Anne Barbour (4 page)

Once more, the earl ran nervous fingers through his dark thatch of hair, and once more, Diana found herself contemplating with some misgiving the sharply chiseled plains of his face.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Well, that will no doubt require some explanation.”

His gaze raked her once again as he moved to the bell pull.

“As soon as I have worked out the details of this, er, project, I shall send for you again. Do you have any questions?”

“Questions!” gasped Diana, her composure deserting her. She could hardly speak for the emotions raging within her. “Sir, I think you must be mad. How can I convey to you that I am not what you think me? My birth may not be noble”—here her lip curled to indicate her contempt for the class of which the arrogant Lord Burnleigh was a member—”but I live respectably.”

The earl snorted . . .

“Let us have no more of this nonsense. There is little time for preparation, and as you say, there are many details to iron out before I can present you to Grandfather as the future Countess of Burnleigh.”

By this time, Diana was trembling with rage.

“I will not agree to this—this ludicrous pretense! I wish to leave this house, and I wish to leave now. You cannot—”

The earl, advancing on her once more, cupped her chin in one strong hand.

“It is not my habit to coerce helpless females into doing my bidding. But, you see, I am desperate. I will do anything necessary, up to and possibly including murder, to ease my grandfather’s torment. He deserves no less. Besides,” he continued, “I am not asking so very much of you. Only a few days of your time and a little exertion of your undeniably formidable acting talent. You will have very little actual contact with Grandfather—I don’t propose to push my luck any further than necessary—but you will meet some of the family. There is Aunt Amabelle, of course, and my sister Felicity, who is at present visiting friends in Tunbridge Wells in the company of her governess. My brother has been notified of Grandfather’s illness, but I should think it will take some days to make the trip from Toulouse, where he is currently billeted. My sister Charlotte lives in Northumberland with her husband. Lord Kelmarston, but she is expecting to be confined shortly with her third child and is thus unable to travel.

“Now then, I promise you, you will leave much richer than you came, though since you arrived penniless, I grant that is not much of an inducement. Shall we say three hundred guineas?”

“Once again, my lord,” grated Diana, almost breathless in her determination, “I have no intention of lending myself to this lunacy you have concocted. One might say that your motives in fashioning such a monstrous lie are honorable, possibly the only honorable sentiment I have heard you express since our extremely unfortunate encounter, but—”

The earl’s straight, dark brows lifted quizzically, and in the black depths of his eyes, Diana could swear she caught a flicker of amusement.

“I wish you would cease this ridiculous spitting and hissing. Please try to get it through your head that by accepting my offer you will not only be much better off financially at the end of the week, but you will be safe, at least temporarily, from the unkind attentions of your cohorts, who may still be scouring the countryside for you—with no good in mind.”

Diana turned to the long windows which overlooked a sweeping lawn, and she stared blindly at an ornamental lake sparkling in the distance. She had so far given little consideration to the men who had pursued her over the fields last night. Why had she been chosen as their victim? What was their purpose in abducting her? She frowned. Were they still searching for her? And what would be her fate if they found her? And what of Marcus? He was no doubt waiting for her in Aylesford, and . . .

The questions jangled in an increasing crescendo, and she shook her head in an effort to still them, or at least to arrange them in some sort of order.

Watching her, Jared was aware that he was finding it difficult to maintain his usual detachment in his dealings with the fair sex. No one knew better than he that an air of innocence and a sigh of distress could wheedle the soul from a man. Yet it was almost impossible to believe that this willow-slim creature whose silver eyes seemed honest and clear as a Madonna’s tears was anything but the lady she claimed to be. Then he recalled her wanton response to the advances of her lover, and how her lush body had pressed against his in the inn’s coat room. He straightened, and his voice knifed through her thoughts.

“I hate to interrupt this moment of self-communion, but I must have your answer. What is it to be, then, a pampered week in one of England’s most notable piles as my fiancée, or a stay of undetermined length in some unsavory hole as a guest of the crown?”

“My lord!” Diana gazed at him beseechingly, “you would not.”

My lord, his arms folded, was unmoved. “Try me.”

She raised a hand in supplication.

“Lord Burnleigh, I know that the circumstances in which you discovered me can only be described as questionable.” The earl uttered a sound of patent disbelief. “But what I have told you is true. I ask you once again to release me and to assist me in completing my journey to Aylesford. I must be on my way.”

The earl laughed mirthlessly, and the gray eyes fastened to his grew cloudy with disappointment. Diana was dimly aware that her desire for his lordship’s good opinion was not wholly connected with her predicament, and the thought did nothing to restore her equanimity.

He continued in a brittle voice.

“I applaud your ingenuity, my dear, but it simply won’t fadge. I have heard too many piteous stories from too many tarts, highborn and otherwise, whose only purpose in telling them was to lighten the purses of well-breeched swells.”

“Such as yourself, my lord?”

“Precisely.”

Diana stood for a long moment, her gaze locked with that of the earl. Never had she felt so helpless. She was completely at the mercy of this arrogant, supercilious wretch, a virtual prisoner in his home. It would be useless to scream—she was surrounded by his minions. She was penniless, her money in the hands of her erstwhile captors, and her luggage no doubt in Aylesford, some thirty miles distant.

“I will agree,” she said through gritted teeth, “to think over your proposal, if you will let me send a message to my brother. Since I have not appeared at the time and place specified in his letter, he will be expecting word from me.”

The earl’s glance was unreadable, but he nodded and pulled on the bell rope.

“I, too, must have time to plan the entrance of my fiancée into Grandfather’s presence. I will give you an hour, Miss St. Aubin.” He hesitated, then placed his hands on her shoulders. “In your meditations, you might consider the fact that by acceding to my wishes, you will be granting the last, desperate wish of a dying old man.”

Diana stepped back as though she had been struck.

“That’s not fair,” she murmured through stiff lips.

Jared’s mobile brows flew up in surprise. His words had been spoken almost without thought, certainly without any hope of influencing the hardened adventuress before him.

He opened his mouth to reply, but was stayed by the stately entrance of Mallow, the butler.

In a few moments Diana was delivered once more into the hands of the housemaid, Kate, who escorted her with ill-disguised curiosity to a bedchamber in the upper regions of the great house. Diana gazed about her in bemused appreciation of her rapid change in status. Here, the morning sun glowed warmly on pink silk hangings and a polished rosewood cabinet. In a corner of the room stood a dainty satinwood dressing table, and a cozy blaze crackled in the fireplace.

Kate darted from the room, and returned some minutes later bearing a dimity gown of pale green. Silently she assisted Diana into the dress, which had obviously been made for someone of more diminutive stature. Then, in a few deft strokes with comb and brush, she dismantled the makeshift bun and curved Diana’s guinea-gold hair into a simple but elegant Clytie knot.

When Kate had finished, she slipped from the room.

Diana’s first action was to search the drawers of a small, tambour-topped writing desk set in an alcove opposite the bed. Here she found paper and pens and ink, and after some repair to the pens, she scratched a hasty note to Marcus.

She hesitated for a moment, nibbling doubtfully at the quill, then strode to the bell pull and gave it an authoritative tug. When Kate responded a few moments later, Diana handed her the paper with an airy command to see that it was delivered to the Swan Inn in Aylesford— immediately, if you please.

This done, she sank onto the luxuriously quilted feather bed and gave herself up to bewildered reflection.

Chapter 4

In what seemed like a very short time, a knock sounded at the door, followed by the immediate entrance of Lord Burnleigh. He seated himself in a small armchair near the fireplace. With a brusque gesture, he waved Diana to another and began speaking without preamble.

“My first act on leaving you was to go to Grandfather. Even in his weakened state, he gave me a prompt dressing down. ‘Didn’t I tell you, lad? Didn’t I tell you? And now you’ve left it till too late.’ “

Once again the earl’s brittle composure wavered, but he continued stiffly.

“It was then that I told him I have brought home my affianced bride.”

“You are very sure of yourself, my lord,” Diana interrupted icily. “I have not agreed to this insane proposal.”

She may as well not have spoken.

“My announcement,” continued Lord Burnleigh, “had the desired effect. He was overjoyed, and within minutes was breathing easier. I then let his valet, Fish-perk, in on the deception, since he is one of the few household members who witnessed your entrance last night. I can trust his discretion. When I left, Grandfather had lapsed into a peaceful sleep, the first, I am told, since he fell ill.

“I next went to my Aunt Amabelle. She is a widow, and, has been our chatelaine since my mother died seventeen years ago, giving birth to my sister. My aunt is not a strong person, and my grandfather’s illness has driven her to a state of near prostration. When I told her what I had done, I was afraid for a moment that she, too, might succumb. However, once her sensibilities were soothed, she realized that since I had already set the plan in motion, there was no choice but to carry it through.”

Diana reflected that the occasions must be rare when those involved in his lordship’s plans failed to carry them through.

“We put our heads together and came up with a coherent story—more or less.”

The earl paced the floor in concentration.

“I have maintained for years a desultory correspondence with my mother’s old friend Helen, Lady Bavister. She is a widow, and has been living in seclusion in Wales since the death of her husband, an Army general, some fifteen years ago. So far, this is all quite true. Grandfather was acquainted with her, having met her in London, and I believe he knew the general slightly. However, here the fiction begins. Grandfather now believes that I visited Lady Bavister some time ago, while on a walking tour, and there I met her wholly fictitious daughter, whom I have named, in the interest of simplicity, Diana.”

“Of course,” murmured Diana.

“In the years since, through further correspondence, Diana and I discovered a mutual attraction, and when you wrote that you and your mother were obliged to travel to Canterbury on family business, I extended an invitation to stay on in Kent for a visit to Stonefield. My invitation, of course, was promptly accepted.”

“Of course,” repeated Diana.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing, my lord. Please continue. Your fabrication is so far quite fascinating.”

“Thank you,” his lordship said drily. “At the last minute, Lady Bavister became ill and was unable to travel. Such was the urgency of your business that you were forced to make the trip without her, with the understanding that she would join you as soon as she was able.

“Unfortunately, you met with a coaching accident just outside London, in which both your abigail and footman were severely injured. Since I am the only person in the entire metropolis with whom you are acquainted, it was only natural that you would turn to me in your hour of need. Rather neat, that, don’t you agree?”

“Quite, except for the fact that I would sooner turn to Attila the Hun in my hour of need. But do go on.”

The earl’s lips twitched, but he continued as though he had not heard.

“These are the details that are now being circulated among the household. Kate has been told that it was only through a mix-up in communication, the circumstances of your arrival being somewhat chaotic, that you were lodged last night in the servants’ quarters.” A small, rueful smile appeared on his lips in response to Diana’s lifted eyebrows. “Yes, I know that part is a little shaky. But I believe I can rely on our housekeeper’s iron hand to squelch any untoward supposition on the part of the staff.

“Of course,” he continued, “the version presented to Grandfather implied that I have already spoken to you of marriage, and your response was amenable. I told him that I had so far withheld the glad news from him because I wished him to meet you first. After Grandfather ...” The earl bowed his head as though a burden had settled on him. Again, hardening his voice, he continued. “Afterwards, you will resume your supposed journey to Canterbury. You will leave Stonefield much wealthier than when you arrived, you will have my promise not to turn you over to the unkind mercies of the law, and our paths, I most devoutly trust, need never cross again.”

The earl rose from his chair, and moved to stand over her.

“I must have your answer. Miss St. Aubin.”

There was little in his aspect to suggest outright menace, but Diana was intensely aware of the air of authority that surrounded the man as naturally as a comfortable cloak. She, too, rose to her feet, and faced him squarely.

“You must surely be aware, my lord, that in making the announcement to your grandfather, you have made my acquiescence a
fait accompli.
Much as I resent your high-handed action, I am not the cold-hearted monster you think me, and I will not destroy the fiction that evidently means so much to him. However—” she raised a hand to halt the smile of triumph that appeared on the earl’s harsh features—”this scene will be played out on my terms, not yours.”