Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05] (13 page)

H
ours later, Abigail eyed the bright afternoon sun through the open window, calculating how long it might be until dark. The boys went to bed about eight, and she would be freed from her duties by nine. She had Lord Steele’s permission to visit her ill friend, so no one would question her if she went out.

Anticipation coursed through her, which she quickly tried to hide by burying her nose in the pages of the book she was reading, so the boys wouldn’t notice.

Seth sat on the window seat, the sun shining gold in his hair while he read a leather volume of poems. His brother reclined on a sofa across the sitting room, an irritated frown on his face, as he obviously didn’t like his reading selection.

Seth suddenly looked up from his book and shot her a sweet smile.

Instinctively she smiled in response, her heart warming.

Guilt twisted in her middle; did her nocturnal activities make her unworthy of teaching these sweet
lads? She bit her lip, objectively pondering the question without merely trying to justify her behavior. She was a good governess. She understood and cared for Seth and Felix. She was capable and smart and more than a bit competent. What she did at night was her own business.
So long as no one knew.

She recognized that she’d never intended to be so wicked; she’d simply been trying to find her brother. Still, she wasn’t deluded enough not to realize that if she went out again tonight she wouldn’t be able to help but look for
him
, and not just Reggie.

Thinking of the masked man, she chided herself mentally,
He’s a distraction you do not need.

She might not need the diversion, but she certainly yearned for it. Again. And again and again. She was like a slave to her longings, her good sense and usual caution dissipating faster than steam from boiling water.

“Why do you keep checking your watch, Miss West?” Seth asked. “Are we going somewhere?”

Tucking her timepiece back into the folds of her skirt, Abigail forced herself to look at the open pages of the book in her lap. “I’m simply checking to see how long we’ve been reading.”

“Is it long enough?” Felix asked, his tone irritated. “I hate poems. They’re for girls and softies.”

Seth pouted. “I like rhyming.”

“My point exactly.” Felix sneered. “Softies.”

Standing, Seth stomped his foot. “I am not a softy!” He turned to Abigail. “Felix called me a softy!”

Abigail frowned at her elder charge, disappointed that he would use the derogatory play yard term toward his brother. At Andersen Hall Orphanage.
calling another boy a softy usually ended up in an exchange of blows. “Apologize to your brother, Felix. There shall be no name calling.”

“I didn’t call him a softy,” Felix defended with his chin in the air. “It was a statement of a general sort, not necessarily directed at him.”

“What a fine legalistic argument.” Lord Steele moved into the salon, his masculine vitality filling the small space with an energy that charged the air. He was dressed in a coat of the finest Weston cut, of a flattering royal blue that made his ebony hair and dark eyes shine in great contrast. He wore tight ivory breeches that matched his high-collared ivory shirt, and tall black boots that squeaked slightly as he crossed the chamber and settled on the window bench beside Seth.

Abigail couldn’t quite contain the sudden racing of her heart and the warmth that seeped into her cheeks. She had hoped that her late night excursion would have cured her of these sudden rushes of heat when she encountered her employer, but she supposed that was too much to count on.

In fact, the awareness Abigail felt for Lord Steele was suddenly much more discomforting because Abigail worried that he might somehow, through some magical ability, be able to detect her newly sinful state.

She looked down, adjusting her somber gray skirts and praying that she didn’t have some sort of sign on her forehead branding her a strumpet.

Just remembering that the savior was unknown to her and that her identity was unknown to him
made her feel a little bit better. But still, she coughed into her fist and made a business of settling a ribbon to hold her place in her book before meeting Lord Steele’s eye.

Felix sneered. “See, even Lord Steele says I didn’t call you a softy.”

Lord Steele shook his head. “On the contrary, I said that it was a fine legalistic argument, but your message was quite clear. You insulted your brother. Quite plainly, and quite intentionally.”

“I did not!”

Lord Steele fixed Felix with a look that begged no contradiction. “Apologize to your brother.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“Apologize.” Steele’s gaze was commanding enough that Abigail had to bite her tongue to keep from apologizing herself.

Felix looked away, muttering, “Fine, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Steele asked, his tone exacting.

“Fine. For calling him a softy.” Felix scowled.

“Don’t tell me.” Lord Steele jerked his chin toward Seth. “Tell him.”

Seth looked up at his brother expectantly.

Felix’s scowl deepened. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

Steele nodded. “Good. You should know I have little patience for bullies.”

Abigail frowned. “As I was just telling the boys, we don’t engage in name-calling. Besides, Felix is not a bully.”

Steele raised one of his dark winged brows at her questioningly.

She lifted her shoulder in a faint shrug. “It was a bullying moment. Every boy has them.”

His brow lifted higher, and Steele’s gaze was filled with amusement. “How would you know? Have you ever been a boy?”

“No, but—” Abigail bit her lip, stopping herself from blurting out that she’d had firsthand knowledge from having a brother.

“I am not a bully!” Felix crossed his arms, his face contorted and his eyes shiny with unshed tears. Clearly his feelings were hurt. Abigail was reminded once more that he was only eight years old.

Sighing, Abigail set aside her book, stood, and walked over to Felix. Wrapping her arm around his shoulders, she was glad that he didn’t shrug her off. Another year or two and he’d hardly have patience for her contact. “I know that you’re not a bully, Felix. We all do. But what you said was hurtful to your brother. You do recognize that, don’t you?”

His small shoulders lifted slightly. “Maybe.”

Abigail licked her lips, speaking softly. “Sometimes I know you feel like lashing out, and the desire is sometimes too great to resist. But you have to understand that the injury you inflict with words cannot be healed with a simple ‘I’m sorry.’ Once the insult is out there, it can never be taken back. So you must think carefully before you lash out.”

Felix pouted.

Lord Steele tilted his head. “Felix, how would you feel if I called you a softy?”

Sniffing, Felix muttered, “I wouldn’t care.”

Seth jumped up, his small fist raised in anger. “You take that back! My brother’s not a softy!”

Lord Steele’s lips lifted, but he worked hard to conceal his smile. “Are you defending his honor?”

“Yes!”

Lord Steele nodded to Seth. “Defending your brother from insult is quite admirable.”

Abigail gave Lord Steele credit for not poking fun at Seth. A few of the fathers she’d known would have taken no care to save a boy’s feelings when he was making such a display. With some men, the drive to compete sometimes reared its ugly head even with children. Abigail was glad that Lord Steele seemed above that.

Seth shook his fist. “I said, you take that back! Felix’s not a softy!”

Felix’s eyes fixed on his brother, and warmth and confusion and guilt washed over his face in a flash. Abigail’s heart went out to him. It wasn’t easy being the older sibling.

Lord Steele’s dark gaze flitted to Abigail, and when their eyes met, her belly flipped. “Since I know you’ve been taking lessons in swordplay from Miss West, I have no desire to meet you at dawn.” The amusement and admiration in his eyes warmed her in places that her employer had no right even knowing existed. “I sincerely take back my insult and apologize.”

Swallowing, Abigail ripped her gaze from his, her heart pounding and her mouth dry as a bone.

With his eyes fixed on Seth, Felix repeated, “I am sorry, little brother.”

“I know you didn’t mean it, Felix,” his brother replied with an air of worldliness.

“How?”

Seth shrugged. “Lord Byron likes poetry, and so does the Prince Regent. So I know you wouldn’t call them softies.”

Felix turned to Lord Steele, his face inquiring. “Do you like poetry?”

Steele scratched his chin. “I suppose it depends on the poem. Some poetry is inspiring, some thought provoking…Some is simply…insipid.”

With a serious expression on his small face, Seth turned to Abigail. “And you, Miss West? How do you find poems?”

“I find that poetry is best appreciated when one has a full stomach and a good night’s sleep.”

Lord Steele smiled. “I can heartily agree.”

“Why?” Seth asked.

“I venture I’m easily distracted. When I’m supposed to be thinking of rustling leaves and busy byways, I think of my rumbling belly and buttered biscuits.”

Both boys smiled, and the mood in the room lightened.

The new butler, Dudley, stepped into the room. Thank the heavens Lord Steele had seen fit to find Carlton another position in a household sans children.

Lord Steele stood. “Yes?”

“A Mr. Nigel Littlethom is calling.”

Lord Steele’s dark brow furrowed.

Dudley turned to Abigail. “For Miss West.”

Steele could not quite contain the flash of displeasure in his gut. Miss West had a gentleman caller. He told himself that it was because she was in his employ and her time was spoken for—for the boys, of course.

He turned to the pretty young governess, realizing that his plan to lessen his attraction for her was
failing miserably. Despite the amazing encounter the night before, his appetite had not been sated. In fact, he felt particularly susceptible to the swell of her breasts, the curve of her slender waist, and the slope of her shapely hips. No matter how much she tried to hide them beneath her astonishingly dull attire. Except for her face and her hands, every bit of her skin was covered in cloth.

And still he couldn’t help but feel his blood stirring.

This was wholly unacceptable! He couldn’t go around half-cocked all day. Something had to be done. And for all his intelligence, he could think of only one thing: a trip to the stews to meet the wicked widow. He needed to sate these unholy appetites, satisfy his lustful hungers.

It would be to the benefit of this innocent governess, he rationalized, and would keep his house in better order.

Abigail blinked. “Oh. Mr. Littlethom!”

“You know him?” Lord Steele inquired, enjoying a bit too much how her gray-blue eyes sparkled.

“He’s the man who helped Seth from the water. At the park. When he fell in.”

Lord Steele moved toward the door. “Then I must meet this man and thank him myself.”

Miss West did not follow, but instead chewed her thumb in a fashion quite unmannerly for a governess. But when she did it she looked adorable.

Steele waited. “Is something amiss?”

“No. It’s just…I would not want to take up your time. I can pass along your thanks.”

She wanted to greet the man privately. Steele wondered if she had a
tendre
for him. Steele was surprised by the disappointment he felt at this insignificant fact.

Seth grabbed Steele’s coattail. “Can you read to us, please, Lord Steele?”

Stepping forward, Miss West shook her head. “Don’t bother Lord Steele right now. He’s very busy.”

Astonishingly, Seth had managed to soften Steele’s sense of rejection. Steele held up his hand. “You go along, Miss West, and see to your visitor. The lads and I have some poetry to read.”

He was glad to see the surprise in her eyes. She shouldn’t assume that she knew everything there was to know about everyone in the house.

Turning, he led Seth back to the bench by the window.

Miss West stood in the doorway, uncertain. “Are you sure?”

Ignoring her, Steele motioned for Felix to join them. “Bring that book you were reading, and we’ll see what sort of poetry you have there.”

Felix grinned. “Insipid or inspiring.”

“Insipid or inspiring.”

Abigail watched the three of them a long moment, knowing she’d been dismissed and trying not to feel unwanted. She should be glad that Lord Steele had finally taken an interest in his nephews. Yet for some odd reason, she felt as if she’d disappointed him somehow.

“Mr. Littlethom is waiting in the front drawing room,” Dudley reminded.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Turning, Abigail tried to be excited at the opportunity to thank Seth’s rescuer from the park. But a rescuer of a different sort was the only one she longed to see.

A
bigail felt churlish. No matter how boyishly handsome the man was to look at, he was driving her to the edges of her patience. She’d sat with Mr. Littlethom for three quarters of an hour, and the entire time she’d wished to be elsewhere. Reading with the boys. Taking a nap. Reorganizing her stocking drawer. Anywhere but with the man who seemed completely infatuated with her.

Or, correct that, infatuated with her position with the Viscount Steele. Mr. Littlethom thought that her role in the household was somehow a great credit to her as a person. He’d gone on and on about her status and asked questions about how the household functioned. He certainly was very curious, to the point of rudeness. And she’d started to get suspicious of his motives.

Then the man had confessed. He hoped to gain employ in the viscount’s household as a tutor. The poor man had been dismissed when his last students had gone off to Eton. He’d been heartbroken, he’d assured her, since he’d been with the family for more than three years. He’d been so upset about it that
he’d taken himself off to London in hopes of starting afresh, with a family that had young lads, where he could help anew.

It was on his first day in London that he’d arrived at the park and come upon young Seth in the water. He considered it a sign.

Abigail didn’t believe in signs. But after much cajoling, Abigail had promised to have a word with Lord Steele about the matter. She didn’t know how she felt about it. On the one hand, Mr. Littlethom had helped haul them from the water at the park. And he wasn’t a bad sort if he didn’t open his mouth too much. Moreover, he specialized in languages, a topic in which she was particularly weak and the boys would need to know well.

On the other hand, he was maddeningly annoying.

She thought about it a long moment, realizing that any new tutor would change the balance of power in the household just when the boys were getting settled. And what if the new tutor wound up being a cruel taskmaster? She’d certainly seen her share of martinetlike educators. She wouldn’t be able to abide someone who was too quick with punishments or too harsh with criticism. Mr. Littlethom did seem quite officious. Mayhap he’d be a gentle teacher?

Abigail sighed. At the end of the day, perhaps one was better off with the devil one knew…

Devil
…

Abigail’s mind veered once more toward that evening. Would she go out? Would she seek Jumper once more in hopes of finding a clue to her brother’s whereabouts?

Whom was she trying to fool? She was watching the clock like a usurer watching a calendar in anticipation of the money coming due.

She wanted to see her rescuer—well, not see him. But feel him and touch him and…

“Are you unwell, Miss West?” Lord Steele interrupted her wicked thoughts. He’d come upon her where she stood daydreaming in the hallway. She hadn’t heard his footfalls because of the thick carpeting, or perhaps it was the fact that her mind was elsewhere—in the sewers.

“Ah yes, fine.” She coughed into her hand, her cheeks burning with mortification.

“How is your visit with
your
Mr. Littlethom?”

Abigail tried not to bristle at the second “your” and instead pasted on a smile. “Fine. Thank you.”

“Good.” He moved past.

Abigail licked her lips. “Ah, my lord?”

Steele turned, his broad shoulders filling the small hallway, making Abigail feel practically elfin. “Yes, Miss West?”

“Mr. Littlethom, it turns out, is a tutor.”

“You don’t say.”

“I did not know that when he came to Seth’s aid in the park.”

“I thought you were the one who rescued Seth.”

“Well, Mr. Littlethom helped us out of the water. He was quite brave.”

“How admirable of him.” Steele’s gaze was shuttered and his chiseled features noncommittal. “And here I thought chivalry was dead.”

Abigail blinked, agreeing completely but unwilling to miss the opening Steele presented. “It was quite
gallant of him, I agree. And he ruined a coat in the process.” She held open her hands in offering. “Even when I offered, he wouldn’t think of letting me pay his repair bill.”

Steele rubbed the hard line of his jaw. “Are you asking me to pay his tailor’s bill?”

“Oh no! Of course not!”

“You’re simply trying to tell me what a wonderful man Mr. Littlethom is.”

“Well, no. But now that you mention it…”

“Please get to the point, Miss West. I have a pressing matter to attend to this evening and I’m going out.”

Even though Abigail didn’t believe in signs, she’d take this fact as an indicator that she was meant to go out, too. With Lord Steele away, no one would question her comings and goings, since Lord Steele had made it known that Abigail might be visiting her sick friend. Funny, the guilt over that little white lie was growing fainter and fainter with each passing moment.

Abigail could hardly contain the thrill of excitement skating across her skin as she considered the evening ahead. “Well, I shouldn’t keep you…”

“But what were you saying about Mr. Littlethom?”

She shook her head. “Oh yes. Well, I was wondering…if you might be open to interviewing Mr. Littlethom. As a tutor for the boys.”

Was it Abigail’s imagination, or did the air in the hallway suddenly grow chilly?

“You want me to find a position for Mr. Littlethom in this household?”

“Well, if it suits your plans, of course.”

“My plans?”

“For the boys’ education.”

Lord Steele frowned as if this were a novel notion to him. Strange.

Abigail stepped forward. “You do have plans for their instruction, don’t you?”

Scratching his temple exactly where the flecks of gray mixed with his ebony hair, Steele seemed to consider it a long moment. “Do governesses normally insert themselves into the decisions of their employers?”

Abigail straightened. “That’s not my intention—”

“Why don’t you focus on your area of expertise, the physical care of Seth and Felix, and I will worry about their
intellectual
needs.”

Abigail felt her jaw clench. It took brains to be a good governess. Anyone who’d ever known a stupid one knew that.

Gritting her teeth, Abigail curtsied. “I apologize if I offended you, my lord. I realize now that I need to remember my position in the household. I won’t detain you any further.”

Turning, she swept down the hallway, telling herself that she had something wonderful to look forward to. Her rescuer didn’t care about her status in the household, her usefulness as a governess, or her intellect or supposed lack thereof. All he wanted was her body. Nice and simple. No complications. No idiotic assumptions or expectations. Just hot, salacious coupling, plain and simple. And she was ready to give it to him.

As Steele watched Miss West’s lush hips sway down the hallway, he cursed himself for being so abrupt. But he had no patience for her
tendre
for Mr. Littlethom. The thought of having two people in his household stealing glances, sneaking a quick graze of the fingertips, sharing secret dreams…well, it made him want to kick up a row.

Didn’t staff these days know that such associations were forbidden in a household? He supposed that they were too infatuated to care. He was filled with disgust. Lovers had no consideration for others.

Why couldn’t people find a way to satisfy their primal hungers without infringing on the daily life of others? As he was going to do.
Tonight
. He was going to find his wicked widow and sate his appetite once and for all. Then he wouldn’t notice how shapely his governess’s hips were, or how nicely her bosom swelled when she sighed, or how sweetly she smelled of heather when she swept past. He definitely wouldn’t marvel at how golden her hair looked as the sun shone in through the salon window or wonder if her mane felt as soft as it looked. And he
certainly
wouldn’t care that she had a
tendre
for a chivalrous tutor who’d come to her aid.

Rubbing his chin, Steele nodded. Sating primal needs. That was the order of the day, and he was primed and ready. Now if only he could find his wicked widow and convince her to have another run at it.

He smiled. He could be really convincing when he wanted to be. And somehow he doubted that his wicked widow would protest. She was too fiery a woman to say no to a little
innocent
pleasure.

“Devil take me,” he muttered to himself, when he realized that his member was swelling at the thought. He was the blasted Solicitor-General of England; he should certainly know how to control his wayward body.

He’d grown bloody good at controlling his every emotion and his every action over the last eight years. So good at it, in fact, that what he’d done last night, tossing control to the wind…well, it was about the most reckless thing he’d ever done.

The scary thought intervened—could he possibly get her with child? Slowly he shook his head. The lady probably took precautions. Or mayhap she was too old to carry a babe?

He pushed the thought aside—if the widow wasn’t worried, then neither would he be. He was a stranger to her, and she didn’t seem to be concerned about future entanglements. In fact, she was quite quick to see him gone.

His curiosity was aroused, as was another part of him.

And he couldn’t wait to see her again, and sate both passions.