Once Upon a True Love's Kiss

by Julie Johnstone

  "Enter."

  Only Esther would dare venture into his study to see how the last interview had gone. The rest of the staff knew to give him a wide berth when he was in a black mood.

  Typical of Esther, she strode into the room without so much as an apologetic glance, her blue skirts swishing and her peppered hair forming a mildly amusing frizzy halo around her head. She plunked her hands on her hips and stared him down as she used to do when he'd worked under her in the orphan house kitchen, and she knew good and well he'd stolen a piece of bread.

  Esther hiked up one wiry, grey eyebrow over eyelids that had lately started to droop more and more with age. "I told you that woman was no match for Maggie."

  "I assume by that woman you mean Miss Bechum," he asked, setting down the pen and leaning back in his chair.

  "You know I do," Esther muttered.

  Despite his sour mood, a smile pulled at his lips when he recalled his daughter's stout refusal to dip into a proper curtsey as requested by Miss Bechum. The woman's face had turned dark and foreboding as she suggested Nash take a switch to the child, but it hadn't fazed Maggie. It had angered the devil out of him, and he'd known immediately any woman who suggested such a punishment was not the tutor for his daughter.

  Maggie's spirit and backbone made him hopeful she'd never be one of those women who fell prey to a bad husband, yet that problem was years away. Right now, the stubbornness he appreciated in her was making it impossible to find a tutor. Actually, it had been destined to be a challenge, but his little willful daughter was making it even more so. He sighed as he stared at the bold slashes through each candidate's name. There was no one left to interview, but even if there had been, he was not overly hopeful that the lady would meet his requirements.

  Esther sat on the edge of his desk on top of a pile of documents he needed to read and speared him with a frown. The temptation to scold her for crumpling his papers was on the tip of his tongue, but he bit back the reproach. He'd not be alive if it hadn't been for the fact that thirty-five years ago she'd been a worker at Lady of Mercy Orphan House. She had been assigned garbage duty on the day he'd been left on the steps, exactly like the trash she'd been taking out. She'd scooped him up and cared for him, like the doll she'd never had—in her words.

  Grasping the edge of the contract Sutherland had sent him and carefully pulling them from underneath Esther, he set them aside. "She needs someone much younger. And more compassionate."

  "I told you as much."

  "And I agree wholeheartedly. The problem is getting someone younger to apply. Or a lady who is really part of the ton." He rubbed at the knots in his neck. "Perhaps I've set an impossible task."

  Esther patted his hand. "Ack. Giving up isn't like you. Aren't you the boy who fought with his fist to earn enough money to start a club, and then built that club into the most successful gaming hell in London?"

  He chuckled at the unmistakable pride on Esther's face.

  Esther stood. "Have you used up all your fight? If so, I'll just go tell your dimple-cheeked darling she'll never see the inside of Almacks because her mama didn't want her and her papa decided it was too difficult to convince a proper lady to be her tutor."

  He scowled. "You always know just what to say."

  "Of course I do, dearie. I'm the mama God meant you to have." She gave him a wink. "Now, go take a break outside in the sunshine with your sweet little daughter. I guarantee you when you come back in you'll have a new plan of attack."

  "That sounds like a perfect—"

  "Miss Maggie!" the butler barked as he fairly careened through the study door after Maggie, who was giggling and squealing as she dashed across the hardwood. Her chubby five-year-old legs pumped vigorously, and her blonde curls bounced on her shoulders as she clutched a silver tray—which suspiciously looked to be the letter tray—in one hand and her dolly in the other.

  "It's mine!" she cried out. "I'm using it for my dolly."

  Maggie went flying around Nash's desk, scrambled up behind him, and falling to her knees, she grasped him around the legs. The silver server in her hand banged against his shin and fell to the floor with a clatter as the letters scattered across the floor.

  A loud groan emanated from Mr. Reed as he rushed around the desk and looked down at the letters strewn all over. The man glanced up from the papers, his face red and his mouth gaping open. After a long, silent moment, he clamped his jaw shut with a snap, tugged his coat back into order, swiped the hair off his forehead, and motioned with the utmost dignity down at the mess. "I tried to stop her."

  The wobble in his voice betrayed his distress. Nash bent down and scooped his daughter up under his arm. With his free hand, he clamped Mr. Reed on the shoulder. "Don't fret yourself, Reed." He smiled down at his wiggly daughter. "I know personally how hard she can be to contain when she hasn't had the opportunity to get her energy out. I'll see to that while you see to this." He motioned down to the letters. "Is this acceptable?"

  Mr. Reed nodded. "Thank you, sir. I'll leave the letters on your desk for you to peruse at your convenience."

  "That will be perfect," Nash agreed, already striding toward the door.

  He swung his daughter around to sit her on his hip as he walked. His footsteps echoed in the quiet halls of the large portrait gallery, and he chuckled as he always did when he strode through the room. The walls were currently barren, save two portraits, because he didn't have any family portraits—or family, for that matter—to hang their likenesses up.

  He stopped in front of the portraits of Maggie and Esther, which hung side by side, and recalled the builder's stuttering plea that Nash should not have a portrait gallery in his house since he did not have any family to speak of. As if Nash didn't know that. That was part of the reason he'd wanted the damned gallery. To remind him where he'd come from, where he was, and where he intended to end up. He hugged his daughter, and she hugged him back as she looked up at herself. She turned to him with wide blue eyes and said, "Next, we need to put up a picture of my mother."

  "Oh?" He cocked his eyebrows as he swallowed a lump in his throat. "Do you have a lady in mind?"

  She wrinkled her nose as she thought for a moment. "Not yet, but I'll know her when I see her."

  "How will you—"

  "Skip stones, Papa," she interrupted.

  Laughing, he set her down as they strolled toward the terrace doors and out into the sunshine. "All right. We can skip stones at the river, but stay in my sight."

  With her dolly hanging in her clutches, she ran ahead down the steps and onto the broad graveled path that coursed the length of the garden. In and out of shadows she skipped. She appeared so tiny, surrounded on either side by the high walls covered in dark, lush creepers, that his heart tugged in his chest. He inhaled deeply as he strode behind her, enjoying the blooming white lily bushes and rose shrubs. When she got to the end of the path and pushed the wooden door open that led to the brick-paved path and short dirt road to the river beyond, he cursed, realizing he had forgotten to re-latch the door. Immediately, he quickened his pace.

  "Maggie," he called, glimpsing her bright-yellow dress fluttering out of sight at the bend where the brick ended and the dirt began.

  When she didn't reappear or answer his call, he broke into an easy jog, counting in his mind the steps it would take her to get to the river. She knew better than to go in the water without him, but if she were to trip and fall…

  Despite the heat of the day, he broke into an instant cold sweat as he raced down the winding path. As he stepped onto the dirt road, a scream pierced his ears and split the bright beautiful day with a terrible certainty that Maggie was in trouble. Dust flew up as he sprinted down the road and turned the corner toward the well-worn trail to the landing and the water. Vegetation rustled as he shoved low-hanging leafy branches, grown thick over the summer, out of his way.

  Though it was only a few short steps to the top of the hill that led to the water, it might as well have been a thousand miles
. Each second stole a breath, a heartbeat, and a sliver of composure until he crested the hill and raced toward the landing where Maggie would have gone. The sun hit him full-on in the face, making him squint and his eyes water. He blinked rapidly, his vision suddenly blurry. A fallen tree branch loomed in front of him, and he jumped over it, barely keeping his balance as he ran down the hill.

  The sunlight seemed suddenly brighter. Glaring. And impossible to see in. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and could just make out a lady diving head-first into the water. Was that a child sitting at the end of the wooden landing? He forced his eyes open wider. A small dark-haired girl—not his Maggie. Her sobs filled the air and joined the squawk of the birds flying above her.

  "Get ahold of yourself," he muttered, his footsteps pounding into the dirt and grass and then against the wood of the landing. "Stay put," he ordered the child before he scanned the surface of the murky water and dove in the moment he located the ripple that indicated movement under the surface.

  Blackness surrounded him. Coolness enveloped him. Slimy fingers of weeds caressed his ankles and tangled around his arms. In the pitch darkness of his personal hell, a body bumped against his. He grasped the body, and as his arms encircled the woman's waist, he grazed another set of limbs. Small ones. Kicking and flailing ones.

  Maggie.

  Blood surged through his veins, making them pulse with the flow. He kicked with all his might and dragged the three of them up through the darkness to the light. To air.

  "Papa!" his daughter cried out.

  The sweet sound nearly took all the strength from him. "Maggie," he croaked, his throat clogged with emotion. He hugged her closer, realizing too late that when he gripped her to him he brought the lady against him, as well.

  The swell of the woman's breast lay on the top of his hand.

  A sharp gasp came from her.

  "Let me go," she insisted. "I'm perfectly capable of swimming to the landing."

  He released her at once and concentrated on getting Maggie to dry land. Once there, he gripped the wooden stairs with one hand and Maggie with the other. He pressed kisses all over his daughter's cheeks and glanced her over. He'd scold her later.

  "Papa, dolly is getting wet." Maggie held up her doll.

  "Did you jump in the river to save dolly?"

  The child nodded. "She can't swim."

  "Neither can you," he said in a stern voice.

  "That might be something you want to correct," the lady said.

  Nash glanced in the direction of the sweet voice and gaped at the woman shoving her hair out of her face. He was not a man to be easily astonished, but he could hardly believe his eyes. And his eyes were ones that had seen a lot in his life, but he would have bet his fortune that he'd never be alone with Julianna again. Yet here he was. And so was she.

  A giggle erupted beside him, and then above him from the landing, a tiny voice said, "Mother, I want to swim." Ah, yes. They were not alone.

  "Stay put, Liza," Julianna commanded in a firm but kind tone.

  The girl's lips formed an instant pout, but she plopped onto the deck and didn't move.

  "I'm impressed," he said as he moved Maggie into place to climb the stairs.

  Julianna offered a playful smile. "It must not take much to impress you."

  His gaze strayed to the swell of flesh rising above her clinging wet gown. Her skin, smooth and creamy, glistened in the sunlight with the tiny droplets of water upon her. He had the sudden urge to lick each bead of water off her chest. Forcing himself to look up, he said, "Any woman who will jump into a river to save a child would impress me."

  She furrowed her brow. "Any woman who saw a child drowning in a river and didn't jump in to save her is a woman without a heart. So, you see, there is really no need to be impressed."

  "You don't comprehend some of the women I know," he said.

  She held his gaze and then swallowed audibly. "Ah, I see who you mean. That was foolish of me."

  "No matter." Focusing on his daughter, he hoisted her to the steps and commanded her to climb. As she did, he motioned to Julianna. "Let me help you up the rungs."

  "I can manage," she replied with underlying tartness and swam in front of him to grasp the ladder.

  As she struggled to climb, he forced himself not to assist her. She was clearly a lady who wanted to do things on her own, and his view of her backside, with her dress plastered to her perfect round bottom, suited him just fine.

  With a groan, she jerked herself up a step. Her soaked skirts dripped rivulets of water on his face. He turned his head to avoid being sprayed in the eyes, and as he did, her yelp filled the air as she fell backward and straight into him with a thud. The impact forced his breath from his lungs, and once again, he plunged under water, but this time without fear.

  Resurfacing immediately, he took one look at Julianna frowning and struggling to push her hair out of her face again, and he tried not to laugh. It was impossible. A chuckle rumbled from him. Julianna whipped her hair back and glared, not a stern look, but rather comical. Above them, just over the edge of the landing, his daughter, and he assumed Julianna's daughter, peered at them and started giggling. Within seconds, Julianna had joined in. The sweet, cheerful sound surrounded him and filled him with a warm sensation.

  Once the laughter died down, Julianna glanced at him from under her thick, dark lashes. "I think I need your help getting out of the water. I failed to anticipate the weight of my water-drenched skirts."

  "I'd be happy to help you." It was a struggle to keep his voice neutral when he felt anything but. His pulse hammered in his ears, and this time, it had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. Even soaking wet, Julianna was the most exquisite woman he'd ever seen. Her eyes held a mixture of sorrow and kindness he found beguiling.

  "Perhaps you could just hoist me a bit?" she asked, moving in front of him once again.

  He wanted to tell her he'd hoist her anytime she liked, but she was not the sort of woman one said such things to. She was a true lady. The kind he'd like to marry in order to ensure Maggie had every opportunity she deserved to be part of Society. He slid his hands around Julianna's tiny waist. His fingers curled immediately against her curves and over the front of her flat stomach.

  The contact sent a jolt through him, amplified by the low hiss of her breath. Her back arched slightly, and her muscles jumped underneath his fingertips, but she did not pull away. He'd been with many women in his lifetime, some of them ladies and some of them far from it, but he'd never cared what any of them thought of him. Not really. Not even Lavinia when she'd turned down his marriage proposal, given only for the sake of their daughter. His concern for Lavinia's disdain over his not being a lord extended so far as to how it would affect Maggie. He'd mingled with enough lords and bedded enough ladies to know that the ton was, for the most part, made up of people too concerned with their status and not worried enough with the feelings of others.

  But Lady Barrows was different. He didn't know why he knew this, but deep in his gut he felt it, and that instinct had never steered him wrong. For the first time in his life, he wanted someone to see beyond his class and to the man he was. Really was. He was a damn fool to want that from this woman who was married to a ghost, but the desire was there all the same.

  He leaned toward her until his lips almost touched her ear and her scent—fresh river water overlaying the underlying floral smell of lavender—filled his nose. "I'm going to lift you now." Damnation, but his voice was husky. Too husky. He cleared his throat. "Is that all right?"

  She nodded but didn't say a word. He raised her as she struggled up the steps, the water from her skirts dripping in a steady pattern on his face. Wanting to be a gentleman for her and do what he knew she would want, he fastened his eyes on her slender ankles and decided then and there he'd woefully neglected women's ankles in his lifetime. Hers were lovely. If by some grace of fate he ever had the chance to caress those ankles, he would do so worsh
ipfully.

  Once she was up the last step and on the landing, he quickly climbed the rungs and, with his feet planted firmly back on dry ground, scooped his daughter into his arms and gave her a kiss on her forehead, cheek, and nose, along with a big hug. "Poppet, don't ever go in the water after your dolly again. I can buy a million dolls, but I cannot buy another you."

  His voice caught on the last word as he set her down and watched her take the other girl's hand and lead her to sit in a patch of sun. The girls settled onto the landing, heads close together and conspiratorial whispers coming from their direction. His heart felt as if someone had ripped it out and then shoved it haphazardly back into his chest. Thank God, Julianna had been here to dive in for Maggie. If not… The unfinished thought made him tremor. He felt indebted to her. First she'd tried to defend him in the library, and then she'd saved his daughter. The woman was exceptional.

  A hand came to his arm. Surprised, he glanced toward Julianna.

  "You're shaking," she murmured.

  "Am I?"

  She nodded as she squeezed his arm and then stepped away from him, putting a respectable distance between them. Motioning toward the girls, she said, "Your daughter is perfectly fine."

  He tried to make his body still, but he could not. The idea of losing Maggie terrified him. Running a hand through his dripping wet hair, he inhaled a shaky breath and finally got himself under control. He met Julianna's worried gaze and smiled. Was she worried for him? That was a first. No, wait. It was a second. She had been anxious for him that night at the ball, as well. Every part of him wanted to learn more about this delicate creature standing before him. Like how she happened to be here. He'd bet his fortune she'd never willingly admit her secrets.

  "I suppose you're here to seduce me," he said, forcing a serious, contemplative tone.

  Her lovely mouth parted. "What?"

  "I have to tell you, I'm not one to be easily seduced." He dropped his voice low, teasing. "But for you I'll make an exception."