And still he couldn’t help but feel his blood stirring.
This was wholly unacceptable! He couldn’t go around half-cocked all day. Something had to be done. And for all his intelligence, he could think of only one thing: a trip to the stews to meet the wicked widow. He needed to sate these unholy appetites, satisfy his lustful hungers.
It would be to the benefit of this innocent governess, he rationalized, and would keep his house in better order.
Abigail blinked. “Oh. Mr. Littlethom!”
“You know him?” Lord Steele inquired, enjoying a bit too much how her gray-blue eyes sparkled.
“He’s the man who helped Seth from the water. At the park. When he fell in.”
Lord Steele moved toward the door. “Then I must meet this man and thank him myself.”
Miss West did not follow, but instead chewed her thumb in a fashion quite unmannerly for a governess. But when she did it she looked adorable.
Steele waited. “Is something amiss?”
“No. It’s just…I would not want to take up your time. I can pass along your thanks.”
She wanted to greet the man privately. Steele wondered if she had a tendre for him. Steele was surprised by the disappointment he felt at this insignificant fact.
Seth grabbed Steele’s coattail. “Can you read to us, please, Lord Steele?”
Stepping forward, Miss West shook her head. “Don’t bother Lord Steele right now. He’s very busy.”
Astonishingly, Seth had managed to soften Steele’s sense of rejection. Steele held up his hand. “You go along, Miss West, and see to your visitor. The lads and I have some poetry to read.”
He was glad to see the surprise in her eyes. She shouldn’t assume that she knew everything there was to know about everyone in the house.
Turning, he led Seth back to the bench by the window.
Miss West stood in the doorway, uncertain. “Are you sure?”
Ignoring her, Steele motioned for Felix to join them. “Bring that book you were reading, and we’ll see what sort of poetry you have there.”
Felix grinned. “Insipid or inspiring.”
“Insipid or inspiring.”
Abigail watched the three of them a long moment, knowing she’d been dismissed and trying not to feel unwanted. She should be glad that Lord Steele had finally taken an interest in his nephews. Yet for some odd reason, she felt as if she’d disappointed him somehow.
“Mr. Littlethom is waiting in the front drawing room,” Dudley reminded.
“Ah, yes, of course.” Turning, Abigail tried to be excited at the opportunity to thank Seth’s rescuer from the park. But a rescuer of a different sort was the only one she longed to see.
Chapter 16
Abigail felt churlish. No matter how boyishly handsome the man was to look at, he was driving her to the edges of her patience. She’d sat with Mr. Littlethom for three quarters of an hour, and the entire time she’d wished to be elsewhere. Reading with the boys. Taking a nap. Reorganizing her stocking drawer. Anywhere but with the man who seemed completely infatuated with her.
Or, correct that, infatuated with her position with the Viscount Steele. Mr. Littlethom thought that her role in the household was somehow a great credit to her as a person. He’d gone on and on about her status and asked questions about how the household functioned. He certainly was very curious, to the point of rudeness. And she’d started to get suspicious of his motives.
Then the man had confessed. He hoped to gain employ in the viscount’s household as a tutor. The poor man had been dismissed when his last students had gone off to Eton. He’d been heartbroken, he’d assured her, since he’d been with the family for more than three years. He’d been so upset about it that he’d taken himself off to London in hopes of starting afresh, with a family that had young lads, where he could help anew.
It was on his first day in London that he’d arrived at the park and come upon young Seth in the water. He considered it a sign.
Abigail didn’t believe in signs. But after much cajoling, Abigail had promised to have a word with Lord Steele about the matter. She didn’t know how she felt about it. On the one hand, Mr. Littlethom had helped haul them from the water at the park. And he wasn’t a bad sort if he didn’t open his mouth too much. Moreover, he specialized in languages, a topic in which she was particularly weak and the boys would need to know well.
On the other hand, he was maddeningly annoying.
She thought about it a long moment, realizing that any new tutor would change the balance of power in the household just when the boys were getting settled. And what if the new tutor wound up being a cruel taskmaster? She’d certainly seen her share of martinetlike educators. She wouldn’t be able to abide someone who was too quick with punishments or too harsh with criticism. Mr. Littlethom did seem quite officious. Mayhap he’d be a gentle teacher?
Abigail sighed. At the end of the day, perhaps one was better off with the devil one knew…
Devil…
Abigail’s mind veered once more toward that evening. Would she go out? Would she seek Jumper once more in hopes of finding a clue to her brother’s whereabouts?
Whom was she trying to fool? She was watching the clock like a usurer watching a calendar in anticipation of the money coming due.
She wanted to see her rescuer—well, not see him. But feel him and touch him and…
“Are you unwell, Miss West?” Lord Steele interrupted her wicked thoughts. He’d come upon her where she stood daydreaming in the hallway. She hadn’t heard his footfalls because of the thick carpeting, or perhaps it was the fact that her mind was elsewhere—in the sewers.
“Ah yes, fine.” She coughed into her hand, her cheeks burning with mortification.
“How is your visit with your Mr. Littlethom?”
Abigail tried not to bristle at the second “your” and instead pasted on a smile. “Fine. Thank you.”
“Good.” He moved past.
Abigail licked her lips. “Ah, my lord?”
Steele turned, his broad shoulders filling the small hallway, making Abigail feel practically elfin. “Yes, Miss West?”
“Mr. Littlethom, it turns out, is a tutor.”
“You don’t say.”
“I did not know that when he came to Seth’s aid in the park.”
“I thought you were the one who rescued Seth.”
“Well, Mr. Littlethom helped us out of the water. He was quite brave.”
“How admirable of him.” Steele’s gaze was shuttered and his chiseled features noncommittal. “And here I thought chivalry was dead.”
Abigail blinked, agreeing completely but unwilling to miss the opening Steele presented. “It was quite gallant of him, I agree. And he ruined a coat in the process.” She held open her hands in offering. “Even when I offered, he wouldn’t think of letting me pay his repair bill.”
Steele rubbed the hard line of his jaw. “Are you asking me to pay his tailor’s bill?”
“Oh no! Of course not!”
“You’re simply trying to tell me what a wonderful man Mr. Littlethom is.”
“Well, no. But now that you mention it…”
“Please get to the point, Miss West. I have a pressing matter to attend to this evening and I’m going out.”
Even though Abigail didn’t believe in signs, she’d take this fact as an indicator that she was meant to go out, too. With Lord Steele away, no one would question her comings and goings, since Lord Steele had made it known that Abigail might be visiting her sick friend. Funny, the guilt over that little white lie was growing fainter and fainter with each passing moment.
Abigail could hardly contain the thrill of excitement skating across her skin as she considered the evening ahead. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you…”
“But what were you saying about Mr. Littlethom?”
She shook her head. “Oh yes. Well, I was wondering…if you might be open to interviewing Mr. Littlethom. As a tutor for the boys.”
&n
bsp; Was it Abigail’s imagination, or did the air in the hallway suddenly grow chilly?
“You want me to find a position for Mr. Littlethom in this household?”
“Well, if it suits your plans, of course.”
“My plans?”
“For the boys’ education.”
Lord Steele frowned as if this were a novel notion to him. Strange.
Abigail stepped forward. “You do have plans for their instruction, don’t you?”
Scratching his temple exactly where the flecks of gray mixed with his ebony hair, Steele seemed to consider it a long moment. “Do governesses normally insert themselves into the decisions of their employers?”
Abigail straightened. “That’s not my intention—”
“Why don’t you focus on your area of expertise, the physical care of Seth and Felix, and I will worry about their intellectual needs.”
Abigail felt her jaw clench. It took brains to be a good governess. Anyone who’d ever known a stupid one knew that.
Gritting her teeth, Abigail curtsied. “I apologize if I offended you, my lord. I realize now that I need to remember my position in the household. I won’t detain you any further.”
Turning, she swept down the hallway, telling herself that she had something wonderful to look forward to. Her rescuer didn’t care about her status in the household, her usefulness as a governess, or her intellect or supposed lack thereof. All he wanted was her body. Nice and simple. No complications. No idiotic assumptions or expectations. Just hot, salacious coupling, plain and simple. And she was ready to give it to him.
As Steele watched Miss West’s lush hips sway down the hallway, he cursed himself for being so abrupt. But he had no patience for her tendre for Mr. Littlethom. The thought of having two people in his household stealing glances, sneaking a quick graze of the fingertips, sharing secret dreams…well, it made him want to kick up a row.
Didn’t staff these days know that such associations were forbidden in a household? He supposed that they were too infatuated to care. He was filled with disgust. Lovers had no consideration for others.
Why couldn’t people find a way to satisfy their primal hungers without infringing on the daily life of others? As he was going to do. Tonight. He was going to find his wicked widow and sate his appetite once and for all. Then he wouldn’t notice how shapely his governess’s hips were, or how nicely her bosom swelled when she sighed, or how sweetly she smelled of heather when she swept past. He definitely wouldn’t marvel at how golden her hair looked as the sun shone in through the salon window or wonder if her mane felt as soft as it looked. And he certainly wouldn’t care that she had a tendre for a chivalrous tutor who’d come to her aid.
Rubbing his chin, Steele nodded. Sating primal needs. That was the order of the day, and he was primed and ready. Now if only he could find his wicked widow and convince her to have another run at it.
He smiled. He could be really convincing when he wanted to be. And somehow he doubted that his wicked widow would protest. She was too fiery a woman to say no to a little innocent pleasure.
“Devil take me,” he muttered to himself, when he realized that his member was swelling at the thought. He was the blasted Solicitor-General of England; he should certainly know how to control his wayward body.
He’d grown bloody good at controlling his every emotion and his every action over the last eight years. So good at it, in fact, that what he’d done last night, tossing control to the wind…well, it was about the most reckless thing he’d ever done.
The scary thought intervened—could he possibly get her with child? Slowly he shook his head. The lady probably took precautions. Or mayhap she was too old to carry a babe?
He pushed the thought aside—if the widow wasn’t worried, then neither would he be. He was a stranger to her, and she didn’t seem to be concerned about future entanglements. In fact, she was quite quick to see him gone.
His curiosity was aroused, as was another part of him.
And he couldn’t wait to see her again, and sate both passions.
Chapter 17
“Good night, Miss West,” Seth murmured, as he lay tucked under his covers, his eyes bright in the candlelight, his cheeks flushed pink.
Sitting beside him on the bed, Abigail laid her hand on his sleepy brow and was surprised by the heat of his skin. Concern flashed through her. “Sit up, Seth.”
He lifted himself halfway out of the covers to sit.
Reaching behind him, Abigail stuck her hand down the loose collar of his nightshirt to feel his back. His skin burned to the touch.
“How do you feel?” she asked, trying to keep the anxiety from her voice.
“Oh, all right,” he murmured. “My head hurts a little.”
Her gaze searched his features, hoping for any hint as to why he had such a fever. “Anything else?”
His hand rested on his stomach. “My tummy feels funny.”
Abigail recalled that Seth had hardly touched his dinner. Felix had been talking about a new story that he’d read in a book, and she’d been so diverted that she’d assumed Seth had been similarly distracted from his food. But now she wasn’t so sure.
Abigail stood. “I’ll be right back.”
She raced down the corridor and informed a footman that Seth had a fever, so the staff should be at the ready if she required anything. Then she went to the kitchen and asked for some water with lemons and sugar to be brought to Seth’s room, and fetched some clean rags and a basin filled with cool water.
Upon returning to the boys’ rooms, she was disappointed not to have been wrong about Seth’s condition. Seth’s eyes were shadowed and his lids heavy, and he looked so positively miserable, Abigail wanted to cry. But instead she got busy, peeling off his clothing and wiping down his skin with cool cloths, trying to lower his fever.
Felix looked up from the pages of the book he was reading, seemingly surprised by the goings-on. “What’s wrong?”
“Seth has a fever,” Abigail replied calmly.
“A fever!” Seth’s half-closed eyes flew open.
“Not to worry, we’ll get it down,” she assured herself as much as the boys. “I’ve been trained by Dr. Michael Winner, the greatest children’s doctor in London. I know what I’m doing.”
After bathing Seth with cool water and cajoling him to drink water mixed with lemons and sugar, Abigail was relieved when Seth fell into a restless sleep. Felix, thank the heavens, slept like the dead, and none of the business going on in their rooms bothered him a bit.
That evening each minute seeped into an hour, each hour bled into the next, and all thought of nighttime excursions flew from Abigail’s mind.
For the next two days, the entire focus of Abigail’s existence was centered on Seth’s comfort. It was easy not to think about the masked rescuer, easy not to dwell on the things she’d done. Later, she promised herself. Later she’d go out. Later she’d search for Reggie. Then her eyes would close, she’d hug Seth close and feel the innocence of living one moment until the next, as she hoped for his fever to break.
“Please just let him not get worse,” she prayed, knowing that there was only so much she could do.
Abigail was suddenly glad that because of the repairs to the nurseries, Lord Steele had given the boys a room on the same floor as she. She would pop into her room now and again for a quick nap, but was always close in case she was needed.
During those two days, Felix would visit Lord Steele in his study and they would read together. Then the boy would go out in the company of two footmen, Foster and Zachariah, while Abigail stayed with Seth. There was still no word on the missing footman Claude, and although Abigail found it strange, she was too busy to give it much thought.
During the day she would read to Seth, bathe him, and sing him songs. Seth was surprisingly good-spirited through it all, his mood seeming to lighten with the rise of the sun each day and darken with the beginning of night. He sorely missed his mother, and Abigail’s heart b
led with agony as he cried in her arms.
On the third day, Abigail and Seth lay together on the window seat in the parlor, the golden sun blanketing them in its warm embrace.
“And so the knight jumped on his trusted steed,” Abigail read, her eyelids heavy, her breath deep and head fairly swimming with the desire for slumber.
A small snore erupted from Seth’s open mouth.
Lowering the book, Abigail looked down at him. His pallor was better, his cheeks less pink, and his face not quite so pale. His breathing was even, his body relaxed. Gently she cupped his forehead in her hand. Relief swept through her; his skin felt cool to the touch. The fever had broken.
She allowed her eyes to close, her body to relax, and welcomed the sleep of thankfulness.
Steele strode down the carpeted hallway, nearing the parlor where he knew Miss West and Seth were reading. He’d had trouble working the last two days, ever since Seth had come down with a fever. He attributed some of his restlessness to his inability to find the wicked widow three nights ago, but recently he’d felt compelled to stay home, wanting to be near in case he was needed.
Not that Miss West required his help. Her efficient caring left little room for him to do anything but check in on Seth now and again. The lad was good-natured, Steele had to admit, weathering the baths and lemon drinks and broths with stalwart amicability. The boy was calm, too, as if knowing that he was in good hands.
Again Steele had to credit Sir Lee for selecting Miss West as the boys’ governess. Her every act was wrapped in genuine caring, her every word soft to the ear. When a challenge arose, she met it with aplomb. But Steele could tell, for all her competence, she was worried. Her eyes were shadowed, anxiety pinched her brow, and her voice had that breathless quality that belied her apprehension.
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