He really only had interest in one woman, and she was at home with his children.
"Won't you tell us your story?" Miss Fairchild asked.
"Because you have asked." Wynter sent her a smoldering look, too, and when she simpered he wondered if English ladies had an unlimited capacity to believe themselves adored. "The pirates of the Barbary Coast are powerful and ruthless, especially Abdul Andre Kateb. None dares speak his name without respect or he will have your head separated from your body." Lady Declan gasped, and Wynter bowed to her. "Ah, it is as I suspected. This tale is not for the drawing room."
"No, no," Lady Declan protested, aware she was the object of some glares. "I was momentarily overcome. Please, tell us all."
"As you wish, dear lady." He held out his hand to her. "But only if you take the precaution of sitting down. Such a delicate constitution might not withstand the shock."
All the women suddenly discovered a delicate constitution, and seats had to be found for them before he could begin again. "The first I knew of the pirates was their black flag fringed in red—the symbols of death and blood. They came on us like a hammer, ramming us with their ship and boarding us even as we foundered. The captain, as stalwart an Englishman who ever sailed the seas, urged us to fight for our honor and the honor of Britain, and every one of the brave lads aboard did their duty. You would have been proud of English warriors if you could have seen it, my ladies." Wynter beamed on them.
Enthralled, they beamed back.
Lady Smithwick asked, "Did you fight?"
"I was young and had no experience, so although I begged to fight, the captain ordered me to stand aside."
"Oh." Lady Declan sagged in disappointment.
"But our lads, they fought so bravely Abdul Andre Kateb himself came out of his cabin, where his slave girls had been servicing him—"
Bucknell stepped out of the fringe of the crowd. "Surely not a topic for the drawing room." His sardonic gaze made it clear that he, at least, didn't believe the preposterous tale.
Wynter placed the flat of his hand on his chest and bowed. "My apologies, my lord and ladies. I forgot myself."
"Of course you did." Adorna smiled at Bucknell, her innocent, guileless smile. "It's good to be swept into improper behavior occasionally."
"No, it's not," Bucknell snapped.
Wynter wanted to watch the tussle between his mother and her suitor, but his audience stirred restlessly, so he began again. "Abdul Andre Kateb stepped onto the deck, bare-chested, ugly and evil clear to the core."
"You could tell that just by looking at him, could you?" Bucknell asked.
"Yes, he could," Adorna answered.
Lady Smithwick turned on the quarreling sweethearts. "Shh!"
They quieted, but Wynter observed an exchange of glares. "The other sailors were engaged, fighting for their lives, and that wicked pirate came slashing through them with his cutlass"—Wynter slashed in demonstration—"headed right for our wounded captain."
"He was wounded?" Lady Declan asked.
"Wounded. Yes. By a shot from a cowardly pirate too frightened to face him in hand-to-hand combat."
"I have extensive contacts in the Admiralty," Bucknell said. "I could recommend this captain for commendation."
"It was a merchant ship." Adorna moved toward him until they stood face-to-face. "You know that, my lord."
"What I know, my lady, is that you—" Bucknell stopped and glanced around. Every eye was fixed to them. Taking Adorna's arm rather forcibly, he said, "We'll talk elsewhere."
As they left the chamber, two ladies put their heads together and began to whisper.
Wynter raised his voice to recapture their attention. "Beardless boy that I was, I knew not how to fight, but I knew what to do. I picked up a saber from a dying sailor's hand and advanced on Abdul Andre Kateb."
Breathlessly, Lady Smithwick asked, "Is that how you got that scar?"
"This scar?" Wynter traced the mark on his face and thought furiously. "Yes. Yes, and one on my chest which modesty forbids me to show." From the rapacious expression on young Miss Fairchild's face, he could have bared his chest, or anything else, for her inspection. But looking over their heads, he saw Lady Howard's head bobbing through the crowd, so he executed a thrilling finish of his tale, which coincided with her arrival.
He hoped the sight of him enthralling the ladies and gentlemen with fanciful tales, made romantic by his deep voice and deeper imagination, would dismay Lady Howard.
Indeed, she pushed her way in without finesse.
She wasn't a stupid woman, Wynter would allow her that. She knew she had only moments to rescue herself from disaster. "Lord Ruskin, you imp, you took Howard up on his invitation. Let me take you to him."
"Of course. I would be happy to greet my old friend again." To once again tell the henpecked husband how to keep his wife under control. He bowed to his audience. "If you would excuse us…"
The ladies, young and old, murmured their dismay, and Lady Smithwick trilled, "Don't forget to return, Lord Ruskin!"
"To you." Taking her hand, he kissed it again. "And to your lovely daughter."
While Lady Smithwick sighed, Lady Howard tucked her hand in his arm. The lacy gloves she wore had the fingers cut out. Her gown showed bosom and bare arms, attributes a lady displayed only in the evening. But she had proved herself no lady, only an amoral brunette with a voracious appetite and a salacious wit.
He despised her.
She knew it. She didn't care. After today, he was well on his way to becoming the Byron of the age, and the hostess who had him had cachet. As Lady Howard guided him through the drawing room and down the corridor, she said, "I've told so many of the really nice people about our little visit to Austinpark Manor." She projected her voice with theatrical flare, including anyone who was milling about. "Everyone's been panting to meet you."
Bending his head so his mouth was close to her ear, he said, "I came as quickly as I could, but first I had to take lessons in courtesy."
"Lessons? Really? Real lessons with a teacher?" She smirked, convinced that tidbit would propel her into the upper reaches of the gossip grapevine. "You can't go wrong there."
"I'll give you the name of my governess. You, Lady Howard, would benefit by her expertise."
Her mouth opened, then closed, as she realized how he had set her up. She hadn't expected the savage to have a wit. In a deadly voice, she said, "Oh, do give me her name. I'll write her a letter of commendation."
He smiled blandly.
But he'd forgotten Lady Howard's phenomenal memory. "Wait. I heard that Lady Ruskin went to that disgraceful little Governess School and hired Miss Priss for her grandchildren. But it wasn't for her grandchildren, was it? It was for you!" Tossing back her head to better display her long throat, she laughed huskily. Taking a quick turn into the smoke-choked cardroom, she dragged him along to the table where Lord Howard was playing whist. And losing, if the pitiful pile of coins before him was any indication.
"Howard," his wife trilled.
Wincing, Howard raised his head.
"Look who's here. Your old friend Ruskin."
Howard squinted at Wynter through red-rimmed eyes. "Ruskin. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Darling, he's come because he's been to manners school."
She almost sang with mockery, Wynter realized, but it wasn't him she was mocking.
She ran a fingernail around Howard's ear. "And do you know who this big, strong, handsome man has for a teacher?"
Howard jerked his head away and swatted at her hand as if she were an annoying midge.
Too many gamblers were straining to listen, and too many grins blossomed at the prospect of Howard's humiliation at the hands of his wife. So Wynter intervened. "Lady Howard, at this moment, discretion would be the better part of valor."
She glared venomously.
He stared back impassively. And won, of course.
"His governess is…" She leaned close to Howard's ear to wh
isper Charlotte's name.
Howard glared at the space in the middle of the table where the cards would land. Lifting the deck, he shuffled, then with the overdone care of a drunk, he dealt the cards. "So?" he asked. But his hands were shaking.
Lady Howard smiled a brilliant, well-fanged smile, and stroked her husband's hair with feigned sympathy. "Don't forget to visit the children in the morning. Their holiday is almost over, and they're going back to school Monday."
Howard ignored her. Taking Wynter's arm, she led him back into the corridor.
"What was that all about?" he asked.
She opened her mouth to explain, but a glance at him made her change her mind. "It's not important. Old history, if you will. Personally, you've made me very happy. If there is anything better than knowing you're under the tutelage of Lady Charlotte Dalrumple, it is knowing that nose-in-the-air snob is back in the North Downs."
Effectively distracted by this chance to know the details of Charlotte's past, Wynter's mind raced. "Back?"
"They have long memories in the country." Digging her nails into his arm, she leaned against him so her breast pressed against his arm. "Tell me, what did the Earl of Porterbridge do when he saw the ungrateful chit after all these years?"
On full alert now, Wynter gracefully steered Lady Howard toward the nearest empty chamber. "Just what you think he did."
"Turned his back on her?" She shook her head. "But no, he hasn't a subtle bone in his body. Slapped her? Bellowed at her?"
"Her transgressions were scarcely worth that."
"You jest." She looked around the library with interest. "Now, I know you didn't bring me in here because you want to read. And I can't believe you want to seduce me. You're too…upright…for that. So you must want all the gratifying details about our dear Lady Charlotte." She traced a manicured fingernail down his cheek. "What will you give me for them?"
Wynter made it a point to know his adversary's weaknesses. "You gamble a great deal," he said, catching her wrist.
She sucked in her round, rouged cheeks. "So?"
"You will give me any information I seek, my lady, and in return I will not call in the vowels you owe." "You? You don't hold any of my vowels!"
"But I do." His warrior's eyes narrowed on her. "I bought them for a fair price, and I will have my value from them. Tell me all about Miss Dalrumple, and tell me now."
CHAPTER 15
"Tell me again why you can't marry papa."
Charlotte looked down at Leila's earnest face and suppressed a sigh. A steady spring rain had sluiced down the schoolroom windows all through the morning, teacher and pupils could not go for their usual walk and Robbie and Leila were like caged kittens. "Noblemen do not marry their governesses," Charlotte said.
"But you're Lady Miss Charlotte. Aren't you noble?"
"Yes, but I'm poor. Rich men do not marry poor women."
"But why would a rich man marry a rich woman?" Robbie interposed. "A rich man doesn't need more money."
The children didn't understand the inequities of the English marriage mart, and the more Charlotte clarified, the less logical it seemed, even to her. "People marry other people who are like themselves. Just like—birds marry birds, and horses marry horses."
"Horses don't marry, they breed," Leila said scornfully. Her words gave way to thought, and she swept Charlotte with a measuring gaze.
Oh, no. That the child even knew about breeding was bad enough, but Charlotte was not in the mood to deal with whatever Leila had in her shrewd little mind. Charlotte could scarcely deal with the memories of her…and Wynter…two nights ago…alone and close and kissing.
Kissing. Madness. Kissing sweetly, gently, their lips pressed together, their bodies intertwined…
The recollection should embarrass her and humiliate her, but at night when she was alone in her bed, it was not humiliation that kept her awake. It was the coiling in the pit of her stomach, the temptation to touch parts of her body she had ignored for years. Every moment of the day should be spent in anguish, wondering if she would be dismissed when Wynter returned from London. Instead she found herself smiling at nothing, allowing the children untold liberties, wearing her best shoes, since her second-best were in the old nursery, and thinking of love, marriage and all those ineffable items that Lady Charlotte Dalrumple had lost the right to imagine for herself.
Discipline. She needed discipline. Employers didn't marry their governesses, most especially men like Lord Ruskin, who was titled, rich and handsome. Lady Ruskin worried he would perform some faux pas which would destroy his reputation among society's hostesses.
Charlotte had worried about it, too. But now she realized that his foreign adventures added the romantic flavor of scandal to his reputation. That, combined with the way he looked at a woman, made her blood heat and her imagination fly to long nights filled with those slow, delicate kisses.
"Lady Miss Charlotte, why are you so red and blotchy?" Robbie asked.
Discipline. She needed discipline, and some way to distract her charges from her blushing countenance. "You children are progressing so well in your lessons, I think we should have a celebration. Perhaps read a story from The Arabian Nights' Entertainments. Would you like that?"
Robbie beamed.
Leila yawned.
Startled, Charlotte asked, "Don't you want to hear a story, Leila?"
"Yes!" Leila shouted.
"A lady always speaks in a modulated tone." Charlotte had said the bromide so often it came without thought while she scrutinized Leila. The child was heavy-eyed and hollow-cheeked. Charlotte placed her hand on Leila's forehead. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"
"No. Yes." Leila dragged her toe along the crack between two polished boards in the floor. "I don't know."
She was cranky, but she wasn't running a fever.
As casually as she could, Charlotte said, "You're not afraid of the ghost?"
Leila got an expression of…oh, Charlotte didn't know how to describe it. Appalled slyness, for lack of a better term. "Is there a ghost here at Austinpark Manor?"
Immediately sorry she'd brought up the subject, Charlotte dismissed it casually. "A silly kitchen maid said she saw something up near the attics."
"Really? A real ghost of our own? I heard so, but I thought it was drivel. How smashing!" Robbie crowded close. "Did it rattle a chain? Did it hold a severed head? Did it moan and drip blood?"
"Robbie!" Charlotte was appalled, "None of those gruesome things. Where did you hear such nonsense?"
His enthusiasm undiminished, Robbie said, "Everybody knows that's what ghosts do."
"Everybody? As in your new companion from the vicarage?" Charlotte asked.
Robbie had found the vicar's son a week ago while roaming the estate, and since, the boys had been together every chance. Alfred seemed a decent sort, and his father was a stellar example of all that was obedient and decent. If he had not always been kind, well…he was a vicar, and a man, and he had a family to support. So she approved of Robbie's first friend in this foreign land.
But her brother's distraction had been hard on Leila, and it appeared the boys had been talking of matters better left unsaid.
"Alfred says lights have been seen in the attic. Oooo!" Robbie ran his finger up Leila's spine.
Leila backhanded him with her fist.
Charlotte caught him by the collar when he would have exacted revenge. To Leila she said severely, "Violence never solves a quarrel."
"He started it."
"Did not."
"You children are lucky to have each other." Charlotte looked at their two hot and irritated faces and thought how much she would have liked to have a sibling, and how much loneliness a brother or sister would have assuaged. "Not one child in England has shared the life you two shared in El Bahar. You cannot tell another soul about your adventures and expect they'll offer anything but vulgar curiosity. But for all your lives, you'll know one person who remembers how it was to live in the desert. That is your bond
. Don't waste it on silly quarrels."
The children stared at her. For a moment, she felt the thrill of triumph.
Then Robbie poked Leila in the ribs with his elbow. "Alfred says the spook likes to scare skinny girls."
And Charlotte realized they had scarcely comprehended a word. She didn't give up, exactly, she only chose her battles, and right now she chose to address the issue of the ghost. "Someone suffers from an overheated imagination," she said as if her disapproval could dampen the rumors. 'There are no such things as ghosts, and if there are, they wouldn't have the audacity to move into your father's house."
"Not with Grandmama living here," Leila declared. "She'd scare the ghost!"
Both children giggled.
"That's enough," Charlotte declared sternly, and their giggles subsided. Charlotte didn't know what to do about their blatant disrespect for their grandmother. Adorna had no idea what to do with her newly acquired grandchildren, nor did she try to learn. Mostly she watched them as if they were curiosities to be examined. Until Lady Ruskin decided to become a part of their lives, she would be an object of fun to the resentful children.
"Bring the candles, Robbie," Charlotte commanded.
A fire burned on the hearth to chase the chill away, and she led the children to the settle placed to catch the warmth. An hour of leisure would do them all good.
The hearth rug lay between the settle and the fire. A nice, large hearth rug…temptation. Charlotte stared at the thick, brightly woven floor covering and saw Wynter as he was in the old nursery every evening. Lolling on the cushions, smiling, handsome and indecorous. Sometimes, when she looked at him so relaxed and content, she was reminded of how, in the years before her parents' deaths, she had had the confidence to do what she wished without worry of reprisal. So many years ago, and yet she remembered.
"Lady Miss Charlotte, what are you doing?" Robbie asked.
Charlotte came out of her reverie to find Leila and Robbie staring at her. "I was thinking that we should lie on our backs to read today." Her own audacity astonished her, but when her gaze rested on Leila, she excused herself. The child was obviously tired; perhaps she would drift off for a nap.