Главная страница | Современная зарубежная литература | The Irresistible Earl

The Irresistible Earl
Regina Scott


If Chase Dearborn, the powerful Earl of Allyndale, found Meredee Price's family in Scarborough, surely he'd continue his quest to challenge Meredee's stepbrother to a duel. Meredee is determined to avoid the earl at all costs.But saving a drowning young lady thwarts Meredee's plans when her act of heroism nets her the attention of the lady's brother and guardian–none other than Chase himself.Meredee's gentle ways and tranquil beauty touch Chase's guarded heart from the moment he meets her. He's waited a lifetime for a worthy companion–someone he can trust with his deepest secrets. But then he discovers that Meredee has harbored a secret of her own, one that love may not overcome.









“Please allow me to thank you properly for your kindness, Miss Price,” Chase said. “We’ve rented a house here for the summer. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow night.”


“We haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind offer.”

He inclined his head in acceptance of Miss Price’s dismissal, but his sister Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

Chase could not shake the feeling that something wasn’t aboveboard with the redoubtable Miss Price. She hurried up the beach as if the very forces of hell were at her heels. In his experience, a person who ran had a reason.

What was hers?




REGINA SCOTT


started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she had learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.

She and her husband of more than twenty years reside in southeast Washington State. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. Her friends and church family know that if you want something organized, you call Regina. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com.




The Irresistible Earl

Regina Scott





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


If anyone serves, he should do it

with the strength God provides, so that in all things

God may be praised through Jesus Christ.

—1 Peter 4:11b


To those I love, who never gave up on me:

Larry, Kristin, Meryl, Marissa,

Ammanda, Emily, Mom and Dad

and, most of all, my heavenly Father.

Thanks for giving me a chance to shine.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


Yorkshire Coast, England, 1811

“Help! Help me!”

Meredee Price’s head jerked up at the cry echoing across the waters of the North Sea. She’d been so intent on scanning the golden sands that she’d lost track of everything else. But if someone was in trouble, she had to help.

She scanned the area, eyes narrowed against the summer sun. The sweep of shore below the town of Scarborough was crowded with fashionable ladies in fluttering muslin gowns and gentlemen in high-crowned hats, strolling and chatting under a cloud less sky. The clear waves brushed against the bathing machines lined up in the surf to allow refined ladies to take the treatment of dipping into the cool waters. Each lady was attended by two burly women bathers, every machine pulled by two docile horses. All seemed calm, congenial.

“Someone, help!”

There! A girl floundered in the water near one of the bathing machines. The two lady bathers who would normally be attending her were struggling to lower a red-and-white canvas hood over the exit door of the white wood box on wide brown wheels. Their charge simply hadn’t waited for their help. Already she’d plunged into water up to her chest. Whipping her honey-colored hair away from her pale face, she waved a thin hand at Meredee. “Help me!”

The cry pierced Meredee’s heart, and she took a step forward.

Behind her she heard a sharp intake of breath. “Where are you going?” her stepmother demanded.

Meredee smothered a sigh. Quickly glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Evangeline Price was still shivering from her dip. Mrs. Murdock, one of their bathers, had her strong arms around her to steady Meredee’s stepmother, and their other bather, Mrs. Lint, was standing ready to help, but Mrs. Price did not look comforted. Like Meredee, she stood in little more than a blue flannel shift, gray hair plastered to her thin cheeks, seawater streaming down her face and lapping at her waist.

“You haven’t had your treatment yet,” her stepmother protested. “And I will not pay our bathers to watch you look for shells!”

“It’s not that,” Meredee called. “Someone’s in trouble.”

“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Mrs. Murdock said in her booming voice, her vowels as long and fluid as the waters stretching out behind them. “Just put your foot down now, miss,” she shouted to the girl. “It’s not so deep here.”

But the girl was clearly becoming panicked. Barely keeping her mouth above the water, she flailed her arms. “Hurry! Please!”

Meredee could see the fear on the girl’s face, hear it in the sharp little cries. Surely someone should go to her aid! Mrs. Murdock evidently thought better of her words, for she started forward. But Mrs. Price held her back, clinging to her and Mrs. Lint as if afraid the sea would rise and swallow her too. And there was no help anywhere else. Up and down the beach, the dandies and fine ladies who flocked to Scarborough for the summer were staring, pointing.

“Will no one help?”

At the sound of the anguished cry, one of the horses reared in its traces. Meredee gasped as the wagon jerked and swung to one side, knocking one of the bathers into the waves with a splash. The other clung to her perch, face white, as the wagon teetered on two wheels, overshadowing the girl, who stared up at it as if in a trance.

Enough! Meredee didn’t wait another second. She waded over, seized the girl under the arms, and dragged her away from the wagon. Still the girl struggled, her slender body colliding with Meredee’s. Her fear was very nearly contagious. The sand shifted under Meredee’s feet; the waves broke against her back. The cold was nothing compared to the chill inside her.

Help me, Lord. I can’t lose someone else at Scarborough.

She widened her stance and tightened her grip. “You’re safe,” she said against the girl’s temple. “I have you.” She nearly cried out in relief when the girl went limp in her arms. “Just put down your feet.”

Wet skirts brushed hers as the girl complied.

“There,” Meredee said soothingly, as much to calm the girl as to settle her own pulse. “You see? We’re fine.”

She released her hold, and the girl turned to face her. Her eyes were deep brown and wide with shock. “Oh, thank you! You saved my life!”

Meredee shook her head, but, before she could protest, one of the girl’s bathers waded up. “Everything all right here?”

“This woman is a savior,” the girl declared. “I might have drowned if it wasn’t for her.”

The bather’s face tightened. Meredee knew that even a rumor that the bather had been negligent might keep others from patronizing her. Rumors flew fast in the little resort town and quickly grew out of proportion.

“You know, you might have drowned at that,” Meredee’s bather declared as she splashed up to them, Meredee’s stepmother in tow. “A body can drown in just a few feet of water. That’s why you have us.”

“And that’s why we pay perfectly good money for the treatment,” Mrs. Price said with a pointed look at Meredee. The refrain was all too familiar. Though her scholar father had left the family with a comfortable living, his second wife refused to allow a single penny to leave her fingers until she had wrung the life from it.

As if the other bather sensed that Meredee was about to be scolded, she stepped closer. “Ah, but look at your daughter, now. Perhaps we should hire her out. Regular mermaid, isn’t she?”

Meredee was certain her cheeks would have reddened in a blush if they hadn’t been tingling with the cold. Her thick, wavy hair might qualify as golden and her late father had always said her eyes were the color of the sea in a storm, but she was hardly a mermaid. Her interests in Scarborough lay cradled in the sands, not out among the waves.

“She is not my daughter,” Mrs. Price said, eyes narrowing. “I’m quite certain I am entirely too young to have a daughter of five and twenty.”

That she had a son two years older by a previous marriage did not seem to trouble her. It was only Meredee she found such a terrible burden.

Lord, give me patience.

“Now, come along,” Mrs. Price said, her lips a determined shade of blue. “You can see this person is fine.”

The girl didn’t look fine. She clutched her soaked gown to her chest, trembling. Meredee’s heart went out to her, but she knew her duty lay with her step mother. She offered the girl a smile before turning to go, but the girl reached out for Meredee’s arm. “No, wait. I must know the name of my savior.”

The title felt entirely wrong. “I know only one Savior,” Meredee told her, “but my name is Meredee Price.”

“Lady Phoebe Dearborn,” she replied, voice trembling, as well. “And I shall be forever in your debt.”

Meredee thought her stepmother might try to curry favor now that she knew the girl was titled, but Mrs. Price’s financial concerns proved paramount. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to pay our bathers,” she put in, nose in the air. “They charge by the hour, you know, and we are taking up a good deal of their time.”

Lady Phoebe dropped her gaze and her hold on Meredee’s arm. “Of course. I’m sure my brother would be delighted. I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

Meredee couldn’t bear to see the girl so forlorn. She enveloped her in a hug, the chill of the bathing costumes warming for a moment, then stepped back. “It was no trouble, I assure you. Perhaps we’ll see each other in town.”

An answering smile lit Lady Phoebe’s dark eyes.

“I suppose we’ve forfeited Meredee’s time for a cure,” Mrs. Price said, heaving a martyred sigh as Meredee followed her and Mrs. Murdock back to their bathing machine.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Murdock said with a wink to Meredee. “I’ll be more than happy to give Miss Price the cure, no charge. Anything for the savior of Scarborough Bay.”

Meredee smiled at her but shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t want Mrs. Price to take a chill.” She gazed down into the waters one last time, but the movements of the horses and bathers had so muddied her view that she knew she’d never spot what she’d been searching for now. Suppressing a sigh, she climbed the few steps into the bathing machine for their trip to the shore.

Mrs. Price’s mood improved along the way as Meredee helped her into her underthings and the sprigged muslin gown that had been hanging from pegs on the white enameled walls of the cozy wooden box. But then, Meredee had found, her stepmother’s moods generally improved as long as Meredee devoted herself to the older woman’s comfort.

“I suppose Scarborough isn’t the end of the world,” Mrs. Price said with a final shiver. She took a seat on the bench that lined one wall as Meredee began changing, as well. “Still, I never intended to see this place again. I cannot imagine what Algernon was thinking to bring us here. Surely there are more fashionable bathing places.”

Oh, there were no doubt more fashionable bathing places—like the prince’s favorite summer haunt, Brighton. Still, each summer since the 1600s, Scarborough had attracted people from the aristocracy to the merchant class to tarry along its cool shores, drink of the famous healing spa waters, bathe in the sea and congregate at the spa house, Assembly Rooms, or St. Mary’s Church. Even now Meredee had heard the governor of the spa, William Barriston, chortling that the population of the town had doubled to nearly seven thousand souls.

No, her stepbrother didn’t need any more crowds than the ones at Scarborough. Meredee had been the one who had convinced him to make for the Yorkshire Coast when he’d come to her in a panic a fortnight ago. She still could not understand what he’d done to so anger someone as powerful and vindictive as the Earl of Allyndale. People generally liked Algernon’s beaming smile and charming conversation, even if they shook their heads over his colorful choice of clothing. She could not imagine why Lord Allyndale would threaten a duel, but she certainly wasn’t willing to stand by and see her stepbrother killed.

And she had a promise to keep in Scarborough, one she’d neglected to fulfill for five years. What she really needed was a good low tide, preferably after a decent storm. And an hour or so to herself.

But she wasn’t likely to be left alone anytime soon. As Mrs. Murdock opened the door to help Meredee and Mrs. Price from the shadows of the bathing machine onto the dry sands, a cheer went up. Meredee blinked into nearly two dozen faces. It seemed as if every notable touring the crescent of the beach had heard Lady Phoebe’s cries and watched Meredee’s rescue. Now they gathered from the spa house at the southern tip to the lighthouse sheltering under the watchful eye of Scarborough Castle, just to congratulate her.

She wanted to shrink back into the box. She was supposed to help Algernon remain in hiding, keep from calling undue attention to themselves. What had she done?

Mrs. Price did not seem worried. She preened at the attention, patting her damp gray tresses and putting on a long-suffering smile. “Yes, yes, dreadful, isn’t it?” she lamented to the plump countess in breezy white muslin who was the first to step forward. “I’m certain the poor girl would have drowned if I hadn’t directed Meredee to rescue her.”

Meredee could only wish for rescue herself. Sun hot on her cheeks, she had to give an accounting of her stunning heroism to a country squire from Devonshire, an Italian nobleman, two knights of the bath with wives in tow and a silk merchant from Carlisle before another man elbowed his way to the front. He was tall and powerfully built, with hair nearly the color of the sands and eyes like the North Sea. The others stepped aside when they saw that he was interested in questioning her. From the scowl on his craggy face, she would have been tempted to flee as well, if Lady Phoebe hadn’t been at his side.

Though the girl could not have reached the shore much sooner, she had traded her flannel bathing costume for a high-waisted muslin gown embroidered all over with yellow daisies. Her damp hair curled into waves around her lovely face. Meredee, in her simple blue cotton gown, hair in a braid down her back, felt like a country cousin beside her.

“I simply had to thank you again, Miss Price,” the girl declared in awed tones. “And so did my brother. Mrs. Price, Miss Meredee Price, may I present my brother, Chase Dearborn, Lord Allyndale.”



Chase watched as both women blanched. Mrs. Price went so far as to take a step back, but Miss Price’s hand on her arm kept her from fleeing. Though he knew a few men who would run at the sight of him, he couldn’t recall a time when a lady felt the need to escape.

And they were certainly ladies. In fact, Mrs. Price reminded him of his late mother—high jutting cheekbones; long aristocratic nose; narrow, elegant frame. But he had never met anyone quite like Meredee Price. She had the thick golden hair and wise gray eyes of a Saxon princess, yet the impressive curves of a heroine in one of Botticelli’s paintings. He could easily imagine her lifting the fragile Phoebe from the waves, or riding into battle against the Norse forces.

She dropped her gaze, dipped a quick curtsy and spoke in soft tones, with a musical lilt. “An honor to meet you, my lord. But I wish you would not dwell on what happened in the waves. It was truly nothing.”

The rest of the crowd insisted on her heroism, which only set her cheeks to blushing. Was she truly a shy, retiring creature, then? And why did that so disappoint him? After meeting any number of young society misses while escorting his sister, he’d resigned himself to being surrounded by shy, retiring creatures.

“Nothing!” Phoebe cried, reaching out to snatch up Meredee’s hand and press it close. “How can you say that! I could not live with myself unless I found a way to thank you properly. You saved my life!”

Normally Chase would have stepped in to temper his sister’s unbounded enthusiasm, but in this case he rather thought she had the right to it. Despite his efforts to raise his sister, who was twelve years his junior, the girl seemed to invite disaster. He hadn’t been able to see her from where he had waited along the shore, but he’d heard Phoebe’s cries for help and could well believe it had taken Miss Price’s intervention to save his sister.

“Please allow me to thank you property for your kindness, Miss Price,” he said as the poor lady visibly squirmed in Phoebe’s fervent grip. “We’ve rented a house here in Scarborough for the summer. Perhaps you could join us for dinner tomorrow night, along with your mother, of course.”

“I am not her mother,” Mrs. Price put in, laying a hand on the woman’s arm and acting as if she would tug her away from Phoebe. “And I think we truly must go.”

Meredee Price did not seem agitated to find herself the rope in the middle of a tug-of-war contest. “What my stepmother means,” she said calmly, gaze rising to meet his and serving to fix him in his place, “is that we haven’t decided how long we’ll be staying in Scarborough. We may depart this very afternoon. I’ll send word if we’re able to accept your kind invitation.”

He’d been mistaken. No Saxon princess this, but clearly the queen and just as regal. He inclined his head in acceptance of her dismissal, but Phoebe’s face crumpled. “Oh, but you can’t leave! I just know we’ll be the best of friends!”

Miss Price’s smile was a gentle quirk of her peach-colored lips. “Then I’m certain our friendship will survive any absence. Good day, Lady Phoebe, my lord.”

Chase could see the protest building in the stubborn set to Phoebe’s little chin. He refused to allow her to stage a greater scene than she had already done. He took Miss Price’s hand from his sister’s and bowed over it. “Your devoted servant, Miss Price.”

She curtsied more fully this time, and when she rose he was surprised to see a shadow cross her eyes, like a raven swooping across storm clouds. Although Phoebe and Mrs. Price made their farewells in polite tones, Chase didn’t think it was his imagination that Meredee Price’s grip on her stepmother’s arm was every bit as fevered as Phoebe’s as they hurried up the beach for the shops and houses beyond.

He only wondered who she was running away from—Phoebe or him.




Chapter Two


“What were you thinking?” Mrs. Price lamented as they hurried along the crowded streets that led through the town. “We cannot dine with Lord Allyndale! We daren’t stay in Scarborough another minute! Oh, my poor Algernon—hunted from pillar to post!”

“Calm yourself,” Meredee said with assurance she was far from feeling. “Lord Allyndale obviously saw no connection between us and the Algernon Whitaker who so offended him.”

“Well, of course not,” Mrs. Price huffed. “Nor would he have noticed us if you hadn’t made a spectacle of yourself!”

Meredee bit back a retort. Angry words would do none of them any good now. She had only been trying to help. And even if she had known the girl was the sister of Algernon’s sworn enemy, she wouldn’t have let Lady Phoebe struggle. She’d never been able to overlook the pain or fear of others; it was in her very nature to offer help when it was needed.

“Be that as it may,” she said, leading her stepmother past the shops overflowing with bright fabrics, exotic scents and fine literature, “we have been discovered. We have only to explain the situation to Algernon, and I’m certain he’ll see the wisdom of escaping.”

Mrs. Price nodded and said no more, as if she needed her breath to climb the remaining way up the hill to the Bell Inn, where they had taken rooms. Meredee was just as glad for her silence. She could not stop thinking about their meeting with Lord Allyndale.

When Algernon had confided to her a fortnight ago in their London town house that he feared Allyndale would challenge him to a duel, the man he’d described had been a monster. “He’s completely unreasonable,” he’d fretted, pacing about the yellow silk–draped bedchamber that had been hers since she had finished her schooling. “There’s no use talking to him or begging his pardon. If he issues a challenge, I’m a dead man.”

“But the magistrates,” she’d protested from her four-poster bed where he’d found her that night. “Surely you could go to them, explain the situation. Dueling is against the law.”

Algernon smiled at her as if he envied her her innocence. “Dueling may be against the law, but the magistrates will turn deaf as soon as they hear who’s involved. Allyndale is too powerful. Word at White’s is that he’s already forced one fellow to flee for the Continent.”

“But why?” Meredee asked, fisting her bedclothes, never doubting the word of those who thronged Lon don’s most famous gentlemen’s club. “Why would he seek your ruin?”

“It doesn’t matter,” her stepbrother had replied, pausing in his pacing to meet her gaze. His deep blue eyes had been mirrors of despair. “He has taken me in dislike, and he will not rest until he’s made my life hell.”

Meredee shivered, remembering. Lord Allyndale was obviously a man who toyed with the lives of others just for the thrill of power. She could not allow Algernon to fall into his clutches. She’d proposed the plan to flee and the place to hide, sure that the earl would soon find someone else to torment. Yet here he was, on their very doorstep!

She had to admit she was a bit disappointed.

She’d expected eyes that flashed with dark intentions, a face slack with dissipation, a body gross with indulgence. But Lord Allyndale was well-formed, with broad shoulders that filled his tailored coat and long legs that showed well in chamois breeches. Her father had always said that evil could hide behind a winsome smile, but she still thought some trace should be visible, if only to warn away those with the insight to look for it.

She had looked today, but she could not see the creature Algernon feared. Lord Allyndale’s smile held a pride and love for his sister; the way his arm draped around her shoulders spoke of a desire to protect her. And the way he’d gazed into Meredee’s eyes—so sure, so deep—why it had nearly taken her breath away.

Had she mistaken the name Algernon had uttered with such despair? Or could her stepbrother have misunderstood the earl’s intentions?

When they reached the inn and sought out her stepbrother, she wasn’t surprised to find him still in the little whitewashed bedchamber under the eaves. While Meredee and Mrs. Price had been willing to rise early to shop and then to bathe in the sea, Algernon was only now peering into the mirror over his mahogany washstand in his shirtsleeves and scraping his lathered chin with a razor.

“Allyndale, here?” He dropped the razor into the porcelain washbowl, heedless of the soapy water that splashed his otherwise spotless yellow pantaloons. As Meredee carefully closed the door behind her, he turned to stare at her and his mother. “Are you certain? Did he speak of me?”

“He did not,” Mrs. Price put in. “And thank God for that!”

Meredee could only agree. Of course, she would not have been so bold as to ask God for Algernon’s safety. God never answered her prayers for large things—her mother’s recovery from the carriage accident that had taken her life when Meredee was only eight, her father’s healing from the illness that racked his body and cut short his studies as a conchologist, even her own situation with Mrs. Price. Now she just asked for little things, like patience.

“Lord Allyndale did not connect us with you,” Meredee told her stepbrother and explained how they had met the earl.

When she finished, she fully expected Algernon to wipe the foam from his face and set about packing. Instead, he began pacing the little inn room, taking three strides from the multipaned window to Meredee’s side where she perched on a ladder-backed chair next to his narrow bed. It seemed her stepbrother’s mind only worked properly when propelled by the energy of his long legs.

“But Lady Phoebe was all right?” he asked.

Trust Algernon to worry about the pretty girl first. “I sincerely doubt she was in any danger,” Meredee assured him. “I am no hero.”

He sent her a grin that broadened his narrow face and lit his deep blue eyes like sapphires in candlelight. “Well, you’ve been known to bail me out a time or two.”

“And I haven’t?” Mrs. Price immediately protested.

Algernon’s smile softened. “Certainly you have, Mother. I wonder sometimes how I manage to tie my cravat without advice from the two of you.”

“Then listen to me now,” Mrs. Price ordered. “We should leave. It’s the only way to be certain we’re safe.”

Meredee bit back a sigh. Her stepmother was right. But when would she get to the Yorkshire Coast again? She’d been suggesting the trip for five years, but Mrs. Price saw no need to return to the area where her second husband had met his end. Yet Meredee could only keep her promise to her father by coming here.

“Not necessarily,” Algernon said, holding up a hand. “Regardless of how Meredee feels about the matter, Lady Phoebe clearly believes Meredee saved her life. We may be able to use that to our advantage.”

Meredee felt as if the room had chilled and rubbed one hand along the sleeve of her blue cotton gown. “What do you mean?”

“Yes, Algernon,” Mrs. Price demanded. “You insist we flee this fellow, at considerable inconvenience I might add, and now you wish to embrace him?”

“Not me, Mother,” Algernon replied patiently. “Meredee.”

“Me!” Meredee hated the squeak in her voice. Why couldn’t she have a solid voice, a commanding voice? Her voice was high and soft, like a bird chirping, and as easily ignored, just as her family ignored her now.

“Meredee?” Mrs. Price shook her head, gray curls bouncing. “Unthinkable. I will not allow you to put her in danger. Besides, I do not know how I should get on without her.”

As Mrs. Price was neither infirm nor forgetful, Meredee could not see herself as so indispensible. Of course, it would cost her stepmother more money if she actually had to hire a companion instead of relying on Meredee for every little thing.

“We must all make sacrifices, Mother,” Algernon said as if agreeing with Meredee’s thoughts.

“But exactly what sacrifices must I make?” Meredee asked.

His smile was kind. “Nothing onerous, I promise. Merely accept his offer. Dine with him and Lady Phoebe. See if you can get him to confess why he’s come to Scarborough.”

Algernon had no idea what he was asking. Dine with his enemy? Surely her face, her least word would betray her. She was certain that Lord Allyndale had taken her measure on the shore, but the way he had touched her hand, bowed over it as if she were a great lady, had confused her more than anything else. The look in his eyes said he esteemed her.

All because she’d had the good sense to tell his sister to set down her feet.

Meredee shook her head. “No, I can’t do it. Even if Lord Allyndale is a monster, I cannot lie to him. If he asks me about you, I’ll be the one making a confession.”

“Ungrateful girl!” Mrs. Price cried, shaking a finger at her. “And where would you live if Algernon wasn’t so generous?”

Meredee stared at her hands, clenched together in her lap. She couldn’t bear to see the censure in her stepmother’s gaze. She didn’t understand why her father hadn’t made provision for her in his will, outside of leaving her his collection of seashells. Algernon had inherited the entire estate. Both Mrs. Price and she lived on his largesse. And she was truly grateful for Algernon’s kindness.

“Mother, please,” Algernon said. “Meredee is the best sister a fellow could ask. I probably wouldn’t be alive without her wise counsel.” He walked to the chair and knelt in front of her, forcing Meredee to meet his gaze.

“Have I asked too much of you?” he said softly. “Is it such a terrible duty to go to a fine house, eat fine food, be treated like the lady you were meant to be?”

Meredee felt tears burning her eyes, and she dashed them away with one hand. “You make it sound like a party, but all I see is a battle.”

“And who better suited to go into battle on the side of righteousness than my brave sister?” he insisted. “Who nursed Father through two years of pain and suffering? Who helped Mother see him buried? Who even now keeps us all from going mad in times of trouble?”

“Kind words,” Meredee countered with a sniff. “But they would be much more convincing if they hadn’t been uttered from behind a face covered in foam.”

Algernon barked a laugh and rose. “See? I knew you’d come around.” He strode to the washstand, picked up the linen towel hanging there and wiped off his face. “So, you’ll do it?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. “You’ll have dinner with Lord Allyndale and see what you can learn?”

Meredee sighed. “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll go pen a note to the earl right now. May God have mercy on us all.”



Chase could not shake the feeling that something wasn’t aboveboard with the redoubtable Miss Price. She’d run from him at the beach as if the very forces of hell were at her heels. In his experience, a person who ran had a reason.

What was hers?

A few pointed questions of the crowd before he took Phoebe home were enough to learn Miss Price’s direction. He thought about her actions all the way home and wasn’t surprised when a boy brought a politely penned note from her accepting his invitation to dine. Even in writing Miss Price evinced none of the sentiment his mother and sister preferred. An intriguing woman. Surely a call at the Bell Inn would not be too much attention for the woman who had saved his sister’s life.

He had just started out from the house he had rented for the summer when he spotted Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam coming up the drive. He hadn’t stopped to think when he’d invited his friend to join him and Phoebe in Scarborough. He and Trev had both had reasons for wanting to avoid London for a time. Now it struck him as singularly good luck that he had someone as savvy as Trevor in train.

“Out for a ride?” Trev asked, back straight as a soldier’s in his navy coat. He patted his horse, Icarus, on the neck.

“I’m on an errand,” Chase replied. “But you’re welcome to join me. In fact, I’d appreciate your insights.”

Trevor’s green eyes lit, and he pulled the black gelding in alongside Chase’s bay mare. “What’s the to do? A new tract of land? A faster horse? A better coat?”

“My estate is larger than needed, my horse is fast enough and there’s nothing wrong with my coat,” Chase countered.

Trevor adjusted his top hat on his dark head and avoided looking at Chase’s bottle-green coat. “As you say.”

“Much more of that, and you can whistle for your supper.”

“Don’t I usually?” Trev replied, with an edge of itterness Chase could not like. Trevor’s desires frequently outstripped his pockets. Chase was more than happy to house and feed the friend he’d known since his school days, but he suspected that Trevor chafed at the kindness. That was one of the reasons the baronet had begun taking on inquiries for society, to avoid living on his friends’ largesse.

As they rode through the cobbled streets among elegant town houses and square stone inns, Chase filled him in on the afternoon’s adventure.

“And I take it the lady piqued your interest,” Trevor said as they rounded the corner and sighted the Bell Inn just ahead.

Chase shrugged. “There’s more to the woman than strength and vitality.”

Trev’s dark brows shot up. “Strength? Vitality? Do you speak of a woman or a horse you’re considering purchasing?”

“A lady to be sure,” Chase answered with a smile. “But something about her doesn’t set right.”

“Of what do you suspect her?”

Chase scowled at him. “Am I that much of a tyrant that I must suspect everyone I see of dark motives?”

Trevor merely eyed him.

Chase sighed. “Very well, I admit that I wondered why she of all the people acted. At least a dozen women were bathing this afternoon along the shore, with a similar number of women assisting them. Why did she alone rush to Phoebe’s aid?”

“Perhaps she sought to bring herself to your notice, ingratiate herself to the Dearborn family.”

“And what a coxcomb I am to suspect it, I know.”

“You have cause,” Trevor said quietly.

Chase shifted his weight on the saddle. He didn’t need the reminder of how one man had nearly destroyed his sister. He would not let anyone hurt Phoebe. You honored me with intelligence, strength, and resources, Lord. Give me the wisdom to use them.

They rode into the coaching yard of the Bell Inn, a respectable two-story stone building with flower boxes under the multipaned windows. The common room inside was neat and clean. The polished oak tables and ladder-backed chairs welcomed visitors to chat before the rough-stone hearth taking up much of the left wall. A word to the landlord was enough to see their horses stabled and tankards placed before them in a quiet private parlor while they waited for a boy to take word up to Miss Price and her stepmother. Miss Price returned alone, in a remarkably short time, hurrying through the door as if keeping Chase waiting was the worst sin imaginable.

She still wore the blue dress, though she’d had time to wind her hair up into a braided coronet that suited her. She dipped a quick curtsey. “Lord Allyndale. We didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow.”

Chase bowed over her hand and found it trembling. Was he such a fearsome thing then? He glanced at Trevor, but his friend was frowning. He took a step back and bumped Trev’s leg on purpose. “May I present my good friend, Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, baronet?”

She curtsied again, and Trev wiped the frown from his face and bowed. “Forgive the interruption, Miss Price,” he said as he straightened, “but I had to thank you personally for saving Lady Phoebe’s life. The Dearborns have been good friends for years, and I take your assistance as a personal favor.”

Putting it on a little thick, Chase thought. But Miss Price merely lowered her gaze to the shine of Trev’s black high-topped boots.

“You are too kind,” she murmured. “I’m sure Lady Phoebe must have realized by now how little I did to help her.”

“On the contrary,” Chase assured her, “she is effusive in her praise. You have made a conquest, Miss Price.”

She looked up then, meeting his gaze, and once more he felt put firmly in his place. “I didn’t intend to conquer anyone, my lord. It was very kind of you to visit, but I fear I cannot stay. This afternoon’s events overtired my stepmother. I must return to her side immediately. Good day.”

She dipped one last graceful curtsey and slipped from the room while Chase and Trev were still in midbow.

Trev met Chase’s puzzled gaze. “For a woman out to trap you, she doesn’t have a great deal of use for your company,” his friend pointed out. “In fact, I’ve never seen a woman more intent on resisting your least charm.”

Chase shook his head and motioned Trev out of the room ahead of him. “Then perhaps I will have to become irresistible, for I intend to learn everything I can about the formidable Miss Price.”




Chapter Three


Meredee didn’t know whether to be pleased or perplexed. What did it mean that Lord Allyndale had brought his close friend to meet her only hours after being introduced? She could not credit that she’d made such an impression on the earl. They’d only spoken a few sentences!

And then there was Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam, easily one of the handsomest men in Scarborough, with his raven hair and square jaw. She was no student of fashion, but even she could tell that his navy coat had been cut by a London tailor. Still, she could not be sure of his character. His lips might smile, but calculation crouched in his cool, green eyes. She’d have been tempted to stay safely in her little room, but Algernon was certain that she and Mrs.

Price should not alter their habits to avoid any possibility of suspicion. So, while her stepbrother cooled his heels at the inn, she accompanied Mrs. Price to the spa house the next morning.

The town of Scarborough ran along a hillside and sloped gently down in the center toward the shore like the neckline of a frock. The headland that held Scarborough’s castle (and several regiments) separated the more rustic North Bay from the South and sheltered the harbor and fishing fleet.

Scarborough’s spa house sat to the south. The long, low building lay close to the shore and could be reached by driving along the sands. Mrs. Price insisted on puffing down the tree-shadowed path that wound down the cliff. Meredee enjoyed the views of the sea on the way down, but some days she’d have far preferred to lounge in a sedan chair like many of the fashionable ladies and let someone else’s legs carry her back up.

The spa house was its usual hub of activity that morning as they entered the receiving room. Already ladies in bright flowered bonnets sat on the harp-backed chairs that lined the pale green walls and chatted. Their voices rose and fell like the sound of the waves on the shore just outside. Couples promenaded around the polished wood floor or paused to gaze out the row of clear glass windows at the sea. Many people were already making for a door at the far end of the room, which led to a flight of dark stone stairs and a terrace that held the two wells of healing spring water for which the town was famous.

“And here is the savior of Scarborough Bay,” proclaimed William Barriston as they entered the receiving room. The governor of the spa was a tall, thin man with an engaging grin who was rumored to have attained the stunning age of eighty-eight years by drinking daily of the waters. Meredee had known him since she was a baby. His bright blue eyes twinkled in his wrinkled face as he approached her now.

“What is this I’ve been hearing about you from Mrs. Barriston?” he said, shaking his long finger at her. “Quite the heroine, eh?”

Meredee wasn’t surprised that his wife had told him the tale. The governor’s third wife was the area’s most accomplished gossip, and someone Meredee avoided whenever possible.

“I have received no less than five requests for introductions already,” he continued. “One fellow even offered me a gold piece.” He rubbed his gloved hands together gleefully.

“It was nothing,” Meredee insisted. “I wish everyone would stop dwelling on it.”

He patted the shoulder of her jonquil-colored short jacket. “You are the latest seven days’ wonder, my dear. I advise you to make the most of it.”

Impossible. She had to avoid undue attention, for Algernon’s sake if not her own sanity. She’d never liked being the center of attention. She didn’t come to the spa to preen.

Not so Mrs. Price. She immediately set about greeting everyone they knew, from portly Mr. Cranell, who was an old friend of Meredee’s father’s, to the bold countess who had introduced herself yesterday after Meredee had rescued Lady Phoebe. Meredee smiled politely through every conversation, trying to keep from fidgeting. She’d have much rather cheered Mr. Openshaw, who had lost an arm serving on the Peninsula, or the country squire crippled with gout. The sadness in their eyes, their tenacity in adversity, spoke to her heart. She felt more at home with them than with the fashionable ladies who wrinkled their noses at the strong metallic taste of the waters they sipped, all the while their gazes roamed the room like those of lionesses intent on their prey.

Ah, but she shouldn’t judge them. She had been told time and again—by her father, by her governess—that the surest way to a secure future was to find a wealthy husband. Even Mrs. Price understood that. She’d already buried two husbands, and still she batted her thinning lashes, swished her pale muslin skirts and giggled like a girl at something the widowed Mr. Cranell said, making the old fellow turn as red as the tops of his boots. As soon as she could, Meredee excused herself and went to stand by the windows, gazing out at the sea.

She could hear the waves through the glass as they tumbled over the sands. Already men in dark coats and women with pale parasols wandered the shore. But Scarborough’s bays never failed to remind her of her father. How many times had he trod those golden sands, head bowed, hands clasped behind his black coat, while she scurried along behind him, hoping she might find a way to be useful to him.

“Wait for me, Papa!” she’d cry.

But as usual, he hadn’t waited. He’d gone on ahead of her and left her behind, no more sure of her purpose.

“Such dark thoughts on this fine day,” Lord Allyndale said quietly beside her.

Meredee took a deep breath and composed her face. He had no need to know anything more about her. In fact, the more she said, the more likely he was to connect her with Algernon. She turned and smiled at him. “Good morning, my lord. And how is your dear sister?”

“Fine, as you can see,” he said, nodding to where Lady Phoebe was squealing with delight over another young lady’s velvet jacket. His sister wore a pink muslin gown with ruffles at the hem that fluttered as she moved. Her straw bonnet was covered with a profusion of ribbons and silk flowers, making it look as if she had brought spring with her. The earl himself looked more somber, dressed in a navy coat and buff-colored breeches above gleaming boots.

“You don’t seem to have thrown off yesterday’s events as easily,” he said. “If I may, Miss Price, you look tired.”

Was that concern in his voice? Why should he care? “And do you flatter all the young ladies this way, my lord?” Meredee countered.

He chuckled, a warm rumble that was hard to resist. “I’m afraid I’m not good at doing the pretty. Some other fellow would quote you poetry or the Bard. ‘She walks in beauty like the night,’ or some such.”

“I’ve never been all that much for poetry,” Meredee admitted. No, it’s more likely quiet concern that will be my undoing.

“That we have in common, then. What do you prefer to read?”

Meredee eyed him. His head was cocked, and the light through the windows touched his sandy hair with gold and highlighted the planes on his face. Nothing in his look or his attention said he was teasing her. How extraordinary! But she doubted he’d look so attentive if he knew the truth. Most men would be aghast at her reading material. Even her stepmother turned up her nose. Only one other man had ever listened to her prose on, and she’d done her best to forget him. She would be safer admitting to the occasional gothic novel, which she did enjoy.

“Ah,” he said just as she realized she had probably been silent too long. “Perhaps you prefer not to read.”

She refused to leave him with that impression. “Most likely I read too much, my lord. I love history, and the latest scientific discoveries. I recently found a copy of Mr. Humboldt’s treatise on his travels to the equatorial regions of the South American continent. It was most inspiring.”

She waited for his eyes to glaze over, to hear him murmur polite excuses and hurry away as generally happened when she shared her pastimes. But he merely leaned closer, his eyes lighting. “And do you adhere to his theory that the earth’s magnetic field varies between the poles and the equator?”

“He was most persuasive, though I should like to see his observations duplicated on the African continent. Flora and fauna would be more of a challenge there, I think.”

He straightened and beamed at her, suddenly looking as young and carefree as Algernon. “My thoughts exactly. And what of more practical matters? Are you a staunch supporter of Hannah More or do your tastes run to Mary Wollstonecraft?”

“Must it be one or the other? Mrs. More instructs us to read the Bible and think on how we can best serve the Lord. Mrs. Wollstonecraft insists that only a woman who uses her intelligence can truly find her purpose. I do not see that the two contradict each other.”

He laughed. “I’d like to see you explain that to them.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “I suppose they would find a great deal to argue about. What of you, my lord? Which do you find more useful?”

His gaze traveled to where his sister was even now blushing as a tall, angular young man bowed over her hand. “The Bible guides us in our lives, but every woman should use her intellect to ensure her future. Excuse me, Miss Price.”

She curtsied, but he was already striding across the room to his sister’s side. As Meredee watched, the gawky youth paled, stammered and then stumbled way from Lady Phoebe, who turned to her brother, mouth drawn in a tight little bow.

“What did he want?” Mrs. Price begged, hurrying up to Meredee, breaths coming in little pants. “Does he suspect?”

Meredee shook her head. “No. He talked only of science and philosophy.”

“Science?” Her stepmother drew a breath that swelled her lacy bodice. “I would not have thought him capable of it.”

Across the room, the earl took his sister’s arm and drew her toward the door that led to the wells. “Just because he’s taken a dislike to Algernon,” Meredee said, “doesn’t make him a monster, madam.”

“Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price huffed. “And why was I dragged from my home if not to escape a monster?”

Meredee sighed and took her arm. “I begin to wonder. Have you drunk from the wells, then?”

“No,” her stepmother said with a pout. “I didn’t dare leave the room once I saw you conversing with that wretch.”

“Then let’s get you a cup.” She led her stepmother through the long room and out the door.

Once outside, the sound of the waves came louder. At high tide, she knew, they could pound against the rounded stones of the terrace and dampen the path with spray. Now a few leaves dotted the dark steps as they made their way down to the stone-lined recess that housed the two wells. Mrs. Price was convinced the Chalybeate Well was the finer of the two, so Meredee steered her toward the line of people waiting for a drink dipped from the stone-edged hole of the south well by a gentle widow.

One of the wonders of Scarborough was the variety of people who were welcomed at the wells. Everyone from Mrs. Price’s new friend, the countess, to the tiny son of the local coalmonger stood waiting their turns, sure that a sip from the mineral springs would make them stronger, or at least more fashionable. But Meredee and Mrs. Price had only taken a few steps when she saw Lord Allyndale and Lady Phoebe near the north well.

Mrs. Price must have sighted him at nearly the same time, for she nudged Meredee. “Smile,” she hissed. “You do not want him to think anything’s amiss.”

Meredee forced a smile, but neither of the Dearborns seemed to be looking in her direction. They had reached the front of their line and stood beside the low well. Mrs. Dennings, one of the elderly widows who served the water, lifted a tin cup. Meredee thought that surely Lady Phoebe would take it, but she refused the spa water with a shake of her honey-colored curls and a scrunch of her pert nose. To Meredee’s surprise, it was the earl who drank of the healing waters, head up, gaze out over the sea, in one great gulp as if taking particularly foul medicine.

Her father had drunk it like that, when he was afraid of dying.

Meredee blinked. Chase Dearborn could not be ill. Her father had been thin and growing thinner every day, his skin gray, his eyes shadowed. Lord Allyndale looked the picture of health—tall, solid, imposing. He turned and saw her staring at him then, and her cheeks heated in a blush.

For a moment, their gazes locked, held. Why did he look at her so intently? Did he find her as intriguing to watch? Had he found their conversation as interesting as she had? Did he admire her?

The stone floor seemed to shift under her. She caught her breath and clutched her stepmother’s arm to hold herself steady. Lord Allyndale merely inclined his head in acknowledgement, then walked swiftly to the stairs, his sister hurrying behind.

“Well, I like that!” Mrs. Price grumbled, her gaze following them. “Not even a fare thee well!” She paled suddenly and grabbed Meredee’s hand where it still rested on her arm. “Did you say something to make him take us in dislike?”

Meredee took a deep breath and pulled away. What was wrong with her? Had she expected some kind of public display? She wasn’t the type to inspire sonnets; by his own admission he wasn’t the type to compose them. If she hadn’t saved his sister’s life, they would probably have never met.

“I don’t believe his actions had anything to do with us,” she told her stepmother.

Mrs. Price nodded, biting her lower lip. But Meredee couldn’t tell her what she really thought, for surely that was an even greater fancy. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought the earl was running away from her, just as she’d run from him the other day.



“But wasn’t that Miss Price?” Phoebe asked as Chase all but stuffed her into their waiting carriage outside the spa house.

“It was, but I spoke to her earlier.” He climbed in beside her, shut the door and rapped on the upper panel to signal his driver to start. He hadn’t intended to talk to Meredee Price, though he’d noticed her the moment he’d entered the spa. Something about her drew his attention, awakened his senses. He’d have liked nothing better than to spend a few hours in her company. But he knew he had to be circumspect. Undue attentions usually led to assumptions of betrothals he had no intention of confirming. He hadn’t come to Scarborough looking for a wife. Only his life.

Phoebe tossed her head. “Well, I didn’t get to speak to her. You might have asked before whisking me off.”

“You’ll see her tonight, pet,” he reminded her. “And, if I know you, you have a great deal to do to get ready for dinner.”

Phoebe’s pique eased at that, and she prattled on about hair and gowns for the quarter hour it took to reach their Scarborough house above the spa. Chase was just as glad. Phoebe had been away at school when he’d first fallen ill. She didn’t know the fevers that racked him with no warning, leaving him weak, helpless.

The London physicians blamed it on humors in the blood; the renowned physician he’d consulted in Edinburgh was certain it had to do with the night air on the York moors. Mal aria, the Italians called it. Either way, he was determined to rid himself of the malady. His sister and his duties as earl required him to be alert, focused, dedicated. Falling into a stupor for days at a time was simply not an option.

If only he could find Phoebe a suitable husband, but the girl seemed drawn to feckless fools—all harm, no substance. He did not doubt for an instant that they would prove weak reeds in times of trouble. Given Chase’s illness, Phoebe had to have someone at her side she could count on.

Unbidden, Meredee Price’s face came to mind. She never ceased to amaze him. What other woman in his circles had ever been interested in science, could actually converse knowledgeably about the subject? Moreover, she had a way of looking at him that made him feel as if she could see deep inside. For a moment, at the spa, he was certain she’d divined his secret, that taking the waters wasn’t simply a show of being fashionable but a desperate attempt to cure himself. Yet instead of ridicule he saw in her face, it was compassion.

“Allyndale, you are not paying attention,” Phoebe complained, forcing him back to the present. “I asked you a very important question.”

Chase inclined his head. “Forgive me. What do you need?”

Phoebe leaned forward, dark eyes narrowed. “Shall I wear pearls or roses in my hair tonight?”

Chase’s chuckle came out before he could catch it. “You will be delightful in either, my dear.”

She cocked her head. “You like Miss Price, don’t you?”

Oh, he was entirely too transparent. He schooled his face into something significantly more stern, a look that made his servants tiptoe about the house and Parliament tremble. “That, young miss, is none of your affair.”

Phoebe let out a peal of laughter. “Oh, you do, you do! How delightful! I’ve been praying so long for the right woman for you. I can’t believe I’ve found a sister at last!”

“Your felicitations are entirely premature, I assure you.”

“So you say, but time will tell. And when you are happy, perhaps you’ll be willing to let me be happy too.”

Her words knifed him. “Are you so very unhappy, Phoebe? I thought you wanted to come to Scarborough.”

She dropped her gaze and fiddled with the bow on her fetching bonnet. “I did. It isn’t Scarborough that makes me so unhappy. I miss him, Chase. I told you I would.”

Chase’s pulse pounded in his temples. “He isn’t worthy of you, Phoebe. You know that.”

“You know that,” she said with a sigh. “My heart never agreed with you.”

“Then perhaps it’s time you spoke to your heart,” Chase said, feeling his tightening inside him. “A marriage should be well thought out, the people well known to each other. You cannot fall in love in an instant and expect to have made a good choice.”

She raised her gaze to his, her dark eyes stormy. “Oh, I hope you fall in love, so swiftly and suddenly that nothing else matters! Perhaps then you’ll understand how I feel!”

She had no idea what she asked. Chase turned away from her before harsh words came out. He had no intention of falling in love, swiftly or otherwise. No amount of love had kept Phoebe safe before. That was where his duty lay. And nothing she or the lovely Miss Price could say would change that.




Chapter Four


Meredee knew she ought to be quivering in her slippers that she was going to dine with Lord Allyndale. At the very least she should be plotting stratagems to get him to confess all. But when she was with him, she found herself talking instead.

How could she not admire a man who wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts about science and philosophy, who seemed to genuinely enjoy her company? He was a refreshing change from the gentlemen her stepmother entertained. They lived at the very surface of life, talking in generalities. Algernon’s friends were worse. To them, she was an antidote—the poor spinster to be pitied. She hadn’t realized until this morning how much she craved more.

A salt-tanged wind was blowing in from the sea as she and Mrs. Price alighted from their carriage in front of the Dearborn house. The moist air brushed the carefully arranged curls at the sides of Meredee’s face. A tingle of excitement shot through her. A sea breeze in the evening often meant a storm was brewing. She might be able to go hunting in the morning! But before she could do more than think about what that would mean to her promise to her father, her gaze lit on the house, and all other thoughts fled.

Most of the people who flocked to Scarborough stayed in lodging houses or inns. A few rented a house overlooking the spa. Lord Allyndale’s house was of square rosy stone, three stories tall, with fluted columns across the front that softened the imposing lines. Candlelight glowed from every multipaned window, casting shadows across the stone steps. Meredee was glad she’d worn her best evening gown, a buttercup-yellow satin, striped with bands of delicate gold embroidery from the square bodice to the narrow hem.

Before she could take more than two steps, the front door opened, and Lady Phoebe rushed down the stairs to enfold Meredee in her arms. “Oh, you’ve come, you’ve come!”

Meredee managed to disengage with a smile. “Well, it truly isn’t difficult to travel the half mile unscathed.”

Lady Phoebe linked her arm with Meredee’s and drew her up the stairs and into the house, leaving Mrs. Price to pick up her amethyst-colored skirts and trail behind. The inside of the house was even more grand than the outside. The entry hall was tiled in black-and-white marble, the pale blue walls edged in white leaves and graced with landscape paintings of rolling hills and stormy skies.

“What a lovely home,” Meredee murmured.

“It isn’t ours,” Lady Phoebe explained, bouncing on her pink kid slippers. The girl was dressed as usual in a becoming shade of pink, her gown boasting no less than three rows of flouncing at the generous hem.

“We didn’t even get to bring our favorite paintings or furnishings.”

“You didn’t get to bring your favorites, you mean,” her brother corrected her, descending the graceful curving stair. “I have an aversion to living in pink.”

Tonight he was impeccable in black, from his tailored coat to the breeches, black satin-striped waist coat, and patent shoes. The dark color made the white of his shirt and simply tied cravat blaze against his skin and the gold of his hair. He bowed over their hands, and Meredee curtsied, mouth suddenly dry.

“We are expecting one more guest,” he said as he released her. “Allow me to escort you to the drawing room to wait.”

Mrs. Price tittered a reply and accepted his offered arm. Meredee and Lady Phoebe fell into step behind them. The girl squeezed her arm. “I’m so glad you could join us,” she said, as if her glowing face and bright smile could have given Meredee any doubt. “I think my brother is smitten with you.”

Meredee missed a step and nearly trod on her hem. “Oh, Lady Phoebe,” she whispered. “You mustn’t say such things.”

“Why not?” Lady Phoebe peered over at her, suddenly serious. “Most women find my brother irresistible. Don’t you?”

Meredee eyed his back, so imposing in the tailored coat. His hair was just long enough that wisps brushed the high collar as he walked. How could a man who was known to be so hard have such soft-looking hair? “I hardly know your brother,” she said aloud, cheeks blazing, “so I’m sure I’m in no position to say.”

Lady Phoebe gave her arm another squeeze as they reached the drawing room. “Then perhaps you can become better acquainted.”

“Perhaps,” Meredee answered, though she was beginning to believe that the most important thing she could do was to determine who exactly Chase Dearborn, Earl of Allyndale, was.

Yet try as she might, she simply could not find the monster Algernon insisted on. Lord Allyndale made polite conversation with her stepmother, his face set in firm lines that said he was listening to every bit of nonsense as if to a speech on an important issue in Parliament. He gave equal attention to his sister’s meandering story about shopping for a new pair of gloves. His patience would have been endearing, if Meredee could forget the scowl he’d worn that afternoon at the spa that had made the tall youth flee as if in fear for his life.

Had he looked at Algernon that way? Would he look at her that way if he knew she was Algernon’s stepsister?

“Still so unhappy?” he ventured when Lady Phoebe had drawn Mrs. Price over to the spinet to show her some new sheet music. “Do you find Scarborough such a sad place, Miss Price?”

She could not give him her thoughts. “A little,” she admitted instead. “My father brought me here every summer. I haven’t been back since he died. It doesn’t feel the same.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” he said quietly.

She could not stand his kindness. “I’ll see him again someday. Until then, there is much to interest me.”

“Such as?”

She glanced up at him. There was that look again, head cocked, blue eyes dark and serious, as if what she had to say was critical to his very existence. The look made her want to be brilliant, if only to gratify his attention. “Good company, new music, the sun on the waves.” She grinned. “And there are always the improving works of Hannah More.”

“Or Mary Wollstonecraft,” he agreed with a matching grin.

The butler coughed from the doorway, and everyone looked up. “Sir Trevor Fitzwilliam has arrived, ladies, my lord.”

Meredee held her smile from long practice, but Lady Phoebe gasped as if she hadn’t seen him in years and rushed to tug him into the room. “Oh, Trevor, come meet Miss Meredee Price. She saved my life.”

“A pleasure to see you again, Miss Price,” he said with a bow. “And this must be your lovely sister.”

“Very nearly.” Mrs. Price beamed as she joined the group.

“Again?” Lady Phoebe interrupted with a frown. “You said it was a pleasure to see her again. Do you know her?”

Meredee glanced at Lord Allyndale. Surely it was his place to explain their meeting yesterday afternoon to his sister. She only wondered why he hadn’t done so sooner. The faintest of pinks tinged his cheeks, as if he’d been caught in an indiscretion. “Sir Trevor and I stopped by the Bell Inn yesterday,” he said to his sister. “Just to be certain Miss Price had not taken ill from her efforts on your behalf.”

“But why should she take ill?” Lady Phoebe persisted. “I was the one in need of rescue.”

“Ah,” her brother said, looking over her head, “there’s Beagan again. Dinner is apparently ready. Shall we, ladies?” He offered his arm to Meredee. Her surprise must have shown on her face, for he smiled. “You are the guest of honor, are you not? The savior of Scarborough Bay, I believe I heard.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Meredee said, wishing Mrs. Murdock had never coined the phrase. But she set her hand on his arm nonetheless and was surprised to feel a tension matching her own. What could possibly have discomposed the earl? Had he come to the inn for some other purpose?

“And I am the lucky one,” Sir Trevor said, offering one arm to Lady Phoebe and the other to Mrs. Price. “I have the pleasure of escorting two beauties to dinner.”

Phoebe’s giggle was nearly eclipsed by Mrs. Price’s.

The dining room was long and high, with the same pale blue walls edged in white and the ceiling painted with puffy clouds and pink-cheeked cherubs. Lord Allyndale led her to a gilded chair on his left, while Lady Phoebe took up the chair at his right and Mrs. Price sat beside the girl, leaving Sir Trevor to sit on Meredee’s other side.

Meredee was spared conversation as footmen brought in a tureen of steaming onion soup, platters of roast beef and salmon, and plates of buttered prawns, fresh asparagus and broccoli. She was a little surprised when Lord Allyndale did not ask her or his sister which dishes they preferred but filled their plates with what must have appealed to him.

“Is the beef not to your liking?” he asked her when she had stared down at the loaded gold-rimmed china for a few moments.

Meredee glanced up at him. “I’m sure it’s delicious, my lord. I would love to try the salmon, too.”

He blinked as if it had never dawned on him she might have a specific preference. “Certainly. Trevor, be a good man and find room on Miss Price’s place for the fish.”

Meredee turned to the baronet before he could reach for the plate. “If you’d be so good as to pass the plate my way, Sir Trevor, I’m certain I can serve myself.”

“Your servant, Miss Price,” he assured her.

She was thankful when Lady Phoebe monopolized the conversation for most of the first course. She had to find a way to ask the earl why he’d come to Scarborough. But every gambit seemed too obvious, too calculated. She glanced his way several times, and each time he smiled as if in encouragement. Yet she couldn’t seem to bring the words to her lips.

“Miss Price was telling me her theories on the earth’s magnetic fields,” the earl put in at one point.

Lady Phoebe blinked as if, for once, she could find nothing to say on the topic. Sir Trevor dug more deeply into his asparagus as if searching for hidden treasure.

“I’m certain you would know far more, my lord,” Mrs. Price said with a warning look to Meredee. “No one in my household could lay claim to being a bluestocking.” She laughed as if the very notion was absurd.

“Interesting,” he replied with a smile. “I’ve always found the study of scientific topics to be commendable, in either sex.”

“Well, well, certainly,” Mrs. Price stammered. “Might I have some more of that delightful salmon, my lord? I must have the recipe for my cook.”

Chase passed her the plate. As he returned to his meal, his left eyelid drifted closed for a second. Heavens, had he just winked at her?

The second course was even more elaborate, with herbed pheasant, sole smothered in mushrooms, a ragout of celery, tart apple pie, sweet trifle and strawberry ice cream in a silver bucket. This time, she noticed, Lord Allyndale made certain to pass each dish to her for her choice, his hands firm on the fine china. Yet she couldn’t help wondering whether they would hold a pistol so steadily if it were aimed at her stepbrother’s heart.

“Still not to your liking?” he murmured. “You have the most determined frown on your face.”

Meredee forced her lips upward. “I have never had so many wonderful dishes, my lord.”

He nodded as if satisfied. “I’ll be sure to pass your compliment on to Mrs. Downthistle.”

So he took the trouble to praise his staff, and he knew their names. Her father, God rest his soul, had found it more convenient to call them by their purpose—Cook or Coachman.

Determined not to wait another minute, she set her fork down. “What brought you to Scarborough, my lord?” she asked.

Mrs. Price, who had been drawn into an animated conversation with Lady Phoebe, broke off in midsentence to listen to his answer. Even Sir Trevor paused, fork halfway to his mouth. Lord Allyndale must have noticed he was suddenly the focus of every eye, because he raised his brows.

“There’s no great secret,” he said. “I dislike London summers. Scarborough is close enough to our estate to be both a distraction and a convenience.”

Lady Phoebe made a face. “He means he can hurry home whenever he likes.” She shook her finger at him. “You lack all spirit of adventure!”

His chuckle made Meredee smile. “Perhaps I do have a preference for my own fire.”

“And what of you, Miss Price?” Sir Trevor asked on her left. “What brings you and your sister to Scarborough?”

Mrs. Price batted her lashes and answered for Meredee. “Why, to be entertained by young scamps like you, sir.”

Sir Trevor smiled at her sally but turned his attention immediately back to Meredee. As Lord Allyndale offered to refill her stepmother’s plate, his friend lowered his voice. “And are you also here for the company, Miss Price?”

Those green eyes were far too watchful. “I go wherever my stepmother needs me, sir.”

“Ah, then you were not left with an independence.”

How rude! Did he think to win an heiress with so bold a question? She frowned at him, but her eyes were drawn to the stickpin in his snowy cravat. It gleamed dully, as if the diamond had been exchanged with paste. And surely those stitches at the lapel of his coat indicated where it had been skillfully patched. The baronet, it seemed, had to economize. Small wonder finances were of such interest to him.

“No,” she said. “My father left me no dowry.”

“A shame,” he replied. “I don’t believe I’m familiar with your father or the Price family. Where are you from?”

Why did he persist? He could not be interested in her. His financial circumstances would demand a wealthy bride. And his pride would likely demand a beautiful one.

“Are you a student of genealogy, Sir Trevor?” she asked, taking up her fork and spearing the sole.

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Genealogy, the study of one’s antecedents. You seem keenly interested in mine. Is it your hobby?”

His mouth opened and closed, as if he could not find the wit to respond.

“Many gentlemen have hobbies,” she offered, taking pity on him. “You may have seen Colonel Williams at the spa—tall fellow, favors his right leg—he studies rocks. Mr. Cranell, who you may have seen partnering my stepmother at cards, deciphers the meaning and origin of names. My father collected seashells.”

“How delightful,” he said, managing to sound anything but delighted. “And what do you collect, Miss Price?”

“Apparently, gentlemen intent on quizzing me,” she replied.

“More sole, Miss Price?” Lord Allyndale put in, forcing her to turn away from Sir Trevor before the baronet could formulate a reply. Lord Allyndale’s mouth was held in a tight line as he offered her the plate, but his blue eyes twinkled. He was obviously trying not to laugh.

But was it Sir Trevor or her who had amused him?



What a cipher Miss Price was. She smiled readily at quips, responded appropriately to most questions. She was the picture of loveliness, all shades of gold, sitting beside him. But when she thought no one was watching, her face betrayed her least emotion. At moments, he caught her gazing at him with such perplexity that he wondered what she was seeing.

“She has no money, no family to brag of and a cutting wit,” Trevor said after the ladies had left them to their conversation. “I see no need to prolong the acquaintance.”

Chase shook his head. “Is that all you noticed? She has a admirable presence, a commendable loyalty and an enviable intelligence.”

“Yes, and strength and vitality. By all means hire her as your sister’s companion, but look for more in a wife.”

“What makes you think I’m looking for a wife?” Chase asked with a laugh.

“Miss Price is obviously no danger,” Trevor replied. “Why else show such interest?” He moved from his chair to the one Meredee had vacated and leaned closer. “Listen—I had word from a friend today. That’s why I was detained. Delacorte is back in London.”

Chase snorted. “His creditors will no doubt be delighted to hear it.”

“But you should not. It seems he blames you for his troubles, or so he confided over too much wine. He claims Phoebe loves him, and you forced them apart.”

Chase felt his mouth tighten. “He has no right to speak of Phoebe, not after trying to force her into marriage.”

“Agreed. I only tell you to warn you.”

Chase nodded. “And I appreciate that. I promise you, I won’t allow the man to hurt my sister.”

But Phoebe would not make his job any easier, Chase thought as he and Trevor went to join the ladies in the withdrawing room. His sister seemed stuck in perpetual girlhood, always focused on her own needs. He’d never told her about Victor Delacorte’s plan to abduct her and force her to marry him. Chase and Trev had stopped him before he could carry through with his plans, and Chase had decided not to explain it all to Phoebe, concerned he might frighten her into a shell. But would she act any more sensibly if Delacorte showed his face again?




Chapter Five


When Chase and Trevor entered the withdrawing room, Phoebe was playing at the spinet while Meredee and her stepmother sat on dainty chairs, listening. Trevor immediately went to turn pages for Phoebe. Chase joined his other guests.

“Your sister is an impassioned player, my lord,” Meredee ventured, her gaze on Phoebe’s flying fingers.

“My sister seldom does anything without passion,” Chase replied. “Do you play, Miss Price?”

“No. My father thought it more important that I memorize the Latin names of seashells than to learn to play. I sing on occasion.”

She said it without rancor, but the way she continued to watch his sister told him she wondered what it would have been like had it been otherwise.

“Perhaps you would care to share a song with us,” he suggested.

Her gaze did not waver, though her cheeks reddened. “I’m sure you would much rather listen to your sister.”

Something in her tone indicated that she’d far prefer to listen. Yet the more he knew of her, the less he believed that she was shy and retiring. She spoke her mind easily enough. Why not sing? Most women he knew loved performing. “We cannot require our kind host and hostess to furnish all the entertainment,” her stepmother put in. “I’m sure you would not want Lord Allyndale to take us in dislike.”

She paled at that, as if losing his good regard meant the noose. Was it her stepmother who was pushing her at him then? He’d certainly met a few marriage-minded mamas since he’d ascended to his title.

He leaned closer to Meredee and caught the scent of lavender from her golden hair. “My sister adores being the center of attention. Sing only if it amuses you, Miss Price.”

She met his gaze, her gray eyes dark and unfathomable. Once again he had the impression that she could see deep inside him, knew every thought in his head. This time he found it far more intriguing.

“Thank you for your kind offer, my lord,” she murmured. “If you’d like, I’ll sing.”

He felt the oddest urge to reach out and press her hand in thanks. Instead, he rose and called to his sister. “Miss Price has agreed to favor us with a song.”

Phoebe immediately stopped playing and clapped her hands. “Splendid! Let’s see what we both know.”

Meredee rose to join her, and the two conferred a moment, Meredee’s golden crown near Phoebe’s darker blond curls. They settled on a song quickly, agreed on the key, and Phoebe played an introduction. Chase took a seat beside Mrs. Price.

Meredee’s voice was high and sweet, the song encouraging. He felt himself leaning forward, nodding along. She kept her gaze focused in the distance, as if unaware of her rapt audience, every part of her tuned to her task. Funny, he’d always wondered how angels would sing. Perhaps now he knew.



Meredee’s heart was pounding so loudly she wondered that anyone had heard a word she’d sung. Yet there was Lord Allyndale, smiling at her as if she’d discovered the way to reach the moon. She wanted to bathe in the glow, drink deeply of his pleasure. But, as she finished, his butler coughed behind him, and he rose to go speak with the fellow in low tones. Sir Trevor joined them.

“Very nice,” Lady Phoebe said, closing the sheet music. Meredee nodded and wandered back to her stepmother. She hadn’t noticed that the room was so dark. It had seemed much brighter when the earl was smiling at her.

Lord Allyndale returned to their sides and eyed Meredee and her stepmother. Gone was the smile, to be replaced by a frown that sent a shiver through her. “I’m afraid I have bad news. I cannot allow either of you to leave this house tonight.”

Meredee gasped. Did he know? Had someone sent word that Algernon was in Scarborough? Had she somehow given them away by singing her stepbrother’s favorite song?

Mrs. Price rose shakily to her feet. “Stay here? Why?”

“I’m told a storm has sprung up,” he replied. “Between Phoebe’s playing and our location at the back of the house, we didn’t notice.” He paused a moment, and Meredee knew she wasn’t the only one listening. Now she heard it, an uneven rising and falling, as if harsh winds drove pouring rain this way and that.

“Oh,” Mrs. Price said, sinking back onto her seat with a strained laugh. “A storm. Of course.”

“My lord, we cannot impose,” Meredee started, but the earl held up his hand.

“And I cannot be responsible for turning my guests or my staff out into this deluge. You and your coachman will spend the night here. I’m sure the inn will hold your rooms.”

“Well certainly, but …” Mrs. Price trailed off and looked helplessly at Meredee.

She was fairly sure she knew her stepmother’s concern. Algernon would be waiting to hear what they’d learned about Lord Allyndale’s purpose in Scarborough. When they didn’t return, what would her stepbrother do?

“It’s settled then,” Lord Allyndale said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll instruct the staff to arrange rooms for the three of you.” As if their agreement was never in question, he strode from the room. Sir Trevor also excused himself to check on his horse.

In short order, Meredee found herself ensconced in an elegant bedchamber. She was surprised that Lady Phoebe hadn’t chosen it for herself, for the walls were a pale pink edged in white like the inside of one of her father’s shells, and the furniture was rosewood with gold appointments. A cheery fire was already burning in the white marble fireplace. How lovely it would be to sink into the thick mattress, snuggle under the pretty coverlet. Yet was it advisable to stay?

She pulled aside the heavy crimson drapes and peered out into a dark night where darker shapes of trees whipped back and forth, and rain pattered on the glass. Staying indoors was definitely safer. If only she could be certain Algernon would do the same!

She wasn’t sure what she was to do about toiletries and sleeping attire, but a harried young maid brought her an ivory-backed brush and comb and a lace-edged white flannel nightgown that smelled faintly of camphor.

“Retrieved from a chest in the attic, miss,” the girl confided as she helped Meredee out of her corset and into the soft folds of the flannel. “The other lady was small enough to wear one of Lady Phoebe’s things, but you’re built on entirely different lines, if I may be so free.”

Meredee was just thankful to have something to wear and told the girl so, then dismissed her so the maid could return to Lady Phoebe. Meredee was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, combing out her hair, when there was a tap at her door.

“It’s Phoebe,” said a whispered voice when Meredee asked who it was. “May I come in?”

Meredee hurried to open the paneled door for her, and the girl slipped into the room, her filmy white nightgown trailing behind her like wisps of fog.

“Are you all settled?” she asked with a smile undimmed by the lateness of the hour or the circumstances. “My brother wanted to make sure everything was to your liking. I told him to come ask you himself. I think I scandalized the poor dear.”

“You scandalize me, Lady Phoebe,” Meredee said, but she couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s giggle.

Lady Phoebe took both of Meredee’s hands. “I just knew we were going to be friends. May I call you Meredee?”

“Of course,” Meredee replied, touched by the intimacy.

The girl pulled her to the bed and crawled up onto the creamy quilted bedcover. “And now we can have a nice coz.”

“Now?” Meredee stood beside the bed with a frown.

Phoebe spread her hands. “Of course now! That’s why one has friends stay over—to whisper confidences long into the night.”

“I sincerely doubt that’s what your brother had in mind.”

“Probably not,” Phoebe agreed. “But it’s what I had in mind from the moment he suggested that you stay.” She flopped back onto the covers and gazed up at the rosy brocaded hangings that draped the canopied bed. “I’ve always wanted a sister.” She popped up on her elbows. “Do you have any family, Meredee?”

Meredee perched on the edge of the bed. Lady Phoebe was so open, so giving. She hated having to lie. “No sisters, I’m afraid,” she said.

Phoebe sighed. “Well, I suppose brothers have their uses. Sometimes.”

“You’re doing it too brown,” Meredee said. “Your brother seems devoted to you.”

Phoebe plummeted onto her back again. “Oh, he is. Perhaps too devoted.”

Meredee lay back as well and gazed over at the girl, whose honey-colored curls had fanned out on the coverlet. “I haven’t felt like part of a family since my father died. Even then he was fairly busy with his own activities. I think having someone looking out for you would be wonderful. Is there such a thing as too much devotion?”




Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/regina-scott/the-irresistible-earl/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.