Intimate Betrayal Page 3

  I will be strong, Alyssa admonished herself. Swallowing her tears, she cleared her throat loudly to gain everyone’s attention. Weighing her words carefully she spoke.

  “The Duke of Gillingham has informed me that he is now the owner of Westgate Manor.” Mrs. Stratton gasped and nearly dropped the hot soup in Ned’s lap. Molly began to whimper. The others remained silent.

  “I know this is a terrible blow for us all, but the duke seems a fair man, and I shall do everything in my power to secure your positions at the manor before I take my leave. Can you serve dinner in an hour, Mrs. Stratton?”

  Mrs. Stratton, speechless with emotion, nodded her head.

  “I shall tell Perkins to set the table in the main dining room. Ned can help him serve.”

  Alyssa anxiously searched the servants’ grave faces. So many thoughts and emotions rushed through her mind, but she could barely formulate a coherent sentence. “I shall miss you so very much,” she finally uttered in a soft whisper.

  With that said, Alyssa quickly withdrew, leaving the stunned group to stare at each other in shocked silence.

  Alyssa was waiting in the dining room when the duke arrived. Upon his arrival they were seated and dinner began. Morgan felt strange sitting at the head of the table, but he made no comment. Alyssa sat on his right, and he was curious but not displeased by the intimate arrangement.

  He noticed she was wearing a different gown, and although the soft gray color was a slight improvement over the hideous brown, it fit just as poorly. He caught himself wondering what her figure was like beneath the loose garment, and was amazed at the direction of his thoughts.

  His relationships with women since the death of his wife had been limited to brief, mutually satisfactory liaisons that seldom lasted more than a few months. Morgan was a handsome, titled, wealthy man with a reputation for being a generous lover, and he attracted more than his share of female admiration.

  Some women were intimidated by his haughty demeanor, but most found him a fascinating challenge and went to great lengths to capture his attention. He found their efforts flattering and occasionally amusing. Yet he never felt any interest in a female until she had made it abundantly clear she would welcome his advances. Until now.

  Morgan glanced speculatively around the dining room as Perkins served the soup. The evening shadows were reflected in the soft glow of the numerous candles strategically placed on the mahogany dining table and sideboard. He surmised the candlelight hid a multitude of sins, yet even in the dim light Morgan could see the faded wallpaper was sporadically brighter in spots where a painting or wall adornment had obviously been removed.

  The starkness of the room seemed to emphasize the grandeur of the table setting of cream-colored porcelain dishes, delicate gold-and-silver filigree flatware, and fine diamond-cut crystal goblets. The duke grinned as he pictured the very proper Perkins raiding the drawing room in order to produce the lovely tableware. He doubted Alyssa often dined this way.

  Perkins majestically served dinner, hesitantly assisted by a young man. The meal was simple, yet surprisingly good. It included a tangy mulligatawny soup, followed by glazed duck, buttery new potatoes, fresh greens, and pear torte for dessert. Morgan ate heartily while noticing Alyssa pushing her food around on the plate.

  The dinner conversation was limited to safe, mundane topics such as the excellently prepared food and the weather. As the table was being cleared of the final course, Perkins placed several bottles of spirits on the table within easy reach. “Do you require anything else, Your Grace?”

  “No, Perkins. Please convey my compliments to the cook,” the duke replied, dismissing the butler. He saw Perkins hesitate momentarily, but at a nod from Alyssa he left the room.

  “Sherry, Miss Carrington?” the duke asked politely, filling her glass when she agreed. It felt strange sharing a drink after dinner with a lady. Custom always dictated the women withdraw after the meal, leaving the men alone with their brandy and cigars. A small smile tugged his lips. Nothing about Alyssa Carrington or Westgate Manor remotely resembled the rigid order of society to which Morgan was accustomed.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal, Your Grace,” Alyssa said. “Mrs. Stratton was rather nervous about dinner, since she had little time to prepare. You will find she is excellent at her job, as are all those who work here.”

  A dark eyebrow lifted over a silver-gray eye. Morgan heard the anxiety in her voice and was instantly on his guard. Thus far Alyssa had impressively retained control of her emotions, but Morgan was convinced she would eventually loose her iron grip.

  “Can you tell me, Miss Carrington, why your father is not here?” Morgan asked, deliberately shifting the subject.

  Alyssa eyed him cautiously. “Lord Carrington is very seldom at the estate. He has never liked the country, and much prefers the many diversions of London.”

  “You were not informed of my impending visit?”

  “Hardly,” Alyssa replied with a taut smile. “I imagine there wasn’t sufficient time.”

  “Nonsense.” The duke shook his head. “It has been nearly a week since Lord Carrington signed the deed over to me.”

  “That long,” she remarked dryly. “You certainly exhibited great restraint by allowing so much time to pass, Your Grace.”

  Morgan slanted her a cool glance but held his tongue. Few people, especially women, possessed the audacity to display their irritation with him. The majority of them were too impressed by his title and wealth. Clearly Alyssa Carrington was made of sterner stuff.

  “Do you also prefer the diversions of London, Miss Carrington?”

  Alyssa turned sharply toward the duke, fearing he was mocking her, but his handsome face appeared sincere.

  Her chin jutted out defiantly. “I have never been to London.”

  His gray eyes narrowed in surprise. Suddenly she looked very vulnerable and alone to him. For the first time Morgan wondered what kind of life she had led.

  “You have no cause to repine,” the duke replied solicitously. “I often find the social crush in London a great bore, and the majority of individuals unworthy of acquaintance.”

  Alyssa flashed him a wan smile. “I can assure you, sir, I am hardly the sort of woman who would repine over anything as inconsequential as the activities of London society,” she retorted with a tinge of sarcasm.

  Her lack of pretense was a refreshing change. Feeling himself inexplicably drawn to the fire burning in her deep green eyes, Morgan inquired softly, “What activities do you prefer, Miss Carrington?”

  “Riding,” she answered readily. “I greatly enjoy being out-of-doors. Needlework can be relaxing in the evenings, and reading for pleasure is always a treat, though I seldom have time to pursue any avenues of personal interest.”

  “Do you manage the estate entirely on your own?”

  “I employ few retainers,” Alyssa admitted. “I work better alone, and Lord Carrington has no objections.”

  “Lord Carrington? Why are you always so formal when referring to your father?”

  Alyssa stared at the duke with a lack of comprehension. “I never think of him in any other context. He has always been Lord Carrington, even when I was a small child.”

  Morgan wondered at the strangeness of a father insisting on such formality from a young girl. “He seems to have provided a genteel upbringing. You are hardly lacking in the social graces.”

  “Well, I don’t slurp my soup or eat with my hands,” Alyssa responded with a laugh. “My nurse, Mavis, has been a steadying influence. And a succession of governesses managed to polish most of my rough edges.”

  “A succession? Were you a difficult child?” Morgan could just imagine her as a willful little girl, bright, inquisitive, and opinionated.

  “High-spirited is the polite term, Your Grace,” Alyssa responded. “Truthfully, I was usually well behaved. An intense desire to please my many different governesses moderated my behavior.”

  “Then why were there so many of them?�
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  “Lord Carrington had an annoying habit of neglecting to pay their salaries. Eventually each was forced to move on to a more stable position. Some left more quickly than others.”

  Morgan refilled his glass and gave her an inquisitive appraisal. The more he learned about Alyssa, the more enticing she became to him. She appeared to be an uncomplicated woman. A country-bred girl, possessing honesty and intelligence. And the prettiest green eyes he had ever seen.

  “So you enjoy the quaint society of country life, Miss Carrington?”

  “I do not participate in the social gatherings of this small community, Your Grace. Lord Carrington’s reputation as a spendthrift and a gambler placed me in a tenuous position among the local gentry years ago. Unfortunately I have gone far beyond the traditional role of spinster by running the estate. I am not received by the noble households of the county.”

  “It is not so unusual for a woman to be involved with her own finances,” the duke insisted, his handsome expression growing conciliatory. “My grandmother, the dowager duchess, takes an active interest in all her affairs.”

  “Your grandmother is a widow. Greater latitude in behavior is always afforded to widows. Besides, taking an interest in financial matters is a far cry from being in control.”

  “People are often suspicious of matters they don’t fully understand,” Morgan said.

  “Perhaps,” Alyssa conceded. “However, in this case my unacceptability is not solely based on the fact that I am an unmarried woman working at a man’s job. Alas, my unpardonable sin is that I am competent and successful.” Alyssa got to her feet. “Perkins has lit a fire in the front salon. Shall we adjourn?”

  Alyssa felt uncomfortable with so much of the conversation focused on her and was glad for the opportunity to shift the duke’s attention. As they crossed the vast hallway, she studied the tall man who walked beside her, trying to determine the best way to broach the subject of retaining the staff. She had told her servants he was a fair man, but that was merely a hopeful assumption.

  “Do you play, Miss Carrington?” the duke inquired when they entered the room.

  “No, Your Grace, I do not play the pianoforte. Miss Gibbons, the one governess who possessed a small musical talent, was employed only long enough to teach me the basic piano scales. I cannot even properly read the notes.”

  “She was forced away by lack of salary payment?”

  “No. Lord Carrington frightened her off,” Alyssa replied with a faint flush of embarrassment. “Miss Gibbons was considerably younger than most of my other governesses and fairly pretty. I am afraid Lord Carrington overindulged in his port and attempted to physically abuse her one evening. Miss Gibbons left rather quickly as I recall.”

  The duke made no comment and Alyssa briefly regretted the indelicacy and bluntness of her response. She wondered if she had shocked the duke by having the gall to speak of an incident where Lord Carrington had gotten drunk and tried to take advantage of a woman under his protection. Alyssa knew this was an event she should not have understood, much less spoken about. Rules of polite discourse were rather stringent; honesty had a limited place.

  Determined to draw the duke into conversation so she might better understand him, Alyssa settled herself in a small chair near the fire. Her expressive green eyes never left the duke’s broad shoulders as he paced the room aimlessly.

  She could not help but admire the elegant cut of his evening clothes and the carelessly artful way he wore them. There was an unmistakable aura of controlled power and command about the duke. Clearly he was a man used to getting what he wanted. It was imperative that she tread cautiously and avoid antagonizing him if she harbored any hopes of placing her small staff in his household.

  The duke ceased his pacing and turned to face her. The smile he flashed her was utterly disarming, and Alyssa felt herself drawn by the magnetism of his silver-gray eyes. For a long moment they contemplated each other.

  Feeling totally flustered Alyssa blurted out, “What are you going to do with the estate?”

  The duke shifted his feet uncomfortably under her open gaze.

  “My younger brother, Tristan, will be married later this year. I’ve decided to give the estate to him. Tristan has always enjoyed the country. I believe he will be happy living here.”

  Feeling slightly calmer, Alyssa took a moment to ponder this new information, trying to decide if it could work to her advantage.

  “Your brother will be in charge of the estate?”

  “Of course,” he answered.

  “He will decide who shall stay on and who shall leave?”

  “Does it really matter who is in charge, Miss Carrington?” Morgan inquired. “Were you planning on working here?”

  “Do you think your brother would consider it?” Alyssa replied, her eyes bright with hope. “I know it is unusual, but I am eminently qualified to be an agent, and I have amply demonstrated I can make the estate turn a healthy profit.”

  It took Morgan a few moments to realize she was serious. When he finally replied, his skepticism was evident. “It is one thing for you to manage your family estate and quite another for you to be employed by someone else in that position. I’m afraid the idea of a female estate agent is far too avant-garde for Tristan. He believes, as I do, that women should remain within their proper place in society.”

  “A woman’s proper place,” Alyssa repeated softly, taking offense at the duke’s arrogant tone. “Where precisely is that?”

  The duke’s lip curled in amusement at her indignant manner. “A woman’s proper place?” He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out and crossing his ankles. “A woman must be shielded and protected from the harshness of the world so she can devote all her energy toward the comforts and pleasures of the man who is responsible for her. By day she should be at his side, beautiful and adoring. By night, she must be loving and submissive in his bed.”

  “Stand by his side, Your Grace? Not under his foot?” Alyssa snorted in disgust.

  “Only if absolutely necessary,” he quipped. Morgan smiled cynically. “Do you not agree, Miss Carrington?”

  She thrust her chin up defiantly. “I have never been sheltered or protected in my life, Your Grace. And I find your opinion of my gender rude and unenlightened. I believe men have a need to cosset and protect a woman only because it makes them feel superior.”

  He smiled cagily and Alyssa struggled to remain composed under his smug grin. She had the distinct feeling he was deliberately taunting her, yet she found their conversation oddly stimulating. With each passing moment Alyssa was becoming more aware of the duke as a man, and in turn, herself as a woman. His handsome face, alluring smile, and sensuous eyes that gazed so boldly into her own were affecting her in a most peculiar way. Alyssa felt a definite sense of intoxication she instinctively knew was dangerous. And nearly irresistible.

  Deciding it would be safest to conclude the evening as quickly as possible, Alyssa steered the conversation back to the new estate owner.

  “Since your brother would be mortified to consider a position for me in his household, do I dare ask if he would allow the others to retain their positions? As you can judge for yourself, I alone am the oddity.”

  “Despite what I may have led you to believe, I can assure you, Miss Carrington, Tristan is not a tyrant. I’m certain as long as the individual in question is well suited for his position, he will be asked to remain. Beyond that I cannot say.”

  It was a fair answer and Alyssa nodded her head in acceptance. “I can only hope, Your Grace, that your esteemed brother is as progressive and open-minded as yourself.” Inclining her head slightly in farewell, Alyssa rose quietly and left the room.

  Morgan grinned broadly at her retreating back, unsure if she meant to amuse or insult him. Alyssa Carrington was unlike any other woman he had ever encountered, and he found her fascinating. French spies at Ramsgate Castle and the inciting Miss Carrington. It was turning out to be a far from ordinary week, Mo
rgan decided. The innocent, plainspoken Alyssa stimulated and aroused him infinitely more than a roomful of beautiful, sophisticated courtesans.

  Shaking his head at the irony, Morgan slowly climbed the staircase, wondering where in the vast hallways on the second floor her bedchamber was located.

  Alyssa awoke earlier than usual the next morning, and for a brief moment thought the earth-shattering events of the previous day had all been a horrible dream. The realization it was not a dream brought forth the urge to bury herself under the covers for the rest of the day. Instead, Alyssa trudged bleary eyed to the bedroom window and gazed despondently at the early morning mist.

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to allow herself the luxury of tears, believing it would be impossible to stop crying once she started.

  Closing the drapes, Alyssa crossed the room and repeatedly splashed cold water on her face in an effort to erase the telltale signs of a fitful sleep. She dressed rapidly, securing her long hair in a severe chignon at the nape of her neck. Her toilette complete, she left her room to join the staff for breakfast in the kitchen.

  Alyssa raced swiftly down the hall, rounding the corner at a quick gait, and collided headlong with the duke. He instinctively grabbed her shoulders to steady her as they were thrown off balance.

  “Hellfire and damnation!” Alyssa swore under her breath, trying to regain her footing.

  “A pleasant good morning to you also.”

  Alyssa drew in her breath sharply and looked up into the duke’s silver-gray eyes.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace,” Alyssa replied breathlessly. She felt herself flushing and brought a cool hand up to her warm cheek.