The Minx Who Met Her Match

by Christi Caldwell

  “I never properly apologized for how I treated you, Josephine.”

  Now, she should be Josephine. When they’d been betrothed, he’d only ever called her Miss Pratt. “If you’d intended to apologize, I’d have vastly preferred one that was not before the whole ton, my lord.”

  His expression turned sheepish. “I was abominable.”

  At that statement, she snorted. “Yes.”

  “And you deserved better.”

  “I did.” That affirmation was automatic. “I do,” she amended. Josephine had deserved better from him and from any gentleman upon whom she bestowed her heart. That man would not be one who expected her to conform or conceal her interests. Rather, he’d be a partner who’d see her as an equal in their relationship. That man could have never been Lord Grimslee. Unlike Duncan, who spoke case law and history to her as a peer. “We are both, however, better off.” She knew that now.

  There was sadness in his customary smile. “Are we, though?”

  “We are. You would have never been happy with a wife who buried herself in law books.” Her gaze slid past his shoulder. “And I would have never been happy with a man who sought to change me.” Duncan would never wish to make her into something or someone other than who she was. She’d known him just a short while, and of that she was certain. What would it be like to be married to him?

  She stumbled and held on to Lord Grimslee to keep herself upright. Panic knocked around her chest. Marriage to Duncan? Where had that thought come from? She didn’t wish to marry… anyone. Why, the root of that discovery had come at the hands of her current waltz partner.

  Lord Grimslee lightly squeezed her waist, bringing her attention whipping back to him. “You have always been sharp with your mind and your words, Josephine. I, however, have never been the unfortunate recipient, until now.”

  “And here I wouldn’t expect my words to hurt you at all.” Hers was more an observation born of curiosity than of any real hurt.

  “Is that what you think?” His eyes moved over her face. “That I didn’t care about you?”

  She considered that question and the time they’d spent together in their courtship. There’d been laughter. They’d enjoyed working through clever word puzzles, ones they likely would have gone on completing ten, twenty, and thirty years into their predictable marriage. “No,” she finally brought herself to acknowledge. “I believe you cared… just not enough.”

  He adjusted his hold at her waist, drawing her closer, so slightly that the movement was nearly imperceptible even to her and would never attract the attention of the guests. That had always been Lord Grimslee, however… mindful of Society’s opinion. “Have you been well, Josephine?”

  “Yes,” she answered automatically. How peculiar that, had he asked that question mere days ago, her answer would have been altogether different. These past three days, she’d existed in a state of anonymity with Duncan… and their every exchange had filled her with a lightness she’d never before known.

  “And have you spent time… helping your brother?”

  She stole a frantic glance about. “Shh.”

  He proved unrelenting. “I didn’t specify what manner of help, Josephine.”

  “Hush,” she repeated, glaring him into silence. Her fascination with legal books and the help she’d provided her elder brother was information she’d confided in him. However, when she’d done so, she’d also believed Lord Grimslee to be the man she would marry. Because of that, he possessed details that would devastate Henry if they were ever made public. “That information was shared in confidence.”

  “Nor would I break that.”

  It was hard to have much faith in the word of a man who’d severed a betrothal so that he might instead marry a woman of illustrious reputation and family.

  The viscount’s next question hammered home just how very unreliable he was.

  “Have you seen your brother’s case against Lathan?”

  She stiffened. When she’d shared her love of law with him, at best, he’d been desperately eager to shift them away from discourse about her interest in the work Henry did. At worst, he’d been stiffly disapproving. She wasn’t so naïve that she’d believe his curiosity stemmed from any one thing. “Is that what this is about? You wished to speak with me about my brother’s case against your brother?”

  “No.” He frantically searched about, and she relished this reversal of roles where he was the one left vulnerable. “Of course not. Despite how this might seem, that was not my intention.”

  She scoffed. “You’ve hardly given me reason to trust you, Lord Grimslee.”

  “I was merely inquiring, Josephine,” he said with an earnestness she’d never known from him.

  “Do you think I was born yesterday?” She brought her shoulders back. “And what is more, do you truly believe I’d betray my brother by sharing any information with you?” How could she have ever fancied herself in love with a man who carried such an ill opinion of her?

  “My intentions here have not been dishonorable toward you”—he stumbled over his words—“this evening.” At least he had the good grace to blush. “However, I was inquiring after my brother’s case. I would do anything to help my family. As someone whom herself has assisted a sibling, I trust you would understand the sentiment.” His mouth tightened. “I would also expect that, as someone as devoted to your family as you are, you might understand something of that.”

  The set thankfully drew to a close, and they came to a stop near the place where they’d taken up their positions. “What I do understand is that you, of all people, are hardly one to speak to me about devotion, Lord Grimslee. Good evening.” Dropping a quick curtsy, she hurried to join Sybil.

  As she walked, her neck prickled with the feel of Lord Grimslee’s eyes on her retreating form.

  Chapter 12

  “You’re certain she wants to chaperone me?”

  It was the third variation of the same question Charlemagne had asked since they’d set out for his offices twenty minutes earlier.

  “Of course,” Duncan said automatically, even as he’d nothing to base that assurance on.

  Fact: Josephine had expressly stated she did not want to take on the responsibilities of nursemaid or governess.

  Fact: She’d sought only to take on the task of clerk.

  Fact: She’d capitulated on the assignment of watching after Charlemagne only when he’d conceded to the other points Josephine had put to him.

  He did, however, believe Josephine would be there. If only because she’d given her word.

  That had been before, anyway. Before he’d gone and kissed her. Now, he couldn’t convince even himself with any real certainty that she’d come.

  Please let her be there.

  Selfishly, it was a prayer not entirely born of paternal concern.

  “She’ll be there,” he repeated, the assertion as much for him as his daughter this time.

  “But I thought she wanted to work in your office.”

  “She does.”

  “But you’re certain she wishes to care for me?”

  His daughter was nothing if not relentless.

  “I’m certain of it.” That is if she shows.

  Charlie tugged at his hand. “Why wouldn’t she?”

  Blinking rapidly, he glanced down at his daughter.

  “You said, ‘if she shows,’ and I asked why would Miss Webb not come?”

  Bloody hell with his loose tongue. “I said, ‘That is, unless it snows.’”

  Confusion filled his daughter’s eyes. “Whyever would it snow in spring?”

  He lightly ruffled the top of her blonde curls. “It wouldn’t. That’s precisely my point.”

  “Hmph,” Charlie said, noncommittal in that grunt. His young daughter was more clever than most grown women.

  Yes, Josephine would be there. She had to be.

  Walking at a modified pace from their modest residence to his offices so that his daughter could keep a like stride, h
e considered the young woman he’d taken into his arms.

  Josephine Webb had been more than clear that she didn’t wish to serve in the role of nursemaid or governess and had instead sought the work of a clerk. It had been a wholly unconventional request from a woman.

  The only women he’d ever known in his life—his mother and his late wife—had preferred a life of comfort, one that saw them cared for and didn’t require them to work.

  And then there was Josephine, the minx who, by her own admission, had a family that didn’t approve of her contributing financially, despite their circumstances, and yet, she wished to.

  They reached the alley behind his offices, and he stopped.

  Josephine was seated as she’d been on her first day employed by him, upon his stoop, with her book on her lap. The morning sun glimmered off the streaks of red in her hair, and his hands twitched with the memory of the feel of those silken strands as they’d slid through his fingers. Duncan curled his palms tight. He’d been so fixated on the question of whether she’d return that he’d not allowed himself to think beyond that to what he’d say to her. She’d returned when he’d been so very certain that, after their embrace, he’d never again see Josephine Webb.

  The mere idea of it had kept him awake at night. Kept him awake with thoughts of her when there should only be a focus upon Lathan Holman and his bid for freedom. Instead, she’d been all he’d thought of—Josephine Webb and the taste of her. The feel of her. Had a woman ever kissed him as she had? She’d curled against him as if she’d wanted to climb inside him in a way that no woman ever had. Prior to their marriage, his wife had avoided his kiss. Then, he’d chalked it up to the fact that she was a proper young woman. After they’d married, she’d made no secret of her contempt for his embrace.

  Duncan had believed there was some great deficit in him because Eugenia had reviled his touch and any hint of intimacy with him.

  “You’re here,” he blurted before he could catch himself.

  Josephine glanced up as they approached. Closing her book with a decisive click, she stood. “Should I not be?” she asked drolly.

  “Aha, so you didn’t think she’d come.”

  Oh, bloody hell. “I didn’t say… I merely thought… Miss Webb,” he said instead. “I trust you remember my daughter, Charlemagne?” he finished lamely, motioning to his daughter.

  Ignoring that lame attempt at introductions, Josephine turned to Charlie. “Hullo, Charlemagne.”

  His daughter released his hand and skipped over to join Josephine at the stoop. “Hello, Miss Webb.”

  “Now, you must tell me… whyever would I not be here?” She briefly lifted a pointed gaze to Duncan before focusing on Charlemagne.

  “Well, you did wish to be a clerk for my papa.” She glanced in Duncan’s direction, as if she wished to clear up any doubts as to the papa in question. “And I suspected he might have coerced you into it.”

  He groaned. “Charlie,” he said warningly.

  Did he imagine the ghost of a smile on Josephine’s full lips? “I assure you that is quite impossible.” Leaning close to Charlie’s ear, Josephine spoke in a loud whisper. “I’m not one who can be coerced into anything.”

  Duncan was certain no truer words had ever been spoken.

  “Not even by a very skilled barrister?” Charlie asked.

  “Especially not by a skilled barrister, because that would require a mastery of words.”

  Then it occurred to him… Josephine was teasing him. Josephine and his daughter. They both were. Charlie, who never teased and who barely smiled around him anymore. He’d never been the subject of teasing or banter and didn’t know how to be around it. His wife had thought levity was for plebeians, as she’d so often said.

  Fishing out his key, he hurried to open the door. He motioned for the two to enter ahead of him.

  Following them, Duncan made to hang up his cloak, but Josephine snagged his hook, and he was left with his garment fluttering in his hands.

  On her first day, he’d been besieged by annoyance at her insolence, but now he could admit there was something completely captivating in Josephine Webb’s command and confidence.

  “Now, what do you wish to do today?” Josephine was saying to his daughter as he hung his cloak alongside hers.

  “I…” The little girl’s mouth moved. “I’ve never given it much thought. My father usually insists that I remain in his offices while he works.” It was why Duncan’s daughter had snuck off that day Josephine had discovered her roaming London. “There’s never really anything to do.”

  “In London?” Josephine scoffed. “Preposterous. There’s Astley’s Circus, and the British Museum, and the Royal Arcade, or the theater, or Gunther’s.”

  “I’ve never been,” Charlie whispered, awe coating her tone. “I’ve never heard of most of those places.”

  Guilt rooted around his belly. At feeling Josephine’s stare on him, he felt his ears go hot. Studiously avoiding her gaze, Duncan drew his chair out, opened his folder, and began to work.

  Alas, Josephine had no intention of letting him off so easily.

  “And what of you?” Josephine took a step toward him. “Do you intend to join?”

  It took a moment to register that the question was for him. It was a peculiar state to find himself in, with a woman who wished to be with him. Early in his marriage, and then when Charlie had been born, Duncan hadn’t solely existed for his career. That evolution had come slowly, in a bid to assuage the wishes of a wife who ultimately had come to never be happy in their marriage.

  Charlie broke the awkward silence. “My father does not join, Miss Webb,” she explained in perfect governess tones. “He works.”

  *

  My father does not join. He works.

  Duncan Everleigh wasn’t her business. The Everleigh family wasn’t her business. And yet, Charlemagne had been so very matter-of-fact in that deliverance.

  Stifling a frown, Josephine stared at the little girl. “Charlie, may I have a moment to speak with your father?”

  Her Sunday-morn charge shrugged and then skipped off. She closed the door behind herself.

  “You have something to say,” Duncan noted as he went about organizing his folders and writing utensils on his desk, as though she was more an afterthought. Nay, worse. As though his daughter was an afterthought.

  Feeling his wary gaze on her, Josephine pulled over a chair and joined Duncan at his desk.

  “It is hardly my place to interfere in your relationship with Charlie.”

  “Then don’t,” he said crisply, opening his notes. He went to dip his quill into the dwindling ink of the crystal well.

  Josephine plucked the writing utensil from his fingers. “However,” she went on, moving that scrap just beyond his reach, “surely there’s some time for pleasure, Mr. Everleigh.” She softened that rebuke with a smile. “One cannot live on work alone.”

  Frowning, he grabbed for his pen, but she shoved it even farther away from his fingertips. With a sigh, Duncan folded his arms at his chest. “Actually, one can. I’m in the midst of Lathan Holman’s case. Now, if you’ll—”

  “And what if you weren’t?” she persisted. “Then there’d be some other client and case and never a time to simply enjoy your daughter’s company.”

  “You know nothing of it,” Duncan snapped, and then stealing a look at the door separating them from Charlie, he lowered his voice. “Who do you believe pays the costs of a governess and townhouse and pair of servants?” And now, Josephine’s salary. This time, as Duncan held his palm out, she returned the quill.

  With her family’s financial straits and the stain upon the Pratt name, Josephine had believed herself well aware of life’s struggles.

  She’d been wrong.

  In just one week working with Duncan Everleigh, Josephine had learned more about life and the differences between the nobility… and those born outside those fortunate ranks.

  It had proven a stark reminder of the luxuries
Josephine had failed to realize were luxuries.

  “I understand something of it,” she said quietly. Not entirely and not in the same way. Even as her family had struggled financially, they’d still retained servants and Mayfair townhouses. And yet, as her brothers had become absorbed in their attempts to rebuild the Pratt finances and name, she’d become lost. Forgotten. “My brothers were both too busy attempting to salvage our family’s finances to spend any time with me. They thought it was so important to see me in proper dresses and gloves.” She’d been scuttled off to Mrs. Belden’s, and then when she’d returned, she’d become invisible. “And do you know, Duncan, I would have rather had a relationship with them than any of the dresses and comforts that they’d believed were so important.”

  He sat motionless for a long while and then dragged a hand through his hair. “Charlie would far rather I stay behind.”

  And then she saw it. The truth.

  The reasons he’d given hadn’t been solely about his case or money. They were about… his daughter.

  “Charlie wants to be with you,” she said softly. How could he not see that?

  He briefly closed his eyes.

  He wanted to come. He wished to join his daughter… and Josephine.

  “Very well,” he said. “But I cannot—”

  “Splendid! Let us find out what Charlie wishes to—”

  The door exploded open, and Charlie burst through. “Hyde Park,” she said breathlessly.

  Of all the places the girl might have chosen… “Hyde Park,” Josephine squeaked. Oh, bloody hell.

  The little girl’s excitement flagged. “Is that all right?”

  “Yes. It’s…” Both father and daughter stared back as Josephine rambled. She tried again. “It’s simply that rain is threatening.”

  “It’s always threatening in England,” Charlie pointed out quite accurately, and blast if the girl didn’t have the barrister mind of her father.

  “Yes, yes, that is true.”

  Charlie’s smile was firmly back in place. “It is settled then.”

  It was settled.

  A short hackney ride later, Josephine found herself strolling down one of the less popular paths of Hyde Park alongside Duncan. The heavy dark gray clouds hanging in the morning sky hinted at impending rain. Between the early hour and the threatening weather, but for the distant gallop of gentlemen partaking of the riding trails, the grounds remained largely empty. And some of the unease at the fear of discovery left her as she took in the girl skipping happily ahead.