A Scoundrel By Moonlight. Anna Campbell
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conversation.
“What’s best is that Nell continues to keep me company in her delightful fashion.”
“I insist you dismiss the girl.”
“Why?”
“She’s sly.”
“No, she’s not.”
“And she doesn’t show proper respect.”
“Her manners are excellent. I won’t have you interfering, James.” The marchioness paused and when she resumed, a husky edge indicated that her son had upset her. Of course he had, the insensitive toad. “I’ll pay her from my pin money if you’re unwilling to cover her wages. I’m hardly at your mercy, although you’re acting like I’m a charity case.”
“Mamma,” he protested, “I can’t be easy with that girl in the house.”
“Then that’s your problem.” The husky note persisted. “I can’t be easy if you banish someone who is my friend as much as my employee.”
Nell’s fists closed at her sides, even as her conscience chafed at what her plans meant for the marchioness. Her lifelong loyalty to Dorothy clashed painfully with her newer loyalty to Lady Leath.
“I could arrange for one of Aunt Sylvia’s girls to come.”
The marchioness’s delicate sniff was a feminine version of Leath’s snort of derision. “Not a brain between them. Anyway, it’s cruel to shut a young girl up with only a decrepit old lady for company.”
“You’re not decrepit.”
“I’m too decrepit to put up with those silly chits and their constant chatter.”
“What about Cousin Cynthia?”
Another delicate expression of disdain. “She’s even stupider than Sylvia’s girls. And she’d read me sermons. She’s becoming odiously preachy in her old age. One would think she’d never kissed an undergardener in the maze at Hampton Court.”
“Did she, by God?”
Nell could tell that this glimpse of his staid relative in her salad days had momentarily distracted Leath. Pray God he stayed distracted.
“She was quite the hoyden before she became so holy. Although she wouldn’t thank me for remembering.”
“Speaking of people reading things to you, when did you develop a taste for novels? You’ve never picked up anything frivolous in your life.”
The marchioness laughed. “You can thank Nell for that.”
“I’m sure,” Leath said, and his displeasure oozed down Nell’s backbone like ice.
“Don’t be so stuffy, James. After Sophie married, life became dull until Nell brightened my days. I can’t imagine why you’ve got yourself in a twist about the girl.” She paused. “One might think you’re jealous that I’m so fond of her.”
“A masterstroke, madam. But sadly one that’s gone astray. You won’t get me to retreat in a fit of pique. I don’t like that girl and I want her gone.”
“Well, I do like her and I want her to stay. Will you insist?”
“I’d like to.”
“But you won’t.”
Nell couldn’t be nearly as sure as the marchioness. She braced to hear Leath pronounce the fatal words, but he laughed with a mixture of chagrin and fondness. “You’ve won. Temporarily. But I’m watching your dear Miss Trim.”
“You won’t see anything to her detriment.”
Nell took a moment to appreciate the marchioness’s trust. Trust she didn’t deserve. Her whisper of guilt swelled to a clamor. She might be grateful that her ladyship won this battle, but Leath was right to be wary.
“You’re an obstinate wench.”
“Of course I am, darling. Where do you think your stubbornness comes from?”
He laughed with genuine humor, and began to speak about someone they both knew in London. Very quietly, Nell shut the door.
For the moment, she was safe. But only for the moment. Leath wouldn’t let the matter go. And he’d do his best to discredit her with the marchioness. From now on, she must move carefully. She also needed to resume her search for the diary, no matter the danger.
The marchioness made no mention of her son’s attempt to dismiss Nell, but her manner became if anything, more affectionate. Nell tried to steer clear of Leath, but it was inevitable that they should pass in the corridor or encounter each other when she slipped into the library to select a book for the marchioness.
The lady’s taste for novels grew apace. When Nell had started as a companion, her duties had involved conversation, playing cards and writing letters. Occasionally she assisted with treatments during the marchioness’s bouts of ill health. Now they’d rushed through Pride and Prejudice and had just finished Sense and Sensibility. Apart from the dreary Clarissa, Nell had no idea what to choose next. The Alloway Chase library was crammed with dispiritingly worthy volumes.
Nell enjoyed reading aloud and the activity was undemanding, welcome when she managed so little sleep. The last three nights, she’d devoted fruitless hours to searching the library. Fear goaded her to haste. If the marquess caught her, he’d dismiss her for sure, whatever his mother said.
“Shall we continue with Don Juan this morning, your ladyship?” Nell had started Byron’s poem yesterday and the marchioness was enjoying the change.
“Yes, please, my dear. Such a wicked fellow.”
“Byron or Don Juan?”
The marchioness laughed, although a flat note in her amusement worried Nell. Blast Leath for harrying his mother.
“Both. Help me to sit up, if you please. I’m feeling a little tired.”
Her request didn’t surprise Nell. The fair, delicate features, so different from her son’s saturnine intensity, were drawn. She settled the marchioness more comfortably and opened the morocco-bound volume where she’d left off, with the youthful philanderer seducing the virtuous but hot-blooded Lady Julia.
Settling the parcel he carried more securely, Leath paused on the threshold to observe the two women in the sunny room. Capricious autumn offered up a few perfect days before winter descended.
With a tenderness that he couldn’t mistake, Miss Trim was arranging his mother’s pillows. It was possible, even probable, that the girl was a self-serving schemer, but at this moment when she thought herself unobserved, he couldn’t mistake her affection for his mother.
When he’d tried to have the chit dismissed, he should have expected to fail. He was honest enough to admit that his reasons for wanting to banish Miss Trim extended beyond her influence over his mother. He wanted her out of his house because he wanted her out of his mind. She was far too distracting. Hell, she was far too tempting.
Her veiled hostility didn’t douse his sexual interest. It fired him up. There was something exciting about a woman who didn’t fawn over him and imagine herself either his marchioness or his mistress.
With a turn of her graceful body that made his heart leap, the girl reached for a book. She sat in profile, so he saw the delicate nose and resolute chin so incongruous on a housemaid. His hands itched to tear away the pins torturing her bright hair. He mightn’t trust her, but by God, she was a pleasure to behold.
Whereas his mother didn’t look well. He frowned, hardly hearing Miss Trim begin to read. Then, like his mother, he found himself caught up in the racy tale.
But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?
Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;