Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle Page 5

  Difficult to counter that argument, Lenore thought, giving conscious effort to maintaining her calm smile as she permitted Eversleigh to place her hand on his sleeve and lead her away from the fireplace. As she fell into step beside him, she saw her aunt’s maid Janet and her father’s valet Moreton slip into the room. As soon as her father and his sister had finished their tea, it was their invariable custom to retire. Mr. Pritchard would have already gone up. Given what she sensed of the mood of the guests, Lenore felt her own departure would not long be delayed. Catching sight of the Ladies Moffat and Harrison, still under the wing of Frederick Marshall, she decided to drop them a hint.

  She attempted to veer in their direction, but her escort prevented her, trapping her hand on his sleeve and raising his brows in mute question.

  “I should just like a word with Lady Harrison, Your Grace.” Lenore seasoned her request with a smile and was surprised to see her companion shake his head.

  “Not a good idea, I’m afraid.”

  When she stared blankly at him, Jason explained, “I fear I make Lady Harrison and Lady Moffat somewhat nervous.”

  Lenore decided she could hardly blame them. Waspishly, she replied, “If you were to suppress your tendency to flirt, my lord, I dare say they would manage.”

  “Flirt?” Jason turned his gaze full upon her. “My dear Miss Lester, you have that entirely wrong. Gentlemen such as I never flirt. The word suggests a frivolous intent. My intentions, I’ll have you know, are always deadly serious.”

  “Then you are at the wrong house, Your Grace. I have always considered the theme of my brothers’ parties to be entirely frivolous.” Lenore had had enough. If he was going to use her to sharpen his wit upon, then two could play at that game.

  “I see,” Jason replied, a smile hovering on his lips. He started to stroll again, Lenore perforce gliding beside him. “So you consider this week to have no purpose beyond the frivolous?”

  Lenore opened her eyes wide, gesturing at the throng about them. “My lord, you have visited here before.”

  Jason inclined his head. “Tell me, Miss Lester. Am I right in detecting a note of disdain, even censure, in your attitude to your brothers’ parties?”

  Catching the quizzical look in his eyes, Lenore chose her words carefully. “I see nothing wrong in my brothers’ pursuit of pleasure. They enjoy it and it causes no harm.”

  “But such pleasures are not for you?”

  “The frivolous is hardly my style, Your Grace.” Lenore delivered that statement with feeling.

  “Have you tried it?”

  Lenore blinked.

  “With the right companion, even frivolous pastimes can be enjoyable.”

  Lenore kept her expression blank. “Really? But no doubt you are an expert on the topic, Your Grace?”

  Jason laughed lightly, a smile of genuine appreciation curving his lips. “Touché, Miss Lester. Even I have my uses.”

  Oddly warmed by his smile, Lenore found herself smiling back. Before she could do more than register that fact, he was speaking again.

  “But tell me, given your antipathy for the frivolous, do you enjoy organising such events as these, or do you suffer it as a duty?”

  Try as she might, Lenore could see no hidden trap in that question. Tilting her head, she considered the point. “I rather think I enjoy it,” she eventually admitted. “These parties are something of a contrast to the others we have from time to time.”

  “Yet you take no part in your brothers’ entertainments?”

  “I fear my pursuits are in more serious vein.”

  “My dear Lenore, whatever gave you the idea the pursuit of pleasure was not a serious enterprise?”

  Lenore stopped, jerked to awareness by his use of her name. She drew away and he let her, but the fingers of the hand that had rested on hers curled about her hand. “I have not made you a present of my name, Your Grace,” she protested, putting as much force into the rebuke as her sudden breathlessness allowed.

  Jason raised a laconic brow, his eyes steady on her. “Need we stand on such ceremony, my dear?”

  “Definitely,” Lenore replied. Eversleigh was too dangerous to encourage.

  With an oddly gentle smile, he inclined his head, accepting her verdict. Only then did Lenore look about her. They were no longer in the drawing-room but on the terrace. A darted glance added the shattering information that no one else had yet ventured forth. She was alone, with Eversleigh, with only the sunset for chaperon.

  Feeling a curious species of panic stir in her breast, Lenore looked up, but the grey gaze was veiled.

  “It seems somewhat odd that you should so willingly organise, yet remain so aloof from the fruits of your labour.”

  Eversleigh’s tone of polite banter recalled her to their conversation. Guardedly, Lenore responded. “The entertainments themselves are not my concern. My brothers organise the frivolity. I…merely provide the opportunity for our guests to enjoy themselves.” She looked away, across the rolling lawns, trying to concentrate on her words and deny the distraction assailing her senses. Her hand was still trapped in Eversleigh’s; his fingers, long and strong, gently, rhythmically stroked her palm. It was such an innocent caress; she did not like to call attention to what might be no more than absent-minded oversight. He did not appear to be intent on seduction or any similar nefarious endeavour. She strolled with him when he moved to the balustrade and stood, one hand on the stone, her skirts brushing his boots.

  About them, the warm glow of twilight fell on a world burgeoning with summer’s promise. The sleepy chirp of larks settling in the shrubbery ran a shrill counterpoint to the distant lowing of cattle in the fields. The heady perfume of the honeysuckle growing on the wall below the terrace teased her senses.

  Glancing up through her lashes, she saw that Eversleigh’s features remained relaxed, hardly open but without the intentness she was learning to be wary of. His gaze scanned the scene before them, then dropped to her face.

  “So—you are the chatelaine of Lester Hall, capable and gracious, keeping to your own serious interests despite the lure of fashionable dissipation. Tell me, my dear, have you never felt tempted to…let your hair down?”

  Although, as he spoke, his eyes lifted to the neat braids, coiled in a coronet of gold about her head, Lenore knew his question was not about her coiffure. “It’s my belief that what you term fashionable dissipation only results in unnecessary difficulties, Your Grace. As I find more delight in intellectual pursuits, I leave frivolous pastimes to those who enjoy them.”

  “And what particular intellectual pursuits are you engaged in at present?”

  Lenore studied him straightly but saw only genuine interest. “I’m undertaking a study of the everyday life of the Assyrians.”

  “The Assyrians?”

  “Yes. It’s quite fascinating discovering how they lived, what they ate and so on.”

  Contemplating the fullness of her lips with a far from intellectual interest, Jason assimilated the information that the lady topping his list of prospective brides considered ancient civilisations of more interest than the present. It was, he decided, an opinion he could not let go unchallenged. “I would not wish to belittle your studies in any way, my dear, but if I might give you a piece of advice, drawn from my extensive experience?”

  Warily, half convinced she should refuse to hear him but tempted, none the less, to learn what he was thinking, Lenore nodded her acquiescence.

  “Don’t you think it might be wise to sample the pleasures that life has to offer before you reject them out of hand?”

  For one instant, Lenore nearly succeeded in convincing herself that he could not mean what she thought he did. Then his lids rose; again she found her gaze trapped in silver-grey. Her thoughts scattered, her breathing suspended. A curious lassitude seeped through her limbs, weighting them, holding her prisoner for the warmth that slowly, inexorably rose, a steady tide pouring through her veins from the wellspring where his thumb slowly circled
her palm. Dimly, as if it was the only thing that might save her, she struggled to find an answer to his unanswerable question, something—anything—to distract the powerful force she could feel engulfing her. Wide-eyed, she knew she was lost when she saw the grey of his eyes start to shimmer.

  With faultless timing Jason drew her nearer. Too experienced to take her into his arms, he relied on the strength of the attraction flaring between them to bring her to him. When her gown brushed his coat he arched one brow gently. When she remained silent, he smiled down into her wide green eyes. “There’s a world here and now that you’ve yet to explore, Lenore. Aren’t you curious?”

  Held speechless by a timeless fascination, Lenore forced her head to shake.

  The lips only inches from hers curved. “Liar.”

  Against her will, the word fixed her attention on his lips. Lenore swallowed. Her own lips were dry. Quickly, she passed the tip of her tongue over them.

  Jason’s sudden intake of breath startled Lenore. She felt turbulence shake his large frame, then it was gone. Abruptly, his hands came up to close about her shoulders, setting her back from him.

  “The perils of an innocent.” His lips twisting wryly, Jason gazed into her confused green eyes. “And you are still an innocent, are you not, sweet Lenore?”

  Whether it was his tone or the shattering caress of his thumb across her lower lip that called it forth, Lenore’s temper returned with a rush. Clinging to the revitalising emotion, she thrust her chin in the air, her heart thundering in her ears. “Not all women are driven by desire, Your Grace.”

  She was not prepared for the long, assessing look that earned her. To her fevered imagination, Eversleigh’s silver eyes held her pinned, like so much prey, while he decided whether to pounce.

  Eventually, one winged brow rose. “Is that a challenge, my dear?”

  His voice, softly silky, sounded infinitely dangerous.

  Lenore lost her temper entirely. “No, it is not!” she replied, irritated with Eversleigh and his unnerving questions, and with herself, for ever having let him get so far. “I am not here to provide sport for you, my lord. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Lenore swung on her heel and marched back through the door. Damn Eversleigh! He had thoroughly addled her wits with all his questions. She refused to be a challenge—not for him—not for any man. Stopping by the side of the room to glance over the sea of guests, far more rowdy now than before, Lenore forced herself to breathe deeply. Thrusting the entire unnerving episode from her mind, she looked for Lady Moffat and Lady Harrison. They were nowhere to be seen. Amelia, likewise, had departed.

  Unobtrusively, Lenore made her way to the door, appalled at the extent of her inner turmoil. She would have to avoid Eversleigh.

  Which was a pity, for she had enjoyed his company.

  CHAPTER THREE

  SHE WOULD NOT allow him to take command again. Lenore descended the long staircase at ten the next morning, determined that today would see no repetition of yestereve’s foolishness. Beneath the smooth surface of her blue pinafore, worn over a beige morning gown, her heart beat at its accustomed pace. With luck and good management it would continue to do so for the rest of the week.

  Years before, she had set her face against marriage, the conventional occupation for women of her station. From all she had seen, matrimony had nothing desirable to offer that she did not already have. She preferred life calm and well-organised; a husband, with the duties and obediences that entailed, let alone the emotional complications, could only disrupt her peace. Hence, she had expended considerable effort in establishing a reputation for eccentricity, while avoiding any gentlemen who might prove a danger to her future. To her select band of acquaintances she was the knowledgeable Miss Lester, sure to be engaged in some esoteric study, a lady of satisfactory wealth and impeccable breeding, fully absorbed with her varied interests, with running her household and her father’s estates. And, at twenty-four, beyond the reach of any man.

  Or so she had thought. Stopping to shuffle the bright flowers in the vase on the upper landing, Lenore frowned. She had encouraged her brothers to invite their friends to Lester Hall, hoping the activity would cheer her father. He was still recovering from his long illness and, she knew, liked the lively bustle and laughter. She had been confident that, now she was an experienced woman, she stood in no danger from exposure to the gentlemen who would attend.

  It had taken Eversleigh less than twelve hours to shake the confidence.

  Dusting pollen from her fingers, Lenore straightened, forcing her mind to a more positive bent. She was making too much of the situation; she had nothing to fear. Despite his awesome reputation, no one had ever accused Eversleigh of stepping over the line. He was curious, certainly, given that he had seen past her fade. But, until she had declared her lack of interest in fashionable dalliance, he had not been the least lover-like.

  Closing her eyes in momentary frustration, Lenore sighed, then, opening them, stared down the main flight of stairs. She should have known that giving vent to her sentiments would have acted on Eversleigh like a red rag to a bull. No rake could resist such a challenge. Certainly not one who, by all accounts, had half the London belles at his feet.

  Luckily, the reins were still very much in her grasp. Given that she had insufficient defence against him, the only sane course was to avoid him. Absence was a barrier not even he could surmount.

  Below her, the house was quiet. All the ladies would still be abed, too exhausted or too timid to have descended to the parlour for breakfast. The gentlemen, she hoped, would have quitted the house by now. Harry had had a long ride planned to show off his racing colts, stabled at a distant farm.

  Determined to adhere to wisdom’s dictates, Lenore started down the last of the stairs.

  The billiard-room door opened.

  “Damn your luck, Jason! One day, I vow, I’ll have your measure—then I’ll exact retribution for all these defeats.”

  Recognising her brother Jack’s voice, and realising that there was only one Jason among the guests, Lenore froze, wildly contemplating retreat. But it was too late. Strolling forward into the hall, Jack glanced up and saw her.

  “Lenore! Just the person. Look here—this blackguard has just taken me for twenty-five guineas and I’ve no more than five on me. Settle for me, will you, dear sister?”

  The request was accompanied by a look of meltingly innocent appeal that Lenore had never been known to resist. She could not do so now, but oh, how she wished she could tell her exasperating brother to settle his own debts. At least, those with Eversleigh. With no alternative offering, Lenore descended to the hall. “Yes, of course.” Poised, serene, she turned to greet Jack’s companion.

  Jason took the small hand offered him, noting the nervous flutter of her fingers, like a small bird trapped within his hand. “Good morning, Miss Lester. I trust you slept well?”

  “Perfectly, thank you,” Lenore lied, retrieving her hand.

  “I must off and look at the dogs—Higgs said something about an infection. Papa would have apoplexy if anything serious transpired. I’ll meet you at the stables, Eversleigh.” With a brisk nod, Jack took himself off.

  Viewing her brother’s retreating back with uneasy resignation, Lenore murmured, “If you’ll come this way, Your Grace?”

  Jason inclined his head, falling into step beside her as she led the way down the corridor to a door beyond the billiard-room. It gave on to a small office tucked partly under the stairs. A single window looked out over the lawns behind the house. Ledgers marched, row upon row, along the bookshelves covering one wall. Jason watched as Lenore sat behind the old desk, its surface covered with neat piles of papers and accounts, and drew a key from the small pocket at her waist.

  “Is this your domain?”

  Lenore looked up. “Yes. I manage the household and the estate.”

  Propping his shoulders against the window-frame, Jason rais
ed one winged brow. “I’ve often wondered how Jack and Harry manage. They rarely seem to feel the need to spend time husbanding their acres.”

  Lenore’s lips curved. “As there always seems to be an abundance of entertainments elsewhere to keep them busy and as I find the occupation amusing, we long ago reached an understanding.”

  “But it can’t be straightforward, not being the one in authority?”

  Straightening an account book, left open on the blotter before her, Lenore allowed one brow to rise. “I’ve always been here, and everyone about knows who runs Lester Hall.” From behind her spectacles, she viewed the lean length so negligently displayed by the window. Eversleigh dominated her small room, filling it with an aura of masculine energy. At the moment, however, he seemed reassuringly relaxed. Lenore yielded to the promptings of curiosity. “Tell me, Your Grace, do you directly manage your own estates?”

  One arrogant brow flew. “Certainly, Miss Lester. That is one responsibility I cannot and would not wish to deny.”

  “What, then, do you think of these Corn Laws of ours, sir?” Eyes alight, Lenore clasped her hands on the desk and leaned forward eagerly.

  Jason paused, studying her face, then replied, “They’re not working, Miss Lester.”

  What followed was a conversation that, for his part, Jason would never have believed possible. But Lenore had the questing nature of a bloodhound once she realised he understood first-hand the ramifications of the controversial agricultural laws.

  Finally, her thirst for knowledge appeased, she sat back with a sigh. “So you believe they will be repealed?”

  “Eventually,” Jason admitted, his arms crossed over his chest. “But it will be some time before that’s achieved.”

  Lenore nodded, her mind still busy cataloguing all she had learned. It was a rare blessing to find a gentleman able and willing to discuss such matters with her. Her father had long since lost touch with the outside world; her brothers cared nothing for the political sphere. And there were few gentlemen among her select circle who held estates large enough to comprehend the negative effects of the reactionary laws.