Anna Campbell - A Scoundrel By Moonlight

Her veiled hostility didn’t douse his sexual interest. It fired him up. There was something exciting about a woman who didn’t fawn over him and imagine herself either his marchioness or his mistress.

With a turn of her graceful body that made his heart leap, the girl reached for a book. She sat in profile, so he saw the delicate nose and resolute chin so incongruous on a housemaid. His hands itched to tear away the pins torturing her bright hair. He mightn’t trust her, but by God, she was a pleasure to behold.

Whereas his mother didn’t look well. He frowned, hardly hearing Miss Trim begin to read. Then, like his mother, he found himself caught up in the racy tale.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

Not that remorse did not oppose temptation;

A little still she strove, and much repented.

And whispering, “I will ne’er consent” — consented.

On the line’s sting in the tail, Miss Trim noticed Leath in the doorway. While the duchess snickered, the girl’s cinnamon eyes widened. Fleetingly he saw no trace of dislike. He wished to Hades he did. Instead he was astonished to discover that his reluctant attraction wasn’t one-sided.

Like wanton Lady Julia in the poem, Miss Trim’s expression spoke of resistance—but also desire. If they were alone, he’d sweep her into his arms and kiss her until she yielded to what they both wanted.

This was a bloody disaster.

“Go on, Nell. This is so delicious.”

“My lady, Lord Leath is here.”

When his mother glanced toward him, her weary face briefly brightened. “Darling, come and listen. Nell’s reading me a naughty poem.”

“You’re too young for Byron.” Leath deposited his brown paper parcel on a gilt and marble table, then kissed his mother’s cheek.

“Nell is,” his mother said with another smile. “It’s most shocking what that libertine got up to. I remember all the gossip, of course. This adventure must be based on real life.”

“Byron was a rake, Mother.”

“And you didn’t like him, I know.”

“I didn’t.” He remembered the brilliant, troubled, troublesome man he’d met briefly as a youth. “He was an entertaining fellow, and clever with it, but he left a good many ladies the worse for knowing him. I can’t admire someone so addicted to selfish pleasure that he was cavalier about the harm he did.”

The blaze of heat in Miss Trim’s eyes had cooled to curiosity. He couldn’t imagine why she cared about his opinion of the notorious poet. Leath certainly wasn’t the only person in England to frown upon his activities.

Hell, he needed to stop staring moonstruck at his mother’s companion. He turned back to the table and lifted the parcel. “I’ve brought you a present.”

His mother tried to sit up and Miss Trim rushed to assist with a gentleness that Leath couldn’t help noting. “Oh, how wonderful. I love presents.”

He held the box out. “Careful. It’s heavy.”

“Not diamonds, then?” she asked playfully.

“Not today.”

Miss Trim fetched scissors to cut the string. “I’ll finish those letters, my lady.”

“No, stay, Nell. This looks intriguing.”

His mother tore at the paper, as excited as a child at a birthday party, then reached inside the box. “James, and you pretended to disapprove.”

“How could I disapprove of anything that gives you such enjoyment?”

She drew out a beautifully tooled volume in dark green leather. “ The Fair Maid of Perth. How wonderful.”

“I asked Hatchards to send their most popular books. There’s now a standing order each month. If you find that doesn’t meet your needs, they’ll increase it.”

“How can I thank you?” His mother’s eyes sparkled as she looked at him.

He often sent her gewgaws, jewelry or scarves or trinkets for her rooms. But he couldn’t remember her getting such pleasure from a gift. And it had been so simple to arrange. He felt like a fool that he hadn’t thought of it earlier, and unreasonably nettled that he’d needed Miss Trim to point out how a good book or two might brighten his mother’s restricted existence.

“What fun we shall have, Nell.”

“Indeed, my lady,” the girl said neutrally. Leath cast her another glance and was surprised to see that she studied him without her usual reserve. Instead, she regarded him as if he was a puzzle she couldn’t put together. He wondered why. The mystery here was Nell Trim, not the Marquess of Leath.

“Can you stay, James?”

“Of course,” he said, although now he paid closer attention to his estates, he was surprised how much work it took to run them. Even more surprising was how he enjoyed meeting the challenge of his vast inheritance.

“Lovely. Perhaps Nell will read on. She’s most entertaining.”

He stifled a groan. The last thing he needed was that low, husky, damnably suggestive voice describing seduction.

“I’m sure his lordship doesn’t want to listen to me,” Miss Trim said.

She’d avoided him recently. Was she still smarting after their talk in the library? Or had his mother told her that he’d tried to send her away?

“You should read James some of those agricultural reports that arrived yesterday,” his mother said drily.

“How did you know about those?” he asked, although he shouldn’t be surprised. His mother remained mistress of the house, despite rarely leaving her rooms.

“I have my spies,” she said. “They tell me that the ghosts are back.”

“What nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense. As a new bride, I saw Lady Mary on the battlements.”

“On a foggy night, Mamma.”

“I’m not the only one.”

“At least you were sober.”

His mother’s jaw firmed. They’d had this argument before. She fancied that the castle, parts of which dated to the fourteenth century, was haunted. “Lady Mary’s visiting us again.”

“On the battlements?”

“No, in the library. For the last three nights, lights have been seen after midnight.”

He thought he heard a strangled gasp from Miss Trim, but when he glanced at her, she’d lowered her eyes in her perfect servant pose.

“Who the devil’s skulking in the gardens at that hour?” he asked.

“Garson was watching for poachers.”

“And drinking to pass the time,” Leath said with grim amusement. “I’ll have a word with him. If my gamekeeper has taken to the bottle, he’s not safe wandering the property with a gun.”

“You mock, James, but you know it’s true that Lady Mary’s husband strangled her.”

“I know that’s true. I don’t know it’s true that she lingers to keep an eye on her descendants. And if she does, I doubt that she’s developed a taste for literature. Especially as I have it on good authority that my library is full of boring books.”

He didn’t look at Miss Trim. But his brain worked, even as he argued with his mother’s conclusions. Despite his joke, Garson wasn’t a drunkard. If he said he saw lights in the library, odds were that he had.

A determination to catch Miss Trim in the act gripped him. If he could prove to his mother that the girl meant no good, he could send her away.

And conquer this inconvenient itch to bed her.

Nell had read every thought that crossed the marquess’s mind when his mother told him about Lady Mary’s ghost. He’d known immediately who was flitting around his library. Fear had twisted her stomach into knots as she waited for him to denounce her. Then she’d realized that he’d take this as a golden opportunity to catch her prowling about.

Her suspicions were confirmed that evening when she saw Mr. Wells, the daunting butler, delivering a tray to the library. Obviously refreshments for his lordship’s watch.