Chapter 11
Adrian wasn’t a lady, nor was he particularly benevolent, yet somehow, he’d just become the newest and most generous member of the St. Mary’s Ladies’ Benevolent Society.
Helena Templeton might look innocent, with those wide blue-gray eyes, but she was as wily as a fox.
Hers wasn’t the first trap that had ever been laid for him, of course.
Lady Pamela’s failed attempts to lure him into her bed came to mind, but her ladyship’s wits were, alas, no match for Miss Templeton’s.
Her trap was so subtle, so diabolically clever the steel teeth of the thing had snapped closed before he even realized he’d stepped into it.
“It’s dreadfully unfair of us to impose on you at such a late date, Lord Hawke, but if you could see you way clear to hosting the fete at Hawke’s Run this year, we’d be ever so grateful to you.” Lady Goodall gave him a hopeful smile.
“Oh, my lord, it would be ever so good of you!” Miss Fanning breathed, her hands clasped under her chin, her tear-streaked face pleading. “It is for the poor, you know.”
There was no way out, was there? No, the steel teeth were tightening around his leg with each moment that passed.
He was surrounded on every side by Steeple Barton’s godliest ladies, all of them holding their collective breaths, their faces bright with expectation.
Unless he wished to be known as the man who turned his back on Steeple Barton’s wretched poor—at Christmas, no less—then he hadn’t any choice but to invite the good ladies of the St. Mary’s Benevolent Society to flood Hawke’s Run with Christmas pies and kissing balls.
He should be furious with Helena over this. His jaw should be clenched, his extremities rigid, his entire person seething with outrage at such a trick, but all he could manage was a dazed sort of admiration for her.
Good Lord, he was a fool, but even her tricks charmed him.
The thing was as good as done now, in any case, and there was nothing for it but to submit with the graciousness that became an earl.
So, he turned his most engaging smile on the assembled ladies and swept into a deep bow.
“Ladies, you do me a great honor, permitting me to serve Steeple Barton in such a pleasurable manner. Hawke’s Run is at your disposal. ”
The delighted squeals and explosion of excited feminine chatter would surely have sent him home with his head ringing if Lady Goodall hadn’t stepped forward and held up her hand for silence.
“Now, ladies, of course we’re all extremely grateful to Lord Hawke for his generosity—really, my lord, you’ve quite saved the day—but we’ve rather a lot to accomplish still if we’re to see this thing done properly, so let’s get back to it, shall we? ”
The ladies scurried back to their places and the meeting went on, with Lady Goodall droning on about something to do with Hawke’s Run and an emergency meeting of the decorations committee, but she went on at such tedious length about wreaths and candlelight and kissing balls he gave up, and let his attention wander.
There was no need for him to listen, after all. He didn’t know a damned thing about wreaths or kissing balls, and God knew there’d be no shortage of ladies about to tell him what to do.
Instead, his attention wandered to Helena, who was seated in the chair directly in front of him. If he looked closely, he could just glimpse a sliver of her white neck between the edge of her sensible bun and the collar of her drab gray dress.
It was a lovely neck, it must be said, long and graceful, though one had to gaze at her rather intently to notice it, so effectively had she hidden it underneath her tightly-bound hair and severe gown.
So, he gazed—and gazed, and gazed—until a flush stained that delicate skin, and she pressed a self-conscious hand there, as if she could feel the heat of his eyes on her, and dear God, he wanted to touch her, trace that wash of pink with his fingertips and his tongue, then pull those wretched pins from her hair one by one so the heavy locks fell over her shoulders as they’d done that dark morning she’d gone in search of Hestia and found him as well, the wayward golden-brown curls tickling her neck, and…
Ahem. Church was hardly the proper place for such heated fantasies, and his breeches were growing uncomfortably tight, so he tore his gaze away from that tempting sliver of skin, cursing silently to himself as the meeting went on and on, mainly due to Lady Codswaddle, who seemed to love nothing so much as the sound of her own voice.
Finally, when he was ready to tear his hair out by the roots, it came to an end, and the ladies began to disperse. Helena jumped to her feet and darted for the door without so much as a glance in his direction, but he let her go, following along at a leisurely pace.
They both knew he’d catch her eventually—
“Lord Hawke? Might I have a word?”
Lady Anne was hurrying across the room toward him, and he paused at the doorway to wait for her. “Of course, my lady. How can I help?”
“Oh, but you’ve already done so, my lord!
” She came to a breathless stop beside him.
“I couldn’t let you go without thanking you once again for your generosity in loaning Hawke’s Run for the fete.
My poor aunt has been beside herself all week, certain we’d have to cancel it, but you’ve arrived home just in time to save us, it seems.”
“It’s my pleasure.” He offered her his arm.
She took it, smiling up at him. “Yes, well, we’ll see if you’re still pleased once the decorating committee descends on you. Permit me to offer my most sincere apologies for Lady Codswaddle in advance, Lord Hawke.”
He laughed, and escorted her outdoors. They waited by the entryway, chatting amiably until Lady Goodall, having finally escaped Lady Codswaddle’s clutches, came to fetch Lady Anne and take her home.
By the time he’d handed them into their carriage and reached the churchyard, Helena was already gathering up the boys. “Come, Ryan and Etienne. It’s time to resume your lessons.”
“Aw, but Miss Templeton!” Etienne’s lower lip poked out. “We’ve hardly had a chance to play yet!”
Adrian raised an eyebrow at that. Hardly a chance? Surely, they’d been trapped inside that church with Lady Codswaddle for the better part of the last century?
“At once, if you please, gentlemen,” Helena called, waving them over.
That was all. She didn’t bargain, or plead, or even scold, only issued that one calm command, and the boys fell into line at once, albeit reluctantly.
“Alright, but can we race, Miss Templeton?” Ryan begged.
“Etienne told Freddy and Ian he runs faster than me, but he doesn’t, and I’ll prove it, too! ”
She cast a sidelong glance at him, her lower lip trapped between her teeth, but the inevitable reckoning was upon her. She knew it well, and let out a sigh. “Yes, alright, but don’t go so far ahead we can no longer see you, if you please.”
“We won’t!” Ryan tore off with Etienne right after him.
Adrian bided his time, holding his tongue, and they walked for some time in silence until he began to fear for the wellbeing of her abused lower lip, and cleared his throat. “That was quite a clever scheme, Miss Templeton. I never even saw it coming. Bravo.”
“It wasn’t a scheme at all, my lord, merely a suggestion!” He raised an eyebrow at that, and a guilty flush flooded her cheeks. “You might have refused, if you wished to.”
“What, and have every benevolent lady in Steeple Barton cursing my name? No, indeed. I daresay it wouldn’t be the first time Lady Codswaddle has called curses down on a man’s head.”
He angled his face closer to hers, hoping to catch her gaze, and was rewarded by a glimpse of blue-gray eyes and the quirk of a red lip. “You surprise me, my lord.”
“Do I? I don’t see why.” Though it was only fair if he did surprise her, given she’d been turning him inside out since she’d thrown that bunch of mistletoe in his face.
“It’s just…does it matter to you, what the people of Steeple Barton think of you?”
“Of course, it does.” The words tumbled out before he’d even considered them, but it was the truth, wasn’t it?
Prior to his return to Hawke’s Run, he might have said he didn’t give a bloody damn what the fine citizens of this village thought of him, but then he hadn’t given a damn about much of anything then, had he?
It was different now.
He’d spent some of the happiest years of his life here. Perhaps he could be happy here again, someday. “This is my country seat, Miss Templeton. My family has lived in Steeple Barton for generations, and I’m well aware of my obligations to the people here.”
“Of course, Lord Hawke. I beg your pardon. I meant no offense. I think it’s a lovely place, myself.” She gave him a shy smile. “Ryan and Etienne seem happy here.”
“Yes.” He glanced at the boys, who were some yards ahead, sliding over the patches of ice as they raced home. Their wild shrieks of laughter split the air, and his throat tightened. “Yes, I think they are.”
They didn’t speak again until the pathway let out into the stable yard at Hawke’s Run. Ryan and Etienne were there, waiting outside the stable door. “Ah. It must be time for feline husbandry.”
“Feline husbandry!” She let out a surprised laugh. “Is that what you call it?”
“Er, well…perhaps I do, but only to myself, and occasionally to that trying feline you have penned up in the stables.”
“Trying? What’s she done?”
“She’s a greedy little opportunist, that’s what. She refuses to have a thing to do with me unless I bring her treats.”
“Oh, dear. That is a sad failing, isn’t it?”
She was doing her best to look serious, but he had no trouble reading the look in her eyes. Amusement. She was laughing at him. “I don’t believe you think it’s sad at all, Miss Templeton. I think you find it all quite entertaining.”
“It’s just that I can’t help but wonder, my lord, why a man with such a virulent hatred of felines would visit the stables every morning to check on a cat he surely despises, and bring her treats in the first place.”