Benedict's Challenge - Carole Mortimer Page 0,2

‘the earl’?”

“No.”

“Who is the young lady living abovestairs?”

Lord Gordon jerked forward and away before standing up to turn and glare, but not before Benedict had heard the spike and then unmistakable quickening of the older man’s heartbeat. “There are no young ladies living here, abovestairs or anywhere else,” he denied in a harsh voice.

“I saw her when I arrived.”

“Then it was probably one of the maids,” the older man dismissed in that same hard tone. “I would like you to leave now.” He pulled his shirt on over his head. “Nor is there any need for you to call here again.”

In other words, Benedict realized, the other man did not want to give him the opportunity to enter his home again or ask more questions.

Because Benedict had enquired about the young lady he had seen up on the gallery?

Undoubtedly.

Laennec’s instrument did not lie, and Lord Gordon’s heart had first leaped and then quickened in beat when he was asked about the young lady Benedict had seen up on the gallery.

Benedict bit back the frustration of his still having no idea who she was or why she was in Lord Gordon’s home.

But Benedict was not a man who gave up easily, if at all, and he was determined he would discover the identity of the angel in the gallery.

“What on earth do you think you were about, leaving your rooms and spying on Lord Gordon’s guest in that way?” Mrs. Tailor, the housekeeper at Gordon House, demanded as she pushed Chloe into her suite of attic rooms and locked the door behind them. “His Lordship would be very angry if he was to learn of it.”

Chloe had no reason to ask how Lord Gordon might learn of such a thing. She knew Mrs. Tailor took delight in informing him of any infraction on her part.

Chloe lifted her chin defiantly. “I will not inform him you omitted to lock the door again if you do not tell him I left my rooms.”

The older woman’s eyes darkened to almost black. “Are you threatening me?”

“I do not believe so,” Chloe dismissed lightly. “I was merely pointing out that we were both of us at fault and that the transgression is probably best forgotten.”

Although aged only in her midthirties, Edith Tailor’s countenance was naturally dour, and her current frown only added to her air of bleakness. “I am willing to forget it this time,” she allowed begrudgingly.

A heavy weight lifted from Chloe’s shoulders. “Who is the gentleman calling on Lord Gordon?” she prompted curiously.

“I believe Lord Gordon mentioned he was expecting Doctor Lord Benedict Winter to call this morning.”

It was a strong-sounding name and perfectly suited the gentleman Chloe had seen earlier.

He was a man who looked to be aged in his early thirties. Exceedingly tall, possibly a foot taller than her own four inches over five feet, with a wide and muscular frame shown to advantage in perfectly tailored and fashionable black superfine and gray pantaloons. His hair was dark and curled slightly about his ears, and his eyes, when he looked up at her, were a dark brown with what appeared to be a gold ring about the iris. His features appeared as if carved from marble: prominent cheekbones, a long aristocratic nose, and chiseled lips above a square and determined jaw.

Chloe frowned as she recalled the entirety of the visitor’s name. “Is Lord Gordon ill?”

Mrs. Tailor gave a sniff. “No doubt you would like it if he was. But I believe the doctor is here to check on His Lordship after he was set upon by thugs on his way home yesterday evening.”

Chloe knew from the gossip belowstairs that Lord Gordon spent most, if not all, of his evenings at a place called Club Venus, where there were apparently scantily clad ladies aplenty whose time he might purchase for one or several hours. As Chloe suspected that Mrs. Tailor occasionally warmed His Lordship’s bed, she wondered how the older woman felt about his nocturnal visits to such an establishment.

Chloe stood to walk over to the window when she heard the sound of voices outside the house.

She was just in time to see Lord Benedict Winter striding purposefully down the pathway to where his carriage waited at the front of the house. One of his grooms leaped down from the back of the vehicle to open the nearside door with a flourish for his employer.

Lord Winter hesitated before stepping inside the carriage, instead turning and look up at the front of the house