The Earl's Secret Passion (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 1) Read online

  "Let me go at once!" she shouted, her outrage only increasing as he began to carry her across to the house. "Who do you think you are, to manhandle me so?"

  "I am the Earl of Scarcliffe," the man answered through gritted teeth. "And I would rather you did not die on my property, Lady Cecily."

  Her fists stilled. He really was a great brute of a man – she might as well have been punching a tree trunk. "You know who I am?" she asked, trying to regain a sense of dignity, though one of the Earl's arms was lifting her to his chest and the other was crooked under her knees.

  "I am painfully aware of it," he answered.

  "Then you must put me down immediately. I refuse to be taken into Scarcliffe Hall!"

  "That is quite impossible, my lady, for I refuse to leave you out in the rain to freeze to death." The Earl kicked open the side door and edged sideways into the house, careful to keep Cecily's head from knocking against the doorframe. "The fact of your trespassing will be addressed later, when you are warm and dry."

  "Trespassing!"

  "What else do you call it?"

  To Cecily's shock, he dropped her unceremoniously to the ground. It was all she could do to keep from tumbling in an inelegant heap at his feet.

  "I was lost," she snapped, throwing a hand out and catching his shoulder for balance. The man was built like a brick wall. "Believe me, nothing could possibly induce me to willingly enter Hartley land."

  "Rest assured that you will not have to endure it for long."

  Cecily was finally able to get a good look at her abductor-cum-rescuer. Her mental image of the Hartley family led her to expect a short, ill-favoured, unpleasant fellow who looked in need of a good bath.

  Her astonishment when she was faced with a tall, strong-jawed man with banked fire in his dark eyes was so great that she almost lost track of her sharp retort. Almost.

  "I am glad to hear it. I cannot admit to expecting much from your Hartley hospitality."

  She was interrupted by a sharp, uncouth curse from behind her. On whirling around, she was horrified to find herself confronted by three gentlemen in varying states of dishabille.

  The frontmost man, who shared the dark eyes and shapely features of the Earl, was the one who had cursed. "Robert!" he said, glaring at Cecily as though he could erase her from existence with a sharp look. "Don't you know who this is?"

  "I am perfectly aware," said the Earl, stepping in front of Cecily just as she realised that the rain had left her dress plastered to her legs in a shamefully revealing manner. Robert kept his eyes firmly on Cecily's face as he settled the cloak around her shoulders, covering her entirely.

  "Lady Cecily," he said, "I would like to present Benjamin Colborne, the Duke of Beaumont, Ralph Morton, Baron Northmere, and finally, my brother, Lord Jonathan Hartley."

  Cecily's eyes were as wide as saucers. "You cannot expect me to greet these gentlemen in this state."

  A flash of dark amusement lit Robert's eyes. "Quite right," he said, gravely. "Gentlemen, Lady Cecily is not on display in the zoological gardens. Please return to the billiard room, where I will join you once our guest is settled."

  "Your guest?" Cecily repeated, aghast. "My lord, if you have a trace of decency you will lend me a carriage home and never speak of this meeting again!"

  "I am perfectly decent," Robert answered coolly. "But what you ask is quite impossible. The roads between Scarcliffe Hall and Loxwell Park are not well kept, as you must be aware. It would be extremely dangerous to navigate them in this weather."

  Cecily stared from him to the three gentlemen who were shooting her curious glances even as they filed from the hallway. "Then what do you propose?"

  "You must stay the night, of course. We do not have much in the way of feminine comforts here, but my housekeeper will be able to make you tolerably at home."

  "No!" Cecily was beginning to panic, but she was proud to hear her voice ring out stern and confident.

  Robert raised an eyebrow. "No?"

  "What you suggest is completely impossible." Cecily folded her arms under his cloak, wishing that she were not shivering so violently. "If you think that I, the daughter of the Duke of Loxwell, will suffer to be kept under a Hartley roof in the company of four strange gentlemen, you must be mad. If anyone should hear that I have passed the night here, I will be utterly ruined."

  "Then we shall take care that no-one hears of it." Robert took a step towards her, as though he intended to fling her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs whether she wanted it or not. Cecily took a step back, finding herself trapped against the wall. "You are half frozen to death," he said. "I will order a hot bath for you. You may have to borrow dry clothes from the kitchen maids. We were not expecting female guests at all this summer."

  "I am not your guest!" Cecily protested, though her chattering teeth mangled the words. Robert ignored her and began jangling a bell pull beside the door with great force.

  "Smith! Where are you? Smith!"

  A plump, cheerful, and somewhat bemused housekeeper quickly made an appearance.

  "My lord!" she gasped, on seeing Cecily. "What has happened to this poor girl? Come along with me, Miss. We'll get you warmed up in a jiffy."

  "This is Lady Cecily Balfour," said Robert stiffly. He rolled her name out between his lips as though it were a fishbone that had lately been caught in his teeth. "She is to stay here tonight, and you are to take excellent care of her."

  "Balfour?" the housekeeper repeated, looking at Cecily in alarm. Robert leaned towards her and spoke in a murmur, though Cecily caught his words easily.

  "I am trusting you with the secret of her identity. Lady Cecily is risking a great deal by passing the night here, but I see no other option. We cannot risk her coming to any harm, though it is through her own foolishness," he said. "If she catches cold, or if word of her visit ever leaves these walls, the Balfours will blame us – and I will blame you, Mrs Smith."

  "Tush," laughed the housekeeper. "As if I'd let anyone come to harm under my care! Follow me, Lady Cecily. There's a lovely fire in the kitchen which will have to do until your rooms are ready. We will tell the servants you are my niece, visiting from London."

  The thought of a warm fire was too much for Cecily to resist. She let the housekeeper lead her down a corridor – passing the open door to the billiard room with her nose in the air and her head held high – and down the stairs to the servants' quarters.

  Exactly what she'd expect from a Hartley house – no provision at all for guests except in the kitchens!

  As she went, Cecily could not help but risk a glance back at the man who had plucked her from the heart of the storm. To her surprise, he was watching her go. Not with mirth in his eyes, or the cruelty she might have thought to find there, but with a curious, thoughtful expression that she could not fathom.

  Then she was away, lost in a bustle of towels and concerned kitchen maids and frozen fingers, and the inner workings of Robert Hartley's mind ceased to concern her at all.

  Chapter Four

  Lady Cecily was everything Robert expected a Balfour to be: proud, stubborn, and far too prone to speaking her mind. He had taken the trouble to rise early so that she would not have to breakfast alone, and was met with stony silence.

  At least she had not taken a chill in the night. He was pleased to see that she was perfectly healthy; positively glowing, in fact, despite the servant's clothes she wore. Her own things would not be dry for some hours yet.

  Cecily seemed to be under the impression that she was to leave Scarcliffe Hall the moment she had finished breaking her fast. At least, that was the only explanation Robert could find for the fact that she shovelled toast down her throat at a rate more suitable to his hunting dogs at the end of a long day's work.

  "Do feel free to ask for eggs and bacon if you'd prefer," he said mildly. He'd never seen a woman with such an appetite and yet such a slender figure.

  That was the other, still more terrible, annoyance about breakfasting with Cecil
y. Yesterday evening, she'd been rainswept and romantic, a trembling innocent in need of his care. No wonder he had felt protective instincts rising within him.

  This morning, she was clean, fresh, well-groomed, and as lovely as a rose. Even in ill-fitting, faded cotton, she was a sight to behold. So Robert was doing his best not to behold her.

  She was a Balfour, and a Balfour could not be permitted to be beautiful under a Hartley roof.

  Cecily did not respond to his suggestion, but asked the butler for scrambled eggs exactly as if she had not heard Robert propose it at all.

  "I trust I find you well," he said, eventually, feeling that it was only proper to break the silence. Cecily rewarded him with a piercing glare that revealed the precise azure blue of her eyes.

  "There is no need to make conversation, my lord. In fact, I would prefer it if you did not."

  "Is that so?"

  "You see," said Cecily, spreading yet another slice of toast thickly with butter, "I am not really here."

  "Not here?" Robert repeated, amused, despite himself. "Then I suppose I am looking at some sort of ghost?"

  Cecily arched a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. "There is no conceivable circumstance under which the Duke of Loxwell's daughter would find herself alone in a house full of gentlemen. It is still less possible that two of those gentlemen would be Lord Jonathan Hartley and his brother, the Earl of Scarcliffe. Therefore, since it is not possible for me to be here, it follows that I am not."

  Robert leaned in and was about to respond to her in a similarly ridiculous manner, when Jonathan came yawning into the room. He had clearly forgotten about their guest entirely, for he was sloppily clad in a blue silk banyan. Cecily gave a small "hmph!" of distaste and pointedly averted her eyes.

  Robert sighed. Trust Hart to give her the worst possible impression of Hartley manners.

  "Good morning, Lady Cecily," said Hart, unabashed by his dishevelled appearance. "Good morning, brother. Have you told her the news?"

  Robert had not yet found the right moment to bring up a fact which he knew Cecily would find inordinately distressing.

  "What news is that?" asked Cecily, turning her sharp blue eyes on him again. Something in her gaze sent a rush of adrenalin thumping through his chest. It was most unnerving.

  "I'm afraid we have had word that the bridge on the road back to Loxwell Park was blocked in the night by a falling tree," he said, watching carefully for her response. "I will not be able to send you home by carriage this morning."

  "That is of no importance," said Cecily, with an elegant shrug. Robert tried not to notice the intensely graceful movement of her shoulders. He was unsuccessful. "I will return the way I came: by walking. There is a fallen tree crossing the river as it runs through the forest, on my father's land. I ought to be able to climb back the way I came."

  "Are you mad?" asked Jonathan, with an ungracious snort. "You're liable to slip and break your neck traversing the woods after last night's storm. Not to mention, you'll be covered in mud."

  "You may be so careful of your appearance that you cannot bear a little mud," said Cecily, raking Jonathan's dressing gown with her eyes. "I do not claim to be so fastidious."

  "Mud or no mud, I'm afraid it is quite impossible," Robert interrupted. "I will not hear of you walking back through the woods."

  "And I will not allow you to send me home in a Hartley carriage in broad daylight! Only think what people will say."

  "So you do not care for mud, but you do care for gossip?" Robert asked. Cecily's fingers whitened around her jam knife.

  "You are trying to trick me into agreeing with you, my lord. It won't work."

  "But I am not trying any trick when I tell you that you must take a carriage home. Hart is right – the woods are not entirely safe, especially for as many miles as lie between us and Loxwell Park." She must have been out for hours the day before, to make it all the way to Scarcliffe Hall. Robert found himself giving in to a grudging admiration. "If something should happen to you, I will be blamed. I will not give your family another excuse to sully the Hartley name with malicious rumours."

  "And I will not allow you to sully my name by associating it with your own!" Cecily snapped. "I tell you, I will not ride in your carriage."

  "Then you will have a long stay with us at Scarcliffe Hall, for I will not allow you to leave without it," said Robert. He had never met a woman as stubborn as Cecily. In truth, he did not know exactly how he would prevent her from leaving – but she did not need to know that. The threat of imprisonment was enough.

  Cecily slammed her hand down flat on the table. "How like a Hartley! You are just as overbearing and pig-headed as my father always warned me!"

  "Now, that's a little more spice than I usually like with my breakfast." The Duke of Beaumont sauntered into the room in entirely the opposite state of dress to Jonathan. He, at least, knew how to behave when ladies were present. "Good morning, Lady Cecily. I am not a Hartley, so I trust you will permit me to enquire as to whether you slept well?"

  "Tolerably well," she admitted, giving Beaumont a terse nod. "Forgive my outspokenness, Your Grace. I am afraid that I find myself surrounded by enemies, and must defend myself as I can."

  The plate of eggs appeared at Cecily's elbow, and she accepted it with a sudden smile that thoroughly transformed her features. Robert noted with some surprise that she treated the staff with more kindness than she did the Hartley brothers. So, she was not as much a tyrant as she wished to appear. He stored the observation away, in case it became useful later.

  "The three of you seem to be rather more at odds than I would expect a set of neighbours to be," remarked Beaumont, taking a sip of coffee.

  "Surely you've heard of the old feud, Beaumont?" asked Jonathan. "It's more than Lady Cecily's delicate sensibilities can stand, to share the same air as a pair of savages like us."

  "Your words, Lord Jonathan," said Cecily, with a tight little smile.

  "I've heard of it, certainly, but I must say it's a surprise to see it carried on with such enthusiasm by the current generation." Beaumont looked up and down the table curiously. "Do any of you even know why your fathers detest each other so fervently?"

  "Of course we know," snapped Cecily. "And I don't appreciate the implication that it is not a serious matter, Your Grace." She addressed the Duke with a confidence that bordered on impertinence; the birthright of the beloved only child of another Duke. "The Marquess of Lilistone and his sons persist in maintaining a heinous fiction about one of my ancestors. Until they withdraw their accusations, no true Balfour can forgive them."

  "That is entirely too much!" Robert snapped. "You know full well that it was Lord Thomas Balfour whose dastardly actions dragged your family's own name through the mud!"

  "Peace, peace!" cried Beaumont. "I didn't think I was entering such a hornet's nest. I have never heard of Lord Thomas Balfour."

  "He is dead," Cecily sniffed, delicately taking up a forkful of eggs. "He was my great-uncle, and his reputation has been unjustly slandered by Lord Scarcliffe's family since the day he died."

  "I must beg to disagree with Lady Cecily," said Robert, unable to keep the condescension from his voice. "The fact is, Beaumont, that, when my father was a boy, Lord Thomas Balfour kidnapped a young woman of the Hartley family – my great-aunt, in fact. The only thing that saved her from utter ruin was the fact that he was killed in a carriage accident as he made off with her."

  Cecily had gone extremely pale, but, to her credit, she maintained full possession of herself. "I will not sit calmly and listen to these lies about my family," she said. Robert shrugged.

  "Then I suggest you retire to your rooms, my lady."

  Cecily rose to her feet. Beaumont, ever the peace-maker, waved her back down. "Give the lady a chance to respond, Scarcliffe! It's only fair."

  Cecily refused to sit again, but glared from Robert to Jonathan as though they had personally sabotaged her great-uncle's carriage. "The sad truth, Your Grace, is that Lady Let
itia Hartley was a common harlot who ran away with a painter, bringing disgrace on her family. When Lord Thomas died, the late Marquess of Lilistone saw fit to save his family's reputation by pinning Lady Letitia's disappearance on him. The grief and stress of it all sent my great-grandfather to an early grave! No Balfour worth their salt could ever forget it, and I certainly will not."

  "Two different stories, indeed," rumbled Beaumont. "They cannot both be correct."

  "They are not," said Cecily. "The Hartleys are wrong – have always been wrong – know they are wrong – and yet they refuse to redeem the memory of a long-dead man!"

  "If that's the sort of poppycock the Duke of Loxwell has been stuffing into your head, it's no wonder you got lost in the woods," sighed Jonathan. He could affect an air of disdainful contempt like no-one else on earth. Robert winced to hear it.

  "Hart! Lady Cecily is our guest!"

  "And I have had quite enough of your hospitality," said Cecily, pale-faced and trembling. She dropped Beaumont a brief curtsy. "Excuse me, Your Grace. Good morning, gentlemen."

  "Hang it all, Hart," said Robert, once she had made her exit. "You didn't have to speak so roughly to her."

  "Rough? Me?" Jonathan assumed an expression of injured innocence. When that failed to impress Robert, he simply laughed. "Come on, Robert. She's a Balfour. If she doesn't want to accept the skeletons in her own family closet, that's her own lookout."

  "Balfour or not, I won't have you speak that way to her again," said Robert sternly. Part of him wanted to go after Cecily and see that she was alright, even though he knew such efforts would be poorly received. She was alone in the house of her father's enemies and in danger of complete ruin, after all. Although she did not show it – he had a feeling she would rather die than show it – she must have been frightened.

  Robert suddenly felt ashamed of the way he had behaved towards her. Was this the sort of man he was? A fine host to his gentlemen friends, and a brute to a lost woman?