What Rumours Don't Say (2 page)

            He released her hand then, which she clasped to her chest as if to still the thrashing of her heart, though she still felt his gaze on her.

            “Are you alright?” he asked.

            She nodded quickly, though she frowned when she took in the state of her dress, parts of its hem soiled and in tatters.

“Now, would you mind telling me what you were doing in Lord Elmsmoor’s study?” his voice shattered her thoughts.

            She hesitated at first, but decided that since he had practically saved her, she owed him the truth. “Will you promise not to tell anyone, my lord?”

            He seemed displeased with her lack of trust. “Upon my word.”

She nodded, satisfied. “I was looking for a book, my lord.”

            “A book?”

            “Not just any book. A rare book that belonged to my father. I had heard it was in Lord Elmsmoor’s possession. I meant to buy it back but he would not part with it.”

            “So you decided you’d steal it?”

            “Yes. I didn’t think I would run into much difficulty.”

            “No, you didn’t,” he agreed.

            He was scowling at her again, Axelle thought, when she finally met his gaze and for some reason, it made her feel like a wayward child. “Rest assured, my lord, I shall forever be in your debt, though I fear I shan’t be able to repay it if I do not know your name.”

            “Ravenhall,” he muttered.

            So he was the Earl of Ravenhall, Axelle thought. She had heard the name before and knew that it denoted wealth and power. She had heard of him, too, heard that he had been a widow for many years now and did not have an heir but did not seem to be actively seeking a wife. There were rumours, as well, that his first wife had not been of noble birth, but a woman of the streets, and because of it, he had been disowned, though he was reinstated at his father’s deathbed. There was even less decent talk regarding the death of his first wife, with some saying she had not died of an illness but had taken her own life because the Earl had whisked her to the countryside and locked her up, while others said the Earl had murdered her when he discovered that she was bearing another man’s child, presumably that of one of her previous lovers.

            “It’s an honor to meet you, my lord.” She inclined her head lightly. “My name is Axelle Barton.”

            “Barton?”

            “Lord Thomas Barton, the present Viscount of Cleaves, is my cousin,” Axelle explained.

            “I see.”

            “And now my lord, I shall bid you good night. I fear my absence will not escape notice for long and my aunt will most likely suffer an attack of the vapors if she finds out I am missing.”

            With that, she left in the direction of the ballroom, hastening for the second time that night, stopping only when she was a short distance outside to straighten the pleats of her skirts and run a palm through her hair, securing as many pins as she could and patting down the chestnut tendrils that had escaped their confinement so as not to arouse suspicion about her recent activity.

            It had been a most fantastic turn of events, Axelle mused, to think that she had broken into someone else’s study just moments earlier and then had ended up being rescued by the mysterious Earl of Ravenhall.

            At the recollection, she found herself raising the hand he had held to her cheek, remembering how strong but not forceful his grip had been, but allowed it to drop to her side mere seconds later, berating herself for having briefly acted like an infatuated schoolgirl, which she most definitely was not. She was a woman of twenty-two, more advanced in age than most of the unattached ladies in society – a fact which Lady Barton disapproved of at each turn – and therefore no longer an innocent, or so she believed, with greater knowledge about the ways of the world and a tighter rein over her emotions.

            Still, she could not help but smile when she imagined how green with envy Katherine would surely be if she found out Axelle had been alone with a wealthy, handsome noble – not that Axelle would ever tell, of course.

            It would be her secret for as long as she lived.

            “How long were you planning on keeping this a secret from me?” Rosalind asked as she stormed into the library, still in her riding habit.

            Behind her, her aunt and chaperone, a plump woman in her early fifties, wobbled, gasping for breath. “Forgive me, my lord, she took off.”

            “It is quite alright, Aunt Lucille. You may leave us,” Reeve said, setting down his morning paper. He eyed his sister. “Though in the future, I would appreciate it if you did not give your chaperone a heart attack.”

            “I beg your pardon, brother, but I wanted to confirm the rumours for myself.” Rosalind took the seat across him.

            “It displeases me, Rosalind, that you pay attention to such idle talk, but by all means, let us hear what I have been keeping from you, though I recall no such promise of making you privy to all my affairs.”

            “You were seen with Miss Barton last night at Lord Elmsmoor’s ball,” Rosalind blurted out, causing Reeve to pause in the act of picking up his teacup. “In the gardens, to be precise. Alone. They said you were quite intimate, too, and…”

            “That is enough, I think,” Reeve cut her off.

            “Do you deny it?” Rosalind asked.

            Reeve simply frowned.

            “Well?”

            “Go attend to your lessons, Rosalind,” he ordered. “I need to think.”

            “But…”

            “Rosalind,” he spoke more sternly, narrowing his gaze.

            Rosalind sighed, knowing she would hear no more from her brother regarding the matter. “Alright, but you will tell me once…”

            She stopped when she saw the impatience in his eyes, and understanding, she left without another word.           

            Once alone, Reeve stood up, no longer in the mood for tea. Pacing the room had never been one of his inclinations. Rather, he preferred to look out the window and allow the scenery to help him clear his head, which was what he did now.

           
You were seen with Miss Barton last night.

            He had no idea who had seen them, never having sensed the presence of another while they were in the gardens – a fact he found most unsettling, particularly since he prided himself on having acute senses from years of hunting, a sport in which he excelled. Then again, he had been distracted last night, distracted by a certain green-eyed vixen with dark brown wavy hair and a small, mouth that was perfectly upturned at the corners. Granted, she was not what one called a beauty but there was something about her that attracted, no, demanded one’s attention and held it – his, at least.

           
They said you were quite intimate.

            Now, he knew where
that
came from. After all, whoever had seen them had probably noticed Axelle’s disheveled appearance and her flushed cheeks, both caused, no doubt, by their flight from Lord Elmsmoor’s study. 

He could simply pay no attention to the rumours, he thought, but that would not stop them from spreading like wildfire, as experience had taught him, and he could not have that. He had promised his mother, a former paragon of virtue, and his father at his deathbed that he would never again cause even the smallest of scandals to shed a shadow on the Ravenhall name, and he fully intended to keep his word.

As for denying the rumours, it would be an insult to the House of Cleaves and would only spur on further speculation, somewhere along the lines of him seducing Miss Barton and then discarding her, which of course, he could not have either.

That left him with only one option.

Two

            “Marriage?” Axelle’s gaze drifted from the Earl of Ravenhall to her uncle and back as she rose from her seat.

            She had heard about the rumours from Lady Barton and Katherine when they had returned from their morning shopping, and though she had been briefly concerned, decided to think nothing of it. She certainly had not expected the Earl of Ravenhall to come calling, much less make an offer of marriage, which was why she was completely in shock.

            “Sit down, child,” Lord Sebastian Barton exhorted, his own gaze holding a warning for her to conduct herself properly in the presence of their guest.

            Heeding it, she sat down, though she refused to relax, her hands clenched into fists on her lap.

            “So, the rumours are true.” Lord Barton turned to the Earl, his eyes brimming with an unspoken challenge.

            “I was indeed alone with Axelle, last night,” Reeve confirmed. “But you have my word that no seduction took place. We were simply engaged in various topics of conversation.”

            “I was not aware that you were acquainted with my niece,” Lord Barton remarked, his displeasure still present.

            “We met only recently,” Reeve assured. “But she has left quite a strong impression.”

            “That I can believe,” Lord Barton said, frowning. “ ‘Tis my brother’s fault, I’m afraid. When her mother died at childbirth, my wife and I offered to raise her as our own, but he insisted on doing so himself, no doubt because she is the living image of her mother. Needless to say, she was brought up in a most unusual manner, with few restraints, which is why she has little regard for what is proper, though she is well-versed in a variety of subjects. If I had not told him he was cheating his daughter of a good future, he would not even have allowed her to come to London for her debut and stay with us. We have since tried to remedy her ways, but unfortunately, like her father, she is quite stubborn to a fault.”

            “Father was right,” Axelle said when she finally found her voice again. “I should never have come to London.”

            “Axelle!” Lord Barton admonished.

            “It is only natural that the lady should be in shock by the rapid course of events,” Reeve said condescendingly. “Perhaps it is best that we have a few words in private, with your permission of course, Lord Barton.”

            “I fail to see how it is necessary, but you have my permission,” the older noble said, reaching for his cane and standing up to leave the drawing room.

            “I could simply tell my uncle the truth,” Axelle said when Lord Barton had left. “You need not be forced to marry me.”

            “Is that what you think?” Reeve eyed her thoughtfully. “That I’m being forced to marry you?”

            “Is it not the truth, my lord?” Axelle met his gaze directly.

            “It is true that I was not seriously considering another marriage,” Reeve answered. “And I shall be honest with you and say that I am not particularly looking forward to it, given the circumstances of my first, which, I should warn you, is something we shall never discuss in detail.”

            She kept silent.

            “However,” he continued “I will not deny that I am in need of an heir and this seems to be the perfect opportunity, given the predicament that we are currently in.”

            “So you are saying, my lord, that you are only marrying me because you wish to disperse the rumours and because you are in need of a son.” It was a statement, not a question.

            “Several, in fact,” Reeve said. “I intend on putting up a large nursery.”

            “I see.” Axelle looked down at her still clenched fists. “And that is all?”

            “You seem displeased.”

            “As you said, my lord, I am quite in shock,” Axelle said. “After all, I have never given any thought to marriage until now. As you perhaps already know, I have not attracted a single offer since my first Season, and if truth be told, I was under the impression I was already on the shelf, so to speak.”

            “Apparently, you are not,” Reeve told her.

            Axelle sighed, knowing impending defeat when she saw it.

            Just as she had said earlier, she had never dreamed of marrying, contrary to her cousin and all the other unattached ladies in society, content to live out her days as a spinster in a quaint cottage of her own in the country. In the few moments that she did contemplate marrying, she had hoped it would be to a man she understood, a man after her own heart, not someone she had only just met, barely knew and who certainly was not in love with her. The Earl of Ravenhall had made it clear that it was a marriage of convenience, nothing more.

            Still, to refuse the Earl of Ravenhall’s offer would mean a blow to her reputation, given the circumstances. There would be talk, no doubt, that she only refused him so she could be free to lift her skirts for other men and the very thought of it made Axelle cringe. It was one thing to be called eccentric and another to be labeled a harlot.

            “I trust you have no further objections,” Reeve said, as if reading her mind.