Rules of Engagement (29 page)

"Yes. Thank you."

Beth pulled up a chair and slouched in its depths, observing them with bright-eyed interest. "He's sent
all
the roses."

Pamela tried to look into his face, but the intensity of his gaze caught her and she had to glance away. "That is very good of you, my lord."

"I'm glad you think so. But I must finish all I wished to say."

Of course he had to finish, else she think the roses meant that he wished her to remember how the scent of roses had encircled them as they came together on his desk.

"When you brought the guards," he said, "it was further proof that you're a remarkably intelligent woman, marked for success in every battle of life. Me, I was like all the rest of the men, not even thinking a lady could be the villain."

"You figured it out pretty fast," Beth observed.

Heaven knew why, but Pamela felt moved to comfort him. "So you did, my lord, and you took effective action."

"Not effective enough, or you wouldn't have been shot."

He looked out the window as if he couldn't bear to look at her anymore. "By my own cousin, with my own pistol! I felt so guilty. I would have done anything to have taken the bullet for you, and at the same time, I was overcome with awe for your bravery. You never even thought, you just stepped in front of Beth."

Beth chimed in, "She's the bravest person I ever met."

"She is!" he said to Beth. Then with vigor and directness, he leaned over Pamela, placed his hands flat on the mattress, and said, "You listen to me talk and all I'm saying is that I'm grateful to you, that I'm full of remorse that you were hurt, and that I cherish your fearlessness. But I have one more very important thing to say."

What? That you will never forget our time together? That you hope we can remain friends?
Pamela moved to save herself any more of this excruciatingly painful farewell speech. "Yes, I think I know what it is, but I would spare you because I have good news. Since Her Majesty knows me and she has met Hannah, and I have proved myself to be—"

"A loyal subject," Beth prompted.

"Yes. And so respectable." Pamela smiled with a fair amount of irony and rigorously avoided Kerrich's gaze. "As Hannah is, also."
Although Hannah truly was respectable and Pamela was just one of Kerrich's former conquests.
"Her Majesty has offered to give the Governess School her personal recommendation."

"That's very interesting," he said with patient politeness. "What does it have to do with us?"

"Simply that with the queen's recommendation, overwhelming success has blessed the Distinguished Academy of Governesses. Hannah has had three experienced and highly esteemed governesses come to us for placement, and she has found them positions and been paid for that service." Pamela was proud of her steady voice and businesslike demeanor, especially considering her reclining position and informal attire. "Also, we have a full classroom of young ladies whom we are preparing to go into service, and every one of them is spoken for."

His brow puckered. "I'm sure I'm pleased for Miss Setterington."

"When you have paid the money you owe us, we'll be on solid financial ground."

Beth sat straight up in her chair and stared in consternation.

Lifting his knee onto the mattress, he loomed over Pamela. "You… you want me to pay you?"

"What you owe us." She had to look at him now. His face was right in hers, so close she could smell the minty scent of his breath. "I did fulfill your demands, my lord."

He just stared at her.

"I mean, your demands that you be represented as a respectable, compassionate man who is worthy to handle the queen's money. Together, Beth and I have done that."

He still stared as if he couldn't quite believe that she had the nerve to dun him. Then, as abruptly as he had risen above her, he backed away. He stood a decent distance from the bed and said, "Would you rather I paid you or Miss Setterington?"

As if trying to get her attention, her heart gave a hard thump. She took a calming breath and ignored it. "If you would just send the amount to the Distinguished Academy of Governesses, we would be most grateful."

"Of course, as I am grateful to you for the success of this mission."

Slapping her forehead, Beth groaned loudly.

They both turned and looked at her.

Pamela found herself on unsteady ground, wanting to keep the child herself and not wanting to cut the affectionate ties that bound the orphan and the earl. "My lord, I imagine you will wish to return to your previous penchant for manly living, and such habits would not be suitable for a girl who will soon become a young lady. So I'll keep Beth."

Neither Beth nor Kerrich said anything. They just stared at each other, and Beth's lower lip wobbled.

Which had the effect of convincing Pamela that she knew best. "But please, my lord, promise you'll visit whenever you wish."

Lord Kerrich tore his gaze away from Beth and backed toward the door. "I'll have Beth's clothing sent to the academy, along with my payment for your services." With a brusque bow, he walked out.

Beth scrambled to her feet and stared after him, then stared at Pamela, then stared back at the empty door. "Miss Lockhart, you've ruined everything!"

Pamela just wanted to burrow under the covers and cry, but as always she had to keep her chin up. "No, really, darling, someday you'll understand—"

In a rush, Beth asked, "Did he ever tell you why he took me to the horse races?"

Pamela thought perhaps she didn't want to hear this, and with a faint heart, she said, "No. No, he never did."

"He took me because I was going to cry. He knew I was faking, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand it. And he said the reason he'd take me again is because it made me smile. He's a nice man, Miss Lockhart, and"—Beth's eyes filled with tears, and this time she
wasn't
faking it—"we're never going to see him again."

"Dreadful place," Kerrich agreed. The autumn breeze ruffled the hair on his forehead, but nary a cloud marred the clear blue of the sky. No storm would rip through the throng today to reveal secrets better left unexposed. He observed no saucy, fresh-faced girls in pretty dresses to wager with, and all the women were clearly strumpets out plying their trade. But the crowd was loud, the second-rate horses were running, the pathetic jockeys were riding and his clumsy friend Tomlin was with him. Just ahead of them two footmen carried his grandfather in a sedan chair, and Lord Reynard prodded them with his cane when they jostled him too much and yelled at the people who got in the way.

Kerrich hadn't enjoyed an outing so much for well over a month. "Don't know what anyone sees in this place."

Tomlin sighed. "You've been acting oddly since your cousin died. I know it's a disgrace to have a criminal in your family, but let's face it—most of us have a horse thief or two hidden in the ancestral closet. It's not as if the two of you were close."

Kerrich grimaced. "Sadly, no, we weren't, and it's hard to grieve for a man who would aim for a child and shoot a woman."

"Dastardly," Tomlin said. "How
is
Miss Lockhart?"

"Fine, last I heard." Kerrich pretended disinterest. "She left Buckingham Palace and returned to her Governess School."

"Oh, that's right. The Distinctive School of Instructors."

"The Distinguished Academy of Governesses," Kerrich corrected. "I'm sure her life is easier now that she's no longer living under my auspices, and my life has been richer since she and the child moved out."

"Children can limit you." Tomlin nodded. "I know. Got three of my own. And that orphan girl you had was a handful. That Beverly."

"Beth."

"Yes, that's it. Beth. Have you seen her?"

"No,
I…" I miss her too much to go see her. I'm afraid she'll reproach me for failing to obtain Miss Lockhart's affections. And if I see her, I'll want to keep her.

"Better that way," Tomlin said. "Clean break. Less painful. And you know how children are. She'll forget you right away. A couple of years, and she won't even recognize you on the street."

They reached the railing at the front, with its full, unobstructed view of the mediocre races.

Kerrich stared at the oval track, imagining glimpsing Beth at some distant date. She'd be beautiful, intelligent, well-grounded with common sense and stuffed full of manners. And she wouldn't even know him.

Everything about the concept reeked.

The footmen placed Grandpapa's sedan chair on a flat piece of ground and pulled the supports from the rings. Lord Reynard thanked them and flipped each of them a coin, then planted his cane in the grass, placed his hand on the gold knob at the top and surveyed the area like a king on his throne.

Tomlin asked, "So Kerrich… when are you going to start living like a bachelor again?"

"What do you mean?" Kerrich snapped.

"The child isn't living with you. Neither is the formidable Miss Lockhart. Yet you haven't been to the club. You haven't been to the theater. You aren't tupping a mistress. You're so damned dull you might as well be married."

Kerrich lifted his monocle and glared at Tomlin, but he could think of no retort. He
had
been dull, but whenever he went to the theater he thought how much Beth would enjoy it, and when he rode his horse about town, the damned creature had a tendency to wander toward the location of the Governess School. Then Kerrich would imagine he saw Pamela in every lady below the age of fifty, and it got damned embarrassing trying to explain he hadn't meant anything by his breezy comments—and they were always breezy.

"Don't try and blame your monkish conduct on me, boy." Lord Reynard lounged in his chair.
"I've
been going to the club.
I've
been going to the theater."

"You've
been spotted in the company of the dowager countess of Anson, you cradle robber, you." Tomlin hiked up his trousers and squatted beside the old man. "You should tarry with women your own age."

"There are no women my own age," Lord Reynard said tartly.

Tomlin cackled like a hen who'd just hatched a set of chicks, and the young footmen who stood guard behind their little party tried hard to hide their laughter.

Standing, Tomlin shouted, "Swearn! I see you've got your eldest with you! Require a chaperone now, do you?" And off he went to visit with an embarrassed-looking Swearn and his censorious son.

He left a rather clamorous silence behind. Never mind that the spectators were walking about, laying wagers and waiting for the next race to start. Ever since the counterfeiting affair had been settled, Lord Reynard had been watching Kerrich and waiting for… something. Kerrich wasn't sure what, but he hadn't delivered and Lord Reynard had made his disapproval clear.

Leaning against the railing, Kerrich clasped his hands and muttered, "I do not know why I ever liked such a tactless, nosy oaf as Tomlin."

"Because he tells you the truth."

Kerrich scowled.

Lord Reynard had risen and stood beside him, frail and hearty, old and eternally young, with his cane clasped in one hand and his hat tipped at a jaunty angle over one eye. "You know, son, in your adolescence, I tried my damnedest to be a good substitute parent, and I think I succeeded."

"Yes, sir, and I—"

"Shut up." Lord Reynard shook his finger under Kerrich's nose. "Just shut up, and put that demmed monocle away. It looks ridiculous."

Kerrich stuffed the monocle into his pocket and wished his grandfather weren't always so blunt.

Lord Reynard closed his eyes. "Where was I? Oh, yes. I listened to your youthful writhings, I was tactful when you were foolish, I allowed you to make your mistakes and kept my mouth shut. All really arduous tasks, as you will discover when you have your own children—if you're ever smart enough to get married." He paused.

Kerrich didn't know if he was supposed to talk yet, but he said, "Yes, sir."

"Your luck just ran out. I'll let you get away with ill-considered, imprudent and irrational, but you're being just plain stupid. What the hell are you doing letting Pamela Lockhart slip between your fingers?"

A race started. The crowd began their long-necked, wide-eyed concentration on the horses. Kerrich watched glumly, and when the race was finished and sounds of relief and disgust exploded around them, he turned to his grandfather. "I didn't let her slip between my fingers. She doesn't want me."

"I saw the way she looks at you. Of course she wants you. You've made a mistake." Lord Reynard pointed toward the top of the hill. "Go to her and fix it."

"I tried to… to fix it. When she resided at Buckingham Palace, I sneaked in to see her. I was hoping she'd tell me she would marry me."

"So you proposed to her?"

"Not exactly."

Leaning his elbow on the railing, Lord Reynard examined his grandson from hat brim to boots. "You wanted her to propose to you?"

"No! That would be expecting too much, I think."

"You wanted her to tell you she loved you?"

"Yes." Kerrich sounded defiant, even in his own ears.

"Why didn't you tell her that you loved her?"

His grandfather knew. His grandfather knew that Kerrich loved her, and he wasn't mocking Kerrich about his vow never to love, or crowing that he was right. Grandpapa was clever that way. So Kerrich answered, "If I told her I loved her, she'd win."

Lord Reynard's bafflement appeared to be real. "Win… what?"

"She'd hold the power in the marriage, and I'd be like my father, a beggar at my own table."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lord Reynard tapped Kerrich's chest hard with his cane. "Your father wasn't a beggar at his own table! Don't you remember their marriage at all?"

Despite the warm sun, chills ran up and down Kerrich's spine. "I remember Mother smiling at Father and hugging him, but—"

"Your mother adored your father. Yes, she's the kind of woman who has to have a man, but she hasn't remarried. Do you know why?"

"She's been with so many gigolos no decent man will have her," Kerrich muttered.

"Damn! I hate it when you're deliberately obtuse." Another set of horses came out of the starting gate. Lord Reynard didn't stop talking, but he did lower his voice in deference to the bettors. "Your mother is a wealthy, noble widow. She's attractive and knows how to make every old man young again and every young man a virile giant. Any man in England and on the continent would be glad to wed her, but she's never loved a man since your father."

"She had a damned funny way of showing it." Kerrich's voice vibrated with old, carefully preserved fury.

"There were never any other men for her while your father was alive. He was a generous man, and he would want her to be happy now. So if she loved him and made him happy when he was alive, and he'd wish her nothing but the best now, what are
you
bellyaching about?"

From the depths of his ancient anguish, Kerrich confessed, "They laughed."

His grandfather followed his conversational wandering without trouble. "They? The other young pissant aristocrats like you?"

"Yes! And the adults, too."

"So your indignation isn't for your father's sake, or about your mother at all. It's about you and your pride."

With immense reluctance, Kerrich nodded. "It sounded so much better before."

"Before you realized you were a selfish young snot-nose?" Lord Reynard stared him in the eye. "Don't worry, I've known it for years. Listen, boy, I don't know the recipe for success, but I know the recipe for failure, and that's trying to listen to everyone. Hell, every ass has an opinion. That laughter is envy, and what they say about your mother is nonsense. I've known her since she was a child. She's a good woman—and you're a great deal like her."

Kerrich sprang back. "I am not!"

"You were always searching for the woman you loved in every face and in every body. Think, boy, how much like Miss Lockhart all your mistresses have looked."

Because I've been wanting her all my life.
The thought sprang into Devon's mind, alive, rising with the beauty and peril of an asp from a basket with the aid of a charmer's flute. With a shock he realized—he would never want another woman again. Only Pamela.

Because when Pamela loved, she gave herself completely. When Beth was angry with her, Pamela didn't waste time wondering how it would be if Beth rejected her or whether she would be hurt by that rebuff. She had just reached out for Beth and embraced her. Pamela's wholehearted dive into love frightened Kerrich; how did she dare without protecting herself first? And how could he make her love him like that?

Kerrich and Lord Reynard leaned against the rail and watched the horses start around the track.

Into the silence, Kerrich burst out, "I wouldn't care what anyone thought, if I could have her on my terms. I want to know I'm going to be happy."

"So you're looking for a guarantee of happiness, are you? You think as long as you're the man in command you'll be happy? What about her? What if she's not happy?"

"I can make her happy."

"Boy, if you think you can
make
that woman do anything, you don't know her at all."

The race finished while Kerrich wretchedly pondered that insight. Lord Reynard was right. He didn't know Pamela. That was part of her appeal. The truth of her remained beneath layers upon layers of complex personality and evasive smiles. But he caught glimpses of the core of the woman, and each time he liked her more. Loved her more.

Lord Reynard groaned and clasped his arm. "I'm tired, and while I'm usually hesitant to give you the benefit of my experience, I'm ninety-two and might not live long enough for you to get smart."

"You're eighty-four, Grandpapa."

"Stop sassing me and help me sit down."

Surprisingly, Kerrich wanted someone to tell him what to do, so he gave Lord Reynard his arm and assisted him while he sat. Then he squatted beside the old man. "Tell me."

Lord Reynard tapped Kerrich on the forehead, right between the eyes. "Marriage isn't about who's in command. It's a partnership where you stand or fall together."

"But to get Pamela, I'd have to sink my pride completely. I'd have to grovel."

"If it makes you feel better, lad, I groveled for your grandmother." Lord Reynard grasped one of Kerrich's wrists. "Tell me something, boy. When you saw Lewis take aim at your woman, did you jump for joy?"

"No!" Kerrich didn't want to think about that awful moment when he dove for Lewis, knowing all the while he couldn't make it.

"When you were holding her and the doctor dug out that bullet from her shoulder, did you think, "If her lungs are hit, I'll be rid of her'?"