by Alexia Praks
“Aye, my lady, I’m so sorry.” Claire, the lady’s maid, scurried to help the woman with her dress.
“You two,” the woman turned her eyes on them, “Don’t just stand there. Leave at once. You should know your duties. Have you no manners? Leave, I say!” She shouted at the two of them, pointing a delicate, slender finger at them.
Christine felt a pang of shock. She and Betty glanced at each other and quickly left.
“Servants these days have no manners,” Anne muttered as though there was poison in her mouth.
Christine and Betty went down, got more bags, and came back up. Claire quickly helped them put the bags down and checked both bags for something. “It’s not here,” she murmured to herself.
“Found it yet?” Anne asked.
“Nay, my lady. I’ll go down myself and find it,” the maid said and rushed to the door.
“Wait!” Anne snapped. “Come back and undo my corset.”
“What about the perfume?” Claire asked.
Christine’s and Betty’s eyes met.
“I want that, too,” Anne snapped.
“But—”
Anne sighed and looked heavenward. “Those two can find it for you. Come and undo this corset for me. Hurry!” she said through gritted teeth.
Claire nodded nervously and rushed to Christine and Betty. “Please, find a bag for me. It’s green with red strips. Please hurry. You don’t want Lady Anne to, err, get annoyed.”
Christine looked at the maid and saw the frightened look in her eyes. She herself had worn that look before, when Mr. Brad had been around, watching her and trying to find faults in her work. Then he had whipped her even though she hadn’t made any mistake at all. It was fear, that look the maid was wearing. Would Lady Anne whip Claire if she did something wrong? The very thought brought forward a lump in her throat, and she pitied the maid. To ease the maid’s mind, she nodded her head firmly, and she and Betty rushed out.
“Good Lord, did you see her, Master Chris? Just look at the way she speaks to us, as though we are nothing but rubbish, and we’re not even her servants. I feel sorry for that maid,” Betty muttered as they descended the stairs.
“She is very pretty though, isn’t she, Betty?” Christine said.
“What? Don’t say you’re one of them, too? Falling head over heels in love with that witch,” Betty said disgustedly and sniffed noisily.
“Well, she is pretty,” Christine put in firmly.
“Huh, come on, Master Chris. If you listen to me, I advise you to pay no heed to that witch and stay away from her. She’s bad, I tell you.”
Christine found herself trying to keep up with the maid’s hurrying steps. They were only two steps away from ground floor when she lost her footing and crashed into Betty. They tumbled down the last couple of steps and landed flat on their faces on the polished marble floor.
She was sore all over. Christine was sure she was going to get bruises from this. She touched her elbow and found that it was tender. Another one to add to her collection, she thought, and pushed herself up. Instantly, the pain shot through from her ankle to the core of her heart. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to suppress the scream she was about to make. She turned her face heavenward. A moment later, when the pain subsided, she opened her eyes and saw in shock the angry face of Merrick.
The black look he wore on his face as he scowled down at them scared her so much that the pain in her sprained ankle paled in comparison. She didn’t know what to do, so she just sat there and stared up him.
Betty almost fainted when she saw the angry face of her master. However, she gathered all her courage, and with legs that wobbled—which, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to keep under control—she stood up.
“What do you think you are doing?” Merrick asked, looking at Christine.
“It was an accident. We fell down the stairs. Oh, my lord, I promise that it won’t happen again. I promise,” Betty cried, tears misting her eyes.
Merrick’s question wasn’t intended for the maid; it was for Christine. However, Christine wasn’t paying any attention.
He turned to look at Betty and then back at Christine. She was still staring up at him from her sitting position, both her legs under her bottom, both her palms on the floor, and her head tilted right back, staring up at him.
He bent down, roughly seized her arm, and swung her up to a standing position. She whimpered at the sheer pain as he yanked her up and tried very hard not to cry in front of him.
“Stop playing foolish games,” he scolded and shoved her away from him.
She nearly collided with Betty. The other girl held on to her so they wouldn’t fall back onto their backsides again.
“It was an accident,” Christine said quietly, and without looking at him, she limped toward the piles of bags near the door and grabbed the one with green and red strips.
He watched her as she was doing this, and his eyes narrowed.
She turned back and was passing him toward the stairs when he caught her arms and roughly pulled her around to face him. It was so quick that she was out of breath when she stood before him, her eyes staring at the mass of his white shirt.
“You’re limping,” he commented. “And where do you think you’re taking that bag?”
“’Tis nothing,” she said with her head bowed and moved her arm in such a way that she was released from his grasp. She started to move toward the stairs. He caught her arm again and grabbed the bag from her hand.
“Take this.” He handed the bag to Betty. The maid grabbed it, bobbed, and rushed up the stairs.
“You’re hurt, Chris,” he said.
“I’m not hurt,” she said, tugging her arm free.
“You’ve sprained your ankle. Come, let me look.”
“You don’t have to concern yourself with me. After all, you didn’t for the past eight months,” she said, ignoring him.
“You’re very stubborn, Chris,” he said and then left her.
She turned to look at him as he entered the drawing room. He had changed, she thought. She was still hurt that he had left her without saying good-bye eight months ago. When he returned, he had changed toward her. Why?
EIGHT
Christine gently touched her fingers to her tender ankle. She winced at the dull pain. The spot had turned dark purple, almost black. It’d be sore for a few days, she thought. She’d have to be careful with it. She quickly put her sock and shoe back on, careful so that they wouldn’t press too hard on the tender spot. She stretched her legs out.
“How’s your ankle?”
She jerked, looked up, and saw Merrick. She quickly stood up and grimaced at the pain her sprained ankle caused. When did he come in? she thought miserably. The man’s feet were as quiet as a lion when it was hunting its prey.
“It’s fine,” she said.
“You sure you’re all right, Chris?” His fingers touched her shoulder.
“I’m fine,” she said breathlessly, nodding her head.
“That’s good to hear,” he commented as he touched her chin so that their eyes met.
Merrick felt his pulse quicken. He swiftly removed his hand from her chin, turned, strode to her bed, and sat down.
“There’s no need for you to attend me this evening,” he began.
Nay, he could not allow the youth to attend him tonight, nor from tomorrow onward. It would be too hazardous. Being with the youth caused him to lose his sense of logic and order. Being with the youth increased his yearning to kiss those soft lips.
When he had first met Chris, he had pitied the boy. Because of that, his fondness for him had led him to take the youth in. Only doing so had led him to experience odd feelings that he shouldn’t have had because it was ungodly. He had thought that going to London, mixing himself in the social whirl, and courting young women would surely make him come to reason. After all, he had hardly seen pretty women in the country. It had worked—for the first few months anyway. But then, Lord, all he had do
ne after that was eye every young buck, and well, he had often wondered what women would look like wearing breeches.
When he knew he couldn’t handle this cursed fantasy anymore, he had returned to Huntingdon Hall—only to see the youth had grown even more appetizing—ripe for the plucking.
Before he had left, Chris had been thin, almost skin and bone, with pale skin and sunken eyes. When he had returned, my God, he had transformed. He now looked fit, healthy, and beautiful. His skin was glowing with health, his brown hair—my God, he actually noticed this—was shiny and had grown even darker than he had remembered. His eyes were bright, his cheeks were always a light rosy color, and his lips—he groaned inside—were always pink and luscious. Somehow, he expected the youth to gain a bit of muscle because he was so healthy, but he couldn’t see any sign of that. When he had touched the youth’s arm this morning, it had felt soft—too damn soft for a young man.
He had hoped his going to London would change his idiotic fancy, but he had been wrong there. Now, even more so than before, his desire mounted. Every time he looked at Chris he wanted to kiss the youth. It was wrong, and he realized that he craved to do much more. He began to doubt his sanity daily. Every time he saw the youth, his hands itched to touch, to hold, to caress. His mouth yearned to kiss, to explore that soft, delicate mouth. What would it be like inside that mouth? Aye, he yearned and craved and hungered from the very sight of it.
“You will get changed and come down to dine with me and my guests,” he said abruptly and stood up.
“You wish me to dine with your guests?” she asked. There was panic in her voice.
“Yes,” he said and walked out the room.
Christine didn’t know what to do. She certainly didn’t want to dine with his guests. But then she couldn’t very well disobey him. It was his order, after all. And so reluctantly she had a bath after he had left her, and then Paris came in to see her final dressing. Tonight she wore dark wool breeches, a white shirt, and a navy blue cravat that took Paris a full half hour to arrange to perfection. Once all done, she nervously came down the grand stairs to the drawing room. She had never met high society guests before, and she had no idea how to behave. She just hoped that she wasn’t going to embarrass Merrick because she was ignorant. Ross smiled and nodded at her as she walked into the drawing room.
“I hope you both had a good rest, Lady Queensbury, Lady Anne?” She heard Merrick say to the two ladies sitting on the settee near the empty hearth.
“Indeed, my lord, may I compliment you on my bedroom and all the other rooms in this Hall. They are inviting and elegant indeed,” Lady Queensbury said, smiling at him.
“I’m glad you liked them,” Merrick said, knowing that it was in fact his ward who had a hand in it.
“My lord, have you forgotten to mention something to me?” Lady Queensbury continued. “I seem to see my brother-in-law and his whole family here.” Her beautiful, youthful face turned quite red when she said that.
Merrick turned to look at the Wilsons on the other side of the room, who had just arrived half an hour ago. Instantly, he saw Christine standing awkwardly near the door like a wallflower. He turned back to Lady Queensbury. “Yes, excuse me,” he said, bowed at both women, and left.
Lady Queensbury and Anne both walked to greet their relatives, the other Wilsons.
“Good evening, Lillian. I had no idea your family had been invited to the earl’s private party,” Lady Queensbury said sarcastically. She moved closer to Mrs. Wilson and whispered, “What did you do?”
“Ah, Lady Queensbury, you see, we accidentally met during the Robinson’s dinner party last winter. He happened to invite us to his party. It is not what I did that got us here tonight, but rather”—she turned to look at her daughter—“because of Jane.” She smiled triumphantly.
“I see!” the countess snapped.
Anne said to Jane, “Ah, Cousin Jane, I see you’re still a schoolgirl after all, with that distasteful gown of yours. Very unfashionable, let me assure you. It’s a gown for a school miss, not a lady of fashion.” She smiled and whispered into Jane’s ear. “If you’re trying to catch the earl, don’t even think about it. For I’m sure he sees you as no more than a stupid school miss who is making a fool of herself.” She lifted her head then and smiled with satisfaction at Jane, who just looked defeated.
Anne turned to Mrs. Wilson. “Good evening, Auntie, enjoy your dinner tonight.”
Mrs. Wilson looked from the smiling Anne to her daughter. “Jane? Are you all right?” she asked in concern.
Jane blinked and said, “Oh, Mama, I—”
Merrick came to stand in front of Christine near the door. She looked up at him and smiled nervously.
“You look nice,” he said, and he meant it, perhaps even understated it. “Come this way. I will introduce you to my guests.” He led her to the Wilsons.
“Everyone,” Merrick began, “may I introduce my ward, Chris Smith.”
Anne glanced at Christine. She widened her eyes and then glared at Merrick. “You have a ward, my lord?” she said. There was a hint of an accusation in her voice.
Christine bowed to Anne.
“Have I seen you somewhere before, lad?” Lord Queensbury asked Christine. He looked as though he had just seen a ghost.
Christine shook her head and said, “No, I don’t think so, my lord.”
Maximilian appeared at the door then. His presence was so powerful that the guests turned toward him standing there, silently watching them. Lady Queensbury swiftly grabbed her daughter’s arm and rushed over to him. “Why, Your Grace, I didn’t know you’d be here, I mean in this house party.” She composed herself and said to Anne, “Anne, curtsy to the Duke of Lynwood.”
Anne curtsied low. “Your Grace,” she said and held out her hand for him. Maximilian took it and lightly touched it to his lips.
“Ah, I see you’ve met my friend, Maximilian Devilyn.” Merrick laughed. “And, Max, this is my ward, Chris Smith.”
Christine bowed her head and said, “Good evening to you, Your Grace.” When she looked up at him, she had to tilt her head right back because he was very tall, the same height as Merrick, in fact, and was as muscular as well. He was dangerously handsome with his ash blond hair, blue eyes, and strong, angular face. She glanced at Merrick, who was standing beside her, and thought that he too was very handsome indeed, even more so than the Duke of Lynwood in her mind. But to her Merrick didn’t look dangerous, though she reasoned with herself that he could be when he wanted to be. To her right at that moment, Merrick looked big and gentle.
“A good evening to you, too, Chris,” Maximilian said. “The burgundy is good. I like it, and the peonies, too.”
Christine smiled shyly and said, “I’m glad you like it, Your Grace. Mrs. Ross said that it’s your room because you come so often and that you want nothing changed, but I thought that the drapes and sheets were too old, so we bought new ones. I thought you’d like burgundy.”
Merrick was certain of two things then. One was that Max’s room had been refurbished by his ward, and two, that Max liked it. He wasn’t sure what to expect if Max didn’t like the new arrangement. Though they had been friends for ten years, he had never seen Max flare up with anger before, nor had he ever seen the man smile or laugh. Max was always in control of his emotions.
“Dinner is served,” Ross announced at the door.
“Lady Queensbury?” Merrick said to the countess, offering his arm.
“Very good of you, my lord.” She put her hand on his arm as they strolled to the dining room. She saw that the duke was escorting Anne, which caused her to smile in pleasure.
They were on their way into the dining room when they heard a carriage draw to a screeching stop outside. A footman rushed to open the front door.
“Excuse me,” Merrick said to the countess, bowed, and made his way down to greet the new, unexpected guest.
A woman stepped down from the carriage. Merrick frowned as he made his way toward he
r. “Maria?” he said in surprise.
She smiled up at him, her green eyes sparkling with pleasure. “My lord, why did you not tell me you were having such a lavish party at your estate? For once, I am very disappointed with you.”
“I did not expect you to be here,” he said to her quietly.
“You know, I do really love parties and yours especially.” She smiled mischievously at him. He watched her making her way up the stairs toward the Hall, her hips swaying from side to side.
“And who is this?” Lady Queensbury uttered at the front door, her face flaming red and her blue eyes narrowed with suspicion as she watched the new guest approaching them.
“Ah, if I’m not mistaken, you are Lady Queensbury. Isn’t that right?” Maria said as she came to stand beside the older woman. “Well, my lord,” she turned to look at Merrick behind her, “will you not introduce me to your other guests?” She raised her thin, shapely red brows at him.
“Maria,” Merrick said in a warning tone of voice.
She ignored him and introduced herself. “I am Lady Maria Ferguson. The earl and I are old friends,” she said, smiling pleasantly at Lady Queensbury.
“I say, Merrick.” Allan advanced toward his cousin. “’Tis getting late, Lady Ferguson must be tired and hungry after her long journey from London.”
“Why, I certainly agreed with, err…”
“Allan, please. I’m Merrick’s cousin,” Allan replied.
“Ah, my lord, your cousin. He is indeed very charming.” Maria laughed and touched Allan’s arm. She shifted her eyes across the guests and spotted Maximilian. Her body shook when he saw him staring sharply at her. “Lord Devil!” she said under her breath.
“Good evening to you, too, Maria,” Max said as he bowed his head.
“Mrs. Ross,” Merrick called to the housekeeper. “Arrange a guest room for Lady Ferguson.”
“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Ross said and hurried away.
