To Love a Wicked Lord (9 page)

“You were only a boy,” Lady Carstairs said with a twinkling smile.

“With an eye for a beautiful lady,” he said and sketched a bow.

He turned, and nodding at Pippa, he too left,
following Brummel, but not before Pippa couldn't help letting out a small yelp. She spun around, but the Prince was already fading into the crowd converging on him. Pippa glowered after the vanishing prince, wishing she could rub her rear. It hurt.

“Our prince admires you,” Maxwell said, laughter in his voice as he sauntered to her side.

“He pinched me,” Pippa whispered in fury. “I know it was him. Mr. Brummel had already left.”

“Brummel wouldn't do such a thing,” Maxwell said. “It might ruin his manicure. Our prince is known for it. It's his seal of approval. The only reason he didn't pinch your grandmother is that he's too clever. He knew he'd be up against corsets as tight as the one he wears.”

She smiled and absently rubbed the stinging spot on her rear.

“Why do gentlemen do that?” she asked softly. “They pinch a lady's cheek and a housemaid's rear. But where's the fun in it? A pinch is not a caress. Surely they can't feel anything by doing that?”

He took her hand in his, and began to walk with her. “It gets them noticed by the lady or the maid, I suppose,” he said. “And it also tells their intent. But you've got it wrong, whatever their titles, gentlemen don't pinch ladies or serving maids' rears or any other tender parts.”

She nodded, relaxing as they strolled away.

“I've news,” he said.

She stiffened and stopped, staring up into his eyes.

“Not here,” he said.

They walked toward a dimly lit side room. Maxwell nodded at a footman standing at the entrance. The footman bowed and stepped aside. The room was fashioned as a library, with thick scarlet-patterned draperies at the window, a huge hearth with an ornately carved marble mantel on one wall and rows of bookcases on the other. The bookcases were woefully short of volumes, but the hearth was blazing. He led her to a corner of the room where they weren't visible from the doorway.

“What news?” Pippa asked eagerly when they stopped there.

“I found out about Ned Norwich,” Maxwell said.

She stared at him.

“And Norman Newell,” he persisted. “Now you can go home. I must leave you and go to London to find Nicholas Newman.” He smiled down at her expression. “I've every reason to believe that they are all your lost Noel Nicholson. One, because adventurers who use false names usually stay with those that are closest to their own names, so they're
less likely to forget who they are and more likely to know when their name is called aloud. And two, because the description fits. I'm sorry to say that it's possible your fiancé may well be an informant for our enemies. And now more people than you and your grandfather are interested in finding him. Since Whitley and I both occasionally work for those people we must stay on his trail wherever it leads us.”

“You think he's a spy,” she said flatly.

“I know he's a liar,” he answered calmly.

She took a long breath. “Then when do we leave?”

“Oh no,” he said softly. “We do not. This is where we part, sweet. We'll meet again. When it's over with I'll come to you to brag and show my abilities—all my abilities—to you. But I can't have you coming to London with me. I have enough to do finding Noel. Watching over you as well in such a hotbed of opportunities for misadventure is too much even for me.”

She began to protest.

“Watching over you,” he said, holding up one finger, “and your increasingly adorable grandmother, that is to say.”

She chewed her lower lip, frantically searching for an argument that might move him.

“Ah, don't mistreat your lips so,” he said, touching her mouth with his finger. “There's a much better use for them.”

He lowered his head, and paused. She knew that if she didn't want to be kissed she could simply move away. What was he playing at now? She didn't care. She wanted his kiss. She put her head up, parted her lips, and closed her eyes.

His kiss was gentle, at first, seeking, rather than demanding. She put her hands against his chest, so she could change her mind in a moment if she felt she had to. But his lips felt so soft against her own, his kiss was so sweet, and his lean chest so warm against her hands that she leaned into his kiss, and sighed with pleasure. His tongue touched hers, and the excitement and sweetness of it overwhelmed her. She felt her body puckering everywhere, her only wish was to get even closer to this strange, elegant male who spoke so lightly and yet could make her feel such deeply thrilling things.

One of his hands held the back of her head gently as his other slid down the soft material of her gown and gently cupped her rear so he could pull her even closer. She knew she ought to protest, but she couldn't think to speak. His scent was deliciously intriguing: a mixture of good soap and spice, and a fascinating aura of his own. She forgot
she ever wanted to breathe. She was held close and yet lightly. She couldn't pull her hands from his chest even though she wanted to raise them so could feel the silkiness of his clean, softly scented hair.

She'd been kissed before. But never like this before, never with such gentle passion, and never had she been so inflamed with yearning so quickly, so completely. She forgot where she was and only allowed this rare pleasure to rule her. She let him take the lead, wherever it lead them, and followed eagerly.

“Oh my,” her grandmother's voice said.

Pippa turned to see their audience: her grandmother and Sir Whitley.

Maxwell let Pippa go and lightly stepped away. She could only blink, as though coming awake from a strange, deep dream. After a scant second he spoke, but only to her. “And so this is good-bye,” Maxwell told her as he took both her hands in both of his.

Then he turned to her grandmother. “I hope you'll forgive me for what looks like my taking advantage as I said good-bye to your granddaughter,” he said earnestly, “but it's difficult to say good-bye to her.”

“Not for some men,” Lady Carstairs said wag
gishly. “That's why you're here. I forgive you of course, if you were saying good-bye,” she added archly. “But I can't imagine why you were.”

Pippa tried to gather her wits. Her only thought was a bitter one. Grandmother was right. This proved he was absolutely a liar, because of course he knew no man ever seemed to have any difficulty in saying good-bye to her.

“But why should you say good-bye?” her grandmother asked. She clapped her heavily ringed hands together. “Don't tell me! How exciting. There will be a wedding after all. You've found her Noel for her!”

“That I have not,” Maxwell said. “But I know where he is now, and must go find him.”

“Where?” Lady Carstairs asked.

“London,” he said.

She laughed with delight. “Why, that's wonderful. Exactly where I want to go next. Won't my husband be pleased? We have so many friends in London. They'll be fighting amongst each other to put us up. It's been so long since I've visited them, what a delight. Pippa, my dear, you will adore London! You were too young to appreciate it the only time we took you there. Oh, wonderful.”

For the first time since she'd met him, Pippa saw that Maxwell looked trapped. “But, my lady,” he
said quickly, the dumbfounded expression leaving his face in a heartbeat, “he travels fastest who travels alone, and I must find Noel before he discovers I'm on his traces. If he even sees a glimpse of Pippa or you he'll know what's happening, and will take to his heels again.”

“Ha!” Lady Carstairs said. “Of course he would. So we shan't advertise our arrival. We'll arrive by night. We won't give out cards when we do, as we usually would. We'll stay in a hotel under an assumed name and not go very far until it is safe to do so. I'll write to my husband and let him take care of it for us. And when you have wicked Noel in your clutches, we can discover what he was thinking at last. Then, whatever the outcome, we can celebrate. Why, we might even lure my dear husband out of his sanctuary to join us. When do we leave? Ah, what a foolish question, first thing in the morning, of course. Well then, I'll just go back to the inn, scratch out a letter to my husband, and we'll be ready to leave at sunup. What fun!”

Pippa stood wide-eyed. Maxwell seemed at a loss for words. And his friend's face was unreadable.

“But my lady,” Maxwell began to say, “what of your friends here?…The duke?”

“Oh, I'll have bundles more friends in London,” Lady Carstairs said dismissively. “Everyone's
going there now that spring is here, and the last of the Season is upon us. And the duke? Musgrave or whatever he's calling himself now? That silly old boy? He's just as married as I am, and to a lady who would knock him silly if he dared a thing with any other woman. As I would, if it were me,” she added.

“But surely you haven't seen half your friends here yet,” Maxwell protested. “After all, our prince is in residence. Think of all the fetes and parties there will be here.”

“And think of how many more in London. That's all everyone is talking about,” Lady Carstairs said. “The prince will likely remove there soon as well. What good fortune for us! Can you call for our coach, my lord? I am so excited. Come along, Pippa,” she said. “We'll make our excuses, say you've a headache, and say our farewells. But no more personal leave-takings for Lord Montrose, mind,” she added, shaking a finger at the frozen couple. “For this isn't to be a good-bye to him, after all.”

Now it was Maxwell's face that was unreadable. Pippa's expression was still one of absolute shock.

W
hat were you thinking?” Whitley asked.

Maxwell sat with his head in his hands. “I wasn't,” he said in a muffled voice.

“I see,” his friend said.

Maxwell lifted his head. “No, you don't. I wanted to kiss the chit. I did. Most satisfactorily. That's all it was. And yes, I know it was wrong, but I thought it was good-bye. It became more than that, but I didn't mean it to be. I thought she wouldn't mind and indeed, she didn't. I thought we were alone too. I may have put my head in a marital noose for it, but that's all it was.”

They sat in Whitley's dimly lit library in his old house at Brighton.

“It won't mean a marriage,” his friend said. “Not unless you want it to. Lady Carstairs obviously didn't think it meant a thing. As for the younger
lady, who knows? But she doesn't seem the sort to rope you in if you don't want her to. Do you?”

“The elder lady has clearly lost her wits,” Maxwell said with an expression of distaste. “So it was an especially heinous thing for me to do, presuming upon the younger one when she had no protector. For what it's worth, I don't think she'll try to make a proposal out of it either. But I behaved badly and I feel badly for it. Although,” he said, picking up his head, “I feel even worse about having them come with me to London.”

“Because you don't think you can keep your hands off her?” his friend asked curiously.

“Because they'll be more trouble than they're worth.”

“You don't want her, then?”

Maxwell looked frustrated. “Are you mad too? Phillipa Carstairs? How can I want her? The lady is already betrothed, remember? For all we know she may love her absent fiancé. She could be in league with him and knee-deep in whatever he's doing. Clearly she has her wits and to spare, but she may not have a moral in her entire immortal soul. I don't know. How can I think of tying myself up with someone like that even for a moment? It was not only badly done of me, but a bad mistake. She has fire and desire aplenty. Is it for me? Or is
she just a fickle wench? Or is it something worse? Maybe he left her for good reason.

“I can't afford to find that out by getting embroiled with her physically or mentally,” Maxwell went on. “I have to find her Noel for her and then, who knows? But for now, we've got to get them to go home. Correction,” he said shaking his dark head. “I have got to get them to go home without insulting or harming them. You've done enough, and you planned to stay here when I went on. So, I'm the one who's on my way to London.”

His friend shrugged. “Then just leave tonight. I'll know nothing in the morning, nor will anyone else. Go to London. It's a big city. The ladies will never find you if you don't want to be found. They might even decide to go home once you've left. The least I can do is see them safely there, and I will. Don't worry about it. Go. Let them find an empty room and an empty stall at dawn.”

Maxwell looked interested, then crestfallen. He knotted his hands together, hung them between his knees and scowled down at them. “That's craven. It's tempting too, but that's not me. I wish it could be, but it isn't. Old Carstairs may still have his wits. He was brilliant and a good friend to the Crown, a rare source of information in his time. We owe him something. And moreover, I promised to find the
girl's affianced. My word is good, and apart from that, I think I will find the wretch.”

“So let them go to London with you,” his friend said, “and leave them there while you get to work. Make sure they're snugly housed; hire some lads to protect them, and then do your best to find the rascal who left her. But when you do see Miss Phillipa, you have to keep your hands off her. Do you think you can do that?”

Maxwell looked at his friend with disgust. “I'm not a randy boy. I may have made one misstep—well, maybe, two,” he admitted. “But I was raised a gentleman. I have control over my emotions as well as my privy parts. So does she, or so I thought. There it is. I don't know why she's so accommodating to me. In truth, I grow daily more intrigued with the whole puzzle of the delicious Miss Carstairs and her errant lover.”

His friend look bemused. “I thought it was your father who was the susceptible one. I've known you for years, and never saw you react to a female the way you do to Miss Carstairs.”

“Nor have I,” Maxwell admitted, rising and beginning to pace. “But the difference is that I learned from my father. He wed wisely and well. At least he did when he wed his first and second wives. Nevertheless, his luck didn't go well. There's
not always a happily ever after. I don't want to go through such soul-searing misery as he did when my mother died, and then again when my stepmother did after that. No, I wouldn't risk such heartbreak unless there was a damned good reason for trying for happiness. There's no avoiding chance and fate so I have to be absolutely sure before I make any vows. I'm not ready to do so, far from it.

“I've known many women; you know that,” he added. “Not more than most men of my age and class, but not less either. I'm not proud of it, but neither am I ashamed. In every case I knew what I was after, and how important it was to me. In all cases, it was never that important. I also know how important it was to the female in question. All my amours were worldly, and if not wise, then clever and sure of their paths in life. I think that the fact that I don't know much about Phillipa Carstairs is half her allure. I hope it is. I hadn't planned to become attached to anyone for a few years yet, if ever.”

“Love has no plan, and luck and fate doesn't care about plans,” his friend murmured.

“Very wise, aren't you?” Maxwell asked, sending his friend a glinting glance. “And very much a bachelor. I'll gloat when you become snared, be
lieve me.” He drew in a deep breath. “Luckily, I'm not. Yet. Craving a kiss from a lady doesn't constitute grounds for marriage, at least, not for me. Very well. I'll let them tag along to London with me. Lady Carstairs grows more foolish by the day. Soon she may need a keeper and her granddaughter is certainly too young to qualify as one. I'll hire on guards to watch over them wherever they stay, and some sensible female to go around Town with them. That way I can ensure that nothing untoward happens to either of them. And on that score, be sure I'll avoid any time alone with her,” Maxwell went on. He suddenly grinned. “By that, I mean either lady.”

“Very good, if you can.”

“I can until I find Noel No-name, and I will. Then all will become clear.”

They sat and talked long into the night, until the blazing fire in the hearth turned to sighing embers. Then they parted and went to their separate chambers. Whitley went to bed and then to sleep. Eventually, so did Maxwell, but only after promising himself that he'd ignore all intrusive thoughts of Pippa: her mouth, her scent, her silken, shapely body, even if she floated into his bed naked as the dawn. Which she did, when he finally fell asleep.

He didn't sleep well, or for very long, that night.

 

Pippa couldn't get to sleep in her bed at the inn. She tossed and turned. She damned herself, and then Maxwell. She relived the kiss. She squirmed and twisted to find a more comfortable position. There was none that night. There was only a hard bed of truth.

She remembered how good it had felt to be locked in Maxwell's arms, against his strong lithe body. How odd that such a fop could become so irresistible. How strange that he wanted her. But that was clear. It wasn't just another of his poses. She knew enough about men to know when a fellow was honestly interested. How could she not, when he'd held her so close? Knowing that his body didn't lie about his interest in her had thrilled her.

She slammed her eyes shut, thinking of how that hadn't deterred her ardor, remembering what a shameless partner she'd been to his advances. She sat up, pounded her pillow, and flopped down again, wishing she were home so she could walk out into the night until the soaking dew restored her sanity.

Why had he kissed her? He knew she was engaged to be married to another man. That was the whole reason they'd met in the first place. There was nothing in it for him unless he thought she
was a wanton. She shivered. Was she? She hadn't thought so. Then why had she let Maxwell embrace her, given him such cooperation, and wanted more? Was she catching whatever malady was stealing her grandmother's sense away?

Noel's kisses had never moved her half so much. No man's had. She realized with shame and embarrassment that every time she thought of Noel, his face became more like Maxwell's in her mind. She was going to London to find Noel, but now she wasn't sure that she'd want him if she did. Maxwell was so much more alive and appealing.

Pippa groaned. But the truth of it was that she'd never met a man like Maxwell, and the curse of it was that she wanted him. And she couldn't have him. At least not now, or ever, if she continued to behave as she'd done. He excited and interested her. That wasn't any excuse for making such a thorough fool of herself. She didn't know him. His kissing her meant he was a villain or an opportunist or a cad. But the slightest touch of his mouth had stolen her wits.

His expression when her grandmother had walked in!—he'd looked as startled and appalled as she'd been. How could she face him again? How could she not? That voice, that scent, that face…
She finally fell asleep, but never for very long, not that night.

Pippa was hollow-eyed and lethargic when she faced her grandmother in the morning. It was a dull day, coming after a heavily misting night. Even the daffodils in the inn yard hung their bright heads and dripped translucent tears. But Pippa's grandmother was up and dressed, bustling around her room, instructing her maid as to how to finish the packing. She was wearing a handsome black-and-white striped traveling gown. Her neck was hung with several sparkling necklaces. She was humming, bright-eyed, merry as a bird on a budding tree.

Pippa yawned. “How do you do it, Grandmother?” she asked as she sank into a chair by the window.

“Do what?” her grandmother answered absently.

“Wake up so cheerful and lively at this hour?” Pippa frowned as another thought occurred to her. Her voice was lower and she watched her grandmother carefully as she added, “You never used to be so ebullient when we were back home: morning, noon, or night.”

“What was there to be ebullient about, except for
having lived through another night?” Lady Carstairs asked as answer. “You may go now, Nancy,” she told her maid. “We'll be down directly.”

After the maid had left, closing the door behind her, Lady Carstairs looked at her granddaughter shrewdly. “You worry about me, don't you? In truth,” she sighed, “so do I. Or so I did. I don't any longer because how can I fret when I feel so fine? I seem to have a new lease on life. I feel different: younger, happier, free again. If old age has changed me then I don't care if it's a weird solace. If it is some malady, I wish I'd had it earlier. I feel a weight off my heart. And I still love your grandfather, my dear. Who would not? But now I see I'd shrunken to his shadow because of living so many years in the countryside with him, alone except for you and friends I'd think were my inferiors had we lived in London or any of the great cities that we did before you came to us. Now I feel reborn. It is grand. And if feeling young means being silly sometimes, less worried, more carefree, so be it.”

“So you know…?” Pippa began to ask.

“That I am behaving in a different way? I know,” her grandmother said, smiling. “At first, I admit, it worried me. No more. Look at me. Now I laugh a great deal. I flirt with handsome young gentlemen who humor me, and older ones who actually
think I might dally with them. And who knows? I might. I am not the person who left home with you. Yet I'm pleased about it, Pippa. If losing my wits means gaining happiness, what of it? I'm too old to care what people think of me. Your grandfather wouldn't notice even if he would care. He hasn't noticed me in years. I'm happy, my love.”

Pippa thought a moment, looking for another way into her grandmother's mind. The grandmother she'd known would have cared a great deal about behaving as she did now. “Isn't all this traveling a trial for you?” she asked to keep her talking sensibly.

“It is odd,” Lady Carstairs said thoughtfully, suddenly looked older and more like the sober lady Pippa knew. “Curiously, I find that so long as I keep moving onward, I keep growing happier. The less time I have to think, the more contented I am with myself. It seems to be that way for you too,” she added, eyeing Pippa.

“You're blooming for the first time since your Noel left,” Lady Carstairs said. “In fact, you didn't glow like this when he was with you. It's because you've taken quite a fancy to the marquis, haven't you? And who can blame you? He's more handsome and far cleverer than your Noel ever was. There's something about him that one seldom
sees in a male, and yet often dreams about. And you may meet even more exciting men in London. I know I will,” she said, and giggled in a girlish manner, as if she'd never voiced the reasonable things that she'd just said.

“Grandmother,” Pippa said desperately. “Sometimes I think I'm losing you, and I'm afraid.”

“Pippa, my love, sometimes I think I'm losing me too, but I'm glad of it,” her grandmother said. “Now, are you going to travel in that gloomy gray gown? Pray do not. It makes you fade away. It makes me sad. We don't want that, do we? Go back to your room and change. Wear something bright: pink or yellow or saffron. Something with flowers or stripes, cheerful attire to chase the megrims, bring out your beauty, and lure the gentlemen. I'd dislike my being the only beauty in our coach, wouldn't you?”

When it was time to leave the inn, Pippa was wearing a saffron-colored gown and a red cape with a hood to draw up against the weather. She followed her grandmother, who hung on Lord Whitley's arm, chattering to him as they walked toward the traveling coach.