Letting out a breath, he ran his fingers through his hair. So what did he do now? He'd bought her—and he had her. Only was he best off not to acquire a taste for sweets—or to find a way to keep her?
He wandered to the window and looked out. Bits of blue showed from behind the gray as clouds scudded fast across the sky. He could see the barn and a few of the home farm buildings. And how did a fellow keep a mistress if he had no coins in his pocket nor jewels to offer?
He'd had vague ideas before this of keeping himself with the gambling tables, but could he win enough to hold onto his Molly? There was always Europe to travel now with the war ended, with its cheap lodgings and meals. Only he didn't fancy living in some foreign country for the rest of his life.
Oh, damn Terrance.
Perhaps he ought to give Molly his mother's pearls—only, really, he knew that they had to go to Terrance's bride. As did the estate. And that ring and bracelet really had to go back to Smyth and Garson—though maybe he could convince Terrance, once he was re-inherited, that he now owed a debt to his brother.
That thought deepened his frown.
Here he was doing all this for Terrance and he had not so much as heard a word from his brother. Typical! Blazes, but he wished the fellow would show his face so they could all have this out in a good argument that would clear the air.
Turning from the window, he glanced at the remains of the picnic and his frown softened.
Lord, but didn't his sweet Sweet enjoy her meals—along with everything else in life. She had not actually eaten much, but she'd sampled everything—a bite of each to pick her favorites, he had teased last night. Only she had found something to praise in everything. He smiled.
She made the world as bright as that hair of hers. She even thought herself lucky for ending up with Sallie.
Striding from the room, he thought back to that story of her growing up in India, with that uncle of hers. Had she been taken in by some military man? Or had he been a blood relative? She had said her father had been posted to the army. A captain wasn't it? And wasn't there some book in the house somewhere that listed officers? It might not hurt to glance through the lists and see if the name Sweet came up anywhere, just to see if this was fantasy or truth.
How, after all, did anyone leave a child abandoned on the London docks? Had they not wanted anything to do with the daughter of a cast-off daughter?
One thing he knew—if he ever found a trace of them, it would be difficult to keep from taking after the lot of them with a horsewhip.
And all of this is just my way of not looking at this puzzle I now have—for it's going to be damn difficult to both keep my Molly, and keep away from her enough, until I see a clear path for us here.
#
Molly came downstairs dressed and ready to play her part, and muttering "two hundred" under her breath over and over to remember what he had offered to pay her. She had to in order to keep thinking about that and not how her lips still tingled from Theo's kiss.
She was not doing this well. But she would do better tonight to act a bought woman, for she was one proper now. Theo had sent her a slim coin purse with shillings and crowns that came out to around ten pound, and with a note carried to her on a silver tray by one of the footmen.
On account.
Two words and payment made. She had the money tucked away, and an obligation before her to him to help him get thrown out of the house. So she wore all the jewels—pearls, diamonds and emerald—and the peacock-blue dress. She hadn't been able to find the squire earlier to parade the pearls before him. And she hadn't looked that hard. Her stomach still quivered at the thought of how he might react.
Only she had to act like a hard woman who didn't care.
What she found was that she blushed too easily when Theo smiled at her and greeted her, and she fussed with the diamond bracelet around her wrist, and she wanted to steal glances at him when he wasn't looking so that she would remember forever how handsome he looked.
None of it seemed to her what a jade of a woman would do.
And she alternated between panic at what she might have to do for her hundred and fifty pounds, and the hot rush of desire at just such thoughts.
Which just shows how poor a business-woman I really am, she thought. Even though she still could summon some anger at Sallie, she also had to admire how the woman could put herself first above all else. That was a real talent.
For all her worry, however, the squire hardly glanced at the pearls and said nothing about them. She looked at Theo, sending him a silent question as to what she should do now, but he stared absently into his wine glass, hardly noticing himself.
There was little conversation at dinner, unless she made it. The squire's dogs seemed, in fact, to be the only ones listening to her, and they were actually more interested to see what bits she might slip them from the table.
Afterwards, she played backgammon with Theo, beating him easily in two games. Theo claimed that the squire standing over him—and therefore the dogs clustered about his legs—in the second game had caused his loss.
The squire only snorted and said, "You've no head for the game—never did have the patience. Now your mother—"
He broke off the words with a glance at the pearls around Molly's neck. Face hot, she almost put a hand up to touch them.
When the squire turned away and started to turn to the brandy, Molly found the words slipping out, "I suppose you think you could best me, d'you, ducks?"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She wanted to lure him away from the shadows in the room, and those in himself. The poor man needed some distraction. And so she ignored Theo's hot stare on her and the dogs' heavy panting breaths.
The squire glanced at her, his bushy black eyebrows lowered, his expression unreadable. He shuffled Theo from his seat, telling him to watch how it was done, and he settled into his chair with his dogs about him.
For the first part of the game, Molly was too aware of Theo hovering beside her, his irritation almost swamping her senses. The dogs milled under the table, brushing against her legs, almost as if they, too, did not like being left out of things. But the counters began piling up on the squire's side, and she focused on the game. She would not have anyone thinking she ever gave anything but her best—even for just a game.
She won—but only by a lucky toss of the dice that got her last pieces home first. The squire bested her on the next game, issuing a crow of delight when he did that set his dogs to barking as well.
She realized that Theo was glowering at her, and this was doing nothing to help him become disinherited, so she bowed out from another challenge. She took herself off to bed and, as she did, she heard the squire stopping Theo from following her with some question about the estate.
They went on like that on the following day as well. A game we're all playing, she thought. But could any of them actually win?
Theo got her onto a horse the day after, saying that it was time she learned to ride. She protested, but when he threatened to simply pick her up and put her onto the nearest mount he could find in the stable she gave into him. Dressed in her most durable gown, she allowed him to lead her around the stables at a walk and then at a bouncing trot. She kept thinking it a very long way to the ground, particularly since there was no side saddle in the stable and so she sat sideways on Theo's saddle, clutching the horse's mane with one hand and the back of the saddle with the other. However, she stayed on and found herself pleased to have succeeded and actually interested in improving her skills.
As she slipped from the saddle, into Theo's waiting arms, he grinned at her. "We'll have you jumping tomorrow."
She slanted him a look, far too aware of just how broad his shoulders were under her palms and of how his hands spanned her waist. His smile stilled and her lips parted. Would he kiss her, even with the grooms watching?
The moment broke when the squire strode into the yard, demanding, "Theo, I want a word with you!"
Molly tensed.
Had the squire's patience snapped at last? Theo glanced at his father, the corner of his mouth crooked and a gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. "About what, sir?"
"Sheep—we've the shearing schedule to set for the autumn."
Theo's mouth thinned, and Molly almost laughed. Would they never offend the squire enough?
As if to goad his father, Theo slid his arm even more firmly—and possessively—around her waist. "I'm spending the afternoon with Molly."
The squire frowned. "If you're marrying the chit, you'll have your life with her. So you can attend to me today."
For a moment, Theo's arm tensed, and Molly wasn't certain what he would do. But he glanced down at her and his expression softened. "Oh, there's never enough time with my Molly. Besides, I've a promise to keep for you, do I not?"
Mind blank, she stared up at him. She wanted to kick him for putting it all onto her to come up with an excuse for them. The mischief lurking in those blue eyes drove her to come up with a suitable revenge.
Smiling, she said, her tone vulgarly low, "That's right, ducks. You're taking me to Lady Thorpe's for that visit I said as I'd make—just fancy me bein' neighbors with a real ladyship these days!"
#
"Why in blazes did you think up this as an excuse for us?" Theo grumbled, setting the horses to a lively trot. Burke had returned to Winslow Park yesterday, leading Terrance's matched bay horses, both now sound. Theo had decided to take them out today and drive his brother's curricle.
She glanced at him. They were traveling to Lady Thorpe's in style, with a summer sky overhead and the breeze snapping the hem of her green and yellow striped gown. In the sunlight, her diamond bracelet was enough to blind.
"It's as good as any," she said, her tone reasonable. "Besides, your father didn't look any too pleased about you parading me around to your neighbors."
He grimaced. "You could have said I'd be in your bed."
Her cheeks warmed, but she turned to watch sheep graze a green field. Winslow sheep, she assumed. "That wouldn't have put that look on your face, now would it."
"What look?"
"The same one you had when you talked of all those eels you ate. Next time, Mr. Winslow, you may invent your own tale if you want one to suit your fancy."
"Next time, Miss Sweet, I'll simply throw you over my shoulder and carry you off under my father's nose."
She glanced up at him. For all his bold talk now, he had done little in the past two days to lay any claim on her. That puzzled her. Had it been the chase he wanted, not the prize? But, if so, why did she still feel this...this sizzle of...of something crackling between them?
And she had no idea what to do about it. Questions might only bring answers she did not want to hear. So she would wait and see. But she rather wished he was back to chasing after her for a kiss, or an intimate touch, or a bit more.
So much for my high morals, she thought. It was probably best, anyway, that she had not been tempted further.
Theo grumbled the rest of the way to Lady Thorpe's. But Molly was pleased that his presence forced Lady Thorpe's butler into a respectful welcome. They found her ladyship in the rose garden with Sylvain Harwood.
Theo brightened at that. "Hello, Silly," he said, sounding more like a brother to her. "What sort of animal have you got with you today? Something we can eat I hope."
The girl seemed not to mind this nickname, but she made a face at his comment. She had to introduce them to Lady Thorpe, for her ladyship showed no memory of having met Molly and expressed surprised that Theo had grown so much. She did not mistake either of them for anyone from her past, however.
"It's one of her better days," Sylvain explained, leaning closer to Molly.
It was, but it showed all the more what a tragedy it was that this lovely woman seemed to be losing herself. At least she had the past to hold, Molly thought, for her ladyship seemed able to recall the events of decades ago with ease even if she could not remember last week.
Molly encouraged her ladyship to tell of how she had been courted by her late husband—a man with a reputation as a fortune hunter and gambler, who had not been approved by her family.
"We ran off to Gretna, and he was so disappointed that no one chased us," her ladyship said, a smile dancing in her eyes. "But I think they had already done with that over Amy."
"Your sister?" Molly asked, unable to stop a quickening of interest.
Lady Thorpe smiled and unfastened a locket pin from the white lace shawl around her shoulders and neck. Opening it, she showed the tiny portraits to Molly. "That's my dear Thorpe on the right and my sister on the left. She married an army man—a nobody—and my parents never forgave her. And I never forgave them for coming between us."
Eagerly, Molly glanced at the locket. Surely there were too many similarities in circumstance—Amy and Amelia. Both women marrying into the army. Both at odds with their family. There had to be some connection. Yet, as she stared at the painted face in the small oval, her hopes splintered like a basket made of spun sugar dropped onto a stone floor.
The blonde girl with the somber face was nothing like what she remembered of her mother, who had had dark hair and had always smiled and laughed and sang.
There was no connection to recognize. And that was the danger of living too much in fantasy. It hurt so very much when it was revealed for false.
Handing back the locket, Molly busied herself by asking if she might pour more tea for everyone. She clattered the cup and saucer, had to excuse her clumsiness, and refilled cups all around.
Taking the cup pushed at him, Theo watched Molly. Nothing ever troubled her, so why did she seem bothered by something now? She was smiling still, only those green eyes of hers did not gleam with humor. He frowned at Lady Thorpe as she refastened her locket—and he remembered how Molly had reacted to being mistaken for Lady Thorpe's niece. Blazes, but she still wanted to be related to this mad old lady?
And that had him thinking of Molly's stories of her early years. He had not looked very long for the book in the house with army records, and now he wished he had kept at it. It would have been nice to give Molly something—something she could keep, not some bit of jewelry that he must take back, but something she might really value. Even if it was just the sight of her father's name in a book.
He wanted, he realized, to have her smile at him with that utter delight in her eyes as she had had when she'd first glimpsed the picnic.
Only now she was bothered, and so was he.
Blazes, but he had known it as a poor idea to come on this visit and he'd been proven right.
He waited a quarter hour before he started hinting that they must go. But Lady Thorpe kept remembering yet another story of her sister or her late husband, or someone else dead.
It was more than grim.
Sylvain seemed not the least upset by this, but he had always though she had more in common with her wild beasts than any civilized soul. However, Molly listened to the stories with a wistful look in her eyes that just about tore a fellow open.
Finally, he managed to pry Molly loose.
He took her to Halsage. A walk about the village and a stop at The Four Feathers would be a treat. Only he found himself too aware of the stares and whispers following them, and he came near to knocking down George Afton in the inn when the man started winking and leering at Molly, as if she were some common strumpet.
Which she wasn't. Not really. Or, at least, well, she might be a strumpet and of common blood, but she was quite out of the ordinary in every way.
Taking her arm, he led her back to Terrance's curricle and contented himself with driving her around the neighborhood, pointing out the sights he could name and making up names for the rest.
That evening, after changing for dinner and doing himself up just for her in a black evening coat and a proper cravat, and a gold brocade waistcoat, he did his best to keep her attention on himself. And he ignored his father glowering at them. He also refused his father's demand that he spend time
after dinner talking over any more estate business.
"If you want to talk sheep, get Terrance to come home!" he burst out at the end of the evening. He strode off to his own rooms, angry with his father for pushing at him, with Terrance for not being there to deal with it, and with himself for losing his temper.
The squire stared after his youngest son, just as angry. The insolent pup! Talking to his father in that tone! Gads, but he'd—
He'd what? Disinherit him? He had done that with one son and it had done nothing to amend the lad's behavior.
Staking into his study, the squire slammed the door behind him. He had to open it again as indignant and insistent paws scratched on the door. The dogs piled in through the open door, tails waving as each made for a favored spot. The squire shut the door again and strode to the brandy decanter. When he had a full glass in his hand, he stared at the amber liquid, swirling it, letting the strong, acidic fumes fill his nostrils and his senses.
He had thought this madness between Theo and that...that girl to be nothing. But he could see the intimacy blossoming between them. The two of them spoke without words, sharing looks and touches that told of more than an infatuation.
In little more than a fortnight, the bans would have been called and Theo could marry the girl.
The squire frowned.
He'd as good as given his blessing, but that had been when he was certain the lad would not go through with it. However, he had gone into Halsage that morning and had heard the muffled snickers behind his back. Theo Winslow marrying a London strumpet—like to like, he'd heard the mutters.
Well, he would not see the Winslow name ridiculed.
He tossed back his brandy. He'd throw the girl out, by gads! Have her tossed out with those outrageous dresses of hers. Tonight. He glanced out the darkened windows. Well, perhaps tomorrow. At first light. Yes, that would do!
He poured himself another brandy. He thought how he had proclaimed her impertinent one morning. She had thanked him for it as if she had not known the meaning of the word. But she had. He had seen it in her eyes.
A Proper Mistress Page 16
