Rules of Engagement (21 page)

"Every woman has the right to refuse." He bowed. "Just as every man has the right to pursue."

"No," she repeated with a hint of desperation.

"However, for the moment I accede to your wishes and I will stay away from you in every carnal sense."

"I'm so grateful," she snapped caustically.

He donned his robe. "You should be."

Cautiously, he opened the door. He saw no one. Moulton was nowhere around. The footmen were gone from their stations. He gestured to Pamela and she joined him, then they crept up the stairs. No one walked along the corridor at the top. The silence was spooky.

"They're avoiding us," Kerrich said.

"How kind of them." Pamela sounded as if she meant it.

He supposed she was right. Regardless of how firmly he put down any pretensions, Pamela would be made uncomfortable by their mere presence. This was better, this lonely trek down the hallway to her bedchamber.

They stood before her door, two people parting company, knowing that tomorrow in front of the others they would have to pretend nothing had happened, and unsure how to say good-bye.

"Thank you." Pamela said at last. "You made that so…" She glanced up shyly.

He had never seen her shy before, and he was charmed. "You were wonderful, too." Then he cursed himself for his prosaic phrasing. "What I mean is, I've never had an experience like that. I just wish…" He leaned one hand flat against her door.

"Yes, I wish…" She glanced around at their solitude. "Do you think that maybe…"

Beneath his robe, his organ stirred, incorrigible and valiant. "You just told me
no.
We just agreed…"

"You're right. Of course you are, but just this once…"

"Yes! All right." He had the knob turned and the door opened before she could say another word. They tumbled inside, and as he shut the door, he said, "Tonight, for the whole night.
Mais oui?"

In the meager dawn, Kerrich stood and gazed at Pamela, slumbering and exhausted after her first night of love. She was a beacon that drew him when he should be gone. So why did he linger when, if he waited longer, the servants would be stirring, his grandfather would awake, he would meet Lewis in the corridor, and Pamela's reputation would be ruined beyond repair? Just because she refused to wed him was no reason to treat her so shabbily, and forcing marriage by exposing their liaison would begin the union in acrimony.

There was no reason to resort to those measures—yet.

He laughed softly. He held all the power in this mismatched pairing, and that was the way it should be. A grateful wife, an infatuated wife, worked to please her husband. A wife like that could never become like his mother. And after all, how hard could it be to wed and live happily? His idiot friends did it all the time.

Tying his robe firmly around his waist, he opened the door and stepped out into the corridor.

"My lord."

The whispered summons startled Kerrich, and his fists clenched automatically.

Then he saw a figure in the shadows. "Moulton," he snarled. "What in the devil are you doing here?"

"I wouldn't dream of disturbing you, sir, except we have had a development." Moulton beckoned Kerrich toward the stairway.

Recalled to their shared duty, Kerrich followed him down to the library. The door was closed, but a glimmer of light showed underneath. Moulton opened it and gestured Kerrich inside.

Kerrich entered. He stopped in mid-step. The room had been ransacked. Drapes torn down, chairs overturned and cut open, locks on his desk broken, and every document he owned scattered. Furious, Kerrich turned on Moulton.

Moulton held up his hands. "I was following Mr. Athersmith tonight, my lord, on what was obviously a butterfly folly. This is the work of professionals."

"But… why? We've given Lewis every opportunity to search for information about the bank's finances, and left him plenty to find, too."

"It would appear the counterfeiters have discovered you are working for the government, and this is a message to you to desist."

"Desist? And let them counterfeit my banknotes? Are you mad?"

"Well." Moulton smiled that chilling smile he never showed in his persona as butler. "If you do not, they could kill you."

And she was not wearing her disguise any longer, and she missed that protection.

One of the serving maids stood in the corridor, arranging a great array of red roses in the vase on the table. Her mouth popped open as Pamela walked toward her. "Good morning, Becky," Pamela said.

"Good mornin', miss." Becky bobbed a curtsy. "Please, miss…"

Pamela stopped and braced herself even as the scent of roses wrapped her in memories. "Yes, Becky?"

"If ye don't mind me sayin' so, ye look beautiful this mornin'."

"Th-thank you." Pamela took another breath. Lovely scent. And the maid had been civil.

Pamela walked on.

One maid. Perhaps the tale wasn't all over the house. Or perhaps Becky liked her well enough to ignore it.

No matter. Pamela was not a helpless child like the girls whose reputations had been destroyed by one illicit night. Those girls cowered and blinked through tears, looking longingly while the man—the seducer—pretended not to see.

Pamela would never be like that. She had too much pride. She had refused Kerrich's proposal of marriage!

Of course, it was the proposal that almost had her cowering and tearful. That temporary insanity of his had frightened her half to death, and only when she argued had he withdrawn his offer. And why had she been frightened? She hated the answer even while she faced it.

She had wanted to accept. To throw caution to the wind, to take her chances on a rake… and spend the rest of her life weeping as he nightly walked out of the door.

No, that was not the life for her. She'd done the right thing, and this morning he would undoubtedly be grateful to her and ashamed that he'd ever even mentioned it.

She walked toward the classroom, past a maid polishing a mirror—the same mirror, over and over again, sneaking glances at Pamela. Striving for a degree of normalcy, Pamela said, "Good morning, Sheila."

Sheila jumped as if caught doing something she shouldn't, curtsied and hurried away. Then, before she turned the corner, she spoke, all in a rush. "Miss Lockhart? Ye're pretty."

"Thank you, Sheila." This wasn't as bad as she'd feared. The servants seemed unaware of the private events of the previous evening. Had Moulton somehow maintained his discretion? So were the servants truly ignorant? That seemed almost too good to be true, but—

A cheerful voice behind her said, " 'Ow are ye this mornin', miss?"

Pamela glanced at Dorothy as she passed by, her arms full of linens. "Good morning."

"Ye're lookin' fair pleasin', miss."

Pamela relaxed. Maybe it was true. Perhaps they hadn't thought anything about closed doors, the robes, the long silence. Strange though it might be, perhaps her transformation did occupy all their attention. After all, none of the servants had seen her true appearance before. No powder. No rouge. And dry.

Her own reflection in one of the wall mirrors caught her attention, and she stopped to gaze on herself. Her appearance
was
pleasing this morning. She had discarded those annoying dark spectacles, her complexion glowed with its natural color, she still wore knitting needles in her coiffure, but rather more loosely, and her dress was… not good. She had packed only Lady Temperly's dresses when she'd come to Lord Kerrich's. She could scarcely complain that she had to wear the dowager-styled kerseymere now. At least the purple changed her eyes from plain blue to an intense violet. Very attractive, should she run into… well… anyone who was interested.

So with a poise that no longer felt feigned, she walked into the classroom—and her aplomb failed her.

Kerrich was there. Kerrich and Beth, heads together, laughing. Kerrich… dear heavens, with the morning light shining around his head and his coat of dark blue travel wear, the man was
audibly
handsome.

Smoothly he came to his feet, smiling at her in an intimate manner that had her blushing. How did one react to the man who had last seen her naked, panting, and desperate? How could one behave habitually when she remembered how he looked, his arms upraised, his nude figure gleaming in the firelight?

Blessing the discipline instilled by years of courtesy, she dipped into a curtsy. "My lord."

He bowed, still looking at her, still smiling. "Miss Lockhart."

He said nothing else, but hearing the deep, smooth, honey tones brought up memories of his voice calling her name, begging, demanding…

He watched her as if she pleasured his gaze as she had pleasured his body.

Suddenly she couldn't remember if she'd buttoned her dress, or pinned on her collar, or dressed her hair. Her hand crept up her buttons to her throat, then to the chignon… yes, she was buttoned and pinned. Only his gaze suggested she was unclothed, and that because he was a self-confessed rake and rogue.

Beth's awe-struck voice broke into Pamela's jumbled thoughts. "Miss Lockhart, you look so beautiful."

"So beautiful," Kerrich echoed.

Primly, Pamela said, "True beauty is on the inside."

"So the wise tell us." He stepped closer to her, crowding her with his height and breadth. "But I say a little beauty on the outside never hurts."

Just being in his vicinity, breathing his scent and gazing into his sin-colored eyes, was enough to make her lose her head. She almost agreed with his absurd statement.

Rake and rogue, she reminded herself. She knew very well what to think of both of those conditions. She had only to recall her father, gone without a word. Taking her watch out of the pocket of her skirt, she looked at the curlicues on the silver case. She had only to remember her mother, grieving and alone. But… Pamela had lived all her life and schooled all her responses by those memories, and right now, those moments seemed far away and irrelevant.

As if the watch burned her hands, she dropped it in her pocket.

Perhaps Kerrich was not so like her father. Witness his true affection for Beth.

Self-conscious, she glanced at the watching child. His affection
was
true, wasn't it?

Beth sat at her desk, her hands folded in her lap. "I'm ready for my lessons, Miss Lockhart."

She looked as innocent as a babe, but Pamela recalled her carefree escape the day before. "Do you have your books and your slate?"

"Yes, Miss Lockhart." Beth almost sang the answer.

"She was just saying how ready she is," Kerrich said.

They both looked far too satisfied, and Pamela answered tartly, "As long as she wasn't saying how very much she wanted to return to the racetrack."

She couldn't believe it when the two exchanged guilty glances. "Didn't you two learn your lesson yesterday?" she demanded.

"Lord Kerrich did." Beth rubbed the pocket in her pinafore. "He learned not to bet the horses against me."

"I'm not taking her to the track again," Kerrich hastily assured Pamela.

"He's kind of a crabby loser," Beth confided. "Miss Lockhart, did he ever tell you why he took me?"

"You shouldn't call Lord Kerrich a poor loser. It isn't polite," Pamela said. "And no, he never informed me why he took you to that dreadfully inappropriate place." She glared at him.

He didn't notice. He was glaring at Beth. "I came to the classroom this morning on a different errand."

"I just thought Miss Lockhart might understand why you took me if you explained—"

Kerrich interrupted without remorse. "I have both sad news and gratifying news. We won't be able to go to my estate in Norfolk, after all."

"Oh, dear." Pamela had looked forward to introducing Beth to the countryside, and to being there herself.

"The gratifying news is, we can't go because we have an invitation that can't be refused." With a flourish, he removed a folded, stiff paper from his pocket, and showed them the seal. "Because it comes from Her Majesty herself!"

The blood drained from Pamela's head, and she snatched the invitation from his hand.

He chuckled as he watched her, obviously reading her alarm as excitement, and recited the invitation as she read it. " 'Her Majesty Queen Victoria, sovereign and monarch of the British Isles, commands the presence of Devon Mathewes, the earl of Kerrich, and his ward, Miss Elizabeth Hunter, at a reception at Buckingham Palace three days hence at four o' the clock in the afternoon." "

Pamela sighed in relief. She hadn't been invited.

"Yes, isn't this good news?" Kerrich exclaimed.

Beth didn't look as if she thought it was good news. She looked petrified—and guilt swamped Pamela. If Pamela were going, she would be there to comfort and instruct Beth.

"I knew as soon as we allowed Beth to participate in society that the queen would hear about it," he said. "One of those dear, gossipy ladies must have rushed right over and told her."

Kneeling beside Beth, Pamela tucked a few stray strands of hair into the child's short braid. She was glad to be excluded, but in penance she would ruthlessly coach Beth in the three days before the reception.

"Victoria must be in a ferment of curiosity to have put us on the guest list so quickly," Kerrich continued. "This reception has been planned for months."

"You have done everything we required of you," Pamela said softly to Beth. "You have proved your bravery beyond doubt."

Impervious, Kerrich charged on. "Before, I wasn't invited because it's one of those family events Prince Albert dotes on, and I'm not seen as respectable enough to mingle with parents and children."

Pamela told Beth, "You will dress in your prettiest gown, the one with the ruffles which you have so longed to wear."

"Of course, I wouldn't have gone anyway, but all that's changed now. All because of Beth. Look, it's written here on the side, "Miss Elizabeth will be presented to Her Majesty Queen Victoria at six o' the clock." " He looked down and realized something was going on right beneath his nose. "Why aren't you happy?"

Annoyed by his insensitivity, Pamela snapped, "My lord, you are like the rooster who thinks the sun rises to hear you crow."

He looked startled, but apparently not even her impudence was enough to ruin his expansive mood. "I've been blathering on. Well, I'm pleased. You have both done well." He inspected Beth's pale countenance. "What's wrong?"

"She's never met our queen before," Pamela said.

"Of course she hasn't. That would be the idea."

"She's nervous."

"I am," Beth said in a small voice.

"You? Nervous?" Clearly, Kerrich couldn't imagine such an instance. "You're not afraid of me. Why would you be afraid of her?"

"Because she's the queen. She's important," Beth declared.

Pamela plucked her handkerchief from her sleeve and covered her mouth with it, but nothing could contain her muffled laughter.

Kerrich's lowering scowl promised retribution. Then he knelt beside Beth. "I have known Her Majesty for years, and I assure you, she is very kind, very young, and very pretty. She is easily charmed, and you are charming. You will win her heart immediately."

Beth jollied up. "Really?"

Pamela might have been offended that Kerrich so easily reassured the child when Pamela herself couldn't. Instead she saw the good use he made of his glib patter, and she was grateful.

"I have my faults, but I'm not a liar," he told Beth. "I have complete confidence in you."

A cautious smile broke over her face. "I'm not a liar, either," she told him. "I used to be afraid of you. Now…" She flung her arms around his neck.

He returned the hug with obvious surprise, then stood her on her feet and rose. "However, the consequence of all these good tidings is that I have to go to Norfolk to check on the bank. I had planned to do it when I was at Brookford, but that's out. The servants are even now seeking Mr. Athersmith so he may accompany me, and the carriage is waiting. So…" He swatted Beth on the rear. "I'm ready to go, but I forgot my fawn kid gloves. Could I send you to seek out my valet and get them from him?"

Beth beamed at him and curtsied. "Gladly, Lord Kerrich."

She ran out of the classroom while Pamela gazed after her with proud tenderness. "That was very good of you, my lord."

"Further proof that there isn't a woman I can't charm."

Disconcerted by the cool declaration, she looked and found him stalking toward her, wearing an expression of absolute licentiousness.

"After all, I charmed
you
, Miss Pamela Lockhart, did I not?"

She backed up and tried not to be charmed all over again. "My lord, your charm is of concern to no one but yourself."

"When did you again start calling me 'my lord?' " Catching her by the shoulders, he held her in front of him.

"We agreed this"—she shrugged her shoulders—"would not be a good idea."