Formidable Lord Quentin

by Patricia Rice

  “And his numbers. He has a quick mind,” the tutor cautiously agreed. “It’s just . . . The ladies have pampered him a bit, rightfully so, I suspect, under the circumstances.”

  “We can’t allow him to behave like a heathen. The Boyles, in particular, need a firm hand. They’re all headstrong. Again, if you do not feel yourself capable . . .”

  Mr. Thomas ran his hand through his hair. “I can teach him. But the ladies are not likely to allow me to discipline him.”

  Bell marched back in in time to hear this last. Quent tilted his chin up to prevent looking to see if her toes were still bare. There had been little time to do more than hand the boy to a maid, so he suspected they were. It was hard not to keep glancing down.

  “He will not be beaten just for being a boy,” she said firmly.

  “A good whack on his bottom will get his attention,” Quent argued. “But there are better methods to bring him in line. Thomas, since it apparently takes two to dress the lad, go see that your charge is appropriately garbed and let loose in the park with some educational project.”

  The man hurried out wearing an expression of relief as Bell geared up to fire again.

  “Don’t,” Quent warned, holding up his hand. “I am in no humor for it. You know perfectly well that the boy needs a man in the house, and you and your sisters shouldn’t be dealing with tutors and valets. This house isn’t large enough, for one thing. And it’s improper, for another. I sent them for you to interview. I didn’t expect you to hire them on the spot.”

  “Why shouldn’t I? I’m an aging widow. Who’s to question who I hire?”

  “Aging widow!” Quent rolled his eyes. “You are scarcely older than your sisters! All of you need chaperones. Are you prepared to house them too?”

  She glared. “I have written Edward’s Aunt Griselda and asked her to attend us. She can help me polish the girls. I appreciate your help, Quent, but I don’t need your interference. Did you have a purpose in coming here besides scolding me?”

  She had powder on her upturned nose and a smear of black on her bodice, just above her left breast. If they married, he would have the right to kiss that pert nose and caress that breast.

  His prick rose immediately to the occasion.

  To cool his ardor, he reminded himself that if they married, his life would descend to a living hell.

  But having Bell in his bed would be preferable to suffering that same hell without her. That was the conclusion he’d reached while studying his father’s orders. If he was to suffer, so must she.

  He produced the letter in his pocket. “You did not really believe my father would respond otherwise once Summerby presented him with the will?”

  Bell glared at the vellum but refused to take it. “My father meant to send my family to me. You cannot tell me otherwise. Your father should be happy that I’m willing to take them in.”

  “My father believes in the letter of the law. He could be sued should he fail in his legal responsibility. As you’re well aware, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to spend years in court. As guardian, he has asked me to send Lord Wexford and Lady Sydony to the schools the family has always attended in Edinburgh. I can assure you, they are excellent schools. You may ask my sisters, who are products of the one Lady Sydony will attend. I and my brothers attended the other, and I have reason to believe we are well educated.”

  “Kit is a little boy!” she cried. “He cannot be shipped off with strangers just after losing his father. No, I won’t have it. And Syd needs me and the family she knows. There are excellent finishing schools in London so she may come home whenever she wishes. She needs to meet London society, not Edinburgh’s! You have seen how your sisters have struggled to fit in here.”

  She swirled to walk away. Quent blocked her path. “My father is opening a room for Mrs. Dawson and her daughter in our home. My sisters and cousins are eager to welcome her. She will be near Lady Sydony and her brother.”

  Bell stamped her . . . bare . . . foot.

  Quent closed his eyes and prayed for salvation.

  “No. Tell your father thank you,” she said, her tone turning icy, “but if the children are to go to school, it will be only if they and I agree on the lessons and faculty and location. And there is absolutely no question of Tess going to Scotland. She is staying here with me so I may present her to society so she may have choices beyond your collection of impoverished relations.”

  “That is what I was afraid you would say.” Quent knew what he had to do now, and he returned to seeking her toes for incentive. “My father will not accept your choices, and he has the law on his side. I have come to offer an alternative.” He held his breath, wishing for better circumstances, or at least, some interest on Bell’s part.

  Although, somehow, seeing the sophisticated marchioness with a ringlet hanging over her nose, the moment seemed easier. When she merely tapped her tempting toe, Quent signed and just spoke plainly. “If you marry me, we can solve the problem. My father will allow the children to stay with me, and you will be there to make the decisions.”

  “Marry you?” She sounded as appalled as she looked. “Whyever would you even consider I might accept such a solution? We would never suit. You merely want to gain control of Edward’s funds. No, no, a thousand times no! The children are my family, and I will spend every cent to keep them, if necessary.”

  She tried to push past him. Quent thought perhaps he could have done this better, but he was a businessman, not a seducer. He didn’t move out of her way. “Bell, the funds are not in question. We can negotiate settlements and trusts. Be reasonable and at least let us discuss this sensibly.”

  She turned and glared at him. “Marriage is not an acquisition contract, my lord,” she said heatedly. “I am a human being, not a ship or a load of silk, no more than my family is a piece of paper to be passed through courts. There is nothing reasonable about your proposal. I’ll not hear another word.”

  She padded out on bare feet, leaving Quent in a state of furious arousal.

  Her rejection shouldn’t hurt this badly when all he’d done was offer her a better choice than going to court—where she would most certainly lose. He’d always admired Bell’s independence, but now he wanted to shake her until she saw reason.

  By Jove, why should he care? He shoved his father’s letter in his pocket and stalked out.

  Five

  Bell held herself together long enough to reach her room. There, she sank into the vanity chair, glanced in the mirror, and buried her face in her hands.

  “I will call for some tea,” her maid said worriedly, yanking a bell pull that would ring the kitchen. “Perhaps an egg-white masque and a short nap,” she continued when Bell did not respond.

  “No, an afternoon gown, please.” Bell dug in to her reserves of strength, lifted her chin, and glared at the mirror which revealed her disheveled state.

  Quent had proposed. She couldn’t decide whether to be insulted, furious, pleased, or simply laugh hysterically. He had seen her at her absolute worst—well, not worst, that had been a decade ago—and he’d dared propose marriage.

  There had been many lonely hours when she had considered inviting him into her bed. He was the only man she’d ever met who had intrigued her enough to even consider such indiscretion. But the knowledge that he and his family coveted her fortune had been too . . . demeaning. Divisive. She feared a connection would raise hopes when there was none.

  Marriage was simply out of the question.

  Taking deep breaths to calm her shattered nerves, she began removing the pins from her hair, shuddering at the unkempt horror of her reflection. A week with her family, and the household was already in a shambles, the servants were threatening to give notice, and she was in tatters.

  And his solution was to send Kit and Syd to school! He had no understanding of what he asked. She would not have her siblings shipped off like so much unwanted furniture. Besides, Boyles never stayed where they were placed. They were bound to run a
way.

  Ultimately, should she and Quent be forced into marriage, he would move back to Scotland rather than deal with the chaos of Boyle tempestuousness. She’d be an abandoned wife, since she would refuse to leave this home she’d created for herself. No, a thousand times, no. Now that she’d found a man she could almost respect, despite his annoying self-righteousness, she wanted his friendship. From painful experience, she knew marriage would make them enemies.

  She shuddered remembering how she had adored Edward those first few years. She could easily have loved him had he given her any opportunity. In the end, her dreams had been so badly eroded with his neglect that she’d come to despise him. She knew other women could endure that sort of life. She had learned that she could not.

  Negotiate! He wanted to negotiate a marriage.

  She knew better than anyone the death of the soul that accompanied a marriage without love between both parties.

  “Send up enough tea for my sisters,” she told the maid who arrived. “And tell them to meet me in the parlor at the quarter hour.”

  Syd and Tess had to be told. She would not treat them like pawns on a chessboard as she had been. If she focused on her sisters, she would not have to think about Quent and his absurd proposal.

  Tess arrived promptly just as the last pin was applied to Bell’s curls.

  “Whoever was that gorgeous man who sent Mr. Thomas and Kit packing?” Tess asked in awe. “I thought he’d come to arrest us all and throw us into the street. I heard his bellows all the way up the stairs.”

  “That’s what happens when a man assumes too much authority at an early age,” Bell said disparagingly, gesturing toward the sitting room. “He believes he is God, but he is merely the marquess of Belden’s fourth son and his legal representative in London. Where is Syd?” she asked before Tess could devour her with questions.

  “She is cutting her hair to look like the fashion plates. I told her to ask you first, but she is determined.”

  Bell muttered an oath under her breath, abandoned her soothing tea, and sailed down the hall to her sister’s room. Reminding herself that she was too old to have a tantrum, she opened the door without knocking.

  The bottom half of her sister’s beautiful hair already lay on the floor. Syd’s maid looked up guiltily, scissors still in hand. Without an ounce of remorse, Syd swung around on her bench and ran her fingers through her half-shorn hair. “Isn’t it marvelous, Bell? I feel so much lighter already! Agnes said I shouldn’t take it all off until I know if I’ll like it, but I know I will!”

  Bell wanted her sisters to love her, not think of her as some ogre who denied them their wishes. But she knew so much more than they did . . .

  She sighed and tried not to scold like a harpy. “It’s not done, Syd,” she said sadly. “Young ladies cannot set the fashions until they’ve been out a season or two. That’s for the fast set, the ones who have no care for their reputation.”

  Syd’s expression grew stormy. “It’s not as if society gives a fig about me. Why should I care about a bunch of old biddies?”

  “Don’t be so short-sighted,” Bell snapped. “Until you know what you want for your future, you must not ruin your options. Agnes, pin up her hair, and do not cut more without my permission. Syd, if you wish to be treated as an adult, then you must behave as one. I requested your company for a very important reason. You will attend me immediately.”

  She swept out rather than argue. Tranquility had departed the household the instant her family had traipsed in.

  “Syd doesn’t like to be told what to do,” Tess said apologetically as they settled at the tea table. “She’s always been headstrong. When Charity tried to correct her, Syd would run to Daddy, who would tell her she could have anything she liked.”

  “Which is why we remember him with such fondness,” Bell conceded. “Your poor stepmother. She must have been a saint to endure him.”

  Tess shrugged. “They had horrible arguments. She threw things at his head. Once, she turned over a kettle of soup he’d told her was too salty. You are a model of patience in comparison.”

  “Give me another week,” Bell said wryly. “I will be ready to surrender all rights to the marquess and send the lot of you off to Scotland, except I’m afraid he’ll toss you all into the streets for corrupting his very proper daughters.”

  Tess looked gratifyingly horrified.

  Syd stomped in, scowling. Bits of hair still clung to her muslin, but she wore her dark mane pinned up to hide its lack of length. “I hate my hair,” she announced.

  “Yes, we all hate our hair, or our teeth, or our noses or legs and our parents and teachers and the sun that doesn’t rise when it should. Now sit down and be quiet and use your head instead of your temper.” Bell pointed at a seat near the table.

  Syd flung herself into the chair with the grace of an angry bear and snatched a raspberry tart from the tray. Blessedly, she held her tongue and waited.

  “Daddy’s will left all of you as wards to the marquess of Belden,” Bell said, gathering her thoughts to present her case. “He could not leave you to me because women are not recognized by courts of law, but I’m certain he meant for you to live with me.”

  The girls nodded agreement. Tess added, “He often spoke of how you lived in a grand house and would always take us in, but he could never save the funds to send us.”

  Because he knew Edward would pitch a fit, call in the earl’s markers, and have him thrown in prison, but Bell wouldn’t spoil their fond memories. “That’s all behind us. The present has its own complications. Daddy thought my husband was still alive. Unfortunately, he isn’t, and the title has gone to his heir. Because the will specifies that you are wards of the marquess, the current one has the right to direct your futures until such time as you turn twenty-five, or you marry, and your husband becomes your legal representative.”

  Tess raised her eyebrows and her teacup. Syd remained mercifully silent, helping herself to another tart.

  “The current marquess has . . .” Bell wanted to say ordered but she was trying very hard to be objective in case she lost this fight. She didn’t want her sisters to hate their benefactor. “He has requested that Tess and Beebee meet his family and live with him. He has several unmarried sons and nephews, I believe, and he knows I’ll dower you handsomely, so he is no doubt hoping that you will become part of his family. They are quite respectable but poor.”

  Tess looked mildly interested. “If they all look like the gentleman who collared Kit, that might be interesting. He was a bit old, though. Are there younger sons?”

  Bell bit her tongue and continued to be as fair as she knew how. “Lord Quentin is thirty-five. The youngest might be thirty. I don’t know the nephews. They live in Scotland and never come to London. They farm.”

  Tess frowned. “We haven’t lived in the country since we left Ireland. Is there a town like Boston nearby?”

  “I fear not. As I understand it, their home is in the hills and quite isolated. Scotland does not have the green pastures of Ireland but cold rocks and gorse. You won’t be able to raise horses. Sheep and cattle, perhaps.” Swallowing, Bell hurried to finish. “The marquess wants Syd to attend school. It would be good for her, I’ll agree, but—”

  “I don’t need any more school,” Syd argued, interrupting. “I’m old enough for parties and beaux.”

  “You’re an ignorant colonial bumpkin to these people,” Tess said bluntly. “You need polish.”

  “You need friends,” Bell corrected. “Getting about in society is all about who you know. I can’t introduce you to the young ladies who will come out at the same time as you do. They’re all still at home and not yet out for me to meet. But I can find out what schools they attend. Except, the marquess wishes you to attend the same school as his daughters in Edinburgh, and I fear they’ve become blue stockings because of it.”

  “Edinburgh?” Syd asked warily.

  “Several very uncomfortable days’ journey from here, in Scotlan
d. You would have to spend the holidays with the marquess. It’s not a journey young girls should undertake regularly.”

  Now both Syd and Tess looked horrified.

  “We couldn’t stay with you at all?” Tess asked.

  “I could come visit occasionally, I suppose. You really don’t know me much better than the Hoyts. It might all work out.” She couldn’t sound cheerful, but she strived not to sound skeptical. The Hoyts were pragmatic, educated, and managing sorts. Boyles . . . were the exact opposite, with charismatic, colorful, and tempestuous thrown in for good measure. Bell had learned a great deal of human nature and Hoyts in particular, since Edward had been one.

  “What about Kit?” Tess demanded.

  Bell sighed. “That’s more of a problem. The marquess wants Kit to attend boarding school. It is the custom to send boys elsewhere for instruction and to let them meet their peers. And it is not quite proper for unmarried females to raise him with tutors and valets and such in the house. And again, all the marquess’s sons attended school in Scotland.”

  “That will never work,” both girls exclaimed in unison.

  Given what little she already knew of her brother, Bell wholeheartedly concurred.

  ***

  Quent paced his blasted, narrow study.

  Holding papers to be signed, Penrose waited for him to sit down. “Do I need to polish a gun?” he asked cautiously.

  “The option to challenge women to a duel would make life easier,” Quent snarled.

  “Shorter, but easier,” Penrose agreed, not concealing his amusement. “Perhaps dueling hairpins at sunset? Why don’t you take some time to sail your yacht or visit friends in the country and work off some of your energy. You never take time for pleasure.”

  “Work is my pleasure,” Quent growled. “Find someone interested in building boats in Cornwall, and I’ll happily sail him around.”

  “The carriage has returned from Scotland. Take it out to visit Blake. He and the duke are bound to have information that will create new business somewhere. You are about to walk through walls.”