Authors: Margaret Bennett
“What fustian, Morley
! Think I don’t know you’re in cahoots with my niece?”
“And if I am, dear lady, ‘tis only because we both wish the best for you,”
replied the old gentleman, linking one arm through the baroness’s. “Besides, at our age, Sophia, we need all the beauty sleep we can get. Now come, my dear.” And without further ado, he led his lady friend slowly from the room.
Between them, Chloe and Sir Albert guided the besotted baroness up the stairs to her bedchamber where Hannah was waiting. When Chloe offered to help put her aunt to bed, the
abigail would have none of it and shooed her out, but not before Chloe snatched up Lady Caro’s leash and slipped it on the excited little terrier. Chloe was determined to get some fresh air to clear her foggy brain.
*** Chapter 8 ***
Meanwhile, Camden also departed the drawing room, brushing aside Judith’s protest with the flimsy pretext of needing to turn in early. He then beat a stealthy exit out the French doors of the rear salon
, glad to be rid of Judith’s stifling possessiveness.
H
eading for the woods, he remembered how refreshing Miss Woodforde’s sweet voice sounded after listening to Judith’s high pitched screeching. He also remembered Miss Woodforde’s pinched features as she’d sat quietly next to her aunt all evening.
When h
e arrived at the old oak, Raikes was there waiting. “Anything to report?” asked Camden.
“Nary a word. Looks like the knave’s gonna lay now, Gov.”
“Time will tell. Pearson pawned another piece of jewelry at the Golden Goose this morning. You might tell Captain Hawker to drop by and pay his respects with a warning for Demby to keep his mouth shut. Have you seen any sign of Pearson’s fellow conspirator?”
“No, but I ain’t given up yet. There’s
been talk that the foreigner’s still running about.”
“Good, but truth is, I’m damn tired of crossing this bruiser’s path. I’ve been lucky so far in that I’ve caught him off guard, but he’s vicious.” He w
as pensive for a moment. “We need something to connect either Guyot or Pearson with that brute, and then we’ll have our man.”
“What about the quiet mort?” Raikes asked with a keen eye on the Viscount.
“She’s nothing for you to worry about,” Camden said cryptically.
“Funny, ain’t it, how she keeps popping up. Enough to make a bloke wonder?”
“Leave her out of this.” Camden’s retort was gruff, intractable.
A moment passed before Raikes shrugged. “One other thing,” he said, studying Camden’s closed countenance. “Captain sent word a dispatch’ll go out by the end of the week.”
“That means Pearson’s got to make a move soon.”
“I’m good and ready, Gov,” the wiry agent said as a parting shot.
For several minutes, Camden remained behind. He didn’t like the fact that Raikes thought Chloe was somehow involved. She was, of course, but not the way his comrade imagined. He was finding he could do little else but think of Miss Chloe Woodforde, and that, he knew, had to change.
As he came out of the woods, hurrying through the gardens, his sharp eyes picked out the silhouetted figure of a slender female, walking close about the illuminated house. Cursing under his breath, Camden slowed his gait and watched as she turned on her heel to go in the opposite direction after she’d spotted him going toward her. He smiled grimly to himself. It appeared the normally undaunted young woman intended to slink away and avoid him. Completely contrary to his earlier musings, he decided he would not allow that.
“Miss Woodforde, what are you doing out?” he asked, sounding exasperated.
“Lady Caro--”
“Save your breath.” He held up one hand to stop her explanation. “The old gal’s jug-bitten, and rather than stay the night in your room where you belong, you’re out with this worthless mutt.”
“Lady Milbanke is a little under the weather,” she hedged, lowering her eyes.
“You’re wrapping it up in clean linen. The dowager baroness got a grand start, tippling the contents of that silver flask all afternoon.”
“The weather often makes her bones ache.”
“More like she was trying to drown a parched throat, if I heard right,” he said, laughing derisively.
Chloe saw it was useless
to defend her aunt’s foible and, in truth, wasn’t up to sparing with Camden. She tugged on Lady Caro’s leash and turned away from him when he took her arm and pulled it through his.
He began walking slowly toward the rear salon French doors. “You have a lovely voice,” he said. After she thanked him, he
added, “It was foolish to over tax yourself. How is your migraine anyway?”
“How do you know my head aches?” she asked, raising her eyes to his. His face was so close, inches from hers, but shadowed
and unreadable even though he wore no hat. She could feel his warm breath on her face, spreading a delicious warmth through her body.
“You’ve lost the bloom in those fair cheeks. I also noticed how strained you appeared tonight. Instead of gallivanting about the countryside, you should have stayed in bed another day.”
“I will admit to not feeling quite myself, but I could not endure another whole day confined like an invalid,” she replied with spirit. The mention of her bed brought the unbidden memory of waking up yesterday to find she only wore her chemise, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment. She was glad of the darkness.
Somehow he sensed her anxiety. “Is something wrong?”
“No, not exactly. I did wonder, though, how I came to be . . . that is, when I awoke the other morning, my gown . . .” She let her voice trail off as she brought her hand up in a defensive gesture to her bosom where his dark eyes watched her nervous fingers fidget with the lace trim of the bodice.
They’d reached the back terrace, and in the light from the salon she saw his devilish smile. “If, Miss Woodforde, you are trying to determine how you went to sleep completely clothed but awoke in your shift, it is because I took the liberty of removing your gown.”
She was speechless. He had saved her life and meant her no harm, yet he’d disrobed her. Dear heavens, if this ever were to become known, even her great aunt would be hard pressed to ignore her disgrace. Indeed, the implications of such an act would put her completely beyond the pale.
And there he stood, his smile mocking her prudishness. But in the dark depths of his eyes,
a fire lurked, an intimate warmth that he did not bother to disguise. She lowered her eyes in confusion, and his laugh sounded harsh to her ears.
“Go to bed, Miss Woodforde, and stay there. I warned you once before that virginal young
ladies should never venture out alone at night, especially one as attractive as yourself.”
He opened the French door to the salon and let her pass with the litt
le terrier in tow. When she heard the latch click, she whirled about to see that he had not followed her. Instead, he vanished before her eyes as his dark clothes melded into the shadows of the night.
~~~~~
Over the next two days, it rained continuously, spoiling most of the activities Lady Clairmont had planned for the guests. Consequently, the gentlemen took possession of the rear salon to play billiards by day and cards late into the night. The ladies mainly occupied the drawing room where gossip was rehashed or, when that became dull, they reverted to doing needlework. By the second day, this forced inactivity was taking its toll on the majority of the company and tempers became short.
It fell to reason th
at Lady Sophia would be least affected by the inclement weather. She was more than content to use the opportunity to partake of an extra cup of tea or two of her special brew. Ultimately, Chloe and Sir Albert were kept on their toes as the baroness became less steady on her feet.
The incessant drizzle finally let up
on the afternoon of the third day, and Chloe used the opportunity to slip outside with Lady Caro to walk about the garden paths while her aunt napped. Her wish for peace and quiet was spoiled, much to her disappointment, as several guests had conceived the same notion.
Hanging on the arm of the Viscount
, Judith Palmer smiled prettily. The Marchioness was also strolling with Lady Howard among the short boxwood that lined the gravel paths.
Chloe, however, preferred
solitude to an encounter with any one of these personages. Reaching a juncture in the garden path, she had turned toward the rolling parkland with Lady Caro tugging on her leash, antsy for a run, when Lady Clairmont hailed her. After an about face, Chloe joined her hostess and Lady Howard.
“Miss Woodforde, how is your aunt faring
?” the Marchioness inquired solicitously.
“She is enjoying her stay, my lady, and is presently resting, thank you,” replied Chloe, touched by the
Marchioness’s graciousness. She was forestalled from making any further comment when a footman approached to inform the Marchioness that she was urgently needed to settle a domestic crisis that had erupted in the kitchen.
Left with Lady Howard, Chloe searched for an excuse to depart with Lady Caro, but Lady Howard insisted Chloe amble about the meticulously groomed walkways with her. An attractive, petite woman with light brown hair shot with s
ilver strands, Lady Howard fixed her intelligent blue eyes on Chloe.
“I understand you are cousin to Sir Cedric Milbanke, Lady Sophia’s nephew?” Lady Howard asked.
“Yes, we were raised together, although Cedric is several years older than me,” Chloe replied.
“You will forgive me if I say you do not resemble your cousin, Miss Woodforde?”
Chloe laughed good naturedly. “No, my lady, I would not take offense. My cousin tends to be prosy and stiff-necked. I have never been accused of that.”
As both women shared a merry laugh
at her pompous cousin’s expense, Chloe saw the Viscount a short distance ahead turn at the sound of their laughter. When he took a step towards them, Judith Palmer immediately drew his arm closer to her side and spoke a few words to him. Though he looked far from pleased, the Viscount allowed the widow to change their direction, veering off onto another path.
“Adele has told me of your devotion to your aunt,”
said Lady Howard, drawing Chloe’s attention once again.
“My aunt has been very good to me,” answered Chloe with conviction.
“When my cousin married, Aunt Sophia opened her heart and her home to me.”
“Lady Howard,” Leslie Pearson called out as he and
Pierre Guyot came up behind them. After a few commonplace pleasantries, Pearson obsequiously offered his arm to the titled lady and led her away.
“Walk with me, mademoiselle,
s’il vous plaît
?” said Guyot, taking Chloe’s hand and slipping it through his arm. She was in no position to refuse and so followed him, meandering aimlessly about the gardens.
“You were out again the other night,
oui
?” Guyot’s tone was censuring.
“I often walk Lady Caro, sir.”
“And you meet others when you take the air?” It was clear that he believed she had been with someone.
“Do I see other people?” she repeated the question, deliberately mistaking his meaning.
His grin was without humor as, in a reassuring manner, he patted her hand where it rested on his arm. He leaned his head closer to hers. “You were with the Viscount Camden on that night,
mais
non
?”
“No, sir, you mistake the matter.” She was becoming angry with his sly insinuations. “It was mere chance th
at Lord Camden stepped out to smoke a cheroot and we met . . . after I had fallen and hit my head.”
“
Oui, oui
,” he said with a knowing smirk before gesturing ahead where Camden stood with Mrs. Palmer. “And is this not the gentleman now?”
Chloe was not in any mood to be sociable with the Viscount’s paramour and would have preferred avoiding the encounter altogether. But it seemed impossible since Guyot
called out to Judith Palmer, who clung to Camden with both hands clutching his sleeve. Feeling a tug, Chloe glanced down at Lady Caro prancing toward Camden, and the irreverent thought of the Viscount on Judith Palmer’s leash came to mind.
Still, it was easy to understand why men were drawn to the widow. To protect her porcelain complexion, she
sported a large leg horn bonnet draped with pink netting tied in a bow under her chin. She appeared so delicate and feminine attired in a rose spencer over a pink and white sprigged muslin gown. For once, Chloe had cause to regret her penchant for the outdoors, which was murderous to her peaches and cream complexion, and by comparison, she felt coarse and dowdy in an olive green day dress with a chip straw hat.
A beauty Judith Palmer might be, but the widow’s social graces left much to be desired. Unable to dissemble enough to hide her spite, Judith’s honeyed tones rang false when she returned Chloe’s greeting. Camden, however, was much warmer toward Chloe.