Charlotte Louise Dolan (15 page)

“Do you deny it? If you do, I shall have to assume I am in the presence of a liar.”

“Miss Hemsworth, do calm down. There are things we need to discuss.” Bronson cast around wildly in his mind, trying to think of an excuse to keep her in the room. “About your job—”

“There is nothing to discuss. If you will kindly release my arm, which you are bruising, I shall finish my packing and be ready to leave by morning.”

“Now
you
are lying. I am not hurting your arm in the slightest. Admit it.”

For a moment she looked away, but then she again met his gaze squarely. “No, you are not hurting me. But I am, as a matter of principle, opposed to the use of physical force in any and all situations.”

He looked down into her eyes and felt again the strong pull of attraction. His free hand came up of its own volition and cupped her cheek, then without conscious decision, he leaned toward her. She sighed softly just before their lips met.

It was the most chaste kiss he had ever shared with a woman, and yet the most satisfying. Lifting his head slightly he looked down into eyes that mirrored the confusion he felt.

“I should not have done that,” Lord Leatham murmured, finally releasing her arm.

“No, you should not have done that,” Anne murmured back. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to move away from him. His eyes held her where she was, and she even had to tuck her hand behind her back to keep it from coming up to touch his cheek—her own body was turning traitor on her.

I should have suspected there was more to it than Aunt Sidonia explained, she thought, else there would not be so many babies born into this world.

His eyes appeared to darken, and she realized if she did not move away, he was going to kiss her again.

Unfortunately, curiosity had always been her one besetting sin, and now she wanted nothing more than a chance to explore the strange sensations that had been aroused with that one light touch of Lord Leatham’s lips against hers. After all, she tried to rationalize, if she were to be fired for conduct unbecoming, she might as well experience what she was already accused of having indulged in.

But it was only a momentary temptation. Before his mouth could again make contact with hers, she reminded herself of her responsibilities and obligations, and that was enough to make her turn her head away and avoid the second kiss, which Lord Leatham ended up bestowing on her ear.

To her surprise, she discovered that appendage was also quite highly sensitive and in some undefined way connected to her knees, which now gave every indication of wanting to buckle beneath her.

Lord Leatham growled something wordless under his breath and Anne realized that sometime when she had not been paying strict enough attention, he had managed to place both his hands on her waist, and he was now halfway supporting her.

Only by resolutely forcing herself to remember the scene with the woman and the child in Tavistock was Anne able to gather enough gumption to step out of his arms.

What she would have done if he had refused to unhand her, she did not know. It was a little late to proclaim her modesty by slapping his face. What on earth had gotten into her? Why had she acted in such an uncharacteristic manner, like the veriest romp of an upstairs maid?

For a moment her eyes again met Lord Leatham’s, and she recognized that she was still in danger of succumbing to his potent charms. In spite of her efforts to hold onto it, the image of the other woman was fading away—banished by Lord Leatham’s smile. He was indeed a most accomplished rake.

Distance. That was what she needed. Enough distance between them that she would not be tempted to ... her mind shied away from the thought of yet another kiss.

She needed to escape to her own room ... to pack ... to remove herself from Wylington Manor ... from the near presence of Lord Leatham.

But the attraction between them was too strong to allow her to follow the proper course. Instead of bolting through the door, she found herself walking calmly to one of the leather-covered chairs, where she seated herself as sedately as possible, considering the fact that her cheeks now felt so hot, she had to be either blushing bright red or coming down with a fever. “I believe you had something you wished to discuss with me?” Her voice was unnaturally low and husky.

Lord Leatham’s only reply was to shut the heavy oaken door, ensuring their privacy in the quiet, shadowed room and giving her the strange feeling that she had still not really escaped from his embrace.

Had he turned the key in the old-fashioned lock and then thrown himself down upon her to ravish her, not even that would have surprised her, so right did it feel to be alone with him.

Instead of acting in such a rakish way, however, he left the door unlocked, then crossed the room to seat himself rather prosaically on the matching chair beside hers. She was left with the unanswered question of whether or not she would have resisted or aided in such a ravishment.

It was only when she noticed his hand shaking slightly that she realized he was as affected by the kisses as she had been, and she was able to regain a little of her usual self-assurance.

“I believe you mentioned my job?”

“You need have no fears for your job. In spite of the reports I have had about you, I find, after suitable investigation, that you are, in my opinion, the proper person to be in charge of the twins for the summer.”

For a moment she was rendered totally speechless by his gall, his totally unmitigated gall at having actually investigated
her,
whose morals were above reproach—or at least whose morals
had
been above reproach—when he himself was a cad and a rake, who littered the countryside with his discarded mistresses. Added to which was his knowing
smirk
now that he had managed to—to corrupt her into conduct unbecoming a governess!

When she recovered from her initial shock, it was not only anger at him that brought her to her feet, but anger at herself for having behaved like a weak, mindless female. How could she have forgotten, even momentarily, the long mental list she had been composing concerning Lord Leatham’s failings and shortcomings?

“I, on the other hand, after investigating you, do not feel that you are the proper person to be the twins’ guardian.”

Likewise springing to his feet, Lord Leatham faced her, transformed in a flash from the suave seducer back into the heartless cad who had so shamelessly shaken a woman on the streets of Tavistock.

“How dare you question my honesty where the boys are concerned? If someone has been dipping sticky fingers into the boys’ money, it is Trussell, not me. I have always been scrupulously correct when managing the estate.”

For a moment Anne was so blinded with rage, it was all she could do to resist the urge to draw his cork. “It is so typical of a
man
,”
she invested the word with every bit of the scorn she had learned from Aunt Sidonia, “to think only of money and property and estates. But a child raised in a castle without love and attention is poorer than one raised in a hovel if he finds love there.”

“What are you blathering about? My wards are not being neglected in any way.”

They were virtually nose to nose now, but Anne felt not the slightest desire to resume exploring the strange phenomenon of kissing. She did, to be sure, feel a strong urge to place her fingers around Lord Leatham’s throat, but only to throttle the arrogant baron. “I do not blather, my lord. And no matter how you may try to deny it, the twins have been severely neglected.”

“Neglected? That is utter nonsense. If you would make such rash charges, you must be prepared to prove them.”

“I shall have no difficulty in doing so.”

All Anne’s rage was replaced by satisfaction. Seating herself once again in her chair, she smiled up at Lord Leatham, whose male pride had caused him to fall into her trap. Yes, indeed, words and reason were more powerful than physical force, and soon he would have to admit defeat at the hands of a mere woman. A
useless
woman, as he had been known to categorize all of her sex.

“Then, my lord, I challenge you to tell the boys apart.”

“Tell them apart?” he parroted, obviously shaken out of his complaisance by her challenge.

“Yes,” she repeated, feeling quite smug. “All you have to do to prove that you have not neglected the twins, is to tell me which one is Andrew and which one is Anthony.”

* * * *

Never had Bronson felt such a strong urge to forget his upbringing as a gentleman.

He had no desire to hit the infuriating woman, however. What he felt was a need to kiss her into submission—into accepting his dominance as a male.

The thought was so unexpected and so out of character for him, he began to prowl the room, unable to control his restlessness enough to sit down.

“Well, my lord? Do you accept my challenge?”

With difficulty, he pulled his mind off the memory of Miss Hemsworth’s trim waist and focused on the subject at hand, namely the twins and his supposed neglect of them. Without stopping to think it through, he said, “I have not been around the twins long enough to—”

Her laughter interrupted him, and he did not need to have her point out that he had just proved her correct. But she did anyway.

“You are proving my case for me,” she said, smug self-satisfaction in her voice.

Stung not so much by her laugh as by the truth of her accusations, he said in his own defense, “In spite of my supposed neglect, you will find that the twins are quite fond of me. And in any case, it has not been necessary for me to be in constant attendance in Wylington Manor. The boys have been too young and have not had a need for my presence. Children below a certain age do not need adults other than their nanny and a governess. I am sure that Nanny Barlow can tell Anthony from Andrew.”

His pacing had by now taken him around the room until he was standing directly behind the governess, so he could not see the expression on her face. Her tone, however, was acid enough to convey her feelings. “Nanny Barlow undoubtedly can, wherever she may be. But since you fired her years ago, she need hardly be brought into this conversation.”

Rising to her feet, Miss Hemsworth turned to face him, and despite her unfeminine propensity for arguing like a man, he could see deep hurt in her eyes when she said accusingly, “I think, my lord, that if you
investigate,
as you seem to be so fond of doing, you will find that there is no one in this household, other than myself, who can tell which twin is which. And at this time, there is little I can do to correct the years of neglect, since I have only been hired until the end of the summer. In fact, the longer I stay, the more painful it will be for the twins when I do leave, so I would as lief pack my bags now and depart. But you need not worry about ensuring the proper succession. The present marquess is suitably branded.”

With those words she walked briskly to the door and jerked it open, but he caught up with her before she could make good her escape.

Grabbing her again by the arm, he spun her around to face him. “What the deuce are you talking about, branded?”

“On the bottom of the foot. Did you not know? But then, there seem to be so many things you do not know.” She jerked her arm away from his now nerveless fingers. “I suggest it is high time you make the acquaintance of your wards and apprise yourself of what is going on in your absence.”

This time he let her go. Watching her climb the stairs, her back absolutely radiating indignation, his thoughts remained on the shocking things she had told him.

No one in the household could tell which twin was which ... branded ... no, it was all too preposterous. Miss Hemsworth must have her facts wrong. Surely Nanny Barlow had not been fired—pensioned off, perhaps, when the twins became too much for her to handle, but not fired.

There was a slight noise beside him and Bronson turned to see Chorley standing deferentially a few feet away. Earlier in the day the butler had been quite mellow, but from the suffering expression now on his face, he appeared to be paying for his earlier indulgence with a giant hangover.

“Yes?”

“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but Braithwaite is waiting in your study to discuss the estate accounts as you requested.”

“I have not yet had time to go over the books. Tell him I will send word in a day or two.”

“As you wish, m’lord.”

The butler turned away, but Bronson called him back.

“One question, Chorley. Can you tell which twin is Lord Wylington?”

“No, sir.”

“Can anyone in the household?”

“Miss Hemsworth appears to be able to do so.”

“I meant other than her.”

“Can’t say that anyone can, m’lord. But then, it doesn’t really matter, does it? The marquess is marked on his foot, so there is no danger that the younger lad will be able to lay claim to the estate when they arrive at the age of one-and-twenty.”

“Marked?” Bronson fought to suppress the memory of a party of slave traders he had come upon while traveling along the coast of Africa. They had been engaged in branding their captives, and the screams and smell of burning flesh had haunted him for months afterward. “Who did such a thing?”

“Why your cousin, the late marquess. He tattooed the firstborn babe on the bottom of his foot. And a good thing, too, since those lads are as alike as two peas in a pod.”

Bronson closed his eyes momentarily. Tattooed, not branded. Thank goodness for small favors. “One more thing, Chorley, and then you may take my message to Braithwaite. Was Nanny Barlow pensioned off?”

The butler stiffened perceptibly. “Pensioned off? Fired, she was, with no reference, and at her age, too. All because she dared to cross Mr. Trussell.”

The look the butler gave him made it quite clear that Miss Hemsworth was not the only one who held Bronson responsible for all that went on in Wylington Manor.

He resisted the urge to explain himself to a servant. Not that there was a suitable explanation. He could hardly excuse himself on the grounds that it had been Trussell who had done the actual firing, since he, Bronson, had given Trussell the authority to hire and fire the servants. Nor, knowing Trussell’s weak character as he did, should he have assumed the twins’ uncle would not abuse such authority.