After a still moment, his hand closed around hers, locking the notes in her hand. "Keep the money," he said gently. "Neither he nor Kirby would expect to be repaid, and your need is greater than theirs."
Nicole bit her lip, wanting to cry again because of his kindness. Before she could become maudlin, the baronet said testily, "Now for God's sake, put on something more opaque before I forget to be noble."
Glancing up, she saw frank desire in his gray eyes. Warm color flooded her face, but there was satisfaction in knowing that he did admire her.
After collecting her clothes, she went to the dressing room so that she could change away from his intense gaze. However, she had forgotten who was closed inside. As soon as she opened the door, small furry feet roared across her bare toes and headed straight for the man by the fireplace.
After a squeak of surprise, Nicole raced after the cat and managed to scoop it up before it could assault Sir Philip.
"I'm sorry, sir," she stammered as she clutched the cat to her chest. "I forgot my cat was in the dressing room."
Luckily he was amused rather than offended. "So it was to be a menage a trois. What's her name?"
Nicole hadn't chosen one yet, so she made an instant decision. "Merkle."
"Merkle? An unusual choice for a cat." He reached out to scratch the cat's chin. As the little calico began to purr under his ministrations, Nicole was very aware that the baronet's fingers were within an inch of her breasts, and that she wore only the sheer negligee that Masterson had provided. How would it feel if those knowing fingers caressed her with the same gentle strength that was enrapturing the cat?
Scandalized by the direction of her thoughts, Nicole stiffened and moved away. "Miss Merkle was very kind to me when I lost my position, and I wanted to honor her. Though I suspect she mightn't be flattered to be remembered this way."
"How did you lose your situation?"
Nicole stared down at the cat, not wanting to say, but unable to lie. "I was accused of stealing."
"Were you guilty?"
She raised her head and looked the baronet right in the eye. "No, I was not. My mistress suspected me because I was new in the household. She had my belongings searched, and when my savings were discovered, she became convinced that I was a thief. So she stole my money and threw me out onto the street with no references."
She wanted him to believe her, and was unreasonably disappointed when he frowned. Reminding herself that his opinion didn't matter, she said, "You do not believe me, but then, why should you? I am just a failed doxy." She gave him a slightly mocking curtsy. "I shall be gone in a few minutes, monsieur. You may search my belongings before I leave to assure yourself that I have taken nothing."
Philip raised his brows. "I didn't say that I didn't believe you. I doubt that a girl who so conscientiously tried to return money that she hadn't earned would be a thief. What bothers me is the unfairness of what happened to you, but I suppose nothing can be done."
He was rewarded by a faint, sweet smile. With dark curls tumbling around her shoulders and her oversized negligee half off one shoulder, Nicole was a tantalizing sight. What a pity she was an innocent, for if she had been what his friends thought, the two of them could have spent a delightful night.
Instead, she looked as fragile as she was gallant, and he realized that he could not possibly send her into the December night. "You'd best stay here until morning. I don't want to be responsible for you catching lung fever."
"You are very kind, Sir Philip." She glanced at the window, where icy raindrops were drumming, and shivered. "It is not a night fit for man, nor beast, nor pelican. Do you have a blanket? I will sleep on the sofa in the drawing room."
Pelican? Philip smiled at her turn of phrase as he took blankets from the top shelf of his wardrobe. She had an interesting mind. Among other things. But what would happen to her tomorrow, after he went home and she was left to her own devices? "How much did Masterson pay you?"
"We agreed on twenty pounds, but only half was paid in advance. I was to receive the other half in the morning, in return for the night's work." Unexpectedly her eyes twinkled. "Alas, I have not earned that, but the ten pounds you said I could keep is still a considerable sum."
Philip bit his lip as he calculated how far ten pounds would go. It wasn't much of a cushion against disaster. "You're French, aren't you?"
"By birth, but I have lived in England since I was six."
Philip switched to speaking French. "My mother was born and raised in France, near Toulouse. Her family name was Deauville."
Nicole smiled with pleasure. "Then we are countrymen of a sort," she replied, answering in the same language. "Unfortunately I have never seen Toulouse, but my mother often said it was a lovely city."
Yes, the girl was definitely French, and she spoke with as refined an accent as Philip's mother. Returning to English, he said, "Are you from one of the aristocratic families who escaped the French Revolution with little more than their lives?"
She shook her head. "My family name is Chambord, and while of' decent rank, we were not noble. More like one of your English gentry, for my father had a single estate of moderate size." She added conscientiously, "My mother had a cousin who was a count, but the connection was not a close one."
Philip suppressed a smile. The girl was nothing if not honest; it was not uncommon for emigres to exaggerate the status they had had in the Old Country. Still, Nicole was clearly wellborn, and her coloring and gestures reminded him a little of his own sister. A brilliant idea struck him. "Are you willing to work outside of London?"
She looked hopeful. "Of course. Without references, I cannot afford to be too particular in my tastes. Do you know of a position for a seamstress?"
"Not for a seamstress, but a companion," he replied. "My only sister, married last winter, and my father died only a month later, so my mother has had a lonely year. Several times I've suggested that she hire a companion, but she always said that was unnecessary. However, if I present her with a fait accompli, I think she would be delighted to have you."
Nicole looked shocked. "Monsieur, I am an accused thief and obviously no better than I should be, or I wouldn't be here. You cannot possibly take me into your home, much less introduce me to your mother!"
He raised his eyebrows. "Of course I can. In fact, I have every intention of doing so. For over twenty years I've been bringing home stray dogs, cats, birds with broken wings, even the odd injured hedgehog now and then. If my mother can tolerate them, she can certainly deal with you."
"I am considerably odder than a hedgehog," she said severely. "Surely you can see the difference."
Philip was forced to admit that Nicole was right. It was no small thing to introduce a complete stranger into one's home, and even the most broad-minded mother was apt to look askance at a fledgling lightskirt. However, his judgment of people was usually good, and he was willing to swear that the French girl was as honest and well-bred as she appeared. "There is no need to mention how you and I became acquainted. I will just say that you are a distant connection of Masterson's who needs a situation. My mother won't question that."
As Nicole frowned, the cat batted at the red bow, causing the white negligee to dip even more precariously. "I do not want you to perjure yourself on my behalf."
Philip realized that he was getting new insight into the expression "honest to a fault," as well as a highly distracting view of his guest's pleasing person.
After swallowing hard, he said, "Allow me to worry about that. My conscience will be a good deal more troubled if I leave you here to starve." Seeing that Nicole looked unconvinced, he decided that it would be good strategy to imply that she would be doing him a favor. "If you and my mother get on well, you'll save me from a terrible fate. She's been plotting to marry me off—if she has you to fuss over, she might leave me alone, at least for a while."
Nicole smiled a little. "Clearly it is my duty to save you from disaster." Her eyes began filling with tears again. "Thi
s morning I prayed for a miracle and le bon Dieu has sent me one, for your generosity is truly miraculous. Thank you, monsieur."
With effort, Philip wrenched his gaze away. There was no denying that Miss Chambord was something of a watering pot—nor that she looked dangerously fetching with tears in her great dark eyes. "You stay here, and I'll sleep on the sofa tonight. Time we both get some rest, for I want to be off at dawn tomorrow."
Then he beat a hasty retreat, before he found himself trying to kiss her tears away.
PHILIP was awakened by the faint sounds of someone building up the drawing room fire a dozen feet away. It was still dark, and it took him a moment to remember just why he was sleeping fully dressed and in such an uncomfortable position. Then he remembered and sat up, sore muscles protesting at having been laid to rest on a sofa that was hard and far toe short.
He vaguely expected to find Stephens, the Rochester servant who had been looking after him for the last few days, but instead he saw a slight feminine figure kneeling by the hearth and using tongs to set lumps of coal on the embers of last night's banked fire. So the gift-wrapped girl on the bed hadn't been a dream. This morning she was fully dressed in a severe but well-cut gown whose color he couldn't determine in the predawn darkness.
Merkle was curled up in front of the hearth, a pointy-eared silhouette against the increasing glow of the fire. Both girl and cat looked very much at home.
Hearing his movement, Nicole glanced up with a shy smile. "Good morning, Sir Philip. I trust you slept well?"
"Well enough." He raised one hand to cover a yawn, then pushed aside the blanket and got to his feet. As the clock began striking six, he said, "Any moment now, two of the Rochester's staff will arrive with hot water and breakfast. You'd better retreat to the bedroom. Quite apart from the fact that female visitors are frowned on, the less people who know about last night, the better for your reputation."
"Why should it matter?" she asked, puzzled. "I am of no account to anyone."
"As my mother's companion, you might be coming to London for the Season. Your reputation will matter then, to her and to yourself." He stretched to loosen his knotted muscles. "In fact, after breakfast, I'll pay a brief call on Masterson, thank him for the unexpected gift, then tell him to muzzle James so this little episode doesn't become common knowledge." j
"Isn't it too early to call on a gentleman like him?" she said doubtfully as she stood and hung up the fire tongs.
"If I wake him, so be it," Philip said callously. "However, in spite of Masterson's air of languor, he's an early riser. Kirby, on the other hand hasn't had firsthand experience of dawn since he came down from Cambridge."
"When you visit Lord Masterson, will you return the negligee he lent me?"
"So that's why the thing was so large on you," Philip said, amused. "His last mistress was a strapping wench." Then he frowned. "Sorry. I really shouldn't speak of such things in front of you."
Her eyes danced. "Last night I was a fallen woman and this morning I am respectable, but in truth I feel little different."
They were sharing a companionable smile when the servants’ door at the back of the apartment swung open with a gloomy creak. Nicole immediately darted into the bedroom and pulled the door shut before the footmen could see her.
While the senior footman, Stephens, set a large tray with covered dishes on a side table, the younger servant headed for the bedroom door with the copper of hot water. Philip hastily interposed himself between the footman and the door. "Set the water down on the hearth."
The young man gave him a curious look, but obeyed. As he set down the copper, Merkle decided to dash across the room in a flash of calico lightning. Stephens blinked at the cat. "Sir Philip, there is a Feline Creature here."
"Indeed there is." Philip watched uneasily as the cat took position by the bedroom door and began to cry for her mistress. "I saw a mouse here yesterday, so I enlisted expert help."
Stephens looked scandalized. "Mice are not permitted in the Rochester. In fact, it is against the rules to have any sort of Lower Creature here."
The younger footman said helpfully, "The way that puss is carrying on, maybe there's a mouse in the bedroom now." He started across the drawing room to open the door.
Once more Philip took several hasty steps to block the way to the bedroom. "I think the cat is just interested in finding its food dish." Anxious to get rid of the servants, he continued smoothly, "I know you must both be about your duties now, but before you leave, allow me to offer my best wishes for the season, and to express my appreciation for your fine service over the last several days."
Substantial vails, augmented by a generous Christmas bonus, served to distract the two footmen from the question of what might be in the bedroom. As Philip ushered them from his rooms, he said piously, "I will take the Feline Creature back to the country this morning, so it shan't cause any trouble." Then he closed the door before anything more untoward could occur.
After the footmen were safely gone, he returned to the drawing room to find that Merkle had leapt onto the side table and was now sniffing enthusiastically around the aromatic covered dishes. Before Philip could intervene, Nicole cautiously opened the bedroom door, then scurried across the drawing room and removed the cat from the table. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically as the little calico protested with a heartrending wail. "The Feline Creature's manners aren't very good."
"Hunger will raise havoc with manners." Philip lifted dish covers until he found a platter of ham. "Give her a few slivers of this so we can eat in peace."
After Merkle had been fed and both humans had washed up, they sat down to break their fast. Nicole's interest in the food was as great as the cat's, though her manners were considerably better. In fact, with her pleasant expression and disinclination to chatter, she made an ideal breakfast companion. Philip had a brief, unpleasant mental image of her starving on the streets and gave thanks that fate had put her in his path.
After he finished eating, Philip went into his bedroom and packed the few possessions he had brought with him, plus the Christmas presents he had purchased on Bond Street. Most of the gifts were easily stowed in a leather portmanteau, but the music box he'd bought for his mother began to play when he lifted it. The box was a pretty trifle, its circular base surmounted by a delicate porcelain angel that rotated to the melody of "The First Noel."
As the sweet notes filled the room, Nicole came to investigate, then gave a soft admiring exclamation. "How lovely! A present for your mother or sister?"
He nodded and handed the music box to her. "My mother collects music boxes. I think she'll like this one because of the Christmas theme." |
When the movement slowed, Nicole turned the key on the bottom I again. Her small face glowed as the angel pirouetted, its gilded wings and trumpet shining in the lamplight as the carol played. "I think your mother is blessed to have a son who is not only considerate, but who has such good taste."
"I'm fortunate to have her and my sister. Losing my father so suddenly has made me aware of how fatally easy it is to take those we care about for granted." Then, more to himself than his companion, Philip added, "I never told my father that I loved him. Now it's too late."
Nicole said gravely, "I'm sure that he knew. Love needn't be spoken to he understood."
Philip found a surprising amount of comfort in her words. He had known that his father loved him, though it had never been said aloud; it Wilde sense that his father had been equally aware of his son's regard. "I hope you're right."
Uncomfortable with the extent to which he'd revealed his emotions, lie look the music box from Nicole, carefully wrapped it in a heavy towel, find wedged it securely into the leather portmanteau. "My curricle will be brought around in a few minutes, so I'll go down and speak to Masterson now. Can you be ready to go in ten minutes?"
"Oh, yes." She smiled. "I've little to pack."
Philip collected the neatly folded white negligee, then took a lamp to light his way do
wn the Rochester's dark stairs to his friend's rooms. Hair tousled and suppressing a yawn, Masterson himself answered Philip's knock.
After identifying his visitor, Masterson smiled lazily and gestured for Philip to come into the narrow vestibule. "I'm surprised you aren't still enjoying your warm bed."
"That warm bed is why I'm here," Philip said dryly as he handed over the negligee. "While I must thank you and Kirby for your generous gift, a mistake was made. Miss Chambord is a lady, not a lightskirt." Then he succinctly described Nicole's background and his decision to take her to Winstead Hall.
Leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, Masterson listened with amused interest. "So the chit batted those long lashes and said she's a distressed gentlewoman. You actually believe her?"
Not liking the tone, Philip said shortly, "Yes, I do."
The other man shook his head cynically. "Be careful the little tart doesn't rob you the moment you turn your back."
"She's not a tart." When Masterson gave him a skeptical glance, Philip's eyes narrowed. "You may have catastrophic judgment about women, but not all men are such fools."
The other man's brows shot up. "A low blow, Philip," he said without rancor. "But no doubt you're right. If the girl is an innocent, it would explain why yesterday she gave me a set-down worthy of an Almack's patroness when I told her I was in need of a mistress and asked if she was interested in the position."
So Masterson had offered the girl a carte blanche. Philip teetered between satisfaction that Nicole had turned him down and a strong desire to plant a fist on his friend's jaw. He settled for saying, "Time will tell which of us is right, but until Miss Chambord's honesty, or lack thereof, is established, I'd thank you not to say anything that might ruin her reputation."
"I shall be a model of discretion," Masterson assured him. "And I guarantee that Jamie will be the same. If she is a decent girl fallen on hard times, she deserves a chance."
Satisfied, Philip offered his hand, then took his leave.