Miser of Mayfair (19 page)

Fiona’s heart began to beat hard. An elopement was surely the answer to her problems. No suspicious relative to step in before the marriage, no sharp and questioning lawyer. But what would his reaction be if he ever found out the secret of her birth?

‘But you would not run away with a servant or someone of that ilk?’ said Fiona.

‘Of course not.’ He laughed. ‘Base-born birth will out no matter how finely dressed up it may appear. I remember a merchant’s daughter who . . . Never mind. I will not sully your pretty ears with such a tale. Why should you know of such people? You who are the beautiful daughter of one of Scotland’s most famous judges. Let me tell you about the play I saw the other night. Kean was magnificent . . .’

And yet, as he talked, Sir Edward kept darting sidelong looks at her to see if she had taken the bait. It had always worked in the past and was his favourite ploy. Get them to elope, ravish ’em on the Great North Road, return to London unwed, and swear blind and on your oath you were somewhere else at the time and the girl was lying. Lady Disher and Mr Pardon would supply all sorts of useful alibis. Amazing how even the most genteel girls were weighted down with the horrors of family pressure during a Season. Allied to that was the virginal fear of sex. Sir Edward promised escape and boyish, brotherly companionship. And this was what had lured so many young misses to their ruin.

But would he be able to leave such a pearl as Fiona? He had never seen such beauty before. The miser of a father was drinking himself to death. But Sir Edward was genuinely afraid of marriage. Like most womanizers, he affected to like women, and yet he despised and hated them all.

And while Fiona appeared to listen to
him
, her mind was wrestling with the problem of whether Lord Harrington knew her background or not.

Who had told Sir Edward that Mr Sinclair was a judge? Probably Mr Sinclair himself, who had become carried away with what he described as the gullibility of society. Although Sir Edward had said he would not marry anyone base-born, Fiona was sure he would not mind provided he found out the truth only after they were married. But if he should find out before? She realized with a shock she was actually considering marrying him. The idea of an elopement had done it. To run away with someone cheerful and kind, far, far away from London with its perils of gossip.

But if Lord Harrington knew then she would need to risk telling Sir Edward the truth before he proposed. Somewhere in the earl’s house he might have papers or a letter. Oh, to be sure!

Fiona allowed Sir Edward to lead her back to the ballroom. Another partner came up to claim her. As Fiona was dancing close to where Lord Harrington was standing with Mr Toby Masters, she heard him say, ‘What a dull affair. Let’s finish the night at White’s.’

Fiona now knew that gentlemen who went to White’s Club in St James’s Street often did not return home until the dawn, such was the gambling fever that gripped society.

A plan began to form inside her head.

Rainbird yawned as he carried the candle snuffer downstairs. He had been extinguishing the lights after having hefted Mr Sinclair into bed and after having been assured by Miss Fiona that they had no further need of his services until the following day. ‘Except it
is
the following day,’ grumbled Rainbird. ‘It’s two in the morning.’

Lizzie was fast asleep on her pallet on the scullery floor. Dave was snoring under the kitchen table. Rainbird picked up his bed candle and began to climb up the stairs from the kitchen and then up the main staircase to his room in the attics. He was just about to open his door when he heard a soft footfall on the stairs below. He blew out his candle and crept back down again as silently as a cat. He could make out the dim shape of Miss Fiona as she stole silently from her bedchamber.

He followed her down the stairs. One oil lamp was left burning in the hall. She was wearing the old cloak in which she had first arrived, its hood hiding her face. She quietly unlocked the street door and let herself out.

Rainbird decided to follow her. The streets could be dangerous at nights, even in the West End. His heart sank as he trailed her into Hanover Square. If Miss Fiona had an assignation with Lord Harrington, there wasn’t much he could do to stop it. The earl was a powerful aristocrat and would punish any servant who had the temerity to spoil his pleasure. Keeping under the shadow of the trees in the little garden in the centre of the square, Rainbird watched Fiona.

She went straight up the front steps, which were lit by a huge oil lamp hanging from an iron bracket. She fumbled in her reticule. He heard the chink of money. She walked back down the steps, carefully laying a trail of guineas. She went up and knocked loudly on the door, and then flattened herself against the wall at the side of the door where the rays of the lamp would not shine on her.

There was a long silence.

Then the door opened and Lord Harrington’s fat butler appeared, struggling into his jacket. He peered about, cursed, and was about to close the door, when he saw the gold. From his viewpoint, Rainbird could see the gleam of avarice in the butler’s eyes. The butler bent down, picked up the first gold piece, and then moved down the shallow steps, picking up the rest. The shadow that was Fiona detached itself from the wall of the house and silently glided inside.

The butler searched and searched until he was sure he had all the gold. Then he went inside, shut the door, and locked it.

What is she up to? wondered Rainbird. What can I do? Glad he was still wearing his old black velvet livery instead of his splendid new suit, he sat down under the trees and prepared to wait. If there was a scream or yell from the house, then he would be on hand to run to the rescue.

Fiona had remembered seeing a large desk in the library where Lord Harrington had entertained her. She waited a long time in the darkest corner of the hall after she had heard the butler lock up and retire.

The house was very quiet and still. The smell of sugar and vinegar from the gallipots made the warm air cloying and close. Finally Fiona moved again, feeling her way in the blackness of the hall towards where she knew the library to be. With infinite slowness and care, she gently opened the door.

She had taken the precaution of bringing a tinderbox with her and also a stub of wax candle. She started the laborious process of lighting the candle. She took off the lid of the flat round brass tinderbox and struck a piece of agate against a piece of steel. Any spark that fell on the tinder, which was of cotton rag, had to be blown and carefully tended until it became a red glow. Then a thin splint of wood, the end tipped with sulphur, was held over this incandescent bit of cotton, and, if you were lucky, it lit the first time. Fiona was not lucky, and it was a full twenty minutes before she was able to light the candle.

To her relief, she was in the right room. The candlelight flickered on the tortured face of the mangled deer. She crossed to the desk and carefully went through all the drawers. There were account books, business documents, and blueprints, but no personal letters at all.

Made bold by desperation, she decided they must be abovestairs in his dressing room or bedchamber. She opened the library door and listened carefully for several moments. No sound at all.

She decided to keep the candle lit rather than risk colliding with someone in the dark. If she did meet some servant, she would need to pretend to be one of Lord Harrington’s doxies, and hope to escape because of the embarrassment
that
would cause. Her usual commonsense, which might have told her that Lord Harrington would hardly entertain doxies, if he had any, in his own home, had deserted her. But the servants were obviously all abed and Lord Harrington would surely not be home until the dawn.

The first floor boasted a drawing room, a saloon, and various small reception rooms. The bedrooms were obviously on the second floor. It was easy to tell which was Lord Harrington’s since it was the only one in use. His nightshirt was laid out on the bed and jewels spilled from the jewel box onto the toilet table.

She saw an escritoire in the corner of the bedroom and gently lifted the lid. Various letters were stuffed in pigeon-holes. Although they were personal letters, none related to her. In her worry and frantic haste, she began to be convinced he had documents concerning her and that he had hidden them somewhere. Her eyes fell on his jewel box. It was a large box of the kind with trays that lifted out. Jewels spilled about her as she lifted the top tray out – stickpins, diamond buttons, sapphire buckles, ruby and emerald rings.

She stooped to pick them up.

The door opened, and Lord Harrington stood on the threshold. There was a footman behind him, holding a branch of candles. The house was so thickly carpeted that Fiona had not been warned of their approach.

The earl looked at Fiona, kneeling in the circle of candlelight, her hands full of jewels. His face went hard and set. He turned to the footman, his large figure screening Fiona from the servant’s view. ‘Go away, Paul,’ he said, ‘and inform the other servants I am not to be disturbed, no matter what you hear.’

He waited until the footman had left. Then he stepped into the room, locked the door, and put the key in his breeches pocket.

Outside in the square, Rainbird sat biting his nails. Lord Harrington’s arrival home had come as a shock. So Fiona did not have an assignation. She had crept into his house for some other reason. At first he had thought that the ruse with the gold had been so that Lord Harrington’s servants would not see her. Now Rainbird felt certain she had stolen quietly into the house like a thief to find something . . . or take something. Was she a thief? Uneasily Rainbird remembered her generous gifts of money, money she said she had come by gambling. Lord Harrington had stood on the step for ages chatting to his friend, Mr Masters. He had not looked like a man who knew that a beautiful lady was awaiting him indoors.

On the other hand, worried Rainbird, taking another chew at his nails, perhaps Miss Fiona was trying that old trick of compromising the gentleman. He had seen the light of her candle in the upper room and had assumed she had gone into his lordship’s bedroom. Yet Rainbird knew in his heart that Fiona was pure and virginal. So she must be a thief. And if she were caught, the disgrace would be terrible.

A scream rent the air – a scream suddenly stifled.

Rainbird jumped to his feet and began to run. There must be some way into the house round the back.

Fiona crouched motionless on the floor. Her hood had fallen back. Her cloak was loosened and showed she was still wearing her ballgown. Her eyes were great black pools.

Lord Harrington shrugged off his coat, wrenched off his cravat, and proceeded to undo the buttons of his shirt.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Fiona through white lips.

‘Getting ready to bed you,’ he said, his calm, even voice more frightening than if he had screamed or yelled. He took his shirt off, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in a corner. ‘You do not want to appear in court and neither do I. You will pay for the jewels you have stolen with your body.’

‘I have stolen nothing . . .
nothing!
’ said Fiona, rising to her feet.

‘Then why are you here?’

‘I came . . .’ faltered Fiona. ‘I came . . .’

He shrugged, walked forward, and hooked his hand into the bosom of her dress, jerking her against him. Fiona looked up into his eyes. They were blazing with fury and hate.

‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Oh,
no!
’

His mouth came down on hers, cutting off her scream of protest. His mouth was punishing and savage, his tongue, thrusting between her lips, probing and searching. The hand holding the bosom of her gown jerked downward. There was a rending sound and then Fiona felt her bare breasts crushed against his naked chest. The fact that she was still wearing her cloak open over her gown made her, paradoxically, feel doubly naked.

She wriggled to free herself, but the movement of her breasts was so erotic that he became deaf and blind to everything but the passion submerging him. With one Herculean effort, Fiona wrenched her mouth free.

‘I came to find the papers,’ she cried. ‘Only the papers. I could not find them anywhere and thought they might be under your jewels. In pity’s name,
hear me!
’

‘What papers?’ he demanded.

‘You know about me,’ whispered Fiona. ‘You
know.
I saw it in your face tonight. But I had to be
sure.
You could ruin me.’

Then there was a knock at the door, a loud, imperative knock. The earl frowned. His servants would not disobey his orders. ‘Who is it?’ he called

‘Rainbird, my lord,’ came a loud voice. ‘Miss Sinclair’s butler come to take Miss Sinclair home.’

‘The deuce,’ said the earl savagely. He thrust Fiona away from him, feeling sick and ashamed. ‘Cover yourself,’ he snapped. Fiona drew the folds of her cloak tightly about her.

Lord Harrington pulled on his shirt again and stuffed the tails into his breeches. Then he unlocked the door. ‘How did you get in?’ he demanded.

Rainbird bowed. ‘You left the front door open, my lord. I thought I heard Miss Sinclair scream.’

Lord Harrington swung round and looked at Fiona, his eyes blazing. ‘You and your accomplice may leave,’ he said. ‘I have no wish to bring scandal to my good name by taking you both to court.’

Rainbird stepped quickly round him and picked up the candle. ‘Come, Miss Fiona,’ he said gently. ‘It is late.’

With bowed head, Fiona walked forward, past Rainbird, past Lord Harrington, to the door. Rainbird followed her with the candle.

Lord Harrington went after them to the landing and then leaned over, watching them both descending the stairs. Fiona suddenly stopped and looked up. ‘I brought that disgraceful scene on myself, my lord,’ she said, her voice sad and gentle. ‘Do not reproach yourself. And Rainbird here, he knew nothing of it. He must have followed me through concern for my welfare. Ah, you, my lord, with your lands and title, will never know what it is to be poor and nameless.’ She pulled her hood up about her head and continued on her way down.