The Surrender of Miss Fairbourne Page 5

“I believe that I should see any who respond to the advertisement today or tomorrow. If Mr. Laughton is still the best after that, and if Obediah finds him acceptable, he will have to do.”

  “Very well,” Cassandra said. “Five minutes each. No more, unless one of them impresses us immediately as potentially more suitable than Mr. Laughton.”

  Cassandra picked up her journal, into which she had been listing names off the calling cards that Obediah kept stacking on a table just inside the door to the servants’ corridor. She opened the door to the library.

  She immediately closed it again. Her color rose. She appeared startled.

  “They are all gone,” she said.

  “Gone?”

  “Disappeared. There were at least ten prospects when I brought in Mr. Laughton, and now there are none.”

  “The drawing room is empty?”

  “One man is waiting to be received, but he is not seeking your situation.”

  “How can you be sure? Obediah may have forgotten to bring us his card.”

  Cassandra marched to the table near the side door where a few cards still waited for entry on her list. “His card is here. For heaven’s sake, Mr. Riggles should have warned us, and not merely stuck this with the others. Better to have used Maitland today. He would never have been so careless.”

  “I wanted Obediah to at least see these young men so he could consult with us. We agreed he would contribute nothing if he sat here with us, so having him at the door was an alternative.” Emma held out her hand for the card. “Who is it?”

  Cassandra gave it over.

  Emma peered at the card. “The Earl of Southwaite? What an inconvenient nuisance for him to intrude today of all days.”

  “I did not realize you knew him.”

  “My father knew him. He has taken an interest in my welfare.”

  “He appears a little…stormy.”

  “That is probably because I have kept him waiting. I should not delay any longer, although I wish I could.” Emma smoothed her black dress and brushed off some lint. “Will you join me? You probably know him better than I do, since I barely know him at all.”

  “I will leave unobserved, if you do not mind,” Cassandra said. “Southwaite and I do not rub well together, and my presence will not make his humor improve.”

  “Is he a saint who thinks you are a sinner?” Emma teased.

  “He is no saint. Nor do I believe he cares if I sin or not. He objects to the way society speculates about me, however. I am too notorious for him, and he is too arrogant for me.” She gave Emma a kiss, picked up her reticule, and aimed for the side door. “I will return in the morning, so we can continue our great project.”

  Chapter 5

  The drawing room dwarfed most men. The Earl of Southwaite managed to make the chamber’s proportions suit him instead. A tall man, with shoulders that did not look as if they would narrow much at all when he removed his coats, he wore the drawing room like it had been constructed to the measurements of his lean strength.

  He did appear stormy, Emma thought as she walked toward him. A scowl marred his brow above his deep-set eyes while he gazed at a painting by ter Brugghen on the wall. He stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, chin high, chiseled profile severe, looking very lordly. From his dark hair’s short, tousled cut to his impeccable blue frock coat, fawn breeches, and high boots, he exuded the kind of self-confidence that only breeding conferred on a man.

  He did not uncross those arms right away when he saw Emma approach. She felt like a naughty schoolgirl called to task by her angry governess until he finally did.

  He bowed while he greeted her, but his dark-eyed gaze never left her face and his expression appeared disapproving of something. The delay? Her uncovered hair while in mourning? Perhaps he merely had bad digestion, and his expression had nothing to do with her at all.

  “It is generous of you to condescend to call,” she said. She took a seat on a chair and he settled onto the nearby divan.

  She noticed that one of the potential replacements for Mr. Nightingale had left his newspaper on a table right near Lord Southwaite’s arm. His gaze followed her own to that folded paper. One of his eyebrows arched a little higher.

  “You appear to be bearing up very well,” he said. “First the auction, and now…an effort to move on with your life.”

  If there had truly been storms, he had banished them, or at least their visibility. He spoke calmly, in a quiet baritone that soothed like warm water.

  “Day by day it gets better, as is the way with these things.”

  “We all find comfort as we can in such situations. Of course, as a mature woman of the world, you need less advice in doing so than a young girl might.”

  He smiled. It was a rather nice smile. Not a big one. Just an appealing slight uplift at the ends of his mouth. She thought it more truly charming than Mr. Nightingale’s. Perhaps that was because warmth entered Lord Southwaite’s eyes, and a spark of almost intimate familiarity, as if their prior conversations had created a bond of sympathy.

  That smile lightened her spirits in a most pleasant way. It seemed to bridge all kinds of distances between them, those of class and purpose, and even physical space. His favorable change in disposition led her to speak more plainly than she might have.

  “When you arrived, were there other callers in this chamber, sir?”

  “There were. An assortment of them.”

  “May I ask how it is that they are all gone now?”

  “I suggested that they leave.”

  “I apologize if Mr. Riggles did not alert me to your presence, so I could receive you at once.”

  “I insisted that Mr. Riggles not treat me differently, so do not blame him. I told him to present my card exactly as he did the others. Of course, when I told him that, I did not know your drawing room would be overflowing with young men.” He lifted the newspaper off the table and gave it a good look. “I could not imagine who they were and why they were here until I saw this marked advertisement.”

  Her heart sank. She wished one of her callers had not left that paper behind. The earl had guessed that she was hiring someone. She had hoped to be further along on the new auction before he realized she was even planning another one, but advertising for staff made her intentions clear.

  “You do not approve, I assume,” she said.

  “I haven’t decided what I think of it, other than there are better, more discreet ways to handle such things.” He appeared somewhat amused by the advertisement. Considering their last conversation, that gave her encouragement.

  “I am only being practical,” she said, gesturing to the paper. “I know that there are better ways to fill such a situation, but none that are as fast and which leave me as much choice. I want to move forward quickly.”

  He rested his arm on the divan’s rolled end, and his chin on his fist, and looked at her. “That is understandable, I suppose. As I said, we all find comfort in our own ways when touched by grief.”

  “How kind of you to understand. Doing this does offer comfort, and I anticipate more as I proceed. Even planning for it has been a distraction.” It relieved her that he was not going to complain and fight about her plan to continue Fairbourne’s auctions. “Since you are so sympathetic, I do not understand why you sent all my callers away.”

  He did not respond immediately. Rather he subjected her to a penetrating, thoughtful gaze. One could almost hear his mind churning over his answer.

  The longer he paused, the more uncomfortable she became. She did not sense anger in him, but something else just as powerful. His attention made the chamber rather small suddenly, and demanded something of her in return that she could not name. The sensation of a pending something was not unpleasant—even exciting—but it did make the silence awkward.

  “I sent them away because they did not suit the situation you propose. They were all too green.”

  “How generous of you to worry for me. I wish you had not taken the burden upon your
self to do that, however. I am capable of making such a decision myself, and I had a dear friend’s help as well.”

  “Ah, yes. Lady Cassandra. She has proven her expertise in such matters,” he said sardonically. “Her involvement explains much.”

  She did not understand what he meant by that, but his tone indicated disapproval. Cassandra had been correct. Southwaite did not like her.

  “Perhaps I also sent them away because I had an interest in the situation myself,” he said in a musing tone of voice, as if he had not really decided either way yet.

  “Surely not. You are making fun of me now.”

  “Not at all. The appeal is inexplicable, but I cannot deny the truth of its existence.”

  How very odd. Gentlemen did not engage in such work. It was beneath them. However, he had invested in the auction house. He collected the very best art. Perhaps he thought taking Mr. Nightingale’s place would be fun? Rather like those lords who shed their coats to help with the sheep shearing on their estates?

  Having him at Fairbourne’s would create complications, however. He would probably try to take charge of everything. He would be in the way. He might well attempt to unmask Obediah, and he had the expertise to do so.

  “Lord Southwaite, while perhaps you think you would find the situation amusing for a while, in the end we both know you cannot do this. It would be scandalous and demeaning.”

  “Discretion goes far in avoiding scandal, Miss Fairbourne, and I promise you that I am a master of it. Nor would I be taking any pay, of course. I would not be an employee, such as you intended, so it would not be demeaning.”

  “Then you see the situation differently than I do, and the difference cannot be countenanced by me. If you are not an employee, you will forget your place. I’ll not be having you whistle the tune, sir. It is my intention to manage things to my own way of thinking. Nor will discretion be possible, if you think about it.”

  “Let me worry about both the discretion and the scandal. As for your own way of thinking, I believe I can convince you we are of like minds if you allow me to. We will both whistle, in harmony, as it were.”

  “I think that is unlikely.”

  “Because you are less experienced at whistling? I promise not to drown out your efforts.”

  She laughed lightly, as if he had made a joke. “I fear that you really would not suit the situation at all, Lord Southwaite.”

  He appeared surprised. Perhaps even insulted. “Are you saying I do not fit your requirements? Am I too old? Not handsome enough?”

  “You are hardly old, and your appearance is…acceptable.” Actually, if he were not a gentleman, he would do splendidly. He even knew about art.

  “Then why am I not suitable? I would think I am obviously preferable to the boys you had waiting here.”

  She wasn’t even sure he was teasing her now. The conversation had become awkward.

  “I trust that you do not expect me to remove my coats to prove that I satisfy the requirement regarding physique,” he said. “I would find that undignified.”

  Oh, dear heavens. He must have overheard Cassandra. “Yes. Please, do not—that is, I am sure that—Your strength is undeniable. No one could doubt it. Demonstration is not necessary.”

  “I am relieved to hear it. And, I assure you, I require no similar proof of your physical attributes either. At least not in advance.”

  What an odd and shocking thing to even suggest.

  She stared at him, dumbfounded. He smiled back. Warmly.

  Miss Fairbourne appeared extremely surprised. Good.

  Darius trusted that she was comprehending the foolishness of that advertisement now that a man had actually taken her up on the offer.

  She might think that she could control matters by being an employer instead of a lover, but as the woman in an affair she would ultimately be vulnerable in the worst ways no matter who paid whom. If the mere notion of disrobing for a lord left her mouth agape, she would not have fared well with one of those callow clerks who had come to call, especially once the bedroom door closed.

  She appeared quite vulnerable when stunned. Very sweet, actually. Much as she had in those inconvenient dreams. He was only teaching her a lesson, of course, and protecting Fairbourne’s reputation, but a small part of him, a totally physical part, argued for seeing if he could seal the deal instead.

  Such were the dark voices of desire.

  He could not resist teaching that lesson very well, since he finally had her at the disadvantage. “I realize I am not what you expected when you composed this advertisement. Nor, as I have told myself repeatedly, are you what I normally seek in such arrangements. However, I think we will be well matched. Your boldness suits my own preferences, and suggests that the pleasures you offer will not be only the predictable ones.”

  Still she said nothing. Her expression became even more astonished, to his satisfaction.

  “Are you concerned that the change in your plans will put you at a disadvantage, Miss Fairbourne? That in not being able to whistle the tune alone, you will now be left without any voice? Or that, due to our difference in stations, and due to your original intention to pay, that I will be ungenerous either in my attentions or my appreciation? I promise that you will have no complaints, and if you do, I will correct the situation at once. Just as I am sure you will address any of mine.”

  She narrowed her eyes and frowned. “Lord Southwaite, what are you talking about?”

  She appeared truly bewildered now, rather than surprised or frightened. Enough to give him pause. He picked up the newspaper. “I am talking about this, of course, only with appropriate alterations to make it less vulgar.”

  She stretched her arm to take the paper. She pored over the marked advertisement.

  “You are not the first woman of mature years to look for a lover this way, Miss Fairbourne. You description is less bawdy than most, but you made your point well enough to be understood. I daresay all of London is enjoying the elegant directness with which you describe your needs.”

  A deep flush colored her face fast. She covered her mouth with her hands and stared at him. She returned her gaze to the paper but he saw fires enter her eyes. “Your presumptions are beyond the pale, sir.”

  “You think I am being presumptuous?” It was not a word that sat well with him, especially coming from a merchant’s daughter who invited assumptions, if not presumptions.

  “Unforgivably so.”

  “I think I am being unduly magnanimous.” Damned high-minded, actually. She was willing to settle for buying a whore, and he offered her an earl’s generosity, after all. This lesson could have proceeded much more crudely.

  “I am sure you do think that. I am guessing you have no idea just how outrageous your presumption is.”

  “No doubt you will enlighten me, since you rarely hold your tongue when you would be wise to do so.”

  He trusted she would hear the warning. She appeared ready to detail the insult no matter how ill-advised it might be. Of course she would. What had he been thinking, to bother to try to spare her the indignities she had invited?

  “First,” she said. “You are presumptuous in assuming that a woman advertising for a lover would want a lover who does not fulfill her requirements, the first of which is that he be an employee and nothing more.”

  “Actually I presumed that a woman seeking a lover would prefer a man of some skill, consideration, and breeding who bestows gifts, over some callow boy who thinks only of himself and then demands coin,” he said. “Forgive me, however, for not seeing the benefits to such a woman of the more costly, indecorous, and less satisfying choice.”

  “Second,” she intoned, ignoring what he said. “You are presumptuous in thinking, with no encouragement from me, that I would be agreeable, no matter what the arrangements, to having you as the lover in question.”

  She stood. Her color rose. Her eyes flashed lightning. He half expected a spear to appear in her hand and for her to bellow a Celtic battle
cry.

  “Finally, you are unbearably presumptuous in thinking you know the meaning of this advertisement to begin with. The situation described in this notice was not for a lover, Lord Southwaite.” She tossed the newspaper at him for emphasis.

  He caught it, stood in turn, and glared down at the advertisement. “The hell it wasn’t.”

  The potential for profound embarrassment suddenly loomed. Damnation. He hated that feeling, and this infuriating woman had all but lured him into experiencing it.

  “I assure you that your interpretation is totally erroneous.”

  “If so, you were careless in the extreme in writing this. Inexcusably so. Anyone who reads it would assume what I did.”

  “Only someone with a very lascivious mind.” She had the audacity to say that primly.

  He could not deny, much as he wanted to, that she truly looked insulted, and importuned.

  Hell. He examined the advertisement yet again. Even in the light of revelation, it still read as though a woman sought a professional admirer. He was certain his embarrassment did not affect his judgment about that.

  The awkwardness of his situation pressed on him. Explaining that he had not truly been trying to form a sexual arrangement would not rectify this either. He doubted that his intentions to teach her a lesson would find more favor with her than if his intentions had been to make her his mistress in fact.

  “I must apologize, of course. However, I am obligated to say that if I thought it read that way, those young men did too. The presence of Lady Cassandra hardly helped since the allusions to her in the scandal sheets are read by all.” It incensed him that Miss Fairbourne’s poor judgment had him now making excuses and feeling like an idiot. “If there was any inappropriate flirting in that chamber back there, now you know why.”

  She hesitated one scant moment. Her eyes veiled with thought for an instant. Then she was all formidable indignation again. “There was no flirting. Everyone except you comprehended that the situation was other than…well, that.”

  “The hell they did. And if not that, what is the situation? This special and pleasurable employment requires an interesting list of qualifications.”