Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Where a Forlorn Viscount Opens His Heart. A Little.
Kat had been staring at him for the past ten minutes from her spot on the faded Aubusson. She had a ragdoll of unknown origin clutched in her fist. She’d wandered in with a biscuit and the toy, settling herself on the floor without a word.
Strangely, he found the sound of her frayed breathing comforting. She had a stuffy nose from yesterday’s activities in the snow, but he figured the fun had been worth it.
Chance placed the quill aside and leaned back in his chair.
He was in his study, a chamber that had housed the resident viscount for generations.
Although, he’d changed enough about the room to drive out the ghost of his father.
Mostly. Starting with a desk of his own design.
New curtains. Wallpaper. The little he could afford had gone into this space to help eradicate the memories.
Now, he would channel his meager funds into the nursery.
The girl needed a better one than she currently had.
Here and in London. He was set to sell two desks next week, which would provide blunt through the summer.
He hoped. Tobias Streeter had offered a loan if he fell short, but he was hesitant to take an offer that indebted him to anyone.
“You’re a viscount,” Kat murmured while he sat there formulating what he could possibly say to start a conversation with a child. “Is that higher than a king? The last uncle I stayed with was the second son of a baron. He was ancient and smelled like peas. But he gave me gumdrops on occasion.”
Chance rolled his lips in to hold back his laughter. “Much lower than a king. And I’m not your uncle. I’m your cousin through my mother’s side of the family. Your mother was her second cousin, I believe. That would make me your third.”
Kat gave an inelegant shrug, smoothing her hand down the doll’s snarled ginger yarn hair. “I don’t remember her.”
Chance traced his finger over a blemish in the wood that he particularly loved. He’d chosen this piece for the desktop because of the mark. He’d always thought beauty lay in imperfection. “I don’t remember mine very well, either.”
Kat glanced up at this, seemingly startled to find they had anything in common. “You don’t?”
Chance shook his head, wondering at speaking twice in two days of a woman he rarely recalled except in his dreams. It was being here, at Rose Hill.
Where he’d lived with his mother until her death.
Then at the tender age of five, he’d been shipped to the city to reside with a father who clearly hadn’t wanted children.
“She was lovely. I have her eyes and not much else. She was kind. Patient. She liked gardening and spent much of her time in the conservatory. Which is now in shambles.”
Kat thought hard about this, twisting her doll’s braid around her finger. “Can I be the next viscount? I can fix it up.”
Chance’s heart gave a hard thump. “That will go to my son. The eldest. Even if I have a daughter first. But you will be their older sister.”
She sighed longingly. “No girls as viscount. That’s not fair.”
Chance gave his teacup a spin. “No, it isn’t.”
“Franny says women must work twice as hard in this world to make up for the inaccuracies.”
He laughed, charmed. “Inequities.”
Kat rose, the doll dangling from her fingers. She crossed to the desk and with confidence born of youth, circled his diagram into view. Her nose wrinkled with her frown. “Your desk looks crooked. One leg is shorter than the other. Franny is a much better artist. Maybe you should ask her.”
“Actually, she’s working on a drawing for me. Perhaps two even.”
Kat’s bright green eyes flicked to his. She chewed on her lip, debating, then blurted out, “She said you sent for gifts. For Christmastide. For me.”
He recovered quickly. It was not the first time a woman had stunned him with the notion that he’d overlooked a special occasion. “I think rather than tell you, I’ll let it be a surprise. Aren’t surprises better?” he asked, wondering what he could find in the village at short notice.
Kat grinned and shifted from foot to foot. “I like surprises.”
He was reaching before he had time to ponder the decision. His hand covered hers. It was small, her skin warm and… quite perfect. She turned, linking her fingers with his.
He hadn’t held hands with anyone since his mother’s passing.
A foreign emotion traveled through him, settling firmly in his chest.
Of course, his errant governess arrived to find man and child beaming at each other across a desk, unspoken promises floating between them.
Franny cleared her throat, hesitating in the doorway.
Light from the sconces washed over her, igniting sparks in her glorious hair and across her freckled cheeks.
She had an ink smear on the sleeve of another atrocious gown.
He’d never known a woman in more desperate need of a modiste.
Hideous clothing, however, couldn’t hide her beauty.
Too, he liked that she didn’t seem to care for such things as gowns and fripperies.
A folio was clutched in her hand and the expression on her face—tentative excitement—led him to believe she’d come with sketches to share.
Her companion stepped behind her. Ada’s shrewd gaze instantly found Chance’s, her scowl growing.
The woman was no fool and recognized his attraction.
Probably because it sat out there like a lazy cat snoozing in the sun.
Then she looked to Franny, recognizing her charge faced the same dilemma.
Sighing, she jabbed Franny in the side with a murmured oath.
“Excuse us,” Franny said and stumbled into the room. “Ada is going to take Kat down for her lunch. Then a nap. ”
Kat groaned and wiggled her hand from his. He missed the feeling of contentment immediately. “I don’t want to. We’re having fun.”
Chance felt a smile lift his lips. Fun? Perhaps this child-rearing business was easier than he’d thought. Straightforward conversation. Touches. Promises of gifts. Was that all there was to it? It wasn’t much different a set-up than with his mistresses. Young or old, women were women.
Franny’s soft snicker snapped him out of his musing.
Her golden eyes fixed on him; her lips parted in amusement.
Somehow, she knew what he was thinking. This insight brought comfort and panic.
He’d gotten used to feeling alone in a ballroom.
Isolated in a city packed with distractions.
Lonely in a bed with rumpled sheets, the warm body of someone he didn’t love lying beside him.
To have Francine Shaw see him was exhilarating and terrifying .
“Go on,” he urged when he was sure his voice wasn’t going to shake, shooing Kat from the room. “Young ladies need their beauty sleep. We’ll talk more at dinner. You can tell me about the decorations you’ve placed all over the house.”
Groaning, she clutched the threadbare ragdoll to her chest and trudged across the room. Ada gave him a piercing glare— look but don’t touch —then escorted Kat from the room. He vowed then and there that the girl would have a new doll for Christmas.
Franny watched them go before turning to him.
Nervous. She was definitely nervous. Deciding to take pity on them both, Chance tossed her a lifeline. When he’d never felt like seducing someone more—or acting on the impulse less. “I’ve heard I’m to provide gifts for Christmas. I’m glad Kat informed me before it was too late.”
Instead of flushing with mortification, Franny laughed, and stepped into the room.
“They’re arriving tomorrow. I know you have enough to worry over.
” She flicked her hand around the space, a benevolent gesture meant to encompass his wealth of responsibilities.
“This is part and parcel of what I agreed to. Take care of the child.”
“Responsibilities as in, low on funds to purchase gifts. My dire situation is fodder for gossip, I realize. Most of the mamas throwing their daughters my way have introduced the topic of finances first, before beauty or skill with the pianoforte. My father wasn’t an able fiscal manager.
In fact, he was a profligate gambler, unconcerned with the inconvenience he was leaving me to handle.
Estates and no funds. A brother in need of guidance.
For myself, I don’t care so much, I make enough to survive with the furniture, but the staff, the tenants… ”
He dragged his hand through his hair, his breath shortening as it did when he thought of the lives attached to the viscountcy’s payroll.
When he thought of Arthur. His brother was fragile in ways he’d never been.
“Some servants have worked on the estates, three including the townhouse in Mayfair, for most of their lives.”
Her chagrin arrived, flushing her cheeks a rosy hue. Yet she didn’t deny the assertion. He was destitute, and everyone in London knew it.
Chance sprawled in his chair, stacking his hands over his belly.
Her gaze followed the movement, lingering on his chest, then rising to his face.
Her eyes were a golden explosion, heaps of emotion contained in their fiery depths.
He had to work to hear her soft exhalation.
Christ , he wanted that sound skating across his skin while he sank inside her.
More than he wanted his next breath. Indeed, his attraction was astonishing.
He could see no way he’d been in the same room with her and not felt it.
He must have confused the vibration for something else, not knowing what he was feeling.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. What had they been discussing?
“Presents,” she murmured. Again, knowing where his mind had gone.
“Is a doll arriving in the shipment?”
She nodded. “Of course. What little girl doesn’t want a new doll? And sweets, as the English call them, when we simply say candy. Books. Boots. A dress.”
“You’re the most efficient member of my staff, Miss Shaw.
Thank you. The last thing I want to do is disappoint her.
” He shrugged, discomfited. Scrubbed the back of his neck with his hand.
“Although I don’t know how to please her, either.
My brother is the only person I’ve tried to accommodate, and that hasn’t worked out so well. ”
Franny took three steps until her hip hit the edge of his desk.
Because she’d done the same without concealing it, Chance let his gaze travel the length of her.
Following Ada’s unspoken advice, he wouldn’t touch, but he would look all he pleased.
Trap visions of her lush curves in his mind, the swell of her breast pressing against her bodice, and use them.
Later, in his massive medieval bed. Where he’d stroke himself to completion while fantasizing of the sweetly guileless American who had stumbled into his life.
“Is this the way you look at every woman?” she asked breathlessly. “If it is, I understand.”
He wrenched forward in his chair, his hands going to the desk to brace himself. “Excuse me?”
She leaned in, palming the wood as he had, her hands settling on each side of his.
Her gown dipped at the neck, allowing a slender view of the rounded slopes of her breasts.
He dragged his gaze to hers with extreme effort while his cock hardened beneath buckskin.
His fingertips tingled, his body tensing in anticipation.
“I understand why half of London is desperate to get to you. Climbing inside second-story windows for even one moment basking in the intensity of your regard. I’ve heard of a man undressing you with his eyes, but I’ve never experienced it.
” She licked her lips, and he felt his breath sucked from his lungs. “Until now. It’s quite… extraordinary.”
Touch her, Chance, round this desk and touch her.
Seduce her, you’re bloody good at it.
But he sat, immobile, aroused beyond measure.
Dazed. A thousand responses flowing through his mind, not one worthy of her.
Glowing with the rush of finding a treasure no one in England had discovered, he stumbled into the moment, unsure.
Franny Shaw was the most delightful piece he’d ever encountered.
She actually said what she meant. She was honest. Beautiful. Kind. Giving. Unique.
And… no. One. Knew.
There had to be something wrong with her. There must be something wrong with her. No chit could be this perfect.
The colossal difference in their upbringing unfurled like a carpet between them as they stared, lost to the sensual fog enveloping them.
She’d not been taught that one didn’t discuss seduction in such a forthright manner.
One didn’t admit attraction unless the reputations involved were irretrievably tainted, and so far, only his was.
She hadn’t been taught that you hid everything from everyone to protect yourself. He didn’t have enough courage to display himself thusly.
“I think you’d better go,” he whispered, his voice ragged. If she continued to gaze at him like this, her desire his for the taking, he was going to drag her to the door, lock it, and shove her against it. He loved tupping standing up.
And he would make sure she left unable to ever, ever forget him.
“I have sketches of the desk. Two versions. As you requested, I placed the?—”
“Leave them,” he growled and grabbed the folio from her hand.
“I thank you in advance. I desperately need assistance. I do. However, either you’re leaving this room right now, or I’m coming around the desk to kiss the blessed breath from you.
Push you against the wall and show you what the heat of my regard really feels like.
My desire to erase every thought from your mind is blindingly compelling.
Draw the air from your lungs into mine. Send you into a molten puddle at my feet, one I’ll happily follow.
It’s your choice, of course. Completely.
Your. Choice. But I’m shaky. And close to making it for you. ”
She hesitated, damn her. Lifted her hand to her lips and gave them the lightest caress. His body lit as he scrubbed his hand across his own. Raw want pierced him, weakening his resolve to do the right blasted thing for once.
He was rising, done, ready to test this attraction between them when she released a quivering sigh he would take to his grave, turned, and fled through the open doorway.
Leaving a provoked viscount to sift through the remnants of his yearning.