Lord Langley Is Back in Town (10 page)

He said?
Minerva glanced up and found Agnes’s wide blue eyes scanning her and the bed as if she half expected her mistress to look as ravished as the door. Then the rest of her maid’s explanation stopped ringing about her sleep-tousled thoughts.

. . .
he said he’d left you happily contented.

How dare he imply that she . . . that they . . . that they’d . . .

Oh, that lying, good for nothing—

Minerva threw back the covers and jammed her feet into her slippers. “Goodness, Agnes! Whyever did you let me sleep this late?”

The girl settled the tray she carried on the dressing table and said, “His lordship said you needed the rest.”

Minerva, who’d reached for her dressing robe and nearly had it on, stilled. “He did, did he?”

“Oh, aye. So concerned about you. What a fine, thoughtful fellow he is, my lady, iffin you don’t mind me saying. He took great pains to see that Mrs. Hutchinson put your tray together just so.” Never still for a moment, Agnes had gotten right to work setting the bed to rights. She glanced up from fluffing the pillows. “He said you might be a bit peckish . . .” The girl paused and blushed, then finished quickly by adding, “After last night and all.”

After last night . . .
As if there had been a “last night.” Which there hadn’t.

But there could have been
.

Minerva closed her eyes and counted to ten, reining in her unlikely fancies. She blamed Lucy and Elinor for all this. She wouldn’t have thought once about such things, save for all their talk of late of taking a lover and getting married.

And now . . .

Though it was hard to blame Lucy and Elinor when she knew who the real instigator of these unwanted flights of desire was, and he was downstairs right this moment wreacking havoc on the rest of her life.

“You can take that tray back downstairs,” she instructed her maid. “I am not hungry.”

“Well, he didn’t say that exactly,” Agnes amended. “He said . . . oh, it was rather fancy. Just let me recall it . . .” The girl tapped her fingers to her chin until suddenly her eyes brightened. “Yes, yes, I remember what he said. He told me and Mrs. Hutchinson that you would most likely be famished this morning. Especially after needing to sleep in so late.”

Famished.
He hadn’t! Oh, yes, he had put that pink hue of a blush on Agnes’s cheeks.

Why, that blasted rogue had deliberately chosen that word precisely because it wasn’t too far from “ravished”—which is exactly how the story would be retold by the time his little
on dit
got nosed around.

Good heavens! The man was mad. Confiding such nonsense with the servants. Didn’t he realize that such admissions would go from the attics to the cellar like a flash of Franklin’s electricity? Then it would be over the garden fence and in every house on Brook Street before . . . Minerva closed her eyes and groaned as she stopped herself from saying “noon.”

For it was nearly noon by Agnes’s own account.

Nearly noon?

Oh, yes, he’d known exactly what he was doing. And let her sleep while his madness took root.

Like small pox. Or the Black Plague.

Not for long,
she vowed, ignoring the tray of scones, bacon, and coffee that Agnes had brought up. For damn the man, it did look heavenly, especially with the thoughtful touch of a single red rose on one side. And as loath as she was to admit it, she was hungry.

Famished, really. But she would commit herself to Bedlam before she’d ever admit such a thing. For hidden beneath his words was that unerring knowledge that her appetite and needs could not be sated with just a scone.

Minerva tamped down a groan and hastily donned her gown. “Where is he?” she asked, twisting her hair up and stabbing the pins in place herself, rather than wait for Agnes to help.

“Pardon, my lady?”

“Precisely where is Lord Langley?”

“In the morning room, my lady. Having his breakfast. He bid me to tell you that when you were able, to please join him, for he is ever so fond of your company.” Agnes smiled, her bright blue eyes sparkling with happiness for her mistress.

Minerva gaped at her obviously smitten maid. Who would have guessed that plain-spoken, hardworking Agnes harbored a romantic side?

Smitten, indeed! Well, she would see about that. “Agnes, do me a favor and go down and find Thomas-William. Ask him to go over to the duke’s stables and direct Mr. Ceely to send around a wagon. Oh, and a carriage as well,” she added. Minerva wagered her houseguests would be extraordinarily put out to be asked to walk around the corner to their new home, the duke’s residence.

“Are we leaving?” Agnes asked.

“No. But our guests are. All of them.”

The maid’s brow furrowed. “All of them, my lady?” As in, even Lord Langley?

Especially him
, Minerva wanted to say. Truly, what was it about the man that had solid and sensible Agnes broaching mutiny, for it was there on the girl’s stricken face. “Yes, everyone.”

Goodness, how could the girl be so infatuated when she’d just met the man?

She had just met him, hadn’t she? Minerva glanced over her shoulder and couldn’t bring herself to ask her own maid if she’d been complicit in hiding Lord Langley in her house.

Meanwhile, Agnes bobbed her head and went to finish her work in the room, folding Minerva’s plain night rail and putting it away, muttering as she went, “I don’t see how you are going to get them out.”

Well, as Minerva saw it, there were two obstacles to this entire plan: the ladies themselves, and Staines, the Duke of Hollindrake’s butler, who had turned them away to begin with. Setting her jaw, Minerva was done with good manners. Besides, she still had Thomas-William’s pistol. If there were any objections, she would have the leverage to force the issue.

Given what she now knew about her visitors, she suspected it wasn’t the first time one of those Continental hussies had been sent packing at the wrong end of a firearm.

As for Staines, she had to imagine that the man would be more than willing to open the door when he found that she’d come armed like a regular rusher. Ignoring the fact that when apprehended, most rushers were hung, Minerva reassured herself that desperate measures were all too necessary.

Besides, she wasn’t there to steal anything, just unload what was wrongly delivered to Brook Street.

Meanwhile, the front doorbell rattled awake and startled her out of her reverie. Glancing at the clock, Minerva couldn’t for the life of her think of who could be calling so early. “Agnes, was I expecting anyone this morning?”

“No, my lady,” Agnes said. “But one of them nannies did send out for some sausages. Mayhap the butcher is delivering them.”

The bell rattled again, and this time it sent a tremor of foreboding down Minerva’s spine. The butcher with sausages? It didn’t make sense.

“Whyever would the fellow bring them to the front door?” she said aloud, more to herself than to Agnes. “No, I do believe someone has come to call.”

Which meant Minerva needed to get downstairs and intercede before someone admitted this unknown and unwelcome guest. No, whoever it was needed to be barred from entering, no matter how rude she had to appear. But what else could she do? It would be a disaster if anyone discovered that Langley had been staying with her.

Just then Agnes sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, the devil take me, my lady. I forgot. Your aunt, Lady Chudley, sent a note over earlier. Said she was going to come ’round.”

Aunt Bedelia? Minerva tried to move, but her limbs suddenly froze in terror. If Aunt Bedelia made it inside, the first place she’d look for her was . . .

The cacophony of screams that erupted from downstairs confirmed two things.

Aunt Bedelia had been shown into the morning room.

And discovered Langley.

“H
ow is it, Minerva, that you are engaged to
this man
without my knowledge?”

Even Langley had to cringe at the hard cold note in Lady Chudley’s question. He almost felt sorry for Minerva, who had come racing down the stairs in response to her aunt’s screams.

Well, the lady shouldn’t have asked “Who the devil are you?” if she didn’t want to hear the answer. And obviously, given the high-pitched screech that followed, she hadn’t appreciated his reply.

“Lord Langley, madam,” he’d said. “Lady Standon’s betrothed.”

Then Lady Chudley had begun shrieking like her skirts were on fire. And he suspected it wasn’t the sudden betrothal that had the old girl’s stockings in a knot, but the fact that Minerva was engaged to
him
. The infamous Lord Langley.

There were times when his reputation came in quite handy. Though given the way his ears were ringing, now was probably not one of them.

“Minerva, answer me!” Lady Chudley demanded. “Is this man your betrothed? And if he isn’t, what is he doing at your breakfast table in such a state?”

His state, as it were, was that he’d neglected to wear much more than his breeches and shirt. He’d tossed on his waistcoat, but hadn’t put on a cravat. In good English society, he knew this meant he was “undressed,” but it was demmed more comfortable to have one’s breakfast like this than trussed up like one was going to court.

Enjoying his scandalous state, Langley stretched his legs out and lounged in his chair, meeting Minerva’s outraged countenance with a wink and a grin. “I’m so sorry, darling. If I had known we were entertaining so early, I would have put my jacket on. Not that I could find it this morning.” He paused for only a moment. “Is it still in your bedchamber?” Then he winked at Aunt Bedelia. “Taken off in haste, so easily forgotten . . .”

“Oh, you wretched man. I am not your darling,” Minerva ground out before she turned to her aunt and finished by saying, “and he is not my betrothed.”

“Tsk tsk,”
he said, reaching for a scone on the tray. He broke it into three pieces and began to butter one. “I am sure your aunt can keep our secret—that is, if you insist we keep it so.” Langley turned his smile toward Lady Chudley and shrugged. “I don’t know why she thinks we should hide our happiness.”

“Uggggh,”
Minerva ground out. “You are the worst sort of bounder. You interloper. You liar!”

“We’ll need to work on your endearments,” he told her. “You’re a touch out of practice. Why not use the one you called me last night before I left you to your contented slumber?”

There was a moment of shocked silence in the morning room, then Lady Chudley sank into a chair, looking like she needed smelling salts. He poured her a cup of tea, for Mrs. Hutchinson liked to brew her pots like an Irishwoman, as dark as coffee and twice as strong. Picking up the sugar tongs, he asked, “One lump or two?”

“Oh, give me that,” Minerva said, coming around the table and snatching the tongs out of his hand. She deftly caught one lump, then another, dropping them into her aunt’s tea with the practiced ease of a lady. “Aunt, are you well?” Her voice was low and full of concern. “You mustn’t pay Lord Langley any heed. I do believe he is completely mad.”

“Mad about you, certainly,” he replied, reaching out and curling his arm around her waist. She shoved his hand aside and stormed off to the other side of the table. Langley leaned back and admired Minerva’s nerve and mettle as she stood at the head of the table looking quite capable of serving him up as the second course.

Meanwhile, Lady Chudley had picked up a teaspoon and begun to stir her tea at a furious rate.

“I know this must come as a bit of shock to you, my lady,” Langley said to the older woman. When she slanted a hot glance at him, he smiled and saw a bit of twinkle in her eye. So she wasn’t as outraged as she appeared. Well, it never hurt to have an ally. “I beg of you to believe that I have your niece’s best intentions at heart.”

They both ignored the indelicate snort that rose from his “betrothed.”

Minerva rushed in to get the upper hand. “Aunt Bedelia, if you must know the truth, this rogue turned up last night—”

“Last week,” he corrected.

“Last night!” Minerva insisted.

“Last week?” Lady Chudley clucked her tongue. “Minerva! That will never do! A widow is allowed some liberties, discreet ones, but this . . . this . . .”

“None of what he says is true,” Minerva insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Who are you going to believe, me or him?”

Lady Chudley glanced from one to the other and then went back to stirring her tea. “This is most distressing, niece.”

“I suppose it must be,” Langley said, “discovering so unexpectedly that your niece has fallen under my spell. But truly it is I who has fallen.” He watched Minerva’s brow furrow into an angry line.

“Fallen? I should have pushed you out the window when I had the chance.”

“Really, Minerva, such outrageous talk!” Aunt Bedelia said, adding a
tsk
tsk
.