Guarding a Notorious Lady (3 page)

Giving herself a mental shake, she reminded herself that he was chiding her as if she was some vexing creature—a little sister, perhaps. Frustration simmered inside at the thought.

simmered inside at the thought.

She might be someone’s little sister, but she wasn’t his. And she certainly didn’t want him to view her that way—not when she was undoubtedly a woman full grown, not when her feelings for him were so strong, so lasting. Her love was not a transient thing, an infatuation.

It occurred to her then that he was waiting for her to say something. Refusing to take a step back, she held her ground and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “If you must know, I was trying to get a book down.” She lifted a shoulder daintily, her face a mask of nonchalance.

“That’s all?”

“And I couldn’t quite reach it.”

One brow raised in apparent disbelief. “Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

“All right then, which one?”

“What?” she hedged.

“Which book?”

Her eyes flew to the shelf.

One long, blunt-tipped finger gently tapped her chin.

“No peeking.”

A shaky sigh escaped her—as did the title of the book she wanted. Of course, as the book was imaginary, that was to be expected.

“Now, lass, tell me which book it was that you couldn’t reach,” his eyes dipped to her mouth briefly,

“and I’ll get it for you. Easy enough.” She swallowed, and then without looking, she reached upward and pointed in the general direction of the shelf she had been poking her head through. “It was on the top shelf.”

With his serious gaze still upon her, he reached high above her head. His chest so close, the stiff lapels of his coat almost brushed her cheek. His scent surrounded her, warm and clean, and making her want nothing more than to bury her face in the soft folds of his cravat.

“There’s only one book up there,” he said, his eyes lifting away to look past her.

“Then, that’s the one,” she chirped, banishing her absurd face-in-the-cravat fantasy.

“If that be your wish, lass.”

“It be,” she said, then cleared her throat. “I mean, yes. Yes, it is.”

Voices whispered nearby. He took a step away from her, seeming to finally acknowledge that they might be creating gossip fodder.

He pulled back further still, and suddenly the thick book she had nudged with her forehead earlier was thrust in her face. “
This
book?” he asked suspiciously.

“Indeed.” She took it with two hands, nearly losing the thing when her wrist twisted from its weight. He caught it before it slipped through her fingers and landed on his feet.

“Thank you,” she said, grateful that she affected a somewhat lofty tone.

He bent his head toward her, his eyes intent on the book. Long, slightly call oused fingers reached toward her bodice but stopped short to trace the embossed title stretching across the cover.

She hoped her barely audible gasp went unnoticed by him.

He chuckled low and deep in his chest. “
A Detailed
History on the Production and Use of Cannons and
Muskets.
” He straightened to his full height, a rare smile playing with the corner of his mouth. “I would never suppose that a woman of your sort would be all that interested in the tools of war.”

My sort?
Whatever did he mean by that? “Well then,” she said pertly, “perhaps a man of
your
sort
ought to cease making unfounded assumptions.” He tipped his head in a conceding gesture, a curious warmth in his gaze.

She fought the nearly overwhelming urge to ask him what he was thinking. “If y-you’ll excuse me, I have a book to purchase.” What a coward she was turning out to be.

He stepped aside, extending his arm to allow her the way.

Chin lifted, shoulders back, Rosalind passed him and strode toward the front desk, willing herself to keep her pace steady and unaffected.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed that he wasn’t that far behind, about three feet back to her left. However, just when she believed he was going to follow her, he turned and strode toward the exit.

The pretty shopgirl from before approached the door at the same time, her arms full of novels. Tipping his hat to her, he smiled as he opened the door for her.

Rosalind let her giant book slam on the counter.

He s
miled
? He hardly ever smiled.

“My lady? Is something amiss?” A very concerned-looking Mr. Thwaites peered at Rosalind from behind tiny, round spectacles.

“No, Mr. Thwaites,” she said flatly. “I am perfectly content this morning.”

He visibly relaxed, though he appeared not to believe her. “Good to hear. Good to hear, my lady.” He gestured to the book. “Will you be purchasing the book?”

Rosalind pushed it toward him with a sigh.

“Shal I list this on your credit, my lady?” She nodded absentmindedly, her eyes drifting back to the door. After Mr. Thwaites finished recording her transaction, she mumbled her thanks, politely inquired after Mrs. Thwaites, then yanked the book into her arms before shuffling to the door.

She sighed, hefting the book in her grasp. Glaring down at it, she had the fleeting thought that should she meet Nicholas Kincaid on the street, she’d very gladly wall op him with it.

What a smashing day it was turning out to be. She had become the object of an idiotic wager that was nothing more than a flagrant waste of time, she had an appointment with her brother that most likely included dire warnings about meddling, she’d made a fool of herself in front of the man she loved—who’d admonished her as if she’d been but a child, and now she found herself saddled with a two-stone book that she had to carry all the way home and would most definitely never read.

As she neared the windows of the shop, a splattering of raindrops dotted the glass. Outside, her maid, Alice, appeared to be choking their umbrel a. In another second, the thing fell apart in her hands. The girl looked up to see Rosalind through the window and lifted her shoulders in a helpless shrug.

Wonderful. The day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

“Y
ou’ve hired me a nursemaid?”

Using every ounce of self-restraint, Rosalind managed to remain seated across from her eldest brother—and not surge upright and stomp her foot like the child he clearly believed her to be.

Gabriel leaned back in his chair and eyed Rosalind with a gaze as frosty blue and unyielding as her own.

“Not a nursemaid
exactly
.”

“Then tell me, what is the difference? You say I am to be watched, looked after, that if ever a circumstance arose in which I need assistance, I am simply to call out and some unnamable brute shal spring forth from the shadows to come to my aid.”

“He is to be your guardian,” Gabriel replied in his usual impervious manner. “Unseen and unheard.

There will be no contact, unless of course a predicament occurs.”

“I’ve managed to survive this long on my own.”

“That was before the damnable wager,” he nearly shouted.

Grabbing the folded copy of the
Morning Post
from his desk, he tossed it in her direction, where it flopped open of its own accord to the very page that had managed to send him into a near rage this morning.

Rosalind turned away from the article. She had no wish to read it again. “The feeble minds of men,” she muttered with distaste.

Gabriel shook his head, his smile grim. “To think before this came about, I worried about your meddling

— o r
matchmaking
as you call it—getting you into trouble. And now this monstrosity rears its head.” She rose to her feet, refusing to sit meekly any longer. “Am I not only to be pitied for my unmarried state but considered utterly helpless as well?”

“See here, Rosie. You make it sound as if I think of you as a child.”

“Is it not obvious that you do?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she strode to the window overlooking the bustling street. The rumbling carriage wheels and clomping horse hooves were muffled behind the glass.

Soon, a steady stream of carriages would be arriving, spilling scores of guests upon their doorstep.

This evening’s fête marked the unofficial opening of the season and her new sister-in-law’s introduction as a duchess. It also boasted to include a newly titled and highly available bachelor, the Marquess of Winterbourne, to be exact. The name sounded familiar, but she couldn’t recall where she’d heard it before. Rosalind expected it to be quite the crush.

She ought to have been thrumming with barely contained excitement. But the news of her hired protector, coupled with the chance encounter with Nicholas in the bookshop, had tied her thoughts into knots.

Two more carriages passed by, and Rosalind wondered fleetingly if Nicholas was ensconced inside any one of them.

During the last two years, his presence at Wolverest had been rather scarce. According to Gabriel, Nicholas was simply busy managing his lands, overseeing the yield of livestock and timber.

And it was undoubtedly true. Nicholas was known throughout the countryside for not hesitating to toss his coat aside, roll up his shirtsleeves, and assist in the repair of buildings, birthing of sheep, and digging of drains. His tenants revered him.

Rosalind only wished Castle Wolverest had been in need of a drain to be dug. Perhaps several.

And now this man of the country was in London?

She hadn’t had the opportunity to inquire. She’d only returned home to have her brother inform her that he’d hired a guardian for her.

Rosalind appreciated her brother’s protection over the years and often felt she knew the value of a doting father, as she had very little memory of their own.

However, this was a matter of pride.

“I am four and twenty . . . soon to be five and twenty.

If it wasn’t for my station and wealth, I’d be considered on the shelf. I am not a little girl anymore. This is absurd, Gabriel.”

“It is all perfectly logical, given the circumstances.” His slow inhale told her that the threads of his patience were beginning to unwind. “And I do not, of all people, pity your unmarried state,” Gabriel pointed out, his deep voice resonating within the room. “A woman of your distinction, superior connections, pristine reputation, and wealth need not be ashamed of being unmarried. You are, at all times, perfectly respectable. In fact,” he continued wryly, “I should be completely happy should you never decide to take a husband. In such a case, I needn’t entertain the fear of accidentally throttling the idiot should he ever make you frown.”

“You are ridiculous, Gabriel,” Rosalind muttered with a smile.

Though truthfully, other than this singular instance, she couldn’t blame him for being overprotective. The wager notwithstanding, the very second Gabriel and his new bride left Devine Mansion for their much-anticipated wedding trip, the floodgates would open indeed.

A flood of men. Men by the dozens. Men who would otherwise stay far away from the Devines’ doorstep should Gabriel be in residence. His intimidating presence kept them at bay. Even now, as angry as she was at her brother, she was grateful for his diligence when it came to keeping men of questionable character and motives away.

Men acted like simpletons, or, worse, devious fortune hunters in her presence. All the attention was rather embarrassing and unwanted.

It was for these reasons that every single gentleman’s intentions were always held suspect. And Rosalind, not at all the rebel ious sort, was in perfect agreement. Until now.

Secretly, she had been anticipating Gabriel’s departure as soon as he had announced his plans in the country. She was old enough and wise enough to juggle the foreseeable deluge of hopeful men ready to break down the door and test their wiles on her.

Besides, none of them would ever win her—she had already given her heart away.

But what she did not want, simply could not bear, was some strange man following her in and about Town, gauging her every move. And for heaven’s sake, she’d have a chaperone with her at all times.

Was he really needed?

“Well,” Gabriel offered, “there is another solution.”

“And that is?”

“You could simply return to the country until I return.”

“That will not do.”

“You’ll not be running and hiding,” he replied, reading her thoughts. “It’s prudent.”

“I intend to enjoy the season as much as I have any other.”

“Then you shal have an appointed guard. It is done.”

This was preposterous and she would have none of it.

“And what of Tristan?” she suggested, turning to face him fully now. “Why cannot our brother do the job?”

Gabriel merely raised a brow. “Tristan? You cannot be serious.”

She lifted one shoulder. “Whyever not? He’ll be two and twenty this summer. He knows the ways of wicked men, well, because he is one. Surely, he—”

“Needs his own nursemaid.”

“So you admit to thinking of me as a child.”

“Ye—no!” He stood, clearly frustrated, and ran a hand through his hair. “I think of you as my responsibility, my beloved sister. I will not have you in danger. Not now, not ever, and certainly not while I’m thoroughly and happily preoccupied with my wife. I cannot be in two places at once.”

A resigned acceptance was creeping in. True, Gabriel tended to be a touch overbearing and vigilant when it came to those he loved, but Rosalind would feel immeasurable guilt knowing he wasn’t enjoying himself on his wedding trip because he worried over some idiotic wager. She must relent.

Or at least allow him to believe that she had.

Pivoting on her heel to face a spectacular tapestry depicting a panoramic view of the family estate, Rosalind tapped her finger against her chin in thought as she paced the length and back again.

First, she must glean whatever information she could about this person in order to gain clues to determine his identity.

Then, once Gabriel and Madelyn were far and away, she’d discreetly approach him and pay him double whatever Gabriel had promised if he’d agree to go away.

It would be rather simple, really. She ought to ask a few questions before she quit the room. Why not be direct?

“Well then,” she said, affecting resignation. “Who is he?”

“God willing, you will never need to know. I just want you to feel safe.”

“All right,” she said tightly. “What of this . . . this . . .

protector
. How sure are you of his moral standing?

Your circle of trust is diminutive, indeed. How can you be so sure he’ll not, oh I don’t know, snatch me up himself and run away with me?”

Gabriel threw back his head and laughed. “He is not the sort to be swept away by romantic notions. I can assure you his only interest is to keep you safe until I return.”

She doubted that. “His objective may be chivalrous at first, but the true intentions of men always reveal themselves eventually.”

“You shal be safe,” he insisted.

“How can you be so certain?” she asked, hoping Gabriel would think she was still trying to change his mind and therefore allow some clues to slip about her guardian’s identity. “Have you known him long?” He nodded. “Since I was a young man.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “Have I met him then?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

“Did you meet him at Eton?”

“No.” His eyes narrowed. “Although he is well educated and attended a well-respected school in . . .” He allowed his words to trail off, apparently seeing the trap she was setting and thinking to take a step away from it.

“He is a gentleman, then? Not some Bow Street Runner?”

“His family and the Devines have known each other for quite some time. That is all I will say.”

“How long has he been watching me?”

“He’ll be discreet,” he said, deliberately evading her question. “Aunt Eugenia needn’t know his identity either.”

“When does he begin watching me?”

Again, he admitted nothing, but he did look down at a paper on his desk, running his finger across a line as he read.

Before she left this room, Rosalind silently vowed, she was going to snatch that sheet of vell um from his desk. She believed it to be the guest list for this evening. And one of those guests, she supposed, was her guardian.

“He has been equipped with a directory of your acquaintances. Activities you usually participate in for the entire season,” Gabriel continued. “Your shopping habits, et cetera.”

“I don’t follow a strict routine,” she remarked. If she couldn’t pay the goon off, she would shake him off instead. All she had to do was alter her schedule.

“I am certain he’ll be able to conform to your changes.”

Distinctive, feminine murmuring came from down the hall.

Gabriel’s head jerked up at the sound, his gaze softening.

Madelyn
. No one but Gabriel’s wife could redirect her brother’s attention so quickly and completely. And it greatly pleased Rosalind. She’d known they were perfect for each other from the very first moment Gabriel had spied Madelyn hiding in the garden last autumn.

Rosalind had had a small hand in bringing them together. After all, it was she who had insisted Madelyn ought to be invited to her brother’s ball.

Gabriel had originally deemed the former Miss Haywood too clumsy, too imperfect.

But she was absolutely perfect for him.

It didn’t surprise Rosalind at all that Gabriel had fall en for Madelyn so hard and fast. Rosalind simply possessed a talent for knowing when two people belonged together. And she couldn’t have been more right.

An adorable vision in a white satin slip over a light blue net frock, which complemented her dark-red hair to dazzling perfection, Madelyn stopped at the door frame and smiled at Gabriel. “Your
lovely
aunt . . .” She poked her head in. “Oh! Rosalind! There you are.”

Amazing. A minute ago her brother had looked like a stuffy, arrogant duke. Now he smiled at his wife quite like a wolf who spied a plump bunny that had unknowingly wandered into his den.

A white lace ribbon that had been weaved through Madelyn’s coif had come partially loose, which allowed a big coil of dark cherry hair to slide free. It dangled near her ear. Somehow it wouldn’t be right if every hair was in place.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to intrude,” she said softly,

“but your
aunt
and her cat have arrived, and they have both become rather
terse
over her ‘less than hospitable’ welcome into your home.”

He exhaled wearily.

“She’s upset because you have yet to make an appearance in the morning room.”

“She can wait,” Gabriel grumbled.

Rosalind closed her eyes on a slow blink. She had forgotten that since Madelyn and Gabriel were leaving early tomorrow morning, Aunt Eugenia must temporarily move in to act as chaperone.

Usually harmless, the crotchety old spinster had yet to give her approval of her nephew’s choice of bride and liked to remind everyone of that fact every now and again. Gabriel would just as soon forbid the woman from entering the house, but Madelyn insisted he allow her to visit. Rosalind didn’t think she would have been as gracious if put in the same situation.

“Madelyn and I will be leaving early tomorrow,” Gabriel reminded her. “I expect you to exercise caution and keep your little nose out of everyone else’s love affairs. Don’t make this any more difficult for your guardian than it needs to be.”

“Very well,” Rosalind replied noncommittally, trying hard not to smile like an imp. Her gaze slid to the paper Gabriel had read from just a moment ago.

Clearing his throat, Gabriel motioned for Rosalind to proceed to the doorway.

Smiling innocently, she skirted around him, letting her arm trail behind her. If he would just turn his back for a second, she could just reach over and make a grab for . . .

Anticipating her thoughts, he snatched up the sheet of vell um and tossed it into the grate. The low flames flashed, and then curled around the edges, turning it into ash.

His brow lifted. “Think I don’t know my own sister?” Rosalind merely shrugged and walked out of the room, smiling at Madelyn. “Quick. Tell me who it is,” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth as she passed.

Madelyn gave her head a slight shake. “I can’t. He made me promise. He used . . . ah, persuasive tactics.” She blushed and patted imaginary wrinkles from her bodice.