Suddenly a St. Clair (The St. Clairs Book 5)

by Alexa Aston

  His knock was finally answered, not by a butler or footman, but a maid with a perplexed look. She admitted him and he explained who he was and that he wanted to speak with the viscount. Her lips pursed and twitched from side to side before she led him to a small parlor and asked him to wait. The room was dark and dusty, as if Morrison hadn’t had a guest in years and no one had bothered to clean the parlor.

  A quarter of an hour later, the same maid returned.

  “We can’t find his lordship anywhere. This happens all the time.”

  Disgruntled, Hudson asked, “Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “You need to speak with Lady Mia,” she said earnestly. “She will be able to help you. Lady Mia handles everything for the estate.”

  “Then take me to her.”

  The maid frowned. “I’m not sure where she is. We can try the drawing room. If you’ll follow me, Mr. St. Clair.”

  She led him up the staircase and down a long hall that had random items scattered about on tables and the floor. Opening the door of the drawing room, he followed the maid inside and found it totally unsuited for entertaining. Instead, it was full of all kinds of experiments strung about. They seemed either halfway completed or abandoned, the person responsible moving on to something new as many were resting in open boxes. Hudson couldn’t imagine living in such an atmosphere. He believed in neatness and order. Everything needed to be in its assigned place or he couldn’t concentrate. No one was allowed to touch anything on his desk. He shuddered as he surveyed the room, eager to leave.

  The servant brightened. “She must be in the stables.”

  “I’ve been there. I’ll find it myself.”

  Hudson strode from the mess and retraced his steps, returning to the foyer and going out the front door. He couldn’t imagine why the viscountess would be in the stables unless she’d gone for a ride. Even then, the late December day had turned quite bitter. If she was out, she wouldn’t be gone long. He preferred to wait in the stables in the freezing temperatures as opposed to being in this sloppy, disordered house.

  Arriving at the stables, he almost wished he could leave now, acknowledging that the trip had been an immense waste of his time. He hadn’t come this far, though, to abandon what he thought was a promising lead. He would root out wherever Lord Morrison was and discuss the man’s invention before taking his leave.

  Hudson entered and he heard a loud noise coming from the back of the stables. He passed a few horses in their stalls but didn’t see the man from earlier. In fact, he’d seen very few servants since his arrival and thought it incredibly strange. He wondered if the viscount’s eccentricity made it difficult to keep staff on hand.

  He followed the racket and as he went deeper into the stables, he saw where the walls separating several stalls had been removed, leaving greater space. As in the drawing room, he passed several projects that appeared to be in progress. Finally, he saw sparks up ahead and the loud whine of an engine. Suddenly, the whine turned more to a hum and a voice exclaimed, “Yes!”

  The last area was composed of probably four previous stalls. Some type of engine sat on a long, wooden table. Someone stood next to it, their back to him, as an orange tabby sat nearby, licking its face.

  “Hello, Lord Morrison?” he called out and then doubted he could be heard above the commotion.

  Hudson hated to enter and tap the man on his back. He didn’t want to frighten him, since he wore some kind of contraption on his head and would be unaware of anyone approaching him. Biding his time, Hudson hoped the inventor would eventually stop the engine. As he waited, he studied the viscount. He was tall but very slender, wearing some type of workingman’s trousers and scuffed boots and a shirt with sleeves rolled up. Thick gloves covered his hands. He twisted and pushed something aside.

  A braid . . .

  Hudson realized this wasn’t Lord Morrison at all. It was a woman.

  She bent, tinkering with the motor, and his breath caught. A perfect, rounded bottom rested inside those trousers. One he wanted to cup. Pinch. Sink his teeth into. As his confusion mounted, he called out again, this time shouting over the machinery.

  This time, the person reached over and turned something. The motor cut off and began to die down. Hudson waited and the person turned, though Hudson couldn’t see a face with the protective mask covering it.

  It was definitely a woman. The waist was too narrow. And there were breasts. Not terribly large but they filled out the shirt nicely. His hands itched to cup them.

  She turned and stripped off her gloves and tossed them onto the nearby bench and then lifted the helmet she wore from her head. It, too, was placed on the bench. Then she faced him.

  She was attractive. Not a conventional beauty but striking all the same. The sum of her parts added up quite nicely. Smooth skin with the slightest dusting of faint freckles on her nose. Warm brown eyes flecked with bits of gold. Cheeks full of color—and a smudge of grease across one of them. Sensual lips that caused him to take a step closer. Her fingers went to her ears and she removed what he guessed to be earplugs.

  “I’m sorry if you called out. I didn’t hear you. Earplugs,” she said. “Some of the experiments get so noisy that a thick layer of beeswax is the only thing that saves my hearing. And sanity.”

  She fiddled for a moment with her earlobe, pulling it down and removing the last bit of wax. Hudson only wanted to sink his teeth into that earlobe. He’d never had such a physical reaction to a woman before. Then again, he’d never seen one displaying her figure in a tight shirt and tighter trousers.

  “How may I help you?” she asked, looking at him bashfully.

  “You must be Lady Mia. Your servants directed me here. I am Hudson St. Clair. I had scheduled an appointment with your husband to discuss an engine he is working on.”

  A hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no. I’d forgotten you were coming. I haven’t looked at the schedule for a while now. I’m so sorry, Mr. St. Clair. I—” She stopped. “You are looking for my father, Lord Morrison. I assist him in conceiving and creating his various inventions.”

  She wiped her hands on her thighs and Hudson imagined placing his hands in the exact same place. Skimming them and then sliding his fingers behind her in order to cup—and squeeze—that lovely, plump bottom of hers. He imagined kissing the wonderfully lush mouth. Unbraiding and running his fingers through her caramel hair, a wonderful mix of browns and golds intertwined.

  “I will need to find Papa,” she said. “He could be practically anywhere. If you’d like to wait inside the house, I’ll have the servants locate him.”

  “I’ve already been inside the house and he didn’t seem to be there. Why don’t you let me help you look for him?”

  She worried her full, bottom lip and a shot of desire rippled through him. He dug his nails into his palms in order to get a grip on his emotions. This was ridiculous. He was reacting as some schoolboy might, seeing a truly beautiful woman and becoming aware of sexual hunger for the first time. It was how he’d reacted a good dozen years ago and he’d had his share of women in all shapes and sizes in the ensuing years. Curvy. Slender. Blonds. Brunettes. Wealthy. And more wealthy. Average to breathtaking. What was so different about this one?

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. St. Clair. Papa . . . he is . . . well, I just think it would be best if we allowed the servants to look for him. Could you wait here? I’ll return in a few minutes.”

  “If you wish.”

  Lady Mia—if that’s who she was—hurried from the small workshop. Hudson enjoyed watching the sway of her hips in the trousers that clung to her every curve. Only when she was out of sight did he turn his attention to the steam engine in front of him. He moved closer, studying it carefully, deliberately not touching it because he was afraid he might start it up again.

  After several minutes, the woman returned, her smile apologetic.

  “The servants are looking for Papa now. I know we wrote about . . . that is, Papa and you correspond
ed in regard to steam engines. He allowed me to read your letters. I have a good idea what you might be looking for can be found in this machine. Would you like to hear about it?”

  He nodded and she began a long, complicated discourse on the engine. While he’d studied up for his meeting with Morrison, her explanation went far beyond his limited knowledge. Still, she made herself as clear as she could to a layman and didn’t speak above him. Twice, she reached for a sketchpad on the bench and drew something in order to clarify the point she was trying to make. It fascinated him that a woman had so much knowledge of science and math.

  “I may have oversimplified a few things but I hope you got the gist of it.”

  “I did. You have a depth of understanding that puts me to shame, Lady Mia.” He addressed her by name in order to see if he’d been mistaken or not since she’d never introduced herself.

  She didn’t correct him. “Papa didn’t know what to do with a girl, Mr. St. Clair. He treated me as a boy from the time I could walk. While other girls learned to embroider samplers, I was introduced to difficult math concepts and given problems to solve. If you have a sister, I’m sure she played with dolls. I had chemical compounds to mix and experiment with instead. Papa also taught me to hunt. Fish. Ride. I’m certain I’m the least feminine person of your acquaintance.”

  Hudson wanted to tell her she was all woman and wished he could show her, enticing her into bed and kissing every part of her. He understood, though, that this was a woman who was extremely naïve. She hadn’t mentioned a mother, only her father, and he had taken over every aspect of her education, molding her into the son he had wished for. Because of that, his gut told him she’d had no experience with men. He doubted she’d even been kissed.

  He wanted to be the first who did so.

  Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of these notions and asked, “How long have you worked with your father on designing new inventions?”

  She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh that only quickened his pulse. “All my life. Mama wasn’t well so I spent all my time with Papa. After she passed, it’s really only been the two of us. A few servants, of course, but for the most part, my days are spent thinking about new creations. Coming up with ideas and their designs. Trying to build them. Papa has invented several interesting things and has gained a small clientele.”

  “Does he file for patents to retain exclusive control of his creations?”

  “I do that for him. He’s not much for paperwork.”

  Hudson began to wonder what the man did. It seemed his daughter did all the work and received none of the credit. He guessed her to be in her early to mid-twenties. Did she have any life outside of working beside her father?

  “It seems you handle a great deal of the business for him,” he noted, searching for answers to his questions.

  “Papa says it’s good for me to prepare the letters of patent. He also allows me to handle estate matters although there’s not much to do. The few tenants we had have left. We aren’t raising any crops or livestock at the moment.”

  No wonder things appeared to be neglected. No tenants. Very few servants. Hudson wondered what kind of financial situation Lord Morrison faced. He worried about committing to do business with the man but he certainly liked everything Lady Mia had told him about this prototype.

  “Do you have the capacity to speak for your father?” he asked.

  “In what way?”

  “Your explanation of this machine was very thorough. I am a bit pressed for time and need to travel to London today. I would like to buy your idea for this steam engine. Is it patented yet?”

  “Not yet. In the last two days, I’ve tinkered enough to have it where I want it, though.”

  “Then I would like to buy the machine and its design outright. Let my solicitor handle the legal process of achieving the patent. Do you believe that would be satisfactory with Lord Morrison?”

  She pursed her lips in thought. “What are you offering, Mr. St. Clair?”

  He named a price and Lady Mia was not able to disguise her delight.

  “That would be for the original design and this prototype. I would also like, at a later date, to have our solicitors work on a contract regarding production. I wish for you and your father to oversee production and testing. We could establish a yearly salary and retainer, for three years to start, and then proceed from there.”

  Hudson quoted another price and saw her sway. She stumbled back to the workbench and took a seat. He sat beside her. The cat came and rubbed against her leg and she scratched its head absently, lost in thought.

  “Are you all right, Lady Mia?”

  “Yes,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Papa is the only one with the authority to sign. It is, after all, his invention.”

  Something caused Hudson to doubt that. Lady Mia seemed far too knowledgeable about the motor. He believed she had been the one to bring this machine to life, not the viscount. That’s why he had mentioned having both of them under contract. Still, he realized that a female inventor would have been laughed out of England. He could understand why she wished to keep her role in her father’s so-called endeavors quiet. It didn’t matter. Hudson was willing to put them both under contract in order to retain Lady Mia’s services.

  “I understand. I do hope he can be found before I must leave.”

  She sprang to her feet. “I will go myself and help in the search.”

  He rose. “Would you allow me to accompany you?” he offered a second time.

  She hesitated and then said, “Yes. I would appreciate that. Only . . . Mr. St. Clair, I must share with you that Papa is going through a difficult period now. His thinking is a bit . . . muddled at times. I’ll explain everything you want to him but this might not be one of his good days.” Her lips trembled. “He has a tendency to wander off on these days. When we find him . . . well, if you’ll just let me do the talking, I’m sure he’ll agree to your proposition.”

  “Of course, my lady. You know him well. I bow to your judgment.”

  They left the stables and his heart went out to her. He had a clearer picture now. She was a woman who had been raised in almost total isolation and in circumstances which bespoke of heavy financial difficulties. She also had a father with health problems so severe that everything had fallen on her shoulders. Hudson was certain Lady Mia had been the person he had corresponded with. The speech patterns revealed in the letters they had exchanged matched her explanation when she told him about the steam engine.

  His admiration for her grew. Yes, she was a great beauty but her life was in disarray now. Being an unmarried woman only added to the problem. As an only child, this estate, even in poor condition, would pass to a male relative. He worried what might happen to her. He must, at some point, make it clear to her that if her father’s capacity for thought has been lost, the St. Clairs were still willing to pay for her expertise. Not only would they benefit financially but Lady Mia would also be taken care of. Having been in a position of never knowing where his next meal might come from, he didn’t want destitution to swallow up this bright spirit.

  Before they reached the house, a voice shouted from a distance. A man came running toward them, his face bright red from the exertion.

  “It’s Papa’s valet,” she explained. “He may have located Papa.”

  They went to meet him. The valet stopped and bent, placing his hands on his thighs as he panted, trying to regain his breath. When he lifted his head, Hudson saw the bad news written across his face.

  “Lady Mia, I’m sorry.”

  “What’s wrong, George?” she asked sharply.

  “It’s his lordship. He . . . well . . . he must have been wandering as usual. He went—” The valet’s voice broke. He swallowed and then put on a brave face. “My lady, I found Lord Morrison. In the creek.”

  “Oh, no!” she cried. “It’s so cold today. Had he fallen? Was he soaked through? Did you get him back to the house?”

  Hudson knew
the answer to all her questions. He clasped her elbow and said, “Why don’t we go inside, my lady?”

  “Wait. Where is Papa?” she demanded.

  The valet shook his head. “He must have hit his head when he fell, my lady. He was face down in the creek. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?” She swayed and Hudson tightened his grip. “No. No. Not gone. Please, no.”

  Lady Mia’s knees buckled and he leaned down and scooped her into his arms. By the time he brought her up, she’d fainted.

  “I’ll get her into the house,” he told the valet. “You need to get help. The groom and my driver can help you. Take a cart out and bring the viscount’s body home.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Hudson didn’t bother to correct the servant as he hurried to the house, Lady Mia in his arms.

  Chapter Four

  Mia’s eyes fluttered open. She smelled sandalwood soap and felt enveloped in warmth. She saw she was moving toward the house—but not on her own two feet. Instead, someone carried her.

  Mr. St. Clair . . .

  She fought the urge to scramble from his arms because they felt so good around her. It had been well over a decade since Mama died. No one had embraced Mia in all that time. For a moment, she drank in the scent of sandalwood and man and appreciated the comfort of his arms about her.

  She’d totally forgotten the day he was coming. Ever since Aunt Fanny had given her ultimatum, Mia had been scrambling. She’d found a position for their only maid and had the girl and Cook start work on covering the furniture in sheets in order to close the house. Their neighbor, a squire who had entirely too much time and money on his hands, had agreed to purchase their two horses and take their groom into his employ. Mia had begun boxing up her inventions, all in various stages of development. She hoped Uncle Trentham could help her sell the property that had belonged to Mama so she could use it to rent a space in London where she could store and work on finishing the most viable inventions.

  All that had her confused on which day it was, else she would have been better prepared for Mr. St. Clair’s arrival. The fact that he’d offered a princely sum for her steam engine and that he wanted to put her and Papa under contract to help in its development and production was like manna from heaven.