The Rake (29 page)

He glanced over the papers, casting his mind
back to his visits to Dermot’s estate. Vaguely, he recalled a few
glimpses of a fair haired child with huge blue eyes, usually
peering in through some doorway and taking flight if anyone glanced
her way. If he’d given it a thought at all, he supposed he’d
assumed the child belonged to one of Dermot’s servants--for that
matter the child he’d glimpsed might have, but if it had been
Dermot’s girl then she was very quiet and shy, which he found a
considerable relief.

He hadn’t thought to ask the solicitor how
old the child was, but Dermot was only a few years older than he
was. It seemed unlikely she could be more than eight or possibly
ten, even considering the comment about the youthful
indiscretion.

That would put her around the age of Fanny’s
middle girl--not that he’d spent a great deal of time around his
nieces, but he felt a little relieved nevertheless. He could cart
her off to a boarding school--and then a finishing school. By the
time she emerged, he would have nothing to do but arrange a
marriage for her and everything would be neatly taken care
of--assuming Dermot didn’t return in the meanwhile--which he
might.

Assuring himself the papers were in order,
he signed them, waved them around until the ink dried while the
solicitor made an abortive attempt to snatch them from his hand and
finally handed them over.

Mr. Winston breathed a sigh of relief,
shoved the papers into his satchel and leapt to his feet. “Well, my
lord, I won’t take up any more of your time. I’m sure the girl will
be quite well taken care of. Good day!”

Frowning, Sebastian studied the solicitor’s
hasty retreat to the door of the study. “Perhaps you should
introduce me to the child before you go? She does not know me,
after all. This must all be –unnerving for a youngster.”

Mr. Winston either did not hear, or
pretended he didn’t. Snatching the door open, he charged down the
hallway and out the front door without a backward glance.

Sebastian stared at the vibrating door with
a nearly overwhelming sense of uneasiness and finally strode down
the hall to the front parlor. As he opened the door, an attractive
woman who appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, glanced up
from a book she had been reading. “You must be Lord
Huntington?”

The child was seated in a chair with her
back to the door. His first inkling that he might have
miscalculated her age was when she stood up. She was not tall, but
too tall, he felt certain for a child of eight or ten. Twelve, he
hazarded?

She turned around.

A shock wave seemed to roll over him,
completely stunning him. The first thing that captured his gaze was
the bountiful breasts that seemed in imminent danger of spilling
from her décolleté. It was not only the first thing that caught his
gaze, it was the only thing that snagged his gaze for many
moments--He wasn’t certain how many, but he was finally brought to
realize that a pregnant silence had fallen over the room.

With an effort, he dragged his gaze from the
most beautiful and impressive pair of breasts he’d seen in many
years--possibly ever--and met the nymph’s limpid blue gaze.

She was blushing, which tinted her flawless,
alabaster skin a lovely shade of peaches and cream. Her eyes, huge
and brilliantly blue, and surrounded by thick sooty lashes,
fluttered. Disconcertingly, his putter, too stunned to react
before, responded with delighted interest.

Clearing his throat, he shoved his hands
into his breeches pockets and moved to the hearth, putting his back
to the room while he gritted his teeth and willed his response
away. Deciding he had himself under control after a few moments, he
turned at last.

She looked like an angel. He simply couldn’t
get around the fact that she was shaped like a temptress and looked
like an angel.

And she was not--definitely not--a
child.

He nodded, clearing his throat again. “You
must be … uh ….” He frowned. Had the damned man told him the
girl’s--young woman’s--name? Or had his wits totally deserted
him?

She smiled and his heart seemed to stop in
his chest. “I’m Kathryn--Kathryn Marshall, my lord. And this is my
companion, Miss Lynnette Shirley.”

Chapter Two

Kathryn felt faint. It had taken all she
could do even to pretend to be casual and pleasant.

Sebastian looked exactly the way she
remembered--tall, heartstoppingly handsome, dashing. She’d more
than half feared her girlish fantasies about Lord Huntington had
been enhanced by her daydreaming--and night dreaming if it came to
that, for she had been wildly in love with him since she was barely
fourteen and he had come for a visit to Elk Park, her father’s
country estate.

And when she had finally nerved herself to
take a peek at him, he had been looking at her just the way she’d
always pictured he would look at her one day, as if he thought she
was the most beautiful and desirable woman he’d ever seen.

It had taken a good deal of prodding to
convince Mr. Winston to bring her to Lord Huntington in London, but
it had been well worth the months of determined prodding.

She could hardly believe that after all
these years, her plan was coming together.

It was such a pity Dermot would not be here
to see her when she had her come out and then caught the most
eligible bachelor in England--She knew Sebastian had to be, for he
was by far the most handsome man she knew besides being a lord and
very well set up.

Of course, he was considered to be a bit of
a rake, and she supposed some might object to that, but she found
that dangerous air he had about him quite exciting. In any case,
Dermot had been a rake and she couldn’t see the harm in it, when
all was said and done. That was certain to change once he fell
madly in love with her.

Almost in a dream like state, she held out
her hand. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you taking me in
like this, my lord. It is so dreadful about poor Dermot!”

Sebastian blinked several times as that
comment sank in. Slowly, he felt his color heighten. He cleared his
throat, stared at her extended hand for several moments and kept
his own hands firmly in his pockets.

“
Dermot?” he finally
managed.

She looked conscience stricken. “I shouldn’t
call him that? He didn’t want me to call him papa, you must know.
He said it made him feel quite old, and he still preferred to think
of himself as a randy young buck.”

That artless comment caused Sebastian the
second wave of shock in less than five minutes. He looked her up
and down, which was a mistake, he realized belatedly, because he
hadn’t imagined that she was built like a goddess and the dress she
was wearing firmly attested to that fact.

It was the height of fashion--which was to
say virtually transparent. It was as well for him that she hadn’t
discovered--yet--that the more daring young women often dampened
their underskirts so that the gowns clung to their figure. He
wasn’t certain his heart could take any more. “Exactly how old are
you?” he asked a little hoarsely.

She beamed at him. “Eighteen. I should have
had my coming out last year, but Dermot--I mean Papa was in the
Americas ….”

Sebastian frowned, trying to do the math,
but discovered that was beyond him at the moment. “Eighteen!” he
echoed, aghast. “Eighteen?”

She chuckled. Like the rest of her, the
chuckle was far more pleasing to his senses that it should have
been. “Dermot was fifteen. He has always been very pleased with
himself over it--forever bragging to any who would listen. My
mother was his youngest sister’s governess, poor little thing. She
died, you know, when she was just a little thing--his younger
sister, I mean--but I think the family had already sent my mother
away before that,” she said frankly.

Sebastian glanced at the clock on the
mantel. It was scarcely noon, but he decided the hell with it. He
needed a drink--badly.

He looked around a little vaguely, but his
butler did not magically appear. Striding to the bell pull, he
reached for it and then dismissed it, snatching the door open and
bellowing down the hall for Meeks. Since Meeks was directly outside
the door--either listening or on the point of entering, his
ordinarily small eyes widened considerably. “You called, my lord?”
he asked with unruffled dignity.

“
There you are! You must
send someone to ready rooms for my--uh--ward and
Miss--uh….”

“
Shirley.”

Sebastian glanced toward the woman who’d
spoken, but her expression was still very agreeable. “Miss
Shirley.”

“
I took the liberty of
doing so already, my lord.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as they settled on
the butler once more.

“
I’m sure the ladies are
quite worn out from traveling and would like to go up to their
rooms and freshen up, and perhaps rest a bit before luncheon. Cook
relays her apologies. Luncheon will be delayed.”

“
Thank you, Meeks. I assume
you’ve already seen to moving their luggage in, as well?” he asked,
his voice somewhat brittle.

Meeks nodded. “Certainly, my lord. I have
put Miss Marshall in the blue room,” he added significantly.

Sebastian stared at the butler suspiciously
for several moments, but finally decided the comment wasn’t a
direct insult to his integrity. It was a relief, actually, to know
Meeks had had the foresight to put her at the opposite end of the
house from him.

Not that that was really necessary.

He couldn’t stay here--not in the same
house.

No one who was not blind, deaf, and dumb
would believe for one moment that he, who was not quite a notorious
rake but didn’t miss it by far, would be able to keep his hands to
himself with a chit like that right under him.

He wished he hadn’t thought of it quite that
way, because thinking of her under him was precisely the reason he
was so rattled.

Moreover, he didn’t believe it, which was
exactly why he wouldn’t be staying.

He glanced at the goddess Aphrodite. “I hope
you will excuse me. I have--urgent business which I must attend
to.”

Disappointment filled Kathryn as she watched
Lord Sebastian stride from the room and disappear. The front door
had already closed behind him when she brought her attention back
to the butler. After casting an uncertain glance at Lynnette, she
followed the man upstairs.

Lynnette, trailing them, observed as they
made their way through the rambling manse. “A very grand stair, Mr.
Meeks--and such marvelous workmanship. Do look at the birds and
flowers carved into the spindles, my dear. Aren’t they lovely? And
so detailed! I couldn’t help but notice that all of the doors, and
of course the stairs, are quite wide. This mansion must date back
to the days of panniers?”

Mr. Meeks threw a glance at her as he
reached the upper landing. “I couldn’t say, Miss. Quite possibly
you are right. The house was built by the old Viscount--Lord
Sebastian’s grandfather. Part of it burned at one point--one of the
London fires--but it was restored.”

“
Ah!” Lynette observed,
smiling. “Did I not say so? Such a pity carpenters don’t take this
much pride in their work anymore--Do look at the chandelier, my
dear. I imagine we won’t be stumbling around in the dark as we were
at Elk Park!

“
All the wainscoting, Mr.
Meeks,” she added, including him in her discussion. “Quite lovely,
really, but so dark one could not find enough candles to keep the
place illuminated in the evenings. I have often observed that it
must be much like living in a cave--particularly since, in the
winter, gales blow through the old place--I give you my word,
gales! It’s nigh impossible to keep the candles lit.”

Mr. Meeks gave her a condescending look as
he paused at a door along the corridor. “We have gaslights, Miss
Shirley, in most of the public rooms and many of the bed chambers,
as well.”

“
You don’t say!” Lynette
exclaimed. “So modern! I do feel uneasy about the gas,
though.”

Meeks managed a thin smile. “We are very
careful, Miss Shirley. You need have no fears there.” He
transferred his attention to Kathryn as he opened the door. “This
will be the blue room, Miss Kathryn. I trust you will be
comfortable here?”

Kathryn glanced into the room. “Where will
Lynnette be?”

“
Just there, Miss Kathryn,”
he replied, pointing to the next door down. “I thought, you being a
stranger to the place, that you would be more comfortable with Miss
Shirley close by and the old house is quite empty now. Lord
Huntington lives here alone so all of the bed chambers, save his,
are available.”

Relieved, Kathryn followed him inside and
smiled politely as he pointed out the room’s amenities. When he’d
left again, she settled in a chair beside the hearth, warming her
toes and trying to chase the chill of her cool welcome.

She found it impossible to dismiss the
impression that Lord Huntington was less than thrilled to find
himself in the position of her guardian. She supposed she should
not have expected anything else. Dermot had not been very happy
when she had come to live with him either, despite the fact that it
was he who had tracked her down and taken her to Elk Park.

She supposed it was for much the same
reason--a great desire to have no more responsibility than
absolutely necessary and the uneasy feeling that she would be a
bother, particularly since he was accustomed to doing pretty much
as he pleased.

She stiffened her spine. She and Dermot had
learned to rub along quite well together. She was certain, if he
would only give her a chance, she could prove to Lord Huntington
that she would not a be burden to him either--perhaps not an asset,
but not an encumbrance.