Scoundrel (11 page)

“Good. Then I’m leaving.”

“You’re staying.”

Lily shook her head. “My father was wrong to ask so great an imposition. I will not impose further on your hospitality by asking that you honor his request. We are already indebted for your assistance last night. Anything more is beyond presumptuous. The strain of the situation must be affecting my father’s judgment. Under normal circumstances he would never consider asking such a favor. I’m afraid I must—”

“Your father didn’t ask.”

“Then why—”

“The reasons are none of your concern. I gave your father my word and I intend to keep it. Now as I was saying, there are certain rules in this house that I expect you to follow. After my morning work is complete, I ride in the park each day for precisely one hour. Lunch is served at one-thirty sharp. I may or may not be out during the afternoons or evenings, depending upon my engagements for that day. Regardless, dinner is served at eight o’clock without fail. There will be no special arrangements for your meals. If you wish to eat, you will present yourself in the dining room at one-thirty and eight o’clock. And I do not care for tardiness.”

Lily leaned back in her chair, stunned into silence. Why had Remmington agreed to this plan? Why did he involve himself in the first place?

“During the day you may have use of the parlor,” he continued. “My library is off-limits entirely. There are other guest chambers on the second floor that you may explore if you find yourself in need of diversion. My bedchamber is also off-limits. The servants’ quarters are on the third floor, and you will respect their privacy there. The music room and conservatory are on the fourth floor, although both are in considerable disrepair and should also be avoided.”

It occurred to her that he was treating her like a child, listing all the rules of his house as if he were afraid she might break something. What happened to the man who promised to keep her safe, who put his arms around her and offered her comfort? This man seemed more concerned with the safety of his house than with her own.

“Your stay will hopefully last no more than a few days, so I see no reason for you to venture out of the house. There are twelve servants in residence. You will not interfere with them in any way. They take their orders from me, and they will not have time to cater to your whims. Your maid is your responsibility and should also be instructed not to interfere with my servants. If you follow my rules, we should get through this situation quite nicely,” he said in conclusion. “Do you have any questions?”

Lily wanted to ask at precisely what time of day she could cosh her host over the head for his rude arrogance. If he remained this obnoxious throughout her stay, she wouldn’t have any trouble at all dealing with her feelings for him. She fixed him with her best guileless, empty gaze and blinked once very slowly. “It seems so very much to remember. Perhaps I could follow your rules more successfully if you wrote them down.”

“Very well.” He spoke through clenched teeth. She marveled that he did it so well. “I shall write them out. I take it you read?”

“Of course,” she answered. “I may not be the fastest reader, but I’m certain it will take me no more than a day or two to read your list. By the end of the week I shall likely have parts of it memorized.” She tried hard not to smile over his groan. “Could I send a message to my father? I would very much like to assure him that I understand his concerns and will do as he asks.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible.” He picked up the earl’s letter and shoved it into the top drawer of his desk. “We’ve agreed to meet or exchange messages only when absolutely necessary. Someone is bound to notice if we begin meeting on a regular basis. Your father and I are no more than passing acquaintances. A sudden association now would seem unusual. We must also consider the possibility that your attacker is someone either of us might know. We do not want to arouse his suspicions, especially if your absence from Crofford House is discovered. I will take every precaution to see to your safety, Lily, but I would not care to lure your attacker to my home where my own servants’ lives will be threatened. With any luck, you will return to your father within a few short days, and a message now—”

“I understand your reasons,” Lily interrupted, wondering if he rattled on because he thought her incapable of understanding the word no. “We certainly wouldn’t want my insignificant little message to endanger your servants.”

He ignored the sarcastic tone of her voice. Leaning back in his chair, he studied her over steepled fingers. “There is just one more matter we need to discuss. As your temporary guardian, I am bound by my word of honor to protect your reputation as well as your person. This is a very unusual situation. Residing under the same roof, there are bound to be times when we might be tempted to forget that there is an outside world, that this situation is temporary. Extremely temporary. As you know, I am committed to another lady. We must both remember that there can be nothing more between us than friendship.”

Lily made herself smile. She knew there could be nothing between them. Until the circumstances of her attack decreed otherwise, she’d had no intention of seeing him again. She’d even worried about how she would avoid him. He was making things simple. That didn’t lessen the sting of his rejection.

“You needn’t worry that I will expect anything more from you,” she said.

“Excellent. I’m glad you understand.” He glanced up at the
Chelsea
clock that sat on the mantel. “You have three hours until dinner. I trust you will find something to occupy yourself until that time. Perhaps you could supervise your maid while she unloads your trunk or some such thing. To avoid arousing suspicion I intend to go about my business and social engagements as usual. Thus I shall be out the remainder of the afternoon and much of the evening.” He surged to his feet and walked briskly to the door, holding it open, not bothering to disguise the fact that he was anxious to rid himself of her company. “Now if you will excuse me, Lily, I have work to do.”

“He doesn’t want us here.” Gretchen frowned as she placed one of Lily’s freshly pressed gowns in the armoire. “That pompous Digsby won’t say a word on the subject, but Jack said straight out that His Grace wants us gone. As if we have some choice in the matter!”

Lily kept silent. It hadn’t taken long for Gretchen to settle into their temporary home. In less than two days, she’d already heard more gossip than Lily would ever hear from Remmington’s servants.

The maid shook out another gown and gave the skirt a sharp snap. “Sometimes I don’t think men know what they want. First he forces us to stay here, then he puts it about that he wants us gone.”

“I hope you haven’t gossiped about me with the duke’s servants.” She’d already warned Gretchen about that. Although the maid didn’t know about the family’s government work, Gretchen knew more about what went on at Crofford House than Lily wanted Remmington to know.

Gretchen’s disgruntled expression turned to injured dignity. “Of course not. I agree with you completely, my lady. The less they know of you, the better. As a matter of fact, I’ve decided that they don’t need to know all that much about me, either. They’re a strange lot, my lady. If you ask me, he employs this band of cutthroats to scare people off. Jack told me that the duke doesn’t receive anyone in this house except his brother and cousin. With the kind of hospitality he’s shown us, one wonders if the man even has any friends to call upon him.”

Lily shrugged. She’d gossiped enough about their host. He was a private man, and she couldn’t find fault with him if he employed unsavory-looking servants to help insure his privacy.

She thought of her father, how he’d often complained about the people who constantly badgered him. People could be very ingenious when it came to money, yet the Crofford fortune would pale next to Remmington’s. She could only imagine the number of people who tried to enlist him in their cause.

That was another reason she couldn’t forget what had happened at the Ashlands’ ball. Surely he knew how it felt to be used. Was he so jaded that he no longer cared whose feelings he hurt? If that was the case, his concern for her the night of her attack made little sense. Not that his concern had lasted all that long; he’d gone back to being rude and arrogant soon enough. But the glimpse of that other Remmington, the one who was capable of warmth and kindness, that was a man she wanted to know, a man she could care about.

What was she thinking? Fanciful thoughts, indeed. Who wouldn’t be kind to a woman in the circumstances he’d discovered her in that night? So he was capable of compassion. That didn’t mean he wanted her affection. He’d made it clear that he wanted nothing more from her than polite conversation. She doubted whether he wanted even that.

“I think I shall wear the pink gown today, Gretchen.”

“A wise choice, my lady.” The maid searched through the armoire, then held up the gown to brush at a few stray wrinkles. “The high neckline will hide those awful bruises on your throat. Are they still very painful?”

“My neck is still sore, but it looks much worse than it feels.”

Gretchen shook her head. “Poor thing. You should stay in bed another day.”

“I feel better now. It wouldn’t be right to keep asking for trays when I’m perfectly capable of presenting myself in the dining room for lunch.”

“They do seem fixed on people eating downstairs.” Gretchen planted her hands on her hips. “I didn’t want to tell you this yesterday when you felt so poorly, but at first the cook refused to make up a tray for your dinner. The man acted as if I’d asked for
France
on a platter. I explained to the great oaf that you were too ill to leave your bed. Then I had to remind him that your throat was too injured to swallow the tremendous hunks of beef he’d planned to serve.”

Lily didn’t voice her opinion that the cook was probably trying to follow Remmington’s order that she eat her meals in the dining room. “I thought Remmington’s cook was a woman. Digsby’s wife, to be exact.”

“Oh, no, my lady. Digsby lied to you straight out. The cook is a giant of a man with a bald head and a gold ring in one ear.” Gretchen made a face. “He goes by the name of ‘Bull.’ “

Lily’s brows rose for a moment, then lowered again into a scowl. She’d been duped! Digsby had lied to her about their reasons for stopping at Remmington’s. If not for his interference, she wouldn’t be in this awkward situation. “Rather an unappetizing name for a cook, is it not? Many cooks are rumored to have fierce tempers. I wonder if this Bull is temperamental.”

“I can assure you that he is, my lady.”

Gretchen braided her hair while Lily thought over her best means of retaliation. She decided to pay Digsby’s “wife” a visit right after lunch.

The thought of lunch dampened her spirits. This would be the first meal she would share with Remmington since her arrival the night before last. She hoped he would go out again today, but that reprieve seemed unlikely. According to Gretchen, who somehow knew everything that went on in the house, he’d spent the morning working in his library and he was still there. Lily wished she could continue her work rather than go down to lunch. She’d spent her morning poring over one of the scrolls she’d packed in her trunk. At the moment, the ancient scrolls sounded much more appealing than the thought of facing her reluctant host.

“My lady, you really must sit up straight for me to braid this properly.”

Lily waved the maid away with an impatient hand. “Let’s not pin it up today, Gretchen. Those wretched knots make my head ache.”

“We are still in Town,” Gretchen reminded her. “Most gentlemen would expect to see a lady’s hair properly done up.”

Gretchen was right, but Lily didn’t want Remmington to think she’d gone to any lengths to impress him with her appearance. “Just tie it back with a ribbon, please.”

Lily stood in the doorway of the dining room at precisely one-thirty. Her hopes sank when she spied Remmington at the end of the long table. Her luck had run out. She would be forced to endure his ominous presence for a good hour. This time she’d made a vow to keep her wits about her. He had a way of making her forget herself, forget her secrets. She couldn’t afford any more mistakes. Her gaily striped pink gown clashed with the predominant burgundy tones of the dining room. Remmington’s dark attire was more suited to the stiff formality of the mahogany-lined room. Dressed in his usual shades of black, he rose to greet her.

“Good afternoon, Lily. Won’t you join me?”

The greeting sounded more automatic than genuine. His frown confirmed as much when he indicated the place next to his at the table. Lily tried hard not to stare at him. He was always more handsome in person than the image she called to mind when they were apart. She’d determined to ignore his effect on her, to use the anger she still felt from the Ashlands’ ball to protect herself. It wasn’t working. Her heart beat faster with every step she took toward him. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“Your voice sounds better.” He held out her chair as she took her seat. “Your injuries must be healing.”

Lily rubbed her ear, and wished he wouldn’t lean so close when he spoke to her. She managed a shrug. “I suppose they must.”

She regretted the answer almost immediately. She was supposed to be nothing more than a fragile social butterfly. That woman would have played on his sympathies, complained long and loud while affecting delicate health. Too often in his presence she forgot who she was supposed to be and became who she wanted to be. That had to stop. She’d revealed too much already.

Their lunch arrived almost immediately, trays and dishes that two servants stacked on the sideboard under Digsby’s direction. The servants departed but Digsby remained. He served cheddar soup for their first course, then returned to his station near the sideboard. Only the clink of their spoons against the fine bone china disturbed the room’s lengthening silence.

Remmington was staring at her.

A quick peek beneath her lashes confirmed the premonition. Why was he watching her? The constant scrutiny became uncomfortable. Her back stiffened, and she concentrated on her table manners. The simple act of moving her spoon from the bowl to her mouth soon became an exercise in politeness.

The sudden sound of Remmington’s voice startled her. “Why didn’t your father send you to Sir Malcolm Bainbridge for safekeeping?”

Lily’s spoon dropped into her bowl and broth splattered onto the fine Irish linen that covered the table. She nearly tipped the bowl over when she made a grab for the spoon. A blush warmed her cheeks as she dabbed at the spill with her napkin. “How clumsy I am!”

Digsby hurried forward to cover the mess with a linen towel that was draped over his arm. He nodded toward the empty seat across from hers. “If you wouldn’t mind taking the chair to His Grace’s left, my lady?”

Lily obeyed the thinly disguised order. Digsby had another bowl of soup at her new place almost before she took her seat. Remmington ignored the debacle. Judging by his bland expression, she would have thought that watching a guest nearly upend a bowl of soup onto herself was nothing out of the ordinary for him.

“The Bainbridges?” he prompted. “You seem close to Miss Stanhope and her family. I cannot help but wonder why your father didn’t send you to Sir Malcolm, rather than to an elderly aunt.”

“Papa didn’t want to impose on the Bainbridges,” she said quickly. “He thought it wiser to have me leave
London
entirely, to stay somewhere no one would think to look for me.”

Remmington stared at her a long moment then nodded, his expression enigmatic. “I cannot imagine what your father and Sir Malcolm find to talk about. Does the earl have an interest in the military?”

The question was a reasonable one. Lily tried not to panic. “Uh, no, Your Grace. Not to my knowledge. I’m sure they discuss the usual male topics.”

“Male topics?” Remmington echoed. “Do tell what those might be.”

Lily searched the ceiling for an answer. Other than an intense loyalty to their country and an interest in the spy business, she didn’t have the vaguest idea what the two men might have in common. “Not being a male, I’m sure I wouldn’t know the answer to that question.”

“How fortunate, in both respects.”

She didn’t ask him to explain that odd remark. Instead she tried to retreat to safer ground. “Papa is a dedicated scholar. I believe he and Sir Malcolm sometimes discuss philosophy. One can hardly be around my father without hearing something of the subject.” She glanced up and noticed that he no longer stared at her. She was probably boring him. “Do you enjoy it?”