A Guardians Angel (7 page)

Angela knew she should not stare, but she could not halt herself. His strong features were highlighted by the glow from the hearth. As his forehead wrinkled when he turned the page over, a strand of hair fell forward. He ignored it, but her fingers trembled as they had by the gate. Not with disquiet now, but with an incomprehensible desire to smooth aside that vagrant strand.

Mrs. Graves cleared her throat, and Angela flinched. The housekeeper glanced at her as the viscount looked up. His expression changed rapidly from a smile to a taut astonishment as his gaze settled on Angela. Coming to his feet, he said, “Miss Needham, this is, indeed, a surprise.”

“Am I interrupting something important?” Angela asked.

He glanced at the page he held, then placed it on a table by his chair. “’Tis nothing of import. I own that I am overmastered at the idea of having you calling on such an afternoon.” His smile returned, but it was a cool one. “Or any afternoon, to be honest.”

“My errand is an important one,” Angela answered with a coolness that matched his.

Lord Harrington motioned toward a chair where a bright red petit-point cushion leaned against the back. “Please be seated. I prefer to enjoy this fire and watch the storm through a window today. Mrs. Graves, I trust Miss Needham would like something to warm her. Brandy, Miss Needham?”

“My lord, I need to speak to you about—”

“About brandy? I had no idea you were a connoisseur of spirits and enjoyed talking of such things.”

“Not brandy.” Angela bit back her next words when she saw the twinkle in his eyes. He was jesting with her again in hopes of making her so ill-at-ease that she would bumble her way through this conversation. She must not allow him to have the upper hand. “I would prefer tea or hot chocolate.”

“I believe Mrs. Graves has tea at the ready.”

“Then tea would be fine.”

He turned to his housekeeper. “Please bring tea for Miss Needham and me.”

“Yes, my lord.” The thin woman glanced back over her shoulder as she went back out into the dusky hallway.

Angela sat. Lord Harrington was so different from his neighbor. The duke had not made a humorous comment in her hearing, and it seemed that Lord Harrington was seldom serious.

She wondered if he had heard that thought, for his face took on somber lines as he picked up the paper he had been reading. Folding it, he placed it under a book on the table. Was he determined that she would not read it or did he simply not want it to be misplaced? She was curious what it might contain, but reminded herself that the viscount’s concerns were not hers except when he helped Master Thomas ignore his guardian’s decrees.

He took his chair and set his feet on the stool again. Wiggling his toes, he smiled. “Now, Miss Needham, you obviously are eager to tell me something. I can imagine no other reason why you would journey through this inclement weather to call upon me.”

“Mr. Weare—the tutor at Oslington Court—”

“I have heard of the inimitable Mr. Weare.”

“From Master Thomas, no doubt.”

“No doubt.”

Realizing he did not intend to make her task any easier, Angela squared her shoulders. “My lord, Mr. Weare is highly distressed.”

“A most unfortunate set of circumstances.”

“Yes.” She would not let him change the course of the conversation with this feigned pity. “Most unfortunate for Master Thomas. It is not right for the boy to be false with his tutor by telling Mr. Weare that he is going to be taking a walk with me in the Court’s gardens when he obviously intended to slip away to spend time with you and your bizarre hobby.”

“Collecting butterflies is not what I would term bizarre. Carrying tales for a boy’s tutor is.”

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “I am carrying no tales. I wish only to ascertain if Master Thomas is here. If he is not, even you must own ’tis a matter of grave concern for his guardian that Master Thomas is unaccounted for.”

“So Oslington is not aware of Thomas’s apparent bangers about being with you instead of at his lessons?”

“No.”

Lord Harrington rested his hand on the wooden arm of his chair, but his fingers tapped it. She sensed he was hiding something. Other than the fact that Master Thomas was or had been here? That was no longer a secret. If Lord Harrington was trying to conceal something else … She told herself not to be fanciful. She should care only about finding Master Thomas. She should not be thinking of how she was fascinated by the many moods conveyed by his expressive eyebrows.

“Of course, you are correct, Miss Needham. The boy must spend his time with his tutor in order to get a basic education. Do you wish me to speak with him?”

“He might listen to you as he will not to Mr. Weare or his guardian.”

“Or you?”

“He does not heed me, my lord. Nor should I expect him to. I am not his governess.”

“True. However, the lad has developed keen insight into the people around him as well as the world around him.” He laughed. “My dear Miss Needham, please dispense with that unflattering frown. I meant no insult to you. Only that Thomas would be want-witted not to believe that you will join forces with Oslington’s other staff to prevent him from coming here.”

“As I should.”

“That I shall not debate with you when you have heard only Oslington’s side of this argument.”

“His Grace is Master Thomas’s guardian. Not you.”

“Do you always delight in repeating the obvious?” Standing, he gave her no chance to answer. “Mayhap you would like to see what your charge’s brother has been up to in my laboratory here at Harrington Grange.”

“I thought—”

“Capturing the butterflies is only part of the course of scientific study, Miss Needham.” Holding out his hand, he said, “Allow me to show you what the lad is learning. Then you may wish to reassure Mr. Weare that Thomas’s time is not completely wasted during his visits to the Grange.”

“So he will join me in trying to persuade the duke to let Master Thomas come here on occasion?”

“I have already told you that no one has ever persuaded Oslington to do anything once he has set his mind upon a course of action. Not even logic will jostle him from that stance.”

“Nor you from yours.”

“That also is quite true. Shall we?”

She raised her hand to place it on his. As his long fingers closed over hers, she did not come to her feet. Instead she found herself lost once more in his green eyes, warm as the velvet on the chair where he had been sitting. After their previous conversations, she should have been inured to the powerful emotions in those enigmatic eyes, but each time she was held by them, she found it more impossible to escape. The warmth seeped through her, tingling along her skin to where his fingers held hers.

“Miss Needham?” he asked softly.

“Yes?”

“Shall we?”

Justin kept his smile to himself as Miss Needham blinked as if she were waking from a deep sleep. Too easily, he understood her reaction. His own clear thinking was muddied whenever he was in her company.

It made no sense because she was so blasted sensible. He had had enough of pragmatic people in his life. All those nosy souls who had a comment about anyone who did anything they deemed improper. After so many years of trying to please them, he had learned it was impossible without giving up all he was. So he had taken the biggest risk of his life, the one everyone said he would fail at. He had not, but the happiness at proving them all shortsighted had been too short-lived.

“Thank you,” Miss Needham said as she stood.

“You are welcome, Angela.”

Her head snapped up and her fingers froze where she had been dabbing at the wet spots on her skirt. The warm, wide pools within her eyes enticed him to explore more deeply. Again he was tempted to laugh. He might be foolhardy, but he was not fool enough to delve into them.

“I doubt you will convince young Thomas to change his mind any more quickly than you will Oslington,” Justin said, keeping his smile cool. “I suspect we shall be having enough conversations to make it appropriate for me to call you by your given name and you to offer me the same intimacy.”

She folded her arms in front of her, accenting her delightful curves. “You like trying to startle people with your ways and words, don’t you … Justin?”

“Ah, you have discovered the truth with such speed.” He laughed.

“It is not difficult when you make every effort to unsettle me.”

“To the contrary. I wish only for you to be yourself as I take pride in being.”

Her tone became prim when she said, “You were going to show me what work Master Thomas has been involved with here at Harrington Grange.”

“Certainly.” With a half-bow, he motioned toward the door.

“You know I must be honest with both Mr. Weare and the duke.”

“Must you?”

Whatever she might have said was halted by Mrs. Graves returning with the tea tray. Asking his housekeeper to keep the quilted cozy over the pot so the tea would remain hot, he motioned again for Angela to precede him out of the room. By Jove, the sway of her skirts could catch the attention of a monk. And he was no monk. A wry grin tugged at his mouth. Or mayhap he had become one since his life had been turned inside out by the whims of cruel fate. He glanced toward the stairs. At this hour, Delicia would be taking her nap, so he could concentrate on one problem at a time.

All urge to smile disappeared. He wanted to think about the only true problem he had. Oslington’s dictates to his wards did not matter as much as the recommendation from the latest doctor Justin had contacted. Under no circumstances would he put Delicia in an asylum. The child deserved better than that, although he was not sure how he could guarantee she would receive it.

“Justin?” Angela’s impatient tone suggested she had spoken to him without him noticing.

“This way.” He opened a door at the end of the corridor. He needed to get his thoughts under control with all due speed, and Angela’s call must not waylay him from what was truly important.

Angela fought to keep from frowning. Justin had flouted the canons of Society, but he had never been so rude as to refuse to answer her question. And it had been an innocuous one about the drawing of a butterfly that was hanging on the wall.

As he gestured for her to precede him through the door, she ignored a twinge of disquiet about what his failure to answer might mean. Her eyes widened when she saw the trio of tables in the middle of a room that was smaller than his cozy book-room. On the tables were mounted butterflies and open books and drawing materials. She crossed the room to look at an easel where a half-drawn picture was unquestionably of a butterfly similar to the one Lord Harrington had pointed out to her the day after her arrival. The style matched the one she had seen in the hallway.

“Did you draw these?” she asked.

“Not me.”

“Master Thomas?” She carefully picked up a finished painting from the table. Tilting it toward the window, she marveled at the fragile lines of the butterfly’s sketched wings. Even in the dim light, the watercolor tints on the outspread wings and the curve of the antennae had an aura of life. “This is wonderful.”

“He has a true gift.”

“I am sure if the duke knew of this, he would change his mind about Master Thomas studying with you.”

“Oslington knows.”

Angela lowered the painting and looked at Justin. His jaw was as rigid as Master Thomas’s had been when she spoke to him by the gate. Glancing at the beautiful paintings, which exhibited both an artistic beauty and a technical perfection, she shook her head. “If His Grace saw one of these paintings, I cannot believe that he would not sanction Master Thomas continuing this work.”

“I am quite certain that Oslington has seen the boy’s work, and you know his decision.” Justin’s eyes were icy cold.

Slowly she turned away to put the painting back on the table. “I would be glad to speak to His Grace.”

“You would be wasting your time.”

“It is mine to use as I see fit.”

“True.” His shoulders sagged from their stiff pose. “Forgive me, Angela. You are not the one I should be furious with.”

She glanced back at the paintings. “Master Thomas needs to have an opportunity to explore his talent.”

“Your opinion and mine, but you shall never convince Oslington of that.”

“I can try. There must be—”

“Nothing you can do.” His smile returned, but was as cold as the duke’s. “Don’t you understand, Angela? You will not change Oslington’s mind on any matter concerning me. Not ever.”

Six

Angela hurried through the gracious foyer of Oslington Court and toward the stairs. She needed to talk with Mr. Weare about what she had learned about Master Thomas at Harrington Grange, but first she must sort out her thoughts. How could she express her thoughts to the tutor and Master Thomas’s guardian and not appear to be helping Master Thomas ignore the duke’s commands?

“Miss Needham,” said a footman who rushed into the entry hall. “Master Thomas wishes to speak with you.”

“He does?” Knowing her shock that Master Thomas had sought her out was unseemly, she took a steadying breath and asked, “Where?”

“On the glassed-in terrace, Miss Needham.”

“Thank you.” She paused. “Where is the glassed-in terrace?”

With the directions from the footman, Angela went through the twisting halls. She tried not to think that Master Thomas had conspired with the footman to get her lost. When she saw the lad waiting for her on a terrace enclosed by three walls of glass lined with the falling rain, Angela took a deep breath. This conversation would be no easier than the one with Justin. Both Master Thomas and the viscount were stubborn.

“I know Mr. Weare sent you to Justin’s house in hopes of catching me where I was not supposed to be,” Master Thomas said in lieu of a greeting.

“That is true.” She could be as forthright.

“I was not there.”

“That is true, but it is also true that you have called there often since the duke requested that you stay away from Harrington Grange.”

Master Thomas crossed his arms in front of him and raised his chin. “You should not be chasing after me. You are my sister’s guardian angel.” He paused, but she did not reply to the name he seemed to have decided to use whenever he wished to vex her. Disappointment blossomed in his eyes that he had not sent her up to the boughs. “I wish to know what you plan to say to Rodney about this.”