Chapter 3
Chapter Three
So Christmas wasn’t going to be so dismal after all, Brat thought as he strode along the corridor festooned with be-ribboned battleaxes.
Who would have thought stodgy Uncle Charles would have such a delightful morsel living under his roof, just ripe for the plucking?
She hadn’t seemed any too impressed with him, which wasn’t surprising.
Governesses tended to look askance at black sheep, and he was the blackest of the black.
She would be starchy, disapproving, herding her charges out of his way with stern determination.
That was going to be easier said than done.
Hortensia and Penelope were very fond of him, and he found them a great deal more tolerable than most young women he was forced to socialize with.
Though there was safety in numbers, she’d be forced to play duenna, and he could work on her while entertaining the twins quite handily.
She had the most delightful mouth. Full-lipped and sensuous, even as she tried to draw it in with prim disapproval.
He would taste that mouth. There was no guarantee he would get any more than that—his mother would strongly disapprove and he didn’t want to ruin her Christmas. But Jesus, the woman was tempting.
He needed to remind himself that he didn’t care for virgins. Not that he’d ever had one—he avoided them like the plague. He believed sex should be a battle among equals, mutually satisfying. He didn’t want to tiptoe into bed.
Still, the delightful Miss Lancaster might almost be worth it. With the added benefit of it enraging the stuffiest of his uncles, though Benedick and Brandon were surprisingly censorious given their own wild upbringing. His randy old grandfather would probably applaud him.
“Where are you going, Brat?” His father appeared in that damned sneaky way he had, materializing between the hallways.
“Stretching my legs.”
“Your mother has put her in the south wing along with Charles and family. She’s well out of your reach.”
Damn his father’s all-seeing eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, the picture of innocence.
“She’s a guest in our house and as such under my protection, and you’re to keep away from her.”
He drew himself up to his full height, several inches taller than his father. “Do you think I’m so desperate that I’d lust after a proper young governess? I prefer my bed partners more jaded.”
“She isn’t going to be a bedpartner.”
“Of course she isn’t,” he said, trying to hide his regretful tone. “But there’s no harm in a little flirtation, is there?”
“Your mother wouldn’t like it, and your mother’s happiness is of paramount importance to me. You are to leave Miss Lancaster strictly alone.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, the vague answer satisfying neither of them.
“There will be plenty of other things to entertain you. We’re going out shooting tomorrow, much to your mother’s displeasure, and she has all sorts of activities planned. You can choose to take part or not.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Brat said.
“I can’t quite see you ice skating.”
“I’ll have you know I was very adept in my youth.”
“And you’re such a graybeard now,” the Scorpion said. “Just behave yourself, or I’ll send you packing, no matter what your mother might say.”
“Almost I might leap at the chance, but town is a little uncomfortable for me at the moment.”
“That business with the Merrick heir?” his father asked shrewdly.
Brat didn’t pause to wonder how his father knew everything about his life. “It was hardly my fault he blew his brains out after losing his estate to me at the card table. After all, I lost it the very next night. But apparently the new Lord Merrick is most upset with me.”
Lucien shook his head. “You’re almost as bad as I was,” he said.
Brat bowed slightly. “Such an encomium humbles me, Father. But I like to think I’m worse.”
Lucien smiled then, his full devil’s smile. “You’re better off not knowing the extent of my crimes. Suffice it to say you’re just lucky your mother chose to forgive me, else you might not exist.”
“Nor my seven brothers and sisters,” Brat said. “Anyway, it’s not a contest.”
“Isn’t it? I trust you to behave yourself with the innocent Miss Lancaster, or I’ll toss you back to the new Lord Merrick without hesitation.”
He changed the subject. “A bird shoot tomorrow? Killing helpless songbirds should keep me well entertained. Your governess is safe from my vile machinations.”
His father just looked at him, and Brat had the feeling he didn’t believe him.
Since he didn’t believe himself, that was to be expected, so he tossed out an olive branch.
“I promise not to go wandering around the south wing. I might run into Uncle Charles or Aunt Annis, God help me, and even the governess wouldn’t be worth it. ”
“See that you remember that.”
Jenny was torn between pleasure and apprehension.
After years of sleeping in what was little better than a servant’s garret, she had now been placed in a most pleasant bedroom, complete with roaring fire and hot water to wash away the dust of travel.
Her clothes had already been put away, and someone had brought fresh tea and scones for refreshment.
She sank into the chair with a sigh of complete satisfaction as Hortensia bounded in the doorway, followed by her twin sister.
“You’ve got a prettier room that we have,” Penelope observed, looking around her. “Aunt Miranda must like you.”
“She hardly had a chance to form an opinion,” Jenny pointed out, pouring herself a cup of tea.
“Mother’s incensed to be sharing a corridor with a servant.” Hortensia was the artless one. “But Father pointed out that this would be the farthest away from Brat, and therefore safest. What did you think of him, Jenny? Wasn’t he divine?”
“Don’t let your parents hear you call me Jenny,” she admonished her. “They wouldn’t approve.”
“I’m used to hiding things from my parents,” Hortensia replied with perfect honesty. “Well? What did you think?”
For a moment, Jenny was lost for words, remembering the dark, dark eyes, the curling dark hair, the mouth curved In a mocking smile. “He’s a very attractive young man,” she said with perfect truthfulness.
“He’s more than that,” Penelope said with a soulful sigh. “If he weren’t my first cousin, I’d want to marry him.”
“First cousins marry,” Hortensia pointed out.
“Yes, but you know Aunt Miranda doesn’t approve of it,” Penelope said. “Too bad, because he’s absolutely loaded with money, enough that one might overlook certain social failings. Aren’t you madly attracted to him, Jenny? I swear one can’t look at him and not fall under his spell.”
“No, I am not,” Jenny said firmly. “I prefer more comfortable men. My husband was a very gentle man, I suspect the complete opposite of your cousin, and I was very happy.”
“Yes, but it’s time to move on. If I can’t marry him, maybe you can, and then you wouldn’t leave us.”
“That’s a capital idea!” Horry said.
Jenny laughed. “Your wayward cousin isn’t going to marry a governess. And I have no intention of marrying anyone like him.”
“But he’s so handsome!” Hortensia protested. “How can you resist him?”
“Quite easily. Now stop talking such nonsense and tell me what you’re going to wear for dinner.”
“More importantly, what are you going to wear for dinner?” Penelope replied. “I think your green velvet. Brat would love it.”
“What makes you think I’ll be invited to join the family for dinner?”
“Because it’s Aunt Miranda, who’s absolute trumps. She probably won’t seat you next to Brat, but that’s for your sake, not his. I saw the way he looked at you. If you wear something attractive, he’ll be at your feet.”
“I don’t want him at my feet. I’ll wear my gray gown. It’s much more sedate and perfectly suitable for a family dinner.”
“It’s boring,” Penelope complained.
“Good. Governesses are supposed to be boring.”
“So are cousins,” Hortensia pointed out, “And I can’t think of anyone less boring than Brat.”
“Go and dress for dinner, you two, and stop all this foolish chatter. I’ve a mind to plead a headache and stay in my room for dinner. They couldn’t really want the hired help mingling with the family.”
“We’re all very democratic. Aunt Charity and Aunt Emma are great believers in helping the poor and unfortunate.”
“Well, since I’m neither, I may as well stay in my room.”
“I promise we won’t tease you about Brat anymore,” Penelope said fervently. “You’re right, he’s most likely not interested in any decent female. I heard my father say he keeps mistresses.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Jenny smiled. “More than one at a time? How very energetic of him.”
The girls giggled. “That’s a very naughty thing to say.”
“I beg your pardon. You’re right, and even if you overheard your father discussing such a thing, you should never repeat it. You aren’t supposed to know what a mistress is. They’ll blame me for telling you.”
“In fact, I’m not really sure what a mistress does,” Hortensia said thoughtfully. “She sleeps in his bed and wears his jewels. Does she cook for him and take care of him?”
Jenny groaned. “The less you know of mistresses, the better. You won’t be meeting any in polite company so you don’t need to be thinking about them. And whether your cousin has one or a baker’s dozen, you don’t need to know.”
“I do if he’s going to marry you,” Penelope said, and Jenny wanted to groan again. Penelope was like a terrier when she came up with an idea—she never let go.
“He’s not going to marry me. He’s not going to even notice me.”
“He already did,” Penelope said.
And Jenny knew it was the truth, whether she liked it or not.
Those dark, mesmerizing eyes had watched her, taking their time as they surveyed her, and that small, sly smile had been meant for her.
And if she were to be completely honest, she’d reacted to that wicked little smile, though she knew she hadn’t shown it.
She dressed in her sedate gray dinner dress, and tucked her brown hair in a tight chignon that was going to give her a headache, she was sure of it. By the time she accompanied the girls downstairs to the dining room, it was full blown and she wondered if she dared absent herself from dinner.
He wasn’t there. The Rohans were all quite tall, even the wives, but there was no taller, brooding figure dressed in funereal black lurking in a corner, watching her. She was perfectly safe.
Safe? What an odd word to think of in conjunction with Brat de Malheur. He was no danger to her, and any moment of silent communication surely had to be in her imagination. The twins were clearly disappointed, but at least his absence would put a stop to their matchmaking plans.
As for her, she felt nothing but relief, a relief too strong to be healthy.
It was mixed with disappointment, but that had nothing to do with her.
She took a quiet, perverse pleasure in the way Brat had baited his stuffy Uncle Charles, and after living under the man’s thumb for three years, she was delighted to see him get a trace of comeuppance. She could have happily witnessed more.
But she was seated next to the young curate, a Mr. Elliott, and their conversation was wide-ranging and lively, so much so that she almost forgot about Brat entirely. Almost.
By the time the women retired to the salon, Annis had grown increasingly bad-tempered, and she shooed Jenny up to bed before she could have a cup of post-prandial tea.
“You may leave us now, Lancaster,” Annis said in arch tones, a particularly annoying form of address. “You should go up and make certain the girls’ room is ready for the night.”
Not only was this work for a servant, but suggesting that anything less than perfection was an insult to her hostess. Jenny noticed the thinning around Miranda’s mouth.
“I think you can trust my servants to see to you properly,” she said in a tight voice.
Annis remembered her manners. And, Jenny suspected, she was a little bit in awe of her sister-in-law.
“I beg your pardon, Miranda. I didn’t mean to suggest anything less.
I was merely wishing to give Miss Lancaster something to do.
She’s had it far too easy here, what with the army of servants you keep. ”
Charles and Annis, on the other hand, had a bare skeleton of a staff, so that Jenny had had to serve as maid and cook for her charges instead of concentrating on her teaching duties.
Neither of the girls were inclined toward academia, but they’d been willing enough, and Jenny had been too fond of them to leave her unsatisfactory employment.
She was truly looking forward to being pampered by Aunt Dorothy’s beloved old retainers.
“Please stay and join us for tea, Miss Lancaster,” Miranda said. “We’d be happy to have you.”
“If you’ll excuse me, I have a bit of a headache,” she said regretfully, the absolute truth. It had grown worse and worse during dinner. And she couldn’t help but wonder whether it was her too-tight hair or the absence of a certain person that was causing it.
“Certainly. But you must plan to join us from now on. We tend to treat everyone as family here.”
Annis sent her a nasty glance as she hastily left the salon, and she stood in the great hall, wondering which way to go.
“Miss me?” said Brat de Malheur.