A Proper Mistress (11 page)

Gracious, but he'd turn any girl's head, looking as he did.

Rising, she pulled her own white wool shawl up from where it had dropped to her elbows and took the attack before he could. "Don't you ever brush your hair?"

He glanced up as if to see the spill of black hair over his eyes, and he brushed at it, disordered the careless locks even more. "There—that do for you?"

With a shake of her head, she came closer. "You must have driven your mother mad." Standing on tip-toe, she ran her fingers though the dark locks.

Soft as corn silk, it wound around her fingers. She had not worn gloves—she owned not a single pair suitable for evening, and there had been none in Jane's left-behind clothing. Now she could only be glad of such a thing. How could a man's hair wrap around a girl's fingers almost as if to tangle her touch so she'd never be able to pull away?

He stared down at her, the blue in his eyes deepening so that it looked like twilight in the depths. Voice rough and low, he asked, "Do you do this for all your gentlemen?"

Jerking her hand away, Molly moved toward the door, fussing with her shawl.

Theo mentally kicked himself for blundering. Why had he said anything? Why had he not just kissed her as he had wanted? All he would have had to do is reach out a hand and snag her closer. Instead, he had opened his mouth and reminded her of her hired status.

Cheeks now a warm pink, she gave him a bright, careless smile over one white shoulder. "Can we eat now? I'm famished."

Well, no kisses for him tonight. She had gone and put distance between them again, and she looked as if she had every intent to keep him to that blasted agreement he had made.

Blazes, why had he ever said he would act the gentleman with her? She looked an utter treat in that gown.

Offering his arm, he led her to the dining room.

Simpson would have stayed to supervise the meal, with two footmen to help, if Theo had allowed it. The butler would also have seated them at opposite sides of the table, but Theo put a stop to that as well, insisting the place settings be moved to a corner of the table in close proximity. He also asked that the dishes be set out now.

"I'll ring for you to clear the course," he said. And let them all think the worst—it would both reinforce the idea that Molly was leading him astray to dine in such an informal fashion, and it would give him a chance to regain some ground with her. And perhaps get that kiss he wanted.

Simpson's face had acquired a pinched look, as if his drawers had suddenly shrunk to half their size, but he bowed and moved at once to obey Theo's orders.

As soon as he left, Molly leaned closer. "Thank you—I was wondering how I could eat anything with them staring at me."

He turned to her, a little surprised she should be so sensitive. "Why shouldn't they stare—you're a beautiful woman."

Pleasure rushed into her face, lighting her eyes and her smile. He decided then and there to dedicate the rest of the meal to earning more smiles from her.

He entertained her with stories about Simpson, and the exploits he and Terrance had undertaken to rattle the maddeningly placid butler. "He never did more than say, 'Very good, sir.' Or, 'Will that be all, sir.' Never so much as hinted at a rebuke to us—not even the time we set a bucket of eels loose in his bed."

Molly shuddered. "Eels! And your father never said anything?"

"Actually, he laughed at most of it. Except for the eels. He said it was a sin to waste God's creatures on a prank and gave us a suitable punishment."

She pulled back. "Did he cane you?"

"Oh, no. Far worse. He made us eat every last one of those eels. All at the same meal. We had fried eels, boiled eels, and eel soup for starters. Collared eels, stewed eels, eels and mushrooms, and eel pie. I can't even smell the things cooking without wanting to turn tail and run."

She laughed, and said, "Well, now I know what never to cook for you."

"Ah, so that is why you collect recipes—you cook. Why in blazes do you do that? Doesn't Sallie at least employ servants for you?"

Taking up her wine, Molly took a large sip of the woody burgundy and regarded him over the brim of the glass. He already thought her low, and she could well imagine that if she admitted to being a cook in a brothel he would be horrified to find she was but a mere servant to the lowest of the low. A cook in a bawdy house. Gracious, he also might send her packing without her fifty pounds.

So she only smiled. "That's my secret, ducks. A woman, after all, must have some mystery."

She had often heard Sallie say such a thing, and she still had no idea what it meant really. But just now it suited her needs perfectly. Changing subjects, she asked, her tone pert, "Do you take your port alone, or will you give me a game of backgammon?" She had noticed the board in the drawing room—a lovely set with smooth ivory pieces and half the markers stained black.

"You play?" he asked, rising and moving to pull back her chair.

She straightened and said, her tone proud, "I was taught by none other than the Raja of Tanjore."

He laughed. "Were you now? Well, that sounds a challenge to me."

In the drawing room, they moved the board nearer to the fire, and Theo soon found that she played like a fiend. He didn't know about that story of a raja teaching her—that sounded suspiciously like some invented tale. But when he found himself being trounced, he started to play as he would against Terrance or his father rather than as he would against any lady of his acquaintance.

She beat him soundly.

As she swept her last piece off the board, he frowned and said at once, "Best of three."

She smiled. "Very well. But I warn you, the raja taught me never to give any quarter in backgammon."

He glanced at her, eyes narrowed. A nonsense story, of course. Or perhaps there was something to these tales of a childhood in India—in fact, perhaps she had started her profession there. Could this raja have taught her other things?

He found himself frowning at such an idea, even though it set his imagination wandering to what she might have learned of other Eastern arts. What exotic bedroom skills might she have acquired? And that pulled his mind utterly away from this game.

She beat him again, but far less handily.

"Three out of five," he said, now scowling at the board.

Laughing, she threw up her hands. "Ah, no. The raja also taught me to quite while I was ahead."

"But you must give me a rematch. Tomorrow evening then."

The laugher died in her eyes. "What if your father returns before then?"

The light mood died in an instant. And Theo he had only himself to blame for his unthinking comment, and for the uncertain future before them both. Rising, he began to set the backgammon pieces into the starting order for a game. "I spoke to Burke before dinner and the gossip he had from the stables is that it's likely the squire will be away at least a week."

"A week!" Molly stood now, her expression distressed. "But I can't stay that long. I have—well, I have work."

He glared at her. "And this isn't? You're being handsomely paid, and for precious little, I may say. And the agreement was that I've got to be disowned for you to earn your full fee." His frown changed suddenly to a beguiling smile. "Come now, you can't want to go back to London with me left unsatisfied. And you might actually find time to enjoy yourself here."

She folded her arms. "How am I to do that with every servant in this household watching as if I was some wild animal you brought home which they dare not trust?"

"Do they really? Well, if that's the case, take long walks. Or, better still, ride with me."

"On a horse?" she asked, anxiety suddenly squeaking in her voice.

He grinned. "That's the usual way, though I suppose I could find you a donkey. Or a nice round pony to fit your legs?"

She glared at him. "I'm not that small, thank you. And perhaps it is not that I am so short,
it's just that you need trimming down to size!"

His grin widened as he thought of this pocket Amazon taking him on. "Well, we could wrestle for it—I shouldn't mind. But I already told Sallie that this could take a bit, and if you're all that worried about her kicking up a fuss, I'll send off some sort of note telling her to expect your return when she sees you."

She hesitated, and he leapt on the wavering indecision he glimpsed in her eyes. As he did, he realized that there could be some lovely side benefits to having her stay an extra few days. Just one of them lay before him in the view offered by that low cut gown of hers.

Tone dropping low, he asked, "Have you ever seen Somerset? It's the best part of England, I swear. I'll show you about. Take you to the cathedral in Wells, if you fancy it. We could go on a picnic even, if we get a nice enough day for it."

"A picnic?"

He smiled at the wistful tone in her voice. "What? Haven't you ever been on a picnic?" She shook her head, her red curls swaying, glinting with gold threads in the firelight. "Well, that must simply be remedied at once, Miss Sweet. It's obvious now that you must stay. And don't worry, the squire will be home soon enough."

She frowned at him. "I suppose I can't walk back to London. But, mind you, I can't stay here forever either!"

Grinning, he grasped her hand. "It's not forever, my sweet Sweet. But I swear it'll be a pleasant few days."

With a sigh, she shook her head. "You're a wicked man, I fear—for you make me forget every good intention I have."

His grip tightened on her fingers. "Every one of them?"

She pulled her hand away. "That's not an intention I ever had with you."

"What isn't?" he asked, all innocence now.

But Molly only shook her head, refusing to answer. Instead, she wished him a good night. And she fled before she started toying with the idea of how pleasant it would be to do more than she did intend with him.

#

True to his word, Theo started to show her about on the following day. He tried to convince her that such a perfect summer day, with the promise of heat in the air and a blue sky, called for ambling the neighborhood on horseback. However, she flatly refused his offer of the most placid mount.

"I haven't a riding habit, and don't you go offering to pay for one for me. If I ride and find I like it, then I'd miss it back in London. And if I don't like it, what's the point?"

He grinned at this logic, but gave in to her, settling instead for a walk under the lanes shaded by avenues of apple trees. This suited her quite well, and she found him surprisingly knowledgeable about the crops planted in the fields.

"Why do you not want to inherit this?" she asked, unable to understand and unable to keep the question inside.

He did not look down at her, but stopped in the lane and stared at the field next to them where tall, slender stalks of wheat swayed in the breeze.

"Because it's not mine. Terrance is the elder. It's his." He looked down at her and she was surprised to note how serious he seemed. How intent. "Blazes, if it were mine, I'd fight the devil himself to keep it. How could I rob my own brother of that?"

She had no answer for him. Only more questions.

Before she could ask about the tangle that seemed to be his family, the jingle of harness and the steady clop-clop beat of hooves on the hard dirt road told of a carriage approaching.

As an open landau came into view with what seemed to be a lady and a gentleman seated inside, Theo moved with her to the verge of the road to allow the carriage to pass. But as it drew near, the lady's voice rose, betraying both age and agitation, "Stop! Stop the coach, Fields. Amy! My dear, dearest sister!"

Startled, Molly looked up and she heard Theo swear under his breath. "Blast all! Lady Thorpe" He leaned closer. "Just smile and agree with whoever she takes you for or we shall be here all day arguing it."

"Whoever?" Molly asked. She turned back to the coach, not understanding anything of what was going on.

As ordered, the coachman halted the pair of dark brown horses that pulled the open landau and Molly could see the passengers clearly.

The gentleman in the carriage seemed quite young—young enough to be the lady's son? Oddly, however, he dressed more like a servant, for his black coat and knee breeches and his white shirt, cravat, and waistcoat seemed more like plain livery than a gentleman's clothes. Molly turned her attention to the lady, who struggled with shaking hands to hold up a pair of eyeglasses from where they dangled on a golden chain around her neck.

She looks a tiny bird of a lady,
Molly thought. Gray hair was swept up under an old fashioned straw bonnet that tied under the lady's chin with a pink ribbon. A pink sash decorated her white muslin gown and a ruffled white scarf lay around her neck, with the ends tucked into the pink sash at the high waist. Clothes really more suitable to a girl than a matron, but Molly found the picture charming.