila cast an astute glance back over her shoulder. “Those two made you angry, didn't they?
I
didn't like them very much, either, to be honest. They were rather snobbish.” She paused, her face growing wistful. “Though I do covet Mrs. Grayson's gown.”

Bella laughed, her wrath easing along with the tension in her limbs. “Perhaps one morning we'll go out to the shops,” she said impulsively. “Even if we haven't the means to purchase anything, there's no harm in looking at fabric and trimmings.”

Her face alight, Lila clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, please! Can it be tomorrow?”

“At the end of the week. And then only if your schoolwork is properly completed.”

“I'm staying right here,” Cyrus declared. “I need a new pair of boots, but what's the point if I haven't any funds to buy them?”

Lila disagreed, and the twins launched into a spirited squabble about the merits of browsing versus buying.

They'd arrived at the arched doorway to the ballroom, and Bella tried to shush them, fearing their voices would carry to Miles. “That's quite enough, both of you,” she murmured. “It's time to go to the library for your lessons.”

When she took hold of their arms to steer them in the opposite direction, Cyrus balked. The massive doors to the ballroom stood open, and he craned his neck to peer at the rows of Egyptian sculptures. “Wait! You told the Graysons that the duke is expecting us. You said he wanted to show us those statues—and I do want to see them.”

Bella had taught her siblings never to lie, so she sought a tactful way to explain that she'd invented the appointment. “I'm sorry, but you see, I was too busy to chat with them today, and I needed an excuse…”

The words died in her throat as Miles stepped into the doorway.

He looked as he always did on a workday, the white shirt stretched over his muscular shoulders, the sleeves rolled to the elbows, the black trousers defining his long legs. Yet every part of her body heated up with tingly awareness. She could have stood there for hours, drinking in his appearance. His hair was slightly mussed, as if he'd run his fingers through it multiple times while trying to solve a difficult hieroglyph. The slight, very attractive smile on his lips caused a hitch in her heartbeat.

He withdrew a gold watch from his pocket and flicked it open to check the time. “I presume you've come for our appointment. May I commend you on your promptness … especially if you were delayed by my cousin and his wife.”

The twinkle of humor in his dark eyes made her dizzy with relief. He had overheard her awkward explanation and he had covered for her. And blessing of blessings, he didn't appear to mind the interruption.

“Thank you for inviting us here, Your Grace,” Cyrus said, peering past Miles. “I say, is that a coffin?”

Her brother loped eagerly into the ballroom. Though most of the room was filled with a maze of statues, he went straight to a long, rectangular structure fashioned from granite, the sides chiseled with the images of Egyptian gods and goddesses.

Miles strolled to one end of the massive box. “It's called a sarcophagus. It would have been placed inside the burial tomb and the pharaoh laid to rest in here.”

“It's enormous! And it must weigh tons. How did you ever transport it here all the way from Egypt?”

Cyrus hung on every word as Miles launched into a technical description of the system of pulleys and winches and manpower required to convey stone monoliths aboard ships. Without even being aware of walking closer, Bella took up a stance alongside the duke and let his deep voice roll through her. It was an excuse to breathe in his masculine scent, to savor a trace of his body heat. If only she had the right to slide her arm around his lean waist, to tuck her head into the shelter of his shoulder, to feel his strong heartbeat. How she wished he would look at her with the warmth of true love in his eyes …

Lila wandered to a nearby statue of a robed Egyptian wearing a tall crown decorated by a serpent. Even as she tilted her head back, her mind was clearly on other matters. “Have you been to the shops already, Bella?”

“I'm afraid I haven't had the time.”

“Then how will we know which ones are the best?” Lila snapped her fingers. “I have an idea! Lady Milford dresses beautifully. We can call on her and ask her advice.”

Miles stopped in mid-sentence. He pivoted on his heel to aim a hard stare at Lila. “Who did you say?”

Bella's pulse jumped. Why did he look so angry all of a sudden? The relaxed man of a moment ago had vanished behind a rigid mask.

Then a sick sensation assailed the pit of her stomach as she remembered that Lady Milford had issued a warning to Bella.
You must never mention my name to Aylwin. The duke is a proud, reclusive man who dislikes being maneuvered.

But it was too late to shush her naïve sister.

“Lady Milford,” Lila repeated. “She came to our cottage shortly before Bella left for London. Do you know her, Your Grace?”

A thunderous expression darkened his eyes. “We've met.”

Lila blinked warily at his sharp tone, and when she parted her lips as if to question him further, Bella said quickly, “I'm afraid this tour will have to be delayed. I've just remembered that His Grace and I have an important business matter to discuss.”

She shooed her grumbling brother and sister out the door of the ballroom. “The library is straight along the passage and down the stairs. Use your maps if necessary.”

Bella pulled the heavy doors shut and turned to face the duke. Her palms felt damp, and her heart thudded against her rib cage.

His eyes were narrowed in a cold suspicion she hadn't seen since their first meeting, when he had caught her sneaking through the grand corridor and hiding behind a pillar. At that time, he'd believed her to be a husband hunter on the prowl.

But she couldn't quite fathom the depth of his wrath this time. Was there some sort of feud between himself and Lady Milford? An unresolved quarrel that the woman had neglected to mention?

Even if he'd guessed that Lady Milford had made behind-the-scenes arrangements so that Bella would have a better chance to be hired, was that really so dreadful a sin? She had wanted to provide for her brother and sister. Now that Miles had met Lila and Cyrus, surely he could be made to see reason.

Of course, he needn't know the part about her search for the treasure map. That had nothing to do with Lady Milford.

He took a menacing step closer, his hands planted on his lean hips. “You claimed to have known only that Smithers fellow when you moved back to England. You never said a word about Lady Milford.”

Bella swallowed hard. Smithers was the antiquarian who supposedly had purchased artifacts from her father overseas. But she herself had never met the man. The ruse had been entirely Lady Milford's concoction, and Bella had been so anxious for an excuse to live at Aylwin House that she'd dutifully repeated the story.

“I was only slightly acquainted with her ladyship,” Bella said, tightly gripping her fingers together to stop them from trembling. “A few weeks ago, she came to the cottage in Oxford, hoping to find my father. They had once been friends, you see. When she learned that Papa was … dead, and that I needed to earn a living, she suggested that I apply to you for a position. She thought you might hire me since your father and mine were once business partners.”

“You said that Smithers told you about the position.”

“I … yes, but I only did so on Lady Milford's recommendation. She cautioned me not to mention her name. She said you were a very private man and might be upset to learn that she'd been meddling.”

“
Upset?
I'm livid.” His furious gaze raked her up and down. “You entered my house under false pretenses, you lied to me about being alone in the world, you concealed the truth at every turn. It seems you're nothing more than an accomplished actress.”

A painful knot pulled taut in Bella's breast. She deserved his censure. Yet he seemed far angrier than the situation warranted.

She put out her hands, palms up in supplication. “Please try to understand, Miles, I needed to earn a living so that I could feed my brother and sister. Lady Milford only meant to help me.”

“Bollocks.” Throwing her a contemptuous look, he paced back and forth in front of the sarcophagus. “I can guess precisely how that woman helped you—by instructing you in how to charm me. You pretended to be coy, you lured me into your bed and then pushed me away, you led me on and tormented me day and night—” He savagely bit off his words and jabbed his forefinger at her. “From the moment you set foot in my house, you've been plotting to entrap me.”

Tears blurred her eyes at the viciousness of his accusations. “Entrap you?”

“Don't pretend ignorance. Everyone in London knows about Lady Milford and her schemes.”

Bella shook her head in bewilderment. “I-I truly don't know what you mean.”

He plunged his fingers through his hair, tangling the black strands. “Good God, Bella! I'm speaking of marriage. The woman is a damned matchmaker!”

 

Chapter 23

Miles grabbed hold of the brass knocker and rapped hard on the door of the town house. He had a strong urge to kick in the door. But that would only attract attention from the passersby on the street and spark speculation that he was Lady Milford's latest dupe.

In an effort to take the edge off his temper, he sucked in a lungful of cool afternoon air. He could not erase the image of Bella's stricken face as he'd accused her of trying to hoax him into wedlock. She'd claimed not to have known of Lady Milford's avocation. He had been too enraged to accept Bella's word before he'd stormed off on this mission.

Yet in retrospect, he had to concede that even the most seasoned actress could not have fabricated her look of shock. It was very likely that Bella had been hoodwinked as well as himself.

The mastermind of the heinous ruse resided in this town house.

He raised his fist, intending to batter the heavy wood panel again. Then the door opened abruptly. A butler with cropped white hair and a sober black suit stood there.

Miles frowned, momentarily distracted by a vague familiarity about the servant's weathered features. But he had never been to this house before. He didn't socialize, either, so it was unlikely he'd encountered the fellow at a different residence.

The butler regarded him impassively. “May I help you, sir?”

“I wish to see Lady Milford.” Miles shouldered his way past the servant and into an airy foyer. “At once.”

Not a muscle moved in that stoic face. “I shall check if her ladyship is at home. Have you a calling card?”

“Blast it, no. Just tell her that Aylwin is here.”

On hearing the venerable name, the butler inclined his head in a bow. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

As the man turned, something in the harsh lines of his face struck a stronger chord of recognition. This time, the pieces fell into place. Those now pale cheeks could have been enhanced by rouge, the white hair and eyebrows darkened with soot …

A cold sword of certainty pierced Miles. He grabbed the man's arm and spun him back around. “You! You're Smithers.”

One grizzled eyebrow lifted in inquiry. “The name is Hargrove, Your Grace. Might you be mistaking me for another servant?”

Hargrove's pale blue eyes were steady. A liar would be inclined to shift his gaze away. Unless, of course, he was extremely skillful at artifice. And a master of disguise.

The antiquarian who had come to Aylwin House had been the virtual opposite of this man. Mr. Smithers had been a flashy windbag in a checkered green coat who had spouted glib nonsense like a common street-seller while he'd attempted to convince Miles to purchase a box of cheap scarabs. Smithers also had expressed keen interest in the fact that Miles worked alone. The fellow had listed all the advantages of hiring a curator to assist him.