Rules of Engagement (6 page)

In deference to Beth, Pamela tempered her impatience. "You have a reputation as a rake. Take Beth where you would take your own daughter. To the park. To a Shakespearean play. To the fireworks."

Moulton took a hesitant step into the chamber. "My lord?"

"In a minute, Moulton!" Kerrich said irascibly. "Miss Lockhart, such an itinerary would bloody bore me to death!"

Her patience, always thin with foolish gentlemen, snapped again. "Think, my lord! You mourn the chance to entertain yourself by teaching a young man the dissipations you revel in? The queen does not attend the horse races or the fights."

"What do you know of Her Majesty's habits?"

"As much as you, if you would only—" Pamela brought herself under control before she could betray herself and her past to the overly arrogant gentleman. "I know she is recently wed, and I know her consort is quite somber. And it doesn't take a great deal of thought to realize that the queen, like any right-thinking woman, would not be impressed by your philanthropy when it involves teaching young men to wager!"

Moulton stepped into the foyer and stared, then stepped back in and fidgeted.

Kerrich didn't appreciate her frank, and without a doubt correct, evaluation of his plan, and he did what all men do when their fallacies are pointed out to them. He sulked. "This child is useless to me."

Evidently, Beth decided she had to take a hand in her own fate, for she spoke directly to him. "Excuse me, sir. I'm not useless. I know how to do lots of things, and if you let me stay, I'll learn how to be the brat you're looking for." Her voice was shaking, yet she stared Kerrich right in the eye. "But you have to let me stay first. I promise to do whatever it is you want me to do, if you'll just give me a chance."

Kerrich glanced at Beth.

Please.
Pamela wanted to plead with him.
Look at her. See past the dirt and shyness to the courage and spirit.

But his eyes narrowed, and his color built. "Miss Lockhart, you must imagine that I am a soft-hearted imbecile to try and foist such a ruse on me. Is she your sister, perhaps, or a cousin you dabbed with dirt and hoped would wring my heartstrings? I am not so gullible!"

Beth jerked her hand out of Pamela's and put her fists on her hips. "Are you calling her a liar? She's a nice lady, and she rescued me!"

For one horrible moment, Pamela thought Beth would try to box his ears. Catching her shoulders, she held her close and said, "Truly, my lord. I met Beth today for the first time. I do not seek to deceive you in any way." But her voice faltered on that assurance, since her very appearance was a deception.

Kerrich noticed, of course, and stood up as if he would throw them both out personally.

But from the doorway of his study came an old man's hearty voice. "Hey, lad, do you have a hug for your old grandpapa?"

"Grandpapa!" Kerrich stood, totally flummoxed by the unexpected appearance. "Why didn't you warn me you were coming?"

"Warn you?" Lord Reynard chortled. "You sound like a lad caught out in a prank. Why should I warn you, young Devon?" He peered up at his grandson through the same brown color of eyes Kerrich saw in the shaving mirror every morning. "Have I come at an inconvenient time?"

"Not at all."
The worst.
Nevertheless, a flood of affection engulfed Kerrich at the sight of the old man. Regaining his wits, he strode forward and embraced his grandfather, and felt the poke of old bones where muscle used to be. He looked down at his grandfather—the grandfather who used to be his height—and said, "You know I always welcome you."

"Bloody right." Lord Reynard embraced him back, and he must have been peering over Kerrich's shoulder because he said, "Pardon me. I didn't see these lovely young ladies."

"What lovely young ladies?" Kerrich turned to see Miss Lockhart standing with that ridiculous girl-child she wanted him to take in.

"Well, lad, don't dither. Who are these lovely young ladies?" Lord Reynard asked, and he couldn't have sounded more delighted to see the shy little foundling and her sour-puss governess.

Because of Kerrich's obligations this… onerous female… had come into his life. He glared at Pamela, fully aware he had approved of her only the day before. What had been in his mind?

Duty. Family honor. Queen Victoria saying,
Lord Kerrich, if you don't cease your frivolous pursuit of women and show yourself to be a serious, responsible gentleman, I can no longer allow you to retain those parts of my personal fortune in your bank. You should marry, as I have done, produce children, and become respectable
—
or else.

And he, being a stupid fool, had sneered and asked, "Or else what? What worse could you do then to take your fortune away from my safekeeping?"

Well, she'd told him. The queen's
or else
had haunted his nightmares for years, and to discover someone knew his secret! And to have it be Victoria herself!

Taking matters into her own hands, Miss Lockhart introduced herself. "I am Miss Pamela Lockhart." She bent her head low as she curtsied to Lord Reynard, making a point of displaying a great deal more respect to the elderly nobleman than she had to Kerrich. "Lord Reynaud, it is an honor."

"Miss Lockhart." Lord Reynard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Have we met?"

"Perhaps, my lord, but a good many years ago and very briefly."

Lord Reynard stared at her as if dredging up memories long disused. "I used to know the Lockharts from Somerset. Are you related to them?"

Startled, Kerrich looked at Miss Lockhart. She was one of the Somerset Lockharts?

But Miss Lockhart didn't meet his gaze, or his grandfather's, either. Instead she looked down at the carved Chinese carpet and without emotion, said, "Yes, my lord. Alice Lockhart Ripley was my mother."

"Ah." Lord Reynard stiffened, then bowed slightly. "Hadn't heard about your father's death until recently. Let me extend my condolences."

"Thank you, my lord."

Kerrich was shocked. Miss Lockhart, as unnatural a female as he had ever met, reacted not with grief but with what looked like resentment, even embarrassment. His father had died when Kerrich was ten, and Kerrich well remembered the choking grief of loss. How could Miss Lockhart be so cold? And why was his grandfather looking so dismayed?

Injecting a falsely hearty note into his voice, Lord Reynard asked, "What are you doing here with my grandson? He's a rascal, you know. You'll have to watch yourself."

Kerrich barely refrained from snorting, then scrambled to fulfill his diplomatic duties. "This is the governess."

"The governess." Lord Reynard's wrinkled lips puckered.

If anything, Miss Lockhart grew more pallid and peevish. "Yes, my lord. I make my way in the world by teaching children."

"Good. Good," Lord Reynard said obscurely. Placing one hand on his cane and one hand on Kerrich's arm, he said, "I've been rattling around in that demmed coach for hours, and I'd like to take a turn about the room."

"As you wish, sir," Kerrich said.

With a short, dignified bow, Lord Reynard said, "Ladies, excuse us a moment. Don't leave."

They made a circuit of the room, passing Kerrich's desk, the grouping of armchairs before the fire. As always, Kerrich was shocked at the disintegration of the tall, proud mentor of his youth. The stoop of Lord Reynard's shoulders had grown so pronounced he had to lift his head to look Kerrich right in the face. In the past three years he had stopped carrying the decorative cane hooked over his arm and begun using it to support his every step. His rheumatism had grown worse with each winter, and a rainy day like today made him hobble and grunt.

At the farthest end of the room, out of Miss Lockhart's earshot and in the alcove with the bookshelves and the tall, curtained window, Lord Reynard paused and leaned one hand against the ledge as if exhausted.

"Are you well, sir?" Kerrich asked, putting his arm around him.

"Fine as can be expected. Most men of eighty-four are drooling in their silver cups, not chasing their female caretakers around their beds." He tapped his forehead. "And I'm still sharp as an icepick up here."

"For which I am very thankful." Usually. In his present circumstances, his grandfather's acumen could be the cause of great discomfort.

"Just brought you here to warn you… Burgess Ripley was charming, handsome, witty, and he abandoned his daughter and wife. Blackguard left them destitute."

"Good God." Kerrich looked at Miss Lockhart. She was kneeling before Beth, straightening the child's clothing and speaking quietly. The child was smiling at her as if she were a vision of beauty, and not some acerbic middle-aged spinster, and Kerrich couldn't even find it in his heart to insinuate that Burgess Ripley had fled to avoid his daughter's acrimony. With the child and with Lord Reynard she seemed almost… sweet. "Why did he leave them?"

"Always had a wandering eye. Went to live with some doxy on the continent. The mother died, leaving poor Miss Ripley—or as she calls herself now, Miss
Lockhart
—alone, and I believe the girl wasn't yet sixteen."

"That must have been twenty-five years ago. She should be over it by now."

"Not
that
long."

Not that long in his grandfather's timeframe, Kerrich supposed, but the injury done to Miss Lockhart by her father had obviously soured her on the whole male gender. "Then I will not inquire more about her family background."

"The Ripleys used to be much in society. I'm surprised you don't remember the family."

"I think that was probably before I attended parties." But was it? Something nudged at his memory… something about that night at Kensington Palace… swiftly, he turned his mind away. He made it a habit never to contemplate that night at Kensington Palace.

"For a bright young man, you're occasionally quite obtuse," Lord Reynard observed.

"I?" Kerrich prided himself on his intelligence. "No other man at the bank can judge the market as I can and invest so profitably. No man comprehends the vagaries of trade, and I'm damned good at predicting the ebb and flow of currency. You know. You taught me."

"I taught you the importance of recognizing faces and remembering names, too, my lad, but you've never thought that a significant skill, and for that you're a fool."

Stung, Kerrich said, "I remember people of consequence."

Lord Reynard stopped again and faced Kerrich. "People of consequence change every day. I started with nothing, lad, just uhe title you now bear and a strong determination to conquer whatever horizon I crossed. I started at that bank at thirteen and owned it before I was thirty, but I remember every slight I received from the people of consequence of my day. And where are they now?"

"Dead?"

"Cheeky." Lord Reynard grinned. "Yes, most of them, but they fawned on me before they died. I made a point to forget their names, and favors were not given to those who slighted me in my youth. Somewhere in your organization there is a youth working for you who looks up to you and is stung by your inattention. Your failings are going to catch up with you, and soon, I predict."

"I'll put my mind to remembering names, Grandpapa." They started toward Miss Lockhart and the child again. "Just as soon as my life returns to normal."

Lord Reynard dismissed his promise with a flip of the hand. "Oh, that'll never happen now."

They returned to the spot where Miss Lockhart and Beth stood waiting. Lord Reynard stared at them searchingly, then asked the question Kerrich had been waiting for. "What do you need a governess for, lad?"

"I'm adopting a foundling." Kerrich braced himself for questions.

"
This
foundling?" Lord Reynard cocked his head and examined the girl.

That wasn't the question that Kerrich expected. He thought that Lord Reynard would demand to know why.

Instead he again asked, "This foundling?"

His grandfather's tolerance knocked him off-balance, and Kerrich glanced at Miss Lockhart. She watched him with bright, interested eyes, as if she couldn't wait to hear his decision whether to take Beth or demand another, and all the while knowing he was trapped. Trapped by his grandfather's fortuitous arrival and by the sour knowledge he'd been losing the earlier fight anyway.

He capitulated with little grace. "Yes, this foundling. This is—" Damn, what was the brat's name?

Lord Reynard stared significantly at Kerrich.

Kerrich wished he remembered this one name at least.

"I need a seat, lad."

Kerrich hurriedly brought him a chair from before the desk.

Lord Reynard sank down on it. Then in as kind a tone as Kerrich had ever heard him use, Lord Reynard asked, "Child, what are you called?"

"I'm Elizabeth Hunter. Beth." She curtsied without being told, but trembled at the attention focused on her.

"So, Beth, what do you think of my grandson? Are you like all women, and think he's a young charmer?"

Beth's eyes widened as if the question astonished her. "Oh, no, my lord. I don't think he's young at all."

Miss Lockhart whipped her handkerchief out of her sleeve and hid her lips behind its ample folds. As if that could disguise her amusement at Kerrich's expense!

Kerrich glowered directly at her, forcing her to meet his gaze, and when she did he experienced a shock. For he might consider this female a termagant, but when merriment shone from her eyes he found himself seeing the humor in the situation. Only the most celebrated of sirens could make a man laugh at himself, yet he found himself almost smiling back. Almost. By God, in the far distant past had Miss Lockhart been a femme fatale?

Lord Reynard paid heed to neither his grandson nor Miss Lockhart. "And my grandson's certainly not a charmer, heh?"

"Well, I don't know." Beth scraped the carpet with her toe and looked bashful, making Kerrich wonder if he'd imagined her earlier fury on Miss Lockhart's behalf. "He seems kinda—"

Miss Lockhart earned her pay for that day, at least, when she interrupted Beth's disclosure. "Beth is yet so new to the household, she has scarcely had the pleasure of being showered by Lord Kerrich's charms as the rest of us have."

Kerrich barely refrained from wiping his brow. He could imagine how his grandfather would react if he knew Kerrich had accused a lady whose family had been among his acquaintances of dishonesty and deceit.

"However, Beth will get to know His Lordship, for Lord Kerrich will be spending part of each day in the nursery with Beth and me."

Kerrich's pleased regard faded. "What?"

Miss Lockhart pulled Beth close to her side and smiled down at her. "I don't know if Lord Kerrich has told you the tale of this child, my lord, but her quick wit saved a very precious pocket watch from a nefarious pickpocket."

Beth tried to protest. "But not—"

Gently Miss Lockhart laid her hand over Beth's mouth. "I know, dear, you don't like the praise, but you deserve it." She beamed at Kerrich. "Just as Lord Kerrich deserves praise for so honorably bringing Beth into his home."

Lord Reynard slapped Kerrich on the shoulder. "Quite right, lad. Admirable thing to do."

The old man knew very well this was overly generous; why didn't he point out that a simple reward or a job in the kitchen would do as well? His admiration boded ill. It boded very ill indeed.

"So, Beth, you deserve the chance to get to know Lord Kerrich. He is, after all, in your debt." Miss Lockhart eased her hand away from Beth's mouth, and when Beth remained mute, Miss Lockhart said to Lord Reynard, "Lord Kerrich has been most insistent that he show his appreciation for his little heroine by getting to know her and taking her to all the wondrous entertainments London has to offer."

Kerrich smiled, but with tightly clenched teeth. "But I had also expressed my concern that, as a businessman, I cannot spend my whole day in the nursery."