Season For Desire Read online

  All in all, it was a dreadful expression, as pained as it was painful. The force of it made Giles step back again. “I do believe you,” he said. “And I’m sorry.”

  This time, it was not so much an apology as a statement of human feeling. Richard, Giles thought wryly, would have been gratified to hear his eldest employ such politeness.

  Again, he extended a hand—just to guide her, not to touch her at all—and together they made their way to the Rutherfords’ parlor. Which was now a minor holding of the Earldom of Alleyneham.

  “There they are,” barked an unfortunately familiar female voice as soon as Giles pushed open the door. “Satisfied that you’ve starved us long enough, Rutherford? May we have the dinner brought in now?”

  Lady Irving. Giles had met her once in London, during the Rutherfords’ brief venture into the settled bits of England. Richard had, at the time, been sure that he had only to ask and wave about his dollars, and the English would turn over their fusty old jewels to be reset anew.

  Just as she had been in London, Lady Irving was dressed in silk brighter than any color in nature, her turban and gown clashing hues of red and orange. Though about the same age as Richard, her expression had none of the elder Rutherford’s patient good humor. She was sharp: aquiline nose, angled eyebrows, hard jaw, set mouth. And her voice was the sharpest of all.

  Giles ignored her barking as he would that of a misbehaving dog. “Father, you waited for us? I thought you’d have dined already.”

  Richard paused as a platter of roast meat was laid on the table, then drew back chairs for Giles and the troublesome daughter of Lord Alleyneham. “I thought it only polite since you were doing a favor for the earl and his companion.”

  “We require brandy,” Lady Irving informed a servant, then fixed bright brown eyes on Richard. “You’ve got it all wrong, man. I’m already doing a favor for the earl, so your son cannot be doing a favor for me.”

  “Surely that’s not so.” Richard smiled. “One good deed doesn’t preclude another.”

  “You forget to account for haughtiness, Father.” Giles served out a plate of meat and vegetables, then placed it before Lady Audrina at his left. “Hungry?” The lady shook her head violently, as though he’d handed her a plate of smashed toads. After a pause, Giles took the food for himself. “Perhaps I forgot to account for haughtiness, too.”

  There were far too many nobles in this room, rarefying the air by putting up their noses. And the servants! Giles was unused to the presence of servants everywhere, slipping about the edges of the room, ever present yet ignored. Upon the arrival of his master, the tired footman had been required to hoist himself from his chair. Leaning against the wall by the brick hearth, he had fallen into a doze despite the argument that seemed to be ongoing between Lady Audrina’s father and—

  Well, everyone.

  “As I was saying,” the earl boomed above the din of his own cutlery, “I shall escort Llewellyn back to London myself. He must be seen to return to town without my daughter, so society will not connect their disappearances.”

  “Could I not travel to London with you instead, Papa?” Lady Audrina asked. “I tell you, Llewellyn took me from home against my will. Surely if I returned with you—”

  “Your will does not enter into the matter.” Lord Alleyneham smacked the table with the flat of his knife. “Were this situation to become known, it would not matter whether you intended to flee London or not. Your departure and your guilt are the same.”

  His daughter opened her mouth, and the earl held up a beefy hand. “No. No discussion. I cannot have you endangering our family’s prospects with the scandal of your presence. I do not want you seen in London.” He turned to Richard. “Rutherford, I need your assurance that Audrina will be permitted to travel with you until after the wedding. Naturally, Lady Irving will remain with the party to impart the respectability Lady Audrina requires.”

  Giles set down his fork. “Wedding? Whose wedding?”

  “My third daughter’s wedding to the Duke of Walpole on the first day of the new year.”

  “What does that wedding have to do with us?” asked Giles.

  “Third? How many daughters have you?” This from Richard, who always took an interest in personal irrelevancies.

  “Five. This one is the youngest.” Without looking at the lady in question, the earl gnawed at a bit of roast, then drained a glass of the brandy Lady Irving had ordered. “I have no sons, so the disposal of my daughters in marriage is of highest importance for the reputation of our family. A union with the Walpole dukedom will be the finest matrimonial alliance London has seen in years, and I cannot allow the scandal of an elopement or an abduction to endanger it. Especially since my two eldest have allied themselves disappointingly, and the fourth seems disinclined to be a part of proper society.”

  This was all sensibly put, were the earl talking of the behavior of business partners. But his words were as cold as the winter rain. Didn’t his children deserve more care? Richard’s schemes always had family betterment at their heart, even if the end result was quite the opposite. Giles could not help but notice that Daughter Number Five sat stiff as a statue, not touching a bite of food. Not looking as though she was eager to be disposed of. Not looking, for the moment, as though she dared feel anything at all.

  But Giles remembered the bleed of painful emotion that had overcome her in the corridor. “How uncooperative of your progeny,” Giles said coolly to the earl. “It is obvious that dependent females ought to set aside individual will and do as you bid them.”

  Someone kicked him under the table. Honestly, it could have been any of them. “If Llewellyn’s interference is unwanted,” he added more loudly, “then why don’t we simply tie him up and leave him in a cellar until after the wedding?”

  An arpeggio of gasps, from the earl’s drink-deepened rumble through Richard’s baritone and Lady Irving’s contralto. “I did, of course, intend that we should feed him,” Giles said.

  “You mistake the matter, young man,” barked the latter. “He must be returned to London at once. You must see that if he arrives in the earl’s company, it will be quite clear that he never eloped.”

  “He could have eloped with the earl.”

  The earl’s complexion turned a deeper red. “You are vulgar, sir.”

  “Do you think so? I’m not even trying. Must be the gift of my American blood.” Giles turned his attention to his dinner, adding, “As long as we’re making observations about behavior, I don’t think much of your manner of asking for a favor, my lord.”

  “You don’t have to like it. It is, however, in your best interest to obey.”

  Giles felt a pang of sympathy for the earl’s offspring.

  “And if you do, giving me your word as gentlemen—assuming such a thing matters to Americans,” Lord Alleyneham continued, “that you will remain with Lady Audrina and Lady Irving until the ducal wedding goes forward, I will tell you where to find a puzzle box.”

  Across the table, Richard’s dark eyes snagged Giles’s. “A . . . puzzle box, you say?” He had to clear his throat before the words resounded clearly.

  “One belonging to your late wife.” Could the earl be thought human enough to experience joy, the expression on his face might have read as gleeful. “I told you I had learned of your business in England. You, Mr. Rutherford, are on a treasure hunt—and with the right guidance, you shall find what you desire in time for Christmas.”

  Chapter Three

  Wherein the Candle Burns Low

  This unpretentious York public house was much like a London dining room in one regard: While they dined, people talked around Audrina and about her, but never to her. It was not at all difficult to slide back her chair and slip from the parlor unnoticed.

  In the corridor, she wrested a dripping candle from its sconce. Clamor rolled up from the public room below; speech, laughter, the thump of tankards and platters. Near yet unseen, just like the people in the parlor. Unaware of her b
eing aware of them.

  As she held the acrid-smelling tallow candle, its flame flickered in the stir of her breath. She shivered, her limbs as chilled as they were weary.

  Your departure and your guilt are the same . . . I do not want you seen in London.

  This, from her own father. He would rather spend the journey back to London with the man who had stolen his daughter from home than with the daughter who dared to be imperfect.

  Though she had rinsed her mouth, the remnants of laudanum made her stomach heave—as did finding herself in York with no warning, tied to a scoundrel, her only potential ally a hulking, impatient American stranger.

  The young Mr. Rutherford had said he believed her, though. Which meant he had to be better than no ally at all. And though his demeanor had been brusque, his hands were kind. Careful, not presumptuous. Far more respectful than his words.

  But it was Llewellyn with whom she needed words now.

  Knowing that Llewellyn was enjoying a bit of privacy, as Rutherford had put it, Audrina had no trouble locating him. The story above the parlor was lower and plainer than the rooms on the ground or first floor, with small bedchambers on either side of the corridor. From one of these, thuds echoed against the door. The corridor, Audrina noticed as she affixed her candle into another sconce, was devoid of servants. Her father must have paid them off. He thought of everything.

  Everything except noticing with whom she had spent her time months ago. A bit of parental intervention could have stopped all this nonsense with Llewellyn before it started. Flirting, daring, exploring the pleasure of her own power, she had sped along a reckless path, thinking someone would stop her soon. Any time. That someone would notice and care what she was doing.

  But no one did. And now she was truly lost, terribly far from where she had intended to be. She had never been good at stopping herself, not with the shadow of her family’s disapproval always to flee.

  With thwarted anger giving her new strength, she pounded the door with her fist. The thumping within stopped. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Lady Audrina. For God’s sake, Llewellyn, stop that racket or I shall have you tied up and thrown in the cellar.” Another bright moment generated by Mr. Rutherford. Really, it sounded like quite a good idea to Audrina.

  “Audrina. Finally. Let me out!”

  “Not likely. Since you dragged me in a cold carriage all the way from London, I think you can stand a bit of solitude in a nice warm bedchamber.” Lowering her voice, she spoke into the seam between door and frame. “You shall remain here overnight. In the morning, my father intends to transport you back to London with him. You shall travel with him peacefully and we shall never see each other again.”

  “Oh, is that how he wants to play it?” The arse sounded amused. Audrina could imagine his expression: mouth a wicked, smug curve; thick, hawkish brows arched. He fancied himself quite the rake.

  She no longer fancied him at all. “This is not a game. There is no question of play on my father’s part.”

  “Play is what it’s all about, dear Audrina.”

  “I will not respond to you unless you salute me appropriately.”

  He released a sigh heavy enough to send a chill down her back. “Fine. My lady. It’s all a matter of money. Either you marry me, or I shall get your dowry some other way.”

  “No, you are mistaken. Marriage is the only way to get my dowry, and I shall not marry you.” She tugged at the bodice of her gown, slumping against the door. Perspiration made her neck and breasts itch, yet her extremities were still clammy. She wanted a hot bath. In her own home. In London.

  She wanted it to be a week ago. Or three weeks from now in a bright new year, with her elder sister Charissa safely married to the Duke of Walpole. With the family fortunes safe for a while longer.

  “How pedantic you’ve grown, dear lady. You used to be an entertaining sort. But if you want to be exact, then yes, I should have said I would be content with the equivalent of your dowry.” His voice sounded close, too close, like a murmur in her ear, and she jerked away from the wooden barrier that suddenly seemed not nearly solid enough. “If you won’t marry me, your father shall instead be required to pay me to keep silent about our romantic journey to York. An investment, shall we say, to avoid the scandal of the fastidious Walpole canceling the ducal wedding.” These last words were spoken with a sneer.

  Her father could not pay, Audrina knew. The earldom’s farm rents had declined year over year since the disastrous winter of 1816. A few months ago, a ship carrying tea and silks had been lost, dragging the earl’s investment to the ocean floor with it. Though their dowries were safe in the Funds, protected by their parents’ marriage settlements, the Bradleigh sisters had seen the family’s income plummet in the past year. Yet another reason why an alliance with a solvent dukedom was vital.

  “And if he cannot pay?” Audrina hated her voice for catching on the words.

  “Earls can always come up with necessary funds. If he needs a bit of encouragement, dear girl, I have a pair of your garters in my possession. Your maid has assured me they are quite distinctive. Bespoke, aren’t they? There will be no question that they belong to you.”

  Damn. Damn. Damn. Her maid ought to be tied up and thrown in the cellar alongside Llewellyn, since they got along so famously.

  Really, that was not a bad idea. “Then keeping you tied in the cellar until the new year seems like an excellent plan. Mr. Rutherford thinks you should be fed, but I am not at all sure that would be necessary.”

  “Tut, tut, my pigeon. I am not a fool. You should have known I’d take precautions to ensure my own safety.” He chuckled. “When I said your garters were in my possession, that was not strictly true. They are with an accomplice of mine, and if I am not safely returned to London by the last day of the year, one of your garters shall be sent to Walpole. He will then have a day to reconsider his marriage to the sister of . . . such a woman.”

  A woman who had done nothing more—and in fact, far less—than Llewellyn himself had done. Who was being blamed by her own father for Llewellyn’s disrespect of her. As though his crime reflected her worth, not the rotten state of Llewellyn’s heart.

  No, it wasn’t her worth her father was concerned about. It was his own.

  When she next spoke, she managed a scornful tone. “I must still be fog-headed, because I do not understand how you will benefit if my sister’s wedding does not take place.”

  “To whom did Walpole almost become engaged last season?” The soft words wound about Audrina like a snake. “You remember, don’t you, my lady? My sister almost entrapped him, until yours began flinging herself at him. He could not resist her coin. But coin won’t be enough to hold him if scandal touches your family, and my dear sister will make sure she’s at hand to console him.”

  True; very true. The Duke of Walpole was a serious sort, conservative and traditional. He had almost drifted into a betrothal with the colorless Miss Llewellyn, until the laughing, chattering Charissa turned his head in another direction. Should their betrothal be severed—should there be a scandal—

  Hands fluttering behind her, Audrina caught the wall by the door. Coaxed herself back; gently, not making a sound, not jarring her exhausted frame. If she did, she might shatter.

  Llewellyn did not require the full attention of his audience to perform a soliloquy. “So you see, I shall have your dowry or a . . . let us call it a settlement. Or I shall be brother to a duchess. I do not care whether you’re ruined or not. You are a means to an end, my dear.”

  It did not befit an earl’s daughter to slide to the floor and wrap her arms around folded-up legs, nor to hide her face in the cradle of her weary limbs. But there was no one here to see her, and for the moment, she didn’t give a damn how an earl’s daughter ought to behave.

  Especially when Llewellyn realized she wasn’t going to reply and began hammering on the door again.

  A quiet voice slid below the thumping. “I’m sorely tempted to tie
him up, no matter what the illustrious Lady Irving recommends.”

  Audrina’s head snapped up. Giles Rutherford was crouched on the floor at her side, his large frame neatly folded like a stack of lumber.

  “What are you doing here?”

  His teeth flashed bright in the warm light of the candle overhead. “I noticed that you have a habit of not being in your expected location, then instead turning up in the company of London’s most fascinating gentleman.” He tilted his head toward the door. “What’s going on? Are you trying to talk him into sense?”

  Against his tanned, ruddy skin, his eyes were light and clear. He said he believed me, Audrina told herself. And so by way of reply, she simply said, “Yes.”

  “How’s that working?”

  “Not terribly well.”

  “He has a fool’s ingenuity, doesn’t he?”

  “If he is indeed ingenious”—and after learning that he had thought ahead to snatch a pair of her garters, she had to grant that he was—“we should not consider him a fool.”

  Rutherford rocked back on his heels. “If he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t treat a woman as he has you.”

  “How chivalrous of you.” She allowed her tight grip about her folded legs to loosen a bit, her head to sink back against the support of the wall.

  “Was it? Sorry, princess. I won’t let such an uncharacteristic remark pass my lips again. What I meant to say was—if he weren’t a fool, he wouldn’t sap his strength hammering at this door.” Raising his voice, he beat his square fist on the door—just once, then grimaced and shook out his hand. “Stop that racket, you thief,” he called. “We all know you’re in there, and no one will let you out.”

  When he turned in his crouch back to Audrina, she said, “Should I call you ‘peasant,’ Mr. Rutherford? If you are to exaggerate my status by calling me a princess, I ought to return the favor.”