A Reckless Promise (5 page)

“It's her gown,” she went on quickly. “I've never quite seen so many ruffles.”

“She wants the dressing of you,” Darby said, offering her his arm once more. “Apparently she and the other ladies have decided you and Marley are to move about in Society while you're here.”

“You aren't going to allow that, are you?”

He was actually becoming used to the idea, odd as that seemed to him. The sight of Sadie Grace Boxer in fine silk and pearls might prove interesting. In fact, the more he thought about how displeased that same Sadie Grace appeared to be, the more he approved the ladies' plans.

“The dressing of you, no. I'm afraid the ladies are quite set on the rest of it. You could have remained at the cottage, not that I'd be so crass as to point that out to you.”

“No, you'd never be that, would you? And where will you be, my lord, once you've successfully dumped your responsibility in that sweet old lady's lap?” she asked, taking his arm and forcing a smile to her face as they at last entered the enormous drawing room.

He had one thing to say for the woman. She could hold her own in a give-and-take of words. Of course, he wasn't sure that could be listed as a compliment, not when she was also so clearly concealing something from him.

“Hiding in a cupboard under the stairs most quickly springs to mind, Mrs. Boxer, but I do believe that won't be allowed. Shall we be on with it? I'll introduce you to the ladies and be off about my business for a few days, giving you and my ward time to...settle in. You'll be
safe
here. In every way.”

“Her name is Marley, and we're both in mourning. It would be highly improper for us, me most especially, to go into Society.”

“I'm convinced John would understand, under the circumstances. Well, Mrs. Boxer? I don't hear any argument coming from your direction, which is refreshing.”

“That's only because you're correct. John specifically asked that Marley not be subjected to a year of mourning.”

“And?”

“And I agreed,” she muttered before Clarice Goodfellow, never one to wait patiently for anything, came at them, all but cooing in pleasure over the smiling Marley she carried along with her, the child's legs wrapped around her hip.

Darby quickly counted noses. Besides the duchess and Clarice, Minerva Townsend was present, along with Gabe's Thea and Coop's Dany. More than needed for a witches' coven.

Five against one. Seven, if he counted Sadie and Marley.

Darby introduced, bowed, kissed hands and excused himself within five minutes, lamenting that he could no longer keep his cattle standing.

Marley, he was certain, was the only one who didn't know he was lying through his teeth.

CHAPTER FOUR

W
HAT
A
DIFFERENCE
a few days can make. From sorrowful country mouse, to panicked hare on the run, to pampered pet curled up snug as a bug in a rug in the middle of fashionable Mayfair, Sadie's entire life had seen change after rapid change.

Could she relax now? It seemed so, at least for the moment. Except, of course, for the fact that Marley's curious guardian had been noticeably absent for five entire days, but would be calling on Sadie in a few minutes, supposedly to take her for a stroll in the square.

What pleasant surroundings for what was sure to be an inquisition, at least thankfully without the thumbscrews or rack.

Five days. More than enough time for him to have stuck his nose where she wished it would never go. Time to think up a dozen questions she'd have to answer without hesitation, without fear. Without telling him the whole truth.

“Did you kill him?”

Yes, her days with the ladies had been chaotic, bordering on delightful, but her nights had been filled with those four carelessly drawled words and the memories they evoked.

The viscount had this
way
about him, Sadie had decided. Even in such short acquaintance, she had recognized his intelligence, for one, and his curiosity, for another. He had a rather
silken
way about him, saying things that seemed innocuous and even slightly silly on the surface, but with an intensity of purpose behind every carefully careless thing he said. He didn't goad her, as he'd done at the cottage, because he was a mean man, but because she hadn't had sufficient time to produce a more convincing story, and he had seen straight through her.

Not to the lies themselves, thank goodness, but to the fact she was telling them.

She'd actually believed herself to be on relatively solid ground until he'd asked her why he should believe her as to Marley's identity, her own identity. He'd certainly had every right to ask the question, but she hadn't been prepared to have her word doubted. She had proof, certainly she did, but to show it to him would open the door to everything else.

“There you are, Sadie. He's downstairs. Don't forget your new cloak and bonnet. And just you wait until you see what he's brought with him!”

Sadie snapped out of her uncomfortable reverie, surreptitiously wiped at her damp cheeks and unfolded herself from the window seat overlooking the mews. Smoothing down the same light blue morning gown she'd worn the first time she'd met the viscount, she looked at Clarice, who was all but hopping from one foot to the other, apparently in some anticipation.

What a lovable creature she was, and lovely into the bargain, from her blond curls to her saucer-size blue eyes, to her...interestingly curved figure. But it was her open and carefree nature that made Sadie feel so comfortable around her, and she knew she had found a friend.

Clarice Goodfellow viewed most everything to be either delicious or wonderfully exciting and worthy of exclamations—be it the materials the ladies had picked for Sadie's and Marley's new wardrobes or the fact that the Cranbrook chef had prepared sugared berries for dessert.

“My goodness, Clarice, did the man bring a pony with him, or perhaps a monkey on a chain?”

Her new friend looked crestfallen for a moment. “No, neither of those.” Just as quickly, she brightened once more. “But very nearly as wonderful.”

Sadie patted at her hair as she did a quick inventory of her appearance in the mirror—she must have looked into the mirror more often since arriving at the cottage than she had done in her entire life—picked up her borrowed cloak and bonnet and followed Clarice out into the hallway. “Then we must settle for very nearly as wonderful. I will do my utmost to hide my disappointment.”

“Oh, he didn't bring anything for
you
, silly. He brought it for Marley.”

Sadie found herself tipping her head slightly and smiling. The viscount had brought a gift—a very nearly as wonderful as a pony or a monkey gift—for his new ward? Wasn't that sweet. And thoughtful. Perhaps she'd been judging him too harshly, and he was more delighted to have a ward thrust upon him than he was interested in asking questions.

No, she doubted that. He had probably brought the gift just so that she would relax, feel in charity with him, and then he'd start in on the questions once more.

Oh, he was a tricky sort. And not above using Marley to get to her, soothe her into lowering her guard, even liking him. She'd thought he'd assign the ladies the mission of asking penetrating questions, assuming she would tell women things she would not tell him. They'd gathered around like mother hens over Marley, and taken Sadie into their circle without a blink. She had never much cared for the company of women, truth be told, but these ladies were so open, so sincere and definitely unique that Sadie probably would have confided in them if they'd asked.

Yet none of them had, not in five whole days.

“You've been lulled into feeling comfortable, Sadie Grace. This unexpected gift to Marley is probably the man's coup de grâce, and he'll expect you to spout the truth now like a garden fountain.”

“You said something, Sadie?” Clarice asked from behind her.

“Just cudgeling my brain as to what this gift could be,” she answered, realizing she still had her hand on the newel post, and had not begun a descent to the lower floor.

“There's only one way to find out, you know, and dragging your feet like some silly looby isn't one of them. Come on now, it doesn't bite. Well, at least it hasn't yet. Follow me.”

Clarice brushed past her, leaving Sadie to follow. But slowly. She was girding her loins, or stiffening her upper lip, or whatever anyone could hope to do when faced with a worthy adversary.

But she possessed her own measure of intelligence. She had long ago cultivated a rather admirable backbone. She had to remember that; she was not without defenses of her own. The viscount was no match for her, not when she didn't allow herself to be distracted by anything. Not by this so-called gift. Not by the generous inclusion offered by the ladies. Not by the soft bed, nor the more than ample meals. Not the new gowns she and Marley would soon have hanging in their wardrobes.

And most certainly not the smiling, one-eyed viscount who was much too attractive for her to think about him the way she had been these last days, just as if she'd never before encountered anyone quite like him.

Even if she hadn't.

Sadie approached the drawing room slowly, listening to the voices coming from the interior, and paused in the doorway to see the duchess, Clarice and Mrs. Townsend all leaning forward in their seats, looking at something on the floor.

Some
one
on the floor.

The viscount, clad in his impeccable London finery, was actually sitting cross-legged on the carpet, watching as Marley sat there, as well, attempting to hold on to a squiggly tan puppy with long drooping ears and a tongue currently employed in placing slobbering kisses all over her niece's face.

“Oh, stop, puppy, stop!” Marley exclaimed, still holding on tightly. “That tickles!”

“Perhaps if you let him go he'd stop,” the viscount suggested, his smile easy and relaxed.

He looks younger again, the way he did with the pillow marks on his cheek. And he genuinely seems to be enjoying himself.

Marley tightened her grip on the puppy, and Sadie quickly recognized a now-familiar panic rising in the child. She would have gone to her, but wanted to see how His Lordship reacted to this new problem. Besides, the shin-kicking episode was still fresh in her mind. With her aunt by her side, Marley might just feel protected enough to say or do something that would ruin the lovely scene.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Clarice soothed as she settled into a chair. “He really seems to want to roam now.”

“You won't take him away, will you? He gets to stay with me forever and ever, doesn't he? Auntie Vivien,” she implored, looking to the duchess, “he's my puppy now, isn't he? He won't go away?”

Even as the duchess and the other women all spoke at once, fervently agreeing the puppy would stay (Clarice adding, “Even if he pids on the carpets”), the viscount inched closer to Marley, patting the dog's golden head.

“Marley, look at me, please,” he said quietly.

The child sniffled, but then did as she was told.

Sadie held her breath.

“I told you the puppy is yours, didn't I? I wouldn't lie to you, on my word as a gentleman. I realize you don't know me well, but I trust the good ladies here will vouch for me.”

As one, the ladies “vouched.”

“Thank you, ladies. Do you believe me now?”

Marley bit her bottom lip, but then nodded. “I suppose so, Darby.”

Dear Lord, he had the child calling him Darby? Against her wishes to the contrary? First the puppy, and now the unseemly informality. What next from this unpredictable man? Would he bounce her niece on his knee while reciting nursery rhymes?

The viscount held out his arms and the child released her death grip so that he could deposit the fuzzy and undoubtedly relieved little thing on the carpet, where, as if fulfilling a prophecy, he immediately sniffed the carpet and then piddled.

He was a small puppy, so it was a small piddle, and nobody commented.

“Good. And now that that's settled, perhaps you'd feel even better if you gave this scamp here a name. We can't keep calling him ‘puppy,' now can we? Do you have a name in mind? Reginald, perhaps?”

Once again the ladies spoke in near-unison:

“George, after our beloved king.”

“Bouncer. See how he bounces when he walks?”

“Major. Look at those paws. He may be small now, but he'll grow. He needs a name worthy of the man—that is, the
dog
he will become.”

“I shall name him Max,” Marley announced above the friendly argument.

There was an immediate chorus of agreement. Sadie imagined the ladies would have lauded the choice if her niece had chosen to name the thing Doorstop.

But did she have to pick
Max
?

“Max,” the viscount repeated, looking to Sadie, proving he'd known she'd been standing some distance away all along.

Did she look like someone whose stomach had just hit the floor?

“His name is Max,” Marley said again, rather forcefully this time. “Max is a very good name for a dog. Papa named his dog Max, so this one will be Max, as well. Only I won't let this Max escape his leash and get run down by a cart, or leave me the way Papa did. Mama died, too, but I don't remember her. You promised, Darby.”

The ladies variously sighed, or dabbed at their eyes or, in the case of Minerva Townsend, loudly blew into a handkerchief.

“Then it's agreed,” the viscount said, again looking toward Sadie.

Had he noticed that she'd backed up two paces since he'd last glanced her way?

The duchess, carefully keeping her skirts out of reach of the dog, asked Marley if this Max looked like the last Max. “I know your uncle Basil gave the same name to two of our birds, but that was only because we had so many that he forgot we already had a Punjab. Extremely common name, Punjab. Well, at least in some areas. I believe we were in—but that doesn't matter at the moment, does it, Minerva, so you can stop worrying that I'm about to launch into a story not fit for young ears.”

“I know I'll hear it later,” the lady grumbled, and sat back on her chair, clearly finished with the subject. “Just don't linger on the birds and leave out the good parts.”

Marley, seemingly oblivious to everything save the duchess's first question, shook her head, her newly trimmed blond curls swinging about her cheeks. “Max was so big I could ride on him. Papa said he looked like a horse, so that was all right, at least until I grew.”

Sadie backed up another step, turned her head to judge how far she was from the hallway, the stairs.

The dratted man couldn't have brought her a kitten, could he? Or even a monkey.

The viscount scooped up the puppy and returned it to Marley's arms. “I've recently purchased a very handsome black horse. Was he perhaps black, this
horse
of yours?”

Marley began petting the puppy. “No, Max was brown, but much browner than this. And he had little ears that stood up, and white feet like the grocer's wagon horse, and some white on his face even though a lot of it was black. Papa called him
sleek
.
He was so handsome.”

“Brown—clearly dark brown,” Clarice said, apparently enjoying a puzzle. “White feet, black muzzle—oh, and small ears. Do you know what I think? I think Marley means the dog was a boxer. My cousin Lester had a pair of them for hunting. Handsome things, when they weren't slobbering all over my shoes.”

Sadie had resumed covertly backing up when the viscount asked the color of the dog.

She'd turned toward the foyer at the words
even though a lot of it was black.

And she had tossed both cloak and bonnet in the general direction of one of the duke's footmen before she'd hitched up her skirts and was already halfway up the stairs as Clarice had clapped her hands and asked, “Do you know what I think?”

By the time she reached the landing she could hear the viscount's Hessians on the marble stairs, and increased her pace, praying there was a key on her side of the bedchamber door.

Skirts still above her ankles, she ran down the hallway, sliding around a corner thanks to a small rug on the floor that apparently wanted to travel along with her.

“Whoa there, Sadie. In a rush, are you?”

She skidded to a halt. “Your Grace,” she gasped, dropping into a curtsy as she came face-to-face with the Duke of Cranbrook. “I'm so sorry. I forgot something in my room. Please excuse me.”