Earl of Scandal (London Lords) (5 page)

Her expression immediately changed from critical to ingratiating. She clucked her tongue. “La, sir, that is a shame about your carriage. The roads are bad indeed. My own daughter, Francine, didn’t go to church today for dread of being jounced to death over the ruts. She’s quite the delicate thing, very unlike that hoyden, Merissa.” She frowned suddenly. “By the way, where is Merissa? She left the churchyard not ten minutes before us. She should be home by now. Indeed...” Mrs. Hammond craned her neck to look into the yard. “There’s the disgraceful vehicle she drives.”

“If you recall, ma’am, I said she was indisposed. She twisted her ankle getting out of the wagon. I attempted to aid her, but you know how independent she is.”

Mrs. Hammond clucked again. “Shameful. I can’t imagine why the Reverend allows her to go gallivanting about as she does.”

“Yes, it’s surprising her father doesn’t take a firmer hand with her.” Christian took Mrs. Hammond’s arm and led her into the parlor. From Merissa’s mutinous expression, Christian guessed she had heard every word.

Mrs. Hammond immediately went to Merissa’s side. “Poor dear,” she said, sounding very satisfied. “Are you badly injured?”

“Just a slight sprain,” Merissa answered. She glared daggers at Christian. He smiled back at her.

“A shame,” Mrs. Hammond said. “The Mister and I stopped to tell you that your father and sister would be eating dinner with us and to ask if you wished to join us. Of course, now that would be impossible. But you, Lord Bedlington...”  Mrs. Hammond smiled coyly. “Would you consent to sharing our simple repast?”

“I feel I must stay here with Miss Cassell. Someone should be with her in case she needs something.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Hammond nodded reluctantly. “I suppose that is true.

Christian felt a wave of dislike for the overbearing matron. Was Mrs. Hammond so callous that she gave no thought to leaving Merissa alone and helpless?

“Of course, it would hardly be appropriate for the two of you to remain alone together.” Mrs. Hammond started towards the door. “I’ll have Mr. Hammond drive Francine over. She’ll keep both of you company.”

“I thought you said that she didn’t like to travel when the roads were bad,” Christian pointed out.

“The circumstances are entirely different now. Once Francine hears about Merissa’s injury, she’ll give no further thought to her own comfort. I promise she’ll be here in a trice.”

Christian showed her out and then returned to the parlor. Merissa glared at him. “How could you let her invite her tiresome daughter here! You don’t know what Francine Hammond is like! I truly shall be ill if I am forced to sit and listen to her inane chatter!”

Christian approached the settle. “At least I got around your fears that your reputation will be ruined. Mrs. Hammond’s not going to tell anyone that she found us alone together. It might interfere with her plan to snare me for her own daughter.”

Merissa tried once more to rise. “Francine may have you, but I have no intention of watching the disgusting flirtation. I vow I will leave your abominable company if I have to crawl away!”

“Stop this. You’re being foolish.” Christian grasped her arm and helped her stand, then supported her body with his. “I’ll help you anywhere you wish. Would you prefer to be in your own bedchamber?”

“No, no. Leave me alone,” she said. Christian looked down at her. Her slender body was pressed against his and he smelled the faint, clean scent of lavender which clung to her hair. Once more, he wanted to kiss her. The realization of just how badly he wanted it stopped him.

He shifted so there was a little more space between them and made his voice impersonal. “The sooner I get you settled, the sooner I can be about my own business. I need to get to Derlingham and send someone back for my rig before robbers come upon it and rob me blind.”

“Go, then. Take the wagon. You heard Mrs. Hammond, they’ll be back in no time.”

“I shudder to think of leaving you to her mercy.”

“Don’t worry. As soon as Elizabeth hears I’m injured, she will insist on returning to look after me. She may appear meek and gentle, but my sister has a will to match even Mrs. Hammond’s.”

“I’ll depend on it.” Christian guided her to a chair near the parlor door and then brought over a footstool for Merissa to rest her injured leg on. “How’s that?”

“Quite fine. It hardly hurts at all unless I try to stand.”

Christian bent down to examine the injured limb. This time, Merissa did not protest.

“It’s slightly swollen, but nothing serious. I’m certain you’ll be as right as rain in a few days.” He stood. “My apologies for distressing you, Miss Cassell. It was not my intention.”

“Your apology is accepted. Now, you must see to your curricle before something more unfortunate happens.” Her voice was composed and formal, although she did not look at him as she spoke.

“I will return your vehicle as soon as I can.”

“We have the brougham, and it doesn’t appear I will be driving much in the next few days.” She gave him a weak smile.

Christian smiled back. He felt suddenly awkward, an unusual experience for him. What was it about this saucy-tongued chit that discomfited him?

“Well, good-bye then.” She extended her hand. He took it and kissed the tips of her fingers. Feeling her tense, he quickly released her. He bowed. “Your servant, Miss Cassell.”

Merissa watched Mr. Faraday let himself out. As soon as he disappeared from sight, she let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the chair. Thank God he was finally gone. Never again would she have to behold his arrogantly handsome face.

A shudder traveled down her body. Dear heavens, the way he affected her. He seemed to turn her body to gelatin and her wits to pudding. In the yard, he had been within a hairsbreadth of kissing her... and she was on the verge of allowing it!

She struggled to push the memory from her mind. It was unthinkable that she had permitted Mr. Faraday to touch her. He was a wastrel, a selfish, spoiled nobleman, everything she loathed with all her heart. Why, if it were not for men like Christian Faraday, her brother would never have given up his classes at Cambridge and gone to London. He would be safe. Dear Charles, how she missed him. The farm was not the same without his boisterous, masculine presence.

A sense of desolation came over Merissa, and somehow her sense of loss over her brother seemed to get mixed up with her feelings over Mr. Faraday’s departure. The farm would be very quiet now. Her life would return to its boring sameness. How would she bear it?

Restless, she rose and tested her weight on her injured leg. With slow, painful steps, she hobbled to the window, and looked out to see the wagon rattling down the lane. The tall, broad-shouldered driver wore no hat, and. his wavy brown hair ruffled wildly in the breeze.

Melissa’s sense of loss grew piercing—until a sudden notion relieved her distress. He had their wagon. He would have to come back!

Four

“Lord Bedlington! A pleasure to see you again, sir.” The tall, thin butler bowed and his dour face almost broke into a smile.

“And you as well, Ginter.” Christian stepped into the marble-tiled foyer of the Darton Park mansion. “I have no luggage. Well, actually I do, but it’s sitting in a blacksmith’s shop in Derlingham. I had an accident on the way. Tipped over my rig and landed in a ditch. Broke the axle on the curricle and shook up my cattle.”

“I hope you weren’t injured, sir.”

Christian grinned. “Only my pride. I was rescued by the most audacious little chit you’ve ever seen. When I suggested she had caused the mishap by failing to yield the roadway, she put me soundly in my place.”

Ginter led him into the drawing room and poured a brandy before asking, “If your curricle is being repaired, how did you travel here?”

“The Cassells, my rescuer’s family, were kind enough to loan me a farm vehicle. A rather ungainly rig, but it did quite well on the roads between here and Derlingham.”

Ginter raised his brows, and Christian realized the butler was imagining the sight he had made driving the wagon into Derlingham. The spectacle of a finely-garbed lord wielding the ribbons of a battered farm wagon had caused a bit of a stir.

“I’m afraid my reputation is damaged beyond repair,” Christian said. “Not only was I forced into the ignominy of driving such a vehicle, but I haven’t shaved today, and I arranged my cravat myself.”

Ginter gave him a scandalized look, and Christian nodded. “Slumming has its charm, I suppose, but I would dearly like a bath and shave as soon as possible.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll see to it immediately.” Ginter hurried from the room.

Christian took a sip of brandy—the brandy he had craved so urgently the night before—and gazed around the sumptuous drawing room. A fire roared in the brass grate, suffusing the room with easeful warmth. Plush chairs and chaises beckoned to his weary body as the liqueur burned its way down his throat, soothing and numbing him.

He sighed in anticipation. Here, his every need would be looked after. If he asked for food, Ginter would have the cook produce a seven-course dinner of Christian’s favorites. A bath would be readied: the temperature of water mixed to meet his whim. Ginter himself would barber him, garb him in immaculate evening clothes, and tie his neck cloth to perfection.

This was the world he belonged to. Luxurious, indulgent—and damned boring.

He put down the brandy and moved restlessly to the window. Being exposed to the Cassells had made his life in London seem shallow and empty. Elizabeth Cassell had shown him hospitality and genuine concern. She had not offered it because he was a lord, but because he was a traveler in need. Her simple generosity touched him. He had never met anyone quite like her before.

And then there was Merissa Cassell. Surely it would not hurt to see Merissa one more time. He must return the Cassell’s wagon and retrieve the grays. When he did so, it would be only polite to stop in for a visit.

Perhaps this time the younger Miss Cassell would thaw a bit. For all her tart words, Merissa had almost let him kiss her. She might disapprove of him, but certain things between a man and a woman could not be denied. Why, if that goose, Mrs. Hammond, hadn’t arrived when she did, he felt sure that Merissa would have let him...

Christian drew back from the window as the vivid image of making love to Merissa flashed into his mind.

Bloody hell! He truly was a wretch, entertaining thoughts of deflowering a naive country miss!

He began to pace. How dashed hard it was to change. He wanted to live his life with purpose and honor, but the old habits kept creeping back.

If only Devon would arrive. Then he would have someone to talk to, someone to stiffen his resolve. Devon would tell him to avoid temptation and send the wagon back with a groom and a polite note to the Cassell sisters.

But Devon wasn’t there. He was still in London with his cherished wife and unlikely to return for several more days. Days that stretched ahead in endless boredom and idleness.

Christian groaned. Already, he weakened, telling himself that it would be ungracious not to thank the Cassell sisters in person. If he did not put in an appearance, they would think he scorned them. Besides, there was no reason to suppose he would be alone with Merissa. Absurd to think he would have an opportunity to seduce her.

Ginter returned to announce that his bath was ready. Christian followed him up the stairs, considering what he would wear when he paid a call on the Cassells. Nothing too ostentatious. No need to emphasize his rank. Perhaps he could borrow some clothing from Devon. The two of them were nearly of a size, although Devon’s arms were slightly longer.

Yes, that would be perfect. Devon’s stylish but extremely understated clothes would suit much better than Christian’s own wardrobe. He just knew the haughty Miss Cassell would turn up her nose at the flowered waistcoats and dinner jackets of buttercup and pale blue superfine which he usually favored.

Christian smiled as they reached a lavish bedchamber decorated in shades of red and gray. When was the last time he had dressed to please a woman?

~ ~ ~

“You’ve done enough, Merissa. Why don’t you don a wrap and take Nell home now.”

Merissa nodded gratefully to her sister and pushed a sweaty curl out of her eyes. She hated washing day. Heating the water, pounding the clothes, then rinsing and running them through the mangle—it was hot, exhausting work, and even with the help of Mrs. Hareton, who cooked for them, and a neighbor girl, Nell, it took all morning to finish.

Putting on her cloak, she went out. The sweat on her skin seemed to steam in the chill air, and she shivered as she crossed the yard. “I’m taking Nell home now,” she told the hired man. He nodded and disappeared into the stables.

Merissa began to pace, trying to loosen up her stiff ankle. The strain had healed rapidly, so rapidly that she was embarrassed to think she had made such a fuss. Her shameful weakness must have been caused by nerves. It was that damned Christian Faraday’s fault. He so unsettled her that she had acted like a helpless fool!

As she crossed the yard, Blackie came up and rubbed against her legs. Merissa bent down to pet the sleek animal. “What an obnoxious man,” she told the cat. “He’s everything I despise—a spoiled, arrogant rakehell.”

She straightened and sighed. “How disagreeable that he is also handsome and charming. I can only imagine the London ladies swooning at his feet, exclaiming over his tall, well-formed physique, his blue eyes and dimples.”

She grimaced, looking down at the cat. “I refuse to succumb to such idiocy. Devils have been known to appear in the guise of angels. Which is exactly what Mr. Faraday is. A devil. He admitted freely to his wanton, hedonistic way of life. In fact, he seemed almost proud of his reprehensible habits.”

The cat meowed. Merissa shook her head. “Don’t try to defend him. I’ll not forget that it was reprobates like Mr. Faraday who stole Charles from us, luring him from his family and scholarly pursuits and onto a pathway of ruin. If not for scoundrels like Faraday, I’d still have a brother!”

Tears filled her eyes and Merissa dabbed at them with the edge of her cloak. “Here I am, puss, turning into a disgusting milk-and-water miss and weeping like a watering pot. And it’s that rotten Mr. Faraday’s fault!”