The Rogue's Reform. Regina Scott
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deep brown eyes wide and imploring.
Adele tucked a golden curl behind the girl’s ear. “Promise.”
“All right, but don’t be long.” Samantha wandered back to take up her position at the window. Her sigh followed Adele down the curving stair.
Adele had hoped she might find Todd in the wide, parquet-tiled entryway, but of course the space stood empty. The footman was impossible! Why had Mr. Caruthers sent him to them a week ago? They did well enough with the staff they had: Mrs. Linton, their elderly housekeeper, and her husband, their groundskeeper; Maisy and Daisy, their maids of all work; and Nate Turner, their groom.
A strong fellow like Todd might have been some help, but he was lazy, incompetent and at times disrespectful, even if his reference said he’d previously worked for the mighty Marquess of Widmore, Lord Everard’s closest friend. Too bad that reference also said Todd had been chosen by Lord Everard. As he was the only servant with that honor, they couldn’t discharge the fellow without her employer’s approval.
Their mysterious caller certainly had more determination than the footman. His knocks continued, each one more forceful, as Adele hurried to the door. She paused only a moment to smooth her dark hair into the bun at the nape of her neck and pat down her gray lustring skirts, then pulled back the bolt and opened the door.
Their visitor looked as surprised to see her as she was to find such a gentleman at her door. He was tall and well formed, with shoulders made broader by the capes of his greatcoat and long legs, which stood firm on the stone step.
Up close, his hair was like polished mahogany, thick and wavy, cut short in the style shown in Samantha’s fashion plates, though several locks swept down across a wide brow as if caressed by the breeze. His eyes were shadowed, set deep in a square-jawed face, and his mouth was wide and warm. His gaze locked with hers, and she felt suddenly light-headed.
She thought he might be furious, having been kept standing so long, but his smile was pleasant.
“Forgive us for startling you, madam,” he said, sweeping her a graceful bow, “but we thought it best, given our news, to come north quickly. Allow me to introduce myself. Jerome Everard, at your service.”
His baritone dripped with genteel sophistication, and she could imagine its drawl in the glittering ballrooms of London. Still, the first name meant nothing to her, and he could easily have fabricated the last to match the name of her employer.
“Welcome to Dallsten Manor, Mr. Everard,” she replied with a quick dip that might pass for a curtsey. “You will not mind if I ask for some confirmation of your identity.”
His mouth held just the hint of a smile. “I regret that my uncle, Lord Everard, did not have the opportunity to introduce us properly. However, I have a letter from him I can share.” He stepped forward as if expecting her to move aside and let him in.
Adele held her ground and her smile, bracing one foot on the inside of the door, ready to slam it shut if needed. Could she reach Mr. Linton and his gun before this man and his companions breached the house? Did it matter? Somehow she didn’t think the elderly groundskeeper would scare any of them.
As if he knew her concerns, Jerome Everard held out his arm. It was a civilized gesture, a gentleman indicating his willingness to escort a lady into the house. It spoke of kindness, of protection.
“Let me in, please,” he murmured, clear blue gaze on hers. “I swear no harm will come to you.”
She wanted to believe him. His manners, his smile, his attitude all said he was a gentleman.
And if he wasn’t, she still had the upper hand. She knew Dallsten Manor better than anyone, every crooked passage, every family secret. If Jerome Everard wanted to cause trouble, she was ready for him.
She opened the door wider. “Certainly, Mr. Everard. Come in. Perhaps we can both find answers to our questions.”
Chapter Two
Jerome followed his hostess across the parquet floor of the entry hall. After his initial reception by the footman, he wasn’t sure why this lady had let him in or what he’d find.
But Dallsten Manor looked as respectable inside as it had out. The grand staircase rose to the upper story in polished oak magnificence, a brass chandelier with at least thirty candles gleamed overhead, and to their right, the white wall was draped with a massive tapestry of knights conquering a stag.
He could see his uncle here. A poet at heart, like Vaughn, his uncle would have delighted in the sweeping grandeur of the manor on a hill, the bold colors of the tapestry, the fine workmanship of the carved posts on the stair. Jerome had a more practical bent. He saw the dust dimming the rich fabric, the cracks marring the tall walls. He calculated to the last penny the cost of refurbishing and wondered how far the owner would go to see Dallsten Manor restored. Was that motive enough to steal another man’s legacy?
The footman came out of a corridor behind the stairs just then and pulled up short. “You let him in.”
The words were frankly accusatory. Jerome lifted a brow.
His hostess raised her dark head. “Yes, Todd. I let him in. That is what one generally does with guests.”
His eyes narrowed again, giving him a decidedly feral look. “His lordship never mentioned guests.”
Had he spoken with Uncle? Had Uncle tried to protect his secret kingdom from Jerome, even at the end?
His hostess’s rosy lips tightened in an unforgiving line. “He never mentioned the Prince Regent, either,” she said, eyes flashing, “but if His Royal Highness showed up at the door, I assure you I’d let him in, too.” She tugged down the long sleeves of her gown so that the soft lace at the cuffs brushed her wrists. “Now, I believe Mr. Everard had two companions?”
How did she know? Had she been watching? She glanced at him for confirmation, and Jerome kept a polite smile in place.
“My brother Richard Everard and cousin Vaughn Everard,” he supplied. He’d sent one to the stables and the other to reconnoiter.
She nodded and returned her gaze to the recalcitrant footman. “I suggest you find them and bring them to the library. And send Mrs. Linton to me there, as well. Now take Mr. Everard’s coat.”
Even the brazen footman, it seemed, would not argue with this woman. He inclined his head and strode up to Jerome. Jerome turned and felt the fellow lift the greatcoat from his shoulders. Before Jerome could question him, the footman had thrown the garment over one arm and stormed off down the corridor.
Ignoring the rudesby, his hostess motioned to a doorway at their left. “If you’d be so good as to attend me in the library, sir.”
“It would be my pleasure.” He bowed her ahead of him.
Who was she? he wondered as he followed her. She was too young to be the housekeeper or the mother of a girl ready to embark on a London Season, and too old to be his supposed cousin. And he couldn’t see her as a governess. He hadn’t met very many women in that position, but somehow he didn’t remember any of them as being this pretty and poised. She moved with the assurance of the lady of the house, and certainly the staff obeyed her.
She was equally as comfortable in the venerable library. Oak bookcases with leaded-glass fronts lined one wall; crimson drapes hung on either side of a window facing the drive, the afternoon sun spearing through to warm the room and touch the Oriental carpet with fire. A landscape painting of a brook and willows graced the space over the wood-wrapped fireplace, elegant, calming. Another time he’d have been delighted to study it further. What drew his attention now were the papers that littered the surface of the desk. What he would have given for a look at them.
She didn’t offer him the opportunity. She slipped behind the desk and opened a drawer, and he thought he saw her palm something. The knife used to slice apart the pages of new books, perhaps? Did she think him so dangerous?