Damn it, how could he have known the rascals would scatter as soon as their wriggling bodies entered the Separate Room? How could he have known what lay inside? All right, so they’d been met by three severed wax heads impaled on tall poles. Wax figures of criminals had lined the walls bearing bloody axes, bloody swords, bloody everything. Wax blood stained the hacked-off limbs of their victims, and wax blood dripped off the guillotine blade at one end of the hall.
Was it his fault Madame Tussaud possessed a seemingly endless vat of red wax? And a flare for the dramatic?
Apparently so, judging from the way Felicity had glared at him, then stormed about the room catching each boy by the scruff of the neck and herding them toward the entrance. By then it had been too late. By the time she’d caught Georgie, the boys had been exposed a good fifteen minutes to the horrors of the Separate Room.
Thus had begun Ian’s exile from Felicity’s affections. She’d spoken to him only in one-word utterances. She’d barely touched the supper of mutton pies, apple tarts, and tea at a popular cookshop, though the boys attacked theirs with gusto. Now she sat like one of Madame’s cursed statues, as far from him as possible.
Everything had gone so well until then. He couldn’t believe he’d ruined his plans for the evening with so heedless an act.
James spoke up from beside Ian. “Well, you shouldn’t be angry about me, Lissy. I’m old enough to go in the Separate Room if I like. I’m not a child anymore.”
Ian stifled a groan when Felicity flinched. Wonderful. Why must James choose this inopportune moment to assert his independence from his sister?
James continued in the unevenly pitched voice that amply illustrated his youth. “It’s not as if you’re our mother or anything. If I hadn’t been forced to leave Islington Academy, I could have gone on my own to the exhibit, you know. And then no one would have prevented me from seeing the Separate Room.”
At the mention of Islington Academy, a silence as heavy as this year’s winter snow fell on the carriage. Even the triplets stopped fidgeting. Ian glanced at Felicity, whose eyes had gone wide with clear alarm.
He turned to stare at James. “Why were you forced to leave Islington Academy? You’re a bright lad and well-mannered. Surely they’d have no reason to throw you out.”
Panic made the boy jerk upright in his seat. “Well, I…I—”
“You misunderstood him, Ian,” Felicity interrupted. “He didn’t leave. He’s merely home on holiday.”
“Yes, th-that’s it,” James added, stumbling over the words. “For Christmas.”
The brother lied as badly as his sister. Ian stared down at the beardless lad whose defense of his family was so transparent. “You know it isn’t right to tell tales, James. I want the truth—did you leave the academy because your sister needs money?”
James shot his sister a helpless glance. “Lissy—”
“It’s all right, James.” The lamplight caught Felicity’s shuttered expression. “Really, Lord St. Clair, there’s no need to badger the poor boy. If you want to know something, ask me.”
“All right. Do you need money?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll find out the truth anyway.”
She glanced out the window, her fingers clutching her reticule as if to protect it from a thief. “We don’t need…that is…at the moment we’re short of funds, because we’re waiting for Papa’s estate to be settled. But as soon as the money comes to us—”
“Settled? But he’s been dead over a year!”
“Yes, it’s some legal mess. The lawyers will sort it out. In the meantime, my columns support us.”
He snorted. As if that could support a household as large as theirs. “Perhaps you need someone to intervene on your behalf and hasten the process. I could speak to your father’s trustee—”
“No! You’ve no right to interfere. We’re fine, I assure you.”
“But Lissy—” James began.
“We’re fine,” she gritted out, casting her brother a warning glance. “I’m sure the money will come through any day, and James will be back at Islington Academy.”
“Very well. Do as you see fit.” He dropped the subject. No point in annoying her further when a few words with Mrs. Box would tell him what he needed to know.
Though the boys seemed to relax, Felicity began to fidget. She fiddled with the clasp to her reticule. She fussed with Georgie’s clothing, plucking a leaf from his hose and finger-combing his hair until he grumbled. The one thing she didn’t do was look at Ian. There was more to this than she’d admitted. He intended to get to the bottom of it tonight, but how could he wrangle an invitation inside when she was so uneasy?
Minutes later, he got his answer when something dropped onto his legs. He looked down to find William fallen over in sleep, his head nestled comfortably in Ian’s lap. The poor lad; it must be nearly his bedtime. An idea struck Ian suddenly.
“Is William asleep?” Felicity asked, leaning forward. “Do you wish me to take him from you?”
“No, he’s fine where he is.” Ian kept his voice low, not wanting to awaken his little ticket into the Taylor house. “I suppose it was a long and tiring day for him.”
“I told you it would be.”
“You also told me it would be boring, and it was anything but that.”
A thin blade of a smile cracked her reserve. “I doubt anyone could find the Separate Room boring. Appalling perhaps, but not boring.”
“What’s ‘appalling’ mean?” Georgie asked.
“It means that all the blood horrified your sister,” Ian answered before she could.
“It wasn’t real blood, Lissy.” Georgie patted his sister’s knee reassuringly. “’Twere only wax. You mustn’t be frightened by it.”
Ian couldn’t help it—he laughed, though softly to keep from awakening William. Soon she joined him. The sound of her muted chuckles warmed him clear to the heart, and made him yearn to reestablish their earlier closeness.
When the laughter died off, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about the exhibit. Even if I didn’t agree with your reasons for refusing to take them in the Separate Room, I shouldn’t have pressed you.”
She acknowledged his apology with a wry smile. “It’s all right. You couldn’t have known what it would be like.” She looked down at Georgie. “And I daresay this little rascal would have found some way in there anyway, permission or no.”
“Probably,” Ian said, feeling a little better about the afternoon.
The companionable silence that ensued was strangely soothing. Who would have thought that rumbling along in a carriage with three little hellions, a scholar-in-the-making, and their prim sister could be so pleasant? He hadn’t been around children in years, not since his youth, when he’d spent time with his young cousins. To his surprise, he realized he missed it.
The carriage shuddered to a halt and he glanced out to see bright lamps illuminating the Gothic entrance to Taylor Hall. The carriage door opened, and the boys climbed out, uncharacteristically drooping. With the help of the coachman, Felicity disembarked, then turned to reach for William. Ian stayed her with his hand. “I’ll carry him in.”
“I hate to inconvenience you,” she protested. “The nursery’s two flights up.”
“I don’t mind, and besides, you have to look after the others.”
From her grateful smile, he guessed she hadn’t been looking forward to hauling a child of four stone or more upstairs. She stepped aside as the coachman took William, allowing Ian to climb down. When the child was once more in Ian’s arms he uttered a little sigh, then snuggled against Ian’s chest with a sleepy expression of trust.
Ian gazed down in awe at the small fist balled against his cravat and the smooth cheeks smeared with remnants of apple tart. A surge of tenderness made him clutch the boy close. One day, it would be his son he held in his arms. His and Felicity’s.
The thought hit him like a whirlwind. After today, he had no doubt she would be a goo
d mother. But could he be a good father? He wanted the chance to find out.
Striding up the outer steps, he entered the hall. “Where to?” he asked Felicity, who was handing her cloak to the footman, a spindly creature woefully inadequate to handle the physical demands of his position. Was this the man Felicity had threatened to have throw him out the last time Ian was here? The thought made him smile.
“Follow me,” she said, lifting a candelabra and heading for the main staircase.
I’ve breached the fortress, he thought with satisfaction as the massive oak doors closed behind them. Shifting William from arm to arm, he shrugged out of his greatcoat so the footman could take it. Now all I have to do is stay inside long enough to make headway with Felicity.
Mrs. Box hastened into the hall. “Well, good evening, milord.” The last time he’d seen the woman, Felicity had been railing at him. Yet the housekeeper showed no surprise at his carrying one of her charges into the house bold as brass.
He greeted her, and she smiled broadly at him. He had just enough time to register that she still liked him before she went right to work shooing the boys up the stairs. “It’s long past your bedtime, lads. Come along, and don’t give me no fuss now.”
As they climbed, James related to Mrs. Box the day’s events. When the boy spoke of how Ian had bought them supper and taken them home in his carriage, Mrs. Box said, “Now ain’t that gentlemanly of his lordship.” On impulse, he winked at her. When she winked back, he smiled.
Well, well, he had an ally. Good—he needed all the help he could get in arranging time alone with Felicity without the children. Especially when Felicity seemed overly eager to be rid of him. Staying well ahead of him, she raced up the steps.
As he studied the slim, erect back encased in a woolen gown and guarded by a long row of pearl buttons, his mind indulged pleasant thoughts. He would undo all those little buttons and peel back the well-worn dress to find the thin chemise. She wore no corset, he was fairly certain. The chemise he would dispense with at once, so he could see her fine shoulders and kiss down the ridge of her spine to her adorable derriere.
He went hard at the thought.
Oh, yes, he’d do all that and more, perhaps even tonight. Once her brothers were settled, she’d either accept his proposal or he’d seduce her into accepting it. But one way or the other, he’d end this farce before he left Taylor Hall.
It shouldn’t be too difficult to convince her to marry him this time. Ample support for his suit lay all around him. The banister creaked beneath her hand, showing itself badly in need of repair. On the first floor, one of the paintings that had hung on the wall near her study on his last visit was now missing, with only a darker square of wallpaper to mark its passing. They’d decorated the house with holly and ivy cuttings for the season, but even those couldn’t hide the threadbare condition of the drapes or the paint peeling off the moldings.
He’d wager his estate that the downturn in the Taylor finances had begun long before her father’s death. Indeed, he questioned the size of their inheritance. And if they needed money, they needed him. That wasn’t his first choice for a weapon—he’d rather use seduction—but he’d rely on it if necessary. First, however, he must get her alone.
James obliged him by going off to his own bedchamber as they left the first floor. Now there were only the triplets to squire away, an easy task with one of them already asleep, and the other two trundling along drowsily.
As soon as they reached the top floor, Felicity ushered him into a nursery with three identical beds. She hurried to turn down the covers on one. “Lay him here, please.”
After he set his warm bundle down, she faced him, looking suddenly awkward. “Thank you, Lord St. Clair. I appreciated the help. And thank you for the supper and the ride home. We all enjoyed it.”
She shot Georgie and Ansel a quick glance. “Tell his lordship thank you and good night.”
They obeyed at once, with Georgie giving broad hints concerning future outings. A word from his sister, however, silenced him.
“Well then,” she said, “I must put the boys to bed now, so Mrs. Box will show you out. It was a lovely day, but I’m sure you’re eager to be off.”
“Not at all. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”
A look of panic crossed her face. “There’s no need. It will take some time for me to settle the boys in. They must have their faces washed, and—”
“I’ll tend to all that.” Mrs. Box bustled toward the other beds with great efficiency. “You go on downstairs with his lordship. After all he done for you and the boys today, the least you can offer him is a bit of that good claret before he goes out in the cold.” She winked at him again. “Now wouldn’t that be nice, Lord St. Clair?”
He smiled. “Oh, yes. Claret would be perfect.” Claret and Felicity. Not as good a combination as brandy and Felicity, but it would do for a start. Later, they could have brandy…and in the morning, breakfast. He doubted that Mrs. Box intended that outcome, but he found it more appealing by the minute.
“I’ll see if we have any claret,” Felicity said noncommittally, avoiding his gaze.
When they reached the hall and she’d closed the door to the nursery, he launched into a conversation meant to forestall any attempts to rush him out the door. “This is a beautiful house. Did your father design it?”
“Yes.” She offered nothing else, hurrying to the stairs.
He followed her. “I thought as much. That same griffin design is on the knocker at Worthing Manor. Your father must have liked griffins.”
“Yes.” Again, she said nothing more, but lifted her skirts and descended the steps at an astonishing pace.
Catching up to her, he clasped her arm to halt her. “Felicity, we need to talk.”
“No, you must go. You must—”
Whatever protest she was about to make was cut off when a child’s high-pitched scream rent the night.
Chapter 16
Lord Byron’s latest poetic endeavor is said to concern Don Juan, the legendary lover. Such a work will surely brighten Byron’s fame, since everyone knows Spanish lovers are the most fiery.
LORD X, THE EVENING GAZETTE,
DECEMBER 22, 1820
“Th-the monster h-had three heads,” William was sobbing into Mrs. Box’s shoulder when Felicity and Ian hurried into the room, “and a b-big red arm. It was ch-chopping like an ax and…and…” His face crumpled as he broke into a low wail.
The mournful sound pierced Felicity to the heart. “Oh, my sweet darling,” she cried, rushing to his bed. She waved Mrs. Box away and in seconds was cradling the boy against her breast. “It’s all right—Lissy’s here now to take care of you. The monster can’t hurt you.”
“Poor dear,” Mrs. Box clucked. “Had a nightmare, he did.”
“Yes.” Harsh, accusing words rose to Felicity’s lips as she sought Ian in the dim room, but they remained unsaid when she saw him standing woodenly inside the door, his hands shoved in his pockets. Every line of his dusky features bore the marks of guilt. He met her gaze with eyes so remorseful, she couldn’t be angry.
Besides, she was as much to blame as he, for allowing him to influence her decision. At least he hadn’t known what could happen. She had no such excuse.
“I-It was gonna ch-chop me up,” William whispered. “It was comin’ to—”
“Shh, sweet boy, you must forget all about it. It was only a dream.” Felicity rocked the child in her arms as she crooned in his ear. “It’s all right. I’ll protect you.”
She felt Ian’s eyes on her, reminding her that he’d wanted to speak to her privately. Not tonight, she thought, not when her emotions were so easily affected. She cast Mrs. Box a wan smile. “I’ve got William now. I know you have much to do, so you may go on and show Lord St. Clair out.”
Mrs. Box nodded and headed for the door.
“No-o-o!” William wailed, pushing away from Felicity to waggle an arm at the door.
“You want Mrs. Box to sta
y?” Felicity asked.
“I-I want L-Lord St. Clair,” William stammered.
Felicity groaned. The man had captivated her fatherless brothers as easily as he’d captivated her. “Come here, Ian,” she said resignedly, no longer worrying if anyone heard her use his Christian name.
Looking obviously perturbed, Ian glanced over to where the other boys were settling down beneath covers tucked up to their tiny chins. Then he walked toward her. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted as he reached the bed.
“Sit down.” Felicity nodded to indicate the other side of the feather mattress. “Just hold his hand.”
“I’ll be leavin’ now—” Mrs. Box began, and before Felicity could protest, had deserted her.
With an odd quiver in her belly, Felicity watched the door close behind the housekeeper. The dim lighting and confined space lent an intimacy to the nursery she’d never noticed. Having Ian help her with William was cozy and oddly satisfying.
Ian, however, seemed uncomfortable. Clasping William’s pale hand in his own dark one, he stared at it as if it were a padlock to which he’d lost the key. “I’m here, William,” he said, surprising her with the gentleness of his voice.
A shudder went through William’s small frame. He lifted his tear-streaked face to Ian. “It was a monster.”
“I know, but it’s gone now.”
“It wasn’t real,” Felicity added, annoyed that Ian spoke as if the creature existed.
“It was real!” William protested with a pout. He fixed his gaze on Ian. “And…and it’ll come back to h-hurt me.”
Shooting her a warning glance, Ian said, “No, it won’t. We scared it off for good, Mrs. Box and your sister and I.”
“Yes, but it’ll come back,” the boy persisted. “It wants to ch-chop me up. Like it chopped up all those people in the Separate Room.”
Amber candlelight caught Ian’s stricken expression. He ruffled William’s hair. “I tell you what. I’ll stay here for a while, and if the monster comes back, I’ll tell it not to bother you anymore. I’ll be very firm.”
The Dangerous Lord Page 21
