Charlotte Louise Dolan

by Three Lords for Lady Anne

  “If I were a man, I would call you out for such an insult.”

  “If you were a man, I would not question your word.”

  “And since you are a man, I would be a fool to put my reliance on anything you promised.”

  He now looked as angry as she felt. She could barely keep from screaming imprecations at him, and he looked as if he wanted nothing more than to throttle her.

  “I assume that since I have now so insulted you, you shall fall back on your sex’s favorite prerogative and change your mind about staying.” His voice was laced with contempt.

  “No, my lord,” she responded in kind, “I shall not change my mind. In fact, there is nothing you can do now that will persuade me to leave the boys alone in the care of a man like you.”

  He started to say something more, but then he paused, and a slow smile spread over his face. “I shall hold you to that also, Miss Hemsworth.”

  * * * *

  An hour later there was a loud rapping at Anne’s door, which she assumed must be the footman she had requested to come and fetch her again empty portmanteau and return it to storage. She was therefore caught off guard when she opened the door and found three lords smiling at her.

  Lord Wylington and Lord Anthony had their usual angelic smiles. Lord Leatham’s smile was more ... devilish.

  “Good morning, Anne, we were hoping—” Anthony said.

  “We could ride over to Thorverton Hall—” Andrew continued.

  “So that I can be introduced to the newest colts and fillies,” Lord Leatham finished.

  “Yes, of course you may ride over there. But do not stay too long. I shall expect you back here in time for lunch.”

  Three lords slowly shook their heads in unison.

  “Only an hour ago you swore that you were never going to leave the twins alone with me,” Lord Leatham said in a silky voice. “You were not planning to break your vow so quickly, were you?”

  Anne looked desperately at the twins for help, but they were openly grinning now. However had she, the very model of a clear-thinking, rational being, who remained calm no matter what the crisis, allowed her tongue to betray her into such a predicament?

  “Well, Miss Hemsworth? Have you reached a decision?”

  Declining to give him the satisfaction of hearing her object, she merely said, “I must change into my riding habit. I shall be ready in half an hour.” Then she shut the bedroom door in Lord Leatham’s face and leaned weakly against the cream-colored panels.

  The two remaining months of summer stretched before her like an eternity—like a prison sentence to be endured, rather than an enjoyable interlude.

  Then adjuring herself to show a little more gumption, she resolutely pushed herself away from the door, straightened her shoulders, and firmly resolved to win this battle of nerves with the arrogant Lord Least-in-Sight.

  She was pulling on the heavy blue velvet skirt of her riding habit when it occurred to her that she would have to find a better nickname for Lord Leatham, since he had apparently decided to reverse his role and become Lord Always-Underfoot.

  He would lose interest soon, she reassured herself while buttoning her jacket. As he himself had virtually admitted, the twins were not yet of an age to be of interest to an adult male, especially a man like Lord Leatham, who had traveled all over the world.

  Sheer boredom would have him packing his bags within a week, two weeks at the most.

  Anne looked in the mirror and then adjusted her hat at a more jaunty angle. In the meantime, as long as the arrogant baron was going to be underfoot, perhaps she could teach him a lesson or two about the dangers of underestimating the female of the species. Lord Leatham was considerably older than her usual pupils, she had to admit, but that would just make him more of a challenge. And she did relish a challenge.

  With a smile of anticipation, she picked up her riding gloves and set out to meet her two—no, her three pupils.

  * * * *

  Creighton stood at his window and watched the party ride away toward Thorverton Hall. The hoity-toity governess, who had acted as if she was too good for him, was now giving all her smiles to Leatham, that insufferable, conceited, arrogant baron.

  Well, they were both going to receive their comeuppance—if not together, then separately. And there was a certain justice about it that made him smile.

  The only problem with his plan, and it had been a serious flaw, was the probability that Leatham would run true to form and leave Devon after only a day or so. He, Creighton, had been racking his brain trying to think of a way to delay the baron’s departure, but had come up with nothing.

  Now, just when it had seemed that failure was inevitable, Leatham had announced he was staying at Wylington Manor for at least two months, and according to the servants, it was all because of the charms of the governess.

  Apparently Leatham was expecting to enjoy a pleasant summer dalliance with her, and it would appear she was not adverse to his advances.

  Creighton’s lips curled in a sneer. She might pretend to be a lady and above such things, but in the final analysis she could be bought with enough money.

  Well, before the summer was over, he, Creighton, would be the one in charge at Wylington Manor—really in charge, and not just nominally in charge. And Miss Hemsworth, like all females of her ilk, would change her tune quickly enough when she saw which way the wind was blowing.

  “How do you suppose they did it?” Bronson kept his horse at a steady trot beside the governess, while the twins rode a little ahead.

  “How did they do what?” Miss Hemsworth turned her beautiful blue eyes toward him, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “I can understand how the twins could use a rope to suspend the dummy from the roof, but how did they make it fall at the appropriate time? Neither boy was visible anywhere near the effigy, so how did they manage to untie the rope?”

  She smiled, and to Bronson it seemed that the sun had come out, even though the sky was still overcast. “They undoubtedly made an eye splice in the end of the rope and held it in place around the dummy with a toggle. Then when they jerked on the cord attached to the toggle, it would instantly release the rope. Last week I taught the boys splices and knots, you see.”

  She began to laugh, and he felt his newly discovered temper start to flare.

  “I am afraid I do not find it as amusing as you do.”

  “No, no,” she said. “I was not laughing about the trick with the dummy. It just occurred to me that this week we have been studying electricity.”

  Bronson gave an involuntary jerk on the reins, causing his horse to rear. He quickly brought it back under control, to the obvious amusement of his riding companion. “Miss Hemsworth, has it occurred to you that it would be safer by far to limit your instruction to less dangerous subjects? Nature study, perhaps?”

  “Oh, but we have not been neglecting that at all. We have started studying anatomy, for example.”

  Bronson leaned over and caught the reins of her horse, pulling it to a stop. He was now so close to her, his leg brushed against her skirt. “Miss Hemsworth, I want to make myself very clear. It has never been my wish to arise some morning and discover that someone has raided the family vault to find specimens for anatomical study.”

  The warmth had vanished from her voice and the laughter from her eyes when she answered him. “We have conducted very scientific dissections of a toad and a rabbit, my lord. I have not turned the boys into grave robbers. The twins have the finest minds of anyone I have ever met, coupled with a curiosity and a thirst for knowledge that is rarely found in anyone, old or young. It would appear that their former governesses were not the only ones who have underestimated their intelligence. You may decide to limit their education to memorizing Latin verbs, my lord, and you may order me to avoid certain ‘dangerous’ subjects, and you may even censor their reading and burn their books, but your efforts will be in vain. They will learn, whether you wish it or not.”

  With that,
she jerked her reins free from his grasp, and kicking her horse into a gallop, she set off after the twins.

  Blast that woman! He had no intention of censoring the boys’ reading material. All he was interested in was a little discretion as to subject matter, a little enlightened self-interest, a little ... self-preservation. Suppose the boys decided they were interested in learning how to make gunpowder—was she in favor of helping them mix the saltpeter and charcoal?

  Really, her arguments were nothing more than rationalization, and so he would point out to her the next time he had a moment alone with her.

  He would also make it clear that running away from any debate without giving one’s opponent the opportunity for a rebuttal was a cowardly thing to do—no, a womanly thing to do. He smiled to himself when he considered what her reaction would be if he accused her of arguing like a typical female.

  Setting his horse to a gallop, he rapidly overtook the other three riders. She did sit a horse well, he had to admit. The old groom, Patrick, had been right about that. It was too bad she could not control her temper and her tongue as well as she controlled her mount.

  She was, in fact, decidedly prickly, like a little hedgehog. No, she was more like a mother hen, puffing up her feathers at the least threat of danger to her two little chicks.

  What would it be like to unruffle her feathers? To soothe away her prickles? To give her further instructions in the gentle art of kissing?

  The rest of the way to Thorverton Hall he pushed out of his mind all the serious subjects that had been occupying his thoughts for the last several years, and allowed himself instead to enjoy the familiar rolling hills of the moor, the cool breeze in his face, and the feel of a good horse beneath him.

  But most of all he found delight in observing Miss Hemsworth. Everything about her was perfection, from her straight back to the way she held the reins, from the curve of her neck to the tilt of her chin.

  He remembered also the frank appraisal she had given him in Tavistock ... the way her lips had felt when he had kissed her ... the swell of her hips when he had put his hands on her waist... the sigh she had uttered when he had kissed her on the ear....

  Even the way she had scolded him for his supposed neglect of the twins now seemed endearing instead of aggravating.

  With a little patience on his part, he could win her trust. He could teach her to respect men, rather than to berate them. It would be a challenge, but before the summer was over, she would call him by his first name, rather than “my lord,” and she would smile at him the way she smiled at the twins.

  Arriving at Thorverton Hall, they bypassed the house and went directly to the stable block, where Lawrence Mallory came out to meet them.

  “Morning, Leatham. Heard you were back. We were hoping you would manage to visit before you take off on your travels again. Demetrius just went up to the house, but I shall let him know you are here. Collier is around somewhere.”

  A gangling youth came dashing full tilt into the courtyard, and with shouts of glee, the twins scrambled off their horses and ran to meet him. Bronson realized with a shock that it was Collier. The little brother who had tagged along behind Demetrius was no longer little.

  Had so many years really passed since Bronson had been at Thorverton Hall? For a moment he had the disconcerting feeling that Miss Hemsworth was correct, that he had not spent enough time recently in Devon.

  He dismounted and went to help Miss Hemsworth, but Mallory was before him.

  Bronson froze in his tracks, overcome with a burning rage at the sight of the other man’s hands on Miss Hemsworth’s waist.

  “I tried that poultice you recommended, Anne, and it seems to be more efficacious than the one we had been using. Our only problem is that Daisy keeps trying to eat it.”

  “I warned you about that, Lawrence. And how is Dolly’s fine son doing?” Without a backward look, the two of them strode off toward the row of stalls, calmly discussing horses.

  Bronson could not believe what he was seeing. Miss Hemsworth, the man-hater, the radical feminist—Miss Hemsworth, who talked back, who argued, who criticized— Miss Hemsworth was being nothing but charming.

  She was not berating Mallory or ordering him around; she was not tossing challenges in his face or upbraiding him for his supposed shortcomings.

  Irrationally, what rankled the most was that she called Mallory by his first name, and at the same time allowed him to call her Anne. That was a privilege he, Bronson, desired above all else, and that it should have been granted to another man made him angry—no, it was not strictly anger he felt, but jealousy.

  That hitherto unknown emotion now twisted his insides painfully; the strength of it made him feel weak.

  “Ah, Leatham, I did not expect to see you again so soon. As you can see, I made good my escape from London and the matrimonial trap.”

  Bronson turned to see Demetrius approaching him. With effort he managed to act is if everything were normal. “Have you heard anything from the fair Diana?”

  “Not directly, but her father wrote me a civil letter, apologizing for the ‘inconvenience’ I had been put to. And via my Uncle Humphrey I have heard that it is generally accepted that my heart is broken, and that I will never again look at another woman. And speaking of women, is that Anne’s horse? Did she come with you?”

  At the sound of Anne’s name on still another man’s lips, Bronson felt such a surge of jealousy that if he’d had an epee in his hand, he would have driven it through his friend’s heart.

  * * * *

  Creighton Trussell crouched on the little balcony, spying on the party of four seated below him on the terrace behind Wylington Manor.

  He ground his teeth in rage at their failure to cooperate with him. Since the day after Leatham’s arrival, the baron had never left the twins’ side except at night, when the boys were tucked in bed in the nursery.

  It was almost as if he were deliberately doing his best to foil Creighton’s plan.

  But wait—Leatham was standing up. Now he was turning and walking toward the house. He was leaving the others. The moment was at hand.

  Creighton fumbled in his pocket, the gun he had been forced to carry loaded for the last three days tangling itself in the fabric of his jacket.

  Leatham disappeared from view below the balcony just as Creighton managed to extract the gun. With shaking hands, he pointed it through a small, round opening in the stone balustrade and aimed it in the general direction of the twins.

  Shutting both his eyes, he pulled the trigger.

  Chapter Nine

  Bronson had barely seated himself at his desk and picked up the first letter addressed to him when he heard a shot fired outside, followed immediately by a woman’s scream. Dear Lord, Anne! Leaping to his feet he dashed back out onto the terrace, to be met by a scene of utter confusion and chaos. In the center of the broken crockery and spilled tea cakes, one of the maids lay lifeless on the ground. Miss Hemsworth and the twins were already at her side.

  “Where was she hit?” Bronson asked, shoving one of the boys aside and kneeling by the stricken woman, checking her quickly for signs of blood.

  “I do not believe she was, my lord,” Miss Hemsworth replied calmly. “The bullet shattered the teapot on the table, which startled her so she screamed and fainted. In falling, she struck her head on one of the flagstones and has rendered herself quite senseless.”

  Other servants came running up, and Bronson instructed two of the footmen to carry the unfortunate maid back into the house. Then he turned his mind to the question of who had fired the shot ... and at whom.

  * * * *

  Wyke laid a carefully folded shirt in the proper drawer and picked up a pair of his master’s boots that needed cleaning. Hearing someone enter the adjoining bedroom, he put the boots aside for later attention and went to see if his services were required.

  The sight that met his eyes astounded him, but he managed to maintain an impassive mien. Trussell stood there, his bac
k against the door, gasping for breath, his cravat in disarray and his coat mussed ... and in his hand was a pistol.

  Upon catching sight of his valet, Trussell gave a little shriek and dropped the pistol.

  Whatever Wyke had suspected his master of plotting, it had nothing to do with guns. On the other hand, when opportunity knocked, as his dear mum had always said....

  Without losing his dignity, he approached the shaken man and bent and picked up the pistol from the floor. One whiff, and he knew it had been recently fired.

  “You had better tell me what you have been doing,” he said matter-of-factly, sliding the gun into his pocket.

  His calm acceptance of the situation had its effect on Trussell, who stood up, smoothed his hair with one hand, straightened his jacket, and said, “I merely fired a shot at the twins.”

  Merely? thought Wyke. That was an understatement if he ever heard one. “To what end?” he asked.

  “As you know, I have been a trifle short of funds recently, so I have come up with a plan to cast suspicion on Lord Leatham, so that—” here Trussell paused to catch his breath, “—so that I will be appointed guardian of the twins in his stead.”

  Wyke did not need any more explanation. The advantages that would accrue to Trussell and through Trussell to himself were obvious.

  What was also obvious was that as a conspirator Trussell was hopelessly inept. There was not a minute to be lost if this scheme had any chance of succeeding. Although he had not intended to become directly involved in Trussell’s plotting, he had to take an active part now or Trussell’s part in the shooting would be discovered, and all chance for later blackmail would be lost.

  “Quickly, sir.” Wyke grabbed his master and spun him around, then ruthlessly ripped the jacket off his back. Shoving the unresisting gentleman down into a chair, the valet wrapped a towel around his neck, picked up the shaving mug, and in minutes had slathered shaving soap all over the lower half of Trussell’s face.

  “What on earth—”