The Lady In Question (10 page)

He watched her walk down the hallway, her hips swaying seductively, invitingly beneath the black fabric. His arm was warm where her hand had rested and his stomach clenched. He drew a deep breath. He might as well face it.

She had charmed him utterly and completely. And he wanted her as he had rarely wanted another woman before. But he’d never dallied with the wife of a friend before, regardless of whether said friend was alive or dead, and he had no intention of doing so now. Still, with Lady Wilmont, Philadelphia,
Delia,
he suspected it would not be a mere dalliance. It would be something better, richer, deeper. Something forever.

Was this what Wilmont had thought?

“Any suggestions for this room, Gordon?” Delia stood in the doorway of the next chamber and inclined her head toward the room.

“Red,” he said without hesitation.

“Red?” She drew her brows together and studied the room. “Red. What an interesting idea.”

“Red would make a…statement, my lady,” he murmured. He didn’t give a fig whether she used red or purple or tartan plaid in this or any other room, it was simply the first thing that had popped into a mind occupied with more pertinent questions.

“It would indeed. I quite like the idea,” she said thoughtfully. “I wonder if I can persuade my sister to assist me in all this. Her sense of artistry has always been much better than mine.”

At the moment, it was his duty to watch over this woman but nothing more. Surely Tony’s desire for her was due only to their close proximity. He would probably feel precisely the same way toward any other moderately attractive woman whose constant company he shared. He could not, would not, allow the waters to be muddied with irresponsible desire. He would not let his loins rule his head no matter how delightful he found Delia, Philadelphia,
Lady
Wilmont.

“I shall ask her when I see her.” Lady Wilmont nodded firmly. “Of course, it will mean going against my mother’s edict, but I daresay in another week or so Cassie will have had quite enough of being the perfect daughter. Besides, I have high hopes for my visit to Effington Hall. With any luck at all, I shall be at least partially back in my family’s good graces by the time I return.”

She turned toward him. “I shall make a list for you of the appointments I should like arranged while I am gone. I trust you will have no difficulties with that?”

Bloody hell. He’d forgotten all about her trip to the country. He couldn’t possibly let her out of his sight, yet there was no way he could accompany her. Or, at least, her butler could not accompany her.

“None at all, ma’am.”

Of course, the dowager duchess was sending her private coach for Lady Wilmont and she would travel by day. She should be safe enough. Still, he would have the department arrange for men to follow her and others to pose as servants during the duration of her stay at Effington Hall. Surely serving as footmen or stable hands wouldn’t be nearly as taxing as masquerading as a butler. As for the dowager duchess’s ball…

Gordon could not attend, but Lord St. Stephens certainly could. It should be fairly easy to procure an invitation. Tony had never particularly had much use for society. He’d started in service to the crown well before his majority and had had no expectations of a title. Not until the recent death of his older brother had he even considered the possibility that he would one day be Viscount St. Stephens. The thought struck him that he did need to do something about his inheritance and everything that accompanied it. But it had all happened so blasted quickly and he simply hadn’t had time. When this business was over, perhaps.

The department could arrange for his invitation and, while he was gone, handle this nonsense about meetings with cabinetmakers and whoever else Lady Wilmont wished to see. From Lord Kimberly to Mr. Pribble to the department secretary, they were seasoned and hand-picked. A professional lot, dependable and competent, each and every one of them. They could certainly manage the details involved with the mere refurbishing of a house.

He wondered how Wilmont might have felt about what his wife was doing to his house. For the first time since Wilmont’s death, the thought of his old friend brought a smile to his face.

“Did I say something amusing?” She cast him a puzzled look.

“Not at all, ma’am.” He groped for an acceptable excuse. “I was merely thinking how charming the house will be when you are finished.”

She burst into laughter. “I’ll say it again, Gordon, you are a poor liar. However, I shall let you keep your thoughts to yourself, as amusing as they may well be.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said with a genuine sigh of relief.

“We have a great deal to accomplish and I would like to at least have an idea of what I am doing before I leave.”

She crossed the hall and entered another room, chattering all the while about colors and fabrics and God knows what else. He followed and feigned attention, nodding at appropriate moments, murmuring an inane suggestion now and then.

This refurbishing was, to his way of thinking, a complete waste of time and money. Was there really a significant difference between shades of green? And indeed, who particularly cared or noticed?

She did. And in this absurdly female undertaking, she exuded a passion that was nothing short of intoxicating. If indeed he allowed himself to be intoxicated, which he did not. Still, he couldn’t help thinking what might happen when they met at the duchess’s ball. He was confident she had not seen through his disguise thus far. She didn’t suspect for a moment that he was not exactly who he claimed to be.

And he couldn’t help thinking as well about the passion she exhibited in the simple choosing of fabric. And what other forms her passion might take.

Delia hated eating alone.

She idly ran her finger around the rim of her glass of Madeira. Indeed, she hated
being
alone and even after all these months she wasn’t at all used to it.

At her family’s house she’d been rarely alone. Her parents or her sister or one of her three brothers had been a constant presence and there’d been a full staff of servants in attendance as well. She’d always considered herself something of a solitary person and quite valued her rare moments of privacy, but those moments had been by choice. Here, there was no choice. Here, the emptiness of this place fairly echoed. That would change somewhat, of course, when Gordon hired more help, but right now, she could almost hear herself think.

For now, she had the trip to Effington Hall to look forward to. The annual visit to the country for the festivities surrounding the Roxborough Ride was always a great deal of fun. It was the one time in the year when nearly every Effington in existence gathered under one roof. There would be no opportunity to be lonely or alone at Effington Hall.

Delia could mark her life by happenings at the Ride. There was the year her cousin Thomas fell trying to climb the ivy that covered one wall of the hall and everyone thought he might well be dead. And the year she and Cassie had seen how tragic life could be when it was learned their cousin Gillian’s first husband had been killed fighting Napoleon. And more recently, the year her cousin Pandora had played a ridiculous game with a charming earl and lost. Or won, as she did marry the dashing lord. Delia sighed with resignation. This would be the year she, and everyone else, would remember as the year of Delia’s disgraceful marriage.

And afterward, she would still have to return here. To her own house. And her new life. Whatever that might consist of.

She stared at the wine in her glass, the crystal humming under the stroke of her finger. Her resolve to become a woman of experience was both exciting and daunting. How on earth did one do such a thing?

She was not about to throw herself at the first man who presented himself, although she was fairly confident there would indeed be men interested in a young, wealthy widow. She did hope they were not as dull as those who had courted her before her marriage. No, surely such respectable, boring gentlemen would honor the restrictions of mourning and give her a wide berth. She brightened at the thought. The type of man she wished to become experienced with would not give such things as the rules of convention a second thought.

“Will that be all for tonight, ma’am?”

She looked up. Gordon stood towering over her. He had already cleared the plates from what could only optimistically be called supper. Again, she noted his height. He did seem to tower rather a lot.

“I believe so.” She sighed again and got to her feet.

It had been a very long day. She and Gordon had evaluated each and every room in the house save for Mrs. Miller’s, MacPherson’s and the other servants’ quarters on the upper floor, Gordon’s room on the main floor and the kitchens belowstairs. She was certain those would all need, at the very least, a fresh coat of paint. She had no idea how he’d managed, but Charles had had only the two servants when they’d married. The furniture she was getting rid of elsewhere in the house was still more than serviceable and perhaps could be employed for use in the servants’ rooms. When she had servants, that is. She picked up her glass and started toward the library. She’d already replaced the book of poetry she’d given Gordon with the copy Charles had given her, the only thing she’d thus far removed from her trunks. Beyond that, and a handful of other books she’d already read, she’d yet to find anything of interest on the shelves. Still, there were a great number of books and surely there was something that might strike her fancy. She was too restless to retire and hoped that the later she put off bed, the more soundly she would sleep. She did not want to ever again awake in the middle of the night gripped by nameless fears and apprehensions.

“If there is nothing else, then, my lady…”

“Not a thing.” She would spend an hour or so perusing the library’s offerings until she was tired enough to sleep. A thought struck her and she paused. “Gordon, do you play backgammon?”

“On occasion, ma’am.”

“Would you care for a game?”

He hesitated.

“I know that once again I am wandering past traditional boundaries of our respective stations and, well” — she drew a deep breath — “damn it to hell, Gordon, I am bored and lonely and I cannot sleep and I shall go stark-raving mad if I have to talk to no one but myself for one more minute, and…and —”

“Then I shall consider it my duty to join you.” He paused. “On one condition.”

“Another condition, Gordon?” She shook her head in amusement. “And I thought I was the one overstepping my bounds.”

“You are, my lady,” he said in his all-too-proper butler manner. “However, as you are, I should like to request you refrain from the use of expressions such as
damn it to hell.
I find it most distressing and not at all becoming in a woman of your position.”

“You are absolutely right.” She stifled a smile. It was obviously her newfound sense of independence that provoked such language, even if both she and her sister had on occasion employed less-than-proper language and had discovered a wicked sense of satisfaction in doing so. Still, given his age and experience and sense of propriety, she could not fault him for chastising her. “I shall contain myself in the future.” She turned again toward the library, glancing back at him. “I should warn you, however, while I do understand the game and have played now and again, I am by no means very accomplished at it.”

“Excellent, my lady.” He skillfully stepped around her, opening the library door before she reached it. His speed and agility never failed to amaze her. “As I am really quite good.”

The corners of his mouth under his mustache quirked upward slightly in what just might have been a smile.

“Could that possibly be a joke, Gordon?”

“Possibly.”

A few minutes later they were seated across from one another at the backgammon table at the near end of the small library. It was an exceptionally fine set: the markers made of ebony and ivory, the table inlaid with mahogany and rosewood. She would expect no less from Charles. Indeed, while she planned on changing much of the furnishings in the house, she had to admit everything was of excellent quality. Apparently, Charles had spent his money on more than wild living.

They played silently for a few minutes, the game moving quickly and rather more evenly matched than she’d let on.

“You have lied to me, my lady,” he murmured, not raising his gaze from the board.

“Have I?” She smiled to herself.

“You are far better at this than you led me to believe.”

“I too enjoy a good joke, Gordon.”

“Indeed.” He rolled the dice. “However,” he said, and moved a marker, sending one of hers out of play, “this is a game of both chance and skill. There is a certain amount of luck involved. The skill is in best knowing how to take advantage of it.”

She put the dice in the cup, rolled them out, then replaced her marker on the board and tried not to smirk. “You mean like that?”

“Exactly.” The butler’s concentration was firmly on the lay of the board.

“You should know Effingtons refuse to lose. It is in our blood.”

“Then this shall be a new experience for you, my lady.”

A few moves more and it was clear he did indeed know how best to take advantage of the luck of the dice. And clear, as well, luck was on his side. She took scant comfort in the fact that he had not trounced her in his victory.

“Another round, my lady?” Innocence sounded in his voice and once more she thought she noted at least a hint of a smile.

“Most definitely,” she said firmly. She had never been especially good at losing. She didn’t know an Effington who was.

They replaced the markers and began again. He was good, but so was she. She watched him move his markers without hesitation, his hands strong and sure and not at all the hands of an elderly man. She had played any number of times with her father, and his hands had a much more aged look to them than Gordon’s did, even though her father was a younger man. Odd, how people showed age in various ways. Her grandmother had seen eighty years and her mind was sharp and clear as was Gordon’s when it came to games and finances; but Gordon did seem a bit muddled when it came to the position he had held for much of his life.