Lady Lissa's Liaison (To Woo an Heiress, Book 1) Read online

  Lady Lissa’s Liaison

  To Woo an Heiress

  Book One

  by

  Lindsay Randall

  LADY LISSA’S LIAISON

  Reviews & Accolades

  “Ms. Randall has taken a unique approach in this Regency, and she leads us on a merry chase. The hero and heroine are special. Throw in Gabriel’s delightful son, and you have a winner!”

  ~Rendezvous

  Published by ePublishing Works!

  www.epublishingworks.com

  ISBN: 978-1-61417373-1

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  Please Note

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 1998, 2012 by Susan M. Anderson. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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  Thank You.

  Chapter 1

  Derbyshire, England

  Along the Dove River with its tumbling currents and clouds of mayflies flitting about, there appeared to be a happening in the making. A number of sleek carriages could be viewed rumbling atop the rustic lanes of Derbyshire, each one pulled by the best of horseflesh and all commanded by the most notable and eligible gentlemen of London Town. Everyone was abuzz about the unexpected guests, and every local from miles around was wondering what—or perhaps who—had been the catalyst to bring so many titled swell into their midst.

  They did not have to look far.

  Her name was Lady Lissa Arianna Lovington, a comely female of the bluest blood, who had ended the mourning for her father only a fortnight prior and who was now heiress to a staggering sum of riches as well as the sprawling lands of Clivedon Manor in Derbyshire.

  The lady’s doting father had kept the beautiful Lissa far from the fuss of the Metropolis, but word of her exceptional loveliness was a secret that could not be contained. With eyes as blue as a summer sky, her hair a glorious halo of shimmering blond, and her skin tinted with a perfect peaches-and-cream hue, Lady Lissa had blossomed into the vision of an angel, with a sweet disposition that was wont to rival the same. Following the unfortunate demise of her father, it had not taken long for a number of eligible gentlemen from Town to descend upon her quiet solitude and send missives her way, all of them eager to offer for her hand.

  Soon, all of Derbyshire was agog with the news of Lady Lissa’s many suitors. The local proprietors, innkeeps, ostlers and chambermaids were ecstatic due to the presence of the monied visitors. Maids and matrons were suddenly donning their most comely attire, while brothers, fathers and grandfathers alike were busy sharpening their card-playing and story-telling skills, intent on outwitting or, at the very least, amusing the unexpected guests.

  The only one in Derbyshire not pleased by this invasion of suitors from the Metropolis was Lady Lissa herself. In fact, at the very unfashionable hour of dawn on a misty morn in early summer, Lissa was not asleep in her bed and dreaming visions of matrimony, but was instead in the hills of Derbyshire, on her hands and knees alongside the fog-covered river, groping for a cadis-worm casing in the cool waters of the Dove and hoping to extricate herself from this slew of suitors. Her satchel, filled with charcoals, paints, sketch pad and nature diary, lay beside her on the riverbank. She’d chosen a somewhat hidden spot near the river to spread her blanket, but one that gave her a good view of the riverbank tracing its way along each side of her.

  “Gracious,” said Lissa as she looked at a clump of wet reeds in her hand, “not a Cadis-worm in the bunch.” She dropped the reeds, as big as the compass of a two-pence, back into the water, then thrust her hand in a second time.

  “Truly, Tilly,” she said to her young abigail seated beside her, “last year at this time I could pull out three or more with just one scoop of my palm. Perhaps this is not a good year for the insects. Perhaps there will be a small number of the Cadis that will actually fly. Perhaps… Tilly? Are you listening to me?”

  The young maid, with her mop of riotous red curls, jerked into motion, sitting up straight. “Oh, yes, m’lady. I be listening. And no, of course I cannot fly,” Tilly said, trying very hard to look as though she was awake and had been listening to her lady’s every word.

  Lady Lissa frowned. “Tilly, you’ve fallen asleep.”

  The abigail blinked very green but sleepy eyes, failing miserably at appearing alert. “But it be so very early, m’lady,” she whined.

  Lissa sagaciously ignored the familiar, high-pitched sound. “Every angler, Tilly,” Lissa pointed out, “knows that early morning is the best time to catch fish.”

  “But we aren’t catching fish,” Tilly moaned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “We be sitting on the cold ground by a foggy river looking for—oh, la, m’lady, could you please tell me again what we be looking for?”

  Lissa felt the undeniable urge to click her tongue in exasperation, but resisted the temptation. “We are not really looking for anything, Tilly,” she explained patiently. “Rather, we are waiting for someone, but we do not want it to appear as though we are waiting. So we shall bide our time searching for worms, of which there should be a great many. There is the piper-cadis, and one called a cockspur, and there are straw worms, also known as ruff-coat, whose casing is made of little pieces of bents and waterweeds and condensed with slime and—”

  “Ugh,” said Tilly, a look of pure disgust crossing her features.

  Lissa ignored it. A moment of silence stretched between them as Lissa turned once again to the task of searching for a cadis-worm in the river’s water, her gaze surreptitiously turning now and then to glance down the water’s edge, past the foliage behind which she’d positioned herself.

  Tilly, her curiosity getting the best of her, plopped forward onto her hands and knees, staring down the length of the river alongside her lady. In a hushed whisper, she asked, “And who, m’lady, might we be waiting for?”

  Lissa swished her hand through the tumbling currents of the river. “His name is Gabriel Gordon,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “He is the sixth Earl of Wylde, and—”

  Tilly sucked in a sharp gasp, bolting upright.

  “What?” Lissa exclaimed, startled. “Is something wrong? Are you ill?”

  The abigail, eyes wide, clutched both hands over her heart in a dramatic fashion. “Lud, m’lady, I not be the ill one, but you must surely be, forgive me for saying so!”

  “Tilly, whatever is the matter with you?”

  “Ooh, m’lady, that name you just uttered. Lord Thingamabob—”

  “Lord Wylde?”

  The abigail cringed as though Lissa had called up the devil himself. “Yes! Ooh, he’s a bad one, he is. Terr
ible trouble. They call him the Heartless One, they do, for good reason. Tell me you’re not thinking of meeting the likes of him!”

  Lissa stared up at her very flighty maid. In a firm tone, she said, “I am and I will. Now, do sit down and calm yourself. There is no reason for you to be so upset.”

  “No reason?” Tilly exclaimed, sitting as she was told to do, but fidgeting nonetheless. “Lord Wylde is known to be a—an ogre, “she gasped, drawing her hands from her chest only to wring them together in a nervous way. “Why, he’s killed dozens of men an—and a would-be bride t’ boot’ “

  “Nonsense, Tilly. The man has never been charged with anything so reprehensible as murder. It is all nothing more than malicious gossip,” said Lissa, then stopped herself.

  She’d heard all of the rumors surrounding the enigmatic Lord Wylde. In fact, she’d spent the last few weeks studying his character, digging up every tidbit she could find about the man. There hadn’t been much of recent note to unearth other than that he’d landed himself in Derbyshire and was known to have become a recluse, intent on spending his time fishing the waters of the Dove.

  It was the stories of his previous life in London that interested Lissa and had propelled her to venture this morning onto the very lands that he haunted.

  Thinking of those stories, Lissa looked at her abigail, and said, “I want you to calm down and listen to me, Tilly.”

  The maid, her green eyes as wide as full moons, clutched her hands together in an effort to still them. She took a deep breath. “I be listening,” she said nervously.

  “Good. Because what I am about to tell you is just between us, and you must never breathe a word of this to anyone.” Casting about her mind for a proper place to begin, Lissa said, “It is no secret to everyone in Derbyshire that a number of gentlemen from Town have come calling, each of them hoping to offer for my hand.”

  “No secret at all,” said Tilly sincerely, “you be that beautiful, m’lady.”

  “Or that rich,” muttered Lissa to herself.

  “What’s that, m’lady?”

  “Nothing,” said Lissa, shaking her head and continuing. “You see, Tilly, I have become overwhelmed by the many, er, uh, gentlemen who have suddenly invaded my life, not to mention my privacy, and who seem to believe that I should welcome their overeager courtship.”

  “Such as Lord Langford?” Tilly asked, her green eyes suddenly going dreamy as she said the man’s name. ” He be ever so handsome, Lord Langford be. Ooh, m’lady, he even gave you his special pendant to wear. I noticed that right fast.”

  Lissa instinctively touched the hand-painted locket the blond-haired Lord Roderick Langford had given her just the day before. He’d boldly looped it about her neck, telling her that if she did not return it to him by the end of the Summer Season, he would know she had accepted his suit; whether or not she returned his locket was to be a private sign to him.

  Lissa wore the locket now not because she was interested in the man, but because she had not been able to unfix the dratted clasp and remove it from her neck. Had she had a choice, she would have taken it off and sent it back to him posthaste. But, alas, the clasp would not give, and in her haste to be up before dawn this morning, she had forgotten all about the locket and the too-handsome Langford as well.

  Until now.

  Tilly’s mention brought to the forefront once again all of Lissa’s misgivings at finding herself a very rich heiress who was now considered fair game by too many gentlemen. She suspected Lord Langford’s interest in her—and the others from the Metropolis as well—was dictated more by her rich purse than anything else.

  Her doting father had left Lissa a very wealthy woman. While alive, he had kept her protected from fortune hunters and those who would break her heart. He’d allowed her to pursue her passions of painting, sketching and writing in her nature journal. But now, the idyllic peace she’d once known had been shattered by invitations, calling cards, and a host of men like the golden-haired Lord Langford who believed they could woo her with pretty words and empty promises.

  Lissa wanted them all gone from her life.

  But how could one turn down so many with just a single sweep? she’d wondered. And then a thought had come to her.

  ‘Twas a dangerous thought. Perhaps a bit too risky. But it seemed a good enough plan.

  Looking at Tilly, Lissa decided she would need to let one person in on her plot—even if that person was her flighty maid.

  “Though Lord Langford has been nothing but polite in my presence,” Lissa began, “I feel nothing for him, Tilly, and do not wish to encourage his suit. Nor do I wish to be bothered by any of the other gentlemen who have traveled here from London to meet with me. That is why we are now sitting alongside the river and looking for Cadis-worm casings while waiting for Lord Wylde.”

  The abigail puckered her freckled brow. “La, m’lady, but I be confused,” Tilly said, exasperated and very worried. “The heartless Lord Wylde be a dangerous sort of fellow. Not at all what your father would have wanted you to be near. Why, he be a bride murderer!”

  “Hush, Tilly,” Lissa said firmly. “The woman wasn’t his bride, but his would-be bride. And, regardless, the entire story of his part in the woman’s demise is merely a rumor unproved.”

  “Not according to what I heard below stairs, m’lady,” warned Tilly in her usual breach of decorum, “and what about all them duels he fought? No rumors there.”

  “You are quite right about the latter,” Lissa acknowledged, to which her abigail sucked in another gasp. “But,” Lissa went on, not pausing, “his lordship’s famous, er, rather, infamous, past is precisely the reason I seek him out today. You see, I have decided that I need to affix my name to a man who is both a threat and a danger to the many gentlemen who have come calling for my hand. Once they learn that I have been in the company of someone so—so unacceptable as his lordship, they will undoubtedly withdraw, and I will be left alone, able to live my life as I see fit and not be bothered by their presence. It is, I believe, the only thing left for me to do since none of them have yet taken note of the fact that I wish not to be wooed or married at this time.”

  Her abigail appeared quite dumbfounded and for once speechless.

  “Tilly,” said Lissa, “did you hear what I said?”

  “Lud, m’lady, I heard, but I not be believing it.”

  Lissa sat back and pulled a small handkerchief from the inner pocket of her pretty skirt, wiping the wetness of the river from her hands. “It is not so unbelievable,” she insisted. “Indeed, I think it is a truly famous idea.”

  “But Lord Wylde is… is—”

  “Not to be trusted,” Lissa supplied. “I know. I have heard the same. I’ve also heard he is a terror with both sword and pistol, can outride, outshoot and outmaneuver any of his previous peers. And,” she said lastly, “I know that he is considered a black sheep among the ton. He has become an outcast due to his many unseemly actions and his supposed part in a certain woman’s death. He is purportedly a powder keg, smoldering to go off at any moment. He is frightening and frightful and a terrible scourge on good Society.”

  Tilly bobbed her head at all of these descriptions.

  “Even so,” Lissa went on, “he is the one I’ve chosen with whom to align my good name. And so here we are, awaiting his arrival along the river’s edge. He is known to have taken up fly angling for trout in Derbyshire. Some say it is the balm for his black heart, while others say he simply enjoys slicing open the neck of anything alive.”

  Tilly looked perfectly aghast. “And what if, m’lady, the neck he be wanting t’ slice be your own?” she whispered.

  “What a ridiculous possibility,” Lissa admonished.

  Tilly obviously did not think it so ridiculous. Trying another bent, the maid said, “Well then, what if his lordship takes a keen liking to you? What then, m’lady?”

  Lissa paused, taken aback by the question, but then quickly shook her head. “Another absurd notion, Tilly,” sh
e assured her maid. “I am not at all the type of female he would be interested in. I merely wish to make his acquaintance and be seen in his presence a time or two. Nothing more.”

  “Your father would not be happy knowing of your plan,” Tilly warned.

  “My father,” Lissa answered, feeling a deep twinge in her heart at the mentioning of the one person she’d loved above any and all things, “would want me to do what is best for me.”

  “And your aunt?” Tilly dared to ask.

  Lissa wrinkled her nose. Aunt Prudence wouldn’t like it at all, she knew. Though Aunt Pru had been a sweet dear by helping Lissa through the loss of her father, Lissa secretly could not wait for the woman to take her leave. She was making noises about Lissa going to Town for a formal come out. Only the fact that Lissa had still been in mourning saved her from having to make an entrance into Society this past spring. Her father had spared her from the ordeal the previous years. He’d known very well Lissa had no interest in being placed on the Marriage Mart, and he’d been loath to tear her away from her beloved Derbyshire.

  “Aunt Prudence will also want what is best for me,” Lissa insisted.

  “And the heartless Lord Wylde be that?”

  “Yes,” said Lissa, resolve in her tone, “he is.”

  Of a sudden, there came a slight sound from somewhere behind and beyond them.

  Tilly, nervous as a one-eyed kitten, bounded to her feet. “Oh, lud, m’lady, do not make me stay and meet the ogre!” she cried.

  “Hush,” scolded Lissa, hoping his lordship wouldn’t be turned away by the sounds of their voices. “Gracious, Tilly, I’ve been plotting this meeting for weeks. I do not wish for the sound of your voice to scare him off. Now, do sit down and act as though the two of us are simply here by chance. Hand me my sketchbook, will you?”

  Tilly thrust her hands into her lady’s satchel, pulling out not only the sketchbook, but a number of charcoals as well, paints and even Lissa’s nature journal, spilling everything onto the ground. “Ooh, I be nervous,” she gasped.