Page 19 of The Dangerous Lord

Tears stung her eyes. Drat him for letting his excesses haul him to ruin! If not for his weakness for the enjoyments only his titled and wealthy friends could afford, he might have left a legacy as great as that of the brilliant Sir Christopher Wren. Instead, he’d left only a nearly destitute family and a few beautiful buildings. Fifty was too young to die. Too, too young.

The coach arrived at the imposing entrance, and she collected herself, wiping away the tears now dampening her cheeks. It was time to be the daughter of the brilliant Algernon once more—the clever Miss Taylor, the amusing Miss Taylor.

The penniless Miss Taylor. With a sigh, she braced herself for the servants’ condescension when they saw she’d traveled by hired coach. To her surprise, however, the butler supervising the unloading of her trunk was genuinely friendly. “The gentlemen are out shooting pheasant, miss, and the ladies just now went to join them for luncheon.”

“In this cold?”

“They’ve laid a shooting luncheon at a cottage on the estate. My lady said if you arrived in time and weren’t too tired, you’re welcome to join them.”

She wasn’t tired, but she’d half-hoped to wander the main house a while. Unfortunately, she suspected that Lady Worthing would prefer to show the house to her herself. Besides, this wasn’t a holiday—it was work. And the best time to hear gossip was when one’s subjects were relaxed. “I believe I will join them,” she told the butler.

“Very good, miss. The footman will show you the way.”

Despite the chilly air, the walk was pleasant, affording her a look at the grounds. Though winter had stripped leaves from the foliage and killed the grass, the number of trees and the shapes of the hills led her to think the grounds might be quite fine during summer. A copse startled her gaze in one place, a small, frozen pond glittered like a sapphire in another, and there was a long stand of overreaching oaks that Mama would have liked. Papa had always enjoyed the contrivances of mankind; Mama had preferred the contrivances of nature.

A short time later, Felicity spotted the hunting cottage the servant had described. Had Papa built this, too? Not Papa, surely. He hated anything rustic. And a wooden cottage with a thatched roof and barkless tree trunks for a door frame would certainly have offended his sensibilities.

The footman ushered her into a scene of warmth and energy. Three men crowded about the substantial fireplace, discussing the advantages of their weapons while Lady Worthing and another woman chatted in a corner, and the servants bustled about laying a feast of scotch broth, game pies, venison stew, and crusty bread.

As soon as Lady Worthing spotted her, she came forward with hand extended. “You’re here, after all! When you didn’t come last night, I feared the heavy snow might keep you away.”

Overwhelmed by the gracious greeting, Felicity hesitantly took her hostess’s hand. “Some business kept me in town quite late. Then I was afraid to venture out at night with the snow. Most of it had melted this morning, however, so I pressed on.”

At the sound of her voice, one of the gentlemen pivoted to stare at her. The Viscount St. Clair. She froze and her pulse quickened treacherously as his gaze locked with hers. Oh, why must he be here? And why must the sight of him strike her with both fear and anticipation?

Within the cramped confines of the cottage, he appeared even larger and more menacing than she remembered. Although his unruly hair and the color in his cheeks enhanced his masculine appeal, the flintlock rifle he held with casual ease did nothing to assuage her fears. In doeskin breeches and a forest green frock coat, he was the very picture of a hunter ready to fire on any troublesome creature thwarting him. Judging from the bulging game bag at his feet, he could use his weapon with great accuracy.

Her muscles tightened in alarm, but she forced them to relax. She was being silly. Even the arrogant Lord St. Clair dare not shoot her, for pity’s sake. Still, she’d feel far more comfortable if he clutched a cane instead of a gun.

Of course, his knowledge of her identity was nearly as dangerous. Would he expose her? Or had he taken her threats to heart?

“I’m delighted you went to so much trouble to get here,” Lady Worthing said warmly, her gaze flitting from Felicity to Lord St. Clair. “Now our party is complete.”

Felicity wrenched her gaze from the formidable Lord St. Clair. Only six of them? And so conveniently—or inconveniently—paired off? Oh, this would be disaster. “But Lady Worthing⁠—”

“You mustn’t stand on ceremony with me. You and I are nearly the same age, and if you’re as nice as your father said, I’m sure we’ll be friends. So please call me Sara.”

Stunned by this further evidence of her hostess’s graciousness, she stammered, “I-I’d be honored. And you must call me Felicity.” She paused. “Have all your guests arrived then?”

“Actually, yes. We expect a hundred at tonight’s ball, but no one else is staying at the manor. Mr. and Mrs. Kinsley were prevented from coming by a sudden emergency. And the Hastings’ were going to attend with Ian, but at the last minute, they couldn’t.” She cast Lord St. Clair an uncertain glance, then added, “Oh, but I’m forgetting myself. You haven’t met everyone, have you?”

At Felicity’s quick shake of the head, Sara turned to a man as tall as Lord St. Clair and introduced him as her husband Gideon. Felicity murmured a greeting as she studied him. This man had been a pirate? Why, his hair was short, and he bore himself like a gentleman. Perhaps the rumor had been overstated after all. She must find out while she was here, if only to assuage her own curiosity.

Sara introduced the older couple, who proved to be the Marquess and Marchioness of Dryden, Gideon’s parents. What an illustrious—and unusual—group she’d stumbled into, thanks to Papa’s talent. They’d make interesting companions for the next few days, but sadly wouldn’t provide her with material. Their familial association made it impossible to use what they said, for they’d guess that the only stranger in the group had been the one to pass on the rumors. Besides, she did have standards. She could never speak badly of people who were so open and lacking in haughty airs.

Drat it all. Not only had this been an almost pointless excursion, but it had thrown her into the company of the vexing viscount.

Then she brightened. At least the ball tonight would be rife with rumors.

“Felicity’s father designed Worthing Manor,” Sara was explaining to her mother-in-law. “I thought she might like to see how it looked now that it was finished.” The others had already begun expressing their compliments over the design when Sara added, “Oh, no, I forgot to introduce Ian.”

“No need,” Lord St. Clair remarked. “Miss Taylor and I have already met.”

Felicity shot him a wary glance. This was the moment she’d feared. He would expose her to his friends. Well, if he did, she’d make him regret it. Just let him try.

Lord St. Clair’s words seemed to intrigue Sara. “Have you indeed? I had no idea. Where did you meet, Ian?”

“Perhaps I should let the lady tell you.” He taunted Felicity with a smile of such challenge it made her grit her teeth.