Lady Lissa's Liaison (2 page)

Lissa stared up at her very flighty maid. In a firm tone, she said, "I am and I will. Now, do sit down and calm yourself. There is no reason for you to be so upset."

"No reason?" Tilly exclaimed, sitting as she was told to do, but fidgeting nonetheless. "Lord Wylde is known to be a—an
ogre,
"she gasped, drawing her hands from her chest only to wring them together in a nervous way. "Why, he's killed dozens of men an—and a would-be bride t' boot' "

"Nonsense, Tilly. The man has never been charged with anything so reprehensible as murder. It is all nothing more than malicious gossip," said Lissa, then stopped herself.

She'd heard all of the rumors surrounding the enigmatic Lord Wylde. In fact, she'd spent the last few weeks studying his character, digging up every tidbit she could find about the man. There hadn't been much of recent note to unearth other than that he'd landed himself in Derbyshire and was known to have become a recluse, intent on spending his time fishing the waters of the Dove.

It was the stories of his previous life in London that interested Lissa and had propelled her to venture this morning onto the very lands that he haunted.

Thinking of those stories, Lissa looked at her abigail, and said, "I want you to calm down and listen to me, Tilly."

The maid, her green eyes as wide as full moons, clutched her hands together in an effort to still them. She took a deep breath. "I be listening," she said nervously.

"Good. Because what I am about to tell you is just between us, and you must never breathe a word of this to anyone." Casting about her mind for a proper place to begin, Lissa said, "It is no secret to everyone in Derbyshire that a number of gentlemen from Town have come calling, each of them hoping to offer for my hand."

"No secret at all," said Tilly sincerely, "you be that beautiful, m'lady."

"Or that rich," muttered Lissa to herself.

"What's that, m'lady?"

"Nothing," said Lissa, shaking her head and continuing. "You see, Tilly, I have become overwhelmed by the many, er, uh, gentlemen who have suddenly invaded my life, not to mention my privacy, and who seem to believe that I should welcome their overeager courtship."

"Such as Lord Langford?" Tilly asked, her green eyes suddenly going dreamy as she said the man's name. " He be ever so handsome, Lord Langford be. Ooh, m'lady, he even gave you his special pendant to wear. I noticed that right fast."

Lissa instinctively touched the hand-painted locket the blond-haired Lord Roderick Langford had given her just the day before. He'd boldly looped it about her neck, telling her that if she did not return it to him by the end of the Summer Season, he would know she had accepted his suit; whether or not she returned his locket was to be a private sign to him.

Lissa wore the locket now not because she was interested in the man, but because she had not been able to unfix the dratted clasp and remove it from her neck. Had she had a choice, she would have taken it off and sent it back to him posthaste. But, alas, the clasp would not give, and in her haste to be up before dawn this morning, she had forgotten all about the locket and the too-handsome Langford as well.

Until now.

Tilly's mention brought to the forefront once again all of Lissa's misgivings at finding herself a very rich heiress who was now considered fair game by too many gentlemen. She suspected Lord Langford's interest in her—and the others from the Metropolis as well—was dictated more by her rich purse than anything else.

Her doting father had left Lissa a very wealthy woman. While alive, he had kept her protected from fortune hunters and those who would break her heart. He'd allowed her to pursue her passions of painting, sketching and writing in her nature journal. But now, the idyllic peace she'd once known had been shattered by invitations, calling cards, and a host of men like the golden-haired Lord Langford who believed they could woo her with pretty words and empty promises.

Lissa wanted them all gone from her life.

But how could one turn down so many with just a single sweep?
she'd wondered. And then a thought had come to her.

'Twas a dangerous thought. Perhaps a bit too risky. But it seemed a good enough plan.

Looking at Tilly, Lissa decided she would need to let one person in on her plot—even if that person was her flighty maid.

"Though Lord Langford has been nothing but polite in my presence," Lissa began, "I feel nothing for him, Tilly, and do not wish to encourage his suit. Nor do I wish to be bothered by any of the other gentlemen who have traveled here from London to meet with me. That is why we are now sitting alongside the river and looking for Cadis-worm casings while waiting for Lord Wylde."

The abigail puckered her freckled brow. "La, m'lady, but I be confused," Tilly said, exasperated and very worried. "The heartless Lord Wylde be a dangerous sort of fellow. Not at all what your father would have wanted you to be near. Why, he be a bride murderer!"

"Hush, Tilly," Lissa said firmly. "The woman wasn't his bride, but his would-be bride. And, regardless, the entire story of his part in the woman's demise is merely a rumor unproved."

"Not according to what I heard below stairs, m'lady," warned Tilly in her usual breach of decorum, "and what about all them duels he fought? No rumors there."

"You are quite right about the latter," Lissa acknowledged, to which her abigail sucked in another gasp. "But," Lissa went on, not pausing, "his lordship's famous, er, rather, infamous, past is precisely the reason I seek him out today. You see, I have decided that I need to affix my name to a man who is both a threat and a danger to the many gentlemen who have come calling for my hand. Once they learn that I have been in the company of someone so—so unacceptable as his lordship, they will undoubtedly withdraw, and I will be left alone, able to live my life as I see fit and not be bothered by their presence. It is, I believe, the only thing left for me to do since none of them have yet taken note of the fact that I wish not to be wooed or married at this time."

Her abigail appeared quite dumbfounded and for once speechless.

"Tilly," said Lissa, "did you hear what I said?"

"Lud, m'lady, I heard, but I not be believing it."

Lissa sat back and pulled a small handkerchief from the inner pocket of her pretty skirt, wiping the wetness of the river from her hands. "It is not so unbelievable," she insisted. "Indeed, I think it is a truly famous idea."

"But Lord Wylde is... is—"

"Not to be trusted," Lissa supplied. "I know. I have heard the same. I've also heard he is a terror with both sword and pistol, can outride, outshoot and outmaneuver any of his previous peers. And," she said lastly, "I know that he is considered a black sheep among the
ton.
He has become an outcast due to his many unseemly actions and his supposed part in a certain woman's death. He is purportedly a powder keg, smoldering to go off at any moment. He is frightening and frightful and a terrible scourge on good Society."

Tilly bobbed her head at all of these descriptions.

"Even so," Lissa went on,
"he
is the one I've chosen with whom to align my good name. And so here we are, awaiting his arrival along the river's edge. He is known to have taken up fly angling for trout in Derbyshire. Some say it is the balm for his black heart, while others say he simply enjoys slicing open the neck of anything alive."

Tilly looked perfectly aghast. "And what if, m'lady, the neck he be wanting t' slice be your own?" she whispered.

"What a ridiculous possibility," Lissa admonished.

Tilly obviously did not think it so ridiculous. Trying another bent, the maid said, "Well then, what if his lordship takes a keen liking to
you?
What then, m'lady?"

Lissa paused, taken aback by the question, but then quickly shook her head. "Another absurd notion, Tilly," she assured her maid. "I am not at all the type of female he would be interested in. I merely wish to make his acquaintance and be seen in his presence a time or two. Nothing more."

"Your father would not be happy knowing of your plan," Tilly warned.

"My father," Lissa answered, feeling a deep twinge in her heart at the mentioning of the one person she'd loved above any and all things, "would want
me
to do what is best for
me."

"And your aunt?" Tilly dared to ask.

Lissa wrinkled her nose. Aunt Prudence wouldn't like it at all, she knew. Though Aunt Pru had been a sweet dear by helping Lissa through the loss of her father, Lissa secretly could not wait for the woman to take her leave. She was making noises about Lissa going to Town for a formal come out. Only the fact that Lissa had still been in mourning saved her from having to make an entrance into Society this past spring. Her father had spared her from the ordeal the previous years. He'd known very well Lissa had no interest in being placed on the Marriage Mart, and he'd been loath to tear her away from her beloved Derbyshire.

"Aunt Prudence will also want what is best for me," Lissa insisted.

"And the heartless Lord Wylde be that?"

"Yes," said Lissa, resolve in her tone, "he is."

Of a sudden, there came a slight sound from somewhere behind and beyond them.

Tilly, nervous as a one-eyed kitten, bounded to her feet. "Oh, lud, m'lady, do not make me stay and meet the ogre!" she cried.

"Hush," scolded Lissa, hoping his lordship wouldn't be turned away by the sounds of their voices. "Gracious, Tilly, I've been plotting this meeting for weeks. I do not wish for the sound of your voice to scare him off. Now, do sit down and act as though the two of us are simply here by chance. Hand me my sketchbook, will you?"

Tilly thrust her hands into her lady's satchel, pulling out not only the sketchbook, but a number of charcoals as well, paints and even Lissa's nature journal, spilling everything onto the ground. "Ooh, I be nervous," she gasped.

"Just be calm, Tilly," Lissa instructed, feeling her own heart beginning to pound. She heard no more sounds of anyone coming toward the river. Perhaps what they had heard had been some woodland animal, or maybe a shift in the wind. Or perhaps the reclusive Lord Wylde had become aware of their presence and decided to leave.

Lissa hoped the latter wasn't the case. She tried to relax; but her own nerves were suddenly frayed, and she questioned her foolish choice of toying with and making use of a man so dangerous as Gabriel Gordon, the sixth Earl of Wylde.

Positioning her sketchbook firmly upon her lap, she turned her face toward the moving waters of the Dove with its limestone bed and then took up a piece of charcoal. She tried to sketch what she saw, tried in vain to capture the precise lines of the early morn, with the fog hovering above the water, the dawn's clear light slipping and slanting through the foliage, but her thoughts were far too scattered for her to concentrate. Instead, she managed only to scribble a to-do list, which wasn't a "list" at all, but only included the initials G.G. and the words
must meet.

A ways down the river's edge there came a rustling of movement. Both Tilly and Lissa looked up as a man walked into view.

Tilly immediately gulped in a frightened gasp of air.

Lissa, however, let out a satisfied sigh.
He is perfect for my plan,
she thought, instantly pleased by the deliciously dominating figure of the man.

Tall, unutterably and darkly handsome, with a body that seemed hewn from sturdy oak, he moved forward with a grace known only to the woodland animals Lissa so loved to sketch. He walked very quietly, with reverence to the fish in the water no doubt, and carried with him an angling rod and a long-handled net. Strapped about his muscled chest was a wicker basket. His hair was jet black, longish, marvelously shagged. His shoulders were very broad, and his eyes, when the morning light reflected in them off the water, Lissa noted, were as black as a funeral shroud.

Tilly jumped up. "Eeek!" she gasped. "He be death come to life! He be—"

"Enough,
" Lissa said in a fast whisper. But Tilly was already running for the safety of the trees, leaving her lady behind. Lissa ground her back teeth together. So much for having her maid as chaperone.

Determined to go through with her plan in spite of her abigail's weak constitution, Lissa steeled her resolve. She needed a way of thwarting her suitors as a whole, and linking her good name with that of the maligned Lord Wylde would certainly do the trick. None of those popinjays would dare venture where they believed the dangerous Lord Wylde trod. They would all tuck their tails and run back to the Metropolis once Lissa made everyone in Derbyshire believe she had promised herself to his lordship. All she need do was create the illusion of a liaison between the two of them, and her problem would be solved.

Doing so, of course, would take time—not to mention a bold bit of deceit. She glanced once again toward the man so many had labeled "heartless." He stood with his feet apart, his black gaze on the river, one strong and very capable hand wrapped about his fishing rod, his other fist clutching his long-handled net. He appeared as though he were deeply studying some challenge he would like to turn inside out and upside down. He looked downright fierce, in fact.

Lissa felt a gnawing of hesitancy beginning deep inside her as she noted that his mouth was hardened and that it only served to accent the stubborn jut of his chin.