A Mistletoe Masquerade Page 4

  She trudged upwards, one floor, then two. The handle of the jug was cutting into her fingers, but she could not use both hands and still see where she was going. The stairs unwound themselves onto a narrow landing-nothing more than a linking passage between wings, with the spiral stair to her turret curling up into the darkness on the other side.

  'Ouch.' Rowan dumped the jug on the flags, splashing the cooling water, and sat down on the top step, her back to the landing while she massaged her fingers back to life.

  'What's wrong?'

  She jumped, stumbling to her feet. Then her heel caught in her hem and she was falling, the stone stairs beneath her and nothing to hold on to.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  'I've got you.' She was stronger than he had guessed, twisting in his grasp and using his body as a counterweight to regain her balance. Lucas found himself with a warm armful of panting woman clutched to his chest, her hands clamped around his forearms.

  'Idiot!' She might only have been wearing light indoor shoes, but the force of her kick on his shins had him stepping back abruptly, pulling her with him. Of course-he might have known. It was Miss Lawrence, not some chambermaid with a twisted ankle.

  'Ouch,' he said mildly, setting her back from him. 'First my nose, now my shins. You are a dangerous woman, Daisy Lawrence.'

  'You would be in no danger at all if you kept your distance from me,' she snapped.

  The light was poor, and he could see little of her face, but her eyes sparked at him and he thought it a safe bet her expression was not one of simpering gratitude.

  He should, of course, let go. Only he found he did not want to, and she was clinging just as tightly, doing nothing to improve the set of his fourth-best evening coat. 'I thought you had hurt yourself.' An olive branch seemed in order. 'Twisted your ankle, perhaps.'

  'Instead of which I nearly broke my neck.' There was a sudden flash of white teeth as she smiled, her irritation vanished as rapidly as it had come. 'The hot water jug was hurting my fingers. I set it down while I rubbed them.' Her voice, now she was not scolding him, was soft and held a hint of tiredness.

  'Let me see.' They were still almost breast to breast. He could smell her, an unexpectedly sweet hint of gardenia and warm woman. Delicious. 'But you will have to let go of my arms.'

  'Oh! I am sorry, it was the shock.'

  She opened her hands as though he was hot: he rather feared he was. Very hot. Lucas took a steadying breath.

  'I am not good with heights, I must confess.' She waved him away as he tried to take her hand and lead her towards the candle, walking over to hold it close to the flame herself. 'See? It is heavier than I thought.'

  The sight of the whitened ridges on the smooth skin affected him strangely. He wanted to protect her, which was ridiculous; she was more than capable of standing up for herself. But those slim shoulders were not meant for lugging heavy cans of water about. She should be doing nothing more strenuous than brushing her mistress's hair. Then he recalled the sight of her, skin damp and rosy with the effort of brushing that skirt, and hefted the water jug before his imagination got any more out of control.

  'I'll carry this. Where is your room?'

  For a moment he thought she would refuse to tell him, then that secret smile lit up her eyes again. 'Thank you, that would be most kind. Up this turret stair. Another two flights, I'm afraid.'

  She's not in the least bit sorry, Lucas thought appreciatively. She is getting her own back. 'You come behind me, then, and hold the candle so it lights the steps at my feet.'

  The stairs were steep, twisting and ancient, worn in the centre and uneven in height. By the next landing Lucas was controlling his breathing. If he had been by himself he would have changed hands at that point, but he was damned if he was going to show any weakness in front of Daisy-and that realisation in itself was galling.

  'Here we are.' There was nowhere else to go. The stairs stopped in front of a planked door. Lucas lifted the latch and walked straight in. 'Thank you, Mr Lucas, I can manage now.'

  She was uncomfortable with him in the room. He should go. Lucas was very conscious that if Daisy had been a Society lady with whom he was flirting then he would let this game play out, stop and tease her a little, snatch a kiss before he left. But this was Daisy Lawrence, dresser, and it was not the action of a gentleman to take advantage of a servant.

  He turned and looked at her as she set the candle down on the mantel over the empty grate. The room was cold-almost he imagined he could see his own breath in the air. 'You need the fire lit.'

  'Yes. I had noticed that.'

  He noticed the way she reached for the shawl that lay on the end of the bed and dragged it round her shoulders, and that flare of protectiveness surprised him again, despite her sarcasm.

  'There is no need-' But he was already on his knees, reaching for the kindling that had been dumped on the hearth, building it into a neat stack and adding tiny pieces of coal from the bucket.

  'Am I depriving you of a treat? Do you enjoy making fires?' he asked mildly, concentrating on the delicate edifice.

  'I don't know. I have never built one.' She was kneeling beside him. Her admission almost had him dropping an over-large stick on the top of the stack.

  'What? Never?' Lucas sat back on his heels and studied her face in the thin light from the candle. 'You must be a very superior lady's maid, in that case. Can you pass me the light?'

  He touched the flame to the wood shavings and watched as they caught and smoke began to spiral up. Beside him, Daisy did not move, and he began to fuss a little with the fire so as to stay where he was. If her earlier career had omitted menial skills such as fire-lighting, that reinforced his suspicion that she was

  gently born, doubtless on the wrong side of the blanket, and had only recently had to make her own way.

  Which explained why she felt to him like a woman from his world, one he could talk to on equal terms. That and the spirit that told him she would take no nonsense from him whether he was a valet or a viscount.

  Rowan held out her hands to the flames, watching as the fire took hold of the wood shavings and kindling.

  'You have to feed it,' Lucas said, 'or it will flare up like your temper and be gone.' She reached out for some wood but he caught her hand. 'No-too big. That will flatten it.' He released her immediately, sorting through the wood and picking out suitable pieces while Rowan sat wondering why his touch was so unsettling.

  'Is Lord Danescroft a good master?' she asked abruptly.

  Lucas was placing a faggot, dropped it, and swore mildly under his breath. 'A good master?'

  Rowan had the impression he was stalling for time.

  'Yes. He seems to be. I have not been with him long. Why do you ask?'

  'I am concerned for Miss Maylin. There are the rumours, the Earl's demeanour. She is not a young woman who can cope with harshness.'

  'The rumours are just that. Rumours.'

  'Then there is no mystery about his wife's death?'

  'It appears to have been an accident. When young women who have been drinking creep around a darkened house by the back stairs in the small hours that is not so improbable.'

  'True.' She marked the underlying indignation as he spoke. 'So the rumours about the late Lady Danescroft are true, then, even if those about her husband are not?'

  'That she was unfaithful and that Danescroft's valet was one of her lovers? Yes, those rumours are true. A lady with the heart of a harlot, I fear.'

  'I see. How horrid. It seems worse, somehow, that the infidelity was so close, inside the household.'

  Lucas nodded abruptly.

  'You said one of her lovers-there were others?'

  'Yes.' He leaned forward and began to make up the fire with bigger pieces of wood.

  He spoke definitely, like a man who knew from his own knowledge, not from hearsay. The suspicion that Lucas was more than a recently employed valet began to stir.

  'Then what made her do it?'

  He turn
ed and looked at her, one eyebrow raised in sardonic enquiry.

  'Oh, I know what she wanted-but why was she not content with her husband? I've heard that she was light-hearted and gay before the marriage and that she changed afterwards.'

  'She changed when she was not allowed free rein for her every whim and passion,' Lucas said grimly, as he rocked back on his heels and stood up. 'Danescroft expected fidelity and decorum from his countess-quite unreasonably, in her opinion.'

  'So you do know something about this?' Daisy tipped back her head and looked up at him, standing tall and still on the hearthrug, his face unsettlingly underlit by the flames. 'Who are you, really, Lucas?'

  'His valet.'

  He turned and walked away from her so that his face was in shadow. She could not decide whether that was deliberate.

  'I observed them both at the time of the marriage and I had heard things about her character.'

  'So you must approve of your master seeking a new wife? One who will behave as befits a countess?'

  'I approve of him marrying again, yes. But not to that ninny-hammer of a mistress of yours, with her vulgarian of a stepmother.'

  Rowan scrambled to her feet with more energy than grace. 'Well, I do approve of her getting married-but not to some top-lofty, miserable recluse with a cloud hanging over him!'

  'Danescroft is not top-lofty and miserable-' Lucas began, then broke off, regarding her speculatively. 'But we are agreed upon something; it is a highly undesirable match from both sides. Does she want to marry him?'

  'No, she is frightened of him-and in any case, she has no ambition for high position.' Rowan bit her lower lip and regarded her unlikely ally. 'Nor talent for it, come to that. But he wants to marry her?'

  'He thinks he should marry, and Miss Maylin has been recommended by his grandmother. He needs a mother for his daughter. I don't know that want is the right word.'

  'What would prevent him proposing?' She had thought those dark blue eyes impertinent, alarming and intelligent by turns: now Rowan realised just how much humour they revealed as their owner narrowed them at her and grinned.

  'Why, Miss Daisy, you are not suggesting meddling in the affairs of our betters, are you?'

  'Yes,' she declared roundly. 'Yes, I am. And do not try and look surprised, Mr Lucas, it is exactly what you are thinking, too.'

  'In that case we had better do a little plotting.' He sat down on the edge of the narrow bed and patted the coverlet beside him.

  'You are sitting on my bed,' Rowan protested.

  'You didn't want to go to sleep yet, did you?'

  'No, and certainly not with you in the room. Get up. It is most improper.'

  'Anyone would think you were expecting a chaperon to burst into the room,' he said, his eyes laughing at her again. 'You really have not been out in the world very long, have you?'

  'Long enough,' Rowan observed grimly. 'Out.'

  'What about our little conspiracy?' He got to his feet, all long-limbed elegance.

  Rowan controlled her breathing as her singing teacher had taught her, went to the door and held it open.

  'We can discuss it perfectly well in daylight with the benefit of having considered it overnight.' She was pleased with the calm way she pronounced this. No one would guess what effect Lucas's nearness was having on her.

  'Very well. It is Sunday tomorrow. Will you allow me to escort you to church?' He stopped in front of her.

  Rowan fixed her gaze on the cut steel buttons of his waistcoat. 'I am far too lowly for your escort, Mr Lucas.'

  'No one will wonder at it. My master is courting your mistress. What could be more natural than that we should mirror that?'

  Startled, she looked up. 'Courting?'

  'Merely a masquerade, Miss Daisy. There is no cause for alarm.' He bent his head and his mouth brushed hers-warm, firm. Outrageous. 'See?'And then, before she could react, he was out of the door and vanishing into the dark spiral of the stairs.

  'Oh, you…!' Rowan shut the door, turned the key and stalked back to the bed in a swirl of skirts and indignation. She was no longer just being flirted with by a valet, she had been kissed by one. It was outrageous, it was shocking, it could not possibly go any further.

  But. But with his help she could save Penny from Lord Danescroft. And she liked him, impertinent wretch that he was. Attractive, masculine, amusing, impertinent wretch.

  'Oh, dear.' A charred piece of wood broke and fell into the hearth. Rowan went to lift it with the tongs and

  laid a few more pieces on the fire. Somehow she did not think she was going to get to sleep very quickly tonight.

  Briskly she drew the thin cotton curtains over the window, wondering what sort of view she was going to have in the morning light. Then she hung her nightgown over the back of the upright chair in front of the fire to warm while she undressed and washed.

  The water had cooled; the room was still chill. As she slipped into the nightgown she wondered if that was enough to account for the fact that she felt slightly shivery. She hoped it was. But the cold could not be blamed for the fact that her lips tingled, or that her imagination kept straying to an unknown room somewhere in the house where Lucas was perhaps undressing even now. His black coat would be hung on the back of a chair. He would be shrugging off his waistcoat, standing there in the candlelight in those tight breeches and the clinging white linen of his shirt…

  With a gasp of alarm Rowan snatched up her toothbrush and scrubbed her teeth with enough energy to take off the enamel. Never in her well-regulated life had she let herself speculate on what any man of her acquaintance looked like undressing, let alone with his clothes off.

  She just hoped Penny would appreciate all her efforts when she was able to escape from Tollesbury Court unattached. Because, besides aching feet, insipient chilblains and aching muscles, Rowan very much feared her moral fibre was going to be severely impaired by this experience.

  December 23rd

  Penelope seemed more than usually distracted when Rowan, stifling her yawns, came into the room.

  'Did you sleep well, Miss Penelope?' she asked, one eye on the chambermaid who had drawn the curtains and was whisking the hearth into order before rekindling the fire.

  'Yes, thank you Ro… Lawrence.' She sat up against the vast white pillows and rubbed her eyes. 'But I had such odd dreams. I cannot quite recall them, but I feel strangely flustered this morning.'

  Rowan considered her friend would feel even more flustered if she so much as hinted at the nature of the dreams she herself had experienced. Unfortunately she could recall them only too well, and as they had consisted mainly of variations on being kissed by Lucas, flustered was a mild description of her feelings.

  'Thank you,' Rowan said to the maid, who was gathering up her brushes and bucket. 'Please have Miss Maylin's hot chocolate sent up. A nice big pot and two cups. I don't care what they think downstairs,' she added once the girl had gone. 'I am not starting the day without my chocolate.'

  'Have you not had any breakfast?' Penny asked sympathetically.

  'I had some toast and preserves and a cup of coffee at six. Luckily they sent up a girl with hot water at half past five, or I would still be in bed asleep.'

  'Oh, poor Rowan. Is this proving very horrid?'

  'Very odd, certainly.' Rowan frowned, trying to work out why, despite everything, she seemed to be enjoying herself. It was very strange. 'But it will be worth it, I am certain.' Among the worries keeping her awake half the night had been whether to tell Penny about her pact with Lucas to foil the betrothal. On reflection, she thought not. Penny was certain to be shocked.

  'You are not to worry about Lord Danescroft,' she added bracingly as she opened a clothes press in search of Penny's best morning dress for church. 'I am sure we can succeed in putting him off.'

  'He is very attentive,' Penny observed. 'He has asked if I would like to join him in his phaeton to and from the church. Do you think I ought?'

  'Why, certainly.' Rowan opened the
door to admit the maid with the chocolate, and carried on carefully setting out Penny's garments while the girl was in the room. 'Quite unexceptional.' The girl went out and Rowan frowned, a pair of silk stockings screwed up in her hand. 'There will be no need for a chaperon in an open carriage like that, so you can say what you like. We must think of something shocking.' She poured the chocolate, handed Penny her cup and went to perch on the end of the bed to drink her own. 'I know-talk about how much you like to make wagers.'

  'What? But I cannot even play cards without making a mull of it,' Penny wailed. 'Papa shouts at me.'

  'No, not cards. Say you enjoy putting wagers on things, and then confess you are always losing money and never have any of your allowance left. What a bad example he will think you would be for his daughter! Don't forget to look contrite and say you wish you could stop but you can't.'

  'I'll try,' Penny said dubiously. 'But I am not a very good actress, and as for telling an untruth…'

  'Better a white lie than a lifetime married to that man,' Rowan said forcibly. 'I am walking to church with his valet. I will tell him about your gambling habit as well.' She glanced at the clock. 'Lord! Look at the time. We must get you dressed and down to breakfast before your godmother comes in search of you.'

  'Poor man,' Penny said, climbing out of bed and dragging on her wrapper.

  'Who?'

  'Lord Danescroft. All these people talking about him and intriguing about him. And now I have to lie to him.'

  'Penny,' Rowan said firmly, 'you have a heart of butter. If you start feeling sorry for the Earl, of all people, you are lost.'

  Penny still looked dubious. Rowan had a flash of inspiration prompted, she knew all too well, by her current preoccupation with Lucas.

  'Has your step mother explained what happens between a man and a woman? You know-in bed?'