No Earls Allowed

by Shana Galen

  “I should think so,” she answered, tousling his pale hair affectionately. “And he’ll bring your breakfast with him. Are you hungry?”

  “Yes, my lady!” He nodded vigorously. “Will you fix yourself before he returns, my lady?”

  Julia raised her brows. “Fix myself?”

  “Aye, my lady. You look a fright, and we’ll never find a father if you scare all the good ones away.”

  Julia opened her mouth to reply, but she was saved from saying who knew what when James scampered away. She stared after him, her eyes burning for another reason. In the few weeks she’d been here, some of the younger boys had become quite affectionate with her, even mistakenly calling her Mama. Most of the time it was when they were sleepy or needed comfort from a scrape or tumble. She had thought it an innocent mistake, but was it? Had the boys begun to think of her as their mother, and were they, as James suggested, looking for her to find them a father?

  She would happily mother them all as much as she could, but she had seen all of marriage and fathers she could ever want. And yet clearly a house full of boys needed a man to look up to. She didn’t even have a cook at present. Where would she find a man to guide a dozen orphans? How did one even advertise for a position like that?

  Remembering James had said she looked a fright, she lifted one of the trays on the worktable. It was scratched and tarnished, but she could see well enough. Flour streaked her face and her coiffure was askew. She did look a fright. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared a whit, but normally she didn’t meet handsome strangers. Not that he had come to court her or any such foolishness. No, if her father had sent him, she had to consider him an enemy.

  Still, she supposed it would not hurt to put her appearance to rights. And she would have done so if she hadn’t heard the yell and the crash and had to run up three flights of stairs, yelling, “What have you done now?”

  Three

  Neil found a man with a cart selling some sort of freshly baked pies. The food smelled decent enough to him, but as he had no intention of hauling two-dozen pies back to the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, he paid the man to bring the cart to the building.

  When they arrived at the servants’ entrance, he rapped on the kitchen door for a good three minutes to no avail. His father had said the earl wanted Lady Juliana to come home again and stop playing at her charity work. Neil had thought it would be a simple assignment—he’d be in and out. Apparently, he’d misjudged. So far, nothing about Lady Juliana had been simple. Least of all his reaction to her. He hadn’t expected her to be so…so damned delicious. Even the smattering of flour and dough on what must at one time have been an expensive dress couldn’t take away from the sensuality of her generous curves, the luster of her coppery hair, or the way her mouth turned up in just the barest hint of a smile.

  He’d wanted to kiss that mouth to see if it was as soft as it looked. From the way she’d looked at him, Neil didn’t think she’d object to a kiss either.

  Such thoughts weren’t like him. He might no longer be a soldier, but he still considered Lady Juliana a mission. One did not kiss missions—unless one was Rafe Beaumont.

  And Neil thanked God daily he wasn’t Rafe Beaumont.

  After another knock went unanswered, Neil supposed he would have to make the vendor drag the cart around to the front, but as he turned to give the directive, the kitchen door popped open. No one stood in the doorway, and when Neil leaned closer, he saw the latch was ineffective and the lock useless. Considering the look of the man Neil had encountered in the parlor earlier, he would have thought security a high priority for Lady Juliana. Anyone could walk in and steal from the orphans—or worse. And in Spitalfields, the or worse happened more often than not.

  He’d made a mental list he’d titled Problems and Dangers Relating to St. Dismas Orphanage, and he planned to mention it to Lady Juliana at the first opportunity. Poor security would be at the top and the primary reason she should return to her father’s abode immediately. In the meantime, he gestured to the pie man. “Bring the pies in here and set them on this table.”

  “Yes, guv.” The man went to work while Neil looked in the hallway for any sign of Lady Juliana. She was nowhere to be seen, but the raucous sound of boys’ laughter floated down from above. And then there was a thump and a cheer.

  “Sounds like you got a full ’ouse, guv.”

  Neil looked up at the ceiling as the next thump sounded, then he handed the man a pound. “Come back tomorrow, and there will be another just like it.”

  The man’s eyes grew large as he stared at his bounty. “I’ll be ’ere, guv. You can count on Jacob, you can.” He walked as if in a daze out of the kitchen.

  Neil shut the kitchen door and studied the broken bolt just as another thump shook the house. This time it was followed by the unmistakable sound of a woman’s voice. He’d have to leave the lock for later, so he shoved a heavy crate half-full of potatoes in front of the door and made his way through the building.

  The building was large and, from what he could surmise, had probably once been the home of a well-to-do merchant. It was close to the large market in Spital Square that had operated there since King Charles II had granted its charter. But the building had not been the home of a prosperous merchant in some time. Neil knew little about fashionable furnishings, but everything he saw looked old fashioned and faded, like a painting left in the sunlight too long.

  From what he’d seen so far, the kitchen, dining room, and a third room—probably a library or parlor—were on the first floor. He imagined servants’ quarters were on the lower level and the drawing room and bedchambers on the second floor. He hadn’t looked closely when he’d been outside, but he didn’t think the building high enough for a third floor. Likely Lady Juliana had converted public rooms on the second floor into dormitories for the boys.

  Neil found the stairs inside the small, dark vestibule. He’d seen them when Goring, the manservant, had shown him in. As he stood at the base, more cheers rang out above him followed by groans. Lady Juliana’s voice grew louder. Neil began to climb the rickety staircase, and when he reached the landing, he said a silent prayer that, whatever hell he was about to enter, it wouldn’t involve more rats. He turned left, toward the noise, and stepped into a room with rows of four beds on either side. At the far end, a crowd of boys had gathered. Above their heads, he could just see Lady Juliana standing in the center, straining, her arms spread wide.

  “Fight! Fight! Fight!” the boys chanted.

  “There will be no fighting!” the lady said through clenched teeth. Neil realized she must have been holding two boys apart. He looked around for another adult who might be charged with supervising the children and saw no one. Was the petite daughter of the Earl of St. Maur the sole authority in an orphanage full of boys?

  This was even worse than he’d thought.

  Neil crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat just loud enough for the boys in the outer circle to hear him. One or two turned around, and eyes growing large as plates, they tapped the shoulders of their neighbors. Neil watched awareness ripple through the circle, and within seconds, the boys parted, leaving the two combatants and Lady Juliana exposed. Those three were so occupied they did not see him. The two boys—about eight years of age, if he judged correctly—swung at each other and tried to skirt around Lady Juliana. For her part, she ordered them to Cease this instant and Do behave while she danced between them and kept them apart.

  He shouldn’t have wanted to laugh. He never laughed anymore, and this situation was particularly unamusing because he had a feeling that the more trouble Lady Juliana faced with these lads, the more determined she would be to reform them. On the other hand, perhaps after this experience, she would have seen the futility of reform and would welcome being saved. That cheerful thought gave him pause to appreciate how utterly ridiculous—and, truth be told, adorable—she looked. She coul
dn’t have been more than an inch or two over five feet and the curves her efforts exposed above the high waist of the voluminous gown were nicely rounded. Her coppery-red hair fell about her shoulders and her large, brown eyes flashed anger while the pale skin that often accompanied that red shade of hair was tinged pink with exertion.

  With all the flour and dirt streaking her cheeks and arms, her wrinkled gown, and her hair flying in every direction, she should have looked as though she ought to be a resident of the orphanage. Instead, she brought to mind the image of a woman rising from rumpled sheets, skin pink from exertion—and pleasure.

  He had heard his half brothers mention her name a time or two over the years. Lady Juliana was considered a beauty and had a dowry large enough to tempt one or two of them to court her, though it appeared no one had tempted her into marriage. Either that or her suitors had run screaming from the room at one flash of fire from her eyes. She did have expressive eyes. But he wasn’t cowed, and unfortunately, neither were her charges.

  Neil straightened his shoulders and marched forward to do what he’d come to do—save the day.

  Standing before the threesome, he cleared his throat again. This time the three pairs of eyes darted to his face. Lady Juliana’s gaze locked on his in horror, but the two boys were too enraged to take much note of him. Instead, they took advantage of the lady’s momentary lapse of attention and tore at each other like rabid dogs.

  With a screech, the lady jumped back and out of the way. And then, instead of doing what she ought and scampering to safety, she jumped between the two boys.

  Neil was so completely surprised that he didn’t move for a full three seconds. In that time, she almost parted the boys, but her skirts tangled about her feet and she ended up on her bottom.

  “What the devil is going on?” Neil bellowed. “You, over there. You, on that side!” His temper began to simmer, and he pushed it back down, reminding himself these were children. He reminded himself as well that he’d sworn after that bloody day in Portugal he would never lose control again. Like a fist closing, he reined his emotions in and stepped forward. The two combatants scattered, and Neil held out a hand to Lady Juliana.

  She brushed it away.

  Confused, Neil continued to extend it, but she didn’t take it. Instead, he stared in astonishment as she climbed to her feet unassisted. Then she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. She’d probably been glaring at him for several moments, but he hadn’t been able to see for the profusion of coppery hair. “You.”

  The one word was full of seething anger and condemnation.

  What the devil was wrong with the woman? Perhaps she’d misunderstood. “I would have helped you to your feet, my lady,” he said.

  “Oh, I think you’ve helped quite enough for one day,” she answered, her jaw clenched and her lips barely moving.

  He stared at her and pointed a finger at his chest as if to ask whether she was referring to him.

  She gestured to the pugilists. “I had the situation under control.”

  He let out a huff of laughter. She was obviously deluded. “Is that what you call it?”

  She looked as though she had a ready retort on her lips, but he was saved from the tongue-lashing when one of the boys who had been fighting jumped forward. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to make you fall.”

  “Me either,” the other one said, head hanging in a very good imitation of one shamed by his actions.

  She gave the boys narrowed looks. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had not been fighting. How many times have I told you fighting is not allowed?”

  One of the boys with dark hair and freckles waved his hand and jumped up and down eagerly. “Ooh! I know! I know!”

  She turned and sighed. “Michael?”

  “One hundred and twelve times, Lady Juliana. I’ve been counting, I have!”

  “I know you have, Michael. Your counting skills are quite extraordinary.” She looked back at the combatants. “You would think after”—a glance at Michael—“112 reminders you would know the rule by now.”

  “I do, Lady Juliana, but he took my cards.” This from what Neil had come to consider the older combatant, as he was taller and had a shaggy mane of brown hair.

  The other, a bit shorter with curly, blond hair and a chubby face, which grew redder at the accusation, clenched his fists. “Did not. Those cards are mine!”

  “Are not!”

  “Are too!” countered the younger one.

  Neil raised his brows at Lady Juliana as if to ask whether this was what she meant by under control. She glared right back at him, then held her hand out in front of the boy with the curly hair. “Give me the cards, George.”

  “But, Lady Juliana…” George whined.

  “I told you there’s to be no gambling.”

  “No fighting, no gambling. What type of establishment is this?” Neil drawled.

  She turned her fiery, brown eyes on him. “And you, sir. I will speak with you in the parlor, if you would kindly wait for me there.”

  He gave her a mock bow. “Of course, my lady.” But she would not win the field that easily. “The pies in the kitchen are growing cold.”

  “Pies!” That exclamation from every child in the room. And then he flinched as a line of boys, every bit as formidable as one of the French battalions, raced past him, thundered down the steps, and presumably landed in the kitchen.

  The lady blew out an exasperated breath as though to indicate he had done something else of which she disapproved. “I’d better go down and make sure the little ones are given their fair share. There will be no practicing table manners this morning,” she said, attempting to sweep by him as though her stained attire were a court-presentation dress.

  He caught her arm, surprised by the warmth of her skin. “A moment of your time, my lady. I believe introductions are in order.”

  She sighed. “You are right. I’ve been terribly remiss. The morning has been rather hectic. I wish I could say it has been unusually hectic, but I’m afraid chaos has been the norm since I arrived.”

  He released her arm. “And when did you arrive?”

  “Oh, almost three months ago. Or has it been four?”

  The shock must have showed on his face because she quickly continued, “It used to be much, much worse. We actually have something of a routine now.”

  This was a routine?

  A crash sounded from somewhere in the building, but before she could run off, he made a slight bow. “I am Neil Wraxall. My father is the Marquess of Kensington.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Then you’ve come at my father’s request. St. Maur and Kensington have been friends since their days at school.”

  He inclined his head. “As you say.”

  “And you obviously know I am Lady Juliana.”

  He would have made some nonsense remark about how he was pleased to meet her—although he hadn’t been particularly pleased yet—but she held up a hand to stay his response.

  “I see what this is about, and I regret to inform you that you are wasting your time. I have no intention of returning home until I have matters here in order. My father wants me to dance at balls and attend the theater. I ask you, how am I to attend the theater with all of this to think of?”

  Neil knew an ambush when he saw one, and he remained silent.

  “If my father sent you to convince me to return home, you are wasting your time, sir.”

  “I am not here to convince you to leave,” he said. In fact, he’d intended to simply carry her out, put her in a coach, and send her home.

  He saw now that while brute tactics might win the battle, they wouldn’t win the war. She’d be right back here.

  And then so would he.

  This moment called for diplomacy, as Rafe would have called it. Ewan would have called Neil’s next words by t
heir true nature: a lie. “I am here because your father is worried for your safety. He asked me to put measures in place to ensure you are well protected.”

  She gave him a wary look. “My father said that?”

  “I didn’t actually speak to the earl, but that is my interpretation.” A very loose interpretation.

  “What sorts of measures?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  “I don’t know yet. I’ll need to do some reconnaissance before I make recommendations.”

  “Reconnaissance? Are you by any chance a soldier, Mr. Wraxall?”

  “I was.” Now would come the endless questions about what branch he served in and the battles he fought in, and when she learned he was one of Draven’s Dozen, she would probably press a hand to her chest and flutter her lashes.

  He wouldn’t mind that reaction, though he certainly would be no gentleman if he took advantage of her swoon to kiss her…

  She turned her back on him and walked away.

  Neil frowned. Where was the swoon and his ill-gotten kiss?

  “Go ahead and do your reconnaissance, sir. You may note your recommendations when you are finished. I trust that will be shortly?” She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder at him. “We have no need for soldiers and military regimentation here.”

  Her skirts swished as she moved into the corridor and down the stairs. Neil could have imagined how lush her hips looked as she moved. He gritted his teeth and shifted his thoughts back to the mission. Clasping his hands behind his back, he surveyed the dormitory. A handful of buckets littered the floor, half-full of water from the rains the night before. He looked up at the leaky ceiling and noted the plaster was crumbling in more places than he could count. None of the boys’ beds were made. Blankets and pillows were thrown on the floor as were articles of clothing. Dirty clothing, pamphlets, half-eaten apples, and decks of cards and dice littered the trunks at the end of the beds. No wonder the place had rats. He quickly found the box that housed the creatures near the window on the far side of the room. Even from this distance, he could see the latch on the window was broken. No doubt the boys were sneaking out at night and doing God knew what.