The Marquis’s Misstep by Kathy L. Wheeler

Three

A

bright morning sun glinted off the settee’s tattered gold threads on which Ginny was perched. Since Maudsley’s death she’d taken the liberty of adding doses of yellow and spring green throughout with pillows and throws to liven up the drab parlor. Still, it was Maudsley House, and she had no intention of spending more than absolute necessary on a resident she abhorred.

She held out a fresh cup of tea for Lorelei, following Lorelei’s gaze around the less than cheery room, seeing the dreary, outdated drapes and heavy brocaded settee and chairs. The cackling fire in the hearth was the room’s most welcoming feature.

“The touches of yellow and green are nice,” Lorelei said.

“It’s not much, but I felt inclined to do something.” She smiled at her friend then cut her eyes to Corinne, Lady Harlowe. She was a such a melancholy thing. Sadly, with her bleak countenance, she seemed to fit perfectly within the confines.

Lorelei added a lump of sugar to her cup and stirred. “I was thrilled to see you last night.”

Ginny handed the younger woman a cup. “You should have attended, Corinne. The music was much better than normal.”

“I thought Nathanial might need me. He seems to be so cranky lately.” Corinne’s voice was so soft one had to strain to hear her. Her dark hair was pulled into a simple no-fuss twist at her nape, her gown dark, contrasting starkly against her pale complexion. She brought her cup to her lips, showcasing a large ruby worn on her left hand. It was the brightest object in the entire room.

“I’m glad you talked me into attending,” Ginny said to Lorelei. “I needed the push. You were right. Last night’s musicale was an excellent starting place.” She sipped her own tea. “Of course, your little remark on coveting my late husband worked like the charm you intended.”

Corinne set down her cup. It was still filled to the rim, as if she’d only mimicked drinking it. She rose to her feet. “If you’ll excuse me, I have need of the necessary,” she said.

“Of course, dear,” Lorelei said.

When the door shut behind her departure, Lorelei turned back to Ginny. “I should have sent word we were stopping by this morning. I feared you would have turned us down flat.” She lowered her voice with a quick glance to the door. “Honestly, Ginny, I thought bringing Corinne and Nathan to live with Thorne and me was best for the girl. Now I’m not so certain. I do know that Nathan and Corinne need friendly faces. What with all his crawling about, Peg and Bethie spend all their time chasing him down. Not that they mind. But Corinne is quiet as ever. I worry.” Lorelei sighed and dropped a second cube in her cup. “I asked her to accompany me. She declined, of course, but I absolutely insisted.”

“Don’t be silly. I’m glad you came. Irene and Celia were excited to see Nathanial,” she said. “Irene will be quite the mother.”

“Yes, she will.” Unlike Corinne to Nathan. The words hung unsaid in the air.

Corinne was Maudsley’s daughter from a marriage previous to Ginny’s own to the bastard. Lady Hannah Poston. It was believed Hannah had perished in childbirth, but Ginny suspected something far more sinister. How could she not? She’d lived through Maudsley’s hell.

“She hates me.” Ginny’s pained laugh spilled out as raucous and inappropriate as ever. “I mean, I’m her mother now, as ludicrous as it sounds.” An unnerving plight with only a handful of years separating the two of them.

“Nonsense. Corrinne’s just not the talkative type.” Lorelei’s spoon tinkled against the china. “I can hardly fault her. I miss my brother too. Horribly so. But he’s the father of her child.”

Ginny reached over and patted her friend’s knee. “He’ll be found, Lorelei. Just wait and see.” She paused, wondering how to broach this next subject. It was sure to cause a stir. She pulled in a deep breath, setting her cup aside. “I am glad you stopped by this morning. There’s something I wish to talk to you about. Something I read in the Gazette that’s left me quite disturbed.”

Lorelei’s brows furrowed, and she set down her cup. “What is it, dear?”

Ginny snatched up the newspaper she’d set aside upon Lorelei’s arrival and snapped it open. She pointed to the article in question. “Look at this. Young girls are being kidnapped and sent out of the country. Forced into marriages. Some as young as five years old.” She shuddered, her heart pounding painfully against her ribs.

“Good heavens, Ginny. They wouldn’t dare take children of noble birth. What purpose would it serve?”

“How should I know? But the younger the girls, the more likely and helpless. I can’t imagine anyone getting Irene to kowtow without a fight. They’d have to kill—” Her stomach roiled. “A girl of her age would be much more difficult to convince to conform.”

“But girls of noble birth? That is much too risky.”

“But not impossible. Celia’s five, Lorelei. The thought of something happening to either one of my girls frightens me to the point of insomnia. I can hardly bear to let them out of my sight.”

Lorelei shifted to the settee beside her, wrapping an arm about her shoulders. “Oh, Ginny. Nothing will happen to Irene and Cecilia. Forgive me for saying so, but Maudsley is dead. You and the girls are quite safe now.”

Ginny knew she was right, but every day she woke breathing hard, pulse hammering, plagued with nightmares of finding Irene or Celia missing from their snug beds. “I can hardly make them sleep in their own bedchambers. I know my fears are irrational, but”—she choked back thick emotion—“it could happen. Maudsley had been entrenched in something horrendous. Even dead, I can’t help worrying his deeds will land on our heads. I’m convinced that if I learned what those deeds were, I would be able to sleep better. It’s the not knowing that cripples me. This is my family.” An understatement. She was scared witless. She strived to collect herself. “I’ve been thinking.” She took a leveling breath and rushed on. “If I can’t learn of my late husband’s evil-doings, I’ve come to the realization I must find a way to teach Celia and Irene to protect themselves.” There. She’d said it. Aloud.

Maudsley’s death should have reassured her, but it hadn’t. Even leaving the girls in their governess’s, Miss Lambert’s capable hands the night before, had left Ginny jittery and rushing straight home after the buffet had opened. She’d stormed into the house and dashed up two flights of stairs to the nursery. She was truly paralyzed with fear and desperate for a resolution that would calm her fears before she drove herself stark raving mad. She dabbed at the tears blurring her vision. “How? How can I teach them?”

Corinne slipped back in the parlor, followed by Kipling. “My lady—”

Ginny dashed away her tears. “Yes, Kipling. What is it?”

He cleared his throat. “Lord Maudsley is here.”

Terror gripped Ginny by the throat. She was vaguely aware of Lorelei’s and Corinne’s sharp gasps as black-and-white spots speared her vision. Her corset grew too tight. The air she tried inhaling eluded her as the spots turned to solid black. Her muscles slackened. She couldn’t speak.

“Heavens, Kipling.” Lorelei’s voice broke through Ginny’s fogged brain, her fingers squeezing Ginny’s hard. “Maudsley is dead.”

Yes. Yes. Maudsley is dead. Ginny struggled to gain a hold over the sheer panic that had her in its chokehold. Yet she trembled with violence. It took short, shallow breaths to beat back the reverence to see the deep shade of dark red streaking up her butler’s neck. “Of course, my lady. My apologies, my lady.”

Ginny’s gaze moved to the man standing in the arch.

Slowly Ginny rose, testing the validity of her weight on her legs, blood still rushing her veins, hot and throbbing, threatening to topple her but for her death grip on the chair. She put her free hand to her chest, unable to move from her rooted spot as she attempted to marshal her bearings.

The man was tall and slender with fair hair and piercing eyes of jade. The uncanny resemblance to her late husband took her aback and threatened to send her dropping to the floor in a dead faint. She counted the short breaths to stave off the compulsion. His skin was unnaturally darkened by a sun not common in England.

He entered the morning room, frowning. “I’m the Earl of Maudsley, my lady. I’ve been out of the country.” A small, self-deprecating smile tipped his lips. “I learned of my cousin’s demise some months ago, but I fear it has taken time to arrange passage home. I apologize for the sudden appearance.” His eyes moved over her blue-and-white-striped day frock and narrowed. Only slightly, but she read the disapproval at her lack of widow’s weeds. After all, she was an expert in the art of such reception.

Face flaming, Ginny lowered onto the settee shaking. “Of course. Of course, my lord. Please join us. You must be famished. Kipling, have Mrs. Couch bring in sandwiches for the… the earl.” Ginny couldn’t force his name past her lips.

With a sharp nod, Kipling slipped from the room.

The new earl matched Brock in height but that was all. It was just the shock of seeing one who looked so much like her late husband that had her shifting her gaze. And shuddering outright. “Would you care for tea?”

“I don’t wish to intrude.”

His disapproval was nothing she hadn’t experienced before. And truly why should she care? He had no notion of the atrocities she’d suffered in her marriage to the man’s monstrous predecessor. She owed him nothing. Least of all an explanation. If the new earl remained in town for any length of time, he’d learn soon enough. Her erratic pulse slowed to something nearer to normal. She lifted her chin. “Nonsense,” she said. “Please be seated.”

The earl surveyed the less than stellar morning room, his blank expression saying much, finally resting on Lorelei.

“My lord, please allow me to present Lady Kimpton and Lady Harlowe.”

“My pleasure, ladies.” His gaze lingered on Corinne, and suddenly Ginny was glad Corinne was a married woman. Something about his perusal had Ginny wanting to shield her. She had to remind herself that not all men were like her late husband but it took an extraordinary effort.

Lorelei didn’t speak, inclining her head. The look on her friend’s face was smooth. Ginny recognized the skepticism. Corinne was more difficult to read. After all, the late Maudsley had been her father. This man was Corinne’s cousin. And, oddly enough, Ginny’s daughter by marriage. Still, Ginny didn’t like thinking of Corinne under this man’s guardianship. There was something much too practiced about him that made her uneasy.

His gaze flicked back to Ginny. “I confess, I was hoping to speak to you on a personal matter.”

Ginny filled a cup.

“Two lumps, black,” he said.

She dropped in two lumps and handed it over. “Of course, sir, how may I assist you?”

Red stained his cheeks. “As I said, it’s a personal matter. Would it be possible to call upon you later this afternoon or tomorrow?”

Ginny couldn’t imagine what he needed to say that couldn’t be said in front of present company. “Certainly. Later this afternoon, perhaps? I’m leaving for Colchester soon.”

A smile curved his lips that didn’t conceal the censure in his eyes. “You’re attending Griston’s country house party, then?”

She gave him a brilliant smile of her own and reveled in it. She was now a widow in charge of her own fate. It was a heady sensation. “I am indeed.”

“Then that shall suffice. I shall be there as well.”

That made no sense. Ginny frowned. “I thought you said you’d just arrived in town.”

“Yes.” His expression grew sheepish. “But I stopped by White’s on my way over to meet up with some old cronies. I thought to secure lodging before seeing you. As such, I’ve taken room at The Albert on George Street, should you need to reach me.” He drained his cup and rose, took her hand not so smoothly, causing her to flinch. He bowed over it. “I’ll take my leave, then. Until this weekend.” The new Lord Maudsley strode to the door and opened it, almost running over Mrs. Couch, who was laden down with a tray filled with crust-free delectables.

The older woman stepped back quickly.

“Pardon, ma’am. I’ll not be staying.”

Just then, Brock stormed in, nearly knocking them both aside. “Who the devil are you?” he demanded.

“Lord Maudsley at your service, sir.”

“Mauds—” Brock’s sharp gaze shot to Ginny, leaving her unnerved.

The earl looked at her from the door. His disapproval appeared like a cloud over his head. “I’ll see you over the week’s end.” He bowed. “Lady Maudsley, Lady Kimpton, Lady Harlowe.”

The second the man disappeared, nervous giggles burst from Ginny and Lorelei; Corinne’s expression remained unchanged.

Ginny watched Corinne from the corner of her eye and let out a sigh. “Bring in the tray, Mrs. Couch. It appears I have a revolving door this morning.” She put a hand to her hair and turned to Lorelei. “How dare he show up without notice,” she whispered. “I-I look a fright.”

Lorelei’s lips twitched. “I notice your reaction on the earl’s arrival did not evoke your irritation. Never mind. You look perfectly acceptable, Ginny.” She stood and shook out her full skirts. “We’ll just run up and check on the children,” she said with a perfectly bland countenance.

Ginny didn’t want to be left alone with Brock. “The girls—”

“Will be fine with your Miss Lambert.” She bussed Ginny on the cheek. “I’ll return shortly to save you from the beast. Come, Corinne.”

“If only.” But Lorelei had already moved away.

Brock strode over as if he owned the place. Lorelei’s lips curved in a demure smile as he bowed, allowing her and Corinne to skirt by. “Brockway.” The mischievous wink over her shoulder to Ginny had Ginny stifling a groan. She pulled herself together. She needed all her wits about her to deal with said beast—an apt description.

“Lady Kimpton.”

An awkward silence followed Lorelei’s and Corinne’s departure. Ginny gave herself a stern mental shake. “Would you care for tea, Lord Brockway?” Formality was the only shield she could manage on such short notice. “Mrs. Couch just brought in sandwiches.”

“For starters.” His husky resonance sent quivers over her skin.

She poured a cup with a dash of cream and handed it over, her fingers brushing his, sending a firestorm of sensations racing through her veins. A sudden grin split his perfectly formed lips. She could have kicked herself. That she remembered how he drank his tea gained him a distinct advantage. As if he didn’t have enough over her.

He set the cup aside and caught her unprepared, tugging her onto his lap. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered. His lips brushed hers. Sweet and nostalgic. Warm and soft. Each bringing to the forefront how very conflicted her feelings were. This man had been her first love. He’d been the one to awaken the passion buried deep within. He’d been the one to quell the incessant criticism she’d grown up with.

Virginia! Young ladies do not laugh loudly. Young ladies do not consume large bites. Young ladies do not express excessive emotion. Dear heavens, you’ll disgrace us all…

Ginny shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out the criticisms and memories as easily. His fingers moved across her forehead and, before she realized it, he’d parted her hair. His other hand framed her jaw, immobilizing her at the horror of what he looked at. Rather than saying anything, he laid his lips on the deep scar where her hair no longer grew.

Mortified, she tore out of his hold, stumbled to her feet. Her leg hit the table, sending her cup teetering to the floor. “How dare you!” Her voice didn’t come out indignant as she’d intended. No, it came out strangled and tearful and… breathless, blast it all.

Impatience flashed from him. But then he let out a resigned sigh, his arms falling to his sides. After a long moment, his expression turned serious. He stared her down, his brows meeting, his mouth a full frown. “You’re attending Griston’s party in the country? Are you sure you’re up for such an event? You haven’t left this house in almost a year and now you are flitting from place to place with no care for your reputation.”

“My repu—” She pointed to the door. “Out.”

“I’m not leaving. I’ve waited years to have you to myself, though God knows why.” He snagged a sandwich from the nearby tray and dropped into the chair the earl had vacated. “What was that man doing here anyway?”

“That is none of your concern.”

“It damned sure is.”

“What of it? He arrived unannounced, just like someone else I know.” She hated how petulant she sounded. But then nothing was going right for her that morning.

Brock popped a second triangle in his mouth. He was certainly making himself at home, sitting back, legs outstretched. “Probably coming to claim the homestead,” he said, mouth half full.

His words struck Ginny in the chest with the force of a wooden mallet. “Dear heavens. You may be right.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t be living here long anyway. Once we’re married—”

Shock rendered her speechless. The utter nerve.

He pulled his legs in and leaned forward. Reaching out with a long, elegant finger, he tipped her lowered jaw shut.

She snatched her head back. “I’m not marrying you. You had your shot, remember? I’m not marrying anyone. Ever.”

“You need protecting. Your girls need protecting.”

“And I have every intention of… of seeing them protected.” Outrage colored her vision in a brilliant shade of scarlet. The color of blood depicted in paintings of war. “We don’t need you. I’m going to teach my daughters to protect themselves.”

Sudden silence boomed the morning room. She’d stunned him. His shock should have had her falling to the floor in gales of laughter, but she knew all too well how headstrong this man was. He’d been her downfall once before. Never again, she vowed.

“How do you expect to teach your girls to defend themselves?” he sputtered. “You couldn’t even protect yourself.” His voice likely reached the rafters.

Her hand flew, an automatic response, that would have landed a solid crack against his cheek but for his reflex that snagged her right wrist in mid-motion.

His eyes glittered with his fury, his nostrils flaring.

“How dare you,” she bit out through gritted teeth. Ever the gentleman, he released her the minute she jerked her hand.

“Darling,” he said gently. “Girls are not taught to fight.”

“Well, maybe they should be.” She plopped down on the settee, her hand this time catching the edge of the tray that held the sandwiches. What the devil was wrong with her? Again, Brock’s quick reflexes saved the moment. This time the tray, but her cup tottered and hit the floor a second time, rolling to a stop near the toe of her slipper.

With a patience that surprised her, he scooped up her fallen cup and set it on its saucer. “I don’t mean to undermine your idea. It’s a good idea, but...” He took in a deep breath as if to gain time. “How do you propose to manage this improbable task?”

Her fingers twisted in her lap. Another sign of his advantage. She stilled her fingers and reached for a sandwich. “I’ll manage. I have no wish for my daughters to end up at some wicked man’s mercy.” He gave her a pained look. She ignored it. “Regardless, it’s none of your affair.” In a huff of temper, she tossed her head. “I think it’s time you left. I have no wish to discuss the matter any longer.”

His face contorted into a mask of helpless aggravation. Nothing irked Lord Brockway more than being out of control. She’d gained the upper hand, and she reveled in it. Ginny swallowed back the surge of satisfaction. The first she’d experienced in what felt like her entire year of mourning. Perhaps in an entire decade. Since the day the Marquis of Brockway had abandoned her to the wrath of her parents after promising himself to her. To their future. The minute he’d walked away, the outcome of her fate had been sealed. Again, she had to squash the pain in her heart, recollecting his promise to return to her, with no information for his leaving. Her parents had managed to marry her off to Maudsley within a mere ten days. Right then, her life had stopped.

“They would have me to protect them,” he said softly.

“You!” The shrill of her own surprise stung her ears. “And who was there when Maudsley left me for dead on my bedchamber floor?”

Devastation seared his features.

Still seated, Ginny swiveled her body in the opposite direction, her heart crushed with guilt. It was true that Brock hadn’t been there to stop the blows, but she hadn’t been his responsibility at that time, and yet he had put himself in peril to save her life. She dropped her head. “Forgive me, I-I shouldn’t have said such a thing.” Her hairline tingled like an itch that wouldn’t go away. She brushed her fingers across it.

The quiet was palpable before he spoke. “What sort of things are you planning to teach them?”

She raised her gaze, gauging the sincerity of his question. His expression showed concerned curiosity rather than sarcasm or disdain. Ginny tossed the crumbled remnants of the sandwich she’d mutilated on a plate and poured a dash more tea, forgetting the liquid that now soaked the carpets, desperately wishing for brandy.

No one had ever asked her such a thing. Of course, Lorelei was the only person to whom she’d mentioned her half-cracked idea. “Well, for starters, I-I might advise them to watch out for strangers. Perhaps explain how to be aware of others when we take to the park. Things of that nature.” Her spoon tinged against her cup. “At some point, I-I would—” She stopped, knowing he was not going to be so amiable to the rest. She inhaled. Deep. “I would like them to learn escape measures.”

“Escape measures!”

Hackles raised, she went on the defense, steeled her spine. “I told you. This is none of your business.” She took a drink of her tea and frowned. Dropped in a lump of sugar and a splash of milk.

He stilled the cup in her trembling hands. “You’ve already added four lumps of sugar.” His chest puffed out as if he was holding back a string of curses. He leaned back into his chair and let out a long-held breath in a calm, steady stream. “Your scheme will never work, you know. They are girls. Very young girls.”

At least he appeared calm. Until he shoved a hand through his hair. The sight startled her, took her back years to a place she’d wished never to revisit. At one time she’d adored running her fingers through his chestnut locks.

“You need a trim, my lord and adorable marquis. You must sack your valet at once.”

His laugh bounded off the stable walls. She grabbed his overly long hair with both hands, bringing his mouth to hers in an open-mouthed kiss that curled her toes. He tumbled her back in the hay, hovering over her. She’d learned his instructions well.

“Ginny? What is it?” His husky tones raced through her.

“Wh-what?” Oh God. Had she moaned? Aloud? Her cup landed on the table with a clank. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“I’ll admit”—he spoke slowly, seeming to weigh his words—“your notion regarding Irene’s and Celia’s safety is a good one—”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he held out a palm, staying her.

“But it may not be enough.” With each word, his irritation grew more palpable.

She jumped up from her seat and set a path for the windows, blinking rapidly. “I don’t care what you say,” she returned softly. “I can teach them to save themselves. I-I don’t need your help.” But she was afraid that was exactly what she needed.

Two schools of thought shot through Brock. The first was that she belonged in Bedlam. The idea of teaching young girls to defend themselves was ludicrous. Secondly, she might as well have driven a stake through his heart with that comment of leaving her for dead. If he hadn’t abandoned her years before, her parents would have had to kill him to keep him away from her. But he’d been nowhere about as she’d so succinctly put.

They’d handed her off to Maudsley within a fortnight of his departure. She’d begged him to take her with him. Of course, he couldn’t have taken her to the continent. There’d been a war going on. Within two days of leaving her, he’d found himself on the trail of villains. Even he’d had no idea how dangerous they would turn out to be. He’d learned soon enough.

The guilt on his head might as well weigh eighteen stone. It was a mass heavy enough to bury and suffocate him. Ginny’s husband had beaten her and, yes, left her for dead. By sheer luck, Brock had been standing in Kimpton’s foyer when Ginny’s note had arrived declining Lady’s Kimpton’s invitation to accompany her to the Kimptons’ country home. Every instinct and hackle Brock possessed had vaulted to the heavens with the force of buckshot. He’d known instantly something was wrong—

Brock shook away the horrors of that day to concentrate on this newfangled whim of hers. He wracked his brain for a way to talk reason into his obstinate Amazon. He, more than anyone, knew how stubborn she could be. How the devil was he supposed to keep her safe with such a mad scheme? Not mad, he corrected. Formidable. A formidable scheme. One she wished to teach her children, for God’s sake. He studied her through veiled lids, her dark, rich mahogany locks secured to the nape of that long graceful neck that he’d never been able to eradicate from his dreams.

Maybe, admittedly, the idea wasn’t half bad—teaching girls a way to protect themselves might be brilliant, actually—of course, if society learned what she was about, she’d be laughed out of town all the way to the wilds of America.

Hell, even if it was a brilliant idea, how the devil did one go about instructing nine and five year olds from the nefarious minds of rapscallions?

If anything, this idea had merit in one particularly important way. One he couldn’t pass up. To raise his honor in Ginny’s eyes, and, by the saints, she was handing him the perfect opportunity. Something warm and new blossomed in his chest. Hope. Hope and opportunity. He rose to his feet. “If you’ll allow it, I shall assist you,” he said slowly. The key in reaching through to Ginny was not to come across as too eager.

Her demeanor morphed into instant suspicion. “In what way?”

Annoyance reared its head in a quick surge, but remaining calm was essential and he was not known for being an idiot—to most. “I’m not sure.” Then, through a jaw clenched with frustration, he said, “How should I know? It’s not like Gentleman Jackson posts advertisements in the Gazette saying he now hosts instructions for young ladies. I need to think.” He paced to the window and back. This was the devil of a conundrum, but he had an iron will of his own. And this was a fight he intended to win. Instructing the girls would put him directly in her daughters’ company, which meant her company. His lips twitched with maintaining his complacency. These lessons could go on for years… if he played his cards right. “I should be able to come up with something useful.” Then he remembered, he was leaving with Kimpton. Damn. “Unfortunately, I have to leave town for a few days. We shall begin the minute I return.”

She was quiet for a long while, studying him as if he were a bug under glass.

“Ginny,” he growled. “I am not a patient man, as you well know.” He strolled over and gently took her left hand, smoothed his thumb over the hitch in the bone he’d been forced to help set. “I am your only hope, my dear.”

The tension in her shoulders gave way and she extracted her hand. He didn’t miss its tremor. Her head tilted, then dipped in a short acquiescence. “I shall think it over. Thank you.”

He wanted to howl to the moon. Why did she have to be so obstinate? Aggravation sprinted through him. “Think it over, my arse. I’ll see you when I return.” He took her by the shoulders, raising her to her feet, and touched his lips to hers, then lowered her back to sitting and let go.

She reached for her tea with trembling fingers he longed to caress and reassure. She deserted the effort, her gaze falling away, a frown marring her brow.

His words meant nothing to her at this juncture. That ship had sailed. “What is it?” He spoke softly. Fillies were less easily spooked.

She shook her head, opened her mouth to speak—no, to share, he thought—then shut it again.

He waited, hoping for a sliver of the trust he’d long ago lost that he didn’t merit, but desperately craved.

“I have nightmares of racing to the nursery and finding Irene and Celia missing from their beds. I search and search, but they aren’t in the house.” She crooked a small smile, her eyes distant. “Of course, it’s snowing profusely, no carriages are available. Apparently, I’ve forgotten that I have my own.”

“Oh, darling.” He reached toward her, and the spell broke. She leaned quickly away, out of his reach. His heart clenched, his jaw steeled. It appeared he’d outstayed his welcome.

He leaned over her and, unable to resist, planted another kiss on her surprised lips, this one hard and possessive. “I shall see you in a couple of days. I’m with Kimpton for a short quest. In the meantime, I would advise you to keep this scheme of ours to yourself. It will not be received as proper.”

That fired her up, he was gratified to see. She opened her mouth to respond—rake him over a bed of coals, more like—then her mouth snapped shut.

How disappointing. And ridiculous.

Brock let her go and strode to the door, wishing he could stay. He glanced back over his shoulder. “I’ll see you when I return.”

She lifted her chin, which did not bode well. “I won’t be here.”

That brought him up. “What are you talking about?”

She smoothed her elegant fingers over her skirt. “I-I’ve been invited to Griston’s house party. I-in the country.”

He eyed her speculatively. She was a widow now, and as long as they were discreet, no eyebrows would raise at an amorous liaison between them. “I see. Well, I shall meet you there then. I’ve been invited as well.”

A frown creased her brow.

The sight sent a jolt of lust to ignite his blood. He tamped it back. Such action would be completely short-sighted, as he had every intention of showing her exactly to whom she belonged at the first opportunity.

“Fine,” she snapped.

He’d never get out of the house if he kept thinking with his cock. Besides, they were in the morning room with guests in the house. He let himself out before she read his mind and decided to shred his backside into strips of leather for his impetuous and salacious thoughts. Griston’s house party would be perfect.

Kipling had his hat and walking stick in hand. The man was efficient. Brock snatched them away. “What do you think of Lady Maudsley’s idea, Kipling?”

“What idea is that, sir?”

He stared at the man, gauging his benign response. Perhaps Kipling hadn’t been listening at the door. But then not everyone was as tenacious as Brock when it came to securing the knowledge he needed for a goal he had every intention of obtaining. Brock had learned years ago that it paid to be informed. A lesson he’d learned the hard way. Talk about scars.

He shook his head, unable to put the words to voice. They were too preposterous to be believed. “Never mind.” He stalked out the door the man held open and ran smack into Griston. “What the devil are you doing here?” he demanded.

The man had the gall to grin, tempting Brock to near violence. “Calling on Lady Maudsley, of course. We’ve plans for a drive through the park.”

Oh, for God’s sake.Brock jammed his hat on his head and stormed down the street without a backward glance.

Ginny touched her swollen her lips, irritated that Brock had managed to rattle her with that quick brush of passion—again. Breathing deep was supposed to be healing. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard such a strange notion, but she tried it anyway. Several times, until she wasn’t obsessing on his kisses and began thinking past his warm mouth and strong hands.

Still, his visit hadn’t been a complete waste. Satisfaction surged through her at his offer to help her in teaching Irene and Celia safe lessons, a relief beyond words. She didn’t know why she hadn’t accepted his help at the onset. Probably because the marquis had a way of twisting every little turn to his advantage. Her secrets belonged to no one but her.

Lorelei stepped through the open door. “What was his rush?”

Grinning, Ginny took a biscuit from the platter and popped it in her mouth. “He has no idea what to make of my plans for Irene and Celia.”

“Lord Brockway is much too arrogant. I daresay it will be good for him.” Her mien turned serious. “But, Ginny dear, you must have a care. Teaching young girls to safeguard themselves will not be a well-received concept.” She let out a long sigh, sauntering over and lowering on the settee. “’Tis strange, isn’t it? Invariably, it’s the ones who are there to protect the”—Lorelei lifted her hands, curling her fingers to emphasize the words— “‘weaker sex’ that are sometimes the very ones we need protection from.”

“Yes,” Ginny said on a harsh breath.

“I daresay, ’tis those less confident men who feel emasculated. Talk about the weaker sex,” she muttered.

A snort of laughter escaped Ginny in the brief bit of defensive anger that hit her. “Yes, but he offered to help.”

Lorelei’s eyes sparkled with speculation. “Did he? And you accepted graciously, I take it.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Not exactly. I told him I would consider his offer. Still, I certainly have no knowledge in such things.” What would she have done when Maudsley came after her? Scream for help perhaps? Hid when he came home drunk? Followed her instincts, for sure. A sense of empowerment rippled through her. She settled deep in her chair. “You know, Lorelei? I feel as if a boulder has been lifted from my chest.”

“Mama?”

Ginny and Lorelei turned. Ginny held out her arms. “Celia. Come in, darling.”

Celia ran over. It was decidedly not ladylike. “Does he have to go, Mama?”

Irene appeared behind her, carrying a droopy-eyed bundle, her small face contorted in a stern and mirrored image of the staid Miss Lambert’s. “Of course he does, Celia. Babies need their rest. He is a small child.” Corinne and Peg, Nathan’s nursemaid, hovered in the doorway in the event that Irene lost hold of the baby. Something that Irene would never countenance.

“And what does that make you, my dear?” Ginny asked her too-serious daughter of nine, smothering her laughter.

Lorelei rose and gathered her belongings. “We must take our leave.” She kissed Ginny on the cheek. “Thank you for tea, darling. I shall see you on Friday.”

“Lady Maudsley, Lord Griston to see you,” Kipling said.

“Please show him into the library, Kipling. Offer him tea. I have something to take care of momentarily.”