Wayward by Carole Mortimer

Chapter Three

“Your new guardian is every bit as frightening in looks and manner as I thought he would be after the things your London friends relayed to you about him.” Charlotte gave a shiver of apprehension. “Did you not think so, Lydia?”

The two women had made themselves comfortable in Lydia’s new bedchamber, Charlotte seated on the side of the bed, Lydia sitting in the plush velvet-cushioned chair near the window.

Lydia was wrapped only in a large and soft white towel after taking a bath, with her hair in loose red curls down her spine and still damp from having been washed.

A bath she had enjoyed as a way of avoiding answering the questions she knew Charlotte would ask the moment she was able to do so. The to-ing and fro-ing of the footmen with the bath and bathwater, as well as the presence of Lydia’s maid as she unpacked the trunks and put clothes and personal items away, had made that impossible until now.

The bedchamber was decorated primarily in a deep fuchsia pink. It was pretty enough, but not a color Lydia would have chosen for herself, as it clashed dreadfully with the russet color of her hair. Obviously, her guardian had not been aware of her coloring before her arrival earlier today.

Or perhaps he had known but had not thought it important enough to take into consideration when choosing a bedchamber for her use.

Much more likely was that he’d had no input into or interest in the bedchamber his housekeeper chose to give her.

The furniture was of a French design, white and elegant, the Aubusson carpet an intricate pattern in the same fuchsia and blue. There were also two mirrors in this room, one on the dressing table and a full-length cheval mirror in the corner.

Charlotte’s much smaller room was at the back of the house, and Lydia’s maid was to share a bedchamber with a member of the Esher household staff.

A female member of the staff, it was to be hoped, Lydia mused.

Charlotte’s eyes widened. “I cannot comprehend what you can possibly find to smile about in our situation. The duke is every bit as stern and unwelcoming as you were warned he might be.”

Was Lydia smiling?

Charlotte’s obvious indignation said she was.

“The duke is also every bit as monstrous to look at as rumor said he was,” Charlotte continued with another shiver, this time of revulsion. “And his manner is both cold and harsh. He’s also extremely old.” She wrinkled her nose.

Lydia didn’t quite know where to start answering those statements.

She did not find Esher in the least monstrous to look at. Indeed, although she was sure the scars upon his face and throat—and also on that wide and muscular chest beneath his shirt?—must once have been raw and ugly to look upon, they were now only visible as silver lines or ridges.

Nor did she find Esher’s manner overlycold and harsh. Mainly because of that fire she was sure she had seen in his eyes beyond that coldness. A fire that spoke of a passionate nature kept under rigid control.

Except it had not seemed quite as rigidly under control when he looked at her.

Or perhaps it was Charlotte who was responsible for igniting that fire inside him?

Esher’s preference for her cousin had been obvious in the gentle and polite manner with which he addressed her.

As to Charlotte’s remark about his age, Lydia did not think of seven and thirty as being old, but rather seasoned. In the same way that a fine brandy or wine might be all the better for being left to mature before consumption.

Having grown up for the majority of her life without a mother, her father choosing not to remarry after his wife’s death, Lydia had spent the past fifteen years as sole companion to her father. A father who had been only a few years older than Esher when he died. Consequently, Lydia was more comfortable in the company of older gentlemen who had more to talk about than the latest fashion or horseflesh as so many of the young gentleman of the ton did.

Esher’s imposing arrogance was certainly nothing like those callow young men who had swarmed about her like irritating and buzzing bees whenever Lydia had attended a ball or other Society entertainment these past two years.

Lydia had never fooled herself into believing their interest was solely in her. Many found the promise of her being an only child who would inherit a considerable fortune upon the earl’s death a far more attractive lure.

Esher, from all accounts, might be in disgrace with the ton,but he was still one of the wealthiest gentlemen in England.

But not wealthy enough for any woman, even one not in Society, to have dared risk becoming his second wife.

Lydia found herself feeling more than a little irritated toward those spineless women, at the same time as she felt gratified by their ignorance. It really would not have done for her to react so viscerally, or be this physically attracted, to a man who was married to another woman.

A man who was reputed to have killed his first wife, she reminded herself.

Being reputed to have done something was neither proof nor confirmation of that guilt.

Unless proven otherwise, Lydia preferred to think Gideon was innocent of that heinous crime.

Gideon.

She even liked how strong his first name sounded.

She could all too easily imagine how powerful it would sound when cried out at the height of pleasure.

Dear God, she had just bathed away her earlier arousal, as well as the dust from traveling, and now she was becoming wet between her thighs again merely from thinking of the pleasure that might be found in Gideon Rhodes’s arms.

It was now also possible, without drawers or the skirts of her dress as hindrance, for her to inhale the spicy sweet scent of her own arousal with each breath she took.

She sat up abruptly, pressing her thighs together as she rose to her feet. “I believe it is time we dressed for dinner.” She looked pointedly at the dusty black gown Charlotte still wore.

The two of them were nothing alike to look at, even though Charlotte was actually a distant cousin of Lydia’s on her mother’s side. Learning five years ago that her cousin had been left alone and penniless, Lydia had begged her father to bring Charlotte into their household as Lydia’s companion and to pay her handsomely for doing so. Such employment had at least given her cousin a measure of financial independence.

Lydia had quickly learned that Charlotte, although three years her senior, was far more timid in nature than she was. The daughter of a member of the clergy and his wife, Charlotte also possessed a piousness Lydia could never aspire to.

Which was how Charlotte came to be wearing black in mourning for the death of her distant uncle-by-marriage and Lydia wore warm and bright colors even though her father had been dead only a matter of weeks.

Father and daughter had accepted that his injuries were going to kill him sooner rather than later, and those last few months together had been close and poignant.

Which was why it had been doubly surprising for Lydia to learn that her father had left her under the guardianship of a man she had never met and whom Society believed to have murdered his wife.

Charlotte gave a grimace. “Would you mind very much if I did not go downstairs for dinner this evening? We have been traveling for almost a week, staying and eating at impersonal inns along the way. Eating a nice supper in my robe in front of a warm fire appeals to me far more than having to go downstairs and attempt to make conversation with the daunting Duke of Esher.”

Lydia had actually been looking forward to seeing the duke again and conversing with him. There was an intelligence in his eyes and an astuteness to his manner which indicated he was capable of talking learnedly and comfortably on any number of subjects. Lydia had been looking forward to that so much after listening to the inanities of the young men in Society for so long and Charlotte’s less than scintillating conversation this past week.

Much as Lydia loved Charlotte, her cousin was not the most educated of young ladies. Whilst Charlotte knew her Bible from front cover to back, she had not read any of the novels that Lydia had. Nor was she interested in politics or voicing any opinion which might cause dissent.

But, Lydia now reasoned, Esher would still be there for her to talk to tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and the one after that, and Charlotte’s suggestion of a lazy evening being comfortable in front of the fire sounded rather pleasant.

She beamed at her cousin. “An excellent idea. I believe I shall do the same.”

A frowned appeared between Charlotte’s brown eyes. “Won’t the duke be angry if neither of us joins him for dinner?”

Lydia chuckled. “I shall send word down to him that we are both too fatigued after our journey. Besides, considering his lack of manners toward me when we arrived earlier, I believe he is more likely to feel relieved not to be forced to be polite to me for a second time today.”

Charlotte’s brow cleared as she giggled. “He was rather…awkward. But what will you do about his declaration you are to wear black for a year?”

Lydia shrugged. “Considering I do not possess a black gown, I do not see how I can be compelled into wearing one. Besides, even if he is my guardian, it would not be appropriate for me to dine alone with him without your presence. With or without a black gown.”

Without a black gown?

Really, her thoughts had become far too wayward since they’d arrived at this estate and she had seen her guardian for the first time. Scarred and dangerous in appearance, he was also an amalgam of all those romantic heroes Lydia read about in the novels that so shocked poor Charlotte.

Charlotte looked alarmed again. “Do you think the duke will punish you for disobeying him?”

Lydia did not believe that jolt in her chest at the thought of being “punished” by Esher to be in the least ladylike. Even if it was thrilling to imagine him throwing her over his muscular thighs and spanking her bottom.

Would her bottom be covered or bare?

The duke did have very large hands, in proportion to the rest of him, she presumed. A delicious thrill ran through her at the thought of feeling one of those big hands landing on her bared and throbbing flesh as he administered that spanking.

Lydia drew in a shuddering breath as she brought her thoughts under control. “He can try,” she dismissed.

“But—”

“I shall send Mary downstairs now to ask that fresh bathwater be brought up for you,” she continued briskly to avoid listening to Charlotte voice any further uncertainty as to the wisdom of her decision. “With the added request that dinner be brought up to us here on trays half an hour after that. Does that sound agreeable to you?”

“Very.” Charlotte looked far more relaxed now that she did not have to go down and have dinner with their haughty and obviously reluctant host.

Was he reluctant, though? Lydia mused half an hour later as Charlotte luxuriated happily in the warmth of clean bathwater.

No doubt it had been as much of a shock for Esher to be informed he had been left guardianship of the Earl of Chessington’s daughter as it had her.

But there were numerous ways the duke could have avoided actually having her and Charlotte living in the home that had been his refuge these past ten years.

He could have left Lydia and her companion living in a modest house in London, Chessington House no longer being available to her, and paid her father’s lawyer to administer that guardianship.

Or he could have seen to the hiring of an older woman to act as Lydia’s chaperone. With her, again, remaining in London.

Instead, he had sent instruction through her father’s lawyer that Lydia, along with her companion and maid, were to immediately travel to his estate in Cornwall.

Perhaps he had grown lonely living here without company all these years, and now welcomed even their distraction?

Lydia gave an undignified snort. As if the imposing Esher would ever admit to being lonely,let alone consider a nineteen-year-old woman, and her companion and maid as suitable company for him.

Then why had he brought her here?

It was a question Lydia intended asking him at the earliest opportunity.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she intended to remain in her nightclothes and eat dinner by the fireside in her bedchamber with Charlotte.

Gideon scowledinto the bottom of his brandy glass as he tipped it up fully and drank down the contents.

This evening had been…

Disappointing.

Utterly boring.

Tediously long, if he were completely honest with himself.

Because his ward had not joined him for dinner as he had instructed her to. Neither could he find fault with the excuse she had sent down to him via his butler, that of being tired after a long week of traveling. It was a very long journey from London to Cornwall.

Instead, Gideon had dined alone, as he had so often in the past, and after he had gone to the bother of dressing for dinner in black evening clothes. Something he did not do unless it was one of those rare occasions when he was going out for the evening.

Eating dinner alone—again—when he’d had the promise of scintillating company dangled in front of him in the form of his outspoken ward had rendered the food tasteless. The time had also ticked by at a snail’s pace.

As soon as he was able, Gideon instructed Smythe to clear away in the dining room while he retired to his study. He had then proceeded to stare broodingly into the lit fire whilst indulging in several glasses of brandy.

His ward was…a surprise.

His physical reaction to her was even more so.

Quite what he was to do about that, he—

Gideon’s attention was drawn to the darkness of the hallway beyond the open doorway of his study. He could have sworn he had seen…

Yes, there it was again. A ghostly figure flitting about in the darkness, only distinguishable because of the pale clothing it wore.

As Gideon did not believe in ghosts—Harriet would have haunted his every moment these past ten years if they truly existed—he could only presume it was one of the servants. Although quite what they were doing wandering about in the darkness this time of night, he could not—

“Oh.”

The figure standing in the doorway of Gideon’s study was most certainly not a ghost. Nor was it one of the servants.

Instead, his ward was visible in the single candle the butler had lit and placed upon his desktop.

Her unconfined hair gleamed a deep red as it cascaded down to her waist. She wore a white robe over her night rail, but her ankles and slender, dainty feet were bare.

What the hell was she doing wandering around his home so inappropriately dressed?