Married to the Viscount (26 page)

What the—Spencer strode up the stairs toward the sound, while the rest of his unwanted guests surged behind him. He reached the drawing room just in time to find a boy of middling age trying frantically to right a table as a silver bowl wobbled about on the floor. Beside the boy was a box. Beyond him stood the satinwood cabinet that Spencer generally kept locked. It wasn’t locked now.

“Jack!” Lady Clara hissed as she came up beside Spencer. “What in the dickens are you doing?”

Jack thrust his chest out with a hardened pickpocket’s belligerence, but the fear behind the false bravado was unmistakable, even to Spencer. “I only wanted to see what was in there.” The boy gestured to the cabinet. “I was being careful when I opened it.”

After picking the lock, Spencer thought with irritation.

“While I was trying to figure out how to get this here box open, I-I stumbled and…I didn’t mean to knock over the table.” The boy’s gaze flew unerringly to Spencer, whom the older boys knew and feared, since he was in charge of all the magistrates in London proper. “I wasn’t trying to steal nothing, my lord. Honest, I wasn’t.”

“Lord Ravenswood, I am so sorry—” Lady Clara began.

But he cut her off. “It’s all right. Boys will be boys.” He found it easier to deal with annoying children than cute ones. Besides, he grew tired of being regarded by Lady Clara and the children with either fear or horror.

Stepping up to Jack, he righted the table and picked up the box the boy had set down. He hesitated, staring at its fanciful painted exterior. Then he sighed and with a flick of his finger, released the catch. The box opened like an accordion, fanning out to three times its length.

Jack’s eyes went wide. “Odsfish, what is it?”

“A children’s peep-show box,” Spencer explained curtly. “Here, hold it toward the candle and look through this hole. Then you’ll see the fox hunt.”

As Jack warily took the box and lifted it to his eye, Spencer could almost envision the three-dimensional scene he’d gazed on a thousand times as a boy. Created by layers of cut-out paper spaced evenly apart like the sets on a stage, it showed scarlet-clad huntsmen riding to hound. They galloped through trees toward the bloodred sun, actually a bit of thin red paper covering a hole through which the candle shone in the back.

“Hang it all, that’s fine, it is,” Jack exclaimed.

Spencer glanced back to find Lady Clara and Abby watching him, their mouths agape as the children crowded around to get a better look at what was going on.

Snapping out of her surprise, Abby walked toward the cabinet, glanced at the ten boxes inside, then stared at Spencer. “You have a collection of peep-show boxes,” she said matter-of-factly.

A flush rose over Spencer’s face. “I do not have a ‘collection’ of anything,” he grumbled. “You make me sound like some silly schoolboy. Next you’ll ask to see my bag of ‘treasures’ containing chips of pink quartz and bits of kite string.”

A curious Lady Clara advanced nearer, with the children pushing in behind her, but Abby merely stood there regarding him with a steady gaze. She swept her hand to indicate the interior of the cabinet. “If this isn’t a collection, what do you call it?”

He jerked his gaze away from her. “A random assortment of peep-show boxes that I just happened to acquire when I was young.”

“And that you keep in a special cabinet,” Abby said, laughter in her voice.

“A locked cabinet,” Jack interjected helpfully.

Spencer glowered at the boy. “Yes, locked. So how did you get into it, pray tell?”

Jack swallowed hard, his eyes growing huge.

“Oh, stop trying to change the subject,” Abby put in. “Face it, Spencer, you’ve been found out. The great undersecretary of the Home Office has a collection of peep-show boxes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’m not ashamed of it.” He couldn’t believe he was standing here defending his boxes to a lot of children and his sham wife. He added sullenly, “And it’s not a collection. It’s a random assortment—”

“You might as well give up, Lord Ravenswood,” Lady Clara put in, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Abby’s right—you’ve been found out.”

“And maybe if the children ask nicely,” Abby added, “his lordship will let them look inside his special boxes. He might even show them how they work.”

As a children’s chorus of pleas filled the air, at first tentative, then more querulous, Spencer swung his gaze to her in alarm. Abby watched him steadily, those pretty green eyes demanding something from him. Bloody hell, did she actually expect him to
invite
swarms of children to torment him?

Clearly she did. And the plaintive cries of Clara’s charges only made it worse—they had so little, and denying them something so small when it would give them such great pleasure would be churlish indeed. Even he could not be that cruel.

But he’d make Abby pay for putting him in this situation in the first place. Oh, yes, he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer.

Somehow he managed to keep his voice calm. “I’d be happy to demonstrate the boxes to the children.”

His reward was a shout of hurrah from the little imps—and a hopeful smile from Abby. Both nearly made him retract his promise. Instead, he gritted his teeth and threw himself into hell.

The next hour passed in a daze. Children bombarded him everywhere, at first wary and aloof, but soon creeping under his guard. They began by looking over his shoulder as he crouched to show a small doe-eyed boy how the peep-show box with the lake scene worked. Soon they were tugging at his arm to pull him over to this box or that and then slipping tiny, fragile hands in his, ignoring how he stiffened.

But the final insult came when Spencer retreated to his favorite bergère chair to escape the onslaught. The gap-toothed urchin named Lily who’d earlier bemoaned the loss of the sausages had the audacity to follow him and clamber onto his knee.

Eyes solemn, she held out one of Spencer’s boxes. “I can’t make it work, sir. I look through it, but I don’t see nuthin’.” Her lower lip trembled as if she were on the verge of tears, and Spencer felt his gut twist.

Just what he needed to make this night a complete disaster—a sobbing child. A sobbing
cute
child, all riotous black curls and soulful blue eyes. Devil take it.

“You see, Lily—” Reluctantly, he took the box from the girl, who’d been aiming it toward his chest, and turned it so the other end faced the fireplace to his left. “You have to tilt the box toward the light. It has to have light behind it—from the candle or the fire.”

He shifted her so the girl could look through the peephole, and in an instant the child’s expression changed from despair to surprised pleasure.

“It’s a horse race.” Lily glanced up at Spencer. “Do them horses move?”

He couldn’t suppress a smile. “Watch,” he said, and reached beneath the box with both hands to clasp the strings this particular box contained.

When he pulled in alternate rhythms, making the horses bob up and down inside, Lily crowed with delight. “They’re off! Look at ’em go!”

A strangled laugh eked past the lump in Spencer’s throat. “It’s not as good as a real race, but at least you can control who wins.”

Watching Lily center all her energy on a silly trifle of an image proved a sublime torture. If not for his war injury, this might have been his own daughter sitting on his lap, holding the peep-show box with the irreverent casualness of the young and foolish.

Pain scoured his soul, and his eyes sought out the woman bent on upsetting his life. Abby beamed at him. She probably thought she was doing him a favor, forcing him to face what he professed to dislike so he could see it wasn’t so bad after all. Like a wild rose, she was overgrowing his house and his life.

First there was her “playing” and then her appearance in his bedchamber and now the children. It was almost as if—

An uneasy suspicion suddenly hit him. Could she possibly think to…No, surely she knew better. He’d made his wishes on that score perfectly clear.

Lily glanced up at him. “Do you got any boxes that show stuff for girls?” she asked hopefully. “You know, like…like fancy dances and ladies in coaches?”

“I’m afraid not.” But there were such things. “You like ladies in coaches, do you?”

“Ever so much.” She smiled timidly. “’Specially when they’re as nice as Lady Clara and Lady Ravenswood. Lady Ravenswood smells like Mama used to, all sweet-like.”

“Used to?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and he cursed himself for even
raising the subject. “Mama went to live in heaven. I don’t got a daddy. He went to sea afore I was born.”

The lump in Spencer’s throat thickened. “Who took care of you before you went to live at the Home?”

She wiped her tears away with one small fist. “My uncle. But he kept sending me out to steal.” A troubled frown creased her smooth brow. “I don’t like stealing.”

“Good for you,” he said fiercely. “You just keep obeying Lady Clara, and you won’t have to steal ever again.” He made a mental note to double his donation to the Home this year.

The unbelievably cute thing snuggled closer to him. “I like you. You’re not so mean as all the boys say.” She thrust her nose into his cravat and inhaled. “And you smell sweet-like, too. Just like Lady Ravenswood.”

He chuckled in spite of himself. “Do I?”

“Sure you do.” She shoved his cravat up in his face. “See?”

To humor her, he sniffed. Then sniffed again. That was Abby’s scent on his cravat, all right. But he hadn’t put it there. His eyes narrowed.

McFee entered the drawing room to announce, “Dinner is served.” But the butler’s reserve slipped when he caught sight of Spencer with Lily perched on his lap. “Er…my lord…do you wish…that is…I have your coat and hat ready if your lordship still intends to go to your club.”

Lily gazed up at Spencer. “You don’t want to be going to no club, sir. There’s lemon ices for dessert here. I bet that club don’t have lemon ices.”

“Lemon ices?” Spencer shot Abby a telling look. Did she plan to spend him into debtor’s prison as well as plague him with children? “How did you find lemon ices at this time of year?”

She looked nervous. “Um…Mr. McFee helped me.”

When Spencer arched one brow at his butler, the man went rigid. “Her ladyship asked what dessert would be most calcu
lated to appeal to children, and I suggested lemon ices. I did not worry about the difficulty of obtaining it.”

“Or the expense,” Spencer said dryly.

As both his sham wife and his butler colored, Spencer shook his head, feeling despair grip him. They had him trapped, all of them. If not for the hopeful expression on Lily’s face, he would have wished them to the devil and gone off to the club anyway.

But he hadn’t sunk so low that he would hurt the feelings of a little girl who couldn’t know how her every winsome smile inflicted fresh pain.

Spencer gazed solemnly down at Lily. “Well then, poppet, I think you’re right. I wouldn’t want to miss lemon ices for dessert. Especially when my wife and my servants went to such great lengths to get it.”

Abby was all smiles again. Oh, yes, the woman was certainly up to something. He’d play along for now, but later he would get the truth out of her. And if it was what he thought it was, she wouldn’t get away with thwarting him. Not anymore.

Chapter 16

Never question what happens behind locked doors.

Suggestions for the Stoic Servant

A
bby had relaxed while Spencer was with the children, but now that they were sitting down to dinner, she tensed up again. Spencer’s brooding glances unnerved her, making it hard for her to breathe. And when the footmen brought the soup around, she forgot to breathe entirely.

Especially when Spencer stared down at his bowl and asked, “What’s this?”

She licked her dry lips. “It’s…um…clam chowder. An American dish. I thought you might like it. I-I mean, since you like shellfish and all.”

His gaze shot to hers as he dipped his spoon. “How did you know that?”

“The servants,” she said noncommittally, watching as he tasted the soup.

The children were skeptical enough of the unfamiliar dish to wait until he pronounced judgment. When he realized every eye was on him, Spencer slowed his movements. He took another spoonful, but this time he swished it around in his mouth and looked deep in thought as he swallowed.

When he merely dipped his spoon again, she’d had enough. “Well?” she snapped. “What do you think?”

He ate calmly. “About what?”

“The soup, of course!”

“Oh, the soup.” When Abby glared at him, he relented. “It’s quite good, Abby. Best soup I’ve ever tasted.” He arched an eyebrow at the children. “Don’t you all think so?”

That was enough to have them digging in. Soon they were exclaiming over it, eager to please both their hosts. And Spencer’s smug smile made her want to throw something at him.

Still, the rest of dinner went very well. Spencer even surprised her with his deft ability to entertain. He regaled the children with stories about visiting Italy and floating in a Venetian gondola alongside the swans.

When Jack sullenly proclaimed he didn’t like swans, Spencer said, “I know what you mean. God only gave swans beauty to hide their rank stupidity.”

The children squealed with laughter.

They’d just finished the lemon ices when Spencer blotted his mouth with a napkin and stood. “I regret that I must leave you, but I’ve work to do.” He slanted an enigmatic glance at Abby. “After our guests have gone, my dear, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop in at my study.”

“Certainly,” she said, though something in his manner struck her as odd.

Clara had noticed, too, for later when she was leaving with the children, she said, “You don’t think Lord Ravenswood is still angry about the children being here, do you?”

“Of course not. He was perfectly nice to them. I’m sure he just wants to go over tomorrow’s plans with me.”

But once everybody was gone and she headed off toward his study, her unease returned. She didn’t know why, but it wouldn’t abate.

When she reached Spencer’s study to find the door ajar,
she halted. Her mouth went dry as she peeked in to find him standing between the fire and his massive mahogany desk in his shirtsleeves.