Realm 05 - A Touch of Mercy (9 page)

However, she feared any measures to which she could claim success would fail miserably short with Lord Lexford. Despite his recent injury, the viscount’s suspicious tone spoke of his sharp mind. She and Mr. Hill must practice greater care in what they confided to His Lordship. Secondly, Mercy possessed no skills in dealing with a man who one minute irritated her beyond imagination and who the next stole her heart with his genuine alarm for her welfare. Despite the sting of having her reputation called into question, she discovered she had quite enjoyed the small shivers that raced down her spine whenever she thought of the viscount’s piercing gaze.

*

“Miss Purefoy,” Aidan said as he stood to acknowledge the woman’s entrance. “I am pleased you agreed to join me.” He extended his hand to her, which proved a mistake. He had thought the earlier tension he had experienced when he had looked upon the girl an aberration; now a physical zing shot up his arm when Aidan’s fingers touched hers. He had spent an inordinate amount of time with his ablutions, not because he possessed foppish tendencies, but because the quiet time had provided him the opportunity to divine what bothered him about the girl’s appearance in his house. Earlier, Aidan had replayed the conversation from his initial encounter with the woman to ascertain where the holes in her story rested. Now, if he could keep his mind on the problem at hand rather than upon the lady’s pleasing features, all would be well.

“I did not see where I possessed a choice, my Lord. Your servant was most insistent regarding my attendance,” she said testily. A wary expression crossed her pale countenance.

He brought the back of her hand to his lips. “And you did not desire my company?”

Miss Purefoy blushed, and Aidan thought the color made her more beautiful. Decidedly piqued, she said softly for his ears only, “I assumed from your earlier remarks, Sir, you wished to have the truth of my parentage before you weighed judgment upon my role in this household.” He examined the lady’s defensive tone for the space of three heartbeats before his exasperation faded.

Aidan led her to a chair and seated her before continuing. Motioning a footman to fill their wine glasses, he assumed the seat at the table’s head. “Whether your story proves true,” he said in a tone his servants would not distinguish, “you are my guest and will be treated with the utmost respect.” The last part of his speech had been for the benefit of those in attendance. Aidan had meant what he had said. Despite his initial skepticism regarding the story placed before him, he had welcomed the idea of the lady’s company. It seemed so long since he had entertained another in his home. Only once in the months he and Susan had shared Lexington Arms had they hosted a house party. It had been at his insistence and had been a disaster. After the first evening, Susan had locked herself in her quarters, claiming the child she carried made her uncomfortable. After three days of strained silence, all the guests had made their excuses, never to return. The memory still haunted Aidan. He wondered if he had asked too much of his grieving wife. If his insensitivity had contributed to his wife’s suicide.

Miss Purefoy sipped her wine. “I am most appreciative, my Lord.”

Aidan motioned for the first course to be served. “Then, it is settled.” He placed the serviette upon his lap. “I thought we might spend our time learning more of each other.” He noted how the lady’s spine stiffened, but Aidan made no comment. Instead, he regaled Miss Purefoy with a tale of falling from the grand oak at the curve of the main drive. “I broke my arm in two places,” he concluded.

“And your mother?” the lady questioned.

“Was quite upset. She had thought I might have a crooked arm.” He stretched out both hands before him. “As you may observe, my dearest mother erred in her estimation of the surgeon father had summoned to attend me.”

Miss Purefoy smiled genuinely, and Aidan’s heart did a small flip in his chest. It was quite remarkable the effect the lady had on him. In London, he had accompanied the Marquis of Godown to a house of ill refute, but his evening had been interrupted by an attack on the marquis. Godown had apologized multiple times for curtailing Aidan’s first attempt at enjoying a woman’s “charms” after his injury, but, in reality, Aidan had thanked Providence for delivering him from the courtesan’s allure. He feared he might have made a cake of himself otherwise. It was good to feel the tingle of awareness again. He was healing, after all. “And what tale might you share, my Dear?” he said as casually as he could. With the Realm, he held the reputation of being the one who could easily ingratiate himself into the company of others.
If they only knew how false all my amiable ways truly were,
he thought.

As if she sought a tale he might believe and one in which she would not incriminate herself, the lady looked away. During his ablutions, Aidan had made the decision to take Pennington’s advice and to treat this situation with Miss Purefoy as an adventure. He would use his finely honed skills to pick apart the lady’s story. Meanwhile, he hoped for congenial company as he returned to country society. It was the best of both worlds for him.

“I have had few experiences as daring as your tree climbing escapade,” she admitted. “Young ladies are not permitted such freedoms. I suppose my most hoydenish ways come from my determination to ride as well as my brother and better than my sister.”

“Your brother Francis,” Aidan prompted. If he had remained silent, the lady could have misspoken and proven his qualms correct, but he found he enjoyed listening to the girl speak. There was a bit of a Scottish roll of the tongue on certain words, and her eyes glistened when she forgot to protect her story.

She blushed prettily. “Yes, Francis and my sister Louisa. They were older and knew how to ride long before I could sit upon a saddle.”

“And have you become a fair horsewoman?” he teased.

Her chin rose in defiance. “Quite the expert,” she challenged.

Aidan caught a glimpse of a charming dimple, one he would wish to explore in a more intimate setting. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Excellent. I have a rather extraordinary stable of fine horses. We will ride together.”

“I fear I have no riding habit, my Lord,” she said in protest.

Aidan feigned a frown. “A terrible shortcoming, Miss Purefoy. Whatever shall we do to eliminate such a failing?” His smile widened. “It is fortunate you possess a relative who can afford the cost of a few baubles and frills.”

“Oh, I could not accept such expensive items, my Lord,” Miss Purefoy said in what sounded of genuine denial. Her reaction was not of the norm: Aidan had half expected the girl to jump at the opportunity to purchase new clothes on his purse, and perhaps even launch herself into his arms, a scenario in which he would have gladly participated. “I did not agree to come to Cheshire simply to place my burdens at your feet.”

“Yet, I insist you join me: I desire your opinion on my newest line of cattle.” Aidan frowned for real this time. “We must concoct a solution.”

The girl bit her lower lip in obvious indecision. “I had thought…” She hesitated. “I had asked Mr. Hill about the possibility of serving within the household. I had hoped for children where I might become a governess.” Aidan’s nose snarled: Mary Purefoy was too attractive to be a lowly governess. She would easily become the target of a disreputable master. The lady flinched when she noted his distaste. “However…” She paused again. “As no children are about, mayhap I can serve as your secretary. My pen is very well, and I could address correspondence and social invitations. I assume a gentleman of your consequence is often sought by the local gentry as an honored guest.”

“You jest,” he said a bit more tersely than he intended.

“I assure you, my Lord, I did not.” Miss Purefoy’s hurt sounded in her tone, and Aidan knew immediate regret.”

He sipped his wine to provide him time to consider her suggestion. “I have never known a female secretary to a gentleman,” he said evenly. “But I am not opposed to the idea. Permit me to sleep upon it. I will provide you an answer on the morrow.”

*

Overall, Aidan had enjoyed his evening with the lady. Despite their contentious beginnings, they had finished their meal in polite silence, but he had found no discomfort in the act. He instinctively thought of his wife’s reticence and prayed he had not been lulled into a false security by a pair of sparkling eyes. “It was certainly not of the nature of those tedious hours I spent in forced silence with Susan,” he reminded himself before immediately experiencing the guilt of having betrayed his wife’s memory. Having someone with whom he could share a meal had been a rare treat at Lexington Arms. On the road, Aidan held few objections to dining with Hill or any other man of his acquaintance, despite the gent’s social status, but at his home, he was expected to perform as the master of the estate. From the earliest days of his return from the Continent to act upon his duty to his brother’s wife, Aidan had dined alone. His father had taken ill; the previous viscount had suffered a debilitating stroke before Aidan’s arrival from the East. Of course, Susan was in mourning for Andrew, and she was some six months enceinte at the time. So, naturally, his wife chose every opportunity to avoid him.

They had broken with propriety by marrying so soon, but his father had insisted they secure the heir Susan carried. It was not as if the babe would not hold his place in the line of succession; yet, Arlen Kimbolt had been adamant about the necessity of keeping both Susan and the child at Lexington Arms. The late viscount would not see Susan Kimbolt displaced by Aidan taking another as his wife. He had thought at the time that Susan would make the effort to become his wife, but she had punished Aidan for Andrew’s snub. “It had been a farce,” he growled.

Aidan’s steps carried him to the window. It seemed of late, he had spent many hours staring out on English countrysides. At least this evening, he held a memory separate from the tragedy of this house upon which to reflect.

After the meal, he and Miss Purefoy had played a highly contested game of chess over which they had discussed some of their favorite books. “You must have read the story of Caleb Williams,” she had insisted.

“I fear at the time of the book’s popularity, I was but a lad at school. I am certain my tutors would not have thought it proper for a viscount’s son to read a book which disparages the aristocracy,” he had teased.

“We must remedy this failing immediately,” Miss Purefoy had mimicked his earlier tone. Abandoning the chessboard, the girl had caught his hand and had tugged him along behind her until they had reached the library. When she finally had released Aidan’s hand, he had felt bereft of the girl’s warmth. She selected a paper roll to light several candles. “I saw that very book,” she said as she raised the candle to search the titles. Over her shoulder she chastised, “I have been unable to discover rhyme or reason in the organization of this library, my Lord.”

“I do not recall using the library for more than to meet with my friends,” he admitted. “I mean, I have read extensively from the selections, but customarily Mr. Hill or Mr. Poley chooses for me.”

She had smiled then, and Aidan had thought the shadows had faded. “Mayhap organizing these titles might prove a worthy task for a poor relation. What say you, my Lord?” The anticipation in her voice brought Aidan unexpected joy. He would take pleasure in making the girl happy.

And, in truth, Aidan had approved of the idea immensely. It was a face-saving task for the girl and for him. “Surely there must be similar duties, which would prove the lady’s usefulness, while providing me the pleasure of seeing her more appropriately dressed,” he said with memory of the conversation.

Miss Purefoy had quickly found the book in question and had presented it to him with a teasing curtsy. Their fingers had intertwined for a few brief seconds. The feeling remained long after their release.

“We should retire,” she had said breathily, and his own breath caught in his throat.

Disappointment had lodged in his chest, but Aidan had dutifully seen the lady to her door. Overall, the evening had been most satisfying. So satisfying he wished it were light so he might ride out across his estate to wear off the exhilaration skittering through his veins.

He rested his head against the cool pane and imagined the lady’s countenance. “I certainly pray Mr. Hill’s story proves a falsehood,” he murmured. A smile turned up his lips’ corners. “It certainly would not do to experience an attraction to my sister.”

Slowly, Aidan opened his eyes to look upon his world. For the first time in what seemed forever he felt the glimmer of hope. Thinking he might actually read some of the book Miss Purefoy had chosen for him, Aidan turned to where the leather bound volume rested on his bedside table, but before he could take a step a flash of color along the tree line caught his attention.

He quickly dimmed the lantern and stepped behind the drape for a closer examination. For a few seconds, he had thought the break in the gray and green landscape had been an invention of his imagination, but then he saw it again: A bit of yellow against a wintry backdrop. Slender and perfect. A woman. Her back to him, but hair he would recognize anywhere. Long and sleek and of the darkest chestnut.

Immediately, he was on the move. Out the door and racing through the passageways. Leaping across stairs and skidding to a halt in the main foyer, he ordered, “The door, Payne.” The startled butler scrambled to open the door only a second before Aidan burst through it.