“Yes,” she replied curtly.
He studied the increased stiffening of her posture when she made her response. “I am sorry. Did your father pass away recently? I have noticed you wear mourning clothes.”
Denial flew from her. “It is not for my father that I mourn. He died many years ago after running off with an actress.” Contempt turned her normally sweet voice sharp. Then, her eyes widened, and her hand came up over her mouth as if she regretted voicing her father’s perfidy aloud.
Ah, thought the marquess. So that explained her mission to reform the actresses of the world. Glancing around him speculatively he said, “Well, I should not make this room my own, then. I believe the pink-and-white apartment at the end of the hall will serve instead.”
Verity gasped in dismay. “My lord! That is my room. Surely, with its feminine adornments it would not be fitting.”
The marquess shot her a sidelong glance. “Did I not tell you I would be sleeping in your bed?” he asked with maddening self-assurance.
“You cannot be serious. It would not be proper,” Verity proclaimed.
“Miss Pymbroke, I believe you are well aware of my feelings regarding what is ‘proper.’ Besides, you have leased me the house, and it would not be fair of you to dictate which room I may sleep in. Does the thought of me beneath your sheets disturb you so much?”
Verity bit her lip. Mentally, she slammed the door shut on the picture he painted of himself under her pink coverlet.
He was goading her, she knew. Furthermore, it was shabby of him to appeal to her sense of fairness. It seemed the marquess had no scruples when it came to getting his way. “Please yourself then, my lord. I am certain you will anyway. But this exchange reminds me that there are a few rules for your tenancy I should like to explain before giving you the keys.”
Over by the bed, Lady Hyacinth, well and truly disappointed with the couple’s unloverlike behavior, walked to Verity’s side and said, “Oh, dear child, perhaps you can discuss that over a nice tea tray. I declare I am feeling sharp-set.”
Verity frowned at the marquess before turning to smile on her ladyship. “Of course, Lady Hyacinth,” she said, stepping forward and placing an arm affectionately around the older woman’s shoulders. “Forgive me for not thinking of it myself.”
“That’s all right, dear. You had other matters on your mind. Or you should have,” Lady Hyacinth stated, batting her eyelashes at the marquess like a miss of seventeen.
Some moments later, seated comfortably in the morning room around a heavily laden tea tray, Lady Hyacinth indulged her healthy appetite.
Verity gazed at her fondly before turning to Lord Carrisworth. He was at his leisure, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front of him so she might admire them.
She quickly averted her gaze. Smoothing the folds of her dull brown dress, Verity adopted the attitude of a governess. “Now, my lord, as to the rules I mentioned earlier. There are to be no parties held here during the time you are leasing these premises. In addition, I have rented you the house, but not the garden. Mama toiled over those roses for years before she became ill, and I took over the task since then. I plan to continue maintaining their splendor in her honor. I shall not disturb you as there is a door in the wall of the garden leading to the outside which I shall make use of.”
Pausing for breath, Verity noticed the marquess was regarding her with a limpid look. She continued with a hint of unease at the next stipulation. “In addition, I would have none of your . . . paramours here to shock the servants.”
A strangled sound escaped from Lord Carrisworth and his shoulders shook.
Lady Hyacinth licked the crumbs of a seed cake from her fingers. “Don’t be a goose, Verity. His lordship isn’t going to parade any of his doxies here. He’ll have set up another house where he can visit them.”
The marquess could no longer restrain himself. He wiped his streaming eyes and declared, “Miss Pymbroke, you are a treasure.”
Disconcerted, Verity crossed her arms and pointedly looked away.
Lady Hyacinth’s gaze lingered appreciatively over his lordship’s legs.
Just then, Digby entered the room and intoned, “Mrs. Louisa Barrington.”
Verity’s long-awaited sister walked into the room. Her pale blonde hair was twisted into an elegant coiffure underneath a dashing plumed bonnet. A cherry-colored velvet spencer topped a cherry-and-ivory striped silk day dress. At two and thirty her face was beginning to take on lines, but these were artfully concealed by cosmetics.
“Louisa!” Verity cried, rushing to embrace her. “Oh, how I have prayed for your return and here you are at last!”
“Mouse, can it be you?” Louisa queried, using Verity’s nursery name. “How you have grown. Careful, lest you crush my gown.” Louisa disengaged herself and fastened her cool gray gaze on the marquess, who had risen to his feet at her entrance.
Introductions were hastily performed, and Louisa dropped a curtsy, dismissing Lady Hyacinth, but favoring his lordship with a seductive smile.
When everyone was once again seated around the tea tray, Verity could hardly contain her excitement. “I was ten years old when last we saw each other, Louisa. You and Philip had only been married a few years when he whisked you off to the continent. I was wretched for months! Oh heavens, Louisa, poor, dear Philip. Even though it has been two years, you must miss him dreadfully.”
Louisa took a sip of her tea, a puzzled expression crossing her face for a brief moment. But, it was gone before it could be noticed by anyone but the marquess.
“Yes, the memory of Philip’s tragic death still pains me.” Louisa produced a wispy lace handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her dry eyes.
“Where have you been living, Mrs. Barrington?” the marquess inquired.
Louisa appeared pleased at this show of interest. “Everywhere, my lord, but most recently Spain.”
“Spain? We thought you were still in Portugal,” Lady Hyacinth said, baffled.
“La, I have become quite the traveler. I enjoy seeing different places, different people. But a desire for all the gaiety of a London Season brought me home.”
“Surely you wished to see your sister above anything else,” Lord Carrisworth said.
A faint hint of color came into Louisa’s cheeks at this reproof. “Naturally, my lord. I dote on my little Mouse.”
Lady Hyacinth rose to her feet. “You must be prodigiously weary, Louisa. Traveling is always injurious to one’s health. I shall go home and order the room next to Verity’s made up for you at once.”
The older woman waddled from the room, leaving Louisa mystified. “Has Lady Hyacinth lost her wits? Why should I want to stay with those two old eccentrics?”
Verity shifted uneasily in her chair. “We must stay with the Ladies Iris and Hyacinth, Louisa. You see, for the sake of economy I found it necessary to let the house for the Season. And the ladies are lifelong friends who have been everything that is good to me since Mama’s death. I am sorry if you cannot like it, but I had no other choice.”
Louisa bridled. She opened her mouth to give her sister a thundering scold, when Lord Carrisworth drawled, “I am forever grateful to Miss Pymbroke for her decision since I shall benefit from it. My own townhouse was damaged by fire, and I found myself at sixes and sevens until she agreed to lease her home to me. I am moving in today.”
Louisa’s cool gray eyes studied her sister. “How advantageous. And I would never break squares with Mouse on my first day home.”
Verity smiled lovingly at her sister. “Come, I shall give the keys to his lordship, and we can settle in next door. Perhaps we shall stay up half the night catching up with one another’s escapades,” she ended with a laugh.
The corners of Louisa’s mouth turned in at this plan, but Verity was fishing in her reticule for the house keys and therefore missed her sister’s expression of chagrin.
Lord Carrisworth accepted the keys from Verity’s outstretched hand, taking the opportunity to brush her fingertips with his. Pleased at the heightened color in her cheeks, he said, “Miss Pymbroke, remember you are engaged to go to the playhouse with me this evening.”
“The playhouse,” Louisa crooned. “How I envy you, Verity.”
At the thought of spending an evening in the marquess’s company, a suffocating sensation tightened Verity’s throat. Then, she stiffened her spine. Her sense of duty forced her to realize one did not give one’s word and go back on it no matter how diabolically the promise had been wrung from her.
“Very well, my lord. Tonight it will be. But as you cannot expect me to accompany you alone, I am certain you will want to include Louisa in your invitation, if she is not overtired from her journey.”
Louisa’s gray eyes glittered. “I am not at all fatigued.”
“How fortunate for me,” Lord Carrisworth dissembled. For he was not pleased at this turn of events.
Since the conventions never troubled him, he had, indeed, entertained the thought he might have Miss Pymbroke alone. An intriguing sparkle of warmth and affection had come into her velvet brown eyes since her sister’s arrival. His lordship found he desired to see Miss Pymbroke gaze upon him so.
In addition, he’d been on the Town too long to be taken in by Mrs. Barrington, seeing through her thin veneer of respectability. He did not for a moment believe the widow had traveled the continent alone on a soldier’s pension. More likely, she had recently broken off with a lover and, without another at hand, had been forced to return to England.
None of these reflections showed on his handsome countenance, however. As usual, his manner was flirtatious and carefree while he finalized the arrangements for the evening ahead before showing the ladies to the door.
After they’d gone, Lord Carrisworth gave orders for a light repast and then called himself a fool when he found his thoughts dwelling on what her sister’s arrival might mean for Miss Pymbroke’s life. In truth, he told himself, the matter was of no interest whatsoever. It was simply that Miss Pymbroke served to alleviate some of his wretched boredom. He found the combination of her Puritan airs and her delectable face and figure amusing.
And to be amused, to find pleasure where he could, were the marquess’s sole pursuits in life.
* * * *
That evening at supper while the conversation centered on Louisa, Lady Iris felt cross. Like the marquess, she had perceived Louisa’s true nature immediately. The gel had always been selfish and willful, and Lady Iris shrewdly judged the years since Louisa left London had hardened her irrevocably.
Equally obvious was that Verity adored Louisa. Probably because of all that rot she preached about familial bonds, Lady Iris thought in disgust while she watched her own sister partake of every dish on the table, sometimes heaping a second portion on her plate.
At the end of the meal Lady Hyacinth suddenly groaned and pressed a hand to her stomach. “Bless me! Iris, speak to Cook. The cream sauce must have been rancid, and now I am suffering from a disordered spleen.”
Louisa made a moue of distaste.
Verity bestowed a pitying look on Lady Hyacinth. “Dear lady, how unfortunate. Shall I help you upstairs to your bed?”
Lady Iris glared at Lady Hyacinth. “It’s not the sauce, you ninny. Your appetite rivals that of Heliogabalus, the Roman emperor notorious for his gluttony. Unlace your stays and you’ll recover fast enough.”
These acid remarks fell on deaf ears, because Lady Hyacinth had risen and was allowing Verity to lead her from the dining room.
Lady Iris finished her wine and turned to Louisa. “I’m sure you want your bed, so I won’t keep you.”
The subject of the marquess’s escort to the playhouse had never come up, the company being immersed in the topic of Louisa’s doings, so Lady Iris and Lady Hyacinth remained in ignorance of the plan. Louisa did nothing to enlighten them.
A steely edge came into Lady Iris’s voice. “Mind, we’re very fond of Verity in this house and would not see her hurt. Keep that thought in your brain box and we’ll rub along together well enough.”
Louisa lowered her eyes so Lady Iris could not see the wrath reflected in them. “Yes, my lady.”
Lady Iris peered at the widow sharply for a moment, then rose. “I have to go to the kitchens. Not to reprimand Cook like Hyacinth wants. Got another reason,” she mumbled.
Empress had been lying beside her mistress’s chair, but at her departure, trotted over to Louisa to eye her as astutely as Lady Iris had.
Louisa looked down at the animal and said, “Cats are annoying creatures. They belong in the kitchens, catching mice. Go on with you. Shoo!”
Empress flattened her ears and darted from the room.
Louisa sat where she was for a moment, clutching her wineglass until her fingers whitened.
Things were not as she had expected on her return. Trust Verity’s silly Mama not to have remarried in order to provide for her family, Louisa thought uncharitably. Her own Mama had been too cunning to have ever allowed herself to reach such a pass. If only she’d lived, Louisa wished, not for the first time. The very idea of having to stay in this house with two horrible, ancient ladies disgusted her.
At least the handsome Marquess of Carrisworth was right next door. Now there was a man, Louisa reflected. She would wager he knew exactly how to please a woman in bed. A smile curved her lips while she imagined the marquess’s hands roaming her naked body, and hers caressing his.
She had learned a great deal about men’s bodies and how to use their desires to her advantage since her husband died—and some before he had left this earth. But she was growing older and must make another marriage before it was too late. The trouble was all the eligible gentlemen on the continent seemed aware of her fondness for variety in her bed partners. She had needed to come home to England where her reputation was intact to secure a husband.
And what better testimony to her own virtue than her naive little sister. Lud, how Verity had changed over the years. She had been a happy, carefree child, but had grown into a sanctimonious prude. How she had gone on with her moralizing before supper! It was all to the good, however. It wouldn’t do to have her pretty, much younger sister outshine her.