Enchanted in Regency Society: Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress / The Gamekeeper's Lady

Dawn lightened the eastern sky, but it was still dark in the valley as Eleanor pulled back the barn door with shaking hands. If she had any sense she’d send Le Clere a note, tell him where to find his missing nephew and flee.

And they’d be out on the streets with no money and deeply in debt. No. Taking advantage of his attraction was the last arrow in her quiver. The fact that she found him equally attractive wasn’t a bad thing either. It would make playing her part easier, perhaps even enjoyable, although thoroughly disgraceful. She shivered.

She touched her mask. If only she could keep it on. But she couldn’t. He would have to know she was both Lady Moonlight and Ellie Brown. She’d have to tell him as much of the truth as she dared without actually admitting to her real identity. Once it was over, she’d disappear.

She took a deep breath and perched her hat on top of her boy’s wig. It must look strange with her blue dimity gown, but she wanted to break the news gently.

Dust motes danced in the fingers of light poking through the knots and gaps in the walls. The Marquess lay on his back in the straw, his chest rising and falling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His lashes lay like dark fans above high olive cheekbones. So peaceful. His horse blew out a breath, a snort of disgust no doubt.

She shook his arm. ‘My lord.’

He mumbled and opened his eyes, slowly gazing around.

‘What is it? It’s still the middle of the night,’ he grumbled. ‘The deuce.’ He stared at up her, rather warily, she thought.

‘My lord, you must listen, I—’

He sprang to his feet and grabbed her by the arm. She felt something cold and hard against her neck. A pistol.

‘Cry out and you are dead,’ he whispered.

The breath left her body in a terrified rush. He sounded angry enough to shoot her. Disaster. Her plan made no provision for this. She opened her mouth to speak and found her mouth drier than the well beside the barn. Her knees seemed to have lost all their strength.

‘Where is he? Ben?’ he asked.

His warm breath was hot in her ear, his arm a steel band around her waist. He brought the muzzle around to her face. ‘Answer me, wench.’

She swallowed hard, managing to salvage some moisture for speech. ‘He’s gone.’

He squeezed her harder, crushing her ribs with his steely grip. ‘When will he be back?’

‘He left for good this time.’

She made no struggle as he propelled her towards the door.

‘Let’s hope he values your life,’ he said with the pistol still pointed at her head. His body partly shielded by hers, he eased her out of the door. His heart knocked against her ribs, slow and steady, unlike hers, which seemed ready to leap from her chest. One false move on her part and she would find herself with a bullet to the brain. Not a preferred solution to her problems.

After a long pause, he thrust her away from him with such force she fell to her knees. Unmoving, she watched him check the vicinity of the barn.

Apparently satisfied, he returned to where she knelt, close to the spot where they had kissed the day before. He cast her a look of suspicion. ‘He won’t get far. When I catch him you’ll both be up before the beak.’

He was going to cart her off to prison. She reached into the pocket of her skirt.

He levelled his pistol. ‘Careful, wench.’

She froze. Her heart seemed to forget how to beat. ‘I brought you something.’

One eyebrow went up. ‘How sweet of you, my dear. A token of appreciation for helping you yesterday, no doubt.’

She opened her fingers. They shook and she steadied her wrist with her other hand. Beside the key in her palm lay his signet ring, a large solid circlet of gold mounted with heavy claws grasping the Beauworth shield. ‘I was going to set you free. I hid the ring from Ben after you told me you wanted it back.’

The Marquess’s lip curled. ‘Admit it. You lost your nerve. Very clever of you to realise I would come after you for the ring. I suppose you expected me to forget the whole thing in exchange?’

This was not going according to plan. He clearly hadn’t needed her to set him free and he accorded her only the worst of motives for returning his property. Even as it hurt, she acknowledged his right to think her despicable. She swallowed. What a fool she had been to risk everything on his seeming attraction, when a nobleman of his rank and physical beauty could have any woman he wanted.

She’d failed. Again. Moisture burned at the backs of her eyes. She sniffed. Whatever he decided now would be her punishment for letting William and Sissy down.

‘Tears?’ he said. ‘You don’t expect me to believe those are real, surely?’ He sighed and took the ring from her hand. ‘First, let’s see who you are. Then we’ll decide what comes next.’ He grasped the edge of the mask and whipped it over her head in one swift movement. Her hat and wig fell to the ground. Her hair cascaded around her shoulders. Now he would know everything. Hotfaced, she lowered her head, hiding behind her hair’s silky screen.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It cannot be.’

A cool hand cupped her chin. He lifted her face, swept back the hair.

‘Bloody hell. Ellie Brown?’ He could not have looked more appalled to see Satan himself. ‘There must be some mistake. This is some sort of trick.’

The disappointment in his expression took her aback. It was almost worse than his earlier disgust. Confused, she lowered her gaze, searching for the strength to follow through with her plan. ‘It is me. I’m sorry, my lord.’

He reached out to touch her face as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. ‘Hell’s teeth. You certainly fooled me finely. What game are you playing?’

For one mad moment she felt the urge to tell him the whole sordid story, to throw herself on his mercy. But she’d done that before, written to him asking him for more time to pay the mortgage without effect. No, far better to stick to her plan to bargain than beg for kindness. She dashed away tears that had somehow spilled over and took a deep breath. ‘Ben was angry about what happened yesterday. He took all the money. Whatever will happen to Master William now?’

He blinked. ‘Master William?’

‘Lord Castlefield. He got into debt. The bailiffs came and threw us all out, because of the mortgage due on the estate. I was trying to raise money to help him, but it got out of hand.’

His glowered. ‘More than out of hand, I would say, you little idiot. Why isn’t this man taking care of his own debts?’

‘He’s away. Fighting in Spain.’

He cursed softly. ‘Who holds the mortgage?’

She stared at him. How could he not know? Perhaps he just wanted to make her suffer. ‘You do.’

His jaw dropped. ‘Me?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t tell me. You were going to use my money to pay me back? You really are one brazen hussy.’

If she didn’t know better, she might have thought the glint in his eye was admiration. The straight line of his firm mouth and the hard set of his jaw said otherwise.

He looked down at the toe of his riding boots, scuffed and dirty, his thoughts hidden. ‘Why come here today? Why didn’t you cut your losses and run?’ He frowned. ‘Why not simply ask me for help without all this nonsense?’

‘His lordship’s lawyer wrote to you. You insisted the debt be paid or the house would be forfeit. When you said your uncle wouldn’t pay the ransom, I thought of something else.’ She winced as he narrowed his gaze on her face, his fingers playing with the strings of her mask.

‘Well?’ he prompted.

‘I was going to offer to…’ Heat spread from her face all the way to her feet. It had sounded so easy when she had gone over it in her mind. Now it sounded horrid. She swallowed what felt like a feather pillow stuck in her throat. ‘To do whatever you wanted in exchange for the mortgage.’ The words came out in a rush.

The thin black ribbons stilled. The silence lengthened. ‘This Lord Castlefield must be very important to you.’

‘Yes, he’s—’

‘Enough.’ He squeezed his eyes shut briefly. ‘I really don’t want to hear the sordid details.’ He stared down at the ring. ‘I really have been seven kinds of a fool about you. I respected you, Ellie. Thought you were a very different kind of woman.’ He shook his head. ‘You and Ben must have enjoyed your little jokes at my expense.’

‘I was desperate.’

He stilled. ‘Desperate enough to offer yourself to me in exchange for this Lord Castlefield’s debts.’

Spoken so softly, without emotion, it sounded dreadful. Her heart contracted, it grew small, and tight, all the joy and hope squeezed out of it as he laid out what she had become. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m not sure it’s a compliment. How much does he owe?’

Her chest felt tight. ‘A thousand pounds.’ Her voice came out in a very small whisper.

‘An expensive roll in the hay.’ His gaze reflected some kind of cynical amusement. ‘And for how long am I to receive the benefit of your services?’

Shame emblazoned her face. She closed her eyes briefly. What was one more nail in the coffin of her pride? In a panic, she picked a number at random. ‘Three months. More if you want.’

Too much? Too little? She couldn’t tell from his wooden expression.

‘High priced indeed,’ he said, his face bleak. He made a faint sound of disgust, then strode impatiently to the remains of the fire and stirred the ashes with the toe of his boot, clearly trying to make up his mind. The acrid smell of wood ash filled her nostrils as fine dust puffed up. ‘I will let you know my decision tomorrow,’ he said finally, without looking at her.

Clearly, he wasn’t at all thrilled by her offer. No doubt he had plenty of beautiful women from whom to choose. Perhaps he wasn’t as interested in her as she had thought. And that made her feel just a little…hurt. Which was ridiculous. At least he hadn’t turned her down flat. Yet. ‘Yes, my lord.’

He dropped the mask into the dead embers. ‘How did you get here?’

‘I walked.’

‘Then I will take you home.’ He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. She jumped, her heart pounding. Who was he calling? Had he been playing some sort of cruel game? Toying with her the way he had during their duel? And now the constable would ride out to cart her off to prison.

Approaching hoof-beats had her spinning around in time to see a gawky blond lad emerge from the woods. The lad who’d been up on the box of the carriage the night of the robbery. He rode across the meadow in an ungainly gallop. So this was how her prisoner had escaped.

‘Do you have any weapons on you?’ the Marquess asked softly in her ear. She jerked away from him. ‘No.’

‘You won’t mind if I check?’

She minded very much as his fingertips ran over her body. And even more when his large hands gently outlined the curve of her hip. She minded because her body responded with longing, whereas he looked completely unaffected, dispassionate. When he knelt before her, the tousled dark hair close to her stomach, and stroked between her thighs—gently, true, but missing not one inch of sensitised flesh—she minded so much that she felt dizzy and hot. Her breathing shortened, while her mind tried to assimilate the unnerving sensations on her skin.

He glanced up, an odd half-smile on his lips. ‘I am glad you told the truth this once, wench.’

Her heart gave a painful squeeze. She wished she could tell him the truth about everything.

The boy drew his mount up close to the Marquess, staring at her open-mouthed.

‘It’s all right, lad,’ the Marquess said. ‘Return home and let Johnson know I will follow shortly.’

Knowing her face burned scarlet, Eleanor avoided the boy’s curious glances by staring off into the distance. It wasn’t until he had departed that she dared steal a glance at the grim man at her side.

He had said he would take her home. Did he mean that?

‘Come. We will use my horse.’

He gestured her into the barn and readied his mare in silence. The ripple of muscle beneath his shirt as he worked reminded her of the strength she had seen in his arms on the previous day. Sculpted and bronzed, they’d been lovely. And his back had been broad and strong…and horribly scarred. She wished she hadn’t seen that. It made her feel pity, when she wanted to feel practical, businesslike, unmoved by what would happen next.

With her wrist in a firm grip, he walked her and the horse outside and placed his hands about her waist. They were warm and large, filling the hollow between her ribs and hips. He tossed her up on to his horse and climbed up behind her, pulling her on to his lap so she sat sideways across his thighs. She sat within the circle of his arms, wedged against his chest. Almost hysterical, still unable to believe how awry everything had gone, she held herself stiff and straight.

She ought to be flirting with him. Batting her eyelashes, charming him to do her bidding, but he seemed so remote, she couldn’t bring herself to try. He had his arms around her; she could feel the heat of his body against her back and yet she felt chilled. She’d hurt his pride. He’d as good as admitted it. After all, she was a woman and she had duped him finely. Not a good thing. Having grown up with two brothers, she knew how sensitive men were about those sorts of things.

Unable to bear the heavy silence any longer, she glanced up at his grim face. ‘I truly am sorry for what I did. It was meant for the best. It was all I could think of to save my…lord.’

‘Where is your sister?’ he asked abruptly.

‘I sent her to a relative.’

‘I wish to hell you’d gone with her.’

She wished she’d seen it as an option. She shrugged. ‘I needed the money.’

He leaned forwards, the hard wall of his chest pressing against her back, his warm breath tickling her ear, starting a series of tingles in other places she tried to ignore.

‘Miss Brown,’ he said, ‘you are a reckless wench. Someone needs to curb your wild behaviour.’

‘Someone like you?’ she asked, and gasped at the hiss of his indrawn breath.

Silence was obviously the better part of valour, so she held her tongue for the rest of the way.

When they arrived at her door, the early morning sun was casting long shadows in the lane outside her cottage. Soon the rest of the village would be up and about. The Marquess set her down in the road and walked her up the path.

What to say under such awkward circumstances? ‘Can I offer you tea, my lord?’

He hesitated, his brown eyes searching her face. He raised his hand and tipped up her chin. Her skin scorched where his fingers touched and she could not raise her gaze from his full mouth, as if her body yearned for the wicked sensations he engendered with his kisses. She held her breath. A delicious feeling of anticipation coursed through her veins. Her pulse raced. A shadow passed over his face. Regret? Longing? Or was it anger? It disappeared too fast to be sure.

He grasped her by the shoulders, turning her towards him, drawing her close. He touched his lips to hers. Her arms went around his neck. Her fingers twined in his silken hair. An instant surrender she could not control as he tasted her lips with infinite sweetness. A languor overtook her limbs.

He put her from him with an almost forced gentleness, as if he also fought some inner battle. Her arms felt bereft, her legs not exactly steady.

‘I will come and see you tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. He left without looking back. Eleanor went inside and bolted the door. She leaned against the old rough wood, a hand to her mouth. What had she done? She shivered. There had been no kindness in his face just now, no tenderness in his eyes. Just the heat of desire.

An answering heat flared in her body.

After bathing and changing his clothes, Garrick went down for breakfast and found his uncle already seated at the table with his usual two slices of toast.

Le Clere half-rose in his seat, relief warring with irritation for supremacy in his expression. ‘Is it your idea to cause me an apoplexy, Garrick? I was ready to send out a search party if you hadn’t returned this morning.’

The irony made Garrick want to smile. ‘I rode over to Appleby’s. Did you not get my message?’

His uncle cleared his throat. ‘You did not say you’d be away so long.’

The sensation of being smothered returned to Garrick in full force. Memories of his boyhood. ‘Well, here I am now,’ he said cheerfully.

‘You missed our meeting yesterday. I thought we had an agreement.’

‘I apologise for that. I did look at the ledgers before I went. I wanted to ask you if I could look at the rent books when next we met.’

‘Rent books?’ Le Clere’s eyes narrowed.

‘Revenues have fallen. I wanted to see if the rent books gave any clue as to why. See which tenants are in trouble.’

His uncle frowned. ‘They won’t tell you much.’ Garrick opened his mouth to argue. ‘But why not?’ his uncle said swiftly with a shrug. ‘Matthews collects the rents. I’ll ask him to bring them along, when he’s finished making this month’s rounds. How did you find the Applebys? All well?’

A rather swift change of topic, given how badly Le Clere had wanted him to take an interest in the estate. ‘All in the pink of health, Uncle.’ Fortunately for Garrick, they lived far enough away so that Le Clere was unlikely to run into them. Garrick pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘They sent their regards.’

The butler bustled in with a freshly filled toast rack, poured coffee in Garrick’s cup and left.

‘I have a rather unusual request,’ Garrick said, feeling a trickle of sweat run down the centre of his back.

Le Clere put down his paper with a genial smile. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I understand that you…er, rather that we, have called in the mortgage on a property in Hampshire? Castlefield Place.’

Le Clere stiffened, his eyes narrowed, the expression in them piercing. ‘What do you know about Castlefield?’

An oddly defensive response? Garrick maintained a relaxed expression. ‘Not a great deal, although the name sounds vaguely familiar. You must know of it.’

Le Clere grunted.

‘Ellie told me the son is unable to pay.’

‘Ellie Brown?’ An odd expression flickered across his face.

Blast. He hadn’t meant to mention her by name, but since Le Clere made it his business to know every tenant on the estate, he would soon work it out. ‘Yes, she was his servant.’

His uncle’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘A servant, eh. Well, it’s a straightforward foreclosure. What else did you want to know?’

Garrick’s jaw tightened under his uncle’s unblinking contemplation. ‘I want you to forgive the mortgage and put the man back in dibs.’

‘Is this some sort of jest?’ Le Clere’s laugh sounded incredulous. ‘Do you know the size of the debt? The estate needs those funds to maintain your extravagant lifestyle.’

Garrick leaned forwards and locked eyes with his uncle. ‘Are you telling me we are facing ruin? Is that why the servants have dwindled and Boxted is going to seed? You’ve never mentioned it before.’

Le Clere reared back. ‘Damn it, Garrick. Is that all the gratitude I get for looking after your welfare? It’s this bloody war of which you are so fond ruining everything. If you think you can do better, I encourage you to try.’

Struck with remorse at Le Clere’s obvious distress, Garrick softened his voice. ‘I didn’t mean to criticise. You’ve worked harder than anyone for the estate, but my father would never have called in a loan if it meant throwing a friend’s family out on the street and you know it.’

Le Clere sat silently for a moment, his expression pained, thoughts Garrick couldn’t read racing over his usually bland face. A smile dawned and he visibly relaxed. Unaccountably, Garrick’s hackles rose.

‘Finally,’ Le Clere said. ‘I suppose I have Miss Brown to thank for you taking a real interest in Beauworth. While it is not exactly as I hoped, it is an interest none the less.’ He leaned back, his lips pursed. ‘I have a proposition for you. I will do exactly as you ask, against my better judgement, I might add. As your trustee, I could refuse, you know. In return, do something for me. Remain here at Beauworth. Devote yourself. Dally with this young hussy, if you must, but get yourself married and produce an heir.’

Garrick felt the room rock around him. ‘I hadn’t planned to marry for years.’ If at all.

‘Garrick, be reasonable. I must see you settled before I relinquish control of the estate. It will ease my mind to know I did my duty, left everything properly ordered. It is what your father would have wished.’

He fought the guilt Le Clere invoked. ‘It isn’t what I want. Let Cousin Harry produce the next heir.’

Le Clere’s eyes had a suspiciously moist glint. ‘You are Beauworth. If you won’t do it for me, do it for the family name.’

How could he fight such devotion? ‘And the money?’

‘It goes against the grain, my boy. The estate is owed that money.’ He sighed. ‘But Beauworth needs its Marquess far more. Do your duty and, if you still want it when the title is secure, you’ll have your captaincy.’

Until he was of age, he could not access his funds without Le Clere’s cooperation. And, damn it all, what was being asked of him was not unreasonable. ‘I’ll give you three months. That should be quite enough time to learn all I need to know about the estate. But no more talk of betrothals.’

Le Clere narrowed his eyes. ‘What did Miss Brown offer in exchange? Her favours? Your women don’t usually last more than three weeks.’

His skin crawled. How did Le Clere know so much? ‘That is my business. I need a thousand pounds to pay off some of her pressing debts.’

His uncle blinked, clearly thunderstruck, but when he spoke his tone was soft and businesslike. ‘Very well. Come back in two hours and I’ll have it ready.’

Garrick supposed it could have been worse. And three months would be more than enough time for Ellie Brown. ‘Thank you for being so understanding.’

‘Dear boy, you forget, I, too, was young once.’

The oddly triumphant look on Le Clere’s face disturbed something low in his gut. He pushed the feeling aside. Why would he quibble? His uncle had given him everything he requested. Although at a price.

The bigger question in his mind was what Ellie wanted.

Nervous and restless, Eleanor spent her morning tidying up the cottage and baking. Then she washed her hair and coiled it neatly at her nape. She dressed in her finest gown, a sprigged muslin, one of the few she’d brought from home. Whatever the outcome of his visit, she would behave with dignity.

A rap at the door. Her heart pounded. He was here. She smoothed her hair, took a deep, calming breath and opened the door.

He looked wonderful. Clean shaven, his hair carefully ordered à la Brutus, his dark blue coat snug on his powerful shoulders. Wonderful yet stern, his jaw set hard, his dark eyes watchful, as if he suspected her of treachery.

‘My lord.’ She curtsied low and gestured for him to enter.

‘Good day, Miss Brown.’

His demeanour was so serious, her heart beat a warning of impending disaster. ‘Please sit down, my lord. May I offer you some tea?’

‘Thank you.’ He took the wooden chair.

She felt his gaze upon her as she moved around the tiny kitchen, setting out teacups and a plate of cakes on the cloth-covered table. He appeared stiff and ill-at-ease. It must be bad news. She handed him his cup and perched on a stool.

He cleared his throat. ‘Miss Brown, yesterday you made a proposal with respect to the relief of your employer’s financial difficulties.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ Her voice sounded strained and tight. From the heat in her face she felt sure it must be crimson all the way to her hairline. She managed a smile. ‘My lord, I believe that we discovered some warmer feelings for each other than mere acquaintance. Even though you did not recognise me in my other calling, I very much appreciated your kindness to me and my sister these past few days.’ She was pleased to note that her voice barely shook.