Chapter Five
Ponsonby began to stagger in her direction. “A wench! By God, I shall have a warm bed tonight."
Moira looked up, her eyes wide with interest. “Go away!” she said firmly, as he fell onto the sofa beside her. “David!"
Jonathon gamely put his hand on Ponsonby's shoulder. “I say, old man. You had best move on. This is Lady Crieff."
"And I, sir, am an oss-no, that is the major. I am someone important. I remember that much.” His bleary gaze turned to devour Moira. “By God, you are a beauty, madam. Will you marry me?” He reached out and grasped her shoulders, while Jonathon struggled to pull him away.
Hartly and Stanby moved in and took hold of him.
"It might be best if you leave, Lady Crieff,” Stanby said. “Ponsonby is a trifle disguised.” He turned to Hartly. “You accompany Lady Crieff to her room, Hartly. Bullion and I will see that Ponsonby gets to bed."
It occurred to Hartly that Sir David could accompany Lady Crieff safely upstairs. The lady did not suggest it, however. She turned her sparkling eyes on Hartly and said, “What riffraff one meets in a place like this. Thank heaven there is one gentleman present."
"Lady Crieff?” he said, offering her his arm.
"My hero!” She laughed and placed her dainty fingers on his arm.
"I am the one who held Ponsonby off!” Jonathon exclaimed indignantly.
"So you did. Run along, David,” she said, dismissing him without a word of thanks. “It is past your bedtime."
Jonathon appeared accustomed to doing as he was told. He ran upstairs without arguing.
Lady Crieff turned a flirtatious smile on her hero. “I should not have stayed in the Great Room,” she said, “but it was so lonely and boring in my room, with nothing to do. And it is not as though I were a young deb. I was a married lady for three years. As a widow, I am allowed some leeway, do you not think, Mr. Hartly?"
"Certainly, madam, but perhaps a little discretion is advised in future. The other ladies left the room an hour ago."
She made a moue, while gazing invitingly into his eyes. “You think I am horrid. It is very lonesome being a widow, Mr. Hartly,” she said. “I had to watch my p's and q's at Penworth Hall. You have no idea how the old cats squeal if you look sideways at a gentleman. But I had thought that here I might be a little freer."
They reached her door. Moira was eager to escape, but she doubted that Lady Crieff would dismiss a handsome young gentleman so swiftly. Besides, this was a perfect opportunity to quiz him a little, to discover what he was up to.
"Would you think I was very fast if I invited you into my sitting room for a glass of wine, Mr. Hartly? David will be in the next room. We could leave the door open."
Hartly assumed the lady was open for dalliance. A widow, after all, and not a very cautious one, to judge by her behavior. “If you promise you won't seduce me, Lady Crieff,” he replied, with a rakish smile that made a mockery of the words.
She said archly, “Why, Mr. Hartly! I would not have the least notion how to set about it, I promise you."
"Pity,” he murmured.
Moira gave a nervous gurgle of laughter and unlocked the door. The lamps were burning in the sitting room. A bottle of wine and glasses sat on the sofa table beside the grate. She made a commotion about unlocking David's door, but Hartly noticed she did not actually leave it open.
"I shall be right in here with Mr. Hartly, David,” she said. “We shan't disturb you. Do not forget to brush your teeth. Sleep tight, dear."
Then she went to the sofa. Hartly had already poured the wine. He lifted his glass in a toast. “That is that!” she said, and sat down beside him. “I try to be a mother to the boy, since he has lost his papa. He is a good lad. Not terribly bright, you know, but good-hearted."
"And discreet, I trust?” he asked, glancing to the closed door.
She gave a coy glance. “Whatever can you mean, Mr. Hartly? I am sure I would never do anything that would ruin my reputation."
"When you are in Scotland, you mean?"
She sniffed. Mr. Hartly was beginning to examine her in a predatory way. She decided it was time to begin her quizzing.
"What do you think of Major Stanby?” she asked in a casual manner.
"I know virtually nothing of the man. I met him only today. I do not think you need worry about him, but I should avoid having much to do with young Ponsonby if I were you."
Ponsonby was of no interest to her. “He has come far from home-the Lake District. Major Stanby, I mean."
"But not so far as yourself."
She bit her lip in uncertainty. She had no wish to show she doubted Stanby's account of himself, yet it would be interesting to hear what Hartly had to say about his blunder.
"It is odd that he does not know the lake made famous by the poets. It is Grasmere, not Windermere.” She looked at Hartly. He just shrugged. “But then a major would not be much interested in poetry."
"And he has been out of the country besides,” Hartly mentioned. Of more interest to him was that Lady Crieff had ever heard of the Lake poets. “Are you interested in poetry, Lady Crieff?"
She swiftly raked her mind to consider what Lady Crieff's views on poetry might be. “Sir Aubrey had no interest in poetry. Except for Robbie Burns,” she added, naming the one Scottish poet that came to mind.
"But I was not speaking of your late husband; I was speaking of you,” he said.
"Why, you must know it is a wife's duty to like what her husband likes, Mr. Hartly."
"Perhaps-while her husband is alive,” he said, gazing into her silver eyes.
An air of tension began to build as the silence stretched between them. A dozen vague thoughts whirled through Hartly's mind. It was Stanby who had suggested he accompany Lady Crieff abovestairs. Was that a clumsy attempt to throw them together? Was the lady about to initiate some scheme to empty his pockets? It was odd she had mentioned Stanby's blunder if she was his accomplice. And Stanby had openly questioned her respectability as well.
"But Sir Aubrey, alas, is gone now,” he said, reading her face for signs of her intentions. “And we are here."
"It is odd, our meeting here. And Standby putting up at a little out-of-the-way place like this as well,” she added casually.
"You are forgetting Ponsonby,” he said, going along with her. “A man must be someplace."
She did not want to incite Hartly to too much suspicion, so she said, “That is true. The reason I mention it… Well, the fact is, I am traveling with something of considerable value. I just wondered if you thought there was any risk from the major."
A warning bell rang inside his head. Why was she telling him this? Was the lady about to involve him in some shady business of her own, some business that had nothing to do with Stanby? He remembered her look of fear when the major had been introduced to her.
"Have you any reason to think so?” he asked.
Moira bit back her annoyance at his unhelpful response. “Not really. It is just the way he looks at me, with those horrid gooseberry eyes, saying all the right things but not meaning them."
"I think you are overly imaginative, Lady Crieff, but if you dislike the man, you need have nothing to do with him."
She let her head fall forward, then looked up at him shyly from the corners of her beautiful eyes. “I am glad you are here to protect me, Mr. Hartly."
Hartly considered it as good as an invitation. His arm reached out and went around her shoulder. He pulled her against his chest. Lord, but she was a beauty, with those deep silver pools of eyes and ripe cherry lips, just asking to be kissed. The creamy mounds of her full breasts strained against their velvet nest. As if by instinct, he raised his hand and placed it on her breast. She gave a convulsive leap.