The Earl's Treasure: A Treasure Tale Page 3

  “She just turned down a chance to dance with a baron’s son. Is that not what I mean? I feel she has been cooped up in the Maxwell estate all these years and has no idea how to rejoin society. Perhaps you…?”

  “Me? What are you asking? I am still in shock at seeing her after all these years.” Surprised how time had not dimmed her appeal, but he shouldn’t admit he thought her beautiful, or desirable, in front of the duchess. He’d find himself leg-shackled and standing at the altar before the strains of the country reel ended.

  Fanny smiled up at him. “She was always a pretty child and small, like a doll. I am afraid that dress does not fit her, as rumor has it that she had to borrow suitable clothes in order to join us tonight. It seems that Rupert left her with next to nothing, the scavenging dunderhead. How dare he traipse all over the far east and France while his wife worked her fingers to the bone to keep their estate from ruin?”

  “Maxwell traveled through France? During wartime?”

  “I suppose. An odd fellow. Good riddance.”

  Money was in short supply? “I thought Adele had a dowry? I thought of her family as wealthy, although not the reason father sent me away.”

  “What do you mean?” Fanny asked.

  He paused, to find the right words. “Father did not approve of her, or her family. She was not high born. Though she had a dowry, father expected me to find a woman without Scottish lineage. This is why I have worked hard to emulate my sire and my late brother.”

  “And not your mother. Hmm. I would rather see you live your life as the man you have grown to be. Your father and brothers’ lives did not end well.”

  That the duchess could speak of the dead so light-heartedly intrigued him, but not as much as the young woman who had stepped behind a column. “She is hiding from men.”

  The duchess sighed, then entwined her arm around his. “Rumors abound, of course, but I truly believe she endured an unhappy marriage. Rupert might have abused her.”

  Her whispered statement made blood rush through his veins. He grew cold and his vision darkened. That anyone could harm Adele, or any woman, was not to be borne. “If true, then I am glad he is dead. Otherwise, I would call him out.”

  Fanny smiled up at him once again and he let her lead him down the winding staircase toward the dance floor. Destiny might have forced him to carry the unwanted title of the Earl of Larchmont, but he felt like a young lad about to fall once again beneath the spell of a pretty Scottish lass.

  Chapter 3

  Adele wiped her clammy palms down the front of her borrowed blue gown, and watched her friend, Jacqueline, twirl around the ballroom. The man who wore a garish light-blue jacket and puce waistcoat had asked Adele to dance, but she’d politely refused. After suggesting he ask Jacqueline, she had slipped behind a column. Glancing around from her hiding spot, her attention centered on the woman descending the grand staircase.

  She wanted to thank Fanny for inviting her to the ball, though staying at home with a good book would have been a lot less trouble. Her change from a carefree young lass into a recluse was her husband’s fault. “Damn ye, Rupert!”

  Adele covered her mouth with her hand. Her Scottish accent was something Rupert had tried in vain to beat out of her. “Live up to your name, woman!” he told her, more than once.

  Her Scottish sire had given her an illustrious English name. Adele meant nobility, and he wanted a noble English title for her and the generations to come. She’d proved barren after years of marriage, so the joke was on him. Her palm went to her flat stomach and tears formed behind her closed eyes. She dreamed from an early age of being a mother.

  With a deep, cleansing breath, she opened her eyes and peeked through a fern, finding the duchess headed her way with a man at her elbow, but the fern wavered, blocking the view. If Adele said her goodbyes and took her leave, she could make it home before the snow deepened. Each time the footman opened the front door, a gust of icy wind blew past her hiding spot.

  “I am not hiding.” Another lie, but one easy to rectify. She had yet to thank the duke, but would approach Fanny with her shoulders back, and her head held high.

  As she stepped from behind the column, shoving aside the broad leaf of one of the duke’s potted plants, a large man impeded her progress. He smelled of horses and his less than pristine faded green woolen jacket appeared threadbare. Maybe someone’s footman or the duke’s stable master?

  “Pardon me. ’Tis something amiss?” she asked him, while trying to slip past his bulky form.

  “Aye, and if ye know what’s good fer ye, ye will follow me outside.”

  Adele stared up at him and at the scowl marring his rugged features. His wind-swept hair appeared dirty. Were those blades of straw tangled in the rough-shorn locks? “I beg yer pardon?”

  When he snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her toward the main doors, she resisted. As a scream bubbled to her lips, he clamped a hand over her mouth. Couldn’t anyone see what was happening? She wasn’t dressed for the out-of-doors, yet catching the ague was the least of her worries. He stood nearly a foot taller and twice her weight. His grubby hand fit over her mouth and nose. She couldn’t breathe!

  Her mind and body went into a survival mode, similar to what occurred when Rupert drank to excess. The few times he spent the night at Maxwell Hall, were nights she didn’t sleep. To stay alive, she had to keep her wits about her.

  Then, and now.

  He had trapped her arms against her sides, but her legs? Free! She twisted just enough to face him. With a swift jerk of her knee she planted the hard bone of her kneecap into his genitals, hidden beneath his mud-brown trousers.

  “Oof!” When he bent over in pain, his hold over her mouth loosened.

  “Help me!”

  Pulling her arms free, she pushed against him. She almost escaped, but he grabbed the dark blue ribbon tied at her back. A loud ripping sound brought her to a stop the same moment a black form rushed past her.

  When she caught her breath and blinked, her well-dressed savior stood beside the groaning man, who had landed like a stack of bricks between the grand staircase and the entryway.

  Fanny cried out and clasped her palms to her cheeks. Several gentlemen, whom she recognized as the duke and his cousin, Bryce, stood beside the tall man, who had pummeled Adele’s attacker.

  The orchestra halted mid-score and the dancing couples slid to a stop. Candles continued to glitter, as if nothing had changed. When a footman opened the front door, welcoming another couple in from the cold, a breeze slapped her cheek, but everything else had gone quiet. Jacqueline grabbed Adele’s arm, pulling her into her side.

  “Mon Dieu! Your gown is torn, my friend. Stay beside me,” Jacqueline whispered.

  All thoughts of the cold and her attacker fell away, and she stepped closer to her friend. Jacqueline pulled her farther from the growing crowd. “Jacqueline? Did ye see?”

  “Oui. A tall, handsome gent, the one who accompanied Fanny down the staircase, rushed toward you. I, on the other side of the dance floor, could not see more. What happened?”

  “That man on the ground grabbed me. I screamed and then I was free. Did my rescuer actually strike him?” Adele caught her breath watching Fanny, who talked heatedly to the man standing over the creature.

  “Oui, Adele. He flew to your aid.”

  “That stranger tried to force me outside.”

  “In this weather?”

  Adele glared at Jacqueline.

  “What I mean, mon amie, that if he had wished to accost you in an intimate manner, taking you out into the frigid night sounds like poor planning.”

  Her words made sense, but something struck her as odd about the strange man’s actions. Until those reasons became clear, she owed her savior her appreciation.

  “I must thank that gentleman.”

  “Oui, a thank you is in order, but stay beside me. Be brief, then we need to find the ladies retiring room. Your dress requires repair.”

  She nodded and together they approached Fanny and the man in black evening attire.

  When Fanny noticed them, she reached out, cupped Adele’s cheek, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Oh, my dear, what is this all about? We were coming to talk to you, and saw this person…” she pointed to the groaning lump on the ground, “pulling you toward the door. Why was he taking you away?”

  “Fanny, I have no idea.”

  “What did you say to him? You must have promised something that required privacy,” the gentleman said accusingly, as he turned to face her.

  Adele was prepared to defend her actions, but when she settled her gaze on his blue eyes and disheveled dark brown hair, recognition stole her breath. He wore his hair longer than she remembered. His white cravat lay askew with a small slash of tan skin peeking above it, as if he had spent years out of doors.

  Everything else? Black; pantaloons, vest, and jacket. The somber color made him look like an older version of the boy she once knew. His shoulders were broader than she remembered and he towered over her.

  Oh, Dear Lord! Is this really the boy I once loved?

  At her intimate perusal, he slipped one hand into the pocket of his jacket, while his left eyebrow tilted upward.

  Handsome as I remembered and his chin and cheekbones appeared sharper, like chiseled granite.

  Heat rose up her face while the pit of her stomach tightened the moment his words sunk in.

  She stepped forward unwittingly, forcing Jacqueline to let go. Her dress parted from her hip to her left bosom and Fanny gasped. Adele grabbed the fabric to close her torn gown, but not fast enough. Her savior’s blue eyes widened and his perfect lips spread into a slight grin. Her stomach flipped, and her anger rose, until Jacqueline pushed her toward the stairs.

  Adele cursed beneath her breath, and Jacqueline chuckled. “Oui, curse as much as you wish in Gaelic. The meaning is clear enough.”

  When they reached the landing, Adele turned, facing the man who barely resembled the boy she once knew. He stepped on the bottom stair, as if he had planned to follow them. She glared at him, bringing him to a sudden stop.

  “I know not that bastard, nor did I do anything to lead him astray. Ye, my lord, of all people, should know of promises made in the heat of a kiss. Know ye how easily discarded said promises are, as well.”

  ***

  Stone met the glare burning in Adele Hartwell’s eyes. Nay, she is Adele Maxwell, now. What did her reply to his statement mean? What had he said? “You must have promised something that required privacy.”

  Yes, I sounded quite harsh.

  However, she had accused him of breaking promises. He had never promised her, or any woman, more than his company. He and Adele had grown up together during the summers he visited his grandfather’s castle, near her home in Scotland. The last time he’d been with her, they had kissed for the first time. He had promised nothing.

  She’d run away from him, hadn’t she? Soon after their shared brief kiss, he had left for Eton, then the battlefield where he could have died. Truth be told, he should have died on that field in Belgium.

  Recalling the terror in her cry for help minutes earlier, the anger fell away and he rushed up to the landing. Jacqueline stepped aside, her pink gown rustling around her.

  “Dance with me.” The words tumbled from his mouth, of their own accord.

  Adele’s eyes grew wide. With anger, or alarm? Before she could say no, or request aid from her brown-haired friend, he wrapped her hand around his forearm and tugged her down the stairs. As he pulled her onto the dance floor, she resisted.

  “Nay! My dress is torn!”

  She clasped her hand tight against the long rip in the silken fabric. He set his palm beside hers on the torn remnants. With the fabric controlled against reopening and the strains of a waltz filling the ballroom, he twirled her around the dance floor. They must have looked odd, since she did not settle one of her hands on his shoulder. Instead, they both kept pressure along the gown’s torn side.

  The dance steps made her gown flare outward at the hem and the frown lines along Adele’s brow softened, as if she enjoyed dancing. Their shared grip must have loosened, because the ripped fabric pulled wider. When he caught the flash of a white undergarment, he twirled her off the floor. His fingers itched to rip the rest of the gown from her petite curves, which wouldn’t be civil. Not here. At least, not tonight. Instead, he grasped the hand not holding the fabric closed and led her to the first landing. Trembling fingers squeezed his, then let him go. Alarm made his eyes widen and his blood run cold. He would not let her hurt him again. He released her to her pretty friend.

  “I beg your pardon, my lady. Please repair your gown, so that you may return and use your charms on other more biddable men.” Stone did not remain to hear her answer.

  He returned to Fanny’s side. The duchess looked pale and confused. Before asking her why, he turned his attention to the man who had accosted Adele. The groaning lump had vanished.

  “Where is he?”

  The duchess fanned her face, then gripped his forearm. “When Payton and Bryce were discussing where to detain him, he jumped to his feet and barreled past my footman. Poor Steadman is beside himself for allowing him to escape.”

  The footman in question caught Stone’s eye. Stepping out of hearing of the duchess, Stone waited for the man’s report. His uniform’s collar was askew and he limped.

  Steadman bowed, then grimaced in pain. “My lord, I apologize. I assume you wanted the gent to hang around a bit, but he slammed into me, and I nearly toppled old Lord Grayson to the floor.” The servant, a former soldier the duchess had hired at Stone’s suggestion, saluted him.

  “Do not concern yourself, Steadman. If I thought he could move from where I’d laid him out, I would have sent for more servants, or told the duke not to turn his back. Did you see where he headed, once he made it out into the courtyard? Did he meet an accomplice?”

  “Sorry, my lord. By the time I untangled myself from Lord Grayson, he had fled. The only people not inside the great house are the coach drivers, and most are in the stables with their animals, keeping out of the cold and snow.”

  The falling snow would obliterate any track but with the stranger no longer on the premises, there was no sense in worrying any longer. No one would allow the brute inside again, though it remained a mystery how he had gained admittance.

  As if reading his mind, Steadman whispered, “I will alert the rest of the household, even those in the kitchen. No one they are not familiar with shall gain entry.”

  “Good man.” That the large, unkempt stranger had tried to drag Adele away was the real mystery. She did not appear to know the man, and had hidden behind a column and several potted plants. He, himself, had only realized Adele had arrived the moment her friend in the pink gown had pulled her to the edge of the dance floor.

  “Steadman, the man dressed coarsely, not as if he arrived intending to dance. I doubt he gained admittance through the front door.”

  “True enough, my lord. I have been vigilant.”

  “I meant no disrespect. He must have sneaked in another way. Could he be a stable hand, or a passing neighbor? Had a man delivered food by entering through the kitchen, then decided to dally with a lady? Do your best Steadman, and order the grounds searched. Leave someone you trust at the door, first.”

  The man’s blatant attempt to take Adele disturbed him and he had ruined her gown. A pity, as Stone wanted to dance with her for longer than a few minutes. No, he must not open old wounds. He unconsciously raised a hand to his left shoulder where the bullet exited and rubbed the scar beneath his evening clothes.

  Clenching the hand that had clasped her ripped dress, he recalled feeling the heat of her skin through the sheer fabric underneath. Her scent had wafted up, filling him with the summertime aroma of roses. Once she fixed her gown, would she consider finding another dance partner? How did he feel about that? Should he keep his distance? His life was in enough upheaval.

  “Maybe I should have followed her and her young friend above stairs.” No, she acted angry with him, and for good reason. Best to let her calm down, first.

  When someone brushed his arm, he raised a fist.

  “Forgive me, Livingstone, I did not mean to surprise you.”

  “Casualty of war, I’m afraid. How may I help you?”

  Fanny didn’t answer. She had grown pale and chewed her plump bottom lip with worry, as if the debacle had ruined tonight’s gathering.

  “Fanny, let us fetch a cup of wine and forget this momentary mayhem. He is gone, and Adele…Lady Maxwell… is perfectly fine. I cannot say the same for her gown, but her friend is attentive and is assisting her.”

  “Miss Jacqueline? Yes, she will make her right as rain.”

  “A lovely name. Do I know her?” He wondered at the young woman’s very French given name. The war, and Napoleon’s rise to power in the country on the other side of the channel sliced like a raw wound across English soil.

  “Her mother. French, you see, and she has been hiding in the country,” Fanny added, as if understanding his curiosity about the gel.

  “Hiding?”

  “Keeping to herself at her father’s estate and I felt I should reach out to her. Miss Jacqueline has been a shoulder for Lady Maxwell to cry on, this past year. They have become fast friends.”

  “Yes, I noticed Miss Bartholomew immediately took charge. I am happy Adele has acquired such a friend.”

  The duchess huffed, leaning closer. “I dare say, you must not refer to Lady Maxwell by her given name. People shall talk.” Her smile quirked, then she frowned.

  Why did he continue to think of Adele as his childhood friend, the girl he had fallen in love with long ago? “I beg your pardon. I meant no disrespect to the lady. I am surprised to see her, after all these years. Nearly ten, if memory serves. It will take some time to think of her as anything but little Adele.”