Miss Molly Robbins Designs a Seduction (13 page)

His eyes widened. “And there was nothing more pressing at this moment than correcting you.” A warm, teasing light simmered in his lightened gaze. “And your addlepated contract.”

“An addlepated contract
you
signed.”

“Under duress.”

Slightly breathless, she laughed. “Duress?”

“It was early. I was unprepared.” He propped his shoulder against her doorframe. “As you knew I would be.”

She felt easy in his presence suddenly. It should have been odd and uncomfortable to have him there, leaning in her doorway, but she was no longer his servant, was she? She was Miss Margaret Robbins, her own woman. Lady Anne, who had never known the old Molly, called her “bold.” She had her own life now and could do as she pleased. So she pondered the hard set of his jaw and said, “You didn’t shave today. Your lordship.”

“Well observed, Mouse.”

“Lady Mercy would be appalled.”

“Lady Mercy is not here.”

Alas. None of this would be happening if she
was
. Molly would not be commenting on the state of his chin scruff, and Carver would not be visiting her lodgings in the dark of night if his sister was present to prevent it.

“Well, I just wanted to point out your spelling error, Mouse. While it was in the forefront of my mind.”

“Sakes, yes. We know how briefly thoughts remain there.”

He scratched his cheek, and she knew the little hairs must be itching. She’d bet five pounds it was all shaved smooth again by morning. He made no move to leave.

“Do not burden your mind further with the idea, your lordship. I’m sure you have many other thoughts waiting for their turn.”

“You infer I can have only one at a time?”

Molly fought hard to prevent her lips curving. “You are a man, your lordship.”

He shook his head. “I see your new success has gone to your head, Robbins. Pride comes before a fall.” Now he made a small movement that suggested he was ready to depart again.

“Speaking of falls, did Larkin get the grass stains out of your breeches?” she asked hurriedly.

Carver relaxed against the doorframe once more. “He did.”

“Good.”

“Your concern for my breeches is misplaced.” His eyes lightened even further, distinctly mischievous. “The knees beneath them were more severely wounded.”

She looked down at the items in question. “One should take greater care when one goes out
riding
, especially in advanced years.”

“And young maids,” he replied swiftly, “should take better care with their spelling.”

Pushing away from the doorframe, he took the charcoal from between her fingers, turned her hand over, and began to write on her palm.

“T…O…M…F…O…O…”

She couldn’t breathe suddenly. His gloved hand holding hers was firm, steady. She prayed to all the saints that he would not feel her tremble, but surely he must. The Earl of Everscham was holding her hand. Holding
her
hand. The charcoal tickled across her palm, the lines already smudged by unladylike perspiration.

“L…E…”

Molly knew she ought to pull her hand away and stop him at once, but if she didn’t let him keep her hand, where else might he write his letters? She feared to imagine.

“R…Y. There. Now you know how to spell it, Mouse.”

She glanced down at the word with which he’d marked her skin in giant letters. Unable to get them all on her small palm in one line, he’d made three-and-a-half lines, some of the letters riding up her wrist. With his free hand, he turned her chin up to face him.

“And now, just so we are clear about the definition too…”

It seemed to take forever for his lips to reach her. His height, of course, necessitated a low stoop. Molly had plenty of time to avoid his mouth, more than enough time to know his intention. But she tipped her head back, and her lips met his.

She closed her eyes. His fingertips stroked along her jaw and down the side of her neck, where he would feel her hectic pulse fluttering. His firm lips took that kiss from her ruthlessly, as if he expected a fight but meant to have what he wanted regardless. Stubble pricked her cheek, chafed slightly. His tongue delved into her mouth, tasting her slowly and yet not tentatively, just exploring at his own pace, relishing what he found. His hand around her fingers tightened until she almost yelped. Would have too, if his kiss had not taken complete possession of her capacities just then.

Never had she been kissed like this, so she had nothing with which to compare it, but she needed nothing. This was the best and yet the worst thing that had ever happened to her. It was fear and thrill, pleasure and chastisement, all rolled into one. It was everything she’d never hoped to feel, and yet everything for which she’d ever yearned.

At last she was released. Her lips throbbed and felt swollen. Molly raised her eyelids, but daren’t look at his face.

“Margaret.” He cleared the huskiness from his throat with a sharp cough. “Margaret, perhaps you will do me the honor of reading this.” He took a folded paper from inside his coat. “This is my copy of your contract, with a slight amendment. If you feel so inclined…sign it.” He passed it to her. “Remember, as you just said to me,
life
is
short
and
pleasure
hard
to
come
by
. I leave our future pleasure in your hands, Margaret.” One bow, and he was gone again.

In a daze this time, she closed her door and leaned against it.

Tomfoolery. The word he’d written upon her palm stared up at her in accusation.

She’d just been branded by the Earl of Everscham.

Molly didn’t need to read the paper in her hand. She knew what he wanted from her, and it wasn’t his silk handkerchief.

The following morning, Mrs. Lotterby brought a jug of hot chocolate with two cups on a tray to Molly’s room, claiming to have made too much and looking for a partner to share.

“My Herbert hasn’t the taste for it, which is just as well, for it makes him giddy one moment and sleepy the next. I thought perhaps my favorite tenant might like a cup.” She beamed.

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Lotterby,” Molly replied, clearing a place on her table, knowing exactly why the landlady was there. May as well get the questions over with. “I suppose you are curious about my visitor last night.”

He had called her
Margaret
.

“Who? Oh, dearie me, no. I’m sure it is no business of mine.” But the lady quickly settled herself into the most comfortable chair and proceeded to pour the hot chocolate. “I do not pry into the private
affairs
of my tenants.”

It was a good thing, thought Molly, that there was no lightning strike at that moment. One of them had just told a giant fib, and the other was about to do so.

She accepted the cup from Mrs. Lotterby and warmed her hands around it, for last night had been chilly and damp, with this morning’s sun yet to reach her southerly facing window. “The Earl of Everscham is my former employer, Mrs. Lotterby. I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. He made me a small business loan. Our connection is purely professional.”

“Well, I’m sure I never thought otherwise, Miss Robbins. I said to my Herbert, I won’t hear a bad word about that hardworking young lady upstairs, and he agreed. We all have our burdens to bear and our secrets, to be sure, but I would never hold them against you, whatever anyone suggests. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

“Who would suggest anything about me?”

“One hears rumors, my dear.” Mrs. Lotterby squirmed in her chair as if she had an itch it would be indelicate to scratch publicly. “The Earl of Everscham has a certain reputation. An innocent young lady like yourself may not be aware of it.” She made a clicking noise with her tongue and twitched her head, reminding Molly of a large hen looking for a place to lay an egg. “Not that I listen to anything he…not a word of it…not to pay it credence”—she glanced meaningfully at the floor—“but one can’t help what enters one’s ear holes.”

“Mrs. Lotterby, I may not be so worldly as some other ladies about this town, but I am not naive. Just because I don’t indulge, doesn’t mean I am completely unaware of sin and debauchery. I have no doubt you mean Arthur Wakely has been making suppositions about me.”

“He does tend not to approve of you, Miss Robbins.”

“I’ve noticed.” Molly raised her voice to shout so that the man listening beneath the floorboards would hear clearly. “Rest assured, I don’t approve of him either.”

Somewhere below them a door slammed.

When Mrs. Lotterby laughed, her entire body shook with the tremors of her merriment. “I’ve seen it all before, you know. With my sister.” She jerked her head in the direction of Mrs. Bathurst’s room across the landing. “Scarlet isn’t a bold enough color for my sister’s past, let me tell you. Has she shown you her magpie’s nest of trinkets? She hides it all away, keeps it close, as if ghosts from her past can save her from the harsh realities of the here and now.” Despite the grim subject matter, still her tone was jovial and uncomplaining, the voice of one who accepted her lot in life but had time yet to worry about those who hadn’t found theirs. “That’s what happens to a woman who lets herself be used and thrown away. One misstep can ruin, forever, her chance of a respectable life and a good marriage. But would my sister be told? No indeed. Now all those fine gentlemen she once knew have gone, and she takes her comfort from laudanum and her pleasure from cursing at the bailiffs.”

“She told me of her son, Mrs. Lotterby. It troubled her greatly, I’m sure, to give him up all those years ago.”

The landlady had been about to sip from her cup, but the handle slipped from her finger. She looked up, blinking rapidly. “Gracious, she hasn’t spoke a word about him in years. What made her bring that up again? When did she…see…?” Mrs. Lotterby twitched her head as if she was too irritated to shake it properly. “You must not pay heed to all she says, Miss Robbins. My sister lives in a world of her own fancy.”

“But it was true she had a child?”

“Indeed. Poor little bastard. She could do nothing for it and came to me for help. I was not married then and saw no prospect of it, being only fifteen, plain and poor, or I would have taken the child in myself and raised him as my own. But we did what was best for him. The only alternative.”

“The workhouse?” Her heart chilled at the sound of the word.

Mrs. Lotterby was silent for a moment, her gaze falling on one of the little wooden boxes that her sister had given to Molly. Finally she answered, “It was the only thing to be done.”

“I’m sorry for her.”

“My sister was always a dreadful romantic. She imagined herself in love, but he was a rake. You know how those gentlemen are. He scarce thought of her again afterward, when it was all over and done and he’d had what he wanted.”

Molly stirred her chocolate. Not keen to discuss gentlemen rakes, she said, “Your sister fears the duns will come and steal away all her possessions. Is her debt so very great?”

“My dear Miss Robbins, we are all in a state of debt,” the landlady exclaimed. “One cannot get out of bed in the morning these days without incurring a debt. But that is no excuse to forget pride and dignity.”

“Of course.” She couldn’t agree more.

“I know how such a handsome gentleman, as were here last night, can steal his way into a young girl’s heart and more besides.” The lady shook her lace-capped head, arched her little finger, and sipped her chocolate. “It happens all too oft, my dear. All too oft. I would never presume to interfere, and passion leads us all down a treacherous path from time to time. My sister has suffered ill luck, but she has also been prone to bad choices. The best I can do is advise you, my dear Miss Robbins, to take care. While you’re under my roof, I promised that nice Mr. Hobbs to look after you, and so I shall. Always look about you with both eyes open and keep your head on straight.”

Mrs. Lotterby’s words were a timely warning. Molly settled her worried gaze on the unfinished designs laid out on her table. After Carver’s kiss last night, her thoughts were too scattered for work, forcing Molly to set the sketches aside. Not a stitch had been sewn this morning, for she’d been daydreaming out of her window and thinking about his amendments to their contract. She’d lost valuable time, thanks to improper behavior. Not just his either. How quickly she had fallen into wickedness, let her sinful yearnings take control. It was a blow to her pride. She was no better than Fanny Tucker, a dairymaid back home in Sydney Dovedale, who was said to let any man kiss her behind the haystacks for a penny.

Mrs. Lotterby peered above the rim of her cup and said cautiously, “I meant no offense, Miss Robbins, only to warn you in a gentle way. I hope I put it rightly.”

Molly managed a smile. “You did, madam. I quite understand your concern.”

“I’m sure you’re far too wise in any case. Not like my poor sister, who fell at the first charming smile. She never had many wits about her.”

They enjoyed their chocolate together and spoke no more on the matter of Carver’s late-night visit, but her connection to the noble Danforthe family was evidently a point of curiosity for Mrs. Lotterby, as it was for some of Molly’s clients, who poked slyly at her for tidbits of information. Which she never gave. The earl’s appearance at her lodgings in the small hours would only add kindling to the fire, but rumors of that nature didn’t bother him. He was not the one who had anything to lose from the speculation.

Once Mrs. Lotterby had gone, she poured water into her washbasin and, with a great sense of sad ceremony, Molly scrubbed the remaining charcoal smudges from her hand.

***

“But, my lord, I do not have any nieces,” Edward Hobbs exclaimed, peering quizzically through his round spectacles.

“Hobbs, my good man, I am well aware of this.”

“Then, how—”

“You are about to
acquire
two nieces.” Carver had woken that day with an idea. Since it didn’t happen often, he’d decided to make the most of it immediately and ridden straight to Bishopsgate to find the family solicitor in his cluttered office. He must do all in his power to take away all Molly’s other troubles and leave her free to have only one. Him. “You will find two able seamstresses and send them to Miss Robbins to assist her.”

This made Hobbs sit up straight and remove his spectacles. “Miss Robbins? The lady’s maid?”

“That’s right. You will make up some tale.” Carver waved his hat about. “Tell her your nieces are visiting from the country and they require experience—an apprenticeship of some sort.”

“I thought we were done helping the lady’s maid, my lord? Was she not declared to be an ingrate of the highest magnitude?”

“Yes, but I’m willing to overlook it.” He was surprisingly willing to overlook a vast deal in her case. He’d let her speak to him in ways no other woman dared, except his sister, but he liked seeing her smile as she did last night. The sweet timbre of her rare laughter still tickled his nerve endings this morning.

Each time he looked at her now, he discovered something new. Like a rose, she blossomed, her petals opening, releasing sweet, soft damask perfume and revealing an exquisite blush-pink center that he wanted to claim for his eyes only. Never the possessive sort before, Carver now had this unconquerable idea that she belonged to him.

He sincerely hoped his kiss had given her something else to mull over before she made a mistake with her artist friend.

Halting sharply, he stared at the wall, thinking of that kiss. Her lips were incredibly soft, her tongue timid. There was a vulnerability underneath that melancholy exterior. Something warm, preciously guarded, a little spark of naughtiness shining through the dolorous piety. But she was a maid still, he was certain of it. Thank god.

He resumed his circling patrol of the solicitor’s office. “What she needs is a better place to live. Finer accommodations, where she can have a separate workroom. A little shop front perhaps. That house you found for her is damp and unhealthy.”

“It is no worse, my lord, than many places in which the London masses—myself included—must live.”

“But she’s so slight of build. And not long recovered from a cold.”

“Are
you
quite well, my lord?” the solicitor inquired. “You seem a little lively for this early hour, and…contemplative.”

He stopped again. Yes, he was feeling remarkably awake and alive this morning. Determined too. Perhaps there was magic in Margaret’s lips, as well as her sewing fingers.

“I will look into the acquisition of these nieces, my lord,” said Hobbs gravely.

“Excellent.” He could rely on Edward Hobbs to get things done. “By the by, have you had any word from my sister?” Mercy, he knew, relied on Hobbs as much as he did.

“Just a short note to assure me she is in fine health, my lord.”

Carver nodded. His sister was evidently happy in the country, enjoying her stay. Her latest letter to him, apart from another brief, terse lecture about his possible interference in Molly Robbins’s decision not to be married, was full of merry news about the Hartleys. Nothing too serious or solemn, everything light and benign. She claimed to have undertaken several matchmaking missions there, and he knew his sister liked nothing more than matchmaking. She was a terrifying romantic. Although, oddly enough, she had embarked on her own engagement to the Viscount Grey with dreary practical considerations and not the even the most meager of romantic illusions.

“Demanding that she return to London,” said Hobbs quietly, “would probably make her stay away longer, my lord.”

“Quite so.”

“But I do fear we might have a problem with Viscount Grey when he returns from Italy.”

“Grey? If he cannot manage my sister and her ways, I would suggest he find another, much more dull and predictable woman to marry. He’s destined for a life of disappointment if he thinks to wear the breeches in a union with Lady Mercy.”

He didn’t want his sister throwing herself away on a man like Grey. Marriage was a dreadful, permanent thing, as he’d commented to her several times in an effort to make it sink in. Marriage wasn’t a game. It was the end of all games.

In the country, perhaps, she would have her awakening.

And if she chose to stay there with Rafe Hartley? A few months ago he would have been horrified at the thought, but Margaret Robbins seemed resigned to it, and her gentle words of tolerance echoed through his mind today. She was not in love with Rafe, and she was not angry with Mercy. She wanted only their happiness. It was a vast relief to hear. Carver would not want her to suffer a broken heart because of his sister’s antics. Or over that foolhardy farmer.

I
would
say
good
luck
to
them, your lordship. Life is short and pleasure hard to come by
.

Everything sounded simple and sensible when she said it. Her words were never knotted up and complicated with false bluster. She spoke from her heart, always, even when angry.

“’Tis a pity, my lord, that you did not go into the country with Lady Mercy, as I advised,” said Hobbs quietly. “I wonder why you did not.”

Carver smoothed a fallen lock of hair from his brow. “I don’t like weddings, Hobbs. You know that.”

The little man nodded. “I daresay you would have liked that one even less than most. Had it taken place.”

On his way out of the office, Carver paused and frowned over his shoulder.

Edward Hobbs looked down at his papers. “I mean to say, my lord, Miss Robbins has become—”

“I knew what you meant, Hobbs, and you are right. I chose not to attend the wedding because I didn’t care to watch Miss Robbins make a permanent mistake with her life. That’s all.”