Carnal Deceptions (4 page)

“You look to be in good spirits this morning, my lady.” Tess immediately began preparing a plate for her.

“That I am. ’Tis a lovely day.”

Tess glanced out at the cheerless weather.

“I have reason to believe my nephew will return today. It should take no more than two days to secure his house and take care of unfinished business. Reckoning the travel time to and from, I expect to see him and that fearsome horse of his any moment. He’s sure to hasten his journey for my sake. He dotes on me.” A grin of contentment spread across her weathered cheeks. “I was like a mother to him, poor dear, after his own mother died so young.”

Tess did not remind her that she’d calculated his arrival just yesterday with as much conviction. “Shoo, you big lump.” Tess waved away one of the dogs to pull out a chair next to Lady Stadwell. The lazy hound stood reluctantly, moved two steps and plopped back down with a quiet groan. As she buttered a biscuit for herself, Tess realized that her hands were trembling again. Merely talking about the man unsettled her. She brought the hard biscuit to her mouth then realized her appetite had flown. What was the matter with her? The men she had become acquainted with during her short London season had never made her skittish. But back then, when her father was still alive, she did not need to hide

under layers of a wretched disguise. It was as if the wig and brows suffocated all of her confidence and character.

Unable to eat or sit still, Tess pushed up from the table. “The tea!” She hurried to the sideboard. “Would you like some sugar in your tea?” Tess picked up the teapot and poured a cup. She placed it on the table in front of Lady Stadwell.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind having some tea in my tea.” Lady Stadwell stared into her cup then looked up at Tess. “This is a cup of hot water.”

“I’m so sorry.” Tess retrieved the cup and the hot water sloshed onto her thumb. Perhaps Lady Stadwell’s china was not so safe after all. Tess scooped some tealeaves from the caddy and poured the hot water from the pot over the infuser. She poured herself a cup as well, hoping it would settle her stomach.

Lady Stadwell patted the seat of the chair next to her. “Come sit, Hortensia. You seem distracted.”

“Not at all.” Tess sat back down. “You were talking about how you were a mother to Lord Marcliffe. How old was he when his mother died?” As flustered as the subject made her, Tess found herself wanting to hear about him. Maybe something in his past would erase the dashing image she’d formed in her mind.

“He was only a lad of eight. The boy sat up with my poor sister-in-law all night as she labored for her last breaths. My brother found Tallon in the morning, tucked in beside his mother. She had passed on during the night. Naturally, I took it upon myself to be the maternal figure in his life.” Lady Stadwell tugged at a lock of her gray hair. “I can tell you I owe most of these white hairs to my nephew. Rarely a summer would pass that we did not have an urgent need for the physician. A displaced shoulder, broken bones, bleeding wounds—it’s a wonder my nerves survived it all.”

Tess laughed. “It’s a wonder Lord Marcliffe survived it all. Perhaps he would have benefited from some discipline.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Stadwell said abruptly then softened her tone. “One does not tame a wild heart. An authoritarian upbringing makes a boy compliant and weak. The world has more than its share of cowardly men. Men like Lord Marcliffe are a rarity. It would be a spectacular woman indeed to capture his heart.”

If only Lord Marcliffe had been one of those weak, cowardly men, Tess thought. Then surely she would not be acting like such a dolt at the mere mention of his return. “But I thought there was a woman in his life already. I’m sure you mentioned her the

other evening at dinner.” Tess knew very well they’d discussed his mistress. She’d been brimming with curiosity ever since.

“Miss Sparkes? I assure you there is far more attachment on her side than his. I know my nephew too well. She is a diversion. His bedmate, nothing more.” Lady Stadwell winked over her cup at Tess.

Tess choked on her tea at Lady Stadwell’s bluntness.

Lady Stadwell delivered a hard thump to her back. “You mustn’t gulp so.”

The pounding of hooves jolted the two dogs from their sleep. “That’s him!” Lady Stadwell nearly shrieked the words. She hurried to the window. “I was right. He has returned.”

Tess gripped the tasseled edge of the tablecloth. She could not move, but wanted more than anything to run and hide. Damn him for coming to this house. She’d begun to accept her quiet, reclusive existence. And while it was not the same as being with her father, she enjoyed Lady Stadwell’s company and had convinced herself she was content. Now every inch of her was alive with raw feelings. Most surprisingly, the arrival of Lady Stadwell’s nephew had reinforced her hatred for Sloan. For Sloan was the reason she was destined to be a spinster.

“My word!” Lady Stadwell pressed her hand to her chest.

Tess released her hold on the tablecloth and stood on wobbly legs. “What is it?” She peered at the drive over Lady Stadwell’s shoulder. The stallion stood straight up on its back legs. Lord Marcliffe, still in the saddle, waved the stable boy out of the way. Tess released the breath she was holding when the beast finally landed on all fours. Lord Marcliffe swung his leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground.

Lady Stadwell turned to her. “You must put a plate of food together for him at once.

He will be starved after such a long ride.”

“I was on my way to the garden,” Tess sputtered. “But I will serve him before I go.” Lady Stadwell eyed her suspiciously. “Do you not care for Lord Marcliffe?’

Tess hadn’t realized she’d been frowning. “Why, I hardly know him. It would be difficult to form an opinion of someone I’ve only just met.” The truth was, she was amazed at how strong an opinion she’d already formed of Lord Marcliffe. “He seems a very fine man.”

Lady Stadwell sat back down at the table and unfolded her napkin. “Then please sit and finish breakfast with us. The garden can wait. Haven’t the weeds all been plucked?”

“Seems if you yank one, then two will grow in its place,” Tess responded with a smile. She walked to the sideboard and spooned eggs and oatmeal pudding onto a plate and topped the whole thing off with a slice of ham. She set the plate down and slinked back to her seat. “I ought to see to brewing some coffee for him. I know he prefers it to tea.”

“He’ll make do with tea, dear.”

Staring down at the biscuit on her plate, Tess nervously began fingering the table covering again. When the click of boot heels sounded in the entry hall, Tess neatly tore off one of the decorative tassels. She tucked it into her pocket and steadied her hands in her lap.

Lady Stadwell glanced casually toward the doorway. “Back so soon, Nephew?”

He filled the entrance. Tess peered up through her powdered lashes. Although he was dressed mostly in black, his presence made the shadowy dining room with its faded blue walls vibrate with light.

He strolled to his aunt and bent down to kiss her on the head. She patted the hand he had placed on her shoulder. “Here I was convinced that you’d be watching for me.” He sat directly across from his aunt where Tess had placed the plate.

“As if I don’t have better things to do than waste my time waiting for the unpredictable Lord Marcliffe. By the way, why do you not have that beast castrated? He is truly a menace. I have never seen such an ill-behaved animal.”

He leaned forward slightly. “Ahh, so you
were
watching out the window for me.” Tess swallowed back a laugh. He caught her mirth and smiled in return.

Lady Stadwell waved her hand. “Such conceit. But if it satisfies you to think that I was anxious for your return then imagine what you will. And you did not answer me. That horse will surely be the death of you.”

“I do not have Dante castrated because there is no horse in England to match his speed and stamina. Once they have been cut, they are content to be fat and slow. Nothing slows Dante down.” He reached back and winced as he rubbed a shoulder. There was a tear in his coat. “Not even jutting tree branches, unfortunately.”

“Good heavens, do you need a physician?” Lady Stadwell asked.

“Not at all.” He rotated his shoulder. “Everything still appears to be attached.” Lord Marcliffe grabbed a fork and scrambled his oatmeal pudding around on his plate. “Mind you I had the man out to castrate Dante when just a colt. He took one look at the horse

and turned around. Told me he’d rather take the knife to himself than get near that animal. After that, I gave up the thought completely.”

“Must you always discuss such vulgar topics at table?” Lady Stadwell admonished. “I believe that you brought it up.” He added some salt to the bland food before taking

another bite.

“You know, Hortensia, I have a craving for some of your delectable pastries. Why don’t you see about getting some ingredients and do some baking for our guest,” Lady Stadwell suggested. “Cook has the afternoon off, so you will have the entire kitchen to yourself.”

Tess was flustered that the attention had suddenly shifted to her. To mask her discomfort, she took a sip of tea and made a rather loud slurping sound in her haste. Lowering the cup, she nodded her agreement.

“You have not said one word, Miss Calloway. So you are a baker? And how did you acquire that skill?” The thin threads of suspicion wove through Lord Marcliffe’s words.

She could not fault him for being distrustful since she stammered and blushed at every turn. “I’m self taught. My father’s farm had a wonderful kitchen, and I spent many hours there experimenting.” Tess was pleased that she had found her tongue again, and her hands began to relax.

“And where exactly was your father’s farm located?” “Why England of course.”

He was momentarily silenced by her impudent retort. He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “Quite a secretive chit, I must say.”

Tess smiled and placed her napkin on the table. “You seem to believe there is some intriguing story about my past. I assure you there is nothing extraordinary about it. I’m just a country girl orphaned at an early age. If you’ll both excuse me.” She stood and curtsied to Lady Stadwell and then to Lord Marcliffe. She did not look directly at the latter, but she was certain his dark blue gaze was riveted on her.

*

Tess headed to the kitchen. Normally she would have loved the idea of having the kitchen to herself to spend the day baking, but she did not know if she had the mind to enjoy the task today. Lord Marcliffe was back and quite possibly for a lengthy stay. Lady

Stadwell was determined to put in motion her plan to snare Sloan. The more Tess thought about the scheme, the more she felt entitled to be a part of it. If it had not been for Sloan’s greed, she would be standing in her own warm kitchen chatting and laughing with her father. Instead, she stood in a stranger’s kitchen feeling like the ugliest of all the stepsisters and breathless about a man whom she could never have.

The kitchen was dark and still. The heavy, scarred table in the center held a bowl of withered apples and the fire under the kettle had petered out. Tess lit some lamps and carried the sugar and flour sacks from the cupboard. She checked the butter crock. It was empty. She would make a trip up the road to the Hathaways'. They always had plenty of freshly churned butter for purchase.

The side door to the kitchen flung open and smacked the wall. Cook had returned early, Tess thought. She gasped as a hulking, bald-headed man backed through the doorway dragging something heavy. He had to turn his shoulders to squeeze through the passage.

Tess grabbed an iron skillet. “Do not take one more step, thief. I warn you, I am armed!”

The man froze and looked over his shoulder at her. “Aye, that you are.” He released his hold on the large makeshift sack he was hauling and stretched up to his full height, bumping his head hard on the top of the lintel. “Hell,” he muttered and rubbed his smooth, pink head while he turned slowly to face her. “That’s going to be a pretty lump.” He held up his meaty slabs of hands. “If I were a thief, would I be bringing things
in
to the house?”

Tess raised the pan higher, knowing how ridiculous she must look trying to ward off a giant with a frying pan. “Well, perhaps you are a particularly dim-witted thief.”

He roared with laughter. Tess was sure she saw the pots hanging along the wall vibrate with the sound of it.

“My God, Cyrus, I can’t even send you to do a simple task.” Lord Marcliffe was suddenly standing directly behind her.

The intruder nodded toward Tess. “You didn’t say nothing ’bout wenches armed with pots.”

“You can lower your weapon, Miss Calloway. Cyrus only looks like an ogre.” Lord Marcliffe removed his coat as he strolled past her. He grabbed hold of what looked to be a side of mutton wrapped in paper, part of the load Cyrus had bundled in a vast oilcloth.

“Christ, did she do that to you?” Lord Marcliffe rose to his toes to get a closer look at the bump on the man’s head.

“No. It was the doorway. The house was built for elves.”

Lord Marcliffe shook his head. “One would think you woke up just this morning as tall as a forest pine. Learn to duck, you towering fool. Now help me with the goods.” There was a sparkle in his eyes as he shot a glance at Tess. “Miss Calloway, if you would be so kind as to make room in the larder for these things.”

Cyrus nodded cautiously at Tess then walked a wide circle around her with heavy sacks of potatoes and onions slung over his shoulders.

“You have apparently made quite an impression on my friend,” Lord Marcliffe said. “I’ve seen him take on six armed Frenchmen and leave them all in a crumpled heap, but one small woman with a skillet, and just look at him tiptoeing around.”

Tess pushed aside the scant items on the larder shelves, and Lord Marcliffe hefted the meat atop the cooling stone slab. “Cyrus will be staying on for awhile. Thus the need to stock the larder.”

Tess knew full well that Lord Marcliffe was using that as an excuse to help his aunt. Lady Stadwell was correct. Her nephew did dote on her. And now she could add generosity to the list of appealing traits possessed by Lord Marcliffe. Surely he could list as many unappealing traits about Hortensia Calloway.