To Love a Wicked Lord Page 2

  “And have you discovered anything?” Adele asked.

  “The cream,” Pippa sighed, “has obviously curdled. We have one more gentleman to speak with, and then we’ll move on. This fellow is said to know everyone and everything too or, at least, everything he wants to know. He does favors for his friends as well, Grandfather said. We’ll see.”

  “Why don’t you employ a Runner?”

  “That way the whole world will know. This way, only the privileged few do.”

  “And if you find Noel is alive?” Adele asked.

  “I’ll kill him,” Pippa said.

  Her friend’s eyes opened wide. “You’re joking, of course.”

  Pippa only sighed again. She glanced around the room. Old women and old men, a few crushed relatives sitting with some of them, and a sprinkling of maiden daughters and sad-looking young men met her gaze. Then she sat up straight. “Oh!” she breathed. “Here comes Grandmamma.”

  Her statement didn’t match the look on her face or the odd sound in her voice, so her friend looked to see what had so affected her.

  Pippa’s grandmother was short and shaped like a dumpling. The current style didn’t suit her at all. Perhaps that was why she chose to have her short curling hair such a strange bright yellow color. This afternoon, Lady Carstairs was beaming and excited. That might have been because of the gentleman at her side. Pippa and her friend frankly stared. The man was slender, a bit above average height, dressed in the height of fashion. But they weren’t looking only at his clothing.

  As he bent his head to speak to her grandmother, Pippa saw a finely etched profile. As they came nearer, he turned his head to look at her. She caught her breath. His face was incredibly handsome, or so she thought. His hair was shining and dark brown, his skin was clear, his cheekbones sculptural, and his mouth beautifully shaped. His eyes were thickly lashed and intensely brown, and in them she swore she saw a sudden spark of such rich, deep intelligence and interest in her that it took her breath away. She felt her heart flutter, and yet she’d always believed that only happened to ingénues in novels.

  “Pippa, my love,” her grandmother trilled in an excited voice, “here is Maxwell, Lord Montrose. He’s the gentleman your grandfather suggested we speak with. Isn’t this a lucky happenchance? He says he’ll be glad to help us in our search for poor Noel.”

  For the first time in a very long time, Pippa didn’t know what to say. That was, not until Lord Montrose spoke.

  “Utterly charmed,” he drawled in a bored voice that belied what he said. He nodded in what might have been a bow. When he lifted his head, he took a golden eyeglass from his pocket and raised it to look at her. Pippa could no longer see anything but bright malicious amusement in his magnified eye as he examined her. “Delighted to be of service,” he said in that same flat, insincere tone.

  “Indeed,” Pippa answered stiffly, ignoring him and turning to her grandmother. “He says he’ll help us? But why ever should he?”

  She’d been incredibly rude, reducing the nobleman to a servant or an object by talking about him in front of him, but he only smiled at her. Their gazes locked.

  “For your grandfather’s peace of mind, of course,” he said, his voice again belying his words. “And for this delightful young lady,” he added with a wry smile directed down at her grandmother, which made the lady titter.

  No, Pippa thought, and her grandmother positively simpered. The fellow was an affected popinjay of the worst sort. What was her grandmother thinking, becoming involved with the likes of such a creature?

  “Indeed?” Pippa said again, keeping her expression calm, and ignoring his gaze. “And here is my dear friend Mrs. Standish,” she said, in as bored a tone as she could muster. This time, his lordship bowed his head.

  “Mrs. Standish,” he said.

  Adele colored, and ducked her head.

  But his lordship smiled at Pippa again. “Well met,” he said, and lowered his eyeglass.

  She pretended not to be aware of it. “And so,” she asked her grandmother, “how do we start this quest? Have you told him our objective?”

  “Of course,” he said, not giving her grandmamma a chance to answer. But he glanced curiously at Adele.

  “Yes,” Pippa said, embarrassed, but her head still high. “Quite right. This is neither the time nor place. I’m so sorry to involve you in this Adele, and so near our teatime too.” Now she gazed directly into Lord Montrose’s eyes. “This is such a personal matter, my lord. Can we not perhaps meet somewhere more private to discuss it?”

  “Certainly,” he said. “At dinner? At your hotel, so as to avoid comment? Which would certainly happen if you came to my rooms.”

  “Excellent,” Pippa’s grandmother said.

  “At eight then,” he said, bowed, and left them.

  They watched him walk away.

  “Now, there’s a fascinating fellow,” Adele breathed.

  “So charming,” Pippa’s grandmother sighed.

  “He minces,” Pippa said.

  Pippa inspected herself in the glass. She wore a simple pale pink high-waisted gown flowing down from beneath her breasts to her slippered toes. A pink ribbon held up her flaxen hair, and a shell pink cameo rested on her snowy breast. She nodded. Shell pink and lily white, a perfect English lady. She turned and inspected her derrière in the glass. A perfect fit. She looked fashionable and self-assured, and yet appealing. The subtle flow of the gown flattered her high breasts and pert derrière without emphasizing them. Still, there were other frocks in her wardrobe that made her look even better. But this one was so simple there was no way to know she’d spent an hour trying on gowns to find one that made it look as though she had no intention of impressing anyone.

  “Perfect,” she told her maid.

  Then she picked up her hem and made her way down the dim hallway of the inn to her grandmother’s room. It was time to go to dinner, and since that would be the first time she’d been alone with that lady since they’d met Lord Montrose, it was past time to find out why she approved of him. Whatever he’d said, he wasn’t the sort of gentleman her grandfather would have cared for. Of that, Pippa was certain.

  Her grandfather had worked in politics and won himself a title for service to His Majesty long before he’d retired to the countryside. He didn’t move in Society, but he had inherited a fine manor house, the Old Place, and more. They had enough funds to be welcome anywhere, if they ever went anywhere. He now devoted himself to the scholarly pursuits of research and writing and was much respected, not least of all by his wife and orphaned granddaughter.

  He was quite old, but not infirm. Still, he seldom traveled farther than his front gate these days. But the world found a way to his front door. That was how Pippa had met Noel. He’d been making an inquiry about a fourteenth-century poet as a favor to his own grandfather. Peasants, poets, statesmen, and politics; her grandfather was known to know everything, and he gladly shared his knowledge with the world and his granddaughter. Pippa believed she had as good or better an education than any man, thanks to him.

  Now she paused at her grandmother’s door. Lady Carstairs wasn’t a flighty lady. Although not very interested in philosophy or politics, she was as clever and in her own way as wise as her husband. So her being enthralled with the arrogant nobleman they were about to have dinner with was surprising. Pippa thought it might be the effect of having left the remote countryside after so many years, and finding herself in the world of fashion again.

  “You look charming!” her grandmother exclaimed when her maid opened the door.

  Pippa wished she could say the same. Lady Carstairs wore a silver gown that Pippa had never seen before. It was, doubtless, because the gown had been last worn before she was born. It was too tightly laced, too overly adorned, and too silver. Low cut, it belled out at her corseted waist and was supported by many petticoats, as had been the fashion in past years. Lady Carstairs also wore an ornate necklace that would have been lovely had the diamonds not been
of such an old and heavy cut. She had too much rouge on her round cheeks, and her hair had been combed monstrously high and contained sparkles. But she was smiling, and somehow, oddly, the ancient fashion suited her.

  “My, my,” Pippa said. “We’re very formal tonight, aren’t we?”

  “Needn’t take that tone with me, my girl,” her grandmother said. “I know I’m dressed to the teeth. But such a gentleman! I want to make a good impression on him.”

  “Grandmamma,” Pippa said. “Why make such an effort? I mean to say, he’s not very cordial; in fact he seems amused by us. I don’t think the queen herself could impress him. Why bother to try?”

  “He’s very comme il fault. And your grandfather recommended him.”

  “But why should a fine nobleman act like a Bow Street Runner?” Pippa’s eyes grew wide. “Is grandfather paying him a fortune? I won’t have that!”

  “You will have what your grandfather says,” Lady Carstairs said haughtily. “Anyway, Montrose doesn’t charge a penny-piece. The man’s rich as a heathen king. They say he wanted to fight on the battlefield, but can’t because he’s the heir. So he does what he can for his country where he can. As for his airs? That’s how all fine noblemen behave.”

  “No, it’s not,” Pippa argued.

  “Well, if not, then it’s how they used to behave,” her grandmother said, snatching her wrap from her maid’s hands, and marching out the door. “All strut and pose and airs and graces.”

  “Grandfather? Never!” Pippa exclaimed, shocked.

  “Well, not he, perhaps,” Lady Carstairs admitted, taking her granddaughter’s arm. “But all the rest, to be sure. They were forever drawling their words and posing like a pack of poets.” She sighed. “Still, it suited their looks. They wore diamonds and pearls, brocades and silks, powder and paint, buckles and clocked hose, even high-heeled shoes, not the shockingly casual clothes gentlemen wear now. The French have a great deal to answer for. They discarded elegance when they started chopping off fashionable heads. I don’t know why we let their Revolution shape our fashions,” she complained.

  “Anyhow, Pippa,” she continued, “if you want to find Noel, Montrose is the only man left that we can appeal to if we hope to discover anything. Your grandfather vows he knows all and everyone. And,” she added as they approached the stair, lowering her voice, “just be grateful he isn’t like his father, the duke. Now, there’s a cold fellow. Handsome as he could stare, and he wore wonderful clothes and jewels and wigs. He had airs, and yet no graces, at least not when I met him. Of course, the poor man had cause for his megrims. Lost two wives in a row, and wished he could lose the third one. At least his son is charming.”

  “To some,” Pippa grumbled.

  “Yes, he was sweet to me, wasn’t he?” Lady Carstairs asked, visibly preening. “But he wasn’t nasty to you, Pippa my dear, and I can’t see why you’ve taken such an instant dislike to him?”

  “He seems to be amused by me,” Pippa said.

  “Ah, that,” her grandmamma said, relaxing. “He obviously mimics his father. That’s only his way. You would have despised all the men of that time. I vow you’d have remained a spinster had you lived in my day. Oh,” she said, stopping and looking suddenly stricken. “You realize I meant nothing by that. Of course, you aren’t a spinster. You’re spoken for. You are engaged, but in waiting.”

  Pippa laughed. “What a lovely way to put it! And true. That’s why I’ll endure your most affected lordship Montrose.” Her expression became serious again. “He may drawl and pose and ogle the world through his eyeglass all he wants. He may think whatever he likes too. If he can find Noel, I vow I will love him.”

  “Oh my heavens, no!” her grandmamma exclaimed. “Even in my day, we were only allowed one husband apiece.”

  Which was why when the ladies entered the private dining room the Marquis Montrose had engaged, the two of them were laughing merrily.

  The marquis rose, and bowed. He was, as before, impeccably dressed, but this time in formal evening clothes. The black-and-white attire suited his grave good looks. But he still surprised Pippa when he spoke, because his tone was as light and bored as ever.

  “Good to see you in such high spirits, ladies,” he said, bowing as he greeted them. “And in such high good looks as well. I am a lucky fellow. Will you be seated? I’ve ordered the most delectable meal for you.”

  He held a chair for Lady Carstairs as a footman did the same for Pippa. The footman, Pippa realized, wasn’t from the inn, he was in house livery, evidently that of his master, Lord Montrose. The gentleman who, Pippa thought darkly as she sat, had taken it upon himself to order for her. Noel had always asked her what she wanted. But Noel was a true man of the world, and one of her generation. This fop was obviously a throwback to his father’s era. She vowed to bite her tongue and be silent about it. If it took a fool to find Noel, so be it. She’d already trusted wise men to do the job and they’d all failed.

  Pippa smiled at her host. “Thank you, my lord,” she said sweetly. “We are so pleased you’ve taken our commission.”

  “Ah, but I have not yet committed myself, my dear young lady,” he said. “I don’t wish to appear rude, but neither do I want to give you false hopes. I must hear more.”

  Pippa nodded. “We’re ready to tell you about my missing fiancé if you wish.”

  His looked at her as he sat down, his expression bland. “Of course I do. I must hear all. But I’d prefer we do that after we dine. Is that all right with you?”

  He meant that they should discuss Noel out of the earshot of servants, Pippa thought. She was well bred enough to know that even if he implied she was committing some kind of social solecism, he was wrong. She had often heard grandfather and his friends, gentlemen of birth and title, discussing much more serious things over dinner. But she wasn’t the marquis’s friend, she reminded herself, and whatever his reason, important or whimsical, she had to placate him. He might be able to help her.

  “Yes,” she said, casting down her gaze, “of course.”

  “Good,” he said. “Now, shall we dine? We can speak of lighter things, of course. Later, we can speak of graver matters. An excellent meal deserves our concentration, don’t you agree?”

  She didn’t, but she nodded, forced another smile, and kept her mouth closed until she was served her soup. Then she opened her lips, but only to swallow the soup—and her temper.

  Chapter 2

  Now,” Lord Montrose said, when their table had been cleared of dishes and the private dining room of servants, “tell me how I may assist you ladies.”

  “I thought my grandfather had done that,” Pippa said.

  “So he did,” her grandmother said, looking puzzled.

  Lord Montrose smiled. “Indeed. You’re right, my lady. But I need a bit more information. I only know that your granddaughter has misplaced her fiancé.”

  “He never said it quite that way,” Pippa’s grandmother protested, her objection laced with titters.

  Pippa scowled. “I know he didn’t, Grandmamma,” she said and glared at the gentleman. “Not really, my lord, not quite. Rather it seems he’s misplaced himself. He left our house almost seven months ago, just before our wedding was to be, and hasn’t been seen or heard from since. Well, there was one letter from London, three weeks later, in which he said he regretted how long his business was taking him, and promising to be back soon. I’ve heard no more.”

  Before he could say anything, she raised a hand. “We’ve asked after him everywhere and heard nothing. He simply hasn’t returned.”

  Seeing a slight quirk on his lips, she added defiantly, “He showed no inclination by word or deed of wanting to sever our engagement. If he’d wanted to be free, he’d only to ask me and he knew it. The months passed, and I—we—began to worry about his having met with mischief.

  “We asked locally, and then decided to go further. Grandfather has many knowledgeable connections here and abroad, you know,” she went on. “He tried t
o find out more, but couldn’t. An inquiry was sent to justices of the peace along the route from here to London and there’ve been no unidentified men found injured or dead. Even his horse, his favorite, a highly trained roan named Trueheart, hasn’t been spied—and he’d go nowhere without Noel’s command. When the trail went dry, grandfather suggested we leave and make inquiries of our own. He gave us your name, among others, of course. And here we are.”

  “Indeed, so we are,” Lord Montrose said thoughtfully. “So then, what can you tell me about him?” he asked Pippa. “I know little but his name: Noel Nicholson. What more can you tell me?”

  Pippa sat up straighter. He wasn’t mocking her now. It made answering him easier, and her attitude became less hostile.

  “What would you like to know?” she asked.

  “His appearance, for a start,” he said. “Can you give me a mental image of how he looked when you last saw him? Better yet, have you a miniature of him? Many lovers give them as remembrances before they embark on long journeys.”

  “No,” she said, shaking his head. “Because he wasn’t going on a long journey. He said he just had some business to clear before our wedding.” She closed her eyes, concentrating on an interior image. “He was—is, I mean—about your height, with black hair. His eyes were—are—brown, and his face is considered very handsome, with no scars or pitting.”

  “Lucky lad!” his lordship said merrily. “He must look exactly like me!”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him dispassionately, although she wanted to jump up and stalk from the room. “Not a bit like you, my lord,” she finally said through gritted teeth.

  “Then,” he asked simply, “where is the difference? I can’t go about asking people if they’ve seen my twin, you know.”

  She glowered at him.