Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 02] (6 page)

* * *

Several hours later, Allegra returned through one of the back entrances and shrugged out of her rain-spattered cloak, her spirits nonetheless undampened. She had been lucky in all respects. Although a light drizzle had fallen intermittently, the leaden skies had not opened up on her. And as her chilled fingers fumbled with the strings of her bonnet she noted with grim satisfaction that even if they had, the drenching would have been well worth it. Max's casual comment had proved to be invaluable. The new route was perfect.

It was almost time to put her plans in motion.

She scraped the mud from her half boots and quickly made her way up the stairs, looking forward to changing into dry clothing and fetching a hot cup of tea. After supper there would be ample time to sit down to study her sketchpads. There were still some final decisions to be made.

As she came around the corner of the hallway, her brows drew together. The door to her room was slightly ajar. She was always very careful to shut it firmly, but perhaps one of the maid had been in to dust or change the linens and had not closed it properly.

It swung open at her touch.

"Max!" Her surprise was so great she nearly let the sketchbook slip from her fingers. The initial feeling shock quickly changed to one of wariness, especially on noting in his ashen face and the set of his jaw. "What are you doing in my bedchamber?" she demanded in a voice barely above a whisper, though she feared she already knew the answer.

He rose from the edge of her bed. "Close the door, Mrs. Proctor. I believe we had better talk." His hand gestured towards her open trunk, where a pistol, a length of rope and an assortment of men's clothing lay in full view. "Perhaps you would care to explain what is going on here?"

Chapter 3

"And perhaps you would care to explain what you were doing snooping through my belongings," replied Allegra calmly, though she was griping her book so tightly that her knuckles were nearly white.

Max had the grace to look discomfited. "I did not exactly mean to be snooping through your trunk. I was having difficulty with a Latin word and remembered you had mentioned that you had a special dictionary. I knocked, then thought you would not mind if I borrowed it for the afternoon. When it wasn't on your desk, I opened you trunk without ever thinking..." There was a catch in his voice. "I cannot believe that you are naught but a charlatan! I prevailed upon my father—much against his wishes, as you well know—to allow you to take up your position. I thought you were my friend, but is this how you mean to repay us—by... by planning to murder us in our beds and rob..."

"No!" she cried. "I promise you, Max, this has nothing to do with you or your family."

His eyes betrayed how much he wanted to believe her, despite his grim countenance. "Well? I am listening."

Allegra let out a sigh as she sat down the bed. "Would that you would simply take my word." Her voice rose in question, but a dogged shake of his head made it clear he would not be fobbed off so easily.

"No, I didn't really imagine you would," she murmured. There was a long silence as she found herself wondering whether the earl would haul her before the local magistrate or show a semblance of mercy and merely cast her from the house with the warning to be gone from the area by nightfall. She gave an involuntary shudder. Could one be transported for simply the intention of committing a serious crime?

Then she chided herself for cowardice. It was no use lamenting the consequences of her actions. She had known full well the risks involved...

"Please, Mrs. Proctor. Tell me the truth."

There was something so eloquent about his simple appeal that she found herself wavering in her resolve to keep her secret.

"Oh, Max." Still she hesitated. The she looked at his anxious face, raw with doubt, and made up her mind.

The tale took much longer than necessary, since he insisted on interrupting every few sentences.

"The sodding bastard," he exclaimed, when she had finally come to the end.

"Max! "

"Sorry. Father says it—but only when he's really, really angry," he admitted.

She gave a tight smile as she wondered what epithet the earl would use in her case if he knew what Max now knew. "I'm still your tutor, and as such, I must ask that you moderate your language, young man."

He grinned. "Very well. I shall keep a more careful rein on my tongue, But when are we going to begin—"

"We?" she interrupted.

Max looked puzzled.

"We?" she repeated. "
We
are not going to begin anything. You must have windmills in your head if you think for a moment that I am going to let you get involved."

"Of course I'm going to help you!" His eyes had a dangerous light to them. "Do you think I'd stand by and see such an injustice go unpunished if I could help it?"

Allegra bit her lip. "Max," she began patiently. "I told you the story to show I trusted you. Now, you must trust me when I say there is no way I can allow you to get mixed up in this affair. Why, only think of how your father would react if he knew..."

"I'll tell him. I'll tell him everything if you don't let me help you."

She stared at him, aghast. "Why, that's blackmail, Max!"

He crossed his arms and stood firm.

"It's... ungentlemanly!" she continued.

That, at least, brought a touch of color to his face. "Well, it's for the higher good," he countered.

Her mouth opened, and then closed again.

"Besides," he went on, before she could speak. "You are going to need help if you really mean to carry this off. For instance, how will you ever learn when Lord Sandhill is to be out for the evening? Or how do you think you will manage the wall surrounding the gardens without assistance?"

There was dead silence. Those were just the sorts of questions she had been asking herself.

"You see!" he cried triumphantly when she didn't answer.

"Max, this isn't a game. It's dangerous, and if you are caught..." She blanched. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Then we must see to it that we don't get caught."

She started to argue but he cut her off. "I'm not a child anymore, Mrs. Proctor. I can make up my own mind on what is right and wrong. Please. Let me help you."

"Do I have a choice?"

He shook his head. "Actually, you do not."

She closed her eyes. "Why do I have the feeling that somehow I'm going to regret letting you talk me into this."

Max couldn't repress the gleam of adventure in his eyes. "You won't, I promise you. Now, let's see that drawing of the west wing."

Allegra reluctantly opened her sketchbook. "Heaven help me if your father ever learns of this."

Max gave a wan smile. "Heaven help us both."

* * *

The day was one for curling up by a roaring fire. A cold, intermittent drizzle had been falling since first light and the sharp gusts blowing in off the moor seemed early harbingers of the coming autumn. Allegra set aside a bit of mending she was doing and decided to visit the kitchen for a cup of tea. There had been no lessons that morning, as Max had engaged to go shooting with his father, so she was accorded the rare pleasure of an entire day to herself. But already most of it was gone, taken up with the little tasks she had been putting off for an age. After a comfortable coze with Cook, there might still be time to browse through the earl's splendid selection of books for a volume to borrow before the owner returned.

Allegra finished her steaming cup while listening to the litany of ailments that could plague a female of indeterminate years if certain draughts and powders were not consumed each day. Excusing herself with a smile and a promise to pay heed to such sage advice, she slipped through the pantry, relieved to have escaped without having to actually sample the noxious brews. A narrow corridor led back to the main wing and she was just turning the corner when a small back door opened and the earl and Max came in.

Mud encrusted their boots and drops of water clung to the thick wool of their hunting coats. A brace of grouse dangled over Max's shoulder, eyed with a hungry intensity by the shaggy hound at his side. The raw weather had brought an edge of color to the cheeks of both father and son, and with his windblown locks tousled in boyish disarray, Allegra had to admit that the earl hardly appeared a gentleman in his dotage. In fact, he looked more an older sibling than aging parent. His lean form radiated the same youthful energy as Max's, but there was also a vibrant masculinity about him not yet evident in his son.

They were unaware of her presence and a friendly bantering continued as the door fell closed.

"You young pup," exclaimed Wrexham. He threw a playful cuff at Max's head. "You think you could plant me a facer, do you? Not bloody likely!"

Max dodged the blow. "If I could spar with Gentleman Jackson for a bit, I bet I could put you on your tail!" he retorted. Then his voice turned wistful. "Couldn't we visit London soon? You promised that when I was no longer a child—and look! I'm nearly as tall as you are!"

The top of Max's head almost touched the earl's nose. "A veritable giant," he drawled, drawing a yelp of outrage from his son.

"You're mocking me!" Max jabbed a punch at Wrexham's shoulder and the two of them fell into a mock scuffle. Feathers began to fly as Sasha took advantage of the lad's lapse of attention and began to snap wildly at the swinging birds.

Allegra stifled the urge to giggle.

The earl's head came up abruptly and he caught sight of her. He straightened slowly, running his long fingers through his damp locks and tugging his coat into some semblance of order.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Proctor," he said with a slight inclination of his head.

Before she could answer, Max gave his father one last push from behind, ruining the earl's efforts at formality. He stumbled forward, nearly catching his chin on a rack set up for drying wet outer garments. "Jackanape! Have a care or the old dog shall box your ears yet," he exclaimed, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Father is being a bear! He won't agree to take me to London," complained Max. "Tell him it would be—educational!"

Allegra couldn't repress a smile. "Family discussions are best entered into by family members only. So I am well out of this one."

The twinkle in Wrexham's eyes was even more pronounced. "A wise decision, Mrs. Proctor."

"I could only come out in someone's bad graces, no matter which side I should champion," she pointed out.

"And whose good graces would you wish to keep?"

She regarded him coolly. "Really, my lord, on that I think we both know there is very little choice."

His lips twitched but before he could make a reply, Max spoke up again. "Well, there is another matter you might help us settle. Father and I have been arguing over a passage of
The Aeneid
for the entire walk home and I should like to know your opinion. We were just going to have tea in the library—perhaps you would care to join us?" There was a flash of challenge in his eyes as he glanced at his father, as if daring him to contradict the invitation.

"Max," replied Allegra. "I hardly think your father wishes..."

"By all means, Mrs. Proctor, please join us."

She could hardly refuse. Aside from being unspeakably rude to refuse a direct invitation from the earl, no matter how grudgingly extended, it would hurt the lad's feelings. "I should be delighted, then," she murmured.

The glint in Wrexham's eyes told her he knew she would be anything but. "Excellent. We shall be down as soon as we have made ourselves presentable for company. Shall we say in twenty minutes?"

Max broke into a satisfied smile. "I'll tell Cook, since I must drop our trophies in the kitchen." He hoisted the birds for Allegra's benefit, drawing a baleful look of reproach from the hound. "Oh come along, Sasha," he added. "You shall have a special treat for your day's work."

Exactly twenty minutes later, the earl appeared in the library looking, once again, every inch the titled gentleman. Not a hair was out of place, not a wrinkle sullied the expensive navy merino wool of his perfectly tailored coat or buff pantaloons. But neither did he have the look of having fussed over his dress either, noted Allegra with reluctant approval. His cravat was knotted with a casual elegance and his shirtpoints were unfashionably low, bespeaking of comfort rather than foppishness. His waistcoat was a understated stripe with nary a fob or chain adorning its front. In fact the only glint of gold came from the heavy signet ring on his right hand. She couldn't help but think that perhaps the earl's natural grace had something to do with the fact that his athletic form needed little help from a tailor to show to advantage.