Gail Ranstrom – The Courtesan's Courtship (страница 9)

Oh, but she wouldn’t think of that now. Afton was having a baby! What joyous news. If Dianthe could just get clear of this mess, she would hie to Scotland to be with her. She blinked her tears away and returned her attention to the letter.

And now for the curious news. The postmaster in Little Upton forwarded a letter to me here. To say I was surprised, even shocked, is an understatement. Do you recall that Mama had a sister, Aunt Dora, who emigrated to Australia? Well, it appears that was a lie to cover a more scandalous event.

A visiting dignitary seduced Aunt Dora, and Grandfather turned her out when he discovered her transgression. She did not go as far as Australia, however. She went to London and took up with a wealthy merchant. He was married, but kept Aunt Dora comfortably. She had a daughter, Eleanor. Just think! We have a cousin. It was she who wrote to us.

Aunt Dora died a few years ago, and would never discuss her family, so Eleanor only recently found out about us. Her father preceded Aunt Dora in death, and his family turned their back on Eleanor, refusing to acknowledge her or contribute to her support.

Here lies the difficulty, Dianthe, and I pray you will be gentle and not judge her. Lacking both family and fortune, Eleanor was left to her own devices when Aunt Dora died. Untrained for any useful occupation, she had little choice but to enter the demimonde. She now wishes to leave that life behind, and begs that we will help.

Toward that end, dear sister, I have sent her your calling card, along with the Thayers’ address, and I have urged her to call upon you. When you hear from Miss Eleanor Brookes, please assist her in any way possible, and send her to us at Glenross. We shall take care of her and help her build her life anew.

I know I needn’t caution you to discretion. This sort of news would provide grist for the gossip mill for years to come, and the damage it could do the Lovejoy name is immeasurable. Think of your future prospects, Dianthe, and of our brother’s future.

I hope to hear from you soon, and urge you to come spend the Christmas season with us at Glenross.

Your loving sister, Afton

Stunned, Dianthe could only stare at the letter in her lap while her mind reeled. Eleanor. Nell. Nell Brookes had been her cousin. She had held her cousin and watched her life seep away. And Nell had known—had probably followed Dianthe to Vauxhall to meet her rather than come to the Thayer house. Thank heavens ’tis you, she had said. And, as difficult as it had been, thank heaven Dianthe had been there so Nell would not die alone.

Tears stung her eyes and blurred the words on the page. Dianthe silently renewed her promise to find and stop the man who had murdered her cousin. Of course she would not breathe a word of this to anyone. Whether her own future had been irretrievably lost or not, her brother’s must be protected at any cost.

Geoff left his horse in the care of a stable boy and let himself in the kitchen door of the manse on Curzon Street. He’d departed the gaming hells early this evening for the express purpose of dealing with Miss Lovejoy but he wanted to get back to the hells for the deepest play. The risk of a high stakes game was the only thing that gave him relief from the endless monotony of life. Only then did the dark loneliness inside him ease. Only then could he forget his failure to Constance. And, dear God, his sister, Charlotte. But that pain was still too raw to bear thinking about. Now he had to add Nell to his list. He was no good for women.

He encountered Mrs. Mason as she came below stairs bearing a tray with a half-eaten meal of lamb chops and roasted potatoes. “Oh, Lord Morgan! I did not expect you tonight. Will you be wanting dinner?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be wanting Miss Lovejoy. Is she about?”

The woman flushed and Geoff realized how his words must have sounded.

“I mean I’ll be wanting to speak with Miss Lovejoy.”

“Of course, milord. But I am afraid she has just retired for the evening.”

“I’ll be in the library. Please ask her to accommodate me. I will take only a few moments of her time.”

Without waiting for a response, Geoff made his way to the library. He’d just poured himself a brandy when Mrs. Mason appeared at the door.

“My lord, I…Miss Lovejoy begs that you return tomorrow at a…” the woman colored again and took a deep breath “…at a respectable hour.”

It took him a full minute to comprehend the enormity of that insult. It was his house, by God! And she was living on his charity! How dare she refuse to see him? Had she no manners at all?

“Thank you, Mrs. Mason,” he said, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He dismissed the woman with a wave of his hand and finished his brandy in a single gulp.

Another brandy followed the first as he considered how to respond to her haughtiness. In the end, he was confounded. There was only one way to handle Miss Lovejoy.

He took the stairs two at a time, seething with indignation. Two sharp raps on her door were all the warning he gave before opening it and stepping through. She was sitting in an overstuffed chair with her legs curled beneath her and the pages of a letter in her lap. She looked up in surprise.

“Miss Lovejoy, when I request an interview with you, I expect to be accommodated.”

She blinked those wide blue eyes. “As you can see, Lord Morgan, I am scarcely in a condition to receive visitors.”

There was nothing wrong with her condition as far as he could see. Her pale blond hair, most often done up in a formal style or tucked beneath a bonnet, was loose and fell over her shoulders, to tumble down her back. A wealth of midnight-blue fabric swathed her form, leaving a deep V open from her neck to a spot midway between her breasts, where a film of white lace peeked through. No, her “condition” was quite acceptable. At least to him.

“I do not care what condition you are in. Common courtesy would dictate that you receive me.”

She unfolded her legs, revealing bare feet. The deep blue fabric shifted to drape over her form most alluringly as she stood. He recognized the garment as his dressing robe. The cuffs had been rolled back several times, and the hem made a little puddle at her feet. The sight gave him such a sudden visceral reaction that he instantly stiffened with desire. He was jealous of his damn robe! He wanted to wrap himself around her, fall heavily over the soft swells of her breasts, get tangled between her long shapely legs.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry.

She stood, the pages of her letter drifting to the carpet with a soft whisper, and performed a mocking curtsy. “My pardon, Lord Morgan. I had thought your offer of shelter was given without pain of favors. Now that I know better, I shall, of course, leave.”

“The hell you will,” he cursed. “Where do you think you could go? You will simply treat me with due courtesy and respect. In short, as you would treat anyone else in the same circumstances.”

“You are not ‘anyone else.’ You are a reprobate who gambled to win my friend in marriage. Your quarrel nearly got my cousin killed. And because of you, Mr. Lucas is dead. You care for nothing but yourself. I only accepted your help because I do not care what happens to you, and, to be frank, all your money will not buy you respectability.”

“There were reasons for that wager, Miss Lovejoy.”

“You take other people’s fortunes on the turn of a card,” she accused.

“I force no one to risk so much as a farthing. ’Tis their choice, and if I do not take it, someone else will.”

“You nearly got my cousin killed!”

“Your cousin, of his own accord, lunged between me and a dishonorable shot from my opponent’s second when my back was turned.” She looked so like an avenging angel that Geoff felt guilty, though he couldn’t have said for what. He’d be damned if he was about to explain anything further to this piece of fluff who thought him guilty of all sorts of misdeeds.

She lifted her pert little nose in high moral indignation. “I’ve no doubt at all that you can explain everything away, Lord Morgan, but I’ve no interest in hearing excuses. Now, why have you come to my room?”

She had him in such a state that it actually took him a moment to recall why he’d come. “Miss Brookes’s funeral, Miss Lovejoy. I saw you there.”

He detected a crack in her hard veneer. She turned and walked slowly toward the fireplace, speaking over her shoulder. “Why should I not have gone? After all, I was the one to find her.”

“And the one the authorities are looking for. I thought you were smart enough to stay out of sight.”

“I thought I had. I was swathed in black mourning and heavily veiled. How did you recognize me, Lord Morgan? I doubt my own sister would have.”

He could hardly tell her he had recognized her figure and the way she moved. It would never do to let her know the effect she was having on him. She was already too sure of herself. He would have to settle on something more vague. “Perhaps you are not as clever as you thought.”

She halted and her spine stiffened. “Then I suppose I shall have to be more careful.”