London Temptations: Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 5

  This time, the butler’s frown was pronounced. “I shall make sure that your letters are never left in such a manner again, my lord,” he said, inclining his head. “Now, is there anything else that you require at present?”

  Shaking his head, Benedict quickly dismissed the butler and then turned his attention to the letter. The overwhelming feeling of dismay that had captured him the moment he had first set eyes upon the note now completely enveloped him. Breaking open the seal, he unfolded it carefully and read the few short lines.

  ‘There are some wooden crates in your cellar filled with the most excellent brandy,’ the note said. ‘You will purchase them from us. Leave the money on the table in the cellar.’ Reading the price written below the words, Benedict caught his breath. It would be more brandy than he could ever ask for or require—but, again, he knew full well that there would be no way for him to refuse. No matter the price, he would have to pay it.

  That was all the note said. There was nothing more. Benedict frowned, looking down at the note and wondering at it. Why should he be asked to purchase such a great quantity of brandy and for what purpose?

  Smuggling.

  The truth hit him hard and he squeezed his eyes closed. The brandy he would be purchasing—was being forced to purchase—was illegal. It would not have undergone the usual scrutiny by anyone. No taxes would have been paid. The revenue agents would, most likely, be searching for it as well as for the smugglers and yet it would be holed up within his very own house.

  Letting out a ragged breath, Benedict tried to think of what he could do. He would have to give a lot of money to these men and would have contraband in its place. He would be purchasing something that, should it be discovered, could make things rather difficult for him. What would he do with it? Serve it as though it was just ordinary brandy? Or would he destroy it in the hope that it would never be discovered in his possession?

  Hearing a laugh rattle through the hallway outside his study, Benedict threw his eyes toward the clock above the mantlepiece and let out a loud exclamation. Throwing the note aside, he hurried to the door and, after halting in order to ensure that he appeared quite presentable, threw it open and strode out after his guests. He could not think about the note at present, or the difficult situation that he was in. There were guests to look after and expectations to meet. He would have to consider what he was to do later.

  “My lord?”

  The morning had passed fairly quickly but Benedict had found it difficult to concentrate on what he was expected to do. His mind had lingered on the note in his study, on the money, and on the brandy for most of the morning but he had, at least, managed to keep the conversation flowing with his guests. His mother, he was certain, would not have cause to complain about his lack of attention. Luncheon would soon be ready but for the moment, he had decided to take a short walk across the grounds with the guests and his mother.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Millerton,” he said, noting the way that her eyes flickered across his face, as though she was searching for something in his expression. “You are not fatigued, I hope?”

  Her eyes lit with surprise as she fell into step beside him, quickly turning her head away. “No, indeed not,” she said, a small note of irritation in her voice. “I spend a good deal of time walking through my father’s gardens and enjoy it very much. I wondered, in fact, how you yourself fared this afternoon, for you were a little quiet at breakfast.”

  “I see.” Benedict cleared his throat, uncertain how to respond. He had not meant to offend the lady but clearly had managed to annoy her a little. After all, he realized, his cheeks warming a little, they had only been walking for a little over a quarter of an hour. He did not want to tell her the truth, however, about his difficulties at present and felt a little embarrassed that she had seen him out of sorts, when he had thought himself behaving quite impeccably.

  “My father’s gardens are certainly not as large as yours, however,” Miss Millerton continued, no longer any sort of frustration in her voice. “You must spend a good deal of time here.”

  “I do not, in fact,” he said, one shoulder lifting. “I find my time to be taken up with a good many other things. Business matters and such.” He glanced down at her but saw that she had not lifted her eyes to his again. Instead, her head was low, her cheeks flushing. Realizing that he had spoken in a somewhat abrupt manner, Benedict let out a heavy sigh and realized that he had continued what must now be a very poor impression indeed.

  “Forgive me, Miss Millerton,” he said, making sure his voice was low and his tone gentle. “I spoke a little roughly just now. I confess that I have a few matters pressing on my mind and as such, I have not permitted my mind to be free of them.” He saw her glance at him and gave her a rueful smile, which was not returned. “It seems that I must again seek your forgiveness.”

  Miss Millerton said nothing for some moments, the rest of the guests falling even further ahead of them as they walked. Benedict found himself settling into Miss Millerton’s company just a little, even though he knew that, at any moment, she might decide that she no longer wanted to tolerate his abrupt manner and lack of propriety. There was something about the gentle way she had approached him and the tenacity of her retort that brought an appreciation of her character to him. She had forgiven his rudeness once, he remembered. Perhaps she would be just as willing now.

  “Might I ask, Lord Knightsbridge,” Miss Millerton said, her voice quiet, “whether or not it would bring you any particular relief to share what is on your mind at present?” Her eyes caught his and a tiny smile quirked her lips. “After all, you may find that some of the other guests are not as forgiving as I can be.”

  This made him laugh aloud, the uneasiness between them evaporating in an instant. “That is quite true, Miss Millerton,” he agreed, although his brow furrowed hard, the smile disappearing almost at once. “But I do not think that it would be wise to share my present difficulties with anyone. Although I do appreciate your willingness.”

  Miss Millerton said nothing in response to this, her gaze sliding from his as she turned her head away, looking directly out toward the path. Benedict felt the urge to say more, to tell her that yes, he did want to speak to her about everything that had been troubling him, but he knew he could not. Not when this was entirely his issue to manage. It would not be suitable for him to bring it up with someone who was a guest at his house.

  “I do appreciate your offer to listen to me, truly,” he said softly, worrying that mayhap she had been insulted by his lack of acceptance. “But I am certain that you have no need to listen to someone such as I, pouring out their woebegone tales of sorrow and distress.” He tried to smile but the words struck at his heart, making him catch his breath. Miss Millerton looked at him again and he was surprised to see the sorrow in her eyes.

  “If you ever feel the need to unburden yourself, Lord Knightsbridge,” she said, “know that I am willing to listen, even if we are not particularly well acquainted.” Her cheeks flushed and she made to move a little ahead of him, allowing the other guests perhaps to catch his attention, but before she could do so, Benedict found himself reaching for her arm, his fingers gentle yet insistent.

  “You are very kind,” he found himself saying, astonishing himself by his fervor and the way that he had pulled her back. “There may come a time when I feel able to do so, but it is not today.” His smile tipped. “And it does not matter a jot that we are not particularly well acquainted, I think. You are the only one who appears to have noticed that I am a little out of sorts this afternoon, which I think speaks very highly of your character.”

  “Or perhaps indicates that I am a trifle inquisitive,” she suggested, her cheeks pink but a firmness in her gaze which made him smile. “Which is not, I believe, always a quality that a young lady should seek to possess.”

  “In your case, Miss Millerton, I think it suits you very well,” he found himself saying, all the more astonished that such compliments were coming from hi
s mouth. “In fact, I feel as though we have become a good deal better acquainted already, even within these few minutes.”

  This made her blush all the more, but the smile on her face was bright and happy, making him feel a sense of satisfied contentment rise up within his heart. Even if only for a few minutes, Miss Millerton had been able to remove his worry and distress simply by being in his company and conversing with him and that, he noted, had brought with it a great sense of relief.

  “I—I should catch my aunt,” Miss Millerton said after a moment or two. “Besides which, I believe that the other ladies in the group will become rather irritated with me if I monopolize your attention any longer.”

  Benedict chuckled, wanting to tell her that he did not care two figs about the other ladies in the group but knowing full well that he needed to take care. As the host, he had to ensure that he divided his time as equally as he could—which included conversing with each and every guest who now resided in his house.

  “Thank you, Miss Millerton,” he said as the lady began to hurry away. “You have lifted my spirits a great deal.”

  She threw him another quick smile over her shoulder but then turned her head away, her back to him as she scurried after Lady Pendleton. Benedict allowed himself a long, contented sigh, feeling the weight of his present circumstances lift just a little as he watched Miss Millerton depart. What an extraordinary young lady she was, he considered, smiling to himself. Somehow, she had seen his upset and had come to speak to him, perhaps even attempting to lift him from his melancholy mood without his being aware of it.

  Perhaps you should tell her everything, said a small voice within him. Perhaps she would be able to understand, even if she can do nothing to help.

  Mulling over this particular thought, Benedict found his strides lengthening as he sought to catch up with the rest of the group. For the moment, at least, he felt much improved, and it was all thanks to the kind words and the gentle reassurance of Miss Susanna Millerton.

  5

  Susanna did not know what had possessed her to speak to Lord Knightsbridge in such a manner, or why she had suggested that he speak to her whenever he wished about what was on his mind. Was it guilt, perhaps? Guilt that she had been the one to make him so upset and distressed?

  Closing her eyes for a moment, Susanna leaned against a tree as the other guests swept past her, including Lord Knightsbridge, who was now speaking animatedly to Lady Monteforte and her daughter, Lady Madeline. Even her aunt, Lady Pendleton, was busy talking to Lady Knightsbridge and did not notice Susanna as she remained behind.

  It was almost a relief to be in her own company for a time. After the horror of returning to her bedchamber to find a note pinned to her pillow—a note that was in barely discernible handwriting—she had felt the heavy weight settle back on her shoulders. Her aunt, who was in an adjacent room with an adjoining door between them, had retired to bed without any difficulty, wishing Susanna a pleasant sleep. However, Susanna had not been able to close her eyes, such was the struggle that now lay before her. She had not wanted to write the note again, in the same sloped handwriting that she normally used. Nor did she want to find a way to have it delivered to Lord Knightsbridge—but she had not had any other choice. The memory of what had happened to her mare pressed down hard into her mind, making her fear what would occur if she did not do as she had been asked.

  And thus, she had written the note out again and then had waited until the early hours of the morning so that she might slip from her room and place the note on a small table near to the front door. It had terrified her, fearing that she would be discovered at any moment, that she would be seen by someone who might then wonder what she was doing wandering through the great house by herself in the middle of the night. Her reputation could be damaged, her father would end up greatly embarrassed, and she would have to return to her father’s house in shame and mortification.

  Thankfully, that had not occurred and she had been able to return to bed without any particular difficulty. However, sleep had eluded her as she had struggled to close her eyes, knowing exactly what would happen to Lord Knightsbridge in the morning. He would read the note and feel the very same weight that settled on her shoulders now rest on his. For whatever reason, Lord Knightsbridge was doing precisely as he was asked, which meant that he would have to put the money in the cellar and that the brandy that was there would have to be taken into the house. She did not think that he was doing so willingly but most likely under duress—and after speaking to him this afternoon, she was now quite convinced of it.

  Sighing, Susanna pushed herself away from the tree and began to meander after the other guests. The day was very fine indeed and she was enjoying walking in the gardens, even if her thoughts were captured by Lord Knightsbridge. There was something between them already, even if Lord Knightsbridge did not know it. The only reason she had spoken to him, the only reason she had known that there was something that was bringing him low, was precisely because she was the one who had done so.

  And yet, there had been something in his eyes that had made her stop for a moment, her breath hitching. When he smiled, she had found herself unable to look away, her heart thundering furiously despite the darkness of her thoughts, the guilt that sat so heavily on her soul.

  You cannot grow close to him, she told herself, her feet dragging just a little as she walked across the grass. To do so will only make things all the more difficult.

  She shook her head to herself, absently stopping to touch a bright pink rose. There was always the chance that if she spoke to him, if she told him the truth, then he might be willing to tell her all that he struggled with. Perhaps they would be able to find a way together to end this nightmare—but if she did such a thing, would there not be great and severe consequences if she was discovered? After all, the man in her father’s gardens had threatened her very life, had he not? And despite her outward appearance of happiness and contentment, she was deeply, deeply afraid.

  “Miss?”

  A man stepped out from behind a bush, looking at her with a rather jaunty smile. His cap was a little askew, his ragged waistcoat and shirt dirty and torn. Was he a gardener?

  “Do excuse me,” he said, his smile still twisted. “I thought I saw you talking to Lord Knightsbridge a few moments ago.”

  She did not say anything to him but turned her head away and began to walk swiftly away from him. If he was the gardener, he had no right to speak to her in such a manner, and if he was not… Susanna pressed her lips together and hurried her steps all the more, not wanting to think about what it could mean if the man was not Lord Knightsbridge’s gardener.

  “Not so hasty, miss,” the man laughed, running toward her and coming to stand directly in front of her so that she could not move past him. “I hear that you did rather well this morning.”

  Susanna’s stomach dropped to the floor. “I do not know what you mean,” she said, as firmly as she could, but the man only laughed. Wishing that she had not left such a large distance between herself and the other guests, Susanna pressed her hands together in front of her, her stomach tightening with fear.

  “You do not need to pretend,” the man said, taking a few steps closer to her. “I know that you are the lady who is helping us with our notes.”

  “I am not willingly helping you,” Susanna bit out, her hands curling into fists as she battled her fear. “I have no choice.”

  The man shrugged. “I do not care why you are involved, only that you keep doing as you are told,” he said, looking into her eyes as a chill ran down her spine. “You are not to tell Lord Knightsbridge anything.” His smile faded and his eyes narrowed. “I came to give you a polite warning about what will happen should you decide to tell him everything.”

  Susanna closed her eyes. “You threaten my life?”

  The answer was not one she was expecting. “Perhaps not yours, no,” he said as Susanna opened her eyes. “But your father, your aunt, and perhaps even your brother…” He l
eft the sentence unfinished, stepping back into the gardens and leaving Susanna trembling with fear. To have her family threatened was almost more than she could bear. A vision of them gone from her life ran through her mind, making her all the more afraid.

  “Miss Millerton?”

  She started violently, seeing Lord Knightsbridge striding toward her, his brow furrowed.

  “Miss Millerton, are you unwell?”

  She could not answer him, the fright still robbing her of speech. Lord Knightsbridge came near to her, his hands reaching out toward her as she remained frozen in place.

  “You have taken ill,” he said, grasping her hands. “Whatever has happened?” His gaze strayed toward where the man had disappeared. “Was he speaking to you?”

  Susanna did not know whether to answer truthfully or not. The terror that had seized her when the man had spoken of her family had not left her as yet and she dared not say even a single word to Lord Knightsbridge for fear that the man was still lurking somewhere nearby, listening to everything that she had to say.

  “Truly, you look very pale,” Lord Knightsbridge continued when she did not answer him. “Here, take my arm, Miss Millerton. I will escort you back inside at once.”

  Her hand was placed around his arm and Susanna found herself clinging to him for dear life, her other hand wrapping around his arm also. Her legs were weak and trembling and she did not think that she would be able to walk inside.

  “I will support you,” Lord Knightsbridge said gently, beginning to move forward. “Come. There is nothing to fear.”

  Susanna tried her best to throw off the strange weakness that had come over her but she had to lean heavily on Lord Knightsbridge as they walked together. Even now, she could not speak, could not tell him why she was so distressed. It was clear that Lord Knightsbridge thought her very ill indeed, for he walked slowly and with great care.