Lucy Muir (3 page)

Mary showed Anne into a bedchamber directly across the hall where she found Melissa sitting up in a gilded bed with blue-and-white curtains. Sanders was folding clothes into a large wardrobe.

“Where have you been so long, Anne?” questioned Melissa eagerly. “Have you met Lord Stanton yet? What is he like?”

Anne seated herself on the bed next to Melissa, anxious to impart her news.

“Yes, I met him. That’s what detained me so long. You’ll never guess who he is—‘Hell-born Harry’! Charlie used to tell me stories about him. He thought Lord Stanton was quite a nonpareil.”

“Hell-born Harry? Who’s that?” Melissa asked.

Sanders halted her work and interrupted their conversation. “Ha! I feared as much when Mr. Upton first told us his name. We had best leave as soon as possible. Should it become known you stayed here your reputations would be quite ruined.”

“Fustian, Sanders,” Anne said heatedly, her brief pique at Lord Stanton’s discouragement of her plan over. “He behaved in a most gentlemanly manner. And I am here to chaperone Melissa.”

“Who is here to chaperone you, miss?” Sanders asked shrewdly. She sniffed pointedly. “Drinking brandy alone with a rake is not the thing for a gently bred lady.”

“A rake? Who
is
Hell-born Harry?” Melissa repeated.

“It’s not fitting you should know about him, a young girl not yet out,” Sanders said. “It’s enough for you to know that he should not be encouraged in any way by either of you. Although,” she added fairly, “he seems to have mellowed somewhat in the past several years.”

A new thought occurred to Anne, a strangely unwelcome one. “Is he married?” she asked Sanders.

“Married? That one?” snorted Sanders. “What need has he to marry? Besides, no properly brought up young lady would have him.”

“Well, I think his reputation is grossly exaggerated. What would you wager...” Anne’s voice trailed off. She looked sheepishly at Sanders and hurriedly changed the subject. “Melissa, do you feel recovered enough to go down to dinner?”

“Yes. The warm bath and short rest revived me completely. I wouldn’t miss meeting Lord Stanton.”

* * * *

Anne took another bite of the tasty haricoed mutton, enjoying the best prepared meal she had had in ages. Lord Stanton evidently employed a very good cook. She looked at Melissa to see if she were enjoying the meal and was amused by the expression of disappointment evident on Melissa’s face. Anne knew it did not reflect upon the food but on Lord Stanton. She had been most diverted to see the expression of apprehension on Melissa’s face when she first met Lord Stanton change to one of chagrin when he displayed no obvious signs of rakishness but behaved quite as any other gentleman of their acquaintance.

Lord Stanton caught Anne’s eye and smiled, and she knew he was sharing her amusement. Not for the first time during dinner Anne wished she had on a more fashionable gown than her plain cambric round gown. She felt quite dowdy next to her companions: Lord Stanton was impeccably clad in a claret coat with a quilted white marcella waistcoat and kerseymere breeches, and Melissa looked very modish in a tunic of printed rose muslin over an underdress of white muslin.

Surprisingly, though, Lord Stanton had not appeared to be overcome by Melissa’s beauty when he was introduced to her. Indeed, Anne felt that he was unaccountably drawn more to her. She glanced at Lord Stanton again and once more found his eyes upon her. Anne had an uncomfortable feeling that every time she looked his way he was aware of her regard. She felt herself blush and looked down, concentrating her attention on the mutton and the beautiful Derby tableware.

Lord Stanton saw the light flush staining Anne’s cheeks and knew her awareness of him was a good sign. She was looking absurdly young in her simple burgundy round gown, a half handkerchief pinned over her magnificent hair. Miss Amberly was as beautiful as Anne had indicated, but he appreciated the younger woman’s dark beauty without being drawn to it. He preferred fair women.

A question from Melissa recalled him to his duties as host, and Lord Stanton turned his attention to the younger woman. For the rest of the meal he exerted himself to amuse both his guests with stories of Town and Court.

Since there were no other guests present, Lord Stanton did not sit in solitary state with his port after dinner but chose to join Anne and Melissa in the drawing room that adjoined the dining room. It was smaller than the red drawing room Anne had been in earlier, but as opulently furnished and was decorated in shades of yellow and green. Anne quickly looked at
the paintings lining the walls but saw none similar to the Fragonard in the red drawing room.

“I do own more Fragonards, Miss Southwell, but they are hung in other rooms,” said Lord Stanton, correctly interpreting Anne’s searching look.

Anne blushed again, and taking pity, Lord Stanton changed the subject, motioning to a beautifully cased chamber organ at one end of the room.

“Do either of you play?”

“I am only conversant with the pianoforte, but Anne plays very well,” volunteered Melissa.

“Please honour us with a selection, Miss South-well,” Lord Stanton requested.

Anne agreed and, seating herself at the small organ, began a piece by Handel. Lord Stanton and Melissa sat quietly, enjoying the skill Anne displayed in her performance. When she finished the piece, Melissa rose and begged to be excused, pleading fatigue after the long day of travel. She waited for Anne to accompany her, but Lord Stanton intervened, asking Anne to play another selection for him. Anne acceded gracefully, and after bidding Melissa good-night, she reseated herself at the organ and played a short composition by Bach.

“Thank you, Miss Southwell,” Lord Stanton said when she had finished. “You play beautifully.”

“It is one of the few accomplishments I managed to acquire,” Anne said, smiling. “My father did not concern himself with seeing that I received adequate instruction in womanly accomplishments. However, we had a chamber organ that had belonged to my mother, and I begged to learn to play it.”

She got up from the organ and crossed the room to Lord Stanton, who rose at her approach.

“Please excuse me now. Lord Stanton. It has been a tiring day.”

“Stay a moment, Miss Southwell,” Lord Stanton requested. He indicated a chair to her and rang for a servant. “Please join me in a glass of port before you retire. It will make you rest more easily.”

Anne hesitated a moment, remembering Sanders’s warning. Anne sensed Lord Stanton was attracted to her, and he
was
Hell-born Harry, after all. Then, scolding herself for being missish, she sat down on the gold-and-yellow brocade chair he had indicated.

Lord Stanton took the port from the butler when he entered, offered a glass to Anne and seated himself across from her. For a few minutes they sat in companionable silence. The window draperies had not been drawn, and a full moon illuminated a silvery frozen landscape. The contrast of the cold outside and the warmth she was sharing inside with Lord Stanton created a feeling of cozy intimacy. Anne thought again how she missed masculine company and relaxed into her chair, enjoying his presence.

At length Lord Stanton broke the silence. “When I first met you this afternoon you were making a wager with yourself,” he stated, smiling at her but not shifting from his comfortable position. “Would you care to enter upon a wager with me?”

“What is the nature of the wager?” Anne inquired, surprised, waking from a half-sleep induced by the warmth of the fire and the port.

“You believe that you can succeed in launching your cousin into London Society and marrying her into the nobility. I don’t think you can succeed and would like to make a wager to that effect.”

“What are the stakes?” Anne asked warily, remembering how her brother Charlie had often tried to trick her into impossible wagers. Lord Stanton had the same look of mischief in his eyes.

Lord Stanton did not answer her directly. “I will even the odds by giving you two thousand pounds for your cousin’s dowry. This would allow you to use what monies you have to make a better appearance. However, you may not tell anyone of the dowry until a formal offer is made. The marriage must be to a member of the nobility, and it must take place before the end of July. If you win, I will give you another two thousand pounds, as well.”

“And if I lose?” asked Anne, feeling dazed by the amount. Two thousand pounds! That was more than the total she and Melissa had for the Season combined.

Lord Stanton looked straight into Anne’s eyes. “If you lose,” he said slowly, “you will become my mistress for as long as I choose the association to last.”

Chapter Three

Silence again filled the drawing room, but it was a taut silence, not the companionable kind of a few minutes before. A sense of unreality settled over Anne. She heard the ticking of the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece, the snapping of the burning logs and saw Lord Stanton’s half smile as he watched her reaction to his words, but it was as though she were looking on from a distance. Surely the port had befuddled her mind. She should be feeling shock and outrage at the idea of such an improper wager, but she felt neither. She was not even surprised. Here at last was the rake, Hell-born Harry, of whose exploits Charlie had told her.

Lord Stanton said no more but continued to sip his port in a relaxed manner. Still feeling somewhat removed from reality, Anne found herself considering the wager seriously. There had been very little money for Melissa from her parents’ estate, and Anne had only a competence herself. Two thousand pounds was a fortune and would guarantee a future for Melissa. It was a pity the terms of the wager would not allow the amount of the dowry to be mentioned beforehand.

Still, it would mean that what little money she did have she would be able to spend on their wardrobes, or perhaps to rent a house in a better area of London. There was one potential problem that occurred to her, and she voiced it to Lord Stanton.

“I would be a fool indeed to enter upon such a wager when a single word from you would be sufficient to destroy both our reputations and any hopes we have of establishing ourselves in Society.”

Lord Stanton’s half smile vanished. “If you were a man I would call you out for the imputation that I would interfere in the terms of a wager. However,” he continued, his smile reappearing, “under the circumstances I will forgive you. I am afraid you must rely upon my word that I will not.”

Anne was silent again. What most tempted her was that the terms of the wager were such that Melissa would gain whether she won or lost. Only for herself was there a risk. If she were to lose... Only married women could indulge in affairs with impunity. It would mean that no man would ever marry her. Not that any were likely to anyway, at her age with her lack of fortune, she supposed.

Anne looked Lord Stanton over frankly, wondering why such a renowned rake was interested in having a liaison with her. He must be very bored from being in the country for a long time. Perhaps he would not even collect. Six months was a long time. By then he would be back in London and probably enamoured of another woman far more beautiful than she. Yes, that was most likely what would happen. Anne’s face cleared and she opened her mouth to accept the wager, when Lord Stanton spoke with uncanny perception.

“Make no mistake, my dear. I mean to collect in full if I win. Don’t deceive yourself.”

His eyes travelled slowly over her with unmistakable meaning, and Anne felt an unaccountable flutter in her chest.

“But why?” she burst out. “I am not young, beautiful or wealthy.”

“Because, Anne,” Lord Stanton replied, most improperly using her given name, “I find you a very desirable woman. Having no intention of entering the married state, I can think of no other way to obtain what I want. If I were to simply offer you
carte blanche
you would not accept. By offering a wager, particularly one by which your cousin will gain, I have a chance. You revealed a great deal of yourself in our conversation this afternoon. I know you would honour a wager once you entered upon it. As you see, I am quite unscrupulous.”

Lord Stanton smiled at Anne again, and she was aware of a feeling of intimacy between them that was somehow established by his use of her baptismal name and his meaningful smile. She thought again how well he fit into the opulent late-seventeenth-century furnishings of his home. So much richness and ornamentation made a very sensuous ambience. She was acutely aware of his physical presence. His arm was casually flung across the top of the sofa, revealing his shirt, and she noticed how the tightly fitting kerseymere breeches outlined the muscles of his thighs. The firelight brought out the silver glints in his hair, and his eyes seemed to caress her. Anne shook her head slightly to clear it. The situation was unthinkable! She must be foxed, she decided, setting down her glass of port. A well-brought-up woman, even one raised in a military atmosphere, would not entertain the idea of agreeing to such a wager even for a moment. And what of her promise to Sanders not to wager? As these thoughts chased each other through her mind, Lord Stanton caught her eye and saluted her with his glass provocatively, seeming to dare her to accept the wager.

“Done,” she said simply, accepting his unspoken challenge.

Lord Stanton set down his glass and rose from the sofa.

“We must seal the wager,” he said, taking hold of her hands and drawing her up into his embrace. Either the unexpectedness of his actions or the port made Anne’s reactions slow, and she did not resist. His hands were warm and dry in hers a moment before he released them to clasp her closely in his arms. She felt his body moulded against hers, and then warm lips covered hers. She felt a quick sinking sensation in her stomach, and her knees weakened. Almost unaware that she was doing so, she began to return his kisses. At her response, Lord Stanton’s lips became more demanding, and then suddenly he held her from him.

Anne swayed a little on her feet, but Lord Stanton held her steady. Appalled at her behaviour, Anne stared at the floor, concentrating on the intricately intertwined flowers patterning the carpet. After a moment of silence, she felt a light touch on her cheek, and Lord Stanton turned her face gently up to his.