The Dangerous Lord Darrington

‘It was the only bedchamber with a fire. With Tilly and Martin both occupied it seemed the most sensible thing ….’ She trailed off, a delicate flush mantling her cheeks.

‘It is not at all sensible to let a strange man into your bedchamber,’ he murmured, guessing her thoughts. ‘But I am extremely grateful. I only hope your husband will understand.’

‘My husband has been dead these six years, sir.’

‘I am so very sorry.’ He paused. ‘Is this his banyan I am wearing?’

‘No, it—it is my brother’s, but it was always far too big for him and he never wore it. I should go …’

‘Please, do not run away!’

‘I am not—I mean, I must find some clothes to fit you, if you are to join Grandmama for supper.’

She stood before him, like a deer poised for flight, but still Guy stood in her way.

‘And will you be at supper, too?’

‘Of course.’

‘Very well, I will let you go.’

He stepped aside, but even so in the small chamber there was only just room for her to walk by him to reach the door. He forced himself to keep still as she passed within inches of him and as she went by he breathed in the unmistakable scent of lemons.

Chapter Two

Beth’s composure only lasted until she reached the corridor. As soon as she was out of sight of the bedroom door she collapsed against the wall, her legs trembling so much she could barely stand. What on earth was she about, to enter the room with that man in there, naked save for a thin wrap that clung to every contour of his body? As soon as she realised he was not going to take the tray from her she should have placed it on the ground and walked away, not carried it into the room. She was well aware of Lord Darrington’s reputation as a dangerous rake—as well walk into a lion’s den! A laugh bubbled inside her. He was certainly built like a noble beast. That clinging wrap had left little to the imagination and, although he was so tall, his broad shoulders and slim hips were to her mind perfectly proportioned. Her mouth had grown quite dry when she had watched him pulling her own ivory comb through his hair—for one reckless moment she wished it was her fingers that had been driving through those thick, dark locks. Beth closed her eyes, shocked by her reaction to this stranger. Was this what happened to widows when they had been alone for several years? The caresses and intimate moments she had shared with her husband had never seemed very important to her, yet now she was imagining herself locked in the arms of the earl and sharing heady, passionate kisses …

Beth took another deep breath and forced herself to be calm. The tingle of excitement she had felt when he looked at her was purely nerves, brought on by the unexpected events of the evening. She had been caught unawares. Now she must pull herself together: there was much to do before she could sit down for supper.

‘So, my lord, you found something to fit you!’

Lady Arabella Wakeford looked formidable in her black-and-silver gown when Lord Darrington entered the great hall some two hours later. He walked up to her chair and gave a flourishing bow.

‘As you see madam. The embroidered coat is perhaps more suited to St James’s than Yorkshire, but much better that I present myself to you attired in this than a dressing gown.’

Standing beside her grandmother’s chair, Beth thought the earl looked magnificent in the coat, waistcoat and breeches of striped-blue velvet. The coat and waistcoat were embroidered with yellow flowers and leaves around cut-glass lozenges that twinkled in the candlelight. The clothes hung a little loosely save across his broad shoulders where the coat was stretched tight, but she agreed with him: she could not have endured to sit at supper with him dressed only in that revealing wool wrap. She lifted her eyes to his face and the wicked glint in his eye made her believe he could read her thoughts. She blushed hotly.

‘Since there is no man here to introduce us and my granddaughter seems to have lost her tongue, I suppose for formality’s sake I must do it myself.’ Lady Arabella held out her hand to the earl. ‘You have the honour of addressing Lady Arabella Wakeford, widow of the last Sir Horace Wakeford and daughter of the Marquess of Etonwood. And this,’ she continued, once he had kissed her fingers, ‘is my granddaughter, Mrs Elizabeth Forrester.’

He bowed. ‘Mrs Forrester.’

Beth dipped a curtsy, not sure if she was most relieved or disappointed that he did not reach for her hand. However, his forbearance pleased her grandmother, who thawed a little towards her guest.

‘My granddaughter is a widow. It is Mr Forrester’s court dress that you are wearing,’ Lady Arabella informed him.

‘Indeed?’ murmured the earl. ‘I am honoured to step into his shoes. And very pleased, too.’

Beth’s eyes narrowed. Was he trying to flirt with her? She said pointedly, ‘You may find they are too big for you, my lord.’

‘The clothes are a little large for you around the middle,’ agreed Lady Arabella, catching only part of Beth’s words. ‘But Forrester was inclined to corpulence.’

Darrington’s eyes were on fire with unholy amusement while Beth seethed inwardly. She was thankful that her grandmother did not notice and continued to address the earl.

‘I saw you entering your friend’s room a little earlier, my lord. How does he do now?’

‘He is sleeping, ma’am. I saw Dr Compton before he left and he explained that Mr Davies has broken his right leg.’

‘Yes,’ Beth replied. ‘And he thinks there are a couple of broken ribs. He is also a little feverish, but I had feared it would be much worse. You may have confidence in Dr Compton, my lord. He is an excellent physician.’

The earl nodded. ‘He has set the leg, but I fear Davies cannot be moved for a while yet—’ He broke off as a door opened.

‘I am so sorry to be late, Grandmama!’ said a pretty, musical voice. ‘With all the excitement no one remembered to collect the eggs, so I told Cook I would do it, and then my gown got so muddy I was obliged to change it!’

Beth stepped forwards.

‘Sophie—let me present you to the Earl of Darrington. My sister, my lord.’

She watched as Sophie made her curtsy to the earl and was relieved when they showed no more than polite interest in each other. In Beth’s eyes Sophie was uncommonly pretty, with her dark-honey curls and pansy-brown eyes, but she was only eighteen and had not yet enjoyed a season in town. Beth was afraid that the sudden entry into her world of a handsome and attractive peer of the realm might well cause her to lose her head and her heart, a complication that Beth could well do without. She listened as Sophie enquired politely after the health of Mr Davies and commiserated with the earl upon his soaking.

‘Such a pity that Beth only kept Forrester’s old court suit,’ she said, eyeing the elaborate coat with disfavour.

‘I would have borrowed a lackey’s raiment if one could have been found to fit me. The alternative was to keep to my room until my own clothes are dry.’

The smile that accompanied these words startled Beth, for it softened the earl’s rather sombre features and warmed his eyes. She felt again that delicious tingle running through her.

‘Ah, such elaborate garments are not seen much now outside London, more’s the pity,’ sighed Lady Arabella. ‘But something plainer might have been more comfortable for you, my lord. Beth my dear, could you not find something of Simon’s for the earl?’

‘They would not fit, Grandmama.’ Beth caught the earl’s look of enquiry and added briefly, ‘My brother, sir. It was his wrap I gave you.’

‘He died eighteen months ago,’ added Lady Arabella.

‘My condolences, ma’am. Was he—?’

Beth turned quickly to her grandmother, interrupting him.

‘Here’s Kepwith to say supper is ready for us. Shall we go in?’

Lord Darrington came forwards to offer Lady Arabella his arm.

‘We keep to the old ways here, my lord,’ she said as he led her into the dining room. ‘An early dinner and supper at ten. At my age I do not want to be eating dinner in the evening and supper at midnight, as I believe is quite the fashion now in town.’

‘But that makes perfect sense if one is at a ball, Grandmama,’ put in Sophie. She smiled across the table at the earl. ‘Not that I have yet been to a ball—a real ball, that is. But I shall do so next year, when Beth takes me to London.’

The earl turned toward Beth.

‘You go often to town, Mrs Forrester?’

‘No, I have never been. I—’