The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret - Хелен Диксон - Chapter Two Читать онлайн любовный роман

Chapter Two

Lisette stared at Colonel Montague, her heart doing a somersault. ‘It is?’ His smile sent a flood of warmth through her body to settle in a hot flush upon her cheeks and other, less exposed places.

‘Most certainly.’

Without relinquishing his hold on her arm, his touch igniting fires inside her, fires that flared to a startling intensity when he led her to a private place at the back of the shop. She found herself standing so close to him that she could almost hear the beating of his heart. He looked down at her so intently that he might have been trying to commit every detail of her features to memory.

As before, when he had met her on the dock, Ross felt a faint stirring of recognition, like the ghost of a memory long submerged, but it drifted away when he saw the warmth in her eyes.

He didn’t waste time on unnecessary words of politeness. ‘This is a trace of luck our meeting like this. Are you alone?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m with Miss Arbuthnot. She wandered off. I suppose I must go and find her before I lose her altogether,’ Lisette said, although she was most reluctant to do so on finding herself in the presence of Colonel Montague once more. She could not rightly say what it was about him that held her attention. She felt utterly fascinated, like a child beholding a favourite toy. He was quite unlike anything or anyone she had ever known.

Ross stared at her profile, tracing with his gaze the classically beautiful lines of her face, the unexpected brush of lustrous ebony eyelashes. He had never seen the like of her. She was quite extraordinarily lovely. She had an untamed quality running in dangerous undercurrents just below the surface, a wild freedom of spirit that found its counterpart in his own hot-blooded nature.

Something in his stare made Lisette’s fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth, into her chest, and straight into her breast. She did her best to ignore the sensation.

‘Tell me, Miss Napier, how are you finding London? Is it to your liking?’

‘I have seen little of it. This is the first time I’ve been away from the house, but I must confess that I am finding it all so strange—and exciting, of course, and so different from what I am used to.’

‘I imagine you are missing India.’

Lisette was spared answering his question when a pretty, fashionable young woman dressed in a beautiful blue gown with a matching hat perched atop a riot of gleaming brown curls appeared at his side.

‘Ah—so this is where you’ve got to, Ross. Little wonder I couldn’t find you when you were lurking at the back of the shop.’ Her eyes looked Lisette up and down, in an appraising way. A little smile formed on her lips. ‘And I can see why. Will you do me the honour of introducing your companion?’

‘Of course. Allow me to present to you Miss Lisette Napier. Miss Napier—my sister, Miss Araminta Montague. This is the young lady I spoke to you about, Araminta.’

Lisette bobbed a respectful curtsey, looking from one to the other. ‘For what reason did you have to discuss me, Colonel?’ she enquired, surprised and deeply touched to know he had spared her a passing thought.

‘I recall you telling me you were looking for another position. When my sister mentioned that she was in desperate need of a maid, I thought of you.’

‘And now we’ve met it will save us the trouble of writing to you,’ Araminta said.

‘Would the position be to your liking?’ Ross asked, cocking a quizzical, amused eyebrow. ‘Although, when I recall you telling me that you are wilful, stubborn and headstrong, perhaps I should question your suitability!’

His wry tone made Lisette burst out laughing, and Ross found himself captivated by the infectious joy, the beauty, of it. He’d never heard the music of her laughter before, nor seen it glowing in her magnificent eyes.

‘I also recall telling you that I am not proud, Colonel—although I would be honoured to be offered the post of your sister’s maid,’ Lisette said, fighting down a sudden absurd surge of happiness.

Standing against a backdrop of ribbons and lace, laughing up at him, Lisette Napier was unforgettable. Ross realised it as clearly as he realised that if he became her employer, there was every chance he was going to find her irresistible as well.

‘My brother tells me your present position is shortly to be terminated. Is this correct, Miss Napier?’

‘Yes. My employer will have no need of me when the family moves to Brighton.’

‘Why don’t you ask Miss Napier to come to the house, Araminta? It’s highly irregular to carry out an interview in such a place as this and for you to be doing it.

Araminta gave him a cross look. ‘Usually it is but since I am the one requiring a maid I shall have a say in who is employed to see to my needs. I am in London for the Season and will shortly be leaving for our home in Derbyshire,’ she said, addressing Lisette. ‘Would you mind?’

Lisette stared at her. Mind? Of course she wouldn’t mind. From what she could recall of the English geography lessons her father had taught her, Derbyshire was miles away from London—somewhere in the north. That would suit her perfectly. Colonel Montague had thought of her when he knew his sister was requiring a maid of her own and put her name forward—like a friend would. She looked at him. Her heart was beating hard in her chest. She wanted beyond anything to accept the post since it represented decency, security, respectability and a release from the gnawing fear and uncertainty of the past months, and going to Derbyshire would certainly solve her current predicament.

‘No,’ she said. ‘That would suit me very well.’

‘Still,’ Araminta said, suffering some discomfort when she was jostled from behind by an exuberant shopper, ‘Ross is quite right. This is hardly the place, but I think you will do very well. Can you come to the house?’

Lisette shook her head. ‘Unfortunately that’s not possible. There is so much to be done before my employer leaves for Brighton. I shall be fully occupied.’

‘Then come to the house when they have left. Ross will give you directions. Present yourself to the housekeeper and we will take it from there. I shall tell her to expect you.’ Tilting her head to one side she looked at Lisette with renewed interest. ‘Did you travel from India on the same ship as my brother, Miss Napier?’

‘No. I sailed on the Portland. Colonel Montague was on the Diligence—the first vessel of the fleet to dock in London.’

Araminta’s eyes opened wider, more and more intrigued by the second. ‘Then how did you meet?’

‘My horse panicked when he was taken off the ship and Miss Napier calmed him,’ Ross explained shortly, ‘which was immensely brave of her and for which I was truly grateful.’

‘Oh, I see. You are not afraid of horses, Miss Napier?’

‘Far from it,’ Ross quipped before Lisette could open her mouth. ‘Bengal’s a peppery beast at the best of times. She handled him admirably. But I cannot see that this has anything to do with Miss Napier being your maid, Araminta.’

Araminta looked at her brother and laughed. He really did look put out by her questioning. ‘Forgive my curiosity. You know what I’m like. Now are you ready, Ross, or is there something further you wish to say to Miss Napier before we leave?’

Ross turned his back on his sister to speak to Lisette, giving her directions to his aunt’s house in Bloomsbury. Meeting her gaze he realised that when he had met her before and looked into her eyes, he had thought them strange. Now he could not understand how he had ever thought that. He now saw those astonishing eyes as the perfect expression of her unique self. Now she seemed absolutely perfect.

His voice was laced with concern when he said, ‘Will you be all right? Would you like me to wait with you until Miss Arbuthnot appears?’

‘That will not be necessary. I see Miss Arbuthnot is in the process of purchasing some ribbons. You have been most generous, Colonel, and to be sure I am grateful that you saw fit to speak of me to your sister. If she considers me suitable for the post, then I shall appreciate the shelter, protection and stability of the position and to be valued for the qualities I know I possess.’

For a moment Ross didn’t move—he studied her with speculative blue eyes, pleasuring himself with the sight of her. ‘Which I am certain you have in abundance. I’m happy to have been of help.

With her heart racing, Lisette sucked in a breath. For one definable instant she felt trapped. ‘Yes,’ she said, feeling utterly foolish. She was so aware of the touch of him, his skin against hers, the feel of her slim hand held in his broad grasp, and as she gazed into those penetrating blue eyes, she suddenly felt herself drawn to him as if by some overwhelming magnetic force.

She opened her mouth to tell him they had met before and to thank him for saving her life, then closed it again. As much as she wanted to she could not. A ribbon and lace shop was hardly the place for such an intimate revelation. And besides, to do so would bring about a change to their relationship. He would look upon her differently—he might regret the passion they had shared, feel ashamed, even, and decide against hiring her as his sister’s maid. She desperately needed the security of this employment and would do nothing to jeopardise that. In any case, it seemed he did not recognise her as the girl he had rescued, and in the grey of London colourful, vibrant India seemed half a lifetime away.

‘I shall look forward to seeing you if not in London, then in Derbyshire.’

Lisette could find no words to say, and merely bobbed a little curtsey and picked up her basket.

‘Good day, Miss Napier.’

Leaving the shop, Ross’s lips curved in a satisfied smile. He’d sensed the awareness that had flared at his touch, the quiver of consciousness she hadn’t been able to hide. Known among his contemporaries to be single-minded in pursuit of what he wanted, he was supremely confident that in no time at all he would succeed in tempting the delectable Lisette Napier into his bed.

As Ross approached the modest lodging house in Cheapside, the only thing that occupied his mind was that even after the horrors of war were over, the Montague family was in trouble. Ross feared that the arrival of this woman, Alicia, and her child into their midst, a woman who apparently called herself the Marchioness of Hatherton, had the power to shake the foundations of Castonbury Park to the core.

On seeing her, his first impression was that she did not remotely resemble the conventional image of a noblewoman, not even a lady of fashion. Her hair was fair and neatly arranged, her gown simple and unadorned, and over her arm she carried the freshly laundered clothes of an infant. But not even her plain clothing or the fact that she had probably laundered the clothes herself could make this woman look common. Petite and slender, she held herself with a dignity, a calm intelligence and a self-assurance he had not expected. Her hair framed a face of striking beauty; her skin was creamy and glowing with health. Her eyes were light blue, with long curling lashes.

‘I owe you an apology for turning up like this,’ Ross said, having thought that by not giving notice of his visit he would put her at a disadvantage. She seemed surprised and a little agitated by his sudden arrival and her eyes darkened with anxiety, but her generous mouth curved in a smile of welcome.

‘Not at all, Colonel Montague. You are most welcome. I thank you for coming to see me. I wrote to the duke informing him of the situation, explaining to him fully, in great detail, everything that happened before Jamie was killed.’

‘My uncle had already been notified of my cousin’s disappearance by the British authorities.’

‘So I understand. I wrote telling the duke of Crispin, our son, who is the duke’s heir now Jamie is dead. I made no claim to anything for myself in my letter, only that Jamie’s son is taken care of.’

Which showed great delicacy on her part, Ross thought with cynicism. But could the family reconcile themselves to the fact that the Jamie they knew, admired and loved would marry without their blessing?

‘I—I expected someone to contact me,’ Alicia went on hesitantly, ‘but … I did not know when or who it would be. Would you like some refreshment—tea, perhaps, or coffee?’

‘No, thank you. I do not wish to put you to any trouble.’

Moving towards the fire she sat rather nervously on the edge of a chair and motioned Ross to the chair opposite. He did so, trying to read her.

‘Is there anything more I can tell you?’ she asked, trying to ease the tension in her voice.

‘What was your reason for being in Spain?’

‘I was employed as companion to a lady whose husband was out there. Sadly he was killed in action and she returned to England. Having already met Jamie by that time I remained behind and we were married. If—if you’re wondering about my suitability, I was born into a respectable family. I was an only child—my mother died when I was quite young. My father was a clergyman in the village of Shafton in Wiltshire. Unfortunately when he died I was quite impoverished and had no choice other than to seek employment, which was how I came to be a lady’s companion.’

For the next few minutes, with tactful consideration, Ross tried to test her on little things he recalled about Jamie—his appearance, things about his past he might have told her. His questioning seemed to unsettle her and he noticed how she clasped her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.

‘You—you must forgive me, Colonel Montague, if I appear a trifle vague,’ she said. ‘You must understand that Jamie and I were not together very long. I confess that most of his background is still unknown to me. I know he has three brothers—Giles, Harry and Edward—and that they are all military men.’

‘Forgive me. My questions were impertinent.’

She seemed to relax. ‘It all happened so quickly. Jamie had no time to write to his family to inform them of our marriage. Sadly he never saw his son.’ She lifted her head and looked at her visitor, her gaze long and searching. This time there were tears in her eyes, and it seemed to Ross he read in them a profound sadness, tinged with reserve and pride.

She rose then and crossed over to a bureau, extracting some papers from a drawer. ‘Forgive me. I am not entirely myself these days. Emotion lies too near the surface. I expect you would like to see these.’ She handed the papers to Ross. ‘You will see that one is a letter from an army chaplain confirming our marriage.’

‘And the chaplain? Where is he now?’

‘He was killed during the battle at Toulouse.’

So, Ross thought as he scanned the document, thinking it looked authentic enough, the marriage could not be confirmed or denied in person. How plausible it all sounded. But was she telling him the truth?

The other document was a birth certificate.

‘Your son has been baptised, I see.’

‘Yes, here in London.’

The birth certificate only reflected what the chaplain had been told.

‘I … also have Jamie’s ring.’

Ross took it from her. It was old, gold and engraved with the crest of the Marquis of Hatherton, one of Jamie’s titles, proof that it was his.

‘May I ask how you come to have it in your possession?’ he enquired, handing it back to her. ‘Jamie’s body has not been found and I find it difficult to imagine he would have removed it from his finger. It holds great significance and meant a good deal to him. He would not have left it lying around.’

‘You are quite right to question me about it—and to be suspicious about how I come to have it,’ she said, seemingly not in the least offended by what his words implied, but the worried look Ross had seen in her eyes earlier was still there and he suspected she would be relieved when his visit was over. ‘But when Jamie and I married he was unable to obtain a wedding band so he gave me this until the time when he could give me a proper ring.’ Looking down at it a wistful smile touched her lips. ‘It was far too big for my finger,’ she said softly, ‘but he insisted that I should take it.’

‘You will understand,’ Ross said, ‘that your letter informing my uncle of your marriage to Jamie came as a shock to him—as it did to the whole family.’

‘I can understand that,’ she replied, her voice quite calm, without surprise, as if she read his thoughts correctly. ‘If they think I wrote the letter to stake my claim, they are mistaken. Jamie’s death was a great shock to me also. Before I wrote to the duke I had already come to the conclusion that you would all be perfectly right to dislike me, and to consider me either a usurper or an imposter.’ Taking the documents from him she placed them back in the bureau. ‘I assure you I am neither of those things, Colonel Montague.’ Her eyes held her visitor’s for an instant before looking away.

Ross wished he could say making pre-conclusions were stupid, but found that he could not. Yet there was no shadow in her eye, no tone in her voice, that gave him reason to believe she was anything other than what she claimed to be. Jamie’s wife.

‘Jamie did tell me something of his home and his family. I am looking forward to meeting them.’

‘Yes, the Montagues are a fine family.’

She bent her head, and Ross had a shrewd suspicion it was to hide a smile. ‘I am sure they are, Colonel. Do you think I could pay them a courtesy visit? Would that be appropriate?’

For the first time since entering the house, Ross smiled. ‘I am sure that could be arranged.’ He got up to take his leave. ‘I shall inform my cousins of our meeting. I am sure Giles will be contacting you.’

Ross had much to think about when he left the house. His mind was split in two conflicting directions. One direction made him wonder how much it had cost her to write to his uncle, the Duke of Rothermere—to make the swing from pride to humility.

For the first time since his cousin had gone missing, he found himself blaming Jamie for Alicia’s situation. If she was indeed his wife, then considering the kind of work he was doing, surely he could have taken some thought for the future. In war sudden death could come at any time to anyone. He must have known that by making no provision, he left his wife to his family’s mercy, to their charity. A letter home to his father would have spared all this.

The other direction reminded Ross that as a born sceptic, he wasn’t entirely convinced about the validity of Alicia’s claim. There were too many questions left to be answered for his comfort. It had been obvious from her manner and speech that her background was respectable, but was she clever enough and ambitious enough to raise herself from a lady’s companion to a marchioness and ultimately a duchess? Or was she as she seemed to be—not ambitious, and innocent of any deviousness?

Another thought cast doubt. The Jamie he knew would have written to his family informing them of his intentions—could he really have been so blinded by his love for Alicia it had robbed him of all rational thought?

As soon as the Arbuthnots had left for Brighton, dressing simply and neatly in her most suitable gown and bonnet, Lisette presented herself at Mannering House in Bloomsbury. She was greeted at the door by a stiff-faced footman in dark green livery. On requesting to see the housekeeper he showed her into a glittering entry hall and told her to wait.

Feeling terribly nervous her gaze scanned the impressive hall. Never had she seen the like. This house surpassed her wildest imaginings. In magnificent splendour a marble staircase rose gracefully to the upper floors. A vase of sweet-smelling blooms beautifully matched and arranged had been placed on a side table beneath a huge gilt mirror. Folding her gloved hands at her waist, her body stiffened when, on looking up, she saw Colonel Montague.

She studied him as he slowly descended to the hall—his broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest and narrow waist—before lifting her eyes to his darkly handsome face. In a linen shirt, tight-fitting riding breeches and polished tan boots, every inch of Ross Montague’s tall frame positively radiated raw power, tough, implacable authority and leashed sensuality.

For what seemed an eternity, she stood perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, struggling to appear completely calm, clinging to her composure as if it were a blanket she could use to insulate herself against this man who disturbed her like no other. His gaze was steadily fixed on her and on reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused and they stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.

She watched him in fascination as he approached her at a leisurely pace. Her heart skipped a beat. He was certainly the stuff of which young ladies’ dreams were made.

Looking down at her, Ross noted how tense she looked. Her beauty caught him like an unexpected blow to the chest. ‘Miss Lisette Napier. How very nice to see you again. You had no difficulty finding the house?’

Her eyes were alight with pleasure and she glanced around her. ‘Not at all. It is a wondrous house,’ she said softly. ‘You might have warned me.’

‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see Castonbury Park. So you are here to take up your position as my sister’s maid?’

The deep, velvet tones of his cultured voice made her stomach flutter. ‘If I am considered suitable,’ she replied, giving a slight curtsey.

He smiled slowly. His guarded stare travelled over her, noting the gentle flush mantling her cheeks. He didn’t think he would have much persuading to do to make her succumb to his desire. The young beauty was not the expert that he was at hiding her feelings.

‘Since I am to be the man who pays your wages, Miss Napier, your interview with Mrs Whitelaw is a mere formality. It is my considered opinion that you will be perfect for the post.’ He lifted one eyebrow slightly after his words, as though challenging her to question them.

Lisette’s knees knocked beneath her skirts, threatening to give out as she faced Ross Montague in all his male magnetism. ‘I want to thank you again for thinking of me for the position,’ she murmured. ‘It was … generous of you.’

‘Generous?’ he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high.

‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth into her chest. She ignored the odd sensation with a will, lowering her gaze. ‘I am extremely grateful. When Mrs Arbuthnot told me I would have to look for work elsewhere—and at such short notice—unaccustomed as I am to this huge metropolis, I confess I found the prospect of going from door to door seeking another situation extremely daunting.’ Colonel Montague shocked her when he touched her gently under her chin. She caught her breath sharply as he tilted her face upward again and looked into his eyes.

Her gratitude appeared to entertain him—his chiselled face softened considerably as he held her gaze. ‘I am happy to be of service, Miss Napier.’

Her heart pounded at the light but sure pressure of his warm fingertips against her skin.

He smiled and lowered his hand to his side. ‘The Arbuthnots have left for Brighton?’

‘Yes, this very day.’

‘And you have brought your luggage with you?’

‘Yes, sir, although I do not possess much, as you see,’ she answered, indicating her one bag by the door.

‘One of the footmen will see it is carried to your room.’

Lisette showed her surprise. ‘But I have not yet met your housekeeper. I have my reference …’

‘Which I have no doubt will give you an excellent character, but I prefer to judge for myself.’ A woman seemed to appear from nowhere. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Whitelaw. I’ll leave you in her capable hands.’

Ross entered the hallowed rooms of White’s, the gentleman’s club in St James’s, where he had arranged to meet his cousin, Lord Harry Montague. The rooms were cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent of the masculine smells of sandalwood, leather and cigars.

He scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black. He stood watching the play at the hazard table. With no wish to join in, raising a brandy to his lips, the impression Harry gave off was of bored indifference. Lifting his head, the instant he saw his cousin, his handsome countenance lightened. The two strode towards each other and they met in the doorway to the card room, where they clasped arms, laughing.

‘Good to have you home, Ross,’ Harry said. ‘Back for good, are you?’

‘No—extended leave.’ Ross took Harry’s arm and led him to a table that offered privacy.

A worried shadow darkened Harry’s eyes as he seated himself across from Ross and thought about the strangely vague note asking him to meet his cousin here. After politely enquiring about the health of Araminta and their maternal aunt, Lady Grace Mannering, he sat back and waited for Ross to enlighten him as to the purpose of this meeting.

‘Glad to learn you made it back from Waterloo, Harry, but it was bad news about Edward,’ Ross said, ordering a couple of brandies.

The emotions Harry suffered over the death of his younger brother at Waterloo and carefully concealed from others were evident now in the tautness of his clenched jaw as he glanced at his cousin. ‘It is a tragedy felt by the whole family. It was one hell of a battle, but we finally got those bastards.’ Drinking deep of his brandy he looked at Ross. ‘Anything in particular you wanted to see me about? I got the feeling there was a sense of urgency about your note.’

Meeting Harry’s arrested stare, Ross hesitated and then he said gravely, ‘I’ve received a letter from Giles. He asked me to speak to you about Jamie.’

‘Jamie’s still listed as missing.’

‘I believe he disappeared when the army made the push for Toulouse. He wasn’t with the rest of them when they crossed the river. I understand he was swept away.’

‘Jamie is … was a strong swimmer.’

‘I imagine the current was too strong, Harry.’

‘It looks like it. You know how I always looked up to Jamie.’

‘I know. There is something else—a couple of things, in fact, that make it imperative that you go to Spain, to search for Jamie’s body, or at least learn what happened to him as quickly as possible.’ Harry gave him a questioning look when he hesitated, but waited patiently for him to go on. ‘The first concerns the Montague finances. Shortly before Waterloo your father gambled on Napoleon winning the war. He sold his government bonds and lost a substantial amount of money. He took out a loan which has to be repaid.’

Harry stared at him with something like incredulity and amazement. ‘Good Lord, I had no idea.’

‘You’ve been in Spain. How could you?’

This was true, but Harry remembered the terrible rumours that had ignited London when word reached the city that Wellington had lost the battle at Waterloo, causing panic in the financial markets and the stock exchange to crash. In their desperation, London stockholders had wanted out of their investments immediately, believing they would need the money to survive. The market panic was halted when news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo arrived, but too late for the countless innocent people who had lost their life savings, and hundreds of reputable merchants and noble families had been ruined.

‘There are many outstanding debts,’ Ross went on. ‘The creditors are being held off for now, but the deadline for repayment draws ever closer. As you know Castonbury costs a ransom to run. As things stand, its income doesn’t match its expenses by a long way. The danger is that along with the contents of the house it will have to be mortgaged to pay off some of these debts.’

Harry’s skin whitened. He was clearly shaken by this. ‘Good Lord! As bad as that?’

‘According to Giles, it is. Your father’s grief at the loss of Edward and the situation with Jamie sent him into a decline, and the guilt he feels over his haste to sell off his shares is almost too painful for him to bear. As you know, when your mother died, as the firstborn and according to her marriage settlement, her immense fortune went to Jamie. Your father is banking on the money helping the family financially if proof can be found of Jamie’s death.’

‘Well, it will all go to Giles now. You said there were two things, Ross. You have told me the first. What is the second?’

‘A short time ago a letter was delivered to your father from an unknown woman. It was sent from Spain. The woman is called Alicia Montague. She claims to be Jamie’s widow.’

Ross waited through a long moment of awful suspense, knowing exactly where Harry’s thoughts would turn next. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him.

‘What is known about her?’

‘On Giles’s request I have been to see her.’

‘What did you make out?’

‘She is an intelligent woman—she is also likeable and quite charming. She has a child she claims is Jamie’s heir, and she also has a letter from the chaplain who performed the marriage ceremony—and Jamie’s ring.’

‘But … that is preposterous. As the heir, on a matter of such importance, it would be so unlike Jamie to commit himself to marriage without consulting with or at least informing his family first.’

‘I agree. However, having met her she could very well be the type of woman Jamie would have fallen for.’

Harry felt a prickling along his nape. His instincts urged him to use extreme caution in making any judgement. ‘What do you think, Ross? Could this woman be an imposter?’

Ross sighed and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know that. In fact, in all honesty I don’t know what to think, which is why the truth concerning the marriage must be determined—along with the facts concerning Jamie’s demise—before disaster strikes.’

‘And if it is proven that Jamie is dead and the child is indeed his son, then as heir the estate will pass to him on father’s death. And Mother’s money too.’

‘It looks like it. And should no body be found, then it will be seven years before an act of Parliament is passed officially declaring Jamie dead. In the meantime his finances will have to remain untouched. You’ve been to Spain, Harry. You have knowledge of the country, and being attached to the diplomatic service in London means you are ideally placed to go to there and search out the truth. We need hard evidence that Jamie is dead.’

Leaning his head against the back of his chair, Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath. Spain! He didn’t want to go back. Reminders of that time evoked painful, personal memories he preferred not to recall. And now Ross was asking him to go back.

‘You are right, Ross. I must return. If this woman’s claim cannot be disproved, then her son is heir. It could be devastating to the whole Montague dynasty. Dear Lord, Ross, how has it come to this? As youths we lived like princes, champagne was drunk as though it were water and guests invited to Castonbury Park to partake of the Montague’s hospitality were open-mouthed at the liberality and display. We hunted with the best of the county, the stables filled with expensive hunters, the kennels full of hounds—the hunt servants, the display of wealth. How is it possible that it’s in danger of disappearing? It cannot happen. We cannot let it happen. We have to stop it.’

Ross knew that Harry would do everything within his power to seek out the truth. The Montagues’ attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan defending what was theirs at all costs, their instinct being to hold on to what they had won. ‘What are your chances, Harry?’

Harry’s eyes narrowed into a slight frown and his features took on a pensive expression. ‘The answer is that I don’t know.’ His tone implied the chances were not extremely good, but then he had contacts in Spain who might be able to help him so it was not entirely hopeless. ‘But to find out what really happened to my brother is a mission I am duty-bound to undertake—and to find out what I can about this woman and if her claim is genuine. Leave it with me. I’ll make arrangements to leave for Spain. Unfortunately I have commitments to fulfil regarding my work here in London so I am unable to leave right away. I’ll write to Giles at Castonbury informing him when I can depart and again as soon as I have anything to report.’

Although Lisette had learned to contend with the varying moods and whims of Lottie Arbuthnot, this, she feared, was a different environment and a different mistress entirely. She had complete care of Miss Araminta’s wardrobe and it was her duty to clean and repair any garment that needed it. She attended her toilet and arranged her hair—a task Lisette was taught by the maid who had attended Araminta before Lisette took up her position.

Her young mistress was a leading belle of the ton, and to Lisette’s despair she was unpredictable and problematical. But she was also warm and open and there was something about her that Lisette liked.

She had completed her first week and was arranging Miss Araminta’s hair when there was a knock on the door. Meeting Lisette’s eyes in the mirror, Araminta gave her a knowing smile.

‘That will be Ross—impatient as ever.’ She bade him enter.

Contrary to Araminta’s comment, Ross sauntered in and made himself comfortable in a chair facing his sister. He’d made it a practice to visit her in her room each day, and although he kept his visits brief, he found himself nevertheless looking forward to them because it gave him the opportunity to see Miss Napier. Out of uniform, Colonel Montague was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. With his dark hair brushed back and shining, he was the image of relaxed elegance in his black and white evening clothes and one well-shod foot propped casually atop the opposite knee.

‘I thought I’d come and see what’s keeping you, Araminta. We’re expected at the Bosworths’ in half an hour.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, Ross. As soon as Lisette has finished arranging my hair I’ll be ready.’

‘I’m sure they’ll understand if we’re a bit late,’ he said, content to sit and observe the delectable Miss Napier put the finishing touches to his sister’s toilet. Even his expression was casual.

Looking at Lisette through the mirror Araminta eyed her in watchful curiosity, noticing her wandering attention and the soft flush that had risen to her cheeks when Ross had entered. She wondered what lay behind her maid’s lovely face, for she really was exceptionally beautiful and in the right clothes she would be stunning.

‘Tell me, Lisette, do you speak any other languages besides English?’

‘I speak Urdu and Hindustani,’ she answered, aware of Colonel Montague’s eyes observing her every move and willing herself not to think of it. ‘My parents taught me well and were quite insistent that I learn the language in order to understand the people and the culture of India.’

‘That must have been difficult.’

‘Not really. I was young so it came naturally.’ Suddenly she felt like disappearing into the floor, for her announcement might have sounded like boasting and probably branded her a bluestocking in her mistress’s eyes. But it had done no such thing. It had only increased her mistress’s growing respect for this unusual maid of hers.

‘Do you play the pianoforte and sing too?’ Ross asked with a teasing smile.

Lisette returned his smile through the mirror and said, ‘Oh, no. I can’t do either. I gave up the piano in frustration, and when I opened my mouth to sing, to my immense relief my mother covered her ears and gave up on me.’

‘And do you like working here, Lisette?’ Araminta asked.

‘Of course. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be working for such a fine family.’

‘I am glad my brother brought you to my attention.’

‘Our meeting on the docks was brief. I’m surprised he remembered me at all.’

‘I’m not. You’re very pretty, Lisette. Exceptionally so, and never have I seen hair so dark as to be almost black—in fact, I do believe it is. It’s a beautiful shade—exotic, even, the perfect frame for your features and creamy skin. Do you not agree, Ross?’

Caught completely off guard, Ross said cautiously, ‘Forgive me, Araminta, I’m not sure what you mean?’

‘Either you’re extremely unobservant or else your eyesight is afflicted. I was talking about Lisette’s hair. It’s quite extraordinary, don’t you agree?’

‘I am sure Colonel Montague has many things to think about other than my hair, Miss Araminta,’ Lisette remarked. ‘It is black and quite ordinary, which I do not find in the least exciting and is a common shade in India.’

‘You don’t like it,’ Ross summarized.

‘Not really,’ she answered, touching Araminta’s light brown tresses with something like envy in her eyes, ‘but one must be satisfied with what one is born with. I would imagine that living in India and seeing nothing but dusky skins and black-haired natives day in and day out you would find monotonous, Colonel Montague.’

‘Not at all—quite the opposite, in fact,’ he replied, his gaze shifting to that exotic hair twisted and coiled neatly about Miss Napier’s well-shaped head, with not a hair out of place. His fingers ached to release it from the pins and to let the heavy mass tumble in waves over her shoulders and down her back, to run his fingers through the tresses and to smell its fragrance.

It began to register on Lisette that the expression on his face wasn’t dislike at all. In fact, he really did look almost admiring—and she saw something primitive flare in his eyes, which stirred her alarm and which she chose to ignore. Meeting his gaze she favoured him with an irrepressible sidewise smile. ‘You mean you really do like it?’

Ross liked it. He liked every damn thing about her. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to thrust his sister out of the room and snatch Miss Napier into his arms, to kiss the smiling mischief from her lips until she was clinging to him, melting with desire. She’d indicated a feminine concern about her hair, then calmly accepted it. This gave him the distinct impression that pretence and pretension were completely foreign to her, and that she was refreshingly unique in those ways and probably many other delightful ways as well.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, continuing to watch her from beneath hooded lids. ‘That is what I said.’

‘And my brother’s opinion matters,’ Araminta said smoothly, regarding Ross with fascinated disbelief. It was time for them to leave for their appointment, but there was something about the undercurrents flowing between her brother and her maid, something so very strange about everything, that she was reluctant to break the mood.

‘I am glad you think so, Araminta, since it is my opinion that Miss Napier is in need of some new dresses as befits her position—although it would be more pleasing to the eye to see her decked out in satin and lace.’ He studied Miss Napier surreptitiously. Beauty was moulded into every flawlessly sculpted feature of her face, but her allure went much deeper than that. It was in her voice and her graceful movements. There was something inside her that made her sparkle and glow, and she only needed the proper background and situation and elegant clothes to complement her alluring figure and exquisite features.

‘Really, Ross,’ Araminta chided lightly, ‘it’s very ungentlemanly of you to remark on that.’

A lazy smile transformed his harsh features. ‘Surely I haven’t done anything to give you the impression that I’m a gentleman!’

It was the exaggerated dismay in his voice that brought a smile to Araminta’s lips. ‘Nothing at all, and if you must know a trip to the modistes to purchase Lisette some new clothes is imminent—but ball gowns are quite out of the question.’

‘Of course they are,’ Lisette said quietly. ‘It’s quite ridiculous to contemplate such a thing—although Colonel Montague has my gratitude.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘For what?’

Those candid eyes lifted to his in the mirror, searching, delving, and Ross had the fleeting impression that with time she might see straight into his devious soul. She obviously hadn’t gotten his true measure, however, because a warm smile touched those soft lips of hers.

‘Why, for providing me with this opportunity.’

Her gratitude only made him feel guilty about everything, more of a disgusting fraud, for letting her think of him as some gallant white knight, instead of the black-hearted villain who had every intention of luring her into his bed.

Having watched the byplay between Ross and her maid and quite enthralled by this teasingly flirtatious side of her brother, Araminta’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Ross never forgets a pretty face, Lisette. I’m quite certain that if I hadn’t mentioned that I was in need of a maid, he would have concocted some other means of renewing your acquaintance.’

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