My Lady Mischief (4 page)

She peered at him uncertainly then drew herself up. "At this moment, I fear I need someone to protect me from Lord Steyne!"

His gaze fell to her exposed decolletage. She cleared her throat and he realized he'd been staring far too long. Gadzooks, he was behaving like a cawker. Hadn't he seen many women far more scantily clad? Why should
she
hold such fascination?

He led her abruptly into a small alcove off the landing. "Are you happy in your situation here?"

She looked at him in surprise, opening and shutting her mouth without uttering a sound.

He removed his hand from her arm and brought it to encircle her slim waist. She was the most distracting creature he'd come across in years. Hopefully he'd soon make a propitious arrangement with her. Although he felt a little guilt over the idea of stealing his host's lady bird out from under his nose, Hart simply couldn't resist the appeal of her charm. And she did appear to be unhappy.

He gently massaged her ribcage and he heard her breath quicken. Reassured by her response, he asked, "Would you consider a change? A change in situation?"

Recalling the earl's words, Hart tilted his head toward the drawing room. "You would not need to use ploys with me. I would take very good care of you."

His Botticelli beauty's face infused with color and she jerked from his embrace. "You and my father would like that, wouldn't you?"

"Your father?" Just what did her father have to do with it, unless he arranged his daughter's liaisons? The poor thing must have had a rough time of it. He resolved to make it up to her, to provide her with every luxury that his income could provide.

He was brought back to the moment when she jabbed him in the chest with her forefinger.

"And you, you oaf," she said through clenched teeth. "You neither know nor care about me in the least. Why should you? You men are all alike." She jabbed him again.

"We women are merely chattel, to be traded or bartered as men deem fit. Well, I won't have it, and you won't have me! I cannot bel—"

Hartingfield cut her off by clamping his lips upon hers, effectively silencing the vixen's tirade and halting the bruising of his chest in one swift move. At first, she held herself rigidly, but that was not difficult for a man of his experience to overcome. He softened his kiss and she yielded to his entreaty. After a moment of great satisfaction, he relaxed his hold upon her. "I am offering you carte blanche."

Again she yanked away from him, her eyes lit like an inferno as two more plumes flew out of place, lodging above each shoulder. Another plume dropped to the ground. "When pigs fly, my lord!"

At the same instant, each bent to retrieve the feather, resulting in a great knocking of heads.

Thea stood back up and waited, hand outstretched for Hart to deliver the plume. After he handed her the feather, she left the alcove and marched down the passageway, the two plumes prancing behind her with military precision at each step she took.

"Please stay," coaxed Hart with a laugh in his voice. She did not stop. He didn't follow her, his amused gaze fastening to the trail of glitter drifting in her wake.

It had been rather surprising when she hadn't jumped at his offer. Possibly she didn't fully understand the ramifications? After all, he'd neglected to sweeten the pot by offering to take her to London to the townhouse that would be her own.

She didn't behave like any servant or woman he'd ever known, and that was part of her attraction. At least he knew her name, Thea, and that she was not indifferent to him. Her kiss had been pure heaven. Surely it was just a matter of time before he could claim her as his own. He'd have to request Hobbs to look into introducing him to Thea's father.

The back of his neck prickled. Turning, he looked to his left. From the corner of his eye, he thought he'd seen a curly white wig perched atop the features of a pig. Surely not.

He shook his head to clear his vision but kept his eyes on the doorway. Just then Mack, Paul McCormack, came around the corner. Hart blinked a few times, then asked, "Did you just see a—? No. Never mind."

Resolved to relegate Thea and the phantom pig to the back of his mind, he smiled warmly at his American friend. "Good news, Mack. Lord Steyne has expressed interest in your drill improvements. His purchase of the process should serve you well."

Mack clapped him on the back. "It is very good of you to go to so much trouble for me."

"You've never failed me. What reason would there be for me to fail you now?" Hart felt uncomfortable with Mack's expressions of gratitude, for what were friends for, if not to aid one another? "Shall we seek out our host?"

*

Thea was infuriated with herself and most particularly infuriated by Lord Hartingfield. Primarily, she couldn't believe she'd acted in such a brazen manner. At one touch of his lips, she'd nearly swooned into his arms. The cad hadn't even been offering marriage as she'd thought, he'd offered to make her his mistress! At least she was safe from him and from herself here in her room.

After returning to her suite, she'd quickly discarded the costume that had influenced her to act in such an unladylike manner. A footman had delivered her dinner but she'd been unable to eat more than a bite or two.

Now she paced, back and forth, back and forth. Surely Lord Hartingfield knew he offered her, the daughter of an earl, an insult? He'd obviously overheard their conversation. She threw up her hands. Men.

That's why Charles was so perfect for her. He never behaved in an unexpected manner, he hadn't even attempted to kiss her. For the first time, she wondered why. Heavens, he did find her attractive, didn't he?

She hoped he didn't sense what she hadn't realized until tonight, that she was a libertine in fine clothing. Sinking onto her bed, she chewed her thumbnail, hoping Miss Mimms wouldn't notice, for she'd spent the entire previous summer helping her overcome this dreadful habit.

It was possible Lord Hartingfield had offered her the insult deliberately, in an attempt to make her grateful for a legitimate offer of wedlock. He didn't know his woman if he thought such ploys would work with her.

Thea jumped up and resumed her pacing, more determined that ever to put the arrogant marquess in his place.

*

When the next day dawned bright and clear, Thea resolved to put yesterday's calamities behind her by proceeding with her normal schedule. Accordingly, she'd gone to the kitchens and stood in conversation with the cook at Steyne Hall, Mrs. Smith. Things were not progressing as she'd hoped.

"Oh, please, Mrs. Smith. Papa must never find out about Uncle Egbert." She stooped to place a squirming piglet in her basket on the table. The aroma of freshly baked bread gave added appeal and a sense of security to the well-organized kitchen.

"You just make sure to keep that animal out of my kitchen, Missy. I am that busy, with guests in the house, I'd as lief not interrupt my schedule for a visit with his lordship." Mrs. Smith had ruled the pantry since long before Thea's birth. She'd administered cookies and hugs to her, and instigated the only discipline she'd ever known.

Thea threw her arms around the matronly woman. "Thank you, Mrs. Smith." The piglet and basket almost went flying. Releasing the cook, she steadied her basket. "I knew I could depend upon you. Should Papa discover I adopted one of his prize piglets, I'm certain he'd have apoplexy." She gazed down at the warm pink pig and tickled his chin. "Isn't he the most darling pet?"

"That darling pet is a nuisance and a menace. He'll soon be weighing more than you, Miss, and don't you forget it."

Carrying her basket and piglet, Thea walked toward the door as Mrs. Smith called out, "You'd best return that pig to his mama, Lady Althea, where he belongs."

Mrs. Smith simply didn't understand, thought Thea, as she wandered through the kitchen gardens to make her way to the barns. She cooed to her piglet, "Papa said I might have a kitten or a puppy as a pet, dear one. But they are too ordinary, aren't they?"

Uncle Egbert grunted a piggish answer.

"You, my precious, need someone to look after you. Being the runt of the litter is never easy. It's no wonder the others mistreat you since you are so much more clever than they. I'll do my best to help you, but you'll have to behave. No more roaming through the house or persisting with your practical jokes, or we'll both find ourselves in the suds."

She eyed the piglet, looking to see if he were indeed the reincarnation of Uncle Egbert, as Miss Mimms asserted. They did share a number of common traits, but surely it wasn't possible. Her piglet was simply more clever and amusing than the run-of-the-mill variety.

Reaching the barns, she set down the basket and slipped a ribbon from her hair. "There, dear, this will set you apart from your greedy brothers." She carefully tied a bow about his neck. The grey circle surrounding his left eye, as well as his small size, also set him apart, but she hated to mention it for fear he might be sensitive about the subject. She planted a kiss on his rosebud snout then nudged him into place beside his mother.

From there, basket swinging from her arm, Thea ambled into the flower garden. In a few short months, the rosebushes would be covered in glorious blooms. She had hoped to be wed to Charles by that time. Papa was being awfully difficult to convince. She suspected that a portion of his disapproval was based upon his animosity toward Charles' father, Squire Fossbinder. The long-term resentment had been founded upon a competition between the two men over who produced the finest pigs in the county.

Recently, a misunderstanding had arisen about the paternity of one of the squire's litters. The earl suspected that, without his permission, the squire had used one of his pigs as stud. Tensions had escalated as a result, along with threats of legal charges of pig-napping and slander.

However, the Fossbinders were the Candlers' closest neighbors and it was necessary that a truce prevail, unhappy though it might be. Each gentleman delighted in trading barbs and digs at the other's expense while maintaining a falsely friendly relationship. Thus, it was doubly difficult for Thea to convince her Papa to accept Charles as her suitor. To Papa, the squire was untrustworthy and therefore it followed that the squire's son was as well.

None of her previous plans to persuade her father had succeeded. As she tried to fix on a new strategy, she gathered the daffodils that bloomed profusely on this sun-filled morning.

After placing an especially beautiful blossom in her basket, Thea heard the scrunch of footsteps upon gravel and looked up to see an oddly dressed man approaching. Instead of the usual top hat, or even a bicorne, his hat was flat-crowned and broad-brimmed. And, although there was nothing particularly wrong about his clothing, there was a decided difference which she could not define.

Thea realized this must be their American guest, Mr. Paul McCormack.

He was an attractive man, of average height but with a very erect stance which made him appear quite tall. He removed his hat and his brown hair ruffled in the light breeze as his mild blue eyes smiled in greeting.

"How do you do?" Thea asked. "You must be our American."

With an amused bow, he answered, "Yes, indeed. I am Paul McCormack. At dinner last night, Lord Steyne mentioned a young daughter, Lady Althea. Might you be her governess?"

Thea smiled. "I am the earl's daughter, Althea Candler."

"You are his little dumpling?" he spluttered, then threw back his head in a laugh. "The way he described you, I thought you'd still be in the nursery."

With a laugh she replied, "Papa still speaks of me as if I were a child." Thea tilted her head. "Is this your first visit to England?"

"No, I spent some time here at Oxford and also as a youth, with my grandfather. But that was many years ago."

She decided she liked his soft, accented speech and gentle grin. "Do you plan to remain in England?"

"No, my grandfather is deceased and my immediate family is in America. Although I'm unsure how long I will remain, it is my intention to return home at some point."

"Thea!" A feminine cry rang out. Recognizing the voice of her dearest friend and confidant, Emma Rawlings, Thea peeked around a shrub and waved to her friend to join them.

Emma's golden hair, which had been pulled back with a ribbon, was windswept and sweetness glowed from her cheery face. She was the daughter of the vicar who held the living at Steyne. Since the Rawlings' income was limited, as a young girl Thea had been pleased to share her governesses and tutors with Emma, resulting in an even closer friendship.

Recalling her manners, Thea introduced her friend to the young man. Mr. McCormack bowed gallantly. "It is a pleasure to meet another lovely English blossom, Miss Rawlings."

Emma's dimples peeped out as she returned a curtsey.

The threesome continued strolling and chatting in the gardens. Yet all the while, Thea observed with some bewilderment, Emma sent out strange hand signals to her behind the gentleman's back. The young woman continued pantomiming until a footman approached, beckoning to Mr. McCormack.

He took a note from the silver salver which the footman offered, then scanned it. "I look forward to furthering our acquaintance, Lady Althea, Miss Rawlings." He winked at Miss Emma Rawlings as he said, "Unfortunately I have been summoned but I hope to see you both again soon." After executing a polite bow, he followed the footman from the gardens.

As soon as he was gone, Emma unceremoniously plunked Thea down upon a garden seat.

"We must talk, Thea," Emma said in an undertone, glancing about to see that they could not be overheard.

"Pooh, Emma. Whyever are you behaving so peculiarly?"

Emma straightened her shoulders. "This is a terribly serious subject and one that is most difficult to broach. Before I begin, you must promise you will divulge this to no one."

"I am surprised at you, Emma. Did I tell about the time you fed Mrs. Tompkins' fresh cherry pie to the sparrows? You know I am not one to talk." Thea studiously smoothed her skirts and trained wide eyes upon her agitated friend. "Now spill the soup before I perish of curiosity."