Part 2 (2/2)

”Yes, I did,” she said around a lemon tart that tasted so crisp and sharp, it nearly made her eyes water. It was the best lemon tart she'd ever eaten in her life. She immediately reached for another. To her surprise, his hand covered her. ”No, you don't want to fill yourself on just one thing. Here, try the apple patty. Cook has a way with the pastry that makes your belly sing.”

She ate the apple patty in two bites. She reached for another, then drew her own hand back. It required all her resolution not to grab for that single small slice of what looked to be raisins and pears, all stuffed inside a round pastry.

”You're smart to desist. I admire anyone with such willpower. A friend of mine, Phillip Mercerault, is also the proud and possessive employer of an excellent cook. We've talked about a compet.i.tion between the two kitchens but haven't done it yet. Like Phillip, I'm very careful when I'm here, as was my father before me.” He paused a moment, then gave her that devastating grin again. ”My father always told me that ladies didn't particularly take to gentlemen with fat on their bellies.”

”You don't have any.”

”Thank you for noticing.”

”But I really can't be certain. You're still wearing your cloak.”

That was well done of her. He rose and untied his cloak, tossing it over the back of the settee. He stood there a moment, letting her look at him. ”I suppose you are still without fat.” ”Naturally, I was a dutiful son. I always attended my father.” He sat back down, folding his hands over his belly. ”Now, about your husband.”

”I met him here, since we lived in Kent. We married here.”

”What was his full name?”

”Andre de la Valette. His father was the Comte de la Valette. The line is now dead. It is a pity.” Say no more, Houchard had told her. Let him wonder. It will amuse him to wonder. He is a man easily bored.

”I see. Now, I suppose I must ask you why you are here.”

She sat forward in her chair. ”As you know, your grace, I have never seen my cousin Edmund. Mama was quite ill throughout those years, and I could not leave her. Also, I believe, there was some sort of falling out with your family, and such visits, had they been possible, were discouraged.”

She saw a sudden flash of anger in the duke's eyes. ”I don't suppose that your father or your esteemed uncle told you the reason for the estrangement? Oh, yes, most a.s.suredly there is one, of many years standing.”

She shook her head. ”I should like to know, your grace, for I was very fond of Marissa and missed her. I always wanted to meet her son.”

The duke laughed. It wasn't a nice laugh, but an angry one, that held not a whit of humor. Then he shrugged and drank some of his tea. ”Perhaps someday you will know. If you father did not tell you, it is not my place to do so. As for your cousin and my son, he is the very best of lads, five years old now.”

She heard the softening of his voice, saw the pride in his dark eyes. He loved his son. She waited. He set down his empty teacup. ”Now, no more thras.h.i.+ng the bushes, Madame. I don't imagine you came here to see the view from my windows, although it is spectacular when the blasted rain doesn't turn everything gray. Tell me what I can do to a.s.sist you.”

She looked at him full face and said baldly, ”I have no money. After my father's death the French took everything left, not that there was very much. They claimed that my father and I weren't really loyal to the country of our birth, and thus with his death I would get nothing from his estate.” ”Why did you not write to me and tell me of this?” ”There was not time. Besides, you might have simply ignored a letter. You cannot ignore me, at least now that I'm here, you can't.” He said nothing, just looked at her. ”I had nowhere else to go. I have given this a lot of thought, your grace. I don't wish to be a poor relation, clutching at your sleeve. I don't wish to be dependent. In short, your grace, I would like to remain here at Chesleigh Castle and become Edmund's nanny.” There, it had all spilled out of her mouth, much more quickly than was wise, but she couldn't bear the suspense any longer. She added, ”Please, your grace. I'm not a frivolous ninny. I'm educated, my father saw to that. He was a brilliant philosopher. I know the cla.s.sics. I love children.” ”That relieves my mind greatly.” Suddenly she looked very alone and vulnerable. ”I spent my last francs on a packet from Calais to Dover. One of the blacksmiths was coming this way. He gave me a ride in his cart.”

He didn't know where the blasted words came from, but they did come out of his mouth. ”Was it raining?” ”It stopped shortly after we left Dover.” ”Did you know I was in residence here?” She shook her head. She drank a sip of tea. ”I didn't know. I prayed you would be.” Of course she'd known he was here, but she couldn't tell him that. ”Did your father turn you against me?” ”No, not at all. I believe he approved of you. Not only was there a rift between your family and my uncle's family, my father also didn't speak to his brother. I don't know the reasons for either rift. I wish I did know.” If it was true. She didn't know anything. She'd heard servants' gossip some years before, something about her uncle being in love with her mother, but she hadn't said anything to either of them. After her mother had died, it seemed cruel to ask her father. Naturally, it could be something else entirely.

Before she'd been bundled out of Paris, it hadn't occurred to her to speak of such unimportant things to her father.

”If I hadn't been here, then what would you have done?”

She managed a crooked grin. ”I suppose I would have had to build a willow lodge at the edge of the Grampston forest and wait you out.”

”It's the dead of winter. It rains all the time. You would have caught an inflammation of the lung.”

”But you were here.” She drew a very deep breath and plunged forward. ”Will you let me meet Edmund? If we suit, will you let me remain here as his nanny?” ”I had no clue of your existence yesterday, and now here you are, sitting in my library, offering yourself up as a nanny. It is unexpected, Madame.” ”I know, and I'm sorry for it. I had no choice. I didn't want to become Monsieur Dumornay's mistress. That was my only other option.” ”Who is this Dumornay?”

”He was one of my papa's supposed friends. I'm certain his wife had no idea that he would have gladly set me up in a house and supported me. She is a very nice woman. He is a lecherous idiot.”

”Most men of his stripe are idiots. Now, did you bring a maid?”

She shook her head and looked down at a particularly round and seductive scone. It looked to have raisins in it. It looked delicious. She said, ”There was no money to pay for one. I left Margueritte in France.”

”I see.” He had become the formal n.o.bleman. He was looking at the narrow arcs of flame that leapt upward from the smoldering embers in the fireplace. He looked about ready to nap.

If she'd had a rock, she would have thrown it at him. She jumped to her feet, grabbing her cloak. He had no interest in her at all. He didn't care if she died on the side of the road. He didn't care if she caught an inflammation of the lung.

She was interrupting his solitude, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She wanted nothing more than to march out of his d.a.m.ned library, out of his d.a.m.ned castle and never look back. But she couldn't.

She drew a deep breath, took a hold of herself. ”I'm hungry. Surely before you dismiss me I may eat something? Perhaps in the kitchen with this G.o.ddess cook of yours?”

”Eat the scone you've been eyeing.” He rose slowly to face her. She found herself staring at his snowy white cravat. Evangeline was tall, taller than just about any woman she'd ever met. She been called a maypole by Tommy Barkly when she was twelve years old and he'd been thirteen. As she raised her eyes to the duke's face, she felt suddenly quite short. It was the strangest feeling. He was giving her this brooding look that she couldn't begin to decipher.

And he remained silent, merely looking down at her. It was over. She'd failed.

She was angry. He was cold. He wasn't a gentleman. She drew up, stiffer than the fireplace poker. ”Very well, I'm not all that hungry. I don't want that scone. I'm leaving.”

He said mildly, even as he snagged her arm in one of his big hands, ”No, it's all right. I'll feed you, although I don't think you'll still be all that hungry if you satisfy your gluttony with that scone. Ah, yes, now I understand. It's meat and substantial vegetables you want. Very well.”

He paused again, then added, ”I can't believe you, a young lady, traveled all the way from France here, with no escort.”

”What would I have used to pay an escort? One of my boots?”

”If I had been the escort, I would have demanded both boots and a chance to put my hands on you.”

He couldn't believe he'd insulted her like that, but what was said was said. He watched her brown eyes change color, literally change from a rich dark brown to a lighter whiskey color. It was fascinating.

She said, very low, ”I'm a widow, your grace, not a trollop.”

”Dammit, I know that.” Still, he didn't apologize, saying instead, ”First thing, I will have Mrs. Raleigh, my housekeeper, show you to a room. At the very least, you will meet Edmund in the morning. Do you have any luggage?”

He hadn't made up his mind. Well, had she been in his boots, she wouldn't have either. It was his son, his heir, and he loved the boy. He would be very careful whom he allowed near Edmund. ”I have one valise. Ba.s.sick has it.” Then, because she couldn't bear it, she said, ”I didn't come to plead for you to a.s.sist me. I came to offer myself as a nanny. Honest work, that's all I'm asking for, your grace. I won't steal the silver. I'm responsible, I swear it. You'll not be disappointed in me.”

Her voice was defensive. She didn't look much like a nanny. At least she didn't look like his own Mrs. Tucker, who'd spanked him, hugged him against her ma.s.sive bosom, sung to him, rapped his knuckles when he was rude, and loved him until she'd died ten years before.

He thought about sitting here all evening in solitude, anger smoldering in him, and helplessness, because the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd killed Robbie Faraday was still loose, doubtless laughing at them because he'd escaped whole-hide. No, even brandy didn't sound all that appealing now.

He couldn't very well have dinner served to her in her bedchamber. That wouldn't be well done of him. There was no hope for it. Actually, he didn't mind at all.

”I know,” he said finally, not really remembering what she'd said, only that it had been pitiful. He turned back to her. He dashed his fingers through his thick hair, standing it on end. ”d.a.m.nation.”

”Goodness. I didn't realize what I was about to say would upset you so much, your grace.”

There was wit in her, when she wasn't terrified that he would kick her out. No, that wasn't precisely true. She'd used that tongue of hers to try to outdo him from the moment he'd stomped into his library. He said, ”The proprieties, Madame. My mother is in London. There is no one here to be your chaperone, to protect your good name.”

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