An Earl Like No Other (17 page)

“Thank you. Just set it on that table. Then you should get some rest, Nell.”

“I don't know, my lord. Lady Elinor said—”

Jeremy chuckled, glad to find something to be amused about in the last few hours. “Mrs. Arthur's virtue is safe this night. You go on, now.”

“Yes, my lord.”

And Jeremy was thus left with his thoughts for company.
Our girl
? What did that signify?

He must have dozed off, for he was suddenly aware of Kate's thrashing about and muttering incoherently. He leaned forward to wrap his hand gently around her upper arm and murmur soothingly. His touch and voice seemed to quiet her. He released her and sat back. Almost immediately, she began flailing her arms about and hit her right hand on the bedpost, dislodging the loose bandages. Had she been awake, that blow would have been very painful, he thought. He replaced the bandage, retied the strings holding it, and restored the blanket she had kicked off. He was not immune to a glimpse of her shapely legs or the feel of her smooth, warm skin as he did so. Her muttering became more frantic. Occasionally, there was a coherent word or phrase—sometimes they even made sense.

“Run, Cassie! . . . Ned, be careful.... 'member: it's a secret . . . No, Robert, the duke . . . Can't tell Ken—. . . Runners . . . My son . . . Ned . . . Ned . . . No . . . No-o-o!” The last words came out in sheer terror.

When he had replaced the cover the fourth or fifth time, he gave up and lay on the top of it next to her, his arm cradling her head against his shoulder. Despite the smell of burnt hair, he savored her closeness. And she
was
calmer, her breathing less labored.

He lay there pondering her rambling cries.
Can't tell Ken—
Can't tell Kenrick what? A duke again. Which duke? Good God, there could not be that many dukes in the realm, could there? What was it that had her so frightened? Runners? Bow Street Runners? More pieces to the puzzle—and by God! Someone was going to answer these questions!

Finally, he slept himself.

In a bow to propriety, Jeremy had left the door to the hall slightly ajar. He awoke when there was a sharp knock on that door and Robert barged in. Light at the window showed it to be past dawn. Kate was quiet.

“Oh!” Robert said. “I—uh—”

“Come in, Robert. Don't be misled by what you see here.” Jeremy untangled himself from the sleeping form beside him, slid his feet into his slippers, and stood. “She became quite restless and I could hardly grab her hands, now could I?”

“No. I suppose not. But you're damned lucky I—and not that chatterbox Rosie—caught you out. Even so, with Kate in this room, there's likely to be some talk.”

“Ah, well—”

A groggy voice from the bed interrupted. “Lord Kenrick? Robert? What am I doing here?” Then her voice became more alert—and alarmed. “Cassie? Ned?”

“They are both all right,” Jeremy assured her, “and Dr. Ferris assured me yesterday that you will be too, as soon as these nasty burns heal.”

She rolled her head to look at him and winced. “My head . . .”

“Yes. You suffered a blow there.”

“The Angel of the Forty-sixth is up to her old tricks,” Robert said with a grin. “But really, my dear, you could leave some of the heroics to us men!”

Jeremy immediately noticed the endearment, but he thought it might be just a casual turn of phrase.

“I—I don't understand,” she said. “I remember the fire—the barn—stumbling—losing hold of Cassie. Cassie. Is she—?”

“She's fine,” they assured her again as they filled her in on the basic details of yesterday's events.

“What caused it—the fire?” she asked.

Jeremy exchanged a look with Robert and said, “We are not sure yet.” He cut off this line of discussion by reaching for the bellpull. “Nell will bring you some breakfast and see to your needs until your hands have healed.” He looked at Robert to include him in his next statement. “When you are sufficiently healed, Mrs. Arthur, I think the three of us should have a chat.”

“H—have a chat?” she repeated dumbly.

“Not now. When you are up to it. Ah, here's Nell now.”

With that, he and Robert left the room.

 

The simple tasks of getting through the day prevented Kate's dwelling on Lord Kenrick's parting words that morning. In fact, they were swept to the nether regions of her mind as she dealt with the constant frustration of being almost totally dependent on others. With both hands bandaged and every movement painful, she struggled with even mundane things, such as lifting a spoon or a slice of toast. By the time the doctor had come to pronounce her on the mend, and she had had an audience with Ned and Cassie—and the ever-present Lady Lobo—her head hurt so abominably that she agreed to a small dose of laudanum, which allowed her to lose herself in sleep.

The next day, aware that her occupation of the countess's bedchamber was likely to be viewed as most improper, she insisted on removing to her own room in the nursery wing. That day too some of the bandages were redone to give her more range of movement. Lady Elinor's maid managed to snip off Kate's damaged hair and create a most attractive, albeit short, hairstyle. From then on, she felt herself improving steadily and within the week was back to supervising staff members, if not always performing the hands-on chores she was wont to do.

In brief visits, Lord Kenrick checked on her frequently while she was still bedridden and, as she began resuming her duties as housekeeper, she encountered him far more often than had been usual before. He was always cordial and solicitous, but she could not shake the feeling that there was a good deal of speculation in his expressions of concern. Lady Elinor entertained her with
on dits
of local gossip—as did other members of the staff. Even Mr. Wilkins had climbed the stairs to the nursery wing. After the third day, Robert was conspicuously absent. Lady Elinor told her he was on a hasty trip to London to finish details of selling his commission.

Kate was grateful for Jeremy's concern. No.
Grateful
was far too mild a word. So was
concern
. She recalled now the utter contentment she had felt as she was entering a semiconscious state. Learning he had spent the entire night at her side had thrilled her, but also frightened her. Perhaps he did care for her as she cared for him. And if he did, how was she reciprocating that affection? With such deceit as might undo much of the good he was achieving with his earldom.

Was that to be the subject of his promised “chat”? Had he somehow learned the truth about her and Ned? She had pressed Robert, but he merely shrugged and said he had no idea what Jeremy had in mind. He told her not to worry about it. He did, however, once again urge her to confide in his brother.

Well, perhaps she would—when Robert returned. She knew it was cowardly, but with Robert there to support her, explaining herself should be easier. So long as Jeremy did not know her secret, she could postpone facing the issue of where she and Ned could run next. So long as Jeremy did not know, she could revel in being near him.

So, she avoided doing anything.

In the end, the matter was taken out of her hands.

I
n the next two weeks, activities at Kenrick settled back to a semblance of routine as Mrs. Arthur recovered from her injuries and resumed more and more of her usual duties. The remaining wool had been shipped off to market and repairs begun on the burned barn, for the storage space was sorely needed for hay now. Jeremy rode out nearly every day to supervise the rebuilding and the harvesting, and to visit people on his own farms. Porter often accompanied him, and when Robert returned from London, he joined them. However, they gleaned little information about who might have set the fire.

Jeremy, Robert, and Lady Elinor were to attend a dinner party given by the Hartwicks. It was an invitation of long standing and Jeremy now dreaded it, for the Mortimers were sure to be among the guests.

As they were.

The Kenrick party had barely entered the drawing room when Sir Eldridge brought up the subject of the fire.

“The whole neighborhood is still abuzz with news of that unfortunate fire, Kenrick. But these things happen—”

“Some do not just ‘happen.' ” Jeremy held the other man's gaze until Mortimer looked away with a slight tightening of the lips.

Robert said, “The fire is still under investigation.”

“Unfortunate, as I said,” Mortimer replied. “But surely an accident.”

Charlotte Mortimer stood near her father. She was dressed in a teal blue silk gown cut to show a tantalizing degree of cleavage. She murmured sympathetically. “At least no one was seriously injured. We must thank Providence for that.”

“Not just Providence,” Jeremy replied. “I might have lost my daughter but for the remarkable courage of a very brave woman.”

“Oh, I did hear that one of your servants had ingratiated herself in the crisis. I assume you rewarded her quite adequately.” Miss Mortimer waved her fan flirtatiously to dismiss the topic.

But Jeremy was not ready to let it go. “
Adequately
? I hardly think so. One cannot put a material value on a child's life. Or anyone else's, for that matter.” He gave her father another direct look, but Mortimer merely averted his eyes again.

“Lady Elinor, you are looking very fine this evening,” Miss Mortimer said.

“Thank you,” Lady Elinor replied. “I do not attend many evening events, but my nephews insisted.”

When dinner was announced, Jeremy was neither surprised nor pleased to find himself partnered with Charlotte Mortimer. He managed to keep up his end of conversations with her and with Mrs. Hartwick on his other side. Their talk involved such fascinating topics as the weather and travels on the continent now that Napoleon was firmly ensconced on the island of St. Helena.

“Hartwick's and my wedding journey was cut short by Bonaparte's adventuring,” Mrs. Hartwick said. “I hope young people today will be luckier than we were.”

“A wedding journey to the continent sounds heavenly,” Charlotte cooed. “Do you not agree, Lord Kenrick?”

Robert, sitting on the other side of the table and two seats down, must have heard this bit of discussion, for he raised an eyebrow. Jeremy was glad etiquette prevented Robert's commenting, for his brother's gaze held a distinct glint of amusement. Jeremy was himself slightly uncomfortable, slightly amused, and slightly annoyed at this conversational gambit.

He cleared his throat, then shrugged and said, “In general, I feel sure ladies take far more interest in such matters than gentlemen do.”

Robert grinned and nodded, the movement barely more than a tic.

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Hartwick said. “Mr. Hartwick would far rather talk of a hunting or fishing trip. I actually accompanied him one year to Scotland and found it a most enjoyable holiday.”

Jeremy was grateful for the shift in topic.

Later, as the gentlemen were rejoining the ladies in the drawing room, Jeremy found himself and Mortimer momentarily separated from the others.

“A word, Kenrick.”

“Sir?”

“I am mindful of the setback that fire dealt you, and I am not unsympathetic to your plight, but I feel I must tell you that I can allow no further extensions on the debt owed me.” Mortimer's tone was firm, his expression hard.

“I believe the final date on the legal documents is still nearly three months away,” Jeremy said evenly.

“Ten weeks,” Mortimer said, “but in light of the sum you are likely to have had from selling your wool—”

Jeremy interrupted and struggled to maintain his even tone. “No doubt you know to the last farthing what we realized from the remaining wool.”

“Yes, I do. I also know about those ships that went down in the Indian Ocean. I merely wanted to remind you that my offer some weeks ago still stands. I urge you to take it.” Mortimer smiled, a baring of teeth with no warmth. “Otherwise, my lord, you will find yourself with an empty title and nothing else.”

Jeremy was furious, but held his anger in check. Was there nothing of Kenrick affairs this man did not have a greedy eye fixed upon? Did he even have a spy in Lawyer Phillips's office? “This is hardly the time or place for this discussion, sir.”

“Right. We should join the others.”

As they entered the drawing room, Mortimer clapped a hand on Jeremy's shoulder and said in a loud, jovial voice, “I'm glad we understand each other, Lord Kenrick.”

Jeremy clenched his teeth and moved away to join a group that included not only his brother, but also Charlotte Mortimer.

“What was that all about?” Robert asked quietly.

“Tell you later,” Jeremy said.

Miss Mortimer laid a possessive hand on Jeremy's arm. “Oh, my lord, your brother was just telling us of the Richmond ball prior to that awful last battle with Napoleon.”

“Was he now?” Jeremy stared at her hand, then lifted his gaze to hers. She quickly removed her hand, but her eyes held the same glint of control and triumph he had discerned in her father's.
You have not cornered this rat yet,
Jeremy thought. Aloud, he said to Robert, “I think we should say our good nights. We must not tire Aunt Elinor.”

“Oh, right,” Robert said.

In the carriage, Jeremy relaxed and chatted amiably with Robert and their aunt. He did not want to worry Aunt Elinor with the details of Mortimer's not-so-subtle hold on the earldom.

“I saw you talking with Hartwick and Brewster,” Jeremy said to Robert. “Did they have anything to offer on the fire?”

“A great deal of sympathy, but no solid information,” Robert said.

“Mrs. Dennison was telling me the Thompson boy has returned from soldiering on the continent,” Lady Elinor said. “He used to be sweet on Delia Dennison.” She laughed. “I think Mrs. Dennison wanted me to pass that tidbit along to you, Robert.”

“Hmm,” Robert responded noncommittally.

“Thompson used to work a Kenrick farm, but he is now on one of Mortimer's holdings,” Jeremy explained to Robert.

“I remember them,” Robert said. “Big family. Seven or eight children. Billy Thompson was—is—my age. He has a twin sister. Wilhelmina. Mina. Is she still in the neighborhood, Aunt?”

“Oh, no,” Lady Elinor replied. “She left several months after her brother went off to the army. Just after we lost Charles and Edgar. They say she is in service in London.”

“I always thought Mina and Frank Sutton were headed for parson's mousetrap,” Robert mused.

“Frank Sutton married the Elmore girl two years ago. They have a baby boy,” said Lady Elinor.

“You don't say.” Robert stifled a yawn.

It occurred to Jeremy yet again that, despite her disability, his aunt missed very little of life around her.

When they arrived at the Hall, Robert saw Lady Elinor into the care of her maid, then sought his own bedchamber.

Having removed his boots and stripped down to his shirt and trousers, Jeremy decided to check on Cassie. Since the fire, he was very conscious of how close he had come to losing her and the need to just see her was often overwhelming. He put on slippers and climbed the stairs to the nursery wing. Through the open door of his daughter's room, a lamp in the hallway allowed sufficient light for him to see that Cassie slept soundly.

He was not surprised to see the kitten quite at home on his daughter's bed. He caressed Cassie's cheek and pulled the covers tighter around her.

“I see you have firmly established your place in this part of the realm,” he said softly, holding the kitten in his cupped hands. It gazed at him solemnly and licked his hand with its small pink, surprisingly rough tongue. Jeremy settled the kitten back on the bed and left.

In the hall, movement two doors down caught his attention.

“Oh. 'Tis you, my lord,” Mrs. Arthur said in a low voice as she tied the belt of her robe. “I thought I heard something—”

“I am sorry to have disturbed you.” He drank in the sight of her and marveled that this woman, in a high-necked nightdress and a nondescript brown robe, elicited a far more profound response from his body than abundant cleavage in colorful silk had earlier in the evening.

“I—I was not asleep. Just reading,” she said and he could see through the open door of her room a brightly-lit lamp at her bedside and an open book facedown on the nightstand. He also noticed a half-full glass of what looked like amber sherry.

She was, of course, not wearing that infernal mobcap at this hour. “Your hair—” He reached to touch it, then thought better of doing so and dropped his hand.

She gave a nervous laugh and swiped a hand over her head and along her neck. His gaze followed her hand.

“Luckily it will grow back,” she said. “At least I needn't plait it every night now.”

“A silver lining behind every cloud, eh?”

She shrugged, but made no move to end the encounter. Wanting to prolong it, he asked, “And your hands? Are they healed now?”

“Nearly.” She held them out and turned them this way and that. “Some redness. I wear gloves for most tasks.”

“Allow me.” He took her hands gently in his own and steered her across the threshold toward the better light on her nightstand. “They seem to have healed nicely. With luck, there will be little scarring.”

He raised his gaze to hers and seeing a corresponding degree of sheer need in her eyes, he gave up control, put his arms around her, and lowered his mouth to hers. With no pretense of reticence, she moved closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. The kiss was deep, searching—an urgent plea—no,
demand
—for more from both. His hands caressed her back and urged her closer to his own hard need. She tasted and smelled of the sweet sherry.

Finally, he lifted his lips from hers, but still held her close. His hands, it seemed, moved of their own volition over the curves of her back and sides, disarranging her robe. He heard a sharp intake of her breath as he reached inside the robe to caress a round breast; he moaned softly when he felt a rigid nipple through the thin fabric of her nightgown.

“Kate?” His voice a husky whisper, he realized fleetingly that this was the first time he had ever spoken her name aloud. It felt right. Natural.

Again, there was no pretense, only raw need in her response, “Yes. Oh, yes.”

He was pleased that he had not lost all sense of the situation, for he did have enough presence of mind to close the door to her room before they lost themselves in feverishly disrobing each other.

He paused, put a bit of space between them, and drew in a sharp breath.

“What?” She sounded, alarmed, perhaps embarrassed.

“I knew there was real beauty beneath that infernal mobcap and housekeeper apron, but you—you—”

“Yes?” She sounded coy, teasing now.

“—are breathtakingly lovely, my dear—as I am sure you must know.”

He drew her close again, his hands cradling her head as he kissed her eyes, her nose, the soft tenderness beneath her ears, then settled his lips on hers. He ran his hands through her hair, marveling at its silkiness and fresh lemony smell even as he recalled the smell of fire-damaged hair when he had lain beside her that night after the fire.

He nudged her onto the bed, where he was delighted to find no coyness at all. With a great deal of stroking, caressing, nonsensical words, and soft laughter, they brought each other to the brink of ecstatic pleasure. Then she lay beneath him, eagerly welcoming. In her eyes he beheld desire to match his own and he reveled in holding her gaze as he entered. She locked her legs around his and slowly, relishing every nuance of feeling, then with wild urgency, together they surged over the brink.

Afterwards, Jeremy lay at her side, idly caressing her naked body, kissing her neck and shoulder. She lay still, silent, but he could tell by contented sighs and small, accommodating movements that she was fully alert.

“Kate?” He nuzzled her neck.

“My lord?”

He chuckled. “In light of what we just did, I think you might use my name. Jeremy.”

“Jeremy.” She said it softly as though she were experimenting with the taste. Then she turned to look at him and spoke more firmly. “Jeremy. You—you know this was not a good idea.”

“I enjoyed it immensely. I think you did too.”

She giggled. “You say that like we just indulged in a—a strawberry pie.”

“Strawberry pie is my favorite dessert.” His voice was more seductive and his caresses more restive as he gently, subtly persuaded her into full cooperation with what he had in mind—well, what his body craved again. Pleased that his physical desire for her aroused a corresponding need in her, he also recognized a deeper, spiritual element—something to be treasured, to be cherished as he gave himself entirely in this ultimate act of sharing.

Again she lay quiet at his side. After a long moment of languorous contentment, he said, “Next time we do this in my room—where the bed is larger. Beds in the nursery wing were not designed for this.”