My Brown-Eyed Earl (13 page)

Will's gaze flicked to Valerie before meeting Meg's. He didn't want to alarm the poor thing further. “I'm sure Diana just stopped to rest or lost her way a bit.”

“We must go and help Harry search for her.” Meg went to Valerie and squeezed her clammy little hands. “I'll ask Mrs. Lundy to send up dinner for you. You mustn't worry about Diana. The earl and I will find her. You'll see.”

The twin's chin trembled, but she nodded bravely.

Will swept Meg outside of the nursery, closed the door behind them, and placed his large hands on her shoulders. “I think you should remain here.”

“I'll do no such thing. Diana trusts me.”

His brow creased as though he were mildly offended. “And not me?”

Meg shrugged. “She doesn't really know you, my lord.” Although, the girl
did
seem to suffer from a case of hero-worship for the earl ever since the incident in the park.

“Fair enough. We'll go together—as long as you agree to remain in my sight.”

Bristling, Meg tossed her head. “I've no intention of running away. At least not tonight.”

“How comforting.” He placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her through the hallway and back down the staircase.

They had just reached the foyer when they heard a yelp and several shouts from the back of the house. Will raced toward the commotion, and Meg followed closely on his heels.

“It's her!” he called over his shoulder. “It's Diana. She appears to be in one piece.”

Meg pushed her way past the earl and the kitchen maid and footman who were fussing over the girl. “Diana.” She pulled her into a hug, and tears she hadn't even known were threatening spilled down her cheeks. “Thank goodness you're safe.”

The little girl cried too, her tears streaking the dirt smudges on her face. “I w-wanted to find some stones for our arithmetic l-lesson. B-but the square across the street didn't have enough, so I w-went a bit farther. And then I c-couldn't find my way back.”

Meg swept Diana into her arms and rubbed her back. “Well you're home now. How did you manage it?”

“I asked a nice-looking lady to p-point me in the direction of Mayfair and then walked until I saw the earl's garden. It's the only one with a fountain.”

“That was clever of you,” Will said. “But I think you know you shouldn't have left the house. Especially on your own.”

Diana's lower lip trembled. “Yes, sir.”

“There will be time to discuss the consequences of your actions later. For now, you need a bath and dinner, in that order,” Meg said.

“After dinner, may we have our lesson? I have plenty of stones—see?” Diana shoved a hand into the pocket of her pinafore and held out a palm full of dirt, pebbles, and Meg's lavender ribbon.

“Keep the ribbon. And you certainly have collected enough rocks for our purposes,” Meg said, smiling.

“There will be no further lessons this evening,” the earl pronounced in a booming voice, and Diana clung to Meg a bit tighter. “You will do just as Miss Lacey has instructed—a bath and dinner, followed by bed. Now run upstairs and see your sister. She's been worried sick about you.”

“Yes, sir.” Diana dumped the stones back into her pocket, wiggled her way out of Meg's arms, and took off for the nursery.

Will raised a brow at the kitchen maid and footman. “I presume you have duties to return to?”

“Of course, my lord,” they muttered as they scurried off.

“Thank you for your assistance,” Meg called out after them. She swiped at her eyes, suddenly self-conscious.

“Why are you crying?” The earl frowned as though thoroughly perplexed. “She seems well enough.”

“It's just that I'm so … relieved. I don't expect you to understand.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Regardless of what you may think, I care about the girls, too. I made a promise.”

“A promise? What sort?”

He produced a crisp handkerchief from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. “It's a rather long story.”

She dabbed the corners of her eyes. “If it relates to the twins, I'd like to hear it.”

He considered that for a moment then gave a curt nod. “After the girls are settled and in bed, meet me in my study. We'll have a much-deserved drink, and I'll tell you how the twins came to be here.”

It warmed Meg to know that he would confide in her. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Just Will, remember?”

Oh yes. She remembered. “Until this evening … Will.”

A wicked grin lit his face, and her whole body thrummed in response.

Drat it all—it seemed she was suffering from a mild case of hero-worship herself.

 

Chapter
THIRTEEN

 

The hour had grown so late that Will began to wonder if Meg would join him after all. Diana's disappearance had temporarily erased the awkwardness between them, for as long as she was missing, it had been impossible to dwell on stolen kisses and intimate encounters with Meg.

But now … it was nigh impossible to think of anything else.

He heard the patter of her slippers a moment before she rounded the corner, brightening the doorway of his study in spite of her damnable brown dress. “I wasn't sure if you'd still be here,” she said without preamble. “I didn't want to leave the nursery until I was certain the twins were asleep.”

“At least we can be relatively confident that they will remain out of trouble for the next eight hours.”

“Yes.” Her gaze flicked to the clock on the mantel, and he was almost sure she was contemplating how fast the time would pass and worrying about all that she wished to accomplish before then. She lingered by the door like Persephone debating the wisdom of crossing the river Styx.

But perhaps she didn't have to.

“Let us repair to the garden.” He scooped up his decanter and a pair of glasses.

“Now?” she asked incredulous.

“Why not?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Well, for one thing, it's dark.”

“There's some moonlight. I daresay our eyes will adjust. Come.” He led the way down the hall toward the morning room, then handed the glasses to her while he unlocked the French doors that opened onto the garden patio. “Here we are.”

He guided her to a stone bench beneath an ivy-covered arbor that offered shade in the daytime. Now, it afforded something more precious—a modicum of privacy.

She set the glasses beside her and perched on the edge of the bench with her hands folded in her lap, like she was there for an interview rather than a drink. To see her sitting there, her spine straight and expression impassive, one would never imagine that a few nights ago she'd been pliant and willing in his arms. Maybe she wished to pretend that evening had never happened. If he were wise, he'd follow her lead and revert to their old roles. She could play the part of prim and proper governess, and he'd be the overbearing and insufferable earl.

The problem was that he couldn't quite forget the taste of her lips or the feel of her body pressed against his. The rapid rise and fall of her chest suggested she hadn't entirely forgotten him either.

He splashed brandy into each glass, gave her one, and raised his. “Congratulations are in order. You've survived your first week.”

She peered into her glass thoughtfully. “I suppose I have. More importantly, the twins have.”

“Yes. Just barely,” he teased.

She frowned adorably. “If something terrible had happened to Diana tonight, I would never have been able to forgive myself.”

“I know. I would have felt the same way.” An unexpected but sobering truth.

“Are the girls related to you?”

“You could say that. Although I met them only a few days before you did. They were dropped on my doorstep by my late cousin's mistress.”

“Why would she abandon her own children?”

Will shrugged. “Why indeed? Perhaps the more interesting question is, why did she hold onto them as long as she did?”

“I don't understand. What kind of mother wouldn't wish to have her children with her?”

He snorted. “The selfish kind. While my cousin, Thomas, was alive, it suited Lila's purposes to raise the girls herself. He visited them weekly and lavished them with gifts … even if he was never able to publicly acknowledge them as his daughters.”

“Why ever not?”

“Lila forbid him to reveal to the twins that he was their father. She said he might only claim them as his own if he agreed to marry her.”

Meg's nostrils flared in indignation. “How awful. She would deny the girls their father in order to procure a marriage offer?”

“Women have stooped to far worse to achieve their desired ends.”

“As have men, my lord.” Her eyes shot daggers at him over the rim of her brandy glass, and his blood heated in response.
This
was what he admired about her.
This
was what he'd missed.

“We are back to
my lord
then?”

She regarded him coolly, not deigning to answer. “So, Lila's plan didn't work. Thomas never proposed.”

“He might have … if his life hadn't been cut short.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder, awakening a host of feelings inside him. “I'm sorry.”

“He was like a brother. Very much like me, but better. Thomas was wise and decent.”

“Why didn't he marry Lila, then?” She went still and gazed at him intently—as though his answer were very important.

“His mother, my aunt, would not have approved. Lila is not the type of woman to grace genteel drawing rooms.”

She pulled away and turned icy. “No? I suppose I am not that type of woman either.”

Alarms sounded in his head. “Don't be ridiculous. You are a lady.”

“And what does that
mean
, precisely? That I might kiss a man to whom I am not betrothed so long as I am not caught doing so?”

“You are twisting my words, Meg. Lila is an unscrupulous, conniving sort.”

“Maybe she has had to be,” she said quietly. “Besides, she must have some redeeming qualities. The girls seem to miss her.”

“She's the only mother they've ever known. But she claimed she couldn't take care of them anymore. She said she'd have no choice but to deliver them to the foundling home unless I took them in.”

She blinked, her long lashes guarding pretty hazel eyes. “And so you did.”

“Yes.”

“But surely you had other options. You could have sent the girls to live with a relative in the country or paid a kind family to raise them.”

Will let out a long sigh. “Thomas wouldn't have wanted that. I promised him that I would be their guardian in the event that something happened to him.”

“How did he…?”

“A riding accident.” Will's throat constricted. “A stupid, bloody riding accident.”

Meg set down her glass and scooted closer to him on the bench. Her nearness was comforting and highly distracting at the same time. “It doesn't seem fair, does it?”

“No.” He wondered if she was thinking of her parents and the horrific accident that had claimed their lives and ripped her family apart. “Little in life is fair.”

“Your cousin Thomas was fortunate to have a friend like you. If you hadn't intervened, the twins might be eating gruel in an overcrowded orphanage.” She shuddered at the thought.

“I can give them a roof over their heads. I can provide food and clothing. But they need more than that … and that's the part I can't give them.”

“Can't … or won't?”

He took a large swallow of brandy. “Can't.” All he knew of parenting was what he'd learned from his own father. The sting of a switch burning the back of his legs. The echo of vile insults ringing in his head. The indifference of a man too preoccupied with his own miserable life to spend a few moments with his only son.

“I think that perhaps you do yourself an injustice.”

“No,” he said firmly. He couldn't risk being a father—not in the real sense of the word. Of course, he'd need an heir one day, but he intended to parent from afar and leave the day-to-day responsibilities of child-rearing to someone more qualified than he—to someone who knew how decent and loving fathers were supposed to treat their children. “Trust me on this. I can't be anything to those girls but their benefactor. That's why I need you.”

“I am only their governess. That's not the same thing as a mother.”

“I know. But for now, maybe it's close enough.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “I confess, a small part of me was worried that you wouldn't return. That your sisters would convince you to give up your position and remain at home with them.”

She looked away. “I wouldn't—couldn't—do that to the girls.”

Ah. So, it had everything to do with the girls and naught to do with him. “You've been avoiding me these last few days.”

Raising her chin, she met his gaze straight on. “I could say the same for you.”

“That is true. I thought to make things easier for you. I assumed you'd prefer I stayed out of your way.” He held his breath as he waited for her response. Because all she had to do was say the word, and he'd gladly pick up where they'd left off a few nights ago. Even now, as they sipped brandy in the evening air, he could barely resist the urge to plunder her mouth, unlace her ghastly gown, and tease the rosy tips of her breasts till she moaned for something more.

“It's doubtful that anything shall ever be easy as far as the two of us are concerned,” she said, her voice oddly hollow.

He gave a bitter laugh. “Why must that be? Are we so different, you and I? Why does everything I stand for seem to repulse you so?”

“Repulse me?” Her eyes went wide. “Whatever gave you that idea?”