Tempted (3 page)

Alex winced. He knew the child was inordinately sensitive to the fact that her mother had left her on his doorstep. He could sympathize, still incensed himself that a woman could do such a thing.

He looked at Mrs. Callahan to gauge her reaction, but she merely lifted a brow. “Are you now?”

“I am.”

“Is that the excuse you use for your poor manners?”

Gabby sucked in a breath. “Did you hear that, father? She said I have poor manners.”

“Well, you do,” Mrs. Callahan said.

“Do not.”

The nurse snorted, the inelegant sound somehow seeming to fit the redoubtable nurse perfectly. “You don’t even know how to curtsy properly.”

“Do, too.”

“Not by the looks of the one you just gave me.”

To Alex’s absolute and utter shock, his obstinate daughter took a step back, straightened, and then gave the nurse a curtsy that would have done her mother proud…if she’d had one.

“There,” she said upon straightening.

Mrs. Callahan wrinkled her tilted nose. “Hmm. I suppose that was a
wee
bit better, but no proper little girl disobeys her elders.”

Gabby glared. So did the nurse.

Alex decided he’d had enough.

“Gabby, go to your room.”

His daughter opened her mouth to give her standard protest. But an odd thing happened. He saw her stiffen again. Saw her clench her fists. Saw her straighten. “As you wish, Papa.”

Alex just about fell off his chair.

She turned, gave him a quick,
perfect
curtsy, nodded to Mrs. Callahan—who, of all things, stuck her tongue out again—then left.

Silence dawned. Alex could only stare.

“If that’s the way she behaves, ’tis a wonder someone hasn’t given your daughter a basting.” Her full lips pressed together. “Fair wanted to do it meself.”

He blinked, found himself clearing his throat. “Mrs. Callahan, how long, exactly, have you been a nurse?”

Her face lost some of its composure. She straightened much the way Gabby had straightened a moment ago. “Long enough, m’lord,” she answered with a tilt to her lively little chin and a challenging sparkle in her eye.

“How long?” he asked again.

“Long enough to know you must be desperate indeed for someone to fill this post if I’m still sitting here.”

He drew back, once again startled by her frankness. But the way she’d challenged Gabby into behaving…It was a remarkable technique. “Where did you learn to handle children that way?”

“Handle ’em like what?”

“So expertly.”

She snorted, her pretty eyes glowing like a wick. And, yes, she was very striking although he was hard pressed to understand why he thought so. He was never very fond of red hair. And this hair looked to be rather unruly what with its ringlets and waves, for all that it was pulled up off her face in a bun. And yet there was something about her that caught his attention. A sort of vivaciousness that made him think she was laughing at him … or at the world. She
glowed
, he realized.

“It’s the way I raised me younger brothers. Four of them I have, though they’re all grown now. I assume what works for the poorer classes works for the nobility, too.”

Rather a pert answer, but he was a reasonable enough man to admit there might be some truth to her words. He stared at her for a second longer, a bit disbelieving that he was actually contemplating the idea of hiring her. She disliked children. Well, he knew a blacksmith that didn’t like horses, but he was still a fine farrier.

“Let me explain Gabby’s unusual circumstances.” Was it his imagination, or did she actually look impatient? No. That couldn’t be. And yet he couldn’t dismiss the idea for she seemed rather vexed. It was there in the way she flung herself back in her seat, her breasts jiggling in a way that drew his eye. Actually, the whole package drew his eyes—

“Ahem. Yes. She is my daughter, that I do not deny,” he said, feeling his skin redden, for he was almost certain she’d caught him staring. Again. “She was left on my doorstep for me to raise when she was only a week old. I’ve done my best for her, but my duties as a Revenue Commander ofttimes take me away. As such she has grown up rather independent and strong-willed. I try to compensate for her difficult nature by paying her nurses a pound a week.”

Her eyes clearly said,
A pound a week?

He nodded, her reaction making him feel a bit more in control. She was a servant. Driven by money. They all were. “If you take the job, and I am in no way convinced you are right for it yet, you will receive one pound a week for your troubles, a great deal of money as I’m sure you know. It is nearly as much as my butler makes.”

“A pound a week,” she whispered, her whole expression undergoing a change. “And all I need do is nurse the bantling?”

“Indeed, however, your response to my earlier question puzzles me. If you do not like children, why do you nurse them?”

She stared at him hard, and he had the oddest feeling she was mulling over something. “I was lying,” she said at last.

“I beg your pardon?”

She nodded, her eyes having lost some of their earlier impatience. “I’d decided on my way here that I didn’t want the job. I ain’t never worked for no nobleman before and I didn’t want to start.”

He felt his brow wrinkle in surprise. “Then why did you apply for the job?”

She stared at him for a moment. “My father made me do it.”

His brows lifted. Well, he could certainly understand one’s father’s influence on one’s life. “I see. So you decided to botch the interview.”

“Yes, sir. I mean, m’lord.”

“But now you’ve changed your mind. Because of the money?”

“Mayhap.”

“Mayhap. What do you mean mayhap?”

“Convince me.”

“Convince you—” He felt words dam up his throat so that he had to cough to dispel them. “Mrs. Callahan, I can hardly hope to convince you if you yourself are uncertain about the job.”

“Are you a kind master?”

He jerked in his seat. “Well,” he huffed. “I should hope so—”

“Do you chase the maids?”

“I
beg
your pardon.”

“Your look of outrage is answer enough.”

“Mrs. Callahan—”

She held up a gloved hand.
A gloved hand.
“Now, now. Don’t go all smarmy-faced on me. A body needs to be certain of a few things before they say yes…or no.”

“And
are
you saying no?”

“No.”

“No, you do not want the job? Or no, you are not saying no?”

“No, I’m not saying no. Gracious, you’re making me head spin.”

“And you mine, for it is
I
who should be asking the questions.”

“Then ask.”

She shrugged in a dismissive way. Unbelievable. “I’m waiting,” she said when he didn’t immediately respond.

He almost told her to leave right then, but something about the way she stood up to him made him hold his tongue. Gabby needed a stern hand and he had a feeling Mrs. Callahan would provide exactly that. Perhaps too firm. “Have you ever struck a child before?” he asked to allay that fear.

“Been tempted to, but no.”

He lifted a brow. “I see. And you’ve worked with difficult children before?”

“Only me father.”

The words almost shocked an exclamation from him. Gracious. How common. “That is not the kind of child I had in mind.”

“Well then, the answer is no.”

“How about difficult people?” He held up his hand quickly. “Aside from your father.”

She pursed her lips in thought. “Old man Mathison were a real handful,” she finally said. “Used to hit me in the backside with a slingshot whenever he’d catch me crossing his field. Hurt like the dickens, it did, the old cove.”

He stared across at her unblinkingly, a part of him unbelievably wanting to laugh.

Still…

He looked back down at her résumé, reviewing her qualifications. There could be no doubt that she had the experience necessary for the job. And the way she’d handled Gabby…

“And where is Mr. Callahan?”

“Dead.”

Marvelous.
“My condolences,” he said instead.

Sleep. It must be that he needed sleep. But before that, he needed to hire her as his daughter’s nurse.

Ah, but
was
he about to hire her?

He thought it over for a few minutes longer. Truly, according to her references, she was the best candidate he’d interviewed so far. Granted, he seemed to be a bit attracted to her.

A bit?

Yes, a bit, but that he could contain. After all, he would never be so common as to seduce a member of his staff. And yet it was still a few more moments before he arrived at a decision, the redoubtable Mrs. Callahan once again tapping her foot as she stared at his bookshelves, her tongue clucking in her mouth.

“I shall give you a trial,” he said at last. The clucking stopped.

You’re mad, Alex.

“Two weeks, at the end of which we shall evaluate your performance. Of course, that is assuming you are still interested in the position?”

She looked at him again, eyes narrowed. “A pound a week?” she reiterated.

“Nearly fifty pounds per annum.”

“And all I have to do is keep an eye on the hellion? Feed her? Dress her?”

“That is, I believe, rather the point of being a nurse.” She still didn’t jump at the offer, not that he was surprised given her earlier recalcitrance. Then she did something odd. Rather, something more odd than what she’d done before. She scrunched her face, blinked a few times, then slowly nodded. When she straightened, Alex felt a surprising stab of hope.

“I’ll take it,” she finally said.

“Very good. When can you start?”

“When do you want me to start?”

“Today.”

“
Today
?”

“If your affairs are so in order.”

“But I—”

“If not, next week will be just as well.”

She blinked, stared at him for a long moment, then said, “I’ll start today.”

“Good,” he said, rising. “I’ll have Mrs. Grimes show you to your room.”

Chapter Two

She was a feather head. A chaw-bacon. A regular chuckleheaded dummy.

Nurse the child, indeed.

What the devil had she been thinking? She should have told him no, like she’d planned.

“Right this way,” said a chicken-breasted housekeeper who’d introduced herself as “Mrs. Grimes,” with the unspoken “Queen of the household,” and “
La-de-da,
aren’t I a special one?” following her words.

Queen of bloody Bedlam, if Mary didn’t miss her guess, for as she climbed the stairs she realized not a sound stirred within the house, which was bleedin’ odd given the fact that there was a child here somewhere. A house should have sounds. Creak some when you stepped on the floors. Smell a bit. Have stains on the carpet. Only these floors were covered with spotless plush rugs, the kind that cost more than a fisherman made in twenty years and that your feet sank into with a soft sigh. She knew this for a fact because there was a hole in the bottom of her right boot and what she could feel through that hole felt like satin clouds. She lost herself in the feel of it for a moment until the same clock as before suddenly struck the hour, scaring Mary nearly half to death with its
ding-dong-bong-bong
and then loud
Bong. Bong. Bong.

“The home was built without servants’ stairs, which is most troublesome at times,” the housekeeper explained, and her voice had that odd quality the elderly sometimes got. It wobbled like she couldn’t control the amount of air she expelled through her throat. “If you run into any of his lordship’s guests, or his lordship himself, you are to keep your head down. Do not make eye contact.”

“Turn me into a pillar of salt if I do?” Mary mumbled under her breath.

Mrs. Grimes paused mid-step. Mary nearly ran
smack
into her iron stiff back. Ach. She’d likely get stuck by brambles.

“His lordship said you were an outspoken miss.”
She’d heard her?
“Did ’e now?” And why did her heart suddenly begin to pound in a peculiar way as she waited for the woman to expand on the comment?

Mrs. Grimes nodded, her nose pinching together in the oddest way. There was a wee crick in that nose, making Mary wonder if someone might not have lost patience with the lady once and bashed her face in. She wore a gray gown that made her complexion look unhealthy and that turned her blue eyes the color of cheese mold. She wasn’t a pretty lady with her angular face and too thin frame. Mary supposed that might account for her sour disposition. It often did.

“And did he not say anything else?” she asked before realizing she shouldn’t care what he thought of her.

“No,” Mrs. Grimes said firmly. “Only that you will attend your charge at each meal and take her out for air and exercise on a daily basis. And to that I will add that your position in the household will be below that of myself and of Simms, our butler, and, of course, the governess, when one is hired.”

Mary lifted a brow; the woman stared down at her like she were a fancy mort come to steal his lordship’s virtue…as if such a thing were possible. “Don’t worry none, Mrs. Grimes. I won’t be getting airs above meself.” Nor seduce the lord and master.

With an arch look, the lady said, “See that you don’t,” and it came out sounding
doh-hont.
She turned and led her up another flight of stairs, down a narrow corridor with multiple doors on either side that Mary thought must be the family quarters, then up yet another flight. “Servants’ quarters,” she explained, stopping on the top floor. “Your room is the last door on the left.”

And without another word, the woman turned and shuffled back down the stairs.

“Hmph,” Mary said, shifting her satchel into her other hand as she took a deep breath of stale air. “Nice ta meet you, too.”

Resisting the urge to stick out her tongue, she headed toward her room, the whole morning sticking in her mind like the sting of a burr’s needle. Weren’t just his lordship what was full of himself, but the whole bleedin’ household.

She’d almost convinced herself to leave, but then she opened the door to her bedroom.

Blimey, she’d died and gone to heaven.

Her very own bed sat near the middle of a wall. A real bed, not a straw-filled bag of barnacles that she’d been sleeping on lately. She went over to it, sitting down upon the edge, sighing at the way her backside sank into it.

Feathers. It were a feather-filled mattress. Lord love a duck (or perhaps not…since it was likely a duck’s feathers she sat upon), she’d heard about such luxuries, but never expected to actually sleep upon one. That were reserved for the nobility, which she supposed she was, well, not directly, but now that she worked for one, she obviously shared the wealth.

She got up, slowly spinning around. Light, lovely, soft rays of sunshine washed in through a tall, paned window to her right. How she’d wished these past years for a room with windows. Even a tiny one. Alas, she’d never had that luxury. Until now.

Then she saw the brick mantel to her right.

“Coo, me own fireplace, too.”

Well, that settled it. No more blue toes in the morning. Then her eyes caught on a letter on that mantel, the piece of parchment folded up with the words TO THE NEW NURSE scrawled on the outside.

Mary set her satchel down and plucked it from its perch, opening it a second later.

Dear New Nurse,
it said.

Leave.

Leave now.

Do not be tempted by the money.

You will end up in Bedlam if you stay and nurse the child.

Leave.

Leave, leave, leave
.

The Old Nurse

Mary’s brows lifted as she read the words. “Hmph,” she mused. “Not very promising.”

A scratch at the window interrupted. Mary turned, brows lifting once again as she said, “Lord above. How the devil did
you
find me here?”

Abu, her pet monkey, stared back at her with wide, monkey eyes, the color of which suddenly reminded her of the color of his lordship’s desk downstairs. Black brows set into white fur with a pink-skinned face made him look almost human as he stared inside the room. Once he realized she’d spotted him, his small body suddenly bounced up and down like a rabbit with springs on his feet.

“Silly mite, you’ll fall if you don’t watch yourself.” He seemed to understand her words, for he stilled, a wide, monkey smile that never failed to amuse Mary spreading across his face. And in a world where smiles were all too rare, she put up with the monkey’s temper and mischievous nature.

She went to the window, opening it. “Come here, imp.”

The monkey needed no second invitation. Little, almost human hands reached for her, his frog-like legs launching at her. In the blink of an eye, he sat on her left shoulder, question mark tail wrapped around her neck, his little throat
clickity-clickity-clicking
as his furry, white chest expanded and contracted in excitement.

“Really now?” she pretended a conversation. “Oh, I agree. He
is
a pompous windbag, he is. Did you see the way he looked me up and down? I thought myself a bleedin’ beggar woman for half a second. Thinks he’s royalty, he does. Well, I suppose he is, in a blue-blooded sort of way, for he
is
heir to a dukedom. And I’m going to have to put up with his fussy nonsense, all thanks to me scaly dad.” Although truth be told, ’twas her own greed what got her in trouble.

The monkey nodded, his rust-colored eyes blinking into her own. The wee little thing had more brains than the man what sired her, that was for certain.

“How did you find me up here?” she asked him, scratching behind his human ears, a favorite spot. “You were supposed to wait until I could let you in, silly spider, though I don’t blame you for not wanting to wait outside. Busy that street is with all those swells rattling up and down the road, their tigers and grooms hanging off the backside like barnacles on a piece of plank. I’m surprised they don’t all crash into each other—”

Abu flung himself away.

“Who in heaven’s name are you talking to?”

Mary jumped like a squirrel hit by a peanut. Alexander Drummond, his high and mighty marquis-ship. Or lordship. Or what ever they called him, stood in the doorway, looking as pompous and full of himself as that caricature she had seen of
A Dandy
hanging down on Fleet Street.

“What in the blue-blooded blazes do
you
want?”

He jerked as if her words had clapped him across the face. “I
beg
your pardon?”

Only then did Mary realize her welcome could hardly be called cordial, not to mention, very subservient. “Oh my goodness, m’lord, I thought you were someone else,” she improvised, glancing around for Abu who cowered behind the door. “Beg your pardon. What can I do for you, m’lord?”

She had a belly-aching feeling that he saw right through her lies for his eyes narrowed, his mouth pressing together before he said, “I came to see how you liked your room,” which was accompanied by a suspicious stare.

Came to see how she—

Why, who’d have thought? She almost softened toward him then. Almost, because right at that moment, that very moment, she saw Abu start heading toward her.

Oh, Lord.

The door shielded him from the man’s view, but not Mary’s. His little simian lips contorted and flexed as he made faces at her, not that the cull could see. Abu’s tongue darted out, Mary knowing such a gesture could only mean one thing, and one sound.

“Don’t,” she cried before he could make the rude noise.

Abu and the marquis froze.

Mary fixed her gaze on the marquis, smiling to cover the sharpness of her tone.

He looked utterly bewildered. “Don’t what?”

Good question.

“Don’t—” She searched for something to say, scratching at her hair, and the tight bun. “I don’t know how to thank you for such fine quarters.”

He drew himself up. “Oh.” But then he looked perplexed again. “You’re quite welcome.”

And then Abu leapt toward her nightstand.

“No,” she cried, only to look at the marquis. His eyes had gone quite owlish. “N…no doubt you say that to all your new servants.”

He blinked. So did Abu, her pet still shielded from his lordship’s view—thank the lord above. And then Abu’s attention caught on the porcelain washbasin laid upon the stand.

“Indeed,” the marquis repeated.

Abu moved to pick up the basin.

“No, no, no,” she said hurriedly, stamping a foot in Abu’s direction. Her pet stopped. She looked at the marquis. “Is that all, m’lord?”

He looked at her oddly. “Actually, no.” He blinked a few more times, shook his head a bit, then said, “My daughter is awaiting you in the nursery. I thought I’d show you the way.”

“Excellent.” She rushed past the startled Abu and directly at the marquis, who also looked startled. She slammed the door behind her, and then headed down the hall.

“Mrs. Callahan.”

She stopped, turned back to him.

“We need to go this way.”

“Oh,” she said, staring up at him. And if she were honest with herself, which she always tried to be, he had nice eyes. Kind, even. Mary always said a body could tell a lot by a person’s eyes. People were like animals in that way. Soft and warm meant you could trust a person. Sharp and narrow meant watch yourself. His lordship here had exceptionally soft blue eyes, eyes with little flecks of silver mixed in, bringing to mind a bottle of mercury she’d once seen crushed in the street—

A screech filled the air.

They both froze.

“What the blazes was that?”

“Was what?”

“That sound. It came from your room.”

“What sound?”

He straightened. “Mrs. Callahan, I very distinctly heard a screech come from your room.”

“Really?” she breathed in her best feather-headed way. He narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

And before she could step in front of him, aye, before she could place a hand against his chest to stop him, he had his hand on the door, was opening it…

“No, don’t.” She grabbed at him.

“Mrs. Callahan—” he tugged. She looked beyond him. The room was…empty.

Oh.

She almost let him go, her relief was so great, but suddenly she became aware of his hand. Such large, masculine fingers he had. Elegant, really. Fingers that brought to mind artists and sculptors and a deft touch with reins…or perhaps a really top o’ the trees manicure.

She dropped the limb. “I’m sorry, m’lord. I feared you were charging into danger. If you did, indeed, hear something, it might be unsafe.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, his arm dropping back to his side. His fingers clenched and unclenched, just like hers. “
You
just came from your room and nothing happened to you.” He stepped into the aforementioned room and paused in the middle of it. Mary realized Abu must have left through the still-open window. Thank the lord for that.

Then she noticed something else. His lordship looked rather tasty from the backside. Aye, he was splendidly shaped what with his wide shoulders that filled out his jacket in such a way that she knew it wasn’t padded. Indeed, his forearms looked most healthy, too. Muscular, like a stallion that had covered a lot of mares.