Scandal's Mistress (A Novel of Lord Hawkesbury's Players) Page 6

  “No, Mistress Croft, it does not surprise me in the least. In fact I would be disappointed to learn that you held your tongue when you felt strongly about some point or other.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  He shrugged and seemed genuinely unsure how to answer. “I just would be, Mistress Croft.”

  “Call me Alice,” she said suddenly. “Mistress Croft is too formal for business partners.”

  He shifted in the saddle and made a great show of patting his gelding’s neck. “I prefer to keep things formal.”

  For Heaven’s sake! “May I call you Warhurst for simplicity?” she ventured.

  “No.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So why do you not want to answer my questions, Warhurst?” she said, dispensing with the “Lord” part anyway. He may not like to admit it, but they had definitely moved beyond the need for titles. “They are innocently meant.”

  “Because they are personal, and you and I are not on personal terms.”

  “No? It’s going to be an awfully long ride if we can’t discuss anything personal.” He said nothing, simply stared straight ahead. What a pompous prig! Well, he might not want to speak about his life but she had no such qualms. And just because she felt like irritating him further, she made it as personal as she could.

  “I’m the eldest of three girls,” she began. “There’s a ten-year gap between Elizabeth and me because my mother miscarried four times.”

  “I’d rather not know any of this.”

  “Then you can stop listening.”

  She told him about her father’s occupation, first as a tailor then as tiring house manager for Lord Hawkesbury’s Players. She detailed how her parents met, where they came from, and what little she knew about her grandparents. He didn’t interrupt once. On the other hand, he didn’t ask questions or change his expression from the grim arrogance he’d perfected.

  “Did I tell you about the time I was almost captured by a brothel keeper?”

  He swung round in his saddle and his mouth dropped open. She smothered a smug smile. She knew that would get his attention.

  As if recalling he was supposed to be the stoic lord, he returned his focus to the pothole-plagued road ahead. “No. You did not.”

  It was all the encouragement she needed to launch into the tale.

  By the time she finished he was staring at her again. “What were your parents doing letting you wander unsupervised around the stews?”

  “It’s hardly their fault.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “They warned me away from the worst areas near our home, but as a child I had a natural tendency to flaunt instructions that began with the word don’t.”

  “Not only as a child,” he muttered.

  “Your turn,” she said cheerfully.

  “To what?”

  “Tell me about yourself. You can start with how your parents met.”

  “They met on their wedding day,” he snapped. “The uniting of two great families was a cause for much celebration for everyone involved, except the actual couple. They spent five miserable years together and somehow managed to beget me. I was one when my father had the good sense to drop dead. Mother then married Sir Nicholas Blakewell in what is widely regarded as a love match. They had two children whom you’ve met and we all lived happily ever after.”

  Alice doubted that very much. “That is a short version of what I have an inkling is a very long story.”

  He pulled his horse to a stop. “I see no reason to go into excessive details.”

  She stopped her hack alongside his. “Too personal?”

  “Not enough time.” He nodded at a hedgerow of hawthorn running alongside the road. “We’re here.”

  “But this can’t be Crouch End. It’s not even a village.”

  “The village itself is another half mile down the road in the valley. This is the estate of Lord Enderby. You said Richard Farley works on his land.”

  “How do you know this is his estate without asking at the village? Do you know him?”

  “Not very well. I’ve only visited Enderby here once and that was a few years ago now.” He directed his horse toward the gatehouse.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?”

  “As I said, I don’t know him. Anyway, it’s none of your business whether I do or not.”

  She’d gritted her teeth and stopped alongside him, prepared to remind him they’d already covered this ground in the Golden Lion, but then she saw the house through the archway of the solid stone gatehouse and could do nothing but stare. It looked like it had once been an abbey in the days before old King Henry abolished the Catholic institutions. It came complete with buttresses, a steeply pitched roof, and a vine-covered ruined wall.

  “What a fine house,” she said on a breath. “I’ll wager it’s just as fine inside.”

  “Is that all you can think about?” he growled. “Fine things?”

  “No, of course not,” she said without taking her gaze off the impressive façade. “I’m simply curious. I wonder what it must be like to be surrounded by such magnificence every day.”

  “Flaunt yourself before Enderby if you want to find out,” he spat. “I believe he’s on the hunt for a young mistress.”

  What had come over him? Bitterness twisted his words and face so that he was no longer the handsome baron but a stranger. She couldn’t deny that his attack stung. If that was his intention then he’d succeeded. “I am not in the habit of becoming the mistress of any gentleman, let alone one like Enderby.” Charles, her one and only lover, had taught her that lesson all too well. When their relationship ended two years ago she vowed never to put herself through that kind of miserable situation again. Gentlemen did not want women like Alice for anything more than a few hours of fun at their convenience. Anything more was simply not a thought they entertained.

  Not that she would tell Warhurst about Charles. She wasn’t prepared to be that personal. Besides, he seemed too disturbed by the prospect of seeing Enderby again to notice how insensitive his words were.

  “He did something quite awful to you, didn’t he?” she asked softly, her irritation suddenly gone.

  His brows drew together. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your tirade just now. You seem to have a lot of anger directed at Lord Enderby.”

  He glanced away.

  “Why?” she pressed. If she didn’t ask, she’d never find out. It was worth a try at least.

  The bow of his mouth drew into a flat line and she knew she wouldn’t get her answer. “I think we already had a discussion about your personal questions, Mistress Croft. Kindly desist from asking any more.”

  “And kindly call me Alice. I believe that’s a discussion we also already had.” She clicked her tongue and urged the little mare forward. “If we want to find Richard Farley today, we’d better go and ask one of Enderby’s retainers.”

  He trotted up beside her. “I suppose if I ordered you to remain here while I went in you’d ignore me.”

  She grinned. “See how beneficial our personal discussions have been already, Warhurst? You now know enough about my nature to not give me orders.”

  He grunted. “That part of your nature I already knew.”

  CHAPTER 5

  The farmer on one of Enderby’s tenant farms pointed to Farley, a broad-backed youth mucking out the stables. He stopped and joined them when the farmer beckoned to him.

  Leo dismounted. “I’ll speak to him,” he said gruffly to Alice. He was still angry with her. He couldn’t explain why, and he wasn’t completely convinced that what he felt was anger although it twisted his gut the way anger did. All he knew was that it came as a direct result of picturing her as Enderby’s mistress.

  She began to dismount and he instinctively caught her round her waist. Her middle was firm and slight beneath his overlarge hands, but above them, covered by her cloak and too many other layers for his liking, rose her breasts. He’d seen their voluptuous roundness
the day before at the White Swan and God help him he wanted to see them again. The need made his groin ache.

  “My feet are firmly on the ground now, Warhurst,” she said, a gleam in her eyes.

  His fingers let her go like a trap released. Christ. Being distracted by Alice Croft was becoming a bad habit. He could attribute his desire at the White Swan to the way the illfitting gown enhanced her obvious features, but he couldn’t dismiss the desire he’d felt for her today so easily. He was turning into a desperate fool. Perhaps he should think about finding himself a lover while in London. He obviously needed the distraction that only a woman could provide.

  “You’re looking for me?” said Richard Farley, stepping aside so a stableboy could lead the horses to a trough. Farley was a tall, handsome youth with fair hair and a strong jaw. It was easy to see how a young woman could fall for him.

  Leo glanced at Alice. She smiled at Farley. Farley smiled back. Leo stepped between them, forcing Farley to look at him instead.

  “I’m Lord Warhurst and this is Alice Croft,” Leo said. “Are you the father of Patience Enderby’s unborn child?”

  Farley’s oversized jaw dropped. “I, I…”

  “What Lord Warhurst is so subtly trying to say,” Alice said, stepping around Leo, “is that we are friends of hers.”

  Farley’s eyes narrowed. “If that is so, why has she never mentioned you before?”

  “Because we are new friends,” Alice said, unperturbed. “She told us how to find you. If we were her enemies, do you think she would give us your whereabouts?”

  Farley’s gaze flicked between them before finally settling on Leo. “You could have been sent by Lord Enderby.”

  “Then we wouldn’t bother mentioning his daughter’s name at all,” Leo said. “We’d simply come here and do whatever it is you think he wants to do to you. Answer my question, Farley. Are you the babe’s father?”

  Farley’s fingers tightened around the rake. “You already know I am.”

  “There is a way for you to still be with her,” Alice said.

  He grunted. “There is no way.”

  “Of course there is,” she said. “She loves you. And if you still love her, you’ll fight for her.”

  Farley closed his eyes and tapped the end of the rake against his forehead. Alice stood still, watching him, her own eyes glassy from pooling tears.

  Love—ha! Leo huffed out a breath. Farley needed a man’s reasoning for a man’s problem, not love talk. He’d not bedded Patience Enderby because he loved her, he’d bedded her because he wanted to relieve an itch. If they wanted something from the youth, it was best to acknowledge that rather than complicate the issue.

  “If you help us,” Leo said, “then we can help you.” There. Direct and honest. No need to muddy everything with soft-bellied feelings.

  Farley drew in two deep breaths and opened his eyes. They looked no clearer than Alice’s. “How?” he rasped. “What can you do for me? Put me to work on your own farm, my lord? I’m surprisingly good at mucking out stables.”

  Leo ignored the jibe. “By destroying Enderby’s plans. Perhaps amidst the wake of the destruction, you can take your own revenge upon him.”

  “Or capture his daughter’s hand in marriage,” Alice said. She gave Farley an encouraging smile. “You must at least try and do something. For her sake. She’s miserable.”

  He returned her smile although his was decidedly weaker. “Then I will do as you say and try. For her sake. What do you need to know?”

  So the youth was indeed in love with the girl. Another good man wasted. At least Alice had secured his cooperation with her astute observation. She’d certainly been worth bringing along on the journey, despite the very distracting nature of her presence.

  “Enderby is blackmailing Hawkesbury into marrying Patience,” Leo said, keeping his eyes peeled for the old prick. The farm on which Richard Farley worked was far enough away from the main house that Leo didn’t feel he had to cover his face with his hood, as he’d done the night before in the grounds of Hawkesbury Hall, but he needed to remain vigilant nevertheless. He didn’t want a repeat of their last meeting years earlier where Enderby had told Leo to take his “thieving arse” off his land. That had been after Leo had come to Crouch End to pay back the money his father had defrauded from Enderby. So much for starting afresh.

  “If we learn why he’s being blackmailed then perhaps we can stop the union.”

  “How?” asked Farley.

  “That depends on why Hawkesbury’s being blackmailed.”

  “It might be as simple as exposing the cause for the blackmail,” Alice said, “or helping Hawkesbury to bury it deeper.”

  Farley, still leaning on the rake, shifted his gaze from one to the other. “Why are you doing this? And don’t tell me you’re friends of Patience. New friends, no matter how kind, do not go to such great lengths to help.”

  “Our motivation is not your concern,” Leo said.

  “Lord Warhurst’s sister is in love with Lord Hawkesbury,” Alice said.

  “Mistress Croft,” Leo warned. He took it all back—he’d been a fool for inviting her along. In the future he would curb his spur-of-the-moment decisions where she was concerned.

  “And we believe her love is reciprocated,” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “We would like them to be together.” At least she hadn’t mentioned his sister’s predicament.

  “Then I think I can help you,” Farley said. “As Enderby’s steward, I saw a great many comings and goings in his household, not all of them through the front door.”

  “Who struck you as a person of interest?” Leo said.

  Farley rubbed his jaw. “Sir Francis Walsingham.”

  “The queen’s adviser?” Alice said at the same time Leo said, “The spymaster?”

  Farley nodded. “It was late at night so it wasn’t a social call either.”

  “But he’s reportedly very ill,” Leo said. What could possibly drag such an important man out of his sickbed?

  But he knew the answer. Affairs of state. Spying.

  “Oh,” Alice said. She stared wide-eyed at Leo. He could see the path on which her thoughts were running. The same as his. Enderby was a spy in Walsingham’s network and he’d possibly learned something about Hawkesbury, something that would prove very dangerous to the earl if revealed. Perhaps he’d kept the information from Walsingham and used it instead to blackmail Hawkesbury.

  It was a very likely possibility.

  Bloody hell! If that were indeed the situation, it was going to be damned hard to extricate Hawkesbury from the mess with his reputation intact.

  “Thank you,” he said to Farley. “You’ve been most helpful.”

  “But that’s not all,” Farley said. “On one occasion, Sir Francis arrived with another gentleman. A Christopher Marlowe.”

  “Kit!” Alice cried. “Good lord, how is Kit involved in this?”

  “Who is he?” Leo asked.

  “A playwright.” She shrugged. “I’ve met him only a few times but some of our company know him quite well. He has a reputation for making trouble. He was recently in Newgate for killing a man but it was ruled self-defense and they let him go.”

  Leo looked to the sky and drew in a breath and the scents of the country. He missed the smells of grass and horses and the sweetness of the air. He wanted to go back to Warhurst Hall but he couldn’t do that until this business was sorted. And, as he was acutely aware, until he’d secured himself both a good reputation and a wife. He had obligations to the future of the Warhurst title, after all.

  But for now, he needed to return to London before the gates closed at nightfall. “Thank you,” he said to Farley again. “Come, Mistress Croft.” He walked over to where the horses were munching on hay. The stable lad had given them a good brush-down and they looked refreshed enough for an easy journey back. Leo turned to help Alice up onto the saddle but she wasn’t there. She was still with Farley.

  “Patience had a message fo
r you,” she said.

  The youth straightened. “Is she well?”

  “As well as can be expected given her condition and her melancholia. She wanted me to tell you not to give up hope.”

  Farley’s cheek twitched and he bobbed his head in thanks before ambling over to a plough that stood near the stables. He appeared to be tinkering with it but from what Leo could see there was nothing wrong with it.

  Alice joined Leo and swiped at a tear sliding down her cheek. “Let’s go,” she said.

  Leo curled his fingers around the reins. If he didn’t do something with his hands he might just reach out and smooth away the second tear. He wanted very much to feel her silky skin against his, kiss the saltiness off her tear-stained cheek. Touch her. Hold her.

  But instead he ground his back teeth and turned away. That’s when he saw Enderby settled like a lump of lard on top of an approaching horse. He was flanked by two other mounted men and they were all laughing at something. The tenant farmer emerged from the nearby cottage to greet them and the stableboy trotted alongside the horses, waiting for the reins to be tossed to him.

  Enderby need only look Leo’s way and he would be seen. He didn’t want to alert the old cur to his presence, simply because it might cause problems for Farley, so he sank into the stables, pulling his gelding with him.

  “In here,” he whispered to Alice.

  She must have recognized Enderby too and complied without asking questions. A minor miracle in itself.

  The sound of Enderby’s voice grew louder, not softer, and Leo realized with a sinking heart that he was heading toward the stables. So he did the first thing that came into his head— he circled Alice’s waist, pulled her close, and turned her round so his back was to the stable door.

  Then he kissed her.

  “Who are they?” he heard Enderby ask.

  Alice’s mouth opened to him and she kissed him back. Her fingers pressed against the nape of his neck and her body sighed into him. Her breasts were soft and round and…hell. He wanted her. Wanted to take her, make her his. He could feel his control unraveling, his wits seeping away as his skin burned with raw need.