Scoundrel (12 page)

Remmington met her gaze, his expression startled, as if she’d just answered a troubling question. Lily felt as if he were looking into her soul.

“Philosophy,” she said uncertainly, wondering if he misunderstood the question. “Do you enjoy the study of philosophy, Your Grace?”

He shook his head. “The only work I can recall with any clarity is Socrates’ allegory of the cave. Even so, I never really understood what Socrates was trying to convey with his references to blind men and a fire.”

Lily arranged the potatoes on her plate with the tip of her fork, unable to resist the urge to correct him. “It was Plato who wrote the allegory of the cave, my lord. I’ve heard my father repeat the tale many times. Papa says it simply means that knowledge is limited only by people’s perception of reality.”

“Ah, you’re right, of course.” He inclined his head in a gracious gesture. “I’m afraid I haven’t studied philosophy since my schoolroom days. I’d forgotten how fascinating it can be. Wasn’t Plato the fellow who answered a question with a question?”

“That was Socrates, my lord. He felt that everyone had the answers to their own questions, if they took the time to examine why they asked the question in the first place.” Lily wanted to bite her lip. His intense gaze reminded her again that he could make her as thoughtless as a moth near a flame. Why hadn’t she noticed the calculating gleam in his eyes before now? He was testing her.

“Ah, yes,” he said agreeably. With his elbows propped on the arms of his chair, he folded his hands together and leaned back. He looked completely relaxed, as lazily uninterested in her as a cat just before it sprang on its prey. “Well, I’m certain that it was Socrates who said, ‘The unexamined life is not worth living.’ “

Lily nodded but she remained silent, avoiding his gaze.

“I say, you seem to have quite a grasp of the subject. Surely a passing interest in your father’s work cannot be responsible for such detailed knowledge. Can it?”

“Well, I, ah…”

“Are you a bluestocking in disguise, Lady Lillian?”

Lily felt her face drain of color. Sophie had warned her away from Remmington all these years because she thought him too clever to be fooled by Lily’s pretense. This was a bad time to find out that Sophie had been right all along. She’d revealed far too much of herself to an outsider.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said quietly. “I don’t consider educated females at all unladylike, if that’s what worries you.”

“No, that is not what worries me.” Lily forced herself to relax, to offer up a weak smile. “I was simply startled that you would think me a bluestocking. My father tends to prattle on and on about his work. I’m afraid a little scholarly knowledge is unavoidable in such a household. That is all there is to the matter, my lord.”

“I see.”

He didn’t believe her. There was no reason to panic, no reason for her heart to race madly. He simply thought she hid her intelligence to avoid being labeled a bluestocking. Her hands were shaking.

. “If you will excuse me?” She rose from her seat and Remmington stood up automatically, but she turned to Digsby. “Please convey my compliments to your
wife
, Digsby. The meal is quite good, but all this talk of philosophy dimmed my appetite.” She inclined her head toward Remmington and murmured, “Thank you for the luncheon, Your Grace. I hope to see you at dinner.”

“I will be out again this evening.” His answer was short and clipped. His frown was back in full force, too. He took her elbow to escort her from the room, speaking to her under his breath. “Perhaps that will improve your appetite.”

She had to escape from Remmington’s house. That thought was uppermost in Lily’s mind as she left the dining room. She leaned against the dining-room door when it closed behind her and took a moment to calm her nerves. She should have known that Remmington’s suspicions were aroused when he asked about Sir Malcolm. How did he manage to make her reveal so much?

How many more of these encounters could she endure before she said something truly disastrous? It was only a matter of time before he started to ask questions she couldn’t answer. Already he suspected her of something, but he couldn’t possibly know what. In time he might guess. She had to leave.

Unfortunately, Remmington’s servant Jack followed her like a faithful hound wherever she went. His pirate garb no longer disturbed her. Jack might look ferocious, but he didn’t seem to have much experience playing watchdog to a lady. Lily had the feeling she made him nervous. He stood in the entryway just outside the dining-room doors, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the floor. Obviously, he waited to follow her upstairs where he would stand watch at her door. Sneaking out of the house wasn’t an option. Getting thrown out of the house might be.

“The stairs are this way, my lady,” Jack said.

Lily continued to walk down the hallway on one side of the staircase toward the back of the house. She called to him over one shoulder. “I would like to thank Cook for the fine meals. I know the kitchen staff goes to some effort to accommodate my injuries.”

“I don’t think that is such a wise idea, my lady.” Jack shot a worried look toward the dining-room doors. “Bull’s kitchen is no place for a lady.”

“Nonsense. Gretchen comes and goes from there all the time.” She paused to look Jack square in the eye. “Unless you are implying that my maid is not a lady.”

“Oh, no, miss. I mean, my lady.” Jack shifted from one large foot to the other. “Miss Gretchen is a proper young lady, too. It’s just that you’re… well… I don’t think His Grace would approve of this.”

“I’m sure Remmington will not object. Everyone needs to hear a bit of praise now and then. Is the kitchen through here?”

Lily pushed open a door and stepped into a spacious, airy kitchen. The man who stood next to a large butcher block could only be Bull. The bald man was nearly as round as he was tall. With his attention on a large knife and a colorful pile of vegetables, he didn’t look up from his work to greet them.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Lily called out.

Bull replied without turning around. “I told ye to keep yer—”

“Lady Lillian to see you, Bull!” Jack’s shout drowned out the cook’s reply.

The burly man spun around, his knife held at a menacing angle. “What ye be wanting here?”

His voice reminded Lily of a bass fiddle, played very badly. She swallowed her nervousness and smiled. “Why, to thank you for your efforts on behalf of my maid and myself. Gretchen tells me that you made special dishes to accommodate my injuries. I do appreciate your thoughtfulness.”

“Nothing thoughtful about it,” Bull growled. He pointed the tip of his blade at Lily. “I gave the wench what she wanted just to get her out of my kitchen. Can’t stand chattering females, and that one’s the worst. You can tell her I said so.”

“I’ll be sure to convey your opinion,” Lily said politely. Her brows drew together and her expression turned thoughtful. Her gaze inspected the man from head to toe, then she slowly nodded.

Bull glared back at her. “Do ye see something of interest, mistress?”

“You must think me quite rude.” She feigned embarrassment. “I’m afraid my curiosity got the best of me. You aren’t at all what I’d imagined. It was a natural mistake, I suppose, to assume you were a woman.”

“A what?”

She cringed, but stood her ground. “Digsby told me that the two of you are married, and at the time it didn’t occur to me to think that you might be a man. What a very unique marriage you must have. These modern ways never cease to amaze me.” She shrugged as if to dismiss the matter. “Well, I must be off. Thank you again for the excellent meals, sir.”

Lily made a hasty retreat from the kitchen, a little surprised that Bull remained silent after her explanation. She and Jack were in the hallway when they heard the first loud crash, followed by colorful swearing.

“Digsby and Bull aren’t really married.” Jack sent a worried glance over his shoulder. “Bull is sure to have Digsby’s hide for telling you that lie, my lady.”

Lily smiled. “Oh, I don’t think Digsby would lie to me, Jack. That wouldn’t be right. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you really shouldn’t call your friend a liar. It’s disloyal.” She changed the subject before Jack could argue further. “His Grace said I could explore the house a bit. I think I’d like to start on the upper floors.”

Remmington leaned one shoulder against the doorway to the music room. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkened room. Dusty sheets covered the furniture and all but one window. The panes were so dirty that the day appeared gray and gloomy, even though he knew that outside the sun shone bright. He was about to go out for the afternoon when Digsby informed him of his guest’s whereabouts. Digsby knew he’d forbidden her the use of this floor. Jack stood next to him in the hallway, his expression guilty. Remmington dismissed him with a curt nod, then turned his attention again to Lily. She stood near one of the grime-covered windows as she peered under a draped musical instrument.

With smudges of dirt on her gown and her hair tied back in a neat, simple bow, she appeared very young. She bent over to look underneath the sheet and her hair slid slowly over one shoulder. Even in this dim light, the coppery locks shimmered with a vibrant life of their own. He mentally untied the bow and imagined what it would be like to wrap that thick, luxurious mane around his hands. His gaze moved lower and his breath caught in his throat. With her back to him and bent over, he was left with the view of a nicely shaped derriere. His imagination let go of her hair and moved on to that more enticing part of her. He found the unconsciously provocative pose delightful, what he wanted to do to her at that moment absolutely forbidden.

It was an unwelcome reminder that he could look but not touch. And, oh, how he wanted to touch. In the dining room he’d tried to keep himself distracted with their conversation, yet he’d caught himself staring at her more than once. He’d tried to find some flaw in her appearance that would make keeping his word a little easier. As far as he could tell, she didn’t have any. She’d stared back at him with wide, sherry-colored eyes that could warm a man’s soul. Her lips moved, and often as not he couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. She had a mouth meant for kissing. When he did listen to the conversation, the sound of her voice proved just as distracting. Despite the lingering hoarseness, he thought a long time about what it would be like to hear that soft, sensual voice call out to him in the night, what kind of sounds she would make when they were in bed together. He’d been fully aroused by the time he’d finished his soup.

Throughout the meal, he’d done exactly what he was doing now; imagining his hands all over her body, what she would look like beneath that prim gown, how she would feel beneath him. It was torture. He couldn’t stop staring. His hands itched to touch her, his body ached to possess her. Worst of all, he knew he could seduce her.

Sometimes she looked at him with such obvious longing that every muscle in his body grew tense, braced against the urge to drag her into his arms.

Only one question remained. Just how eagerly would she respond to him? Curious about the answer to that question, he took a step toward her. Then he realized what he was about to do and stopped short. He flexed his hands, clenched them into fists at his sides, then repeated the movements several times before he felt he could control his impulses. Aware that she could turn around at any moment and catch him ogling her, he cleared his throat.

She straightened at the sound and brushed her hair over one shoulder, then absently readjusted the bow. “Oh, hullo, Remmington.”

She didn’t look the least bit startled to see him, or the slightest bit guilty. He wondered if she’d forgotten about his rules already.

“There’s a lovely old harpsichord under this sheet.” She lifted the edge of the dusty fabric. “Would you like to see it?”

“No! Don’t—”

It was too late. He crossed the room in two long strides, but Lily yanked the sheet away before he could stop her. A cloud of thick, choking dust rose between them.

“Oh, dear.” She waved her hands in his general direction, a futile attempt to clear the air. The dim streamers of light were smothered by her hasty action, but they gradually reappeared. The first thing he noticed was her smile.

“You find something humorous in this?”

She pointed one finger at him and laughed out loud. “You look as if you’ve been in some awful bakery accident!”

He glanced down at his dust-covered clothing, then looked at her gown. “I would not be so quick to point fingers.”

She shook her skirts and a small cloud of dust appeared. Brushing at her face and hair produced another small shower of dust. “It seems I’ve managed to dent both our wardrobes, my lord. My apologies.”

She didn’t look very contrite. He felt his stern expression dissolve into a grin. “You should see your face.”

“I’d rather not, thank you.” She smiled back at him, but when their eyes met, her smile became uncertain, then it faded entirely. She suddenly seemed intent on brushing herself off, her gaze averted.

He pushed away from the door frame and held out one hand. “Come, Lily. You’ve satisfied your curiosity about the music room. It’s time we closed the place up again.”

She finally looked up at him, only to shake her head. “But you haven’t even looked at the harpsichord.”