The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere by Anna Bradley
Chapter Seven
It was appalling what a lady had to do to get her hands on a decent-sized Mayfair townhouse.
Georgiana eased open the doorway of her bedchamber, poked her head out, and peeked down the hallway. Empty, just as she’d predicted. She crept down the stairs to the entryway, rose to her tiptoes, and peered through the panel of glass fixed into the front door. Weak morning sunlight struggled through the gray layers of smog and clouds above, but just as she’d expected, the steps and the street beyond were empty.
Her lips curled with satisfaction.
Of course, he wasn’t waiting for her. It was much too early for a fashionable gentleman like him to have risen for the day. No doubt he was lounging in his bed, and would remain there for, oh, another two or three hours, at the least. By the time he did stumble from his bed, she’d already have settled their business with Lord Draven.
Lord Haslemere might have gotten his way last night, but just because she’d let him coax her into an arrangement didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about him. If last night had proved anything, it was that the man was careless, flighty, and unpredictable. It was sheer dumb luck his trick last night hadn’t ended with a pistol ball between his eyes.
How could she be expected to work with such a man as that? At best, he was a distraction, and at worst, a liability. Fortunately, there was another way to get this business done, one that didn’t involve Lord Haslemere. If it meant she’d have to tell a few harmless falsehoods and sneak about a bit, then so be it.
It wasn’t, after all, the first time.
She eased the door open a crack and glanced around, just to be sure he wasn’t lurking in the shrubs as he’d done last night, but there wasn’t any sign either of him, or anyone else.
Georgiana slipped outside, taking care to close the door quietly behind her. If she didn’t feel even a twinge of conscience at dodging Lord Haslemere, she did have an uncomfortable pang or two on Lady Clifford’s account.
Georgiana didn’t make it a habit to sneak, hide, or lie to Lady Clifford. That is, she’d hadn’t lied, precisely. She’d simply withheld the entire truth, which wasn’t nearly as bad.
In any case, she hadn’t had a choice. She couldn’t tell Lady Clifford about Lord Haslemere’s bribe—not when they’d already agreed to take on the duchess’s business. Lady Clifford would insist they do the honorable thing, and the Mill Street building would slip through their fingers like so much water through a sieve.
It was a great pity honor should so often be at odds with practicality. Georgiana didn’t object to honor, of course. Not until it got in her way, that is.
As far as Lord Haslemere was concerned, it was best for them both if she let him slumber and proceeded on her own, as she was accustomed to doing, then begged everyone’s pardon afterward. She’d wrap up this business more quickly that way, and really, wasn’t that what she and Lord Haslemere both wanted? Why, by the end of it he’d be thanking her for—
“Going somewhere, princess?”
Oh, no. Georgiana froze mid-step, her eyes slipping shut.
“It’s a bit early in the morning for a stroll.” Slow, lazy footsteps approached, and Georgiana turned to find Lord Haslemere sauntering toward her.
He didn’t look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He was perfectly respectable this morning in tight, buff-colored breeches, a bottle-green coat, polished black boots, and a snowy cravat tied à la Haslemere. His auburn hair was slightly damp, and…she took a cautious sniff of the air.
He smelled like peppermint, as if…
He’d just emerged from his bath.
An unexpected and wholly unwelcome image of Lord Haslemere lounging in his bath, his skin flushed and his damp hair curling against his neck, rose in her mind. She made a desperate attempt to banish it into the dark, cobwebbed corner where she buried such thoughts, but much like the man himself, they weren’t easily dismissed.
Lord Haslemere—who was no doubt accustomed to ladies gawking at him—didn’t appear to notice her struggles. “I suspected you’d make an attempt of this sort.” He tutted, shaking his head. “Is this how you honor your commitments? For a lady with such high principles, you’re as wily as a rookeries pickpocket.”
“Don’t be absurd. I’ve never picked a pocket in my life.” Why bother picking a pocket when it was so little effort to fleece them? “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Lord Haslemere, but—”
“We’re well past suggestion, Miss Harley. I’m outright accusing you of lying, sneaking, and base treachery.”
Georgiana tossed her head. “Treachery is such a theatrical word. You have a flair for the melodramatic, my lord.”
“Is that so?” Lord Haslemere pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open with a careless flick of his finger. “I told you I’d fetch you at calling hours. It’s nine o’clock in the morning. If I didn’t know subterfuge to be beneath you, Miss Harley, I might think you were sneaking off to Lord Draven’s without me.”
Georgiana tried to ignore the guilty heat creeping into her cheeks. Keeping the duchess’s secrets from a meddlesome lord who insisted on sticking his nose into his sister’s business was a delicate thing. It required some…finessing.
“Careful, Miss Harley. That blush is giving you away.” Lord Haslemere raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s a very pretty one, but an innocent lady has no reason to blush.”
Georgiana’s cheeks burned even hotter at his teasing, but she drew herself up with a sniff. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, my lord. I never blush.”
“No? I must be mistaken. Still, I insist you allow me to escort you on your perfectly innocent morning errands. My carriage is just there.” He nodded toward the other side of the street, then held out his arm with an infuriating smirk. “Shall we, then?”
“That’s, ah…that’s not necessary, my lord.” Even as the words left her mouth, Georgiana was bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation. Lord Haslemere had risked a midnight skirmish with Daniel Brixton last night. He was hardly going to give up now.
“Oh, but I think it is.” His dark eyes were narrowed to slits. “Come now, Miss Harley, you insult me with this game. I know you were sneaking off to Lord Draven’s on your own, so let’s have the truth, if you please.”
Georgiana bit her lip. “I fully intended to seek you out later, and tell you every—”
“I slept well last night, Miss Harley. Peacefully, even, secure in the knowledge that whatever my sister’s trouble might be I’d soon get to the truth of the matter, with your help.”
“We will get to the truth, I promise you, but—”
“I was well satisfied with our bargain, you see,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “My building on Mill Street seemed a small enough price to pay to secure my peace of mind.”
“Lord Haslemere, I—”
“But my mind isn’t peaceful, Miss Harley, nor is any other part of me. We made an agreement, yet here you are, not twelve hours later, already breaking it. If I hadn’t been lying in wait for you and caught you out, I suspect you would have continued to prove elusive for the rest of the day.”
“You admit you were lying in wait, then?”
It was a feeble enough accusation, and predictably, it did nothing to deter Lord Haslemere, who was intent on a lecture. “Let’s clarify our positions, shall we? You’re my employee. That means I issue the commands, and you follow them.”
“Commands!” Why, the nerve of the man. “I never agreed to follow your every—”
“No more evasions, Miss Harley. No subterfuge, no lies, and no more sneaking about like a child with fistfuls of pilfered sweets. Do I have your word?”
Protestations rose to Georgiana’s lips, but one look at him made her bite them back. He’d spoken calmly enough, but his eyes were surprisingly stern, and for the first time since their infamous meeting in Maiden Lane, it occurred to her Cecilia might be right about him.
Perhaps Lord Haslemere wasn’t quite the reckless, feather-brained rake all the ton supposed him to be. Cecilia had warned her he was much cleverer than people gave him credit for being—than even he gave himself credit for being.
Georgiana had always assumed Cecilia was exaggerating Lord Haslemere’s abilities because he was Lord Darlington’s dearest friend, but now…well, she’d been tangling with him for less than a day, and he’d already managed to pin her down, hadn’t he?
She blew out a breath and steeled herself for the humiliation of begging Lord Haslemere’s pardon. Oh, he’d make it unpleasant enough for her—she hadn’t any doubt of that. He’d tease and crow about it, and she’d hold her tongue, dash it, because the truth was, she was his employee, and she desperately wanted his building on Mill Street.
The school needed it. The girls needed it.
She threw her shoulders back and forced herself to meet those disturbing dark eyes. “You’re right, my lord. I did intend to sneak off to Lord Draven’s before you arrived, and I beg your pardon for it. It won’t happen again.”
She waited, but the gloating she dreaded never came. Lord Haslemere studied her, as if he were gauging her sincerity, and then…
“Very well. We’ll say no more about it.” A smile curved his lips, and it was like the sun emerging from a bank of clouds. Georgiana blinked at him, blindsided. It wasn’t just the smile, although now that the sensuous curve of his lips was directed only at her, she began to understand why every lady in London swooned over his smile.
Not her, but…other ladies.
But what really surprised her was the swiftness with which his emotions shifted from frustration to forgiveness, and from there to equanimity. It was all right there for anyone to see, playing like quicksilver over his face.
Her own face felt stiff in comparison, immobile, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Lord Haslemere took her arm and began half-leading, half-tugging her toward his carriage. “Are you acquainted with Lord Draven, Miss Harley?”
His coachman sprang to the ground to open the door, and Lord Haslemere handed her in, his hand firm and strong. Georgiana was obliged to suppress a shiver at the warm press of them around her fingertips. “No, not at all.”
He fell into a sprawl on the bench across from hers. “What made you think he’d see you, then? Draven’s a private fellow. He’s not the sort who’d welcome a strange lady who appears on his doorstep in the wee hours of the morning. Did you suppose he’d simply let you stroll into his drawing room and begin quizzing him?”
“It’s nine o’clock. That’s hardly the wee hours of the morning, Lord Haslemere.”
“Close enough.” He stretched, and the tip of his boot brushed the hem of her skirts.
Georgiana jerked her feet away from his and tucked them under her seat. A sly grin curved his lips, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of commenting on it. “Since you ask, I intended to speak to Lord Draven’s housekeeper.”
“There’s no need for that now. I’m acquainted with Draven. He’ll likely agree to see me, even at this ungodly hour.”
Georgiana shook her head. “No, we’ll do better with his housekeeper.”
He frowned. “Why should you bother with his housekeeper when you can speak to the earl himself?”
“Has it occurred to you, Lord Haslemere, the earl might not care for the accusation that he’s insulted your sister’s honor? We don’t need a duel between two foolish noblemen.”
Georgiana thought he’d take offense, but instead he barked out a laugh. “Has anyone ever told you, Miss Harley, that you’re exceedingly ill-tempered?”
She gave him her sweetest smile. “I suggest you don’t try my patience, then. Or better yet, if you don’t like my manner, you can leave me to take care of this business by myself.”
His grin actually widened, the scoundrel. “I never said I didn’t like it. On the contrary, I find it rather refreshing.”
If the gossip were to be believed, Lord Haslemere could charm his way into the good graces of any lady in London. “Does it weary you, my lord, always having your way in everything? I suppose it would become tedious.”
If he noticed the touch of acid in her tone, he didn’t react to it. “It’s the truth.”
Georgiana searched his face for any sign of mockery, but he appeared sincere. Perhaps it did grow dull, being the ton’s favorite rake. “Ladies who don’t find you charming and irresistible must be as rare as pearls in oysters.”
“Well then, I’ve found the right lady, haven’t I?” A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. “My very own pearl.”
His very own pearl?Georgiana’s mouth fell open. That had almost sounded like…an endearment. A dozen set-downs rose to her lips, but Lord Haslemere looked just as surprised as she did, and not altogether pleased, so perhaps the less said about it, the better.
Still, it was worrying. The last thing she wanted was for him to become endearing. No matter how engaging his smile, no matter how twinkling those eyes, she couldn’t allow herself to fall victim to his charms.
She cleared her throat. “Lord Draven doesn’t have any reason to reveal the intimate details of his life to you, my lord. In my experience, gentlemen are apt to guard their secrets, and aristocratic gentlemen more so than most. We’re far better off bringing this matter to his housekeeper.”
Lord Haslemere didn’t appear to have heard her. He was lounging against the squabs, his foot jiggling as his gaze roved over her face. “That color flatters you, Miss Harley.”
“I…what?” Dear God, was she blushing again?
“The color of your dress. It’s difficult to tell with the way that cloak swallows you, but it’s looks as if it’s nearly the same color as the gown you wore to Lady Wylde’s ball last night. Brown, or bronze, or whatever the modistes are calling it this season. Rich colors bring out the threads of gold in your hair.” He frowned at her hat. “What I can see of it, anyway.”
Georgiana reminded herself she didn’t find him charming, and pursed her lips. “What does the color of my gown have to do with Lord Draven?”
Lord Haslemere, who was no doubt far more accustomed to paying compliments than she was to receiving them, gave a careless shrug. “Nothing at all. I noticed the color suited you, and so I remarked on it. That’s all.”
Why, what was to be done with the man? Was it possible he flirted with whatever woman happened to be in his path, without realizing he was doing it? “We’re nearly to Curzon Street, Lord Haslemere. Have we agreed we’ll bring our business to the earl’s housekeeper rather than the earl himself?”
“If you insist on it, I don’t see what choice I have. I’m a gentleman, Miss Harley, and therefore yours to command.”
Georgiana snorted. “Not half an hour ago you informed me I was obliged to follow yourevery command.”
“That does sound more enjoyable, doesn’t it?”
“For you, perhaps.”
The mischievous grin once again quirked the corners of his lips. “Indeed.”
Georgiana eyed him warily. She didn’t trust Lord Haslemere not to do just as he pleased when they reached the door, but she couldn’t see any way to prevent it. They’d come to a stop outside Lord Draven’s townhouse. There was nothing for it now but pray he’d hold his tongue.
In the end, neither of them was given a choice.
Georgiana was distracted by Lord Haslemere’s antics, otherwise she might have noticed right away that a commotion was unfolding in front of the Earl of Draven’s townhouse.
Despite the early hour, there were two vehicles waiting in the drive, one of them a carriage, and the other a traveling coach with Lord Draven’s crest emblazoned on the side. There were a great many servants running about as well, their arms full of baskets and boxes and various other packages, and a trunk was waiting on one side of the door, seemingly abandoned.
“My goodness. Do you suppose the earl is leaving London?”
“I don’t know.” Lord Haslemere frowned at the parade of servants. “We’ll find out soon enough.”
No one paid them any mind as they approached the entrance, but just inside the door they found a tall, wiry lady standing in the midst of the chaos, directing the servants who were scurrying up and down the stairs. She had gray-streaked hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, and an air of authority that marked her out at once as Lord Draven’s housekeeper.
“No, Lizzy.” She was lecturing a quivering housemaid who was holding an arm full of blankets. “Not the trunk. Take them to his lordship’s coach, in case he—” She broke off when she caught sight of Georgiana and Lord Haslemere hovering in the open door. “Lord Draven isn’t at home to visitors.”
“I beg your pardon for the intrusion.” Georgiana took another step into the entryway. “Are you his lordship’s housekeeper?”
The woman brushed a straggling hair away from her forehead. “Aye, I’m Mrs. Bury.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Bury? My name is Georgiana Harley, and this gentleman is Lord Haslemere. I wonder if we might have a quick word with you in private.”
Before Georgiana even finished speaking Mrs. Bury had opened her mouth to refuse, but when she heard Lord Haslemere’s name she went still, a strange expression on her face. “The Earl of Haslemere? Brother to the Duchess of Kenilworth?”
Lord Haslemere exchanged a puzzled glance with Georgiana, then gave the housekeeper a brief nod. “Yes, Mrs. Bury. The same.”
She stared at him, then turned abruptly on her heel. “Aye. I suppose we’d best have a word, at that. This way, my lord, Miss Harley.”
She led them down the hall to a drawing room. It was beautifully appointed, the furnishings fine, but the grate was cold, and the drapes had been pulled tightly closed against the morning light. “We’re in a bit of a frenzy this morning, I’m afraid. I haven’t much time, but I’ll do what I can for you. Please do have a seat.”
Mrs. Bury gestured to a plush settee done up in extravagant yellow silk. Georgiana perched on the edge, and Lord Haslemere took a seat beside her. “As Miss Harley said, we’re sorry to trouble you,” he began. “But we’ve come on a matter of some importance—”
“I know why you’ve come, my lord.” Mrs. Bury sank down on a chair opposite the settee with the air of one who was weary to her bones. “You’re here because of that nonsense about the duchess and Lord Draven.”
Georgiana, who hadn’t expected such frankness, was taken aback. “You believe it to be nonsense, then? The rumor that Lord Draven and the duchess are…well, that they’ve been—”
“Adulterous sinners? I know it to be nonsense, Miss Harley. I’ve been Lord Draven’s housekeeper since he inherited the title, and I was his father’s housekeeper for fifteen years before that. His father was a decent, God-fearing gentleman, and so is his son, the current earl.”
Georgiana studied Mrs. Bury for any signs of deception, but the woman’s gaze was steady, and she spoke with utter conviction, as if she hadn’t a shadow of doubt. “You, ah…you seem quite certain, Mrs. Bury.”
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. It’s nothing but a vicious rumor meant to hurt his lordship and the duchess.” Mrs. Bury turned a sharp eye on Lord Haslemere. “I suppose you’ve come to pry into the business, and take Lord Draven to task. Well, you should be ashamed of yourself for asking, my lord. Lord Draven is a gentleman, and the duchess a respectable lady. They both deserve better.”
Lord Haslemere held up his hands. “I didn’t come here to accuse Lord Draven of anything, Mrs. Bury. I merely wish to speak to him. Surely, you can understand why I might be concerned for my sister?”
Mrs. Bury’s green eyes remained as hard as stone. “And I’m sure you can understand my concern for my employer, my lord. I won’t sit here and allow his good name to be maligned. Not while I still have breath left in my body, leastways.”
Georgiana cleared her throat. Her next question wasn’t likely to endear them to Mrs. Bury, but it was one that must be asked. “The gossips claim the duchess was seen leaving this very townhouse, unaccompanied, at night. Did you ever happen to see her here at odd hours, or here alone with Lord Draven?”
“Well, I…I can’t say I never did see her, because lying is a despicable sin, but it was once or twice only, and the two of them as innocent of any wrongdoing as two babies. Why, they never left Lord Draven’s study!”
Georgiana thought the sins Mrs. Bury was referring to might be committed as easily in a study as a bedchamber, but she kept that opinion to herself. There was no sense in further offending the housekeeper. Mrs. Bury had already given them something useful. The Duchess of Kenilworth had been here in Lord Draven’s townhouse, alone and at night.
That part of the rumor was true.
“But you see what comes of such ugly, wicked rumors, Miss Harley.” Mrs. Bury rose to her feet, her face flushed with emotion. “Someone must have believed them to be true, and now look what’s happened to his poor lordship!”
Georgiana glanced from the tightly drawn drapes to Mrs. Bury’s grim face, and a cold prickle of dread started at the base of her spine. “Has, ah…has something happened to Lord Draven, Mrs. Bury?”
“You mean you don’t know?” All the anger seemed to drain from Mrs. Bury then, and she half sat, half collapsed onto the chair. “Lord Draven was set upon by a half-dozen villains several nights ago, and beaten to within an inch of his life. It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“Several nights ago?” Georgiana’s voice emerged in a faint whisper as all the breath fled her lungs. “When exactly?”
“Three nights ago.” Mrs. Bury let out a broken sigh.
Three nights ago? That meant…
Lord Draven had been attacked the same night the Duchess of Kenilworth came to the Clifford School. If it was a coincidence, it was a strange one. “We didn’t know,” Georgiana managed, her head spinning.
At least, she hadn’t. She glanced at Lord Haslemere and saw the same shock she felt reflected on his face.
“Poor Lord Draven was left for dead.” Mrs. Bury shot an accusing glare at Lord Haslemere. “Mark my words, my lord. Whoever’s responsible for such a wicked, wicked act will be called upon to explain themselves to their Maker sooner or later, no matter how high they might think themselves.”
Lord Haslemere went very still. “Are you saying, Mrs. Bury,” he asked quietly. “You believe I’m responsible for the attack on Lord Draven?”
“Well, someone did it, didn’t they? The way I see it, there are only two people in London bound to defend the duchess’s honor. One of them is her husband—an honorable man with a spotless character—and the other?” Mrs. Bury forgot her place entirely then, and pointed a shaking finger at Lord Haslemere. “The other’s her rakehell brother. Which of the two do you suppose is the most likely to have done such a thing?”
Georgiana stared at Mrs. Bury. Lord Haslemere was a rakehell, to be sure, but a murderer? “I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bury, but it’s terribly unjust of you to accuse his lordship of such a heinous act.”
Mrs. Bury’s face went tight. “Mayhap it is, but I know this much. The Duke of Kenilworth never had a hand in it. He and Lord Draven went to school together, and you’ve never seen two boys who were closer friends than they were. I can’t tell you how many times the duke has visited at Draven House. All of London might believe what they like about Lord Draven and the duchess, but His Grace knows better.”
Lord Haslemere was silent, and Georgiana, who felt as if she’d tumbled down a dark rabbit hole and was still falling, struggled for a response. “What will become of Lord Draven? Will he…does the doctor expect him to recover?”
“The doctor has ordered him off to his country estate for fresh air and quiet. I warned him his lordship hasn’t been to Draven House in years, and most of the old servants are long gone, but the doctor insists on it. So, we’ve got a housekeeper and housemaid from London to tend him, and another housemaid from Herefordshire who happened along at the right time. As to whether or not his lordship will ever regain his senses…” Mrs. Bury shook her head. “The doctor can’t say. So, we pray for Lord Draven, and hope for the best.”
Mrs. Bury dragged herself to her feet, looking as if she’d aged a decade since she’d entered the drawing room. She paused when she reached the door and turned back to say, “I beg your pardon if I offended you, Lord Haslemere.”
And then she was gone, her weary footsteps echoing down the hallway.