Her Protector's Pleasure (25 page)

Ambrose's hands balled. Poor Em—
he
should have been there, helping her. She was too young to have such a burden. Before he could speak, however, Marianne surprised him by putting an arm around his sister. Emma stiffened—and then she let out a quivery sigh. Slowly, her head came to rest on Marianne's shoulder. With a pang, Ambrose was reminded of his stepmother Marjorie's comforting hugs.

"'Tis impossible to be everywhere at once," Marianne said. "You are far too young to shoulder such responsibilities."

"I am sixteen," Emma said in a muffled voice. "Old enough to know that I oughtn't have left Father alone for so long. But Thea wasn't feeling well, and Violet and Polly needed help sewing up new petticoats—they've both sprouted like weeds since spring—and Harry nearly set the woodshed afire with his latest experiment …"

"Goodness, how many Kents
are
there?" Marianne said.

Emma lifted her head, her curious gaze shifting to him. "Hasn't Ambrose told you about us?"

"His description was lacking sufficient detail. Besides," Marianne said, slanting a glance at him, "I do believe your brother is used to keeping things to himself."

"Oh. Well, there's six of us in all, including Ambrose," Emma supplied with the helpfulness that was her nature. "He's the eldest by sixteen years."

"That is quite the gap."

"That is because his mother was father's first wife. After she died, father did not remarry for many years until he met our mother, Marjorie. They had me first, then Dorothea, Harry, Violet, and Polly—she's eight and the babe of the lot."

"And you're in charge of them all? My poor dear," Marianne murmured.

"I had things well in hand until this latest incident. Now there's the damage to the cottage to pay for,
and
the landlord will toss us out by the morrow. I didn't know what to do." To hear his practical, industrious sister confess her helplessness wrenched Ambrose's gut. "So that is why I had to leave Harry in charge and come today. Because Ambrose will have a solution. He always does."

Think of something, you sot.

"We'll go fetch everyone and bring them here," he said. "Do not worry about it further, Em. Everything will be fine."

His sister gave him a smile of relief. "See? Ambrose can make any problem go away."

"Indeed." Marianne gave him an enigmatic look. "A magician are you, Kent?"

"I never said I was," he said curtly.

"It
will
require magic if you plan to fit your entire family in here." Marianne cast a pointed look around his apartment; it shamed him that he could not disagree with her. "There's barely room for one."

"We don't require much. The girls and I are perfectly content sharing a pallet," Em said. But he caught the way his sister's eyes flitted about the room.

"It will only be temporary," he said firmly, "until I figure out a better plan."

"Why wait? I have one already." Opening the small, pearl-encrusted bag on her lap, Marianne pulled out a card and handed it to Em.

"What is this?" His sister's brow furrowed.

"The address to my townhouse. I have so much room I won't even notice you're there," Marianne said airily.

Emma's eyes grew bigger. "Oh, but we couldn't …"

"Of course we can't." Recovering from his shock, Ambrose drew himself up. "Though it is an undoubtedly generous offer, we Kents cannot impose upon you in such a way."

Marianne rose, her deep red skirts swirling regally around her. "Don't think of it as an imposition, then. Consider it an exchange."

"An exchange? For what?" he said, frowning.

"You've refused payment for the matter you are investigating for me. The least I can do is play hostess to your family. Do come along, Emma dear." Marianne headed to the door, clearly expecting to be followed. "You will help me make the necessary arrangements at home. Kent can fetch your family and deliver them to us."

Emma's gaze swung to him. "Ambrose …?"

He studied Marianne's haughty expression. Not so long ago he would have been fooled by that façade of indifference. Now he knew her better, and a feeling broke inside him, so strong and foreign that he could only say thickly, "Go on, then. But mind you be a good girl and don't pester her ladyship."

Eyes shining with a dazed relief that mirrored his own, his sister stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. As she did so, his gaze went to Marianne. Her mask had slipped a fraction, a faint curve edging her perfect lips. Reckless words began thumping in his heart, and he retained just enough sense to hold them back.

Instead, over his sister's head, he mouthed,
Thank you.

Marianne smiled, and her brilliance warmed him to his very marrow. To depths he hadn't known existed within him. Then she inclined her head and led his sister out.

TWENTY-SIX

"You've
what
?" Helena stared at her as if she'd grown two heads.

Sitting across from her friend in the drawing room, Marianne lifted her brows. "As you're the one who's been promoting Kent, one would think you'd be more approving." She returned her gaze to the menu, scanning it before handing it back to the waiting housekeeper. "That looks fine, Mrs. Winston. From what Miss Kent tells me, there's not a picky palate amongst the bunch. Just keep things simple—and tell Monsieur Arnauld to dispense with his more adventurous dishes."

"Be an improvement, if you ask me. Nothing wrong with good, decent English cooking," Mrs. Winston muttered as she departed.

"
Miss
Kent?" Helena said, her hazel eyes wide.

"That would be Emma, Kent's younger sister. I finally convinced the thing to have a lie- down upstairs. She's got more energy than all the maids combined. Do you know she hasn't had a nap since she was in leading strings?" Marianne shuddered. "We'll have to set
that
to rights. Now I don't wish to be rude, Helena, but I do wish you had sent word ahead of your visit. I'm expecting the rest of the Kents at any moment."

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you," the marchioness replied tartly, "but
why
are the Kents moving into your house?"

"It's a long story, dearest. Much too long for the time we have."

Which was only part of the truth. Marianne wasn't ready to discuss the other part with her friend. She had no wish to sound like a green girl, and she surely would if she blathered on about how noble she found Ambrose. How utterly attractive she found his devotion toward his family. Like germinating seeds, her emotions quivered with the desire to break the surface, yet they were too tender to expose to the rays of scrutiny. And what of her other secret? The one that kept pushing closer and closer to the light.

By the by, Helena, you also have a niece. A beautiful little girl … who was sold to a bawd because of me. Because of my mistakes—my selfish, wicked desires.

Marianne's throat thickened. She had no right to think of her own happiness when Primrose's future remained so uncertain. She'd already failed her daughter once; she could not do so again. Finding Rosie took precedence over everything—including her feelings for Ambrose. Though she could no longer deny her physical attraction to him, she could not afford to lose her head or her focus.

The door bell rang, and she was glad for the interruption.

"Ah, here the Kents are now." She rose. "Come along if you'd like to meet them."

With Helena at her heels, Marianne arrived to see Lugo ushering her houseguests inside. The four children entered in haphazard progression, all of them dressed in ill-fitting garments cut from the same revolting grey material. It appeared that Kents came in all shapes and sizes. Hair color ranged from light brown to nearly black, and their gazes likewise spanned a range of hues. The main characteristic that linked the motley bunch was the aura of alertness and energy that crackled in their wake. None of them had spotted her yet: they were too busy talking, excitedly and at once.

"It's crying tears." The littlest girl, who Marianne saw with a pang might be Rosie's age, removed her thumb from her mouth and pointed at the chandelier. "Poor light—it's sad even though it's pretty."

"It's called a chandelier. And those aren't tears, Polly," the lanky brown-haired boy said, "they're crystals made of glass. They're cut with facets to reflect light. In point of fact, a simple equation describes how the angle of the facet determines the overall brilliance—"

"Oh, spare us the lecture, Professor." Accompanied by the rolling of caramel-colored eyes, this statement was delivered by a tomboyish girl who almost rivaled the boy in height. "We've heard it all before."

The boy glanced at her down the length of his nose. "If that were the case, Vi, why couldn't you solve that simple maths problem I posed on the way over?"

"There is more to life than maths problems, drat you," Vi said, her hands planting on her slim hips. "Let's see which of us can climb Mr. McGregor's tree the fastest—"

"Stop it, you two." A petite sister with oak-colored hair came between them. "We're guests, remember? We're supposed to be on our best …" she broke off, coughing.

The bickering stopped. "Are you alright, Thea?" the battling pair said as one.

"Fine," their sister said between wheezing breaths. "'Twas the dust ... of the journey …"

"You're here! I've been waiting for you all day." A beaming Emma flew down the stairs, her dark hair streaming behind her. "Vi, do help Thea with her cloak. Harry, help Polly with hers. And Polly you know better than to have your thumb in your mouth. Now where are Father and Ambrose?"

Marianne watched with amusement—and not a little amazement—as the siblings fell in line. To a certain extent, that was.

"Father doesn't want to get out of the hackney. You know how he gets about anything new. Ambrose is trying to coax him." Harry's forehead creased as he worked on the strings of his little sister's garment. "Christ's blood, Polly, a sailor couldn't tie knots like you."

"You oughtn't use the Lord's name in vain," Violet said.

"Bloody hell, then."

"Harry," Thea said with mild reproof.

Emma sighed. "Perhaps I should go help Ambrose."

"I'll do it," Marianne said.

Five pairs of eyes turned to her. If she hadn't already been used to Ambrose's intense regard, the impact of those bright, inquisitive gazes would have been rather unsettling.

"Oh, Lady Draven! I didn't see you there. Good afternoon," Emma said, dropping a curtsy. "If I may present my sisters Dorothea, Violet, and Polly, and my brother Harry?"

Emma shot a look at her siblings, who took the hint. The girls bent their knees, and Harry presented a surprisingly proper leg.

"Welcome, all of you," Marianne said. "This is my friend, the Marchioness of Harteford."

"How lovely to meet you, children," Helena said, smiling. "Is this your first visit to London?"

They all nodded. Polly's thumb crept back toward her mouth.

"I am sure you will enjoy yourselves thoroughly. Perhaps you'd care to freshen up and have some refreshment?" Ever the mother hen, Helena raised her brows at Marianne.

"I'm positively starved. There hasn't been much food late—
oof
." Violet grunted, rubbing her side where Emma had discreetly elbowed her. "What did you do that for?"

"Mind your manners. We have already inconvenienced Baroness Draven enough as it is," Emma said between her teeth.

"I assure you, 'tis no inconvenience. And let us dispense with the formalities—it will be entirely tiresome to keep all the Miss Kents and Mr. Kents straight. In return, call me Marianne." She turned to her waiting manservant. "Lugo, please see to it that our guests have what they need. In the meantime, I shall see what I can do about the two outside."

She headed to the door. As she passed by the line of children, she felt a tug on her skirts. Polly was gazing shyly up at her.

Marianne's heart melted a little. "Yes, poppet?"

In an otherwise plain face, the little girl's aquamarine eyes glowed with startling acuity. "You're even prettier than the
shandy-leer
," she said.

"Why, thank you, dear."

Polly tipped her head to the side. "But why are you just as sad?"

Marianne's smile faded.

"I'm ever so sorry, Lady—I mean, Marianne." Emma's hands clamped onto her sister's shoulders. "I should have warned you about Polly. She can say the most outrageous things, but she doesn't mean anything by them." She turned to her youngest sibling, whose bottom lip had begun to quiver. "Now you apologize to her ladyship straightaway."

"No need for that." Crouching, Marianne met the little girl's gaze straight on. With a gentle hand, she removed the thumb that had found its way back into Polly's mouth. "You are right, dear. I
am
sad. But I do believe that will change, now that you are all here."

Polly's slow grin lit up her small face, and Marianne's breath stuttered. Heavens, did all the Kents have such heart-stopping smiles?

"I think so too," the little girl confided. "Actually, I
knew
it the moment I saw your—"

"Let's not hold her ladyship up," Emma interrupted in an oddly nervous manner. "She has to help Ambrose pry Father out of the carriage."

Harry strode over, taking Polly's hand. "Come on, sis. I'll bet they have some milk for you … er, don't you, Mr. Lugo?"

Lugo inclined his head gravely. "I think we can find some, sir."

"I'll help with the children," Helena chimed in. "You go on ahead, Marianne."

Bemused, Marianne went outside to see what surprises awaited her next.

*****

"Time is money, guv, and mine don't come cheap." The hackney driver's boot tapped against the perch. "Either get the old man out or I will."

"Just give us a minute." Ambrose fought his mounting frustration. Bending his head back through the carriage door, he said, "Father, you cannot stay in there. All the children are inside. You want to join them, don't you?"

His father scowled at him from the depths of the carriage, yet Ambrose could see fear in the faded eyes. Until recent years, Samuel Kent had been fearless in mind and spirit—to see him now, confused and clinging to the carriage strap like a drowning man to a piece of driftwood …