Chapter 8
Moments later, Hart and Emeline stood in the lamplit entry alcove, and he looked down into her face. He couldn’t help thinking how radiantly lovely she was, even holding what appeared to be a basket filled with laundry.
“I did not come alone,” she assured him. “Louise is downstairs. I knew it wouldn’t do to send a card up first, so I persuaded her to offer one of the footmen a guinea to discover the location of your rooms and then to look the other way while I hurried upstairs with Monte.”
Hart cocked his head as if attempting to translate a foreign language. “I have no idea what the deuce you are on about.”
Emeline seemed to assess the situation. Watching her gaze sweep over his tall form and impeccable evening clothes, he bit back a smile. She is impressed. Even…attracted.
She shifted the unwieldy basket in her arms, undeterred. “You see, my lord, after your kind assistance this morning at the Reading Room, it came to me that you were just the person to help my poor Monte.”
“My patience wears thin,” he said tersely. “Who or what is—”
“Lord Jasper,” came Mrs. Peachey’s gentle voice from the adjacent sitting room. “Will you invite your guest to come into the parlor?”
Trapped like a hawk in a snare, Hart froze.
He must have been mad, telling Emeline that he lived at the Pulteney!
Next, she would be mixing with Peachey and William, effortlessly charming them.
But now, what bloody choice did he have?
Sweeping an arm forward in a faintly mocking gesture, he ground out, “After you, Miss St. Briac.”
Just as she started forward, something squirmed under the knitted blanket and whimpered. Emeline quickly glanced up, and he knew that her heart had skipped a beat.
Taking the basket from her before she could resist, Hart said, “Allow me to carry that for you.”
“But—”
“Oh, no, I insist.”
Emeline was clearly too preoccupied with the live creature in the basket to wonder whom she would meet in the sitting room. However, when they entered and Peachey came forward, radiating kindness, Emeline beamed as if they were old friends.
“Miss St. Briac,” Hart said, feeling uneasy, “this is Mrs. Peachey, my housekeeper.” Seeing William enter from the bedroom, he added, “Her brother, William, is my valet.”
Mrs. Peachey’s smile widened. “My brother and I look after Lord Jasper as much as he’ll let us.”
“I am pleased to know you both,” Emeline said as cordially as if they were nobles.
“Welcome, Miss St. Briac,” Mrs. Peachey rejoined. “What have you brought us in your basket?”
Hart set the basket down on a garnet-striped sofa and eyed it dubiously. Almost immediately, an animal poked its head out, blinking, and emitted an uncertain “Woof?”
Emeline was there in an instant. “Oh, Monte, you needn’t worry,” she exclaimed, hurrying to perch beside the basket and smooth frizzled tufts back from the mongrel’s face. “You are safe from Bartholomew here.”
“My logical mind tells me that this entire scene must be a bizarre dream, yet I fear it is real,” muttered Hart. “Pray explain, Miss St. Briac.”
“Well, as you may readily perceive, this little dog was living on the streets of London. He appeared at our kitchen door, begging for scraps, in the most deplorable state imaginable.” Her eyes were bright with tears. “Dora, our cook, even attempted to hit him with a broom!”
“Shocking,” Hart remarked in a sardonic undertone, wishing he could send Peachey and William to their own apartment so they wouldn’t witness this scene.
“Indeed,” Emeline rejoined, as if he had spoken from his heart. “So terribly shocking! However, we gave him a thorough bath, combed and trimmed away his mats, and fed him. Louise and I call him Monte.”
To Hart’s dismay, the dog turned to stare at him, then managed to clamber out of the basket and went closer, pushing his damp nose against Hart’s elegant, spotless trousers.
“Oh ho, it seems the little fellow likes a challenge,” William offered, amused.
Hart pointed a warning finger at the dog. “Do not touch my clothing.”
“Monte, do be a good boy and come to me,” Emeline coaxed, but the dog would have none of it. Instead, it reached a paw toward Hart’s hand. She gave a little laugh. “Goodness, my lord, he has taken to you!”
Conscious that all three of them were watching, Hart patted Monte’s head, just once. “It is of no consequence. You and this dog are only visiting, correct?”
Even as he spoke, Mrs. Peachey hurried out of the room and returned moments later with a dish of water and a few morsels of ham on a plate.
“Poor little thing,” she said, in the voice he recognized from his own childhood, and set the dishes down on the carpet.
Emeline hastened to lift Monte down from the settee.
“He cannot jump, you see,” she explained as the terrier ate the ham and licked the plate. “He has injured his leg, and he won’t allow anyone to touch it. That is the reason I had to bring him to you, my lord.”
“Indeed.” He narrowed his eyes. “I must be very obtuse. I cannot see any clear connection between this dog’s injury and my residence.”
“You have met Bartholomew, our cat, have you not?” Emeline did not wait for a reply.
“Mew has taken a strong dislike to Monte, I’m afraid.
I cannot even keep Monte in my own bedroom without Bartholomew lying in wait outside the door, howling.
And worse.” As she spoke, she watched Mrs. Peachey stroke the dog’s head.
So cozy, Hart thought. Just as I feared.
“Whatever will you do, Miss St. Briac?” Mrs. Peachey wondered aloud as she returned to stand beside William.
“My own family members are either away from London or quite ineligible to house Monte while his leg heals.” Emeline sighed. “That is why I came here.”
“What makes you suppose I am not ineligible?” queried Hart, one dark brow arched. He continued to stand a short distance away, waiting for a chance to take his leave.
“May I be frank?” Emeline turned her expressive violet eyes on him.
It was bad enough that the chit was enchanting, but worse was his apparent inability to resist. Hart’s chest tightened as she continued, “At the moment when I was forced to make a decision about Monte, I remembered how you stepped in to assist at the Reading Room. In fact, my lord, ever since Louise and I came to London, you have quietly intervened to improve our lives.”
Mrs. Peachey and William both looked on, wide-eyed, and Hart glared back at them. “I simply provided employment for the two women! They are doing research for me about Viking burial sites.”
“Ah, of course,” William nodded.
“None of that speaks to the situation at hand,” Mrs. Peachey said. “This sweet dog needs a refuge, and we can provide it.” Straightening, she looked at Hart. “If you don’t wish to have Monte here, Lord Jasper, William and I will shelter him in our rooms.”
“You are very kind,” Emeline said with feeling, and for a moment Hart feared she might embrace Peachey.
Instead, she seemed to remember that the housekeeper was not the decision maker.
Stretching out her slim hands, she implored, “Your lordship, will you agree? Only until Monte’s leg is healed, of course. ”
“How good of you to consult me.” His tone was tinged with sarcasm, but Emeline did not look away.
Then, as she stood before him, inviting him to take her hands, something shifted inside Hart.
It was like the moment in the Reading Room when he suddenly felt compelled to intervene with Panizzi.
Feeling almost queasy, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
“I know your stay in London will end in a few short weeks,” Emeline went on. “I promise, I will endeavor to find Monte a new home long before then.”
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “All right, he can stay.” In the distance, he heard Mrs. Peachey gasp softly and he turned toward the two servants who had known him all his life. “Did you think I was such a selfish brute that I would consign the dog to a life on the streets?”
As if he understood every word, Monte limped over to Hart’s side and gazed up at him adoringly.
Emeline clapped her hands together. “I knew I could depend on you, my lord.”
“That is the last thing I am known for,” he said dryly. “And I am very busy. I certainly cannot be this mongrel’s nursemaid, but he can stay here as long as he behaves himself. Mrs. Peachey clearly intends to look after him.”
Monte tentatively rested his injured right paw on Hart’s expensive leather shoe in a clear demonstration of preference. But before Hart could give the animal a set-down, Peachey hurried to the rescue and lifted him into her arms.
“You must come with me to our rooms, little man,” she told Monte on the way to the door that separated their two apartments. “William and I shall make you a lovely bed…”
Emeline followed along and pressed a kiss to the dog’s head before he disappeared inside, and the door closed. When she returned to Hart’s side, he saw that tears misted her eyes.
“I think he was beginning to fall asleep, and no wonder,” she said. “So sweet! I am very grateful to you for helping us.”
Keenly aware that he and Emeline were alone, Hart felt his gut tighten. What the devil ailed him?
“In truth, I find it difficult to refuse you,” he confessed with wry honesty.
She smiled. “That is fortunate for Monte!” A lovely flush stained her cheeks, yet she took a step toward the door and added, “But I am keeping you from your evening plans. No doubt someone is expecting you.”
“Not really.” He considered offering her wine. And, perhaps, locking the connecting door. But he said, “Of course, you should not be here, alone with me. If your father could see us, he would call me out.”
“Nonsense,” Emeline laughed. “You must be aware by now that I live an independent life. Papa has no authority over me! And as you know, Louise and I make our own way in the world.”