If the Slipper Fits (12 page)

There was an alabaster statue of a woman in Grecian robes minus her head. A pear-shaped stringed instrument rather like a lute. A primitive tribal mask carved out of wood.

Lord Simon had been stationed overseas in the military. Were these relics that he’d collected on his journeys? They must be. A wistful envy took root inside her. How exciting it would be to travel the world and observe the way foreigners went about their daily lives. Back at the girls’ academy, she had fed her interest in different cultures by poring over every geography and history book in the library. She had prided herself on her knowledge of distant countries. But seeing these artifacts in real life illustrated how very little she really knew.

An unusual object on a table in the corner caught her eye. It resembled an intricately decorated silver vase—except for the snakelike hose dangling from the center. Curious, she leaned closer and sniffed. The device exuded a faint smoky aroma that reminded her of the pipe tobacco used by the village blacksmith back in Yorkshire.

She picked up the hose and tried to discern how the apparatus worked. If indeed this was a device for smoking, where did one put the tobacco and how was it lit? And why would anyone prefer such a complicated contraption when a pipe was smaller and easier to use?

“Looking for something?”

Lord Simon’s voice made her jump. Annabelle dropped the hose with a loud clang. She spun around to see him lounging against the doorframe. He was not wearing his coat or cravat, and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal muscled forearms. In his black knee boots and casual garb, he looked more like a pirate than a nobleman. The sight of him caused a dark lurch of pleasure deep inside her.

No, it wasn’t pleasure she felt. It was relief that finally she had the chance to air her grievances on Nicholas’s behalf.

Remembering her manners, she curtsied. “Lord Simon, you startled me.”

“Oh? This
is
my study. Why are you here instead of Bunting?”

“The vicar has departed for the day.” Convincing the reverend to make that one concession had been about as easy as taking a cat out for a walk on a leash. “Henceforth, I shall be responsible for bringing His Grace to these weekly meetings.”

“Then kindly explain why my nephew didn’t accompany you.”

As Lord Simon spoke, his gaze made a slow sweep of her from head to toe. If he noticed the improvement in her appearance, he showed no sign of it. His face remained cool and expressionless.

She laced her fingers together to keep from checking that her hair remained neatly tucked into its spinster’s cap. “I was hoping you’d agree to just the two of us speaking today. It’s important that we discuss His Grace’s schooling—”

“I presume Nicholas has run off again.”

So much for her attempt to prevaricate. A dozen excuses flashed through her mind. But denial would be futile since he could easily find out the truth. “Unfortunately so,” she admitted. “However, I’m certain he’s in the castle somewhere. As soon as we finish here, I intend to find him.”

“Since he isn’t here, we
are
finished. Good day, Miss Quinn.”

He walked to the tea tray and leaned down to pour himself a cup from the silver pot.

Nonplussed, she stood unmoving. How could he dismiss her just like that? She wanted to lash out at him for his appalling lack of interest in his nephew’s education. But she had to remember Nicholas. He was all that mattered. For his sake, she would swallow her pride and pacify this beast.

“Please, my lord. This is very important.”

He turned to scowl at her. “I thought I’d made it clear that you and Bunting were to work out the details of the boy’s lessons between the two of you.”

“Yes, you did.” Annabelle knew she stood on shaky ground. She needed to sound proficient rather than shrewish. “However, I’m not certain that you realize the dire situation in the schoolroom. His Grace is a very bright child, yet he appears to be lagging somewhat in his studies. I believe his disinterest is due to the poor quality of the vicar’s lectures. The man speaks too far above the comprehension level of a young boy.”

Lord Simon gave an impatient shake of his head. “Nonsense. As to my nephew’s progress, it’s perfectly adequate. Each week he recites to me what he’s learned.”

“His Grace is quite adept at memorization. However, he spends much of his time in class staring out the window when he should be listening and learning.”

“You’re becoming something of a troublemaker, Miss Quinn.” His expression disapproving, Lord Simon stirred sugar into his cup. “I must say, at least Bunting has never had any difficulty in bringing the boy here on time.”

“Of course he hasn’t,” Annabelle said, unable to keep an edge of frustration from her voice. “He uses intimidation and corporal punishment to frighten your nephew into obedience.”

“Being soft will hardly prepare Nicholas for the rigors of attending Eton next year.”

“Nor will beating him into submission.”

Laying down the spoon, Lord Simon turned around sharply to frown at her. “Beating him?”

“He smacked Nicholas on the knuckles with a ruler. And all for the sin of drawing a picture on his slate during class.”

His hard expression relaxed a bit. “Bunting told me about the incident on the day it happened.”

“Then you agree with what he did?”

Lord Simon walked over and handed the cup to her. “Spare the rod and spoil the child. Isn’t that how the saying goes, Miss Quinn?”

Annabelle glanced down in surprise at the steaming cup of tea. It seemed too civilized a gesture in the midst of their quarrel. Yet at least it indicated he was willing to let her stay for a few minutes. “But … the duke is your ward. Surely you want to protect him from undue harm.”

“Boys need discipline or they’ll misbehave. It’s a fact of life.”

“I’m perfectly aware that brute force can induce a child to behave. But isn’t it better for Nicholas to do what’s right because he’s been taught good morals and a sense of responsibility?”

Lord Simon glanced over his shoulder as he poured a cup of tea for himself. “He has to learn to obey authority. Frankly, it matters little to me how you accomplish it.”

His indifference toward the duke grated on her. Blowing on her tea, she recalled what the kitchen maids had said—that Lord Simon had been in love with Nicholas’s mother and that his elder brother had stolen her away. Afterward, Lord Simon had renounced his family and left England for many years. Had hurt and anger hardened his heart toward the duchess’s son?

Annabelle took a sip from her cup. There was another possibility—that Lord Simon had always been cold and uncaring. That he’d driven Nicholas’s mother away with his callous nature. She might have been a pretty possession to him, nothing more, and his overweening pride had not been able to tolerate her rejection of him.

Whatever the case, it didn’t excuse his apathy now. An innocent child should never suffer for the sins of his parents.

Common sense told her that she ought to abandon the futile argument, yet she couldn’t remain silent, not when Nicholas’s welfare was at stake. She looked at Lord Simon, who was walking toward her with a plate of tea sandwiches.

“Perhaps you should try to understand why the duke behaves as he does,” she said, waving away the plate. “It’s my observation that he hides because he’s frightened of you.”

“What? I’ve never laid a hand on him.”

“Can he know for certain that you won’t do so in the future? You’re a stranger to him, my lord. He never even met you until after the death of his parents.”

Fixing her with an icy stare, Lord Simon placed the dish on his desk. “Gossiping with the staff, Miss Quinn?”

That look gave her a chill. But she couldn’t give up without doing her best to convince him. Using her most persuasive tone, she said, “It’s important for me to know all the circumstances that affect His Grace. How else am I to help him?”

“You can make certain he doesn’t run away from you again.”

“It’s
you
he runs away from,
you
he fears. If you showed him a measure of love and kindness, perhaps he’d be more eager to visit you.”

His face darkened. “Enough,” he snapped. “I’ve long outgrown the need for lectures from a governess.”

The reminder of her place made Annabelle aware that she’d pushed him too far. She was only here on a fortnight’s probation. It would be a miracle if he didn’t toss her out of the castle for insubordination. And then what good would she be to Nicholas?

She set down her tea on the nearest table, the cup rattling in the saucer. “Pray forgive me, my lord,” she said, lowering her gaze. “I spoke out of turn. If you’ll excuse me now, I must go search for His Grace.”

Annabelle curtsied and started toward the door. She hadn’t taken more than two steps when Lord Simon wrapped his hand around her arm and brought her to an enforced halt. “Wait,” he growled.

The firm pressure of his fingers sent heat through the thin silk of her sleeve. The sensation was so unexpected that she uttered a strangled gasp. Half afraid she’d driven him to violence, Annabelle jerked her eyes up to his.

But though his expression held irritation, he appeared far from ready to strike her. Rather, he gazed down at her with an intensity that compelled her to stare back at him. She couldn’t help but notice his gorgeous gray eyes and thick black lashes. Not since the rainstorm on the day of her arrival, when he’d hauled her inside the castle, had she stood so close to a man. The novelty of it had a curious effect on her, weakening her limbs and quickening her heartbeat.

Then he glanced down at her mouth, and the look in his eyes altered subtly to warmth. Tilting his head slightly, he brought his face closer to hers. In a low gravelly tone, he said, “Miss Quinn, if only you would—”

Whatever he’d intended to say ended abruptly as footsteps sounded behind Annabelle. Startled, she glanced over her shoulder to see a wiry, middle-aged woman in servant’s garb enter the open doorway.

Mrs. Wickett, the housekeeper.

Annabelle knew instantly how compromising the scene must appear. Before she could move, however, Lord Simon loosened his hold on her arm and stepped away. He cocked a cool eyebrow at the woman and waited for her to speak.

“Do pardon me, Lord Simon,” the woman said, bobbing a curtsy. “I stopped to see if your tea tray was adequate.”

“Quite. If that’s all…”

Under his unrelenting gaze, the housekeeper slid a cryptic glance at Annabelle before retreating from the study.

The incident left Annabelle shaken. Good heavens, what would Mrs. Wickett think to find the two of them standing so close? The last thing Annabelle needed was for salacious gossip to spread among the staff—not to mention to suffer another threat of dismissal. Perhaps if she hurried, the housekeeper would see her depart and realize that nothing untoward had happened.

“I really must leave now,” she murmured, starting for the door.

“Stop,” Lord Simon commanded. “I’m going with you.”

“With me—”

“I’ve a suspicion where the boy is. We’ll need a lamp.” He strode across the study and lit the wick of an oil lamp at the fireplace. Then he brushed past her and went out into the corridor.

“Follow me,” he said.

Intrigued, she made haste to obey. Unfortunately, Mrs. Wickett had already vanished from the passageway, but Annabelle had more important matters on her mind now. Lord Simon’s sudden act of cooperation had left her off balance. If he’d known the duke’s location all along, why hadn’t he said so at once? And why in heaven’s name did he need light?

He tramped down the passageway, his footsteps ringing sharply on the stone floor. He didn’t turn even once to see if she walked behind him. It was as if he’d forgotten her presence.
Miss Quinn, if only you would
—

What had he been about to say to her?

If only you would cease irritating me?

If only you would learn to obey me?

If only you would allow me to make mad, passionate love to you?

No! Not that. Never that. For heaven’s sake, he had made it quite clear that he could scarcely tolerate her company. He must have been about to chide her for pestering him, that was all.

Trailing in his wake, she found herself watching Lord Simon with a strange fascination. He moved with a smooth efficiency and an energetic masculine grace, forcing her to scurry in order to keep up. Maybe it wasn’t so strange, this compulsion to study him. Having grown up in an academy for girls, she had been around very few men in her life—and certainly never one as strikingly handsome as Lord Simon.

Nor one as arrogant and overbearing.

According to the household gossip, many eligible ladies in the district had set their caps for him. Either they didn’t know of his cold nature or they didn’t care. In his exalted world, wealth and noble blood were all that mattered.

If
she
ever married, it would only be for love.

The thought nestled in a secret chamber of her heart. Annabelle tried not to dwell upon it, for women in her reduced circumstances often remained spinsters. She was too educated to draw the interest of a workman, yet too impoverished to entice one of the gentry. The fact of her base birth added another blow against her chances of attracting a decent husband. For that reason, she had resolved to spend her life loving the children entrusted to her care. She certainly didn’t need a man to make her happy …

Abruptly, Lord Simon turned through an arched doorway with Annabelle right behind him. She was startled to realize that he’d brought her to the chapel. Three short pews on either side led to a finely carved stone altar on a dais. Behind it hung a cross flanked by window slits. The sun shining through the stained glass cast shards of jeweled light over the room.

“The duke isn’t here,” she murmured, reluctant to disturb the hushed aura. “I checked before I came to your study.”

“You didn’t know where to look.”

Carrying the lamp, Lord Simon walked confidently up the aisle with Annabelle in pursuit. Instead of going to the altar, he veered over to the right, where a large medieval tapestry hung on the stone wall. It depicted a countryside scene with prayerful peasants giving thanks for the harvest.