A Scoundrel By Moonlight

“You promise not to browbeat her?” his mother insisted.

He muffled a growl. He wasn’t in the habit of badgering the servants. At this rate, the girl would be in such a state by the time he questioned her, she’d be in hysterics.

“Do you need anything, my lady?” she asked with a calmness that belied that prediction.

“Just my book and spectacles,” his mother said and accepted them with a smile. “Don’t stand for any nonsense from James.”

Miss Trim’s smile was faint as she curtsied and preceded him from the room with a poise that wouldn’t disgrace a debutante at Almack’s. As he followed, Leath couldn’t help thinking that she was the damnedest housemaid he’d ever seen.

Nell’s heart hammered with dread by the time she reached the library. She knew Leath chose this room to intimidate her. Goodness, after his tiff with his mother, she might yet face dismissal. It was clear that he wanted to get rid of her. If he did, how would she gather the evidence against him?

Before she was summoned, her eavesdropping had been enlightening. The newspapers were right. Leath’s political career was in trouble. Good. When Sedgemoor used the diary to expose him as the villain he was, all hope of public office would evaporate.

Nell had arrived at Alloway Chase despising Lord Leath. But that was before she’d listened to him battle with a mother he loved over something he considered important for her sake, not his own.

Mentally Nell kicked herself. His kindness to his mother didn’t mean anything. With his family, the marquess might act the civilized man, but at heart he was a monster. If she forgot that, she was lost.

She stood straight and quiet in the center of the library as he prowled across to sit behind the desk.

“It’s too late to pretend humility, Miss Trim,” he barked, making her start.

When he’d spoken so tenderly to his mother, the beauty of his deep baritone had struck her. Now his voice was like a gunshot. Of course it was; she was a lowly servant. And he didn’t like her, despite those disturbing moments last night when she’d sensed male interest. This morning he’d regarded her like a cockroach in the castle’s pantry. Should the Marquess of Leath ever condescend to visit that prosaic location.

“Yes, my lord,” she said meekly, intending to needle him.

She succeeded. He growled and gestured toward the chair in front of the desk. “Sit down.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to sit in your presence, sir.”

“It’s inappropriate to answer back, my girl.”

He had a point. She sat and concentrated on her lap to avoid those intense deep-set eyes.

Last night, his size had struck her as remarkable. Since then, she’d told herself that nervousness alone had painted him as such a powerful physical presence.

It wasn’t nervousness. He was tall and broad and dauntingly muscled. Clearly he found time for plenty of exercise away from his parliamentary activities. The portrait in his mother’s room was of a young man, long and lean and with a touch of innocence in his face. When she dared to glance up, there was nothing innocent about the man studying her over steepled fingers. He clearly awaited her full attention. She shivered and prayed he didn’t notice her disquiet.

“Tell me about yourself.”

The mad urge rose to announce that she was Dorothy Simpson’s sister and she was at Alloway Chase to ensure that he never ruined another woman.

“Well?” he asked when she didn’t answer. “Cat got your tongue?”

She licked her lips in uncertainty and suffered a jolt when his eyes focused on the movement. Immediately she was back in that strange dance of hatred and fascination. She’d been mistaken to think he’d conquered last night’s sensual awareness.

Oh, dear Lord, this was an unholy mess.

“I’m a little frightened,” she admitted.

“Rot.” He arched those formidable black eyebrows. “How did you come to work here?”

She straightened in the chair, which would have put any of the furniture in her stepfather’s cottage to shame. “I’m an orphan.”

“Is that so?”

Her lips tightened. When she’d told his mother that her parents were dead—well, it was true, however kind her stepfather was—the marchioness had overflowed with sympathy. Lord Leath studied her as if reading the layers of deceit beneath every word.

“Yes.”

“And how long have you been alone in the world?”

She couldn’t restrain a faint sharpness. “You speak as if my bereavement is a matter of choice, my lord.”

He bared his teeth. “My apologies.”

She shifted uncomfortably under his unblinking regard, before she reminded herself that betraying her fear gave him the advantage. “My father was a sergeant major under Wellington in Portugal. He died when I was a child. My mother remarried and died when I was fifteen.”

All true. So why did she feel like she’d lied?

“Where did you grow up?”

“Sussex.” Her first lie. If she mentioned Kent, he might connect her to Dorothy, although he’d shown no recognition when she’d told him her name last night.

“You don’t sound like you’re from Sussex. You sound like a lady.”

William Simpson had been an unusual man, educated on a scholarship at Cambridge despite his humble origins. He’d made sure that both girls in his charge spoke with educated accents. “Are there no ladies in Sussex?” she asked sweetly.

His lips quirked. “None that I’ve met.”

That was another surprise. In her imaginings, Dorothy’s seducer had possessed no sense of humor. Nell had expected evil to seep from his very pores. But unless she’d already known his wickedness, she’d see nothing to despise and much to admire. It was odd, the more she saw of Leath, the less she understood why flirty, flighty Dorothy had found him appealing. Perhaps on the hunt, he adopted a different style.

“How did a woman from the gentle south end up here?”

She’d prepared a plausible story. The marchioness had swallowed it without question. She had a nasty feeling that the marquess wasn’t nearly so trusting. “I was to take employment in York, but the lady was called back to London unexpectedly and shut the house. One of the other servants told me about Alloway Chase and I decided to try my luck.”

His face didn’t lighten. Her stomach sank with the certainty that she hadn’t gulled him. “So you crossed an inhospitable moor, came miles from the nearest civilization, on the off chance of finding employment?”

She kept her voice positive. “Indeed, sir. Fortunately there was a vacancy for a housemaid.”

That had been lucky. Although if there hadn’t been a place, she’d have sought work in the area and waited until a job opened up. Staff at big houses were always coming and going. She’d have found a spot eventually, especially with the excellent references she’d written in the guise of a wholly fictitious employer at a wholly fictitious Sussex manor. Of course there was a risk that someone might check her background, but hopefully by the time anybody discovered her ruse, she’d be far away with the diary in her possession.

Under that level gaze, she battled the impulse to fidget. No wonder Leath had such a reputation as a shark in parliament. If she were the opposition, she’d roll over and give him anything he wanted.

“I find it puzzling that you accepted such a junior position. Surely if you can read and write, you’d find work as a governess.”

Perhaps she should have adopted a rustic accent. The problem was that she couldn’t see herself keeping up the pretense. “I was desperate, sir.”

She should have known that an appeal to his compassion would fail. “Is that so?”

When she didn’t answer—she wasn’t a skilled liar, which was why she stuck to the truth as far as possible—he went on. “And now you’re my mother’s companion.”

“It’s a preferment beyond my wildest dreams,” she said quickly.

For an uncomfortable moment, she wondered if he’d try to shake the truth out of her. Surely only her guilty conscience persuaded her that he recognized her lies.

“I’d like to hear more about your wildest dreams, Miss Trim,” he said slowly.

She clutched her clammy hands together to hide their unsteadiness and stared directly into those unfathomable eyes. “Do you suspect that I’m not who I claim, my lord?”

To her surprise and considerable discomfort, he smiled. This was the first time she’d seen his smile and she wouldn’t describe it as nice. It was the sort of smile a wolf gave a chicken before he tore it to pieces. Flashing masculine attraction and straight white teeth that looked ready to snap at her.

“Outlandish fancies, I’m sure, Miss Trim.”

Dangerously, she forgot her meekness. “Do you put all your domestics through this inquisition?”

“Only the ones I discover raiding my library in the middle of the night,” he said affably.

Curse her blushing. “I told you, I wanted something to read.”

“Yet in all those volumes, nothing caught your interest.”

Oh, dear God, he was a devil. Why wouldn’t he leave her be? She’d been overjoyed when the marchioness had promoted her. She’d soon discovered that housemaids had no privacy and little time to search a house the size of Alloway Chase. As a companion, she had a lot of free time—the marchioness wasn’t demanding—and a room of her own. Not only that, she had access to the family’s apartments.

The disadvantage of her new status was that she’d hoped to pass through Alloway Chase without attracting notice. Even before last night’s encounter with the marquess, her ladyship’s favoritism put paid to that idea.

“Perhaps I could advise you on purchasing some novels, my lord,” she said with cloying helpfulness.

If she’d thought his smile was astonishing, his laugh made her sit up like a startled rabbit. It was warm with appreciation. She liked it so much that she had to struggle shamefully hard to remember she despised him. She stopped wondering why Dorothy had found him appealing. Even she, with every reason to loathe him, couldn’t stifle a prickle of attraction.

Dorothy hadn’t stood a chance.

“Perhaps you should.” The watchful light returned to his eyes. “Do you enjoy your post, Miss Trim?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, only partly a lie. The marchioness was a darling. Her kindness had gone a long way to helping Nell cope with her grief over Dorothy’s death. Nell winced to think that her vendetta against the marquess would ultimately hurt Lady Leath.

“I need hardly say that I take great care for my mother’s happiness.”

Given that he hadn’t visited his mother in months, she could disagree. But even if she’d been his social equal, it would be impertinent to say so. “As do I, my lord.”

His eyes glinted as if he saw every prevarication. “Then please don’t imagine that your attentions will go unremarked.”

“No, sir.” She took the words as the warning they were.

“You may go, Trim.”

Trim, not Miss Trim, she noticed. Clearly he’d indulged her delusions of importance as far as he intended. That suited her fine. She couldn’t help feeling that if she lingered, that searching dark gaze would winkle out every secret. Then where would she be? Out on her ear. And he’d be free to continue on his nasty, seducing, ruinous way.

Strangely she was angrier now than when she’d arrived. And more intent on bringing this brute down. Even after a short acquaintance, she recognized that the marquess was a clever, perceptive, interesting man. Yet still he chose to wreck innocent lives.

Taunton, Somerset, early October

Hector Greengrass settled his considerable bulk into the oak armchair in the cozy little tavern’s inglenook. It was a bloody chilly night, but in the month that he’d been in the area, he’d trained the locals to leave the room’s best spot for him.

He raised his tankard, took a deep draft and smacked his lips with satisfaction. The ale was good. Even better was this lark he’d set up over the last year since leaving the late Lord Neville Fairbrother’s employment. Sodding pity that the man had shot himself. Sad waste of a fine criminal mind.

Greengrass knew that most people saw him as hulking muscle, but he possessed a fine criminal mind too. And he wasn’t a cove to let an opportunity pass. When he’d realized that things in Little Derrick had gone awry, he didn’t hang around to share his master’s fate. He’d kept his eye on the main chance and survived.

He’d more than survived; he’d thrived.

Before abandoning Lord Neville, he’d taken what cash he could find and a few trinkets. Best of all, he’d nicked his lordship’s detailed record of debauchery. Since then, that diary had bought Greengrass’s mighty fine life. Not to mention his fancy clothes.

Even poor women paid to keep their sins secret. Luckily for Greengrass, Lord Neville had indulged his lusts up and down the country. Greengrass had plenty of bumpkins to hit for a shilling here and there, in return for suppressing the record of their ruin.

The sluts whose fall had resulted in pregnancy were no use to him. Their disgrace was clear for the world to see. But thanks to Lord Neville’s yen for silly virgins, the diary listed hordes of girls desperate to keep a good name in small, gossipy communities. They’d give up their last penny to escape public shame. After all, if their families disowned them as wanton trollops, the likeliest outcome was a hard life on the streets. Something well worth digging into the housekeeping money to avoid.

Greengrass still marveled at the diary’s salacious thoroughness. His lordship couldn’t bear to hold back any detail of his illicit encounters, and the pages were well-thumbed with use. A sane man would have hesitated to keep such a complete record of his sins, but clearly Lord Neville enjoyed reliving each affair over and over again.

Still, Greengrass had good reason to be grateful to Neville Fairbrother for his nitpicking record keeping, as though the chits he seduced formed part of his famous collection of pretty baubles. Lord Neville could never get enough women to slake his appetite. The only pity was that he’d limited his depredations to the lower classes. It made sense—anyone further up the social scale wouldn’t believe that Lord Neville was the Marquess of Leath. They had access to newspapers and London gossip that would expose the lie before his lordship got into their drawers.

Poor and stupid, that was how his late lordship had liked them. And poor and stupid in large numbers kept Greengrass in ready cash and easy bedmates.

Aye, it had been a bonny twelve months or so. A false name and constant traveling kept him out of the magistrates’ hands—there was a warrant out for him, thanks to his crimes last year in Little Derrick. And it was grand how eager a lass became when disgrace was the alternative. In a lifetime of fiddles, this blackmail fiddle was the best.

The landlord thumped a brimming plate of roast beef and gravy on the table. Fast as a striking cobra, Greengrass’s massive hand shot out to crush the man’s wrist. “I’ll have a bit more civility, my fine fellow,” he said cheerfully, closing his grip until the bones ground together.

Hatred flared in the man’s eyes. But stronger than hatred was fear. Pale with pain, the man bobbed his head. “Your pardon, Mr. Smith.” He struggled to smile. “Enjoy your dinner. And of course, it’s on the house.”

“Better,” Greengrass grunted, releasing him and picking up his knife and spoon.

Aye, being cock of the walk was fine and dandy.

And when he’d tired of catching tasty little sprats in his net, he had a bloody great mackerel of a marquess ready to take his bait.

Chapter 4

Lord Leath’s return soon had Nell seething with frustration. Until now, she’d found Alloway Chase a surprisingly congenial location. Perhaps because unlike Mearsall’s schoolhouse, there was no silent, reproachful ghost reminding her that she’d failed to watch over her half sister. Her stepfather had seen her unhappiness and hadn’t discouraged her when she’d suggested finding work away from home. He’d have been appalled if she’d told him why she really left Mearsall.

Under the marchioness’s relaxed supervision, she’d found ample opportunity to seek the diary. So far she’d concentrated on the library. It was a huge collection, but she had time and patience. Or at least she’d had both until the marquess started working there. And after their early hours encounter, she hadn’t worked up the courage to wander the house at night again.

Now he’d brought a secretary from London. Even when his lordship was absent, Mr. Crane occupied either the library or the small adjoining room. A room he locked every evening.

As subtly as she could, Nell had quizzed the other servants about the marquess. Some of the maids had hair-raising stories about lecherous employers in other households, but nobody had a bad word to say about Leath. She’d failed too in all attempts to obtain evidence of his lechery from women living on the estate.

It was decidedly annoying. And a little unsettling. Nell had imagined that the people who knew him best would despise him for the monster he was.

His lordship had been home nearly a fortnight and he was yet to spend a night away from the house. For a heartless seducer, he was a diligent worker. Reams of correspondence came in and out, and he also paid conscientious attention to the estate.

Clearly his licentious impulses were under control. So far, she’d only seen him behave inappropriately with one woman. When he’d caught Nell Trim about the waist that first night. When he’d spoken to her as his equal. And more, the shameful awareness that hummed endlessly between them.

When they were together, dislike set the air sizzling. It must be dislike. She refused to admit that she found the man who had ruined her half sister attractive.

His lordship’s presence was impossible to ignore. The air buzzed with energy, the staff were on extra alert, the marchioness glowed, the gardens bloomed with extra color. Goodness, even the sun shone more brightly, now that the master returned.

If Nell had remained a housemaid, avoiding his lordship would have been simple. For his mother’s companion, it was impossible. With every day, maintaining her loathing became more difficult. And each moment felt more like a betrayal of Dorothy’s memory. Nell could almost believe that there were two Lord Leaths. One despoiled innocent girls and abandoned them to suffer the consequences. The other was kind to his mother and considerate of his staff and careful with his tenants.

She couldn’t believe Dorothy had deceived her—her half sister’s dying words had rung with anguish and burning sincerity. But still Nell couldn’t match the Leath she came to know with the man who so callously had destroyed an innocent girl.

Her desperation to find the diary built to a frenzy. Hatred alone gave her courage to carry out her scheme. She didn’t want to think how Leath’s sternness softened when he smiled at her ladyship. She needed instead to remember Dorothy lying quiet and unmoving after breathing her last.

Wariness—and awareness—deepened every time that enigmatic gaze settled upon Nell, as if the marquess added up all he knew about her and found the total wanting.

As Leath approached the library after his morning ride, he heard the unexpected sound of laughter. Frowning, he opened the door and paused, observing the tableau before him. A tableau that didn’t please him at all.

He was used to everyone snapping to attention. He wasn’t by nature a vain man, but how irritating that neither of the people sharing a jolly chat noticed him. Paul Crane, his staid-as-a-maiden-aunt secretary, poised halfway up the library stairs, passing books down to a beautiful woman who smiled at him as if she enjoyed the most wonderful time.

Of course it was Miss Trim. Miss Trim who never looked so animated nor so happy in the company of the man who paid her wages. Morning sun poured through the tall windows to light her graceful figure. She looked unassuming in one of her ubiquitous gray dresses. Her hair was scraped back in its severe style. She made a most unlikely seductress, but something in Leath stirred to savage resentment that she smiled at Crane in a way she’d never smiled at him.

“Clarissa will keep her ladyship busy,” Crane said.

“It’s rather dour,” Miss Trim said. “What about something by Miss Austen?”

“At least they’re shorter.”

Who knew his secretary read novels? And what other housemaid discussed books with such familiarity? She was an unusual one, Miss Trim. So unusual that Leath felt like grabbing those straight shoulders and shaking her until she confessed her secrets.

“Here’s Pride and Prejudice. That’s a favorite in my family.”

“Mine too.”

Family? She claimed to be an orphan. Leath tensed like a hunting dog on a fox’s scent.

“Her ladyship might have read it.”

“His lordship needs to get something more recent for his mother,” Miss Trim said, making Leath bristle at the implication of neglect. “It’s odd that she doesn’t get a standing order of the latest books from Hatchards. Surely Lady Sophie wanted to read something published in the last ten years.”

“Lady Sophie wasn’t much of a reader,” Crane said. “If I can assist with making a list for the marchioness, I’d be happy to oblige. My sister is always mentioning some book or another in her letters.”

“Clearly I’m not keeping you busy enough, Crane,” Leath said acidly.

Silence crashed down. Crane wobbled on the ladder and dropped the leather volume onto the carpet. “My lord …”

Miss Trim turned more slowly. “Your lordship,” she said coolly, curtsying and lowering her eyes.

Damn it, Leath already regretted the loss of that glorious smile. It was possible he made her uneasy—God knew, his constant physical yen for her made him uneasy. But he didn’t think she was frightened. Instead, he felt like she watched him, waiting for some slip. He had no idea why. But his skin prickled when she was in the room, and not just because of his inconvenient interest.

“My lord, Miss … Miss Trim wanted some reading for her ladyship. I didn’t think you’d mind if I helped her.” On unsteady legs, Crane descended and bent to retrieve the book. “I can only apologize most sincerely if I’ve overstepped the mark.”

Damn it, Leath had reduced his obliging and efficient secretary to a stuttering wreck. He hated feeling like the specter at the feast. Illogically, he blamed the girl whose gaze was focused on the floor. The girl who looked as if she’d never permit an insubordinate thought to cross her mind.

He believed that like he believed in fairies building bowers in his parterre.

Despite his guilt, his voice was stern. “I’d like that report on draining the Lincolnshire property today.”

“Yes, sir,” Crane said miserably. He passed the book to Miss Trim. “I’m sure her ladyship will like this.”

Leath’s grumpiness deepened as she bestowed a glimmer of a smile upon Crane. “Thank you. I’m sorry I kept you from your work.”

“Not at all,” he said, and Leath’s eyes narrowed on the young man’s besotted expression. Crane had always struck him as a sensible fellow. Leath would hardly have employed him if he wasn’t. Clearly the marquess wasn’t the only man at Alloway Chase susceptible to wide brown eyes.

“Crane,” Leath said curtly.

“Immediately, my lord.” He glanced nervously at his employer, swallowing until his Adam’s apple bobbed, then disappeared into the office.

“Not so fast.” Leath caught Miss Trim’s arm as she edged toward the door. The contact slammed through him, demanded that he kiss the impertinence out of her. Pride alone steadied his grip. “I’ll thank you to stay away from my secretary.”

Brown eyes could be warm as honey. They could also flash with disdain. After a blistering moment of communication that had nothing to do with lord and housemaid and everything to do with male and female, she glanced away. “Yes, my lord.”