Mcalistairs Fortune Read online

  “He’s handsome enough.” Enough to steal the air from her lungs.

  “But what does he look like? Is he tall, short, blue-eyed, or—?”

  “Tall, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. You’ll see him for yourself soon enough, I imagine.”

  “Yes, but I’d like to know what to expect.” Lizzy leaned forward in her chair. “Is he terribly frightening? Does he growl and snarl if one attempts conversation?”

  “No, he’s simply…reticent.”

  Lizzy pursed her lips and stood. “He’s not the only one.”

  “Well, I do have other things on my mind at present.”

  “The letter, do you mean?” Lizzy frowned. “Too much fuss over one little missive, I should think. Lord Thurston won’t allow for any harm to come to you.”

  Evie pressed her lips together. “He means to send me to Norfolk to make certain of it. I’m to leave first thing in the morning, under armed guard.”

  Lizzy visibly started. “To Norfolk?”

  “Under armed guard,” she repeated.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Whit certainly is.” She blew out a long breath. “I need to pack.”

  Packing was accomplished with little speed and even less enthusiasm. It didn’t help matters to have Lizzy running off downstairs every ten minutes with excuses that ranged from the practical, “Lady Thurston might have some idea how many days you’ll be gone,” to the absurd, “I wonder if Cook remembered to slice the onions thin, the way Mrs. Summers prefers.”

  “Caught sight of him yet?” Evie inquired after Lizzy returned from her seventh trip.

  “I’ve no idea what you mean.” Lizzy pasted on an innocent expression and began folding the last of the chosen gowns into a trunk.

  Evie smirked and carefully wrapped a bonnet in tissue. “All this running up and down the steps hasn’t been an attempt to catch sight of Mr. McAlistair, then?”

  Lizzy scowled. “The man’s frightfully elusive.”

  “He’s had considerable practice, you’ll recall,” Evie said with a laugh.

  “And puts it to good use. I asked John Herbert if he’d managed a peek. He hasn’t, and John always knows what’s afoot in Haldon.”

  “John Herbert? The new footman?”

  “He’s been here near seven months, miss. I don’t know as I would qualify him as new.”

  “That’s because you qualify him as dreadfully handsome,” Evie teased.

  “He is that.” Lizzy sighed dramatically.

  Eager to avoid a discussion on John Herbert’s tremendous handsomeness, which would inevitably be followed by a monologue on Robert Klein’s immense physical strength, which was guaranteed to precede a lengthy discourse on Calvin Bradley’s devilish charm, Evie asked, “Has anyone else arrived?”

  “Mr. Hunter,” Lizzy replied, reaching for another gown, “an hour ago. And word just came from Lord Rockeforte by way of special courier. He’s been delayed, something about having to slip out of the house under the cover of night.”

  Evie grinned at the idea of the proud and powerful Duke of Rockeforte finding it necessary to sneak out of his own home to avoid his wife and her friends. “How is it you’re aware of what the duke had to say? Eavesdropping, were you?”

  “Not this time,” Lizzy answered without the slightest hint of shame. “Mr. Fletcher read the missive aloud for the benefit of Mr. Hunter. I happened to be in the parlor at the time.”

  “Very convenient.”

  “It was, rather.” Lizzy frowned absently at the contents of the trunk. “Does he seem at all familiar to you?”

  “Mr. Hunter?” Evie set down her work. “Kate asks me that every time we see the man.”

  Lizzy nodded. “There’s something about him, something that niggles at my memory. And he seems to always have this look about him, as if he knows exactly why that might be, and won’t tell.”

  “Has he been unkind to you? Has he—”

  “Oh, no, miss. Nothing of the sort.” Lizzy shook her head. “He’s very much a gentleman to the staff—more so, in my opinion, than some who’ve been born to the position. I think he has a secret, that’s all.”

  “Perhaps I can ferret it out at dinner for you.”

  Lizzy winced. “Dinner. Oh dear, I’d forgotten. Lady Thurston says you’re to take dinner in your room tonight.”

  Evie blinked at that news. “Did she say why?”

  “Not to me, but I overheard her informing Mrs. Summers she was uncomfortable with the idea of you being downstairs late at night.”

  “Conveniently in the parlor again?”

  “No, I was eavesdropping.”

  Evie snorted out a laugh. “Well, it’s an absurd idea. She can’t possibly mean it.”

  A knock on the door and the arrival of a maid carrying a tray of food told Evie that Lady Thurston was very much in earnest. Uncertain whether to be amused or annoyed at being banished to her room for dinner, Evie directed that the tray be set on the bed. After seeing the maid out, she sat down and reached for a roll.

  “I repeat, this is absurd.”

  “There are an awful number of doors and windows in this house,” Lizzy pointed out.

  “I thought you said there was too much bother being made of all this.”

  “I’m not sure I’d consider being served dinner in bed such a bother.”

  Evie stopped with the roll halfway to her mouth. “You have a point.”

  An excellent one, Evie admitted silently. And now that she thought on it, she didn’t particularly care for the idea of going downstairs for dinner. She never did when there were guests in the house. Guests at the table meant stares and a pressure to speak. With McAlistair as one of those guests, the staring and the pressure would be infinitely worse. Well, the staring would be.

  She wondered if being relieved by the knowledge she wouldn’t have to face him across the dinner table made her a coward. She bit into her roll, thought about it, and decided she didn’t much care. She was who she was. Perhaps she was less than courageous in some areas, but she made up for it with bravery in others.

  “All done here, I think.”

  Evie swallowed, mentally shook herself from her woolgathering, and looked up to find Lizzy standing over a pair of closed trunks. “Beg your pardon?”

  “You’re all packed,” Lizzy repeated. “Unless we forgot something.”

  Evie took mental inventory of everything they’d fit into the trunks. “I’ve enough, I think. I’ll not be gone for more than a fortnight.”

  Lizzy nodded in approval. “That’s the spirit. Lord Thurston will take care of this business before you’re halfway to Norfolk.”

  Evie muttered a noncommittal, nonsensical reply. Whether the ridiculous business was done or not, she was returning to Haldon at the end of the fortnight.

  Her agenda was clear for now, but in two weeks’ time, Mrs. Nancy Yard from London would be expecting someone to meet her behind Maver’s tavern in the nearby village of Benton. It was Evie’s job to be that someone—to see that the woman received instructions and funds for the next leg of her trip. If all went well, Mrs. Yard would have a new life in Ireland, free from the violent whims of her husband.

  William Fletcher had a fortnight to set his conscience at ease, and not a day more.

  Lizzy glanced about the tidied room. “Well, if there’s nothing else, miss, I’m going for my own dinner and an early bed.”

  Evie nodded and tried to generate some interest in her meal as Lizzy closed the connecting doors between their rooms. She wasn’t particularly hungry, but the food was there and she had little else to occupy her time. She managed another bite of her roll, picked at the chicken, poked at the carrots, and otherwise turned her plate of food into a wholly unappetizing mess. Giving up, she set the tray on the vanity and, deciding not to bother Lizzy again, managed to change into her night rail on her own.

  If she couldn’t eat, she’d sleep. Granted, it was barely after nine, but after a long day, and with a painfully
early morning looming before her, going to bed early seemed wise. Anything and everything that would turn her mind from a particular houseguest seemed wise.

  She crawled under the covers and willed her mind to clear. She wouldn’t think of him. She wouldn’t. Not a single thought would be given to the handsome and mysterious Mr. McAlistair. She wouldn’t think of the kiss, of the way he’d held himself perfectly still as his mouth gently took hers. She wouldn’t think of how her heart raced and her breath caught when he looked at her with those dark, intense eyes. She wouldn’t think on where he might be sleeping tonight, or what he might be doing now, or…

  “Oh, bloody, bloody hell.”

  She rolled over, sat up, pounded her fist into the pillow a few times, and then finally flopped back down with a frustrated groan.

  It was going to be a painfully long night.

  Evie managed, somehow, to fall asleep—for all of two hours. She might have made it through the whole night, but for the second time that day, Lizzy stumbled in through the connecting door. She looked just as wide-eyed as she had the first time, but now she wore a night rail and clasped a pile of bedding to her chest.

  Evie shot up in bed, instantly awake, if not entirely coherent. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “He’s in my room. He booted me from my own room.”

  Evie bounded out of bed. “He? He who?”

  “The hermit,” Lizzy breathed. “McAlistair.”

  “In your room?” Evie grabbed a wrap to throw over her night rail.

  Lizzy nodded and swallowed. “Came right in, pretty as you please—well, he did knock first,” she allowed. “But then he came right in and told me to take my things and sleep in here.”

  “I can’t believe it. I cannot believe he’d barge into your room.” Did the man really think he could treat Lizzy however he pleased merely because she was employed as a servant?

  “I still can’t believe he’s real,” Lizzy breathed. “All that time I spent looking for him and suddenly he—”

  “Barges into your room,” Evie finished for her. She cinched her wrap shut with a decisive yank. “We’ll see about this.”

  “Shouldn’t we send for Lord Thurston, or—”

  “I can handle the likes of Mr. McAlistair.” She headed toward the door, intent on doing just that.

  Four

  Evie had never considered herself a prude. Quite the contrary, in fact. At fourteen, she’d been the first of her friends to experience a kiss. At nineteen, she’d met her first prostitute, and by twenty she’d been propositioned by a bawd, a pimp, and a handful of drunken sailors. Such was the enlightenment of a woman who occasionally spent time in some of London’s seedier neighborhoods.

  According to the standards set by her peers, she was a scandalously forward young woman—or would be, if any of those standard setters ever became apprised of her transgressions. But despite her broader than average education, she wasn’t quite prepared for the sight that greeted her on the other side of the connecting door.

  Not when that sight was McAlistair, half undressed. Well, more like a quarter undressed, if one wished to be overly precise about it. The salient point was that it was McAlistair, in the room directly connected to her own chambers, and he was in a state of undress. He was down to shirtsleeves, and that had been unbuttoned down to his waist, exposing a smooth expanse of skin and muscle. Good Lord, the muscle. The man was as toned and sculpted as the wild cat she’d thought him earlier.

  “W-W-” Oh, blast. She bit the tip of her tongue, then averted her gaze, pushed aside the sudden heat she felt everywhere, and tried again. “What d-do you think you’re doing?”

  He said nothing, which was understandable given that what he was doing was fairly obvious. She felt her cheeks turn to fire. Why the devil hadn’t she thought to knock?

  “You had no right to remove Lizzy from her own r-room.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him rebutton his shirt. “For her own safety.”

  Utter bafflement momentarily replaced embarrassment. “Her own safety?”

  He pointed at the large windows. “If I were coming for you, I’d use those.”

  She looked at the windows in Lizzy’s room, then stepped back to peer through the connecting door at the more expansive windows in her own room. “Why not use my own?”

  “Too well guarded.”

  “Well, why not come in d-downstairs or through the windows of an unoccupied room?” Lord knew there were plenty of them at Haldon.

  “These are closer.”

  There was something rather odd about his argument—above and beyond the fact there was slight chance of an intruder climbing through any of the windows in Haldon—but she couldn’t put her finger on just what.

  Since she couldn’t, she looked directly at him—a task much more easily accomplished now that he’d finished buttoning his shirt—and asked, “Are you an expert on such matters?”

  There was a long, long pause before he nodded.

  “I…oh.” How would a soldier-turned-hermit know of such things? For that matter, why would a regular, literate, possibly well-bred soldier choose to turn hermit? She tilted her head to study him. “Who are you?”

  Surely, kiss or no kiss, he would afford her the courtesy of answering that much.

  An extended silence informed her that, no, in fact, he would not.

  She fought against the lump of disappointment and hurt that formed in her throat. It was ridiculous. The kiss, the scheme, his reticence—all of it was absurd and therefore no reason for her to suddenly begin leaking like a sieve. She was an experienced woman of six and twenty, she reminded herself, not a silly miss fresh from the nursery to be undone by one man’s disinterest.

  “Keep your secrets, then,” she muttered and turned for the door.

  “Evie.”

  She shouldn’t stop. She knew she shouldn’t. But she did.

  He waited until he caught her eye. “I meant no insult,” he said softly. “To either of you.”

  She hesitated. She knew she shouldn’t ask. Knew she shouldn’t bring it up. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Why…that night in the woods…why—” She cut off at the shake of his head.

  “I shouldn’t have. You’re not meant for me.”

  Suspicion, ugly and as painful as his earlier silence, seeped in. “And who am I m-meant for, Mr. McAlistair?”

  “Someone…other,” he answered softly. “Just other.”

  Suspicion left as quickly as it had arrived. He wasn’t speaking of a specific man for her, only a man who wasn’t him. He didn’t know of the ruse, then. Presumably.

  “I am meant for whomever it is I am meant for,” she returned. “My fortune isn’t for you to tell.”

  Pleased with her response and relieved she’d managed to deliver it without a single stammer, she turned and walked through the doorway, shutting the door behind her.

  She found Lizzy still standing in the center of the room, clutching her bedding to her chest.

  “Well, what did he say?” Lizzy demanded.

  “That he expects your windows would prove too much a temptation for any murderers creeping about the grounds.”

  Lizzy’s mouth fell open. “They’d come through my windows? Through me?”

  Guilt stabbed at Evie. It was possible Lizzy knew nothing of the scheme, though unlikely, as a matchmaking ruse was something Lizzy would find very irresistible.

  “Of course not. He’s overreacting, that’s all. Didn’t you say Lord Thurston wouldn’t allow for any harm to come to us?”

  “To you,” Lizzy corrected and earned herself a hard glare from Evie. “Yes, all right, to any of us. Am I to sleep on the floor, then, miss?”

  “Don’t be silly. There are a dozen other beds in the house. What of your old room next to Kate’s?”

  “I couldn’t.” Lizzy shuddered dramatically. “Those rooms are enormous. I’d be too nervous to sleep with Lady Kate gone.”

  Evie wanted to laugh
. Kate’s nocturnal composing had been the very reason Lizzy had recently chosen to take up residence in the room next door. It was difficult to sleep when your mistress left candles burning half the night, hummed to herself, and had a tendency to trip over furniture.

  Laughter, unfortunately, was not an appropriate response under the current circumstances. She wasn’t supposed to be amused, she reminded herself. She was supposed to be frightened. Terribly frightened—and terribly brave about it.

  “Sleep here, then. The bed is large enough for the both of us.”

  Lizzy didn’t need a second invitation. She tossed her bundle on a chair and scrambled onto the four-poster. “Thank you, miss. I’ll sleep a world better with someone else in the room.”

  As Lizzy had a tendency to snore, Evie doubted she could say the same.

  She wasn’t given the chance to complain. A soft knock on the door to the hall heralded the arrival of Mrs. Summers, wearing a frilly night rail and frillier cap.

  Evie blinked at her, absolutely baffled. “Mrs. Summers?”

  “Good evening, Evie.” She swept past her to the bed. “Wiggle aside a bit, Lizzy dear. I prefer the outside.”

  Evie gaped at her. “The out—”

  “Mr. McAlistair has taken up residence in Lizzy’s quarters, has he not?” Mrs. Summers sent her a questioning glance as she removed her wrap.

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then I insist on taking up residence here. Threat or not, you have a reputation to consider.” And with that pronouncement, she slipped under the covers next to Lizzy.

  Evie threw up her hands. “I can’t see how anyone else would know. We haven’t any visitors who are likely to betray a confidence, and the staff would never gossip.”

  “Most of the staff, certainly,” Mrs. Summers agreed as she adjusted a pillow to her liking. “But your aunt informs me you have several relatively new maids and grooms on hand.”

  As Lizzy had pointed out earlier, the most recent additions to the household had arrived more than seven months ago, but it hardly seemed worth the energy to argue. Besides, it would probably be best to drop the topic of McAlistair’s presence in the next room before Lizzy let slip that he hadn’t been in there alone. Given her current company, the slip wouldn’t ruin her, but it would certainly elicit a very lengthy, and therefore very tiresome, lecture from Mrs. Summers.