Rules for a Lady (A Lady's Lessons, Book 1)

by Jade Lee

  She felt Stephen's strangled cough and looked down at her rescuer in concern. Then she remembered her makeshift weapon and twisted to speak to Tom.

  "Use the shackles, but search his pockets for the key." She grinned and held up the hairpin. "I have the lock pick."

  Stephen tightened his hold on her, shaking his head in amazement. "I should have known you would find a way."

  "Oh, no," she responded quickly, lest he think she did not appreciate his rescue. "In fact, I found it most sad. I could not seem to reach him at all."

  "What?"

  "I tried everything, Stephen. I even offered him a job as your butler, but he would not believe I was sincere." She watched bleary-eyed as Tom closed the shackles about Bullard's wrists. "He just could not believe."

  "Amazing," he replied, his voice hard with sarcasm.

  She looked back at him, suddenly feeling very, very tired, wondering why her words sounded so slurred. "Oh, stop it, Stephen," she said. "You would have hired him."

  "The man who abducted you and just tried to..." He stopped abruptly, his voice rough as he tightened his hold on her.

  But she barely heard him. Her head felt disgustingly heavy, and it was so sweet to just surrender all her cares onto his competent shoulders. She snuggled deeper into his arms.

  "Of course you would," she murmured. "Just as you shall hire all his children."

  "Children? What children?"

  She smiled against his chest, letting herself fade into the delightful scent of bay rum and Stephen. "The ones like Tom. The ones he cannot care for now."

  Then she let herself slide into a heavy sleep, knowing she was safe in Stephen's arms.

  * * *

  The sudden influx of nearly three dozen young children to the earl's household was remarked upon by many of society's members, though none with any authority. Some believed it had to do with Miss Wyndham's brief illness. Others merely ascribed it to an attack of conscience. The earl, they said, was taking care of his many bastards.

  Those closest to the earl's family remained silent, knowing no man, not even one of Stephen's obvious strength and virility, could possibly sire that many children, all between the ages of seven and twelve. They simply believed he had gone mad.

  A thought that had Stephen's wholehearted agreement.

  Never in his life had he behaved so erratically. One minute he swore he would strangle his maddening ward; then the next second found him giving in to her most bizarre whims.

  It had to stop.

  Now.

  It was time Miss Amanda Wyndham learned who was in charge of this household. It was time she learned to obey the rules. More important, it was time she learned to obey him.

  But that meant answering some of the lingering questions he had about her.

  He heard a soft tap at his library door. He waited, drawing out the moment before allowing her entry. Finally he folded his arms across his chest and called, "Come in."

  The door opened, and he bit back his gasp at her beauty. After six weeks of sharing the same household, he ought to have accustomed himself to her extraordinary looks. What was it about her that drew him so? Was it the beautiful dress she wore or the delightful way it emphasized the sway of her hips? Was it the enthusiastic snap of her temper or the soft melt of femininity when he kissed her? Or perhaps it was the way her lips curved into a mischievous smile that could at any moment become an angry scowl or a wholehearted grin. Nothing about Amanda was halfhearted. She felt and reacted with her whole being, and he always admired such courage. He could never expose himself so easily—not only to the reactions of a cynical world, but to the joys and pains that came of feeling those emotions so strongly.

  Amanda was one of the most courageous people he knew, merely because she allowed herself the freedom to be who she was—completely, wholeheartedly, and without reservation. And now it was his job as guardian to rein in the very temperament he so admired.

  Stephen sighed and waved her to a chair. "Good morning, Amanda. I trust you are feeling better after your ordeal?"

  Her rosy cheeks lifted as she smiled at him. "It was not such a horrendous thing, you know." She settled into the chair and tilted her head to give him a look filled with deviltry. "I would have managed much better, you know, if you taught me to hit properly."

  He raised his left eyebrow, giving her a look that made her flush prettily. "I trust I do not need to express my opinion on brawling again."

  She sighed and folded her hands in her lap. "No, you need not. But you cannot blame me for trying one last time."

  "I can blame you, and I do," he said without heat, and as expected, she merely shrugged off his reprimand as another step in the elaborate dance the two of them went through on such regular occasion. He sighed and folded his hands before him, turning his steady gaze on her sweet face. "Amanda, I have asked you here to answer a question that has plagued me since your abduction two days ago."

  She looked down, no doubt guessing what was on his mind.

  "I promise to try to remain calm and understand your reasons, but I will have an honest answer." He paused, making sure she understood he was prepared to be reasonable. Lord knew threats and scolding had no discernable effect on her. "Amanda, why did you climb down the trellis again?"

  "At least I brought my shoes this time." She glanced at him, her smile inviting him to share her humor.

  He did not.

  "You were nearly killed." He abruptly pushed out of his chair, the fear freezing his breath once again. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What was happening?"

  "Yes, Stephen, I do know." Her voice was low and contrite. "And even if I was not completely aware, Tom was quite vocal on the subject before he left." He turned to look at her, seeing the silent shadow of fear cloud her eyes. Then she blinked, and it was gone as she smiled at him. "And thank you, my lord, for taking care of all those children. I know it was not an easy thing to do."

  Stephen returned to his chair, feeling slightly awkward. He was well aware most of the ton thought him mad or criminally licentious, but when he had seen the look on Tom's face upon learning the plan, he knew it was the right thing to do. "They all will have plenty to do on the Shropshire estate. And between Tom, my steward Wheedon, and that dragon of a housekeeper, they should do fine."

  She nodded, her gaze drifting downward. "Can we visit them soon? I... I miss Tom." He caught the note of loneliness in her voice and realized he, too, felt the same longing to see the young scamp. He shook his head, amazed at himself. The boy had been gone for only three hours.

  "I think something can be arranged."

  "Oh, good!" She jumped up, her face glowing with delight, and as she made for the doorway, he suddenly realized she had distracted from his original purpose.

  "Amanda."

  She froze halfway to the door.

  "Please sit down."

  She obeyed meekly.

  "You have not answered my question." She tried an innocent expression, but he forestalled her with one steely look. "Why did you climb out your window?"

  He could tell she did not want to tell him. She was no doubt searching for some other distraction. He waited in silence, letting her know his determination to find an answer. Eventually he heard her soft sigh, and knew she finally gave in.

  "I wished to speak with Tom. Privately."

  "You mean without my knowing."

  She nodded.

  "Why?"

  She looked up, her expression defiant. "I do not wish to tell you."

  "Why?"

  "Because you would not understand."

  "Why?"

  "Because you would not."

  They were going in circles, and he was surprised by a flash of pain. This was the type of conversation they'd had when she first arrived. "Amanda," he said softly. "I thought you trusted me more. I—"

  "I wanted Tom to post a letter for me. It was money for a doctor to visit an elderly retainer on the Wyndham estate."

  It
took a moment to absorb her meaning. When it did, he could only gape at her. A letter? To a doctor? A letter so important she had to crawl out of her bedroom in the middle of the night? "Could you not simply wait until the morning? I would have happily franked it for you."

  She shoved out of her seat, pacing before in him an agitated swirl of muslin skirts. "But it is not for you to frank!"

  "Of course it is!" he said, losing his grip on his temper. "I am your guardian!" He stopped himself, running his hand through his hair as he tried to comprehend the most confusing woman he had ever met. "Where is the letter? I will send it posthaste."

  "I already sent it. Tom took it the next morning."

  He glared at her. Lord only knew how she got it to Tom while bedridden. "Amanda, you would try the patience of a saint."

  She shook her head, her hands clenched into fists. "No, my lord, I try your patience."

  "I never claimed—"

  But she was not listening to him, too intent on her own thoughts. "I know what you think of me. How you despise my common ways, but the woman is..." She stopped herself, taking a deep, shaky breath as she fought for control. He watched her close her eyes to concentrate her effort, and for the first time he realized her descent out her window was not a lark or even a secret assignation, as he'd feared. It was something much, much more important to her.

  "The woman is...?" he prompted.

  She turned to him, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "Mary Ames was a mother to me. She cared for me when it would have been a good deal easier for her to just throw me away. Now she is ill, so I wanted to send a doctor to her."

  He did not miss her odd phrasing. How could a servant throw away the young miss of the manor? But his attention was too focused on her thoughts about him to ask about another odd reference to her childhood.

  He stood slowly and moved out from behind his desk, wanting to touch her, to soothe her sudden agitation. But all he could do was throw more questions at her. "Why would I not understand that?"

  She rounded on him, her eyes flashing brilliantly in the afternoon sunshine. "I see the way you watch me when I speak with the servants. You do not approve. You want me to treat them the way Lady Sophia does, as if they existed solely to meet my whims. It is just one more proof to you that I shall never be a lady!"

  He shook his head, trying to get her to perceive the truth. "I do not despise you for that, Amanda. I envy you! Can you not see? Since the moment you arrived in London, you have turned this whole household upside down. You have given my mother the vapors; you have me tearing my hair out in fear or shock or amazement, and you have completely unsettled the entire staff. And yet..." He took a deep breath. "And yet they adore you. Even my mother adores you. They will do anything for you. My mother is planning your wedding to nothing short of a duke. I watch you, and I am amazed. I do not understand how you do it, but you have completely captivated the entire household."

  She stared at him, her eyes impossibly large in her face, her expression tragic, as though her whole life rested on the next moment.

  "And you, Stephen, do you adore me, too?"

  "I..." What could he say? Rather than sort through the sudden surge of conflicting emotions assaulting his thoughts, he concentrated on the one thing he was sure of. "I worry about you. I am your guardian, and yet I cannot keep you safe even in my own home."

  It did not take a genius to see his words were the wrong choice. Where before she looked vulnerable, open, even hopeful, now she looked away, her face as closed as the library door, her eyes equally blank.

  "Amanda—" he began.

  "I am not a lady, my lord, and I do not think any number of lists will change that. Perhaps I should have realized it earlier, but I failed to, and now we are stuck with it." She lifted her chin. "Will you banish me back to York?"

  He sighed, feeling completely at a loss, dumbfounded by how thoroughly he had botched this interview. "No, Amanda, you are not to be banished. But I will take a brief trip to Wyndham Manor tomorrow. You are welcome to join me." He glanced up, suddenly hoping beyond hope she would choose to accompany him. "You could visit Mrs. Ames and make sure she is properly cared for."

  "You are going to Wyndham Manor?" Her voice was a tremulous whisper, and he watched in alarm as her face drained of all color.

  "Yes," he said carefully. "I intended to leave two days ago, but your, um, escapade delayed me. I plan to depart in the morning."

  "But... but why? Surely I can explain anything you need to know."

  "It is past time I saw the estate, Amanda. Especially since..." He grimaced as he spoke. "Since you will no doubt be marrying soon and the property will be part of your dowry."

  "But surely it is not necessary. Not now, I mean, in the middle of the Season. Why not leave it for later?"

  Stephen slowly walked back behind his desk, using the movement to buy time. She was clearly hiding something, searching for any excuse to keep him from York. But why? What secrets could be there that she did not want him to find?

  He slowly looked up at her, his eyes narrowing as a seemingly inconsequential thought crossed his mind.

  "Today is Sunday."

  She blinked. "Yes."

  "Today is Sunday, and yet you did not go to church."

  She swallowed, her throat muscles constricting as she lifted her chin. "I was still resting from my ordeal."

  "You are in perfect health." He patently ignored the ugly bruise on her temple for all that the sight still made his gut clench in horror. "You said it was nothing."

  "Yes, but—"

  "In fact, for the past two months you have never gone to church."

  She straightened her body, as if defying him to challenge her, but he could not miss the panic in her eyes. "There is nothing odd about that. Many society ladies decline Sunday services. Especially since I love to dance until dawn the night before."

  "Yes, but many society ladies have not had a religious conversion." He watched her closely, seeing not her upright carriage and defiant stance, but the way she twisted her fingers in her skirt and the darting shift of her eyes as she thought through her responses.

  "I never said I had a conversion."

  She was right. She had never actually said those words. He frantically scanned his memory, struggling to remember what exactly she had said that second night in his house. But instead of recalling that conversation, his mind ran to other conversations, other inconsistencies. He began with his strange discussion with Mr. Oltheten about Amanda and Gillian, touched on the night of her first ball when he found her clasping a maid's cap in her hands. Then his thoughts flashed through her unexpected compassion for the servants and unfortunates, her knowledge of medicines, and her willingness to maid herself, tend her own fires, and do all manner of things without thought—as though no one had ever waited on her before.

  Then he lifted his gaze, finally focusing on her brilliantly rich auburn hair. What had Mr. Oltheten said? Bitter, sickly little thing all encased in white. Looked like a shriveled-up mummy. Looking at Amanda now, he saw something he had never noticed before. Even if she were wrapped in white and desperately ill, her hair would stand out. It was her crowning glory, a perfect complement for her flashing green eyes.

  She would never look like a mummy. She was too colorful a person, too bright a soul ever to fit that description.

  "Tell me about your sister Gillian."

  He heard her gasp, and the sound sent shock waves reverberating through his soul.

  "Why?" she demanded, her voice almost shrill. "Why do you want to know about that worthless bitch?"

  He raised his eyebrows, desperately fighting to gain a hold on his thoughts. "Strong words for your sister."

  "Half-sister. And if you want strong words, here are some more. She is a lying, scheming woman. You would despise her on sight, and you..." She took a steadying breath. "You would not even know why."

  He could read the pain in her eyes, saw it lance through her expression as she fought a losing
battle for control. She had never been like this, even in the midst of their most heated battles. Anguish seemed to beat at her before his very eyes. Yet she stood there, her chin raised in rebellion, as if she dared him and the universe to break through her exterior to the misery underneath.

  She is Gillian.

  The thought whispered through his consciousness with the force of a sledgehammer. He felt his jaw go slack as he stumbled to his desk. Good God–

  He cut off his thought as ruthlessly as a surgeon cutting off a man's arm. It could not be true. It was not true.

  He raised his tortured gaze to the woman before him, her face pale as she watched him, her eyes pulled wide with concern.

  She is—

  No! It was impossible.

  It took all of his will to suppress his own mind, but somehow he pushed his own thoughts away. Then, for the first time in his life, Stephen looked straight at Amanda and gave her the cut direct.

  He turned around.

  He heard her gasp, knowing he had just hurt her, but he was ruthless. He turned his back on her, just as he turned his back on the answers in his mind. He closed his eyes as he closed out his thoughts, shutting away everything he wondered, everything he thought, because suddenly he did not want to know. And more important, he did not want to probe the anguish tormenting the woman he loved.

  He closed his mind to it all, blocking everything from his thoughts and his memory. "You may go now, Amanda," he said, his voice cold and implacable.

  Then he reached for a bottle of brandy, trying to drown out the sound of her footsteps as she fled his hardened heart.

  Chapter 13

  Rule #14:

  A lady is always in control.

  He knew.

  Gillian flew up the stairs, her blood pounding out that single refrain.

  He knows!

  He knew the truth about her birth. He knew she was a bastard, a liar, and a fraud. He knew, and he despised her for it.

  She had to leave. She had to escape this house, run from the hatred and disgust in his eyes. Run and never come back.

  Gillian had her cap and her few meager possessions packed in a valise and was opening her bedroom window when the truth struck her.