Midnight Bride (Signet Super Regency) Read online

  THE UNGENTLEMANLY GENTLEMAN

  “You are no gentleman!” Elizabeth angrily accused the viscount.

  “Oh, but I am, my dear,” he answered. “If I were not a gentleman, I would not have listened to you when I awakened in your bed.” He reached out with a long arm and drew her to him. “Now be quiet.” He ensured her compliance by kissing her, softly at first. Then his tongue began to tease her lips, urging them to open, sending flashes of fire along her spine.

  Startled, she tried to pull away. One hand on his chest slid inside his shirt to the warm, furry skin beneath. “Robert,” she whispered, pulling him closer, her arm around his neck.

  He pushed her back into the chaise, letting his body hold hers in place. “Ah, sweet,” he breathed as he kissed her again.

  By this time, Elizabeth was no longer thinking, only feeling . . . and what she was feeling was very dangerous. . . .

  BARBARA ALLISTER is a native Texan who enjoys reading and traveling. An English teacher, Ms. Allister began writing as a hobby after experimenting with techniques to use in her creative writing class.

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  NAL BOOKS ARE AVAILABLE AT QUANTITY DISCOUNTS WHEN USED TO PROMOTE PRODUCTS OR SERVICES. FOR INFORMATION PLEASE WRITE TO PREMIUM MARKETING DIVISION. NEW AMERICAN LIBRARY, 1633 BROADWAY. NEW YORK, NEW YORK 10019.

  Copyright © 1989 by Barbara Teer

  All rights reserved

  SIGNET TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA HECHO EN DRESDEN. TN. USA

  Signet, Signet Classic, Mentor, Onyx, Plume, Meridian and NAL Books are published by New American Library, a division of Penguin Books Inc., 1633 Broadway, New York, New York 10019

  First Printing, June, 1989

  CLS 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

  Printed in the United States of America

  Thanks to the following people who convinced me I should try something new and kept encouraging me along the way:

  Elaine S., Elaine C. and Walter, George Ann, Rosemary, and last but definitely not least, my mother, who tells all her friends about her daughter who writes.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 1

  The soft spring breeze stirred the early flowers near the recently planted fields, bringing their sweet scents to the lady who gazed wistfully out the carriage window. The first signs of green were beginning to show above the brown fields. Spring and another Season had arrived. Members of the ton had begun their pilgrimages to London. Eager young ladies dreamed of dashing, handsome young men. Mothers dreamed of distinguished matches while fathers opened their pocketbooks reluctantly.

  Most carriages on the road were headed south. Just that morning the coachman had seen three men he knew headed toward the capital. He snapped his whip, wishing he were one of them. But he knew that London was the farthest thing from his mistress’s mind. “She don’t even go there for her clothes,” he said under his breath. He remembered the way it used to be, longing for a chance to join his friends at the snug tavern they had discovered. “Wonder if Nell is as friendly as she used to be?” he asked the other coachman beside him. The young boy looked at him and shrugged. He had learned early on that most of the older man’s questions did not need answers.

  Inside the carriage his mistress took a deep breath and looked over the fields. The afternoon sunlight made everything sparkle. The small pools of water beside the road glittered. It was the type of day she had always loved. She stared at the fields today, however, as though she had never seen them before, their spring colors vaguely dissatisfying, disturbing.

  Elizabeth Beckworth sighed and lowered the flap over the carriage window, creating a soft gray world inside the vehicle. She settled back into her seat and tried to drift back to sleep again, but her eyes refused to stay shut. She glanced over the other figures, her chaperon and their maids, and then reached for the flap again, dropping her hand only seconds before it completed its task. The restlessness and vague longing that had been her companion all winter had returned. Even Amelia, her best friend, had noticed it.

  “You need a change of pace,” Amelia had urged. “Come to London with me. Or go to your stepmother’s. You cannot tell me she would not be glad to have you.” Elizabeth had simply smiled and shaken her head just as she had done for the two previous years. “Come to London this year. I need someone to talk to. With John so involved in politics, he hardly has time for his family. You would save me from boredom on the evenings he cannot accompany me,” her friend urged.

  Elizabeth laughed. “Do you mean you will give up your admirers if I agree to spend the Season with you this year?” she asked teasingly. “I am certain John would be surprised and delighted.”

  She laughed softly once again. The yearly spring visit to Ravenwood had been enjoyable as always. But something had been missing this year. Uncertain and uneasy, she had hugged her friends’ children once more and set her maid to packing. She was needed at home, she explained. But to herself she was more honest. The estate, as much as she loved it, was in capable hands. Her father had ensured that by installing Carstairs as its agent soon after he bought it. Maybe she should—

  The carriage hit a rut, jolting all of them, putting an end to Elizabeth’s thoughts. Her chaperon awoke. Louisa Beckworth yawned delicately, patted her fringe of faded blonde hair, and straightened herself. She tied back the window flap and turned to Elizabeth. “You really must speak to that man again, Elizabeth,” she complained. “I knew when he told you that the road would be repaired by the time you returned home, your agent was merely trying to appease you. My dear, you simply must see about hiring someone new.”

  Her cousin simply smiled at the familiar complaint before saying as always, “You must remember that Carstairs has been with our family longer than I have. I’m certain he has a good reason for the delay, Cousin Louisa.”

  “Humph! He always does. Why you cannot have an agent like the one Lord Ravenwood hired is beyond me.”

  “So you can set up one of your flirts closer to home, Cousin?” Elizabeth asked teasingly. The older woman turned pink and simply shook her head. The two women glanced at each other, laughed softly, and began to straighten their bonnets and shawls.

  “How wonderful to know we will be sleeping in our own beds this evening. Not that Amelia does not have the best available,” Louisa hastened to add. “There is simply something special about having your own things about you.” Elizabeth smiled at her cousin and nodded as the carriage pulled up to the door. But coming home had not dispelled her general uneasiness. Taking a deep breath, she told herself that everything would be back to normal very soon.

  Before long Elizabeth and Louisa were in the dim entry hall, their bonnets and cloaks dispatched to waiting footmen. Sending the footmen and maids on their ways, Jeffries, Elizabeth’s butler, announced, “Tea is ready whenever you wish, Miss Beckworth.” He watched with approval as his mistress fluffed her golden brown hair. The short curls, a result of her friend’s insistence that she have a new, more up-to-date style, were quite becoming. Because his face was carefully impassive, Elizabeth had no idea that he was making note of the changes in her appearance in order to compliment her maid when the servants had their tea later that evening.

  Satisfied that she was as neat as could be expected after a long carriage ride, she turned to her cousin. “Where shall we have our tea, Louisa?” Elizabeth asked, almost certain she knew the answer.

  “Upstairs, of course, if I am to show my face later this evening.”‘

  Just then a burst of raucous laughter spilled from the billiards room as the door to the hall opened. The smile on Elizabeth’s face froze as she asked, “Guests, Jeffries?”

  “Your brother and some of his friends, Miss Beckworth. They arrived last week.” The butler was impassive yet somehow forbidding. “If I could have a few minutes of your time after you have had your tea?” he asked, his voice carefully impersonal.

  “Charles! What a wonderful surprise,” Louisa said, her face alight with happiness.

  Elizabeth sighed. “You go on upstairs, cousin. I’ll have tea down here and talk to Jeffries. I know you want to look fresh for Charles.”

  Louisa laughed and hurried up the stairs. “To think of that naughty boy slipping down here without telling us. What a wonderful surprise! Tell him I am angry that he did not send us an advance warning so we could be here when he arrived,” she said as she paused on the landing.

  Turning away from the glass, Elizabeth rubbed her temples and headed toward the morning room, her private sanctuary, where n
o one disturbed her without permission. She opened the door and paused in the doorway. “Bring my tea in here,” she told her butler. The man in the comfortable chair close to the window placed the book he had been reading on the table beside him and stood up. She was much more beautiful than he had remembered. Her skin had a peach glow that seemed more vivid even under the frown she wore. He too admired the short, tousled curls, noting the way they curled around her ears and forehead, and made her hazel eyes more prominent. He smiled sweetly, noting the most dramatic change; a delightful, womanly shape of soft curves. Elizabeth entered the room without noticing him, muttering under her breath and rubbing the back of her neck. Then she saw him and stopped.

  “Miss Beckworth? How pleasant to meet you again,” said the tall man who stood by her favorite chair. His dark brown hair and midnight blue eyes reflected the sunlight streaming through the window. Elizabeth stood frozen for a moment, trying to put a name to his face. During her Seasons her inability to remember names had been a constant embarrassment. She simply stared at him, noting almost unconsciously his handsome face, his height, and his broad shoulders encased neatly in a dark blue coat that matched his eyes.

  “Of course, you probably don’t remember me. I arrived in town only at the end of your second Season,” he said quietly, deciding that he had startled her.

  Realizing that she had been staring, her face flamed with more embarrassment than she usually felt when struggling for a name. Then there was a scratching at the door, a distraction Elizabeth welcomed. She nodded to her butler, signaling him to put the tray on the table in front of the bronze and azure blue velvet settee. That task completed, the butler asked quietly, “Will the Viscount be joining you, Miss Beckworth?”

  “No, thank you, Jeffries,” Robert Clarendon, Viscount Dunstan said quietly, “I did not plan to intrude. I will look forward to renewing our acquaintance this evening, Miss Beckworth.” Crossing to her, he took her hand and bowed. The tension she kept from her face was evident in her hand. He looked at her again curiously, but was too well mannered to remain. Until the door closed with a snap, Elizabeth watched the tall figure carefully, unaware that she was holding her breath.

  “Should I know him, Jeffries?” she asked. The butler, a man whose family had served the Beckworths for generations, knew her inability with names. In fact, when she had moved to the manor, she had chosen him for her butler because he had always found a way to give her information on who people were. Even when he was only a footman and later an under butler on her father’s estate, he had tried to prevent her being embarrassed by her poor memory.

  “Perhaps, Miss Elizabeth.” Although Jeffries was always careful to address her by her proper title in public, often in private he reverted to the name he had called her when she was growing up. “He is Robert Clarendon, the second son of the former Viscount Dunstan and the grandson of the present Earl of Darington.” Jeffries checked the tea tray carefully. He straightened the cup on its saucer and stood back to take another look. He continued, “He came into his father’s title quite unexpectedly when his father and elder brother died in a carriage accident. I believe his grandfather was rather pleased at the way things turned out.”

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at that. Then something he had said made an impression. “Dunstan? That name is so very familiar. I suppose I met him during my Seasons?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is he doing here, Jeffries?” She poured herself a cup of tea, added a lump of sugar and a thick dollop of cream, and sat back, trying to force herself to relax.

  “He came with your brother, Miss Elizabeth. But I don’t understand why. He certainly has not been a part of all their activities.” Jeffries’ face, usually very pleasant, now wore a grim look.

  “What has been the problem this time, Jeffries?” Elizabeth asked, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer. She loved her brother dearly, but she was also the first to admit that he had been spoiled. And she had to take part of the blame.

  “At first everything was going well. The gentlemen in the party took out their guns or went fishing during the day. In the evenings they played cards or billiards. There was a mill in a town nearby; they went to that.” Elizabeth waited patiently for her butler to come to the point. From long experience she knew that telling him to hurry would do no good. “Then one day someone spotted a fox. The next day they took the dogs and went after it. Your agent has been working with the farmers to repair the damage ever since.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. It began to rain.” Remembering the downpour that had drenched her friend’s plans for a spring picnic, Elizabeth nodded. Jeffries hesitated as if he were not certain he should continue. Then taking a deep breath and keeping his face calm only by strict discipline, he hurried on, his eyes carefully fixed on the ceiling. “Very soon they became bored with other games and decided to make sport with the maids. Before the housekeeper and I realized what was happening, there was a serious incident.”

  Elizabeth blanched. “Is the girl all right?” she asked, thinking about some of the tales she had heard at school.

  Her butler nodded and continued. “Apparently the silly girl believed everything the man told her. At least that is what she claims. She thought he would marry her. The upper staff believe the incident may have occurred because of a tiff she had. From what I can discover, she has been walking out with one of the grooms. They quarreled when he would not agree to marry her. And the silly girl decided to pay him back by making up to the gentleman.” His tone revealed how foolish he believed the maid to have been. “I have had her kept in her room since the incident. Of course, the housekeeper moved the other maid out.” He cleared his throat nervously. The incident was the lowest ebb in his career. He glanced at his mistress and then fixed his eyes on the ceiling again. “We would have turned her out immediately, but she claims she will go to the magistrate if she doesn’t get some compensation.”

  “Who is this girl?” Elizabeth’s voice was as calm as she could make it. Remembering the gossip and scandal in the neighborhood when an engaged couple had been found together in the woods, she controlled it with difficulty.

  “Susan, Miss Beckworth.” Jeffries looked at her coldly. This time Elizabeth could read his mind. He had tried to convince her that hiring girls from the workhouse was not a good idea, but she had refused to listen.

  “Is she the only one involved?” She had hired three young girls at the same time.

  “Yes.”

  “Send her to me, Jeffries. And thank you for your discretion.” Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. The headache that had been nagging at her since Jeffries had asked to speak to her now was raging. She closed her eyes, dreading the coming interview. She began to take deep breaths. Then she refilled her cup and drank another cup of tea and tore a piece of bread and butter into pieces. Finally she had the tray cleared away and sat reciting the books of the Bible, a task her governess had required whenever Elizabeth had been sent in disgrace to wait for her father to pronounce the punishment she had usually deserved.

  At last the butler returned, followed by the housekeeper, who pulled a reluctant maid behind her. The girl’s bright, brassy golden hair barely showed beneath the white cap all of Elizabeth’s servants wore. But even the gray uniform could not hide the girl’s full-blown curves. When she saw Elizabeth, her eyes widened. “It’s Master Charles I should be talking to, not an unmarried lady,” she said, her voice contemptuous.

  “I am afraid he would give you short shrift. You would do better to be honest with me.” Elizabeth pulled herself up to her full height and glared at the maid. “Was my brother involved with you?”

  “Him? He couldn’t see me for anything but a maid. Just like the other one, the one with the dark blue eyes. Too good for the likes of me, they were.” She tossed her head and smiled slyly. “But one gentleman promised to marry me, he did,” the girl said belligerently.

  “And you believed him? You believed that a gentleman would marry a girl from a workhouse?” Elizabeth looked at the girl, her eyes clear and straightforward. The maid’s eyes dropped at once.