How I Married a Marquess (9 page)

She touched her lips, which still tingled hot and moist from his kisses. Oh, this man was dangerous! Impossibly perilous for her. And she should
never
have let him kiss her like that
or responded so eagerly. With Thomas Matteson she knew she was playing with fire, but she was helpless to stop.

Closing her eyes, she shook herself. Oh, what a silly, silly cake she'd been to let him unsettle her like that. Worse, to let him get that close. Why did this man chase all rational, self-preserving thought from her mind every time he smiled at her? But this time, oh, he'd done so much more than just smile. And Good Lord, she'd let him! She'd
wanted
him to kiss her, in fact, to touch her…shamefully, to let him
do even more. Never had she been kissed with such heat, never with such raw need. Thomas left her shivering and craving to be closer, so close she'd wanted to crawl beneath his skin.

She groaned in miserable frustration. He was a rake, and she'd fallen for his charms as if she'd never encountered a man before. As if she didn't know what destruction such creatures were capable of wreaking on a heart.

And she simply could
not
let him get that close again.

W
ell.” Josie ducked out from beneath the fireplace in the first-floor common room of the Good Hope Orphanage, where she'd practically wedged herself to stare up into the chimney, and wiped her soot-blackened hands on her apron. “If there
was
a family of bats living in there, they have since vacated and moved on to tenant elsewhere.”

“Are you sure?” a skittish voice asked from behind the settle on the far side of the room. A blond head peeped cautiously around the side and stared with uncertain three-year-old eyes.

“Absolutely, Clara.” Josie smiled to reassure her.

Which didn't seem to comfort the little girl at all, based on the worried way her young brow furrowed. “Will they come back?”

“I'll ask Mr. Cooper to fix a grate across the chimney so they can't. Will that make you feel better?”

Clara nodded. Satisfied no bats would come winging out of the fireplace to attack her, she slowly approached with one of the cloth dolls Josie had donated to the orphanage last Christmas gripped securely against her chest. Her big eyes wide with curiosity, she tilted her head to the side to examine the cleaning Josie and the older girls were giving the rooms, with all the windows shoved open wide to let in the sunshine and fresh air of the mild fall day, surely one of the last of the season.

Clara pointed a finger at the buckets of water and scrub brushes. “I wanna help.”

“She can't,” interjected Alice, one of the older orphans, who put down her brush and rocked back on her heels. “She's too small.”

“Am not!” An angry foot stomped on the floor.

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are—”

“Stop!” Heavens, it was like listening to Robert and Quinn! Laughing, Josie held up her hands to interrupt the exchange, which she knew could easily go on for at least a quarter of an hour. “Clara, you can help by running down to the kitchen and fetching up another bucket of warm water, all right?” She turned the child's shoulders toward the door and gave her a gentle push forward. “Scoot!”

Giggling, Clara skipped bouncily across the floor and dangled the cloth doll from its arm behind her.

Josie returned to the spot where she'd been working until Clara interrupted her and insisted she check the chimney for bats, and then she made a mental note to ask John Cooper to fix the chimney, adding that repair to her already long list. She hadn't seen any trace of bats, but the bricks were starting to crumble and the mortar between them cracking, and it would surely have to be fixed soon.

She dunked her brush into the water, knelt beneath the skirt of her dirty work dress, and scrubbed at the plank floor. A frown darkened her dirt-smeared brow. “Alice, were there really bats in the chimney?”

“Yes, miss. Three nights ago, one of 'em swooped down the chimney and into the room, flying all about 'til Benny opened the windows an' all of us chased it out.” She laughed, her smile wide. “Quite a bit o' fun, that!”

At sixteen, with unruly red hair and apple cheeks, Alice was boisterous and bright, old enough to mother the smaller children and protect them as best she could. If she wasn't an orphan, she'd be at the age to start attending country dances and catch the eye of a good number of local farmers' sons. In her current circumstance, however, she'd be lucky to be noticed at all.

Josie's chest squeezed tight with guilt, the way it always did when she thought about the fate of the orphans. If fortune hadn't interfered in her life, she very well might have ended up like Alice, with few prospects and a dim future. She was so
very
lucky to have been adopted and removed from the horrors of the orphanage and the fate that had most likely awaited her as a washerwoman or a scullery maid. Or worse, as a prostitute forced to sell her body to buy bread. No, most likely she'd already be dead from disease or starvation.

Instead she had a safe and kind home where she never wanted for anything. For all that, and so much more, she'd come to love the Carlisles with all her heart. But she wasn't truly one of them, not their flesh and blood. She was reminded of that each time she stepped through the orphanage door.

Even now, after seventeen years with the Carlisles, she sometimes felt as if her life were a dream she didn't deserve. And in darker moments, she felt a dread that perhaps the adoption hadn't been real, an unreasonable fear that this life could be snatched away at any moment. In the dark recesses of her mind, she still heard whispers of doubt that Papa and Mama might yet realize that she could never belong to them the way a real daughter would
and turn her out. She knew those thoughts were wholly irrational, that not once had her parents ever shown so much as a hint of not wanting her, but she'd never been able to completely shake away her fears. Because she knew that if they did ever change their minds and cast her from the family, she might as well truly be dead.

Which was why she still worked at the orphanage and would do anything—
anything
she had to do—to make a better life for the children.

Alice grinned at her. “I think that bitty bat was just as scared of us as we were of it.”

“I'm certain.” She frowned as she attacked the floorboards hard with the brush, as if she could physically scrub clean each child's future as easily as she could the floor. “But I've never heard of a bat flying down a lit chimney before.”

“'Tweren't lit, miss,” she whispered, shifting to lean closer to Josie so no one who might be outside on the stairs or landing could overhear. “None of the fires have been lit lately, not even the ones upstairs.”

Upstairs. The old converted attic space where the boys and girls slept in separate dormitory rooms on short, narrow beds. Josie made certain there were mattresses and blankets up there, enough so each child had a place to spend the night off the floor. But the rooms cooled drastically by dawn, and only the coal fires Mrs. Potter was supposed to stoke between sleeps kept the rooms from being unbearably cold.

Her hand stilled on the scrub brush. She glanced up, dreading the answer even as she asked, “Why not?”

“There's no more coal.”

Impossible
.
Josie had made certain herself just last month that enough money remained in the home's accounts to purchase plenty of coal to see the children through to spring, and she had strongly insisted to Mrs. Potter—coming near to full-out threatening the woman, in fact—that the funds be spent for nothing other than that.
Nothing
.
The delivery should have been made a fortnight ago, and the bin in the basement should have been full. “What happened?”

Alice shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Mrs. Potter.”

With a sharp curse, Josie slammed the brush into the bucket with a loud splash. Fury churned inside her, so white-hot as to be almost blinding. Mrs. Potter had stolen the money once again from the home's coffers and left nothing to purchase more coal for the winter.

Damn her
!
And damn Royston for hiring her in the first place, because the woman did exactly as the earl wanted and cowardly kept her silence. As long as she did that, Royston would overlook everything else she did, including stealing. Including starving and beating the children. And nothing would change as long as Royston was involved with the orphanage.

Josie sat back on her heels and wiped an exhausted hand across her forehead. Helpless tears stung at her eyes as bitter frustration burned hollow in her chest. Royston would never fire Mrs. Potter, nor would he replace the stolen money. And Josie couldn't go to her parents or brothers again for donations. They'd already provided more for the orphans than anyone would have expected, including by helping her purchase new coats and shoes last May.

No. She would have to come up with the money herself yet again. And somehow find a way to purchase and deliver a ton of coal before the first snow.

Her slender shoulders sagged under the enormous weight of the responsibility as she folded her trembling hands in her lap. She blinked away the hot tears of frustration and fatigue.
Dear God
, would it never end?

Alice frowned at her. “Are you all right, miss?”

Josie exhaled heavily and gave a determined nod. “I'll find a way to replace the coal.”

“How?”

How
indeed. “Never you worry.” She forced a smile to reassure the girl and hide the uncertainty eating inside her. “I'll think of something.”

A clamor sounded from the street below. The noise of running feet was punctuated by slamming doors and the echo of horses' hooves against the cobblestones. A shrill whistle split the quiet afternoon.

“What on earth…?” Josie mumbled as she swiped her hand at her eyes and climbed to her feet.

“Miss Josephine Carlisle!”

She froze, and the little hairs on her arms stood on end. She knew that voice, the smooth way it soaked through her like a warm summer rain, how it made her heart pound and her stomach flutter…

Thomas Matteson.

“Miss Carlisle!” he shouted again, and Josie cringed. Blasted man! He'd have the attention of the entire village drawn to them if he kept up like that. He probably knew it, too, and simply didn't care. Or more likely, he knew she wouldn't let him go on like that and would feel compelled to answer him just to silence him. Devil take him!

Alice ran to the open window and peered out at the street below. Her eyes widened, and she waved excitedly to Josie. “Oh, miss! You've got to see this!”

Not knowing whether to be curious or terrified, Josie crossed to the window with trepidation, leaned over the sill, and peered down—straight into the sapphire eyes of the Marquess of Chesney on the street below.

A slow grin spread across his handsome face. “Miss Carlisle, there you are!” he called out as he stood at the seat of a high-perched phaeton, holding the reins wrapped around one hand. “Like fair Juliet at her balcony window.”

“Stop that!” she hissed, her face flushing hot as a crowd of villagers gathered around his team and stared at the curious spectacle of this gentleman, rig, and dirt-covered woman. Good Lord, the last thing she needed was for him to make a scene!

Unperturbed, he doffed his hat. “I've come to take you for our drive.”

Fearing he would come for her at Chestnut Hill as promised, she'd fled early that morning so she wouldn't be there when he arrived to collect her. She'd hoped he would understand that she wanted nothing to do with him when he found her gone.

She grimaced. Apparently not.

“I told you.” She glared mutinously. “I have other plans.”

“But my plans for us are more interesting,” he assured her.

At that, several of the men laughed at the insinuation, and she reddened even more. Did the irritating man have no sense of propriety? “I am busy
here
!”

“Then I'll wait for you to finish.” Turning away from her, the determined devil sat on the seat and kicked his boots onto the footrest, clearly settling in for a long wait. “But I thought the children might enjoy the treats I've brought for them.”

“Treats?” Alice piped up, and leaned farther out the window.

Josie grabbed the girl's dress and pulled her back into the room. “Lord Chesney, you cannot—”

Too late
.
The children heard his pronouncement and poured out of the building and into the street, to crowd eagerly around the phaeton and the man whose expression had now turned into one of smug triumph. He
knew
he'd won, drat him!

“Oh, just go away!” she cried in exasperation.

“Come down, and I will,” he challenged smoothly.

With no other choice but to do as he wanted—not unless she wanted to create a spectacle in the middle of High Street for the rest of the afternoon and disappoint an entire orphanage of children—she snapped out, “Fine!” and spun away from the window on her heel.