Barbara Metzger (16 page)

She was, and she admitted it freely, to herself, at least. She loved the earl’s house, with its endless treasures and countless masterpieces to be admired, its vast library of books and its well-kept gardens. She loved his staff, who were always offering to take her place at Troy’s bedside, or to keep her company there. They made her feel as welcome in the kitchens and the butler’s pantry as in the formal parlors. And she loved the earl.

She waited for the few hours a day she spent in his company, where she could watch smiles flash across his handsome face and watch his brown eyes turn thoughtful or inquisitive. She memorized his gentleness toward Troy, and his amused efforts to win Roma’s affection. She studied his strong hands and fingers while he ate, admiring the breadth of his shoulders and the power in his horseman’s legs as he walked beside her into the dining room. He was amazingly graceful for such a large man, guiding her to her chair with the effortless agility of a fencer, and he held the delicate china as one might cradle a baby bird.

She listened to his opinions about books they had both read and plays she had not seen, about the state of the government, the progress of the war, and why people acted as they did. Then she listened to him ask her own opinions, as no one else ever did. He did not treat her as the unwelcome responsibility she knew she was, but as a cherished guest, almost as a friend.

That such a man treated her with respect meant she was worthy. Athena felt bigger, better, stronger, more confident because of his regard. And she loved him for making her feel loveable.

This was not the unmitigated disaster it might have been, for Athena knew that her infatuation could bring nothing but some lovely daydreams. She was not about to have her heart broken or her hopes dashed, for she had no hopes whatsoever that the earl might come to care for her in a particular way, and she would not let her heart rule her head. She might be a silly chit, inexperienced and thus impressed by the nonpareil’s manly attractions and his attention to her, but she was not stupid. He was a gentleman, and so was treating her with courtesy. He was a rake, and so was treating her with charm. Nothing else.

Nothing else could ever come of it, and Athena easily accepted that fact. She was too dull to interest him, too plain to attract him, too much a country nobody to suit him. Now she would not even be welcomed into Lord Marden’s elite social circles. So be it. She could still admire him.

One could visit a great cathedral or view a masterpiece without having to own it. That was how Athena considered the earl: as something that was a pleasure to look at, that enriched one’s life, that gave joy to one’s existence—and that was as out of reach as a perfect, brilliant rainbow.

He was a memory she was going to cherish for the rest of her life. Whatever course that life took, whether keeping house for her uncle, going into service, or living the life of a recluse in some tiny lodging, she would have the images of her earl to take out and enjoy.

So Athena gathered memories, because she was going to need their company in the coming years. She stored the tales the servants proudly retold, of Lord Marden’s childhood, and his boyhood pranks. They told her, too, of his position at court, of his place as one of the premier bachelors in all of London, of his openhanded generosity with the fortune at his fingertips.

Athena had to laugh at herself and her moonstruck madness. No, nothing could ever come of it. No matter—she could still enjoy her first, last, and only encounter with a storybook hero, outside of a novel.

*

Athena was ready to savor more of the experience, along with the French chef’s delicacies, over dinner that evening. She dressed more carefully than usual, hoping to win his smile of approval with the white muslin gown that was trimmed in turquoise ribbons to match her eyes. The neck was too high and the waist too low for current fashion, but she thought it became her. Around her neck she wore her mother’s pearls, one of the few items of family jewelry that Spartacus’s wife had not been able to claim. Now she felt special, almost fit company for an elegant earl. If her style was dated, her sparkle compensated, for tonight she had wonderful news to impart.

“What, is Troy that much better? I looked in earlier when he was sleeping, and saw no change.”

“Troy took less laudanum today, so that is a hopeful sign. But my news is still excellent. I have solved the problem of a chaperone, so you may move back into your own home!”

Ian was not concerned half as much with where he laid his head as with what scandal was laid on his doorstep. His mother thought she would be feeling well enough for the jaunt to London soon, and his sister was expected back in Richmond any day. Neither was soon enough. With a respectable matron at her side, Athena could visit the shops, go for visits, meet other ladies of social standing. They would see in an instant that she was nothing but an innocent, a sweet young woman caught up in circumstances beyond her control. Just look at her now, grinning like a schoolgirl, her eyes twinkling like stars in an azure sky. No one could mistake her for his mistress in her virginal white frock and pearls. Her future depended on it. His was already decided.

He tried to smile, to share her enthusiasm. “Now that is fine news, indeed. Where did you find this manna—ah, matron? And more importantly, are you certain she is respectable?”

“Of course. She is a friend of your sister’s. She had heard that Lady Dorothy would be coming to town and so stopped to leave her card. I happened to meet her on the doorstep when I was bringing Roma back from a walk.”

“Some of Doro’s friends are not up to snuff. This female is no spinster bluestocking, is she, or an old-maid reformer? They would do your reputation no good. And they are deuced uncomfortable to have around.”

Athena would not have burdened Lord Marden with a dour, disapproving dowd, not even to rescue her reputation. Besides, that sort of woman would not approve of these dinners a deux, the hours spent at Troy’s bedside. Athena was not about to give up her few pleasures for propriety’s sake, especially since her name was already besmirched. “No, this woman is a married lady with a young son away at school. She dresses in the height of fashion, and seems to know everyone in London.”

“Yet she would be willing to stay here?”

“Yes, she offered, even when I said that I would be staying at my brother’s bedside, not going out or entertaining. She understood perfectly, and admitted that she was weary of the social rounds and could use a restful interlude herself. She had heard of our, ah, difficulty, and volunteered to act as my companion, as a friend of the family.”

“What about her husband? Won’t he mind his wife moving into someone else’s home?”

“Oh, he is out of town on business, so the lady is lonely in her empty house. It is too far for Lady Paige to travel to her country place and—”

“Lady Paige?”

Athena smiled. “Why, yes. She did say you were acquainted.”

“Mona, Baroness Paige?”

Athena’s smile faded and she put down her fork. “Do you not like her? She seemed everything polite and charming.”

Ian would wager she did. The
poisson
turned to poison on his plate. The asparagus spears pierced his innards. The mousse was a noose and the
boeuf
was a buffet to the head. “Lady Paige?” he choked out.

“Stop repeating the woman’s name and tell me what is wrong with her?”

“Nothing is wrong with her!” Nothing was wrong with Lady Paige except that she had been the cause of the duel that shot the boy that brought the sister that he had ruined. His life was turned upside down by that lying, cheating Paige peeress. Oh, no, nothing was wrong with her except that she had been his mistress, and many other men’s mistress. Now the husband-betraying bitch was going to befriend Athena? Hah!

She was going to create a worse scandal, that’s what she was going to do. A ménage a trois, the
on dits
headline would read, spring and summer at Mad Dog Marden’s garden of earthly delights. One more scandal would not bother Mona—not when she had a safe harbor from her husband’s debtors. She would not care an iota about Miss Renslow’s reputation, no more than she cared for Paige’s jealousy. Look at how she cared for her son, Ian fumed. Away at school? The boy could not be more than seven—and Ian had not even known she had a child.

He pushed his plate away, half full. He was fully full of guilt and remorse and anger and despair. One more blighted mouthful of gloom would be more than he could chew.

Now Athena knew something was dreadfully wrong, as the earl was not finishing his dinner. “The lady is not a friend of your sister’s?”

“The lady is a lady only in the formal sense, but yes, she did have her come-out the same year as Dorothy. I suppose they are acquaintances, but I would not call them friends. Nor would I consider Lady Paige a proper companion for an unmarried miss.” Which had to be the biggest understatement of the day.

“Oh. I suppose that was why Mr. Hull took a coughing fit at the door when I invited her in for tea.”

Hull would be sent packing. He should have slammed the door in the doxy’s face. How could anyone let a light skirt like La Paige near an angel like Athena? Ian could imagine their conversations, and shuddered. Captain Beecham would have him keelhauled. Lord Rensdale would have him shot. Troy would stop looking at him like some kind of idol. And he would hate himself worse than he already did.

“No harm is done,” he said around the lump in his throat. “You can just write and tell the woman that we have made other arrangements and that her generous”—Hah! Mona was not being generous; she had no one else to pay her bills—“offer is not needed.”

Athena said nothing, wadding her napkin into a tight ball.

“You can write to her, can you not? I have her direction if you lost her card.”

“I cannot.” Her voice was a bare whisper.

“I know you can write. But if you are too embarrassed to retract an invitation, I can do it. Better yet, I will have Hull go explain to her.” That ought to serve the bumbling butler right. If Ian went, he’d be tempted to strangle the jade.

Ian could barely hear Athena’s murmured: “A letter is not necessary.”

“No. Dear Heaven, no. Tell me that woman is not already installed in one of my guest rooms!”

“I cannot.”

Ian was too angry to speak, thank goodness, or Athena would have heard words no gently bred female should ever encounter. He had to bite his tongue to keep them inside, but he did not sully the ears of the stupidest, most featherheaded, flea-brained, hen-witted, sapskulled—

“How was I to know?” Athena demanded, when Lord Marden sat glaring at her, his jaw working but no words coming out. “And I did not invite her. I never would have taken it upon myself to ask a guest into your home, even though you told me to treat Maddox House as my own. I thanked Lady Paige for her kind offer and said I would discuss it with you. But she said I must not spend another night here alone, and that you would be sure to agree. You must admit you have been adamant about protecting my good name.” Ian still said nothing.

“Well, you have. You are almost as bad as Wiggy, staying at a hotel or some shabby lodgings instead of here.”

There was nothing shabby about his Kensington cottage, but Ian still stayed mumchance, rather than mouth the obscenities he was reciting to himself.

“Then Lady Paige sent her footman for her trunks, which were already packed into her carriage,” Athena continued. “She said she had intended to go visit elsewhere if Lady Dorothy was not at home. How could I tell Mr. Hull to order the boxes carried back to the coach? He was looking ill, anyway, so I sent him to rest in the butler’s pantry. Lady Paige is in the rose bed chamber, taking dinner on a tray. She claimed a headache, and said that if you and I shared one more meal in private no one would comment—not with her in the house.”

That was not what people would be commenting on, not by half.

Ian could not help himself. A foul term escaped his lips, and he did not even apologize when scarlet bloomed on Athena’s cheeks. Once the floodgates were opened, there was no damming the
damns.
“Of all the blasted, bloody, imbecilic, immature and I don’t know what else, this is the worst! How in hell could you have been so—”

Athena stopped listening. She rose to her feet and left the room, left him to his swearing and his screaming. And she smiled.

Now she did not have to worry about loving the earl too much. He was not perfect after all.

Chapter Twelve

Any time a woman can put a man in the wrong, she will.

―Anonymous

Men are usually wrong.

―Mrs. Anonymous

The butler tendered his resignation. Ian offered Hull a raise if he got rid of the rodent in the rose bedroom. Hull said he’d rather quit; the earl could eradicate his own embarrassing vermin. The butler would be staying. Mona had to go.

Oh, for a rat trap big enough. Ian poured himself a glass of port. Oh, for a glass big enough to drown in. Oh, hell, the bitch wasn’t going to leave without a scene. He had a second glass and wondered what he had ever found attractive in the rounded, round-heeled brunette. Not the overripe curves or the pendulous breasts, the thick ankles or the thin eyebrows, tweezed to arch in perpetual surprise. But Mona was not surprised to see him, it appeared, despite the eyebrows. Ian had waited until he thought Athena would be safely at her brother’s bedside, and until Hull took the bottle of port away. Then he’d rapped softly on the door of her bedchamber. The door was opened by the woman herself, in a nearly transparent nightgown of some pink gauzy stuff. She might have been part of the rose bedroom’s decor, like the wall-covering, for all the interest Ian felt. No, compared to Athena’s petite form, the baroness was more like a stuffed ottoman.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

“Why, waiting for you, darling. I knew you would come as soon as the girl was asleep.” She held her plump arms out to him. He handed her a robe from the end of the bed.