“There is no need.”
“I do insist.” She wanted no favors because she was without status or because she was in employ of his friend Win.
“It is my understanding from Mister Gibbs that you have paid him in advance. Five more days work, I believe.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your help and I look forward to seeing you again.”
“In Crawley on the twentieth.”
“Good day to you.” She hurried to his outer office.
She had predicted she might have problems proving her case. Now she had confirmation of it and the horror of her circumstances burst upon her like a thunder storm. Ashamed of her weak tears, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Outside, rain came down in torrents. It mirrored her own dire prospects. How could she have thought that a few words from her might prove her case? Her hidden documents were a fact, but her only hope. And I must nab them before anyone else does. And be so bold as to disguise myself to do the deed.
No one at Miss Finch’s School for Young Ladies had taught her how to strut upon a stage. And now, here she was, faced with the prospect of putting on a charade to get her rightful inheritance.
She huddled under the eves, the rain slanting at her, driving her closer to the brick walls.
Standing here waiting for Cartwell and his coach, she’d look the perfect idiot. A malingerer. But no hackney appeared and she stood in the deluge, wet through, her tears coming faster, mingling with the rain. She began to walk, then run.
“Belle! Belle!”
Cartwell caught her by her shoulders and whirled her into the shelter of his chest. “Oh, my dear. Come. Here’s the carriage.”
He tugged her toward the coach and handed her up. Following her, he sat beside her.
Then he took her in his arms and let her cry her heart out.
* * *
“What happened in there? If he was rude to you, I shall—”
“No, no.” She managed between sobs and hiccups. “He was honest. Blunt.”
He stroked her back, pressed her even closer and dispensed with her irritating little hat. Then he dug out his handkerchief to dab at her eyes. “Here, please don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it!” She hiccupped. “Ohh, I was such a—a fool to think this could be easy.”
He sank back against the squabs and took her with him. She was a sad bundle. He could not bear to see her cry. She had done it so often since coming to him. “Tell me why he says you can’t.”
“He doesn’t. I say. I’ve no p-proof. None in hand. The world does not turn toward justice for the asking.”
“I’m dismayed you say that, Belle. The world can be turned if you push hard enough.”
Her head fell back against his shoulder, her tears abating. “I always believed so. Until these past few months. Since my grandfather’s death and the reading of the will, nothing has gone right. I’ve lost my home, my dignity, my future. Everything. The only good to come into my life is you. The home you’ve given me, the cheer, the possibility that I might live with some grace.”
“I’m more than happy to give you anything you want.”
Her gaze swept over his face.
“Do not dare to thank me again.” He thumbed teardrops from her cheeks.
“What then would I use to show my feelings?” she asked, her mood disparaging, her voice mellow.
He dared to hope she might show him as she had the night when she’d kissed him in the dark of her bed. His gaze drifted to her mouth and lingered there.
“Oh, yes. There is that,” she murmured and put her lips to his.
She was all urgency and light, soft yielding passion and the sweetest lips upon his own. He urged her closer, the need to taste her more deeply his driving force. She moaned, her arm around him tight with longing. She broke away, much like that night when she’d first kissed him, she wore surprise and desire in her emerald eyes.
He sank his hand into her hair and the wealth of it tumbled free from her pins. As if he’d freed her from remaining inhibitions, she came back to him and seized his mouth.
He sank farther to the corner of the cab and drew her with him. She came, sliding across his impulsive and demanding body. He found the hem of her pelisse and slipped his hand up to form around the glory of her breast. She raised her head, arching back, as he caressed her though the layers and layers of clothing women deemed so damnably necessary. She caught back a breath, staring at him in wonder.
He’d found her nipple. Her lashes flickered in desire. She let out a small cry and put her lips to his again.
“Dear Belle,” he said and undid the cloth buttons of her coat. The thing fell open and he put his palm to the hot silk of her bare throat. There, he stroked her with gentle fingers and she lay upon his chest, breathing deeply and letting him pet her.
“I should not permit this,” she said to him as the coach rumbled over uneven roads. Their bodies melded and jiggled.
She giggled.
He kissed her forehead. “And I should not be attempting it.”
“You’ll think me horrid.”
“I think you marvelous.” He put two fingers beneath her chin and led her to look at him. “And valiant. Sad and in need of a friend. An ally.”
“Do allies kiss?” She gave him a ghost of a smile.
“They should. Just imagine if they did, we’d have fewer wars to fight.”
“You’ve saved me already by giving me this position.”
He barked in laughter. “‘This position’, my darling, is not saving me.”
She sank against him laughing but presently struggled to sit up.
“Don’t.” He stroked her hair. “I’ve wanted to do this, kiss you, comfort you, for days and days.”
She sighed and snuggled against him, trusting and serene. The coach rolled on and he wished to order it to go on to the edge of the world where he’d become a genie and end all her troubles. “I know judges, Belle. MPs.”
“You must not speak to them of this. Or me.”
He inhaled. He was not used to losing to an opponent. Failure confused him. “It isn’t just pride, is it?”
“What isn’t?”
“Your refusal to let me help you.”
She sniffed, sat up and buttoned her coat. With a few twirls of her hair, she sought to tie it up. But it was so heavy, she so nervous, it escaped her fingers.
“I can help you do that, at the least,” he told her and angled her back toward him. He took hold of the long length of her hair and wound it around his wrist. He kissed her nape, her ear, her cheek. Would he ever be able to enjoy her at leisure? The softness, the delicacy, the fantasy of someone pure and bright and honest in his world rolled through him like a tide.
She nestled against him, tilting her head to one side and allowing him the liberty of feasting on her skin.
But seducing her was not a fair means to get her to agree. He withdrew his hand from her breast and turned her in his embrace. Lips to her forehead, he said, “Ma belle, answer me.”
She burrowed her cheek into his shoulder, one hand atop his aching heart. “Oh, Win. Think of who you are, your reputation, your years of fighting injustice.”
“I have, my darling.”
“Have you not railed against corruption and fought for fairness?”
He had. The moniker ‘Win’ meant so many things to his men, his commanders, his neighbors.
“I would never ask you nor be party to you bribing judges or any other to fix my case. You’d not live with yourself. And I would be ashamed to have asked you to debase yourself. I must do this alone.”
For the first time in his life, he was at a loss. He did not know how to win this argument. And he could not bear the fact that in addition, he may have lost any chance to win her.
Chapter 12
“The ivory satin waistcoat,” he told his valet. Win faced himself in his full-length mirror and wondered why he was dressing in his best for this dinner party when he should try
for sackcloth and ashes. He’d failed to woo the intrepid Miss Swanson. And he wanted no couples to show him tonight how happy they were with their mates, no former comrades-in-arms with old war stories. Not his mother or his grandmother. And definitely no single ladies.
“Here you are, sir.” Compton helped him into the garment and slid the silk-covered buttons closed. “What style would you like for your cravat, sir?”
“A simple knot. No need to tuck me up like a dandy.”
His man frowned at him. “As you wish, sir.”
Chin up, he let the valet work on him. Compton would take it as insult if he could not. And the man, a former warrant sergeant, could be testy. But being dressed like a fop for this party was folly. He’d scheduled it long ago to please his mother but he needed no candidates for wife from this evening’s guest list.
Even Daphne had sensed his dislike of this event. This morning at breakfast, she’d appealed to him with her own invitation as substitute.
“Can’t you play toy soldiers instead with Miss Swanson and me, my lord?”
Belle, her green eyes wide in surprise, gazed at him across the breakfast table. Since her visit to Hill and Gibbs, she’d closed herself off from him. They still went to Hyde Park together with Daphne, but their conversation was stilted. She stayed well away from the parlor and their chess game. Her conversation at meals was spare. Her smiles stiff, rationed.
“Let’s do that this afternoon, how’s that?” he offered Daphne.
“But tonight? You could cancel that party,” Daphne had persisted. “Cook says you search for a wife.”
“Does she?” He’d made note to speak with Cook about such references. But of course, he hadn’t followed through. Staff prided themselves to know what went on with the master of a household. And Cook had been discreet until now. “Once an invitation is issued, one does not cancel.”
Daphne sat, her head down. “Will you introduce me to the ladies you like?”
“Daphne, that is not done,” Belle said.
Her correction had little effect.
The little girl peered at him with soul-sad eyes. “If one of them is to be my guardian, too, I’d like to meet them.”
He did not like discussing ladies and marriage, not in front of Daphne or Belle. “When I secure the hand of the lady I choose for my wife, I promise I will introduce her to you.”
Belle’s gaze locked on his. Her expression was part gratitude for his words and part sorrow.
“How is that, sir?” his valet asked him and stepped aside so he could appraise himself in the mirror.
“Yes. Fine. My coat, please.”
The black garment made him look like a dandy. He was going to burn it in the morning.
He shot his cuffs and made for the door. Damn if he didn’t need the bravado of his years in the army to face this crowd tonight. His mother. His grandmother. Two older gentlemen, both widowers would be the ladies’ partners at table. His friend Blessington and his wife, Katherine would offer some relief. But then there were the two single ladies in question. Lady Dora and Miss Sarah Stewart. Plus their parents. He would rather stick pins in his knee than host this infernal dinner.
He took the stairs like a soldier resigned to battle.
“Steady on, Win,” Roddy said.
Oh, don’t start.
“We’ll let you know our choice for your wife, my dear,” Caro called to him.
Of that, I’m certain.
“I’d like a girl with gumption,” she continued.
“I’d like one with tits.” Roddy barked in laughter at his own joke. “So many of them have pimples. Fill a thimble. No fun!”
“Roddy,” Caro admonished her husband, “he’s glaring at you. Stop teasing. Go on, dear boy. Pick a girl.”
Belle.
“That’s right!” crowed Roddy. “I’d tup the governess, too.”
She won’t come near me. I scared her off in my carriage. And now there’s this funny business whatever it is. I wish I could just visit Charles Hill and ask. But Belle would hate me.
“Not to worry, Win,” Roddy said. “She’ll stay.”
I do not put money on that.
In the foyer, Shrew stood at the ready with Fowler, the footman, right behind.
“Cook is prepared?” Win asked Shrew.
“She is, my lord.”
A clatter came from the top of the stairs.
A horse whinnied in the street.
“Our first guest arrives,” said Shrew.
Win prayed it was not Dora and Sarah at the same time. There was only so much charm a man could exude without breaking the plaster of his face.
Voices rose. A few people climbed the front steps.
Shrew opened the door and in stepped his mother, her escort Lord Cinster, and Lady Dora Penrose and her parents.
“Mama, Lord Cinster, good evening. Lady and Lord Danbury wonderful to have you tonight. Lady Dora, welcome.”
Shrew and the footman took capes and cloaks, hats and gloves, while every one did the honors of greeting each other.
At the door, Fowler greeted Lord and Lady Blessington. Divested of their wraps, the couple came to stand with the others, do polite introductions and converse.
A clatter and a woof pierced the air. A thumpety-thumpety-thump of feet upon the hall carpet and Daphne, Kringle and Pan stood by his side. He grinned at the appearance his phalanx must make.
His ward was in her white muslin nightgown, her mane of blonde curls tied up in a pink bow, her feet bare and her large doe’s eyes on Lady Dora.
“Good evening,” she said and curtsied, precise and polite as any debutante making her bow to the Regent. “I am pleased to meet you.”
“Cartwell?” his mother asked, her voice shrill with disbelief.
Lord Danbury sniffed, throwing a disparaging glance at his wife.
That lady tried to smile, but her lips could not stretch that far.
Their daughter Dora, however, smiled down at Daphne with interest, if not compassion. “We are delighted to meet you.”
His friend Bless grinned while his wife focused on Daphne and bid her good evening.
Win took hold of Daphne’s hand. She’d stunned them all and he reveled in her spontaneity. “Miss Daphne was interested in meeting all of you.”
His mother glared at him.
Her escort, Lord Cinster, could not suppress a grin. “I often wished I could’ve met my parents’ friends. Wise of you Miss Daphne to take such care of your guardian.”
“He is a good man,” she told him with the conviction of a woman three times her age.
Win tugged at her hand. “You’ve met everyone, my dear. Time to go up.”
He detected footfalls upon the stairs.
All eyes trained upward. Belle. Who else.
He did not turn. He didn’t have to.
The reactions to her appearance told him more about those before him than any he had heretofore imagined. His mother took one look and froze. Her escort took his jolly good time as if he were memorizing each inch of her. Lord Danbury bristled. His wife glanced about, curious and lost. While her daughter, Lady Dora could not take her gaze away from his governess.
“I do apologize for the intrusion, my lord.” Belle appeared at his side. Her long black hair hung in soft waves over her shoulders and down the bodice of her modestly buttoned red damask robe. She looked as if the very devil had pursued her down the steps, along with the monkey and the dog.
“Our governess,” Win said to his guests, pride and humor in his tone.
Introductions went round, all in proper form.
Lady Blessington gave a particularly glorious grin winging toward Belle.
But his mother fumed, “Do make those creatures go away.”
Her demand inspired Win’s outrage. “Mama, please!”
Shrew stepped to the rescue between the lady and the dog. “Pardon, my lord.”
“Good night,” Belle bid them all and shooed her charges up the stairs.
&
nbsp; Daphne went away easily, a vast surprise. “I know you’re angry, Miss Swanson,” she said, her little voice trailing down as they climbed the stairs.
Win hoped Belle wasn’t too harsh on the child. He appreciated her intrusion. It taught him much. But he would deal immediately with his over-zealous mother.
“Show our guests into the drawing room, Shrewsbury. Mama, a word.”
The butler led the others away, his mother and her escort hanging back.
His mother bristled. “Really, Win! That child. How unsavory!”
“I say, Margaret,” said his mother’s escort with a chuckle. “I thought the girl right on the money. Interested in who her guardian chooses.”
“She has no voice in this matter, Oliver. Or any other and you know it.”
“Only until she encounters the woman, whoever she may be. Then she’ll have much to say.”
“I do hope not,” his mother sniffed. “That child should be in bed. Asleep. Here she is, running about in her bare feet and night rail, to say nothing of the governess who does the same!”
Had Belle run down here in bare feet? He smiled.
“Ohh!” His mother bristled. “You must know.”
“Know what, Mama? That you are rude? Arrogant in my home?”
“What? What? You must be aware that you’ve been seen? All three of you together in Hyde Park.”
“Ah. That’s it.” Belle was his employee, his governess, allowed to be in his carriage without chaperone. But to be in the park with him as if she were his equal? Oh, terrors! The old dragons had had a juicy bone to chew on that. “She will come to the park with me or wherever and whenever else I declare!”
A knock came upon the front door. Exasperated, Win rushed to open it.
“Grandmama, do come in.” He assisted her across the threshold. “You save me from Bedlam.”
“I shall die happy for it.” His grandmother chuckled. With a greeting to her daughter, she turned her back. “Do take my cape. My gloves. Where is Shrew? What’s he doing? Why is he not at his post, hmmm?”
“Good evening, Mama,” said his mother. “You’re late. You know how Win hates that.”
“I do.” She patted her white hair and had a gay eye for both her daughter and him. “Are you two arguing?”
His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2 Page 14
