The Earl's Bargain (Historical Regency Romance) (16 page)

"I suppose we had."

She blew out the candle and scooted under
the covers, shivering with cold.

Harry had walked around to the other side of
the bed. She heard him removing his pantaloons and was terribly
thankful he could not see the blush creep into her cheeks once
again.

As he had done the day before, Harry
awakened Louisa with a cup of hot tea. "Sit up, sleepy head."

She sat up and stretched and gratefully
picked up the warm cup and drank. "I declare, I have never been so
cold in my entire life."

Harry nodded. The blasted cold had awakened
him several times during the night -- which was no wonder since
Louisa had pulled the blankets from him and wrapped herself in
them. All of this, of course, occurred while she slept. Being a
gentleman, he could hardly remove the blankets from her. So he had
gotten up and fully dressed, and anxiously waited for the first
light of dawn so he could go downstairs and stand before a
fire.

He watched with satisfaction now as Louisa
curled her hands about the warmth of the cup.

"Let me have a look at your knee," he said
when she finished.

She obliged him by swinging both legs over
the side of the bed and lifting the hem of her woolen gown until
both her knees were revealed.

Her lack of womanly modesty surprised him.
This was, after all, the same woman who grew crimson at the mention
of bosom. He dropped to one knee and visually examined her swelling
first. Then he flexed her leg, first down then up. "You've made
great improvement in one day," he told her. "The swelling's half
what it was yesterday."

"Does that mean you'll allow me to walk
downstairs by myself?"

"It does not," he said. "The worst thing you
could possibly do is to negotiate stairs." He reached to pull her
gown back down, surprised at what an intimate gesture it seemed. "I
shall carry you."

He got to his feet and announced, "I will
tell Mrs. Winston you're ready for breakfast."

"Not until you put that arm in a sling,
Harry Blassingame, Lord Wycliff."

He rolled his eyes. "You remembered your
threat."

"I did indeed." She began to rummage through
her valise until she found a length of linen which she fashioned
into a sling. He obliged her by allowing her to tie it around his
neck before he left their chamber.

A moment later he rejoined her, lifted her
into his arms, and proceeded to walk down the stairs before placing
her in a dining room chair.

The cheerful Mrs. Winston, wearing a white
apron and carrying a tray of scones, entered the dining room and
proudly laid the table with food. "I hope your room wasn't too cold
last night," she said.

"The quantity of blankets compensated for
the room's chill," Louisa said.

Harry coughed.

Louisa picked at her food, and after a few
moments turned to Harry. "I've been wondering about something."

"Yes?"

"Where does your coachman sleep and eat
while all of our physical needs are being met?"

Harry finished slathering the clotted cream
on his scone. "Last night he slept in the barn where there were
horses and cattle and a wide assortment of blankets to keep him
warm -- which is what he's used to in London. As far as his meals
are concerned, he ate in Mrs. Winston's kitchen not half an hour
ago."

"What about when we stay at an inn?" she
queried.

"I pay for his night's lodgings, same as
ours," he said with mock outrage. "Surely you don't expect that I
would not make arrangements for his accommodations."

There was indignation in her voice when she
answered. "Of course I didn't think you would forget the man."

She took a bite of her scone. "I cannot help
but to wonder how the truly unfortunate survive in the cold when
they have no roof over their heads."

He lowered his lashes as well as his voice
when he replied. "I believe your fears are well founded, madam.
Many of them, unfortunately, succumb to the elements."

She pushed away her plate. "I cannot eat
when I think of all the suffering that goes on in the world."

Mrs. Winston scurried back to the table with
another pot of tea.

"I assure you, my love," he said, "your
eating or your not eating will not change the spots on a
leopard."

"The Missus isn't eating?" Mrs. Winston
asked with disappointment.

"Yes I am, Mrs. Winston," Louisa said.
"Everything's delicious."

The matron went back to the kitchen, a
satisfied smile on her kindly face.

"My love, indeed," Louisa mocked. "Must you
lay it on so thick? I declare, Lord Wycliff, you have missed your
calling on the London stage."

"Mustn't disappoint the old girl. After all,
Mrs. Winston is convinced that I look at you like a lovesick
schoolboy."

"I daresay the woman's vision has gone
completely."

He laughed to cover his embarrassment. For
Mrs. Winston's observations had not been far from the mark. The
longer he was with Louisa, the fonder he became of her. Except for
her ridiculous reforming notions, she was everything he'd ever
wanted in his countess. She was not only beautiful and intelligent
and compassionate, she also had the ability to understand the
complex emotions that made him the man he was today. She knew him
nearly as well as he knew himself.

A pity she detested the man he was.

"If the bedchamber was as cold as it was,"
he said to change the subject, "one hates to imagine how cold the
coach will be today."

She affected a mock shudder. "It will be
easier to bear if we think of poor John Coachman."

Did she always have to
think of others
? The woman could grow quite
tedious.

He assisted the coachman in loading their
bags onto the coach, gratefully accepted the basket of food Mrs.
Winston gave him for their noon meal, paid her handsomely for
sharing her hospitality, and they were once again on their way.

They had to drive through miles and miles of
dreary moorland in order to get to the next village. Harry's
predictions about the cold in the carriage had, unfortunately, been
right on the mark. Though it was not raining, the temperature was
below freezing, and the wind howled a lonely wail outside their
carriage. Harry was miserable as he watched Louisa wrapped
completely in the rug.

Finally she took pity on him. "I suppose if
I can share a bed with you, my lord, we can use this rug together."
She made an opening for him, and he quickly and gratefully crossed
the coach and sat next to her under the rug. As he had been careful
to do every night as he lay beside her torturing presence, he made
sure he did not touch her.

He was sorry she had
reverted to calling him
my lord
again. The intimacy of calling one another by
their Christian names had been a balm to his loneliness of the last
decade.

"You know, you took all the covers last
night," he said as if he were commenting on the weather.

She gave him an incredulous stare. "I did
not! I would surely know it if I had."

"I beg to differ, madam."

"If that is the case, I heartily apologize,
my lord. May I hope that you took them back?"

"That would hardly have been gallant."

"Do you mean to tell me that you spent the
whole of the night in that freezing room with no blankets covering
you?"

"I do."

"Oh, my poor Harr---" She stopped herself,
that blush creeping up her face. "I am terribly sorry, my
lord."

He had heard enough. A
woman who hated him would hardly refer to him as
my poor Harry
.
So she doesn't completely hate
me
, he thought with
satisfaction.

* * *

The terrain between the Winston's farm house
and the town of Bodmin was much the same. Barren moorland. It was
past noon when they reached Bodmin. Louisa would not have been
surprised had she turned completely blue from the cold -- which
made her think of the coatless lad she had seen as the left London.
Had the poor boy gotten a coat by now? She rather doubted it.

At the local tavern, Louisa fairly leaped at
the prospect of warming herself in front of the fire while Harry
made inquiries about the lord of these parts. Not only did she
crave a hot drink, but she also had a mighty wish to stretch her
legs.

Harry desired whiskey to make him warm,
while Louisa ordered a glass of warm milk. When the serving woman
returned with their drinks, Louisa could barely keep a straight
face when Harry, using his most cultured voice, asked, "I say, a
chap from my club in London said if ever I was in Bodmin I was to
look him up. A Lord Blamey at St. Alban's Abbey. Would you know his
direction?"

The serving woman put down the glasses and
pointed west. "It's about five miles from town on the Hopping
Road."

Harry gave the woman a shilling.

"Oh, thank you ever so much, sir," she said,
dropping the coin into her ample bosom before going back to the
public rooms.

"We dare not hope Lord Blamey would be
coming to town on so cold a day, do we?" Louisa asked
hopefully.

Harry shook his head. "No, I think not."
Then he took a long drink of whiskey. "I'll be back in a few
moments."

His few moments turned into twenty. Louisa
had long been finished with her milk and grown impatient when he
finally returned.

"I bought a saddle," he boasted upon
entering the private parlor.

"That is supposed to make me happy?"

His face fell. "Actually, quite the
opposite, I'm afraid." He sat next to her, not across from her as
he had done earlier. "I hate terribly to ask it of you," he began,
"but since you're the only one who can identify our mysterious
lord, you will have to go to his house."

"That much I had already surmised," she
said.

"Alone," he added.

She nodded.

"On horseback," he added.

Visions of treading alone through snow came
to Louisa, and she did not at all like it.

"We can hardly drive up in a coach and four
without attracting undue attention," Harry explained. "So I propose
to take you to the hedge nearest to Lord Blamey's house, then
saddle one of the horses for you to ride to the front door. Perhaps
you won't get so terribly cold since it is just a short ride."

"Why can you not go, my lord?"

He looked contrite. "I honestly wish I
could, but I fear that since he's a peer he could quite likely
recognize me, which would, of course, spoil our plan."

She nodded. "Yes, I suppose you do know
quite a few man of nobility, despite your years away."

He looked offended. "I see that you don't
believe me, but I assure you I do know a number of people. I happen
to belong to London's most prestigious club. And I've been at
Almack's any number of times."

Though she had never been there, she knew
Almack's was where all the young maidens searched for respectable
husbands. The thought of Harry looking among them for a prospective
bride, quite oddly, disturbed her.

Though she wanted to protest having to go to
St. Alban's Abbey by herself, she realized Harry was right in not
allowing the lord to see -- and possibly recognize -- him. "Very
well," she agreed weakly. "But how on earth shall I explain my
presence there alone -- and on so wicked a day?"

Harry ran a finger across his lips. "Good
point. We shall think on it all the way to St. Alban's Abbey."

She scowled at him as they left the
tavern.

During the next forty minutes they suggested
one scenario after another but found objections to all. She
couldn't be asking for a job. She couldn't profess a prior
acquaintance. She couldn't be friend of his
wife/child/brother/sister since she had no idea if he had a
wife/child/brother/sister.

Finally they decided to forget about
saddling a horse. They would drive up to St. Alban's Abbey in Lord
Wycliff's impressive carriage, and Louisa would put her own plan
into action.

* * *

The carriage securely in front of St.
Alban's Abbey, Louisa bundled herself up into her cloak and muff
and scurried up the front path, aware that her knee had greatly
improved. The abbey was of an age to have survived the Dissolution.
Barely. The east and west wing were in ruins. Only the central
area, which must have formerly been a chapel, was in good repair --
though modestly small. For a peer.

Louisa strolled to the
timbered door and knocked. A butler answered.
Drat
. She was hoping for the master
himself. "Is your master within?" she asked.

The butler ran a most disapproving eye over
her. "Who should I tell him is calling?"

"Miss . . .Miss Augusta Marks. I desire to
speak with him on a personal matter."

The balding man raised a bushy eyebrow,
turned on his heel, and left her standing in the doorway.

Louisa had no doubt the butler found her a
fancy piece. After all, what decent woman would show up like this
on a man's doorstep?

As she waited, she grew nervous.

Finally the butler returned, asked her to
come in, and showed her to the morning room.

The longer Lord Blamey kept her waiting, the
more nervous Louisa became. She rehearsed what she was going to say
over and over, wishing she possessed Harry's gift for ad
libbing.

All the while she waited, she forced herself
to remember the one time she had seen the lord from Cornwall. That
night she had brushed out her hair, gone to bed, and snuffed the
candle. Then, with no light to guide her, Louisa had crept from her
room and eased her way down the dark hallway, careful to walk as
quietly as she could.