To Love a Wicked Lord Page 3

  He waved a hand. “Never mind. A horse’s colors can be changed, along with his name, no matter how obedient he is. A fellow can alter his appearance even more easily if he wishes. He can grow military whiskers if he has none, or a beard if he wants to look ancient. He can color his hair, wear different clothing, even shave his head. He can alter his height by the boots he wears and the way he walks in them. Average height and dark-haired, then. What of his family? Where are they situated?”

  Pippa looked down at her hands. “He was an orphan, like me; brought up by his own grandmother, but she passed away years ago. He said he’d only a few cousins left and those, far-flung.”

  “I see. And where did all this tragedy occur?”

  She looked at him blankly.

  He sighed. “Where was he born? Where did he pass his childhood?”

  “Oh!” she said, coloring slightly because she hadn’t understood him. Then she sat up straighter. “He was born in Maidstone. He was seven when his parents died in an accident. Then he went to West Houghton to live with his grandparents.”

  “West Houghton?” her interrogator mused. “That’s between Folkestone and Dover. Both busy ports to and from France when we are not at war. And,” he added with a slightly twisted smile, ”perhaps even more so when we are.”

  “Are you implying that he was a spy, or a smuggler?” she asked incredulously.

  He waved a languid hand. “Oh, everyone is said to be a spy or a smuggler these days.”

  “Even you?” she shot back.

  He smiled. “Aye, even I.”

  “I can’t believe that.”

  “Why not?” he asked with interest.

  She bit her lips.

  “Because I am personable?” he asked. “Or because, with more honesty, I am considered a fribble? You mustn’t judge a book by its cover. Why, just look at your lost love, Noel…if you could, of course. He seemed forthright and true, didn’t he?”

  Pippa bridled, trying to think of something unspeakable to say, after she’d make it more speakable, of course.

  Her grandmother interrupted excitedly, “But, my dear Pippa, his lordship could only be pretending to being a fribble, like that fellow in my youth, oh, what was his name?”

  Pippa winced.

  Her grandmother didn’t notice, she was obviously thinking too hard. “You know, my dear, the nobleman who dressed in exquisite laces and satins and pretended he hated to get his toes wet, when all along while no one was watching he became France’s greatest enemy because it was all a hum. It was a disguise. He was really a brave spy and brilliant at freeing trapped English persons from French prisons. He was a fine duelist and the blight of the French secret police. Oh, what was his name? Percival or Perry or some such.”

  “He was a legend, a rumor, a fantasy,” Pippa said flatly, refusing to look to see how the fribble seated opposite them was taking this. She doubted he was insulted. Or if he were, that he would let anyone see it. She didn’t know what got her angrier, his boredom or his interest. She thought his amusement was worst. “No one knows if he even existed, Grandmamma,” she said gently. “But the nation needed such a legendary hero then, King Arthur or Robin Hood.”

  “Oh, but King Arthur was real,” her grandmother protested. “There are so many books about him and shrines dedicated to him and his knights. And what of Merlin? You’re not saying he didn’t exist? I’m surprised at you, my love. Robin Hood was real too. Your grandfather wrote a famously brilliant discourse on him. It appeared in the Gentleman’s Magazine.”

  “Indeed,” Lord Montrose said. “I read it.”

  Pippa ignored him and smiled at her grandmother. “Whatever the case, I am positive our guest is not such.”

  “Your host,” Lord Montrose put in, “I do not let the fairer sex pay for my dinners.”

  “Exactly what I expected your attitude toward our gender to be,” Pippa said with satisfaction. “So be it. I excuse you of spy-Dom, my lord. In fact, I’d bet against it, and I’m very good at cards.”

  “To be sure, and to my regret,” her grandmother said. “I owe her twenty pins at Snap, my lord, and twice as many for Patience.”

  “Impressive,” Lord Montrose said, his eyelids seeming to grow heavy, shielding the boredom in his eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Grandmamma,” Pippa said. “I don’t mean to call in my debts yet.” She turned to their guest, or host, or whatever he wished to be.

  She didn’t know why she wanted to disagree with him so much this evening. But she longed to say something to wipe that supercilious smile from his lips or shake his composure. It was distracting that such a good-looking fellow could be so artificial and condescending. In spite of her contempt for him, she found him attractive. But he didn’t seem to think the same of her. She found that demeaning. She was generally considered very attractive. His lordship didn’t appear to notice. Perhaps he didn’t care for females. Perhaps he was hiding it. They were speaking of real people, and she suddenly yearned to see the real man behind his affect, if there was one.

  “So, my lord,” she said, “to get back to what we were saying, you believe Napoleon is still a threat, even with the peace pact at Amiens signed and declared?”

  “Especially with the peace declared,” he said languidly.

  “You don’t believe it will last?” she asked with amazement.

  “Of course not. Bonaparte has no use for peace. Peace won’t help him rule the world.”

  Lady Carstairs watched their exchange with growing worry, her head turning to note each combatant in turn, as though she were watching houseguests playing badminton.

  “Napoleon Bonaparte is a Republican,” Pippa said coldly, reining in her emotions. “He wants to better his country, and perhaps, yes, the world, in time. He believes in equal rights for all citizens. That is revolutionary and was bought by war; it’s true, in both America and France. But he didn’t start either revolution and I can’t see it being part of his plan. Have you read his doctrines?”

  “Of course,” his lordship said. “That does not mean I believe him. By the by, have you read his latest screeds?”

  She shook her head.

  “You ought,” he said. “I believe you’d be surprised. And you will recall, he is no longer merely a general but has named himself ‘First Consul.’”

  “Better than King,” Pippa retorted. “Although, of course, I mean no disrespect to our king.”

  “Of course,” he said calmly. “But though I dote upon gossip, and politics is, after all, only elevated gossip, we are going far off topic. Noel is the fellow we’re supposed to be discussing. Unless, of course, it is Napoleon you prefer? Then I suggest you abandon Noel as he did you, and travel to France to become a true follower of the man you admire most.”

  She glowered. “I am an Englishwoman. I have no wish to see our king deposed. We have no need of it. We wrested a Magna Carta from a king centuries ago. That allows us to rule our lives more than the French or the American colonists ever could. We have no need for revolution. And because of that, I’m allowed to have my own ideas. And I do.”

  “And did Noel agree with those ideas?” he asked with what seemed to be real interest, at last.

  “We didn’t discuss politics much,” she said, looking away from him.

  He sat back, seeming satisfied. “Ah, yes. L’amour in any language chases out reason, or so I hear.”

  Pippa swallowed her retort. She began to believe he was deliberately seeking her hostility. She wouldn’t be baited. She refused to give Lord Montrose the pleasure of showing him how much he annoyed her.

  “Well then, onward,” he finally said.

  She was pleased with herself because of the faint hint of disappointment she thought she heard in his voice because she didn’t rise to his bait.

  “What of Noel’s education? What schools did he attend?” he asked her.

  “He was schooled at home and then went to university. He attended Oxford,” she said, her head high again. “We didn’t d
iscuss that either. We laughed, my lord, and we rejoiced in our commonality of spirit. And by the by,” she added as coolly as possible to answer his inference about L’amour, “Noel was too much the gentleman to indulge in that with me before we were wed. He respected me.”

  “Of course, a true English gentleman,” Lord Montrose said, obviously holding back a yawn. “And his friends?” he asked.

  “I met some of them,” Pippa said. “They came to stay with us for a day or two. Remember, Grandmamma? Mr. Arnold and that charming Martin fellow—Martin West! And he often spoke of his good friend, Charles August.”

  “They lived in London,” Lord Montrose said flatly. “And you haven’t seen or heard from them since.”

  “Why, yes,” she said. “How did you know?”

  “It follows,” the gentleman said obliquely.

  “Well then, did he have an occupation?”

  “Of course not,” Pippa said. “He inherited an adequate income from his late parents and grandparents.”

  “What of Noel’s interests?” he asked. “Why did he seek out your grandfather?”

  “He was doing research on the last century,” Pippa said, “to try to find traces of his family.”

  “Did he?”

  “No,” she said. “At least, he hadn’t yet.”

  There was a silence.

  Pippa spoke up at once. “But he came to us recommended by Lord Bellamy, who thought highly of him.”

  “Bellamy,” Lord Montrose mused. “And I suppose he’s abroad now?”

  “Why yes. Do you know him?” Pippa asked.

  “Many do,” Lord Montrose said, his expression becoming bored again. “So here we have your fiancé, Noel Nicholson, who comes from Maidstone and West Houghton, and went to Oxford and thence to London and then to your grandfather’s house. How long did you know him before you became engaged?”

  “Two months,” she said. She raised her head and looked at him directly. “Two wonderful months. Noel was—is—kind and thoughtful, well bred and well educated. Best of all, his wit was so keen he made everyone merry, even grandfather, and he’s not been very cheerful of late.”

  “He’s been distracted, my dear,” her grandmother put in. “He often says he has so much to do and when he considers his age, he realizes how little time he has to do it in. I can’t nudge him out of his moods, but your Noel could.”

  “How old is Lord Carstairs now?” Lord Montrose asked.

  “He has two and eighty years on his plate,” Lady Carstairs said quietly.

  “And doubtless many long years left to him,” Lord Montrose said quickly.

  She nodded her head in thanks.

  “But with all his knowledge,” the marquis asked, “after your own investigations failed, his advice to you was to send you two to search for yourselves and, thence, to me?”

  Both women nodded.

  He rose from the table. “As I feared. I’m sorry, my dear ladies, to disappoint you, and dislike making Lord Carstairs lose faith in me. But as there’s nothing more for me to go on, there’s nothing more I can discover for you. I can tell you that yours is a hopeless cause. This Noel Nicholson of yours leaves no trail. He’s a true will-o’-the-wisp; a dashing gent who appears and disappears at his own pleasure. I only hope, for your sake, Miss Carstairs,” he added with a look at Pippa, “that whatever you say, it was not entirely at his pleasure.”

  Pippa’s face turned pink and her eyes flashed, but before she could say anything, he spoke to her grandmother.

  “And I must say,” he said, “that I’m surprised you and your husband let this affair go on, Lady Carstairs. Lord Carstairs may have been distracted, and you may have been amused, but the fellow really had nothing to recommend him and no more background than a shadow.”

  “He had my grandfather’s recommendation,” Pippa flared. “And that’s good enough for me, and half the nation,” she added wildly. “Grandfather’s famous for his cleverness and intellect, and judgment, and access to information of all sorts. Politicians and authors and poets and…why, even the prime minister has visited with him for advice! Certainly, if Grandfather thought Noel was a fit companion for me, then he was!”

  “Possibly,” Lord Montrose said. “But now he’s gone, and were I you, I’d be glad of it. Really, the whole affair has a bad odor. Let him go, my dear Miss Carstairs. Place an advertisement in the paper requesting information about him and when there’s no honest reply, which there won’t be, have your grandfather place a notice canceling your engagement. And then get on with your life and consider yourself lucky.”

  Pippa rose from the table, her flushed face showing her fury, as did her suddenly sparkling eyes, lit by tears of fury. “Very well, we’ll find him without your help.”

  He was expressionless. “There’s folly. But I hear that’s also love. You love him so much then?”

  “I no longer know,” she said with honestly. “But I must know if he’s in difficulty. I know he’d do the same for me.”

  “Would he?” his lordship murmured. “Forgive me. I hope he would. But two women, even protected by servants and stout footmen, off alone on a quest throughout England?” He shook his head. “It will not do, ladies. You’re sure to be taken in by practiced sharpers, men with no conscience, who merely want money. Not only men, but women and children too. Two females alone, throwing gold around, trying to find out what happened to a missing man, will doubtless encounter many such vile opportunists. The consequences will raise your hopes and then dash them, and put you in danger as well. I hate to see such things befall you.”

  He bowed. Then he shook himself as though from a long nap. “There’s no help for it. I’ll have to help you, will I, nil I. Mind, I’ll need any papers you’ve gotten from previous investigations. You must have sheaves of them. I need to see them, all of them, including the letter Noel sent to you. I can’t proceed until I do.”

  “We have them with us,” Pippa said.

  “Wise,” he said. “I expected no less of you.”

  She was inordinately pleased at this mild compliment. “I’ll have them sent down to you directly,” she said, her shoulders relaxing.

  He bowed. “Very good, I’ll wait, I’ll read them this very night. I’m staying with a friend nearby and will see you in the morning, if you wish.”

  Pippa nodded. “We do.”

  “I only ask one thing of you two ladies,” he added. “When and if I tell you there is no hope, you must believe me and not keep on your mission. I may find amusement in strange places, and I admit I poke fun at many things. But I never lie about such things as life and death.”

  Pippa opened her lips and then hesitated. He was, for the first time, deadly serious, his handsome face set as in stone.

  “Continuing to follow a path that leads nowhere will be exhausting as well as perilous for you,” he added, shooting a look to her grandmother. Then he gazed steadily at Pippa. “I am good at what I do, Miss Carstairs, whether you choose to believe it or not. Your grandfather does. What I find or don’t find should be conclusive. I don’t go on fools’ errands, or do errands for fools. So. Do you accept this? And if so, may I have your word on it?”

  Pippa’s shoulders drooped farther, but not from relaxation. She took in a deep breath. “Agreed,” she said. “You have my word.”

  “My lady?” he asked Lady Carstairs.

  “Oh yes, of course,” she said, standing and looking from him to Pippa. “A very good idea, to be sure.”

  His smile was faint. “Then I’ll wait here for your documents. And tomorrow, if there’s anything to do, we will begin to do it.”

  Chapter 3

  The large swarthy gentleman sitting in a deep chair by his hearth looked up as Lord Montrose came into his salon. “You’re back? So early? Sick?”

  “To the death,” Maxwell said as he unceremoniously plunked himself down in a chair opposite his host. He stretched out his legs and laid his head on the back of the chair. “Why does everyone think I can do anythin
g?” he asked the ceiling.

  “Because you’d be insulted if they didn’t,” his host commented. “Need a drink?” he asked, waving a goblet of liquor in his guest’s direction.

  “Yes. But I need a clear head in order to go through some papers first.”

  “You’re taking on Carstairs’s commission after all?” the swarthy gentleman asked. “Working to help a female whose fiancé flitted? You said you’d never touch it. Or is it that you want to touch her?”

  “Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” his friend said glumly. “Carstairs’s granddaughter. I’m not ready to be leg shackled yet.”

  “A beauty?”

  “Better than that,” Maxwell sighed, closing his eyes. “And with a mind like her grandfather’s, a temper like a teakettle, and a tongue sharper than an asp’s.”

  “Sounds just your cup of tea.”

  “Is she? Why then did her betrothed ride off like his coattails were on fire to avoid his wedding day? And why in any god’s name would a respectable woman go haring off after him, no matter the time spent or money cost?”

  “Maybe because he left her holding something, so to speak, and she wants to be sure it’s legitimate.”

  “No,” Maxwell said, waving his hand. “Too much time has passed and no evidence has shown. In fact, I heard the lady’s figure has always been a thing of loveliness. She isn’t an ingénue, but she’s far from being considered the shelf. Not with that face and form. So I wonder why she’s doing it. Vengeance? Love? Hurt pride? Or does he know something he shouldn’t?”

  “You see spies everywhere,” his friend said. “But I suppose our leaders do too or else they wouldn’t have sent you along on her wild goose—that is to say, wild fiancé—chase.”

  “Unlikely,” Maxwell said. “It’s a favor between gentlemen. Her grandfather is a sage of some repute.”

  “So then I don’t see the danger for you. I thought she was looking for her fiancé, not just for anyone to be her fiancé.”

  “I am not anyone,” Maxwell said. He opened his eyes again, looked at his host as though seeing him for the first time, and visibly recoiled. “Gads, Whit. What do you have on?”