“You cannot possibly wish to be a governess,” the viscount said with great surprise in his voice. “ ’Tis a life of drudgery.”
Harriet frowned. Leave it to her brother to immediately identify and express her biggest fear. “I know this is a risky endeavor, but I feel I have no choice. I want my independence, I want to taste some freedom.”
“A governess is little more than a servant. You have far more freedom in my household.”
“As what? A spinster? A maiden aunt who tries to stay quietly in the background, offering no opinions, causing no disharmony among the family?” Harriet shuddered. “We both know I can not possibly exist in that role.”
When her brother did not refute her argument, Harriet pressed on.
“When I am no longer interested in working, I will ask you to set me up in a small, independent household on this estate, so I may live quietly and autonomously. Until then, I would very much like to try and earn my own way.”
“By taking care of a parcel of noble brats?”
“No. Even if a household could be found that would employ me, I want nothing at all to do with the nobility. A wealthy merchant class family will do just fine.”
The viscount was obviously leery, but Harriet could sense her brother had no logical arguments to offer.
“If you insist on going, I cannot stop you,” he said with a sigh. “However, I must insist that you take a position only with a decent, Christian family. In this case, it shall be the employer who will need to provide references.”
Harriet nodded. She had already anticipated this requirement and was prepared. “I have spoken with the vicar and he has kindly agreed to inquire among his many relations, friends, and colleagues in hopes of finding me a suitable position. I assume if our local clergyman can vouch for the family, you will have no objection?”
Griffin gave her a rueful smile, then tilted his head, assessing her closely. “You are well prepared to refute any objection I can think to offer.”
“I tried to anticipate your reaction.” Harriet chanced a confident grin, then sobered. “ ’Tis a lesson I learned about my character, from my former fiancé. I find that I do not like surprises very much.”
Chapter Three
The noise from a large, boisterous party gathered somewhere in the house was an unwelcome, persistent intrusion. It tugged relentlessly at Lord Avery’s slumber, pulling him from the brief moment of peace that an unconscious mind afforded.
Nathaniel dragged opened his eyes, struggling to regain his senses. The bold splash of red velvet bed curtains revealed he was not in his own bedchamber. And the cloying, floral scent of thick perfume revealed he was not alone in the large fourposter bed. Ever so slowly he tilted his head.
“Ah, you are awake,” a sultry female voice declared. “At last.”
The mattress dipped as the lush, unclothed woman pushed up on one elbow, then leaned closer. Nathaniel stared up at her for a long moment. She was very pretty. Her features were dainty and soft, her eyes dark and sparkling. Shiny sable hair cascaded down her shoulders, contrasting starkly with her fair creamy skin. Her lips were full and ruby red, her breasts abundant and luscious.
An elusive memory took shape in his mind. Dinner out with an old Scottish friend, Duncan McTate, then a jaunt to a new gaming club in an attempt to cheer his dismal mood. There had been the usual assortment of women making the rounds at the tables, high-priced courtesans and unclaimed mistresses seeking new protectors, along with a few of society’s females whose reputations skirted the edge of respectability.
Temptations abounded. Nathaniel had never been one to deny himself when it came to carnal matters. Thanks to his handsome face and impressive lineage, he had always had his pick of women, be they of noble or common birth.
But who exactly was this sumptuous brunette who was eyeing him like a tasty morsel? Nathaniel was unsure. Not that it really mattered. Somehow he had ended up alone in an upstairs private chamber with this entrancing creature and had used her luscious body shamelessly in an attempt to forget his mounting woes.
Trouble was, it hadn’t worked.
“Yvonne?” he ventured.
“Darling,” she smiled broadly, then leapt onto all fours.
Her large breasts dangled precariously close to his chin. She made a deep, guttural sound in the back of her throat and leaned forward, her lovely face alive with wanton interest.
Lord Avery hissed out a curse. He had not meant to incite her passion, yet hunger radiated from her very pores as she pressed closer to his naked flesh. Nathaniel could not recall in full detail their earlier coupling, but obviously he had left her in need.
Her fingers began to stroke his chest. A part of him wanted nothing more than to rise from the bed and walk away. But his pride would not let him leave a woman unsatisfied, even if she was practically a stranger.
He pushed her firmly onto her back. Her legs fell open at a touch and he moved between them. He adjusted her body and entered in one long smooth stroke. Yvonne gasped, and her body tightened around him.
He stopped for an instant to savor the slick warmth, but a shout of male laughter from downstairs caught his attention. How odd to feel so completely unattached to a person while performing the most intimate of acts. Here he was, embedded inside her warmth to the hilt, distracted and aroused at the same time.
Yvonne apparently did not suffer the same difficulty. She wiggled her hips against him, then pressed her fingers painfully into his upper arms. Nathaniel shuddered.
“Harder,” she gasped, as she tightened her legs and pushed at him.
Nathaniel drew out of her warmth, then slid in again, quickening his pace with each thrust. At her urging he continued pumping into her, hard and fast. Within moments Yvonne’s body quivered and arched in the throes of climax.
It was over. Thank goodness. He went still inside her and realized he was still hard. Yet he felt strangely disinclined to do anything about it.
Nathaniel rolled over, attempting to withdraw and distance himself. Yvonne clung tightly, giving him no choice but to bring her with him. With a slight grimace, he moved his palms up Yvonne’s firm, bare thighs, then deliberately separated their bodies. Misunderstanding, the sultry brunette arched her back, showcasing her luscious body, obviously waiting to hear him praise her many attributes.
Lord Avery remained silent.
“Gracious, you are stiff as a board,” Yvonne exclaimed with obvious delight.
Nathaniel tipped his chin and glanced at his groin, which indeed was hard and stiff. Yvonne squealed again and reached for him like a greedy child. Her fingertips circled the tip of his penis and glided down the shaft, swirling lightly. Nathaniel stretched his back, attempting to evade those questing fingers.
But they were skillful. And most persistent. His mind drifted as she began rubbing and stroking, then wrapping her fingers around him.
He closed his eyes tightly, trying desperately to shut his mind off from everything but the pleasure. It was difficult. Yet his breathing deepened when she raked his stomach with her nails, then angled her head downward. Finally, the touch of her lips drove all thoughts from his mind.
Two hours later, Lord Avery left Yvonne in an exhausted, satisfied slumber and made his way to the main parlor. It was well past midnight and the gaming house was crowded with gentlemen seeking to fill their purses. Being unfamiliar with this particular establishment, since it was so very new, Nathaniel sought the aid of a liveried servant in locating his companion, Duncan McTate.
After giving the man a rather detailed description of the burly Scotsman, the footman pointed a white-gloved finger toward the gold salon. Nathaniel made his way through the throng of people, his hard stare softening in amusement when he spotted his friend.
He surmised the Scotsman was enjoying himself at the gaming tables, for there were impressive piles of coins stacked in front of him. And a strong hint of amusement in his blue eyes. Though his face was flushed and his cravat askew, Nathaniel knew McTa
te was still very much in command of his wits.
“Have you come to join the game, Lord Avery?” Mr. Kenyon inquired. “We could use some fresh blood. McTate’s practically cleaned us all out. His winning streak remains unbroken. Perhaps a new player will foil his luck.”
“I must warn you, Mr. Kenyon, ’tis nearly impossible to separate a Scot from his coin,” Nathaniel replied with a smile. “I know better than to play against one who is riding a streak of good luck.”
The rest of the players laughed, including McTate, and a slight flush stained Kenyon’s face. With his ruddy features and close-set eyes, Nathaniel thought the man resembled an overly large rodent. Planting his palms on the table, Kenyon glared with open hostility at McTate, who was seated to his left.
Nathaniel knew that many in society thought McTate remote and notorious, for he was a man who showed little deference to their silly rules. Yet Nathaniel knew him to be a man of honor. He had come to town too late to attend Robert and Bernadette’s funeral, but Nathaniel had been touched that his friend had traveled such a distance, at the height of winter, to pay his respects and offer his support.
If only there were some way he could help solve this current legal dilemma, Nathaniel thought gloomily.
McTate clasped his shoulder and leaned forward. “I’m ahead four hundred guineas. ’Twould be a shame to leave with my luck running so high, but if you feel the need to depart, I’ll come along.”
“And deprive you of a chance to double your winnings?” Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like a man with no regard for his life?”
McTate threw back his head and laughed appreciatively. The infectious sound of mirth brought smiles to the faces of the other gentlemen seated around the table. All save one.
Nathaniel reasoned that Duncan must have surely felt Kenyon’s stare boring into him, but the Scotsman chose to ignore it. Which apparently increased Kenyon’s ire. Nathaniel flashed a warning frown at Kenyon, which the other man foolishly ignored.
“I suppose, to a Scot, cheating can also be considered a form of luck,” Kenyon grumbled softly. “Or skill.”
In a blur of motion, McTate sprang from his chair. He caught Kenyon by the lapels of his coat and hauled him into the air.
“Now, laddie, would you care to repeat that statement to my face, instead of mumbling under your breath like a coward?”
Kenyon’s face flushed a deep shade of red as he struggled ineffectively to remove himself from McTate’s clutches.
Cards slapped the table and chairs scraped the floor as the other four players leapt to their feet. Mr. Kenyon was no great favorite, with his sharp tongue and superior attitude, yet it was a rare treat to see him actually step over the line into real danger.
“I am sure Mr. Kenyon meant no disrespect,” Nathaniel said calmly. He stepped beside his friend and glanced up at Kenyon’s quarrelsome face. “But it would probably be best if you apologized, Kenyon. Immediately.”
“You must have misheard my remarks,” Mr. Kenyon said stiffly.
The Scotsman tightened his grip and miraculously lifted his adversary higher. Kenyon’s eyes bulged. “I meant no offense,” he choked out. “Please, forgive my hasty tongue.”
There were several seconds of taut silence as everyone waited to see if McTate would accept the apology. True gentlemen demanded satisfaction on the dueling field, but an uncivilized Scot might take it into his head to start a common brawl. Though he stood to inherit an English earldom one day, thanks to his noble mother, there was little evidence of his aristocratic bloodlines at this moment.
Without warning, Duncan suddenly released his hostage. Kenyon stumbled to regain his footing, clutching the table for support. His breath came in panting gasps, as if he had only just realized how narrowly he had avoided great peril. The other players wisely offered no assistance.
McTate straightened. He scooped the large pile of coins off the table in a fluid motion and stuffed his winnings in his pockets. Then he brushed off an imaginary speck of lint from his dark evening coat and with a final contemptuous glare at the quivering Mr. Kenyon, left the table.
Searching for the exit, the two friends soon became lost in the maze of unfamiliar rooms. By pure chance, they stumbled upon a small paneled room that resembled a library. The room was done in rich dark tones and the walls were covered with bookshelves packed with books, the furnishings were large, overstuffed, and decidedly decadent. A fire in the hearth crackled loudly, casting both light and warmth.
“ ’Tis probably cold as a witch’s tit outside,” McTate said. “I think we could do with a bit of warming up, first. Do you fancy a drink before we brave the chill?”
Nathaniel nodded in agreement. A dose of strong spirits might relax him. McTate flagged down a footman. “Bring us two glasses and a bottle of your best port.”
The door remained open as the servant fetched the requested refreshment. Duncan moved to the center of the room, seeking the warmth of the fire, but a shadow looming in the doorway attracted Nathaniel’s attention.
For an instant he thought it might be Kenyon seeking revenge for his earlier humiliation, but it was a woman. Tall, lush, and blond. Her gold silk gown, with its tiny cap sleeves and plunging neckline, flattered her coloring and figure. Though hardly in the first blush of youth, she was nevertheless most handsome.
She shot him an assessing glance and he watched the flow of interest cross her features. Lord Avery’s jaw hardened. The mysterious female was clearly looking for some excitement. Deciding he had had more than enough womanly companionship for the evening, Nathaniel met her jaded eyes squarely and shook his head.
The blonde shrugged her shoulders and entered the room anyway, sashaying toward McTate. With cat-like grace, she slid her arms around his waist. The Scotsman’s head turned. His gaze traveled up and down her revealing gown, lingering for several seconds at her impressive bosom.
The blonde pressed herself against the Scotsman, parting her lips in sensual invitation. Her lashes lowered to half-mast as she tilted her head back, exposing the elegant column of her neck. McTate’s blue eyes twinkled at her, then he gave an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh, lass, I only wish I had the time to properly indulge you,” he said with obvious regret. “But I have important business to discuss with my friend. Perhaps we will meet at another time.”
With a playful slap to her rump, McTate sent the lovely woman on her way. She passed the footman carrying in a tray on her way out. McTate insisted on using some of his winnings to pay for the refreshments and tipped the servant handsomely. Drinks in hand, the two men found a quiet corner near the fireplace, away from the gamblers and prowling females.
As they settled into two comfortable chairs, Nathaniel could feel McTate’s wily eyes assessing him.
“So, have these few hours of immoral pleasures lifted your mood at all, my friend?” McTate asked.
“Not really.” The ghost of a smile flitted across Nathaniel’s face. “Despite all my best efforts, I find I am rather poor spirited these days.”
“Poor spirited!” McTate scoffed. “I fully expected to find you grieving, for I knew how close you were to your brother and how much you admired his kind wife. Yet I never thought to see you so downhearted.”
“It’s all this damn court nonsense.” Just voicing his concerns out loud made Lord Avery feel edgy. He stood, and began pacing. “This morning I suffered a major setback at the hands of a magistrate who is clearly lining his pockets with bribes from both sides in this case. I had been hoping to be appointed temporary guardian for my nieces and nephew, but my petition was denied flat-out.”
Nathaniel drained his wine goblet, welcoming the spreading warmth that relaxed the tight knots in his muscles, then held out his glass to be replenished. Wordlessly, McTate complied.
“I’ve hired the best solicitor and barrister in London, paid them a small fortune, plus a bit more to cover the bribes needed to win my case and still I am denied custody of Robert’s children,” Nathan
iel continued. “The lawyers keep telling me to be patient, but that becomes more difficult each day. Especially when I see how neglected and despondent the children have become.”
McTate’s face lit with concern. “Is your uncle mistreating them?”
“Worse. He is completely indifferent to them. To their needs, to their grief, to their feelings. I believe that eventually his neglect will cause them all actual harm.”
Duncan McTate let out a long, low whistle. “Saints preserve us, laddie, you sound like an old woman, worrying about the feelings of a bunch of children.”
“They are not just a bunch of children. They are Robert’s son and two daughters. My brother’s dying wish was that I care for them, and so help me I shall do everything within my power to fulfill that promise.”
Nathaniel stared hard at the Scotsman and felt his stomach plummet with frustration. If he could not make a friend like McTate understand how important this was, what chance did he have of convincing a magistrate?
Lord Avery’s stare turned to one of exasperation. “You aren’t saying anything.”
Duncan stroked his chiseled jaw. “I’m just trying to imagine you caring for a trio of children. Two of them female, no less.”
The quip brought a smile to Nathaniel’s face and the tension drained from the room. Lord Avery picked up the wine bottle and refilled both goblets.
“Is your uncle keeping you from seeing the wee ones?” McTate asked as he shifted to expose more of his body to the warm fire.
“No. I visit them every afternoon in their nursery. It is hardly an ideal situation, but when the weather improves I plan on taking them on outings to the park and around town. Perhaps such adventures will put small smiles back on their faces.”
“It doesn’t sound so dire.” Duncan idly swirled his glass. “Visiting them most days and bringing a bit of cheer and caring into their young hearts. If you want my opinion, I think you are making too much of who has legal custody. Let them remain Bridwell’s problem. ’Tis more important for you to be a presence in their lives. And if your uncle knows you are keeping a close watch on him, he might be forced to act in a manner more appropriate for a guardian.”
To Tempt A Rogue Page 4
