The Contraband Courtship (The Arlingbys Book 2) (27 page)

Malcolm exchanged a glance with Stephen, who raised his eyebrows.

“Perhaps privacy would be best,” murmured Malcolm. With a nod, he headed for the hall.

Ten minutes later Malcolm had, after twice asking servants, located the Green Room. He gazed at the oak door for a moment, and then raised his hand and knocked. After a time it opened, and Mrs. Lacey’s maid stood in the doorway.

“Good afternoon, Midgley,” he said. “Is Mrs. Lacey in?”

The maid smiled at him welcomingly and stood aside, allowing him to enter. He glanced about at the elegant room, its walls lined with emerald green silk, the dark furniture carved into exquisite curlicues. He was faintly glad that he and Helena had never enjoyed a rendezvous here.

Estella stood in the center of the room. She had exchanged her traveling clothes for a dinner dress of glowing red silk that flattered her brunette tresses and rosy complexion. Her dark hair fell in ringlets around her lovely face, and as she turned to him, her cherry red lips opened in a smile of delight.

“There you are,” she said welcomingly. “I thought perhaps something was wrong. You acted so oddly when I arrived.”

“I was surprised to see you.”

“But pleasantly so, I hope,” she cooed.

“It’s always a pleasure to see you,” said Malcolm unhurriedly. He glanced at the maid.

Estella dimpled. “Midgley, you may go. I’ll ring for you if I need you.”

The maid stopped in her task of removing Estella’s dresses from their trunks to the wardrobe and, with a sly smile at her mistress, left the room.

“There, we’re all alone now,” said Estella cheerfully. “I have missed you, Malcolm.” She approached him, hands outstretched.

Malcolm stepped back hastily, and waved at a nearby chair. “Please sit down, Estella.”

“Sit down?” Estella glanced up at him, perplexed.

“Yes, I wish to talk to you.”

“Talk? Again?” Estella sank into the chair, mystified. “What is there to talk about?”

Malcolm looked down at her pensively. “I wish you had not come here, Estella.”

“Why ever not? What better opportunity for us is there than a house party? I don’t know why we never thought of it before. It’s so much easier than sneaking in and out of each other’s homes in London.”

“I suppose so,” he said, with a hint of humor. “But I did not plan on your presence, Estella, and it is decidedly awkward.”

“Oh, your sister will not care,” said Estella breezily. “She is unfashionably in love with that brooding husband of hers, and will scarcely notice us.”

“It is not Rowena, it is me. Estella, I regret to inform you that our—arrangement—is at an end.”

“What?” Estella blinked up at him. She gave a silvery laugh. “Oh Malcolm, you are so amusing. For a moment I actually believed you.”

Malcolm gazed at her, something implacable in his eyes. “I am not being amusing, Estella. I am sorry I have to tell you in this way, but it is true.”

“Did you hear about Lord Queshire?” she asked. “I can’t imagine how you may have. But it was nothing, Malcolm—a mere diversion.”

“No, I did not know of Lord Queshire,” said Malcolm cordially. “Though I have no issue with your diversions, Estella. You are free to do as you choose. It is just that now you are free of me as well.”

Estella stood and glared at him, her hands on her hips. “Then why did I come here? I expected—well, you know what I expected. I might have stayed in London, and not sat in a stuffy carriage for hours, only to be insulted when I arrived.”

“I have not insulted you. I did not invite you here; you came without my bidding.”

“Because I thought you wished me to be here! You might have told me,” she pouted.

Malcolm nodded. “I must apologize for that as well. I should have let you know, but a letter seemed so impersonal.”

Estella eyed him speculatively. “What is this about? Have you met another woman here in the wilds of Kent? I can’t imagine who it might be.” A moment passed, and then she drew in her breath. “You seemed very friendly with Miss Keighley not an hour ago. Really, Malcolm, the girl is ruined. How ridiculous if you should have a
tendre
for her. You will be a laughingstock.”

Malcolm glanced around the room. “I believe that when I was a boy this room was the Yellow Room,” he observed. “That must be why I could not place it. I must say I found the yellow more charming; this side of the house gets so little sun, and the green makes it much darker.”

Estella stamped her foot. “We were speaking of Miss Keighley,” she said sharply.

“You were speaking of Miss Keighley,” Malcolm countered. “I was not.”

Estella eyed him angrily. “You cannot possibly mean to marry her. Are you in love with her?”

“My emotions, dear Estella, are none of your concern. Again, while I do not think I have caused you pain, I regret the circumstances. I have been less than thoughtful, and therefore less than a gentleman. I hope in time you will forgive me.”

Estella opened her mouth to speak, and closed it again, noting something uncompromising in his manner. She shrugged and turned away. “Very well, I see that you are quite serious. It is very dull of you, Malcolm. I had not thought to see you turn into a country squire.”

“Nor had I,” said Malcolm. “Yet here I am, tending to the needs of my tenants and fretting about smugglers. As you say, I am far too boring a fellow for you. You are, of course, welcome to stay for the ball; indeed, I hope you do, for there will be talk if you leave, and neither of us desires that. Would you like me to send an invitation to Queshire?”

Estella gave another tinkling laugh. “You always amuse me, Malcolm. Do you truly think that we cannot, just for this week, enjoy each other’s company?” She peeked up at him, but saw no answering welcome in his face. “Oh, very well,” she said crossly. “I will stay.”

“Thank you,” said Malcolm cordially. “I will have an invitation sent to his lordship.” With a last rueful smile, he turned and left.

The next afternoon Helena stood idly on the terrace of Keighley Manor, pondering the turn her life had taken. She had spent a nearly sleepless night, imagining Malcolm in Mrs. Lacey’s arms in the Green Room, and had risen early, going down to the stables where she had stayed until even Macklin seemed to be tired of her presence. She had then spent an hour going over the next week’s menus with the cook, until that woman had dismissed her with a kindly smile and the comment that she surely wanted to make herself pretty for his lordship’s visit.

Mortified, Helena went to her room where, remembering Malcolm’s statement that he would come to her if she did not venture to Wroxton, she allowed Sherburne to dress her in a very becoming day dress of blue muslin, ornamented with broderie anglaise at the neckline and hem. But an hour had passed since then, and while she had attempted to review the accounts, her mind refused to focus, and a stroll in the gardens had left her not just bored, but annoyed with herself for not being able to put Wroxton from her mind.

She heard the sound of boots on stone and swung around, not sure how she to respond to the earl’s presence. It was not Malcolm who stood before her, however, but Arthur, his hair ruffled from riding, a happy smile on his face.

“Oh.” She realized that she sounded disappointed. “It is you, Arthur.”

“Indeed it is,” he said cheerfully. “What a glorious day. I wonder that you are here, lazing about on the terrace. Surely you should be at Wroxton by now? It is mid-afternoon.”

“I shan’t be going to the Hall today,” she said quietly. “I have been neglecting Keighley Manor these past weeks and there is much to be done.”

“Nonsense. The estate runs as smoothly as a watch, mostly due to your past efforts. But Wroxton is still trying to set things right, and needs your help. He asked after you just now.”

Helena glanced up quickly. “You were at Wroxton Hall?”

“I rode over there late this morning; I’ve been told I’m welcome anytime and thought it was a lovely day for a ride. The guests for the ball have begun arriving; I met a dashed pretty woman—what was her name?” He pondered a moment. “Mrs. Lacey.”

Helena’s heart sank as she realized she had harbored the hope that Malcolm might have sent his mistress away. “Yes, I met her yesterday,” she said slowly.

“She’s a regular high flier,” said Arthur enthusiastically. “She rather made us look like rustics.”

“I suppose she must,” agreed Helena, thinking of Mrs. Lacey’s dashing clothes and assured manner.

“Well, she was very pleasant to me for all that.”

“Arthur, Mrs. Lacey is Lord Wroxton’s mistress,” said Helena bluntly, tired of listening to her brother’s praise.

Arthur flushed. “Is she? I had no idea. I thought that you—that Lord Wroxton—well, that the two of you might someday…”

His voice faded away at the look on Helena’s face. “Well, I find it very hard to credit what you say,” he rejoined, his spirit returning. “Wroxton was no more than civil to her, and she spent far more time talking to me than to him.”

“Doubtless she wishes to ensnare you as well,” said Helena bitterly.

“That’s not likely to happen,” Arthur laughed. “She’s far beyond my touch.” He looked at Helena. “Of course, I didn’t mean that you are not also—,” he stopped as Helena glared at him. “I’ll go inside now, I believe.”

“That might be a good idea,” murmured Helena.

Arthur turned toward the doors. “Wroxton did ask after you,” he said carefully. “I have no notion what happened between the two of you, but perhaps you should not place too much weight on the arrival of Mrs. Lacey.”

“Nothing has happened between Lord Wroxton and me,” Helena assured him. “Do stop fretting about it.”

Arthur hesitated a moment, but then entered the house, and Helena was once more alone. She paced up and down the terrace, trying not to think of Mrs. Lacey’s sleek raven curls and beautiful face. No doubt she wished to captivate Arthur merely to toy with him, she thought angrily. Between Lord Wroxton and his friends, her brother would in short order be as dissolute as they were.

She took a few turns on the terrace, then stepped down into the garden again, determined to banish the earl from her thoughts. But it was a difficult task, and even when she encountered the gardener and had a long discussion with him on the best way to make the roses thrive, he could not be forgotten completely. Eventually she walked back to the house. In a week Wroxton would be gone, she told herself sternly. When she no longer had to see him, she would forget him soon enough.

Once again she heard a step behind her, and turned, thinking to apologize to Arthur for her earlier bad temper. It was not her brother’s fault that Mrs. Lacey was still at Wroxton, or that he had found her charming. She stopped in horror, however, when she saw that the man approaching her was the Earl of Wroxton.

He bore down upon her swiftly, and she noted with annoyance that he was quite as beautiful as he had been the day before. Her misery and anxiety of the past twenty-four hours had not served to make her want him less. The sun glinted across his golden curls, and she could not keep from noting the way his breeches clung to his powerful thighs. It was, she felt, entirely too annoying.

He came up to her, and she glanced around, hoping the gardener was still in sight. But they were quite alone, and she summoned a distant smile to her lips as he bowed briefly to her.

“Lord Wroxton,” she murmured.

“Helena,” he answered. “You are so formal. You’ve made free with my name any time these past weeks.”

“And with other things,” she said tartly. “Now I wonder if all that freedom has been a mistake.”

“Never say so,” he protested. “I wish you had come to Wroxton today, but, as you did not, I have kept my promise and come to you.”

“That was not necessary,” she said coldly.

Malcolm gazed down at her. “Helena, Estella’s arrival changes nothing.”

“Changes nothing! How can you possibly believe that we can continue our—our—” she struggled for a word to describe her relationship to the earl, while he grinned down at her teasingly. “Our friendship,” she finally produced, “with your mistress in your home.”

“She is no longer my mistress,” said Malcolm promptly. “I spoke to her last night.”

“Oh?” Helena drew the word out. “You seem to think me very stupid. Arthur told me not an hour ago that she was at Wroxton—flirting with him.”

“Estella can’t help herself. If it wears breeches, she flirts with it. Arthur will come to no harm.”

“You seem to know Mrs. Lacey’s habits very well.”

He eyed her for a moment, attempting to gauge her mood. “Of course I do,” he said calmly. “Helena, I’ve never pretended to you that I am an innocent, or that I have no past. But I did not expect or wish this to happen. I did not invite Estella to Kent, nor was I pleased to see her.”

“Yet she is still at Wroxton Hall today,” observed Helena.

“Did you think I would throw her out on her ear?” asked Malcolm, a touch of impatience in his voice. “She has done nothing to you, or to me, to earn your ire. If she left in a huff, people would only talk, which would not help either of us. She will stay for the ball, and then she will leave with the other guests. But I will not be seeking out her company while she is here, and have even invited Lord Queshire, who seems to be angling for my place in her affections, to join the party.”

“How very civilized,” said Helena bitterly.

“Do you have something against civilization?” inquired Malcolm courteously. “I find I prefer it to the opposite.”

“Of course not,” said Helena impatiently. “It is just that Mrs. Lacey’s arrival has made me realize how entirely unsuited we are.”

He laughed softly and moved a step closer, so that she could almost feel the warmth of his body. “I think we are very well suited,” he murmured.

Helena held up her hands protectively. “You move in a world I cannot even pretend to understand. I do not say that yours, with its gambling and dancing and people slipping in and out of each other’s beds, is worse than mine, but I could never be comfortable there.”

“I’ll have no man but me slipping in and out of your bed,” said Malcolm firmly.

Helena raised her eyebrows. “And yours?”

Malcolm sighed. “You are the only woman I have ever asked to marry me. Surely that makes a difference?”

“That is not an answer.”

“You have refused my offer,” Malcolm pointed out. “You have no right to ask me who is in my bed.”

“I might say the same thing to you.”

“You might,” agreed Malcolm, “and I might kill any man who touches you.”

He looked down her mutinous face and gave a heavy sigh. “Helena, what do you want of me? I have sought to make you my wife, I have dismissed my mistress for you, I have plotted to help you stop the free traders. Still you persist in doubting my intentions.”

“I don’t doubt your intentions; indeed, I’m sure you mean well.” said Helena slowly.

“But you have no faith in me,” said Malcolm bleakly. “You do not believe I will be a good husband.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would be a good husband by the standards of most women,” said Helena in a small voice. “You would be kind to me, and I would have everything I might need. You would buy me beautiful clothing, and fine jewelry, and I would have an elegant home in London, as well as Wroxton Hall. Most people would say there was no more to ask for than that.”

“Yet you do.” Malcolm eyed her closely. “Do you wish me to speak of love?”

Helena drew in her breath. “No, of course not, that would be nonsensical. You do not love me, nor I you.”

Malcolm studied her; she could not tell if he was pleased or disappointed at her response. “The last decade hasn’t made me more trusting,” he said. “Yet I know you are honest and true. I cannot promise you love, Helena, as I do not know any longer what that might mean. Rowena and Brayleigh fancy themselves in love, but I cannot see it is anything more than their desire for one another. But I can promise you that, should you marry me, I will do my utmost to make you happy.”

Helena suppressed a sob. Malcolm’s words should please her, she realized, but they only made her wish to flee. “If you wanted me to be happy, you would have told Mrs. Lacey weeks ago that she no longer had a place in your life,” she said. “Her arrival at Wroxton today shows me that you are careless—not only of my feelings, but hers as well. You say she has done nothing to me, or to you, and you are right. So how does she deserve to be dismissed out of hand because you have found yet another woman to dally with? Why should I believe I would be treated any differently?”

Malcolm paled slightly. “In short, you do not trust me. Perhaps I have not earned your trust, or perhaps you are unwilling to take the risk of extending it. Someday, Helena, you will have to stop running from the world and leave the safety of Keighley Manor, or you will indeed be the spinster aunt to Arthur’s children, doting on them and growing old here, alone. You could have more than that, but you must risk something for it.”

“Are you the man I should risk all this for?” Helena looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

“I hope I am.” Malcolm shook his head. “You are maddening, yet I keep returning to you. Helena, I cannot do more than I have. You are right, I did not treat Estella well, but our arrangement was one of amusement and pleasure. I was thoughtless; you could teach me to be otherwise.”

“I have no desire to teach a man to be a gentleman,” snapped Helena.

Malcolm gazed at her for a long moment and then turned away, shrugging. “As you will. I have been honest with you, and you have been honest with me. It seems we do not agree. I think it best we conclude our business with the free traders, and be on our separate ways.”

Helena swallowed, but met his eyes proudly. “I asked you here to help with the Gentlemen, and for no other reason.”

“There were other reasons I stayed,” said Malcolm. “But that no longer matters, it seems. If we wish to spring our trap, you must continue to visit Wroxton Hall and assist with the preparations for the ball. I will no longer importune you, and when Denby is captured, you will be free of my presence.”

“I don’t wish to be free of your presence,” said Helena haltingly. “I do not dislike you, my lord.”

“But you don’t trust me, either.” Malcolm slipped one finger under her chin and turned her face toward him. He looked at her searchingly, and then released her. “I am yours, Helena, if you want me. But now it is you who must let me know.”

Helena looked down, saying nothing, and he gave a short laugh. “Rowena arrives tomorrow. Will you visit her?”

“Of course,” said Helena, grateful for the change of topic. “There is no reason why anything should change.”

“Everything has changed,” said Malcolm shortly. “If you do not see that, I cannot explain it to you. Until tomorrow, Miss Keighley.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, placing a formal kiss upon it, and then walked away without a backward glance.