“No,” said his mother.
“Yes,” said he.
“Well, then! Everything is normal. Let’s go in. More guests are in the drawing room already, I imagine, eh?”
“Wait, Mother.” His mother put out a hand to her own. “I need you to support me. The child appeared here tonight and then the governess.”
“Ha! Did they? What of it?”
“Not a good showing, Mother, for Win. How he runs the house.”
“A man cannot control every action of a child, Margaret. Well you know that first hand from Reggie.”
“Reggie? What’s he got to do with this?”
His grandmother dug her fan from her reticule. “Win is master in his own house. Isn’t that what your husband told us all when Reggie misbehaved? Then Edward took out his whip and you did not object?”
“That—that was just Reggie.” His mother faltered, blinking. “In rebellion. Edward instilled backbone.”
“That’s not all he instilled, Margaret. I say, shall we go in and have this lovely family argument another night, hmm?”
His mother, scowling at him, yet unsure, stood her ground and said, “You must not spare the rod.”
Win loathed the very words. “Even were she a boy, I would not put a mark on her.”
“But—”
His grandmother’s actions had cooled his ire to slightly less than boiling. And in that vein, instead of yelling, he put up a hand. “I’ve seen men stripped and flogged. I’ve seen men die of the repercussions. Such extremes warp a mind and damage the body. I will not do it. I will not order it. So. There you are, Mama. And here is Shrewsbury returned. Just in time to save me from scandal. Go in to my guests, Mama—or leave.”
She had the wisdom to turn on her heel into the parlor.
He stood there three, four, five minutes. Other guests arrived. He greeted them, he smiled, he talked, he fumed.
He disliked when others attempted to control him. Especially when it came from those who were wrong or weak. When he’d gained rank and could give his own orders, he made damn certain they were the most viable he could devise. As a civilian, he would do no less.
Sounds upon the landing made him look up. The dog sat, straight as a sentry on duty, beneath Roddy’s portrait. His large black eyes met Win’s and held in dour communion. Next to Kringle sat the monkey. His chatter gave Win to know that he, too, had views about the people whom he’d met. If Daphne was there in earshot, he was pleased for it. If Belle was, he was embarrassed at his mother’s brazenness. Hopeful that Belle had heard statements to her liking.
Shrew stood once more before him. “The guests have sherry, sir.”
Win armed himself for the banalities of drawing room chatter. “Good. Let’s get this done, shall we?”
* * *
Dinner progressed without incident. Everyone exclaimed over the turtle soup, the roulade of beef and the sole in lemons and peas.
When dinner was done, Win led them all into the parlor where Shrew served whiskey to the men and lemonade to the ladies. There, Win maneuvered himself into sitting beside Lady Blessington. Her husband had sent him a letter days ago to say his wife Katherine would reveal nothing more about her acquaintance and referral of Isabelle Swanson. In her reluctance, Win sensed a hint of subterfuge. He needed to confront her and seek any help she might offer.
“I understand you fare well with your new baby,” he told her. “You look even more recovered than when I last saw you a few weeks ago.”
“I feel well. Recovery after each child takes me longer. But I’m pleased to come out in the world.”
“I must ask you about our mutual acquaintance.”
She glanced discreetly to and fro to note who might overhear. “I would guess she is wonderful, isn’t she?”
“Indeed.”
“I hear some reticence. Is there a problem?”
“Not with her. Not with me. I care for her, my lady. And she refuses my attentions because she has been so maligned.”
“Oh, dear. I am not surprised you admire her. She is sensitive, kind, a colorful butterfly one must let free to dance upon the air.”
He envisioned her swaying in his hall at midnight. “She danced once carefree upstairs.” Not since.
“Her wings were clipped,” she said with anger. “I worry about her. Have since the reading of her grandfather’s will. But I shouldn’t discuss her problem.”
“I would not ask you to betray a promise to her, but please tell me what you feel you can,” he begged. “I wish to help and I don’t know how because I have little knowledge of what happened to her.”
“Horrid, it was, too. When I saw her on the stairs tonight, I nearly cried.” The lady bit her lip. “She did not deserve what happened to her. She comes from an old fine family.”
“Does she?”
She leaned closer to him. “You must not doubt that.”
His anger taunted him to press the point. “A member of a fine family does not cast out an innocent woman from her home with a few clothes and no penny to her name.”
She nodded. “Nor do the estate manager and her fiancé deprive her of her dignity.”
She’d been betrayed by so many. Win ached for her.
“It’s one thing to steal one’s home and livelihood, but to steal one’s honor, too? I’d tear the world apart with my bare hands.”
No wonder Belle distrusted men. She’d been betrayed by one who once loved her well, by one who had professed to and by another whose job was to ensure a her financial future.
“How do you know this?” he asked.
“Belle and I have been friends since childhood. And my aunt and uncle live in Crawley near her former home. The local gossip is rife with this outrage.”
Anger gutted him. “She won’t let me help her.
“Not surprising. Belle is an only child, Lord Cartwell. And stubborn. She demands to do for herself. Well I know it as she would not let me do anything except for the referral for your position. Belle is a woman to savor.”
“I hope to savor her as my bride.”
She sighed. “I do wish you well of that, my lord. I’d love to see Belle happy.
* * *
The clock had struck eleven when Belle heard voices from the hall drift up the stairs. The guests were departing. Finally.
She had tried occupying her mind with a book. But she could not concentrate. She put it down to pace the library floor and a few times went to the top of the stairs to listen to the sounds of merriment below. Jealousy was a new emotion for her and she didn’t know how to squelch the burn of it in her heart.
She’d done a stern job of reprimanding Kringle, Pan and their little owner. Then she’d put Daphne to bed. Both creatures crept away from Daphne’s bedroom when Belle’s back was turned. She’d found Kringle on the landing, sitting tall and lean, black eyes vigilant, while Pan—dare she believe it—sat talking to the portraits. They, however, said nothing to her as she shooed the two animals away.
“Good thing,” Belle murmured, then returned to the library and her book. So she’d sat and waited, hoping to catch a moment with Win before he went to his rooms.
At last, she perceived his footfalls upon the stairs.
He headed straight for the library. Thanks heavens. He needed a drink.
She got to her feet, straightened her robe and pushed her long braid over her shoulder.
“So.” He paused on the threshold a moment to examine her, his gaze grave. He headed for the side cart and the brandy bottle. “I hoped you’d be here.”
“I’m very eager to apo—”
He froze. “If you so much as breathe the rest of that word, I shall shout the house down.”
“Very well. But you know why I’m here.”
“I do. Let us simply say, well done.”
“What?” That was a shock.
He poured. Generously. For him and her. Then walked over and placed the tiny glass in her hand. “You heard me.”
She drank.
The burning taste of good brandy afforded her the relaxation she needed. “You were kind to Daphne.”
He made a sound much like hmm.
“She was happy.”
He took a chair and held out a hand to her to indicate she take the other seat.
Belle took another drink. “She knew she was being forward.”
He sipped his liquor, his detachment singular and unnerving. She liked him better when he was warm and kind, admiring her. “My mother was eager to have me punish her for her crime.”
“Will you?” Belle knew it was a possibility but yet not probable. Not given his rational behavior.
“No. I will not. You won’t either.”
“I did chastise her.”
“Enough then. I will talk to her. I want you present. I do not wish such a thing to happen again. Not here. Not in the country.”
From his tone, that seemed to be his final word on the incident.
“Well then. Thank you.” She put her glass down and rose. “I shall retire.”
“Please sit.” He eyed her in cool detachment as she resumed her seat. “I’d like your thoughts on Lady Dora.”
That cut her to the quick. Jealousy loomed like a monster with long talons.
He swirled his brandy and trained his blue eyes on hers.
Belle cleared her throat. “Lady Dora was kind to Daphne. She’s very pretty.”
“Any others?”
Belle started to proclaim herself innocent of knowledge but could not quell her resentment that incited her to speak. “Someone plays the pianoforte very well.”
“Do you play better than she?”
Pride blossomed. “I do.”
“Do you think that skill also conveys to running a household?”
“Not at all,” she blurted and was immediately sorry. “But such diligence to practice and learn how to do it well, speaks for the lady’s—”
“Rubbish.”
“Oh.” She let out a laugh. But cleared her throat and took a swig of her brandy. “Doing this badly,” she said to herself.
And he must’ve heard her because, chuckling, he rose to pour himself another. “You’ve finished, too. Give it to me.”
She handed over her glass. Was he going to think her unsuitable if she could drink two glasses of brandy like this?
“You have a hollow leg.”
“Oh, I—”
“No apologies! I think you could drink me dry, Miss Swanson.”
They were back to formal address, were they? She wasn’t thrilled at that.
“I’ve seen many a man slide from his chair after one of these. You have had two.” He gave her a much too generous draught. “How many can you drink?”
“Oh, no more. Just this.” She raised her glass in toast. She’d drink only a little. Half. Perhaps...
He remained before her, sweetly close. So near she could reach out and touch his waistcoat, put her palm to the sculpted planes of his chest, feel his heartbeat and.... She took another gulp.
He had not moved and she felt the pierce of his gaze on her. “Daphne has not walked in her sleep in more than a week.”
She tipped up her head to grin at him. Why was he so kind to her and she, so unworthy of such a magnificent man? “You noticed. Yes, she’s becoming accustomed to the house and you.”
“And you.” He pointed to her glass. “Drink that slowly, will you, just to humor me?”
“I will.” She took another grateful sip.
He resumed his chair, his long legs out before him, accentuating his muscularity and his masculine appeal. But she could still smell his cologne. He was perfection, delight in every way, and she sat here in her night clothes. Pitiful. She took another draught of the very good brandy and admonished herself to give up liquor…in future.
“When you lived with your grandfather in the country, did you have many suitors?”
“What do other men matter?” She winced. Too much honesty.
“Were there?” he persisted. “Many?”
“When I turned eighteen and became eligible, I entertained a few young men in our drawing room.”
He pursed his lips. “Did you ever ask yourself how one of your suitors would fare as a husband?”
“Always. I was terrified of leaving home, especially with a man I hardly knew.”
“But you decided among them which you preferred.”
“I did.”
“How?”
“The usual.” She waved a hand in the air. Took another drink. “I examined their behavior.”
“Such as?”
“Did they dance? Did they like to? Or did they prefer to play chess?” She added that last with the poignant knowledge she’d not play that game with him much longer.
“Ah. And did they?”
She pouted. “No. They bored me.”
“What else?”
“Did they like to ride? Shoot? Hunt?”
“Are those what you enjoy?”
“Yes. Aside from books.”
“And what did they say?”
“As I recall, no one liked to read. Except the gossip sheets.”
“And the man whom you would have considered husband material more than others, why was he so appealing?”
Her old anger that her intended deserted her did not attack her as it once had. Instead, she recalled the criteria that she’d used to decide on her suitors. The heat of her blush rose to her hair.
He laughed. “A lovely color on you, my dear. Come. You must tell me.”
She blew back a wisp of hair that had escaped her braid and said, “I liked how he kissed.”
Win locked his gaze on hers. “Kissed him often, did you?”
“A few times.”
“As we did in the coach the other day?”
“No, none like that. That was glorious and…”
“Intimate.”
As was this conversation. Even in her haze, she knew she should leave. So she knocked back her brandy and got to her feet. The liquor, the subject and the man made her dizzy. She steadied herself, a hand to the back of her chair.
“You can’t go. We’re not finished talking. And I need your advice.”
“Mine?”
“None other. Tell me, Belle, how do you think Lady Dora kisses?”
She snorted. “Quickly. Like a chicken pecks the earth. Pert little pecks.”
He barked in laughter. “And the pianist?”
“I heard her,” she admitted and let her imagination fly. “Is she pretty?”
“Not as lovely as you, my darling.”
She swayed, the urge to run to him and kiss him wild in her veins.
“What of her skills at the piano?”
“Ba! Middling,” she declared.
“How would she kiss?” he asked, merciless.
She’d check him, just as bold. “Sight unseen? I’d say, like a fish.”
He snorted. “Precisely.”
“You’ve kissed them?” Oh, she was green in her envy.
He rose to his feet and took two steps toward her. There, he sent his large warm hands up her arms to her throat and along the line of her jaw. He cupped her head. “If I did, can you care?”
The memory of his lips upon hers had her pulse jumping. Need filled her to the quick. “I think the most important question is how would you kiss them? As you did me?”
“Exactly. And would they meet me, as eager as you?”
“I don’t see why they wouldn’t.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “They’d be fools not to.”
He nestled her against his iron hard body. His lips were much too close, his breath intoxicating, the cherishing look in his eyes mesmerizing. “I’d be a fool to marry a woman who kisses like a pigeon or a fish.”
“Why settle for less than passion?”
“No one should.”
“Least of all you.” She rose on her toes, captured his jaw in her hands and kissed him.
He opened his mouth to her and l
et her have all of him. His lips, his tongue, his madness to take her in a ravishing demand for total surrender. She couldn’t breathe and gasped, winding her arms around his shoulders. Pressing her hungry body to his own, she writhed in joy that she could have him once like this. He anchored her head between rough hands and consumed her mouth. Her knees buckled. But he yanked back, yet held her as if she were fine crystal. “Look at me, my darling. I want a woman who kisses like you.”
The rapture of the moment dead, sobriety elusive, she dropped her hands to her sides. Here was where she must take a stand. “But you’d want me in my wholeness. Just as you’d give all of yours to a bride.”
He caught her hands, turned them over and dropped a kiss into each palm. “Money, property is not the sum of character, my sweet.”
She could so easily succumb to his plea and revel in the love affair he offered. But for how long? “Once, for many years, risking life and limb, you fought for what you believed was right and honorable. Recognize that in this, so too must I.”
“And if you fail? You will have tried, my darling. And I will want you no matter the outcome.”
She stepped backward, away from temptation to stay and let him persuade her to accept less than she required for her own integrity. “And if I cannot come to you whole, I may forever feel the lack. Then you may come to care less for me than you do now. And that I could not bear.”
Chapter 13
Their informality must end. To begin that change the next morning, she’d dressed before dawn and had taken her meal in the kitchen alone.
Daphne sought out Belle in her room after she’d eaten with Lord Cartwell and asked why she’d not appeared.
“I arose early and wanted to get a good start on packing for our trip today.”
Daphne took the excuse but tipped her bright blonde head in question.
“Hurry and finish your own packing. We must be off soon!”
Minutes later, Belle climbed into the coach with his lordship and Daphne. With a few hours of travel before them, she swore herself to some semblance of normality. Acting had never been her forte, however. How could she pretend indifference when Win—correction, Lord Cartwell—focused on the passing scenery and never her? Never her. He was taming himself to ignore her. Forget her. Why shouldn’t he? She had refused him, blocked him, denied him time and again. She shouldn’t expect him to continue his quest when she gave him no hope.
His Tempting Governess: Delightful Doings in Dudley Crescent, Book 2 Page 15
