Leslie Lafoy (14 page)

“And this must be one of your other little wards,” he said, vaulting to his feet.

He knew without looking that it was Fiona. Whose hand was firmly in the grasp of—

“Good thinking on getting the governess, Dray,” Haywood said in an undertone. “And your taste is as impeccable as always.”

Caroline’s. He wasn’t ready for this. But since there was no avoiding it . . . He sucked in a deep breath, rose, and turned toward the doorway. They were still at a fair distance, but that didn’t prevent him from recognizing several salient facts. Caroline was a vision, a delight of properly encased curves rimmed by morning sunlight. And Fiona . . . Oh, at least he had a few more years before he had to beat the men back from her.

He could say a lot against Geoffrey, but he had to allow that the man had gifted the world with three breathtakingly beautiful females. That the youngest of them had a pronounced limp didn’t detract from the overall sum. Doctors these days could work the most amazing miracles and he would spend whatever it took to buy Fiona one.

And then the two of them were close enough for him to see details. Caroline didn’t look as though she’d been crying! No, no puffy eyes, no sign that so much as a single tear had been scraped from her cheeks. That stunning realization—and relief—settled his heart back to a normal beat and allowed other facts to flood his brain. She was positively radiant this morning; glowing, serene, tranquil, composed . . . Yes, he’d have to say that altogether, she looked like a woman supremely satisfied. As long as he kept it to himself, there was no reason not to be pleased with his role in her achieving that state.

And, he thought, his gaze skimming over the curves accentuated by the deep plum-colored traveling costume, now that he knew where all her buttons were, he’d be more than happy to see that she was that satisfied tomorrow morning, too.

“Good morning, Caroline,” he said, smiling at her warmly as they joined Simone at the end of the table. He looked down into Fiona’s big green eyes. “Good morning, Fiona.”

Fiona studied him silently as Caroline said easily, “A very good morning to you, your grace.”

He looked up to meet her gaze and marveled at the light in her eyes. Amusement. Sultry memory. And a self-possessed reserve that somehow made his knees soft.

“Ahem.”

Yes, good call, Haywood. We are in public.
He quietly cleared his own throat and began the necessary introductions. “May I present the Honorable Cyril Haywood. The ‘Honorable’ is a courtesy title, not a statement regarding the quality of his character.” He noted Haywood’s quick glower, smiled, and finished, saying, “Lady Caroline Turn-bridge and her younger sister, Lady Fiona Turnbridge.”

“I am utterly charmed, ladies,” Haywood crooned, bowing deeply, his gaze flickering to Fiona only briefly to politely include her. It came squarely back to Caroline’s as he added, quite unnecessarily in Drayton’s considered opinion, “Utterly and devastatingly forever charmed.”

Caroline arched a pale brow ever so slowly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Drayton was sighing in relief for having gotten the lines laid down so clearly and firmly while not having to be a complete social oaf about it all, when Haywood stepped away from his chair, pulled it out and said, “Do please join us for a light repast. Do you care for cream and sugar in your coffee, Lady Caroline?”

Damn, he should have thought of that. Caroline, with no polite alternative, was obliged to walk into the man’s design.

“Cream, please,” she said, smoothing her skirts and surrendering to the gallantry of the blond wolf. Fiona scrambled onto the chair right beside her.

As soon as Haywood strode off to fulfill his first mission, Drayton explained, “He’s a friend from the regiment. He wants to come along and be a toady.”

“Well,” Simone said, watching Haywood, “I ’spose that pretendin’ to be a fop ain’t quite as bad as pretendin’ to be a prig, but why anyone’d wanna do it . . .” She shook her head and shrugged.

Pleased and not the least surprised by the accuracy of her perception, he motioned to a passing footman and instructed, “Substantial meals for the ladies, please.”

“At once, your grace.”

“Would you care for a cup of hot chocolate?” he asked, looking between Simone and Fiona.

“Ain’t never had it before,” Simone admitted. “Is it good?”

“Have a seat. I’ll get you each one.” As Simone’s too keen awareness was momentarily diverted, he met Caroline’s upturned—and dare he think adoring?—gaze. “We need to talk privately, Caroline,” he said as quietly as he could.

“Impossible at the moment.”

“Ryland Castle?”

She nodded her assent and turned away to smooth a strand of wispy blond hair off Fiona’s forehead. Remembering how those graceful fingers had felt caressing his own skin, he turned on his heel and left before he could make a public spectacle of them both.

“Courtesy title?” Haywood groused as he stepped up beside him at the buffet. “That wasn’t necessary, you know.”

“Yes it was.”

“I could inherit a real title someday, you know.”

“Not bloody likely,” Drayton countered. “And even if you did,” he added, deciding that now was as good a time as any for spiking the man’s cannon. “If you ever touch Caroline, friendship notwithstanding, I’ll kill you on the spot.”

“You’ve always taken the whole business of duty far too seriously.”

“I mean it, Haywood,” he assured him. “If you can keep your distance from her, you can come along. If you can’t, you’d live a lot longer being a toady for someone else.”

Haywood looked over at him. “You’re smitten.”

“
I
have responsibilities,” Drayton snapped as he poured steaming chocolate into the cups.

“No need to get personal.” He laughed. “I won’t go anywhere near your precious little china doll. The other two, either.”

“Oh, you’re going to teach Simone to ride,” he informed him, carefully turning with the brimming cups and their saucers in his hands. “You do sit a horse better than any man I know.”

“Aren’t you afraid I might compromise her?” Haywood called softly after him.

He laughed so hard he almost spilled the hot chocolate.

STANDING ON THE DRIVE, WATCHING THE LAST OF THE
baggage being loaded into his carriage, Drayton sighed contentedly. Breakfast had been a resounding success even if all he considered was the wide smile and enthusiastic nod Fiona had given him when he’d asked if she’d like another cup of hot chocolate. Add in that both she and Simone had needed only one quick, brief instruction on the proper use of silverware, that Haywood had checked his natural tendency to shamelessly flirt, and that
he’d
been able to keep from leaning across the table and kissing Caroline senseless before carrying her up the stairs . . . Apparently his luck was finally turning. About damn time.

“Did I mention that Aubrey would be coming along to Ryland Castle?”

So much for luck; he should have known better. “No,” he said dryly, looking over at Haywood, “you didn’t.”

“Well, consider it mentioned now.”

Drayton followed his gaze, turning to see a carriage making the last turn in the drive and slowing. “Is the entire regiment on its way?”

“Aubrey did say something about his mother packing her things.”

“What?” he demanded, whirling about to glare at Haywood. The presumptive bastard!

“The Dowager Lady Aubrey.”

“Dammit, Haywood! No games! What are you doing to me?”

Haywood’s gaze came off the approaching coach and to Drayton. His smile faded and he said with even, deadly calm, “Saving your arse from your own naïveté. You’re squarely in the sights now, Dray. It won’t be but a week or so before society finds the range. You need all the help you can get. Be gracious about the offer of it.”

“Thank you,” he said numbly, but not insincerely.

Haywood grinned, snapped his riding crop up under his arm, and strode off toward the arriving carriage, saying jauntily, “Told you that I’d make a good toady.”

Drayton was scraping his hand over his face, praying for deliverance, when Caroline, Simone, and Fiona, side by side by side, came down the front steps of the inn. The sight struck him square in the chest, a thunderbolt straight from the hand of God. He’d never been a good enough man to have earned so much as a sliver of deliverance. In fact, the time had come for him to pay for all the rotten, dishonorable things he’d ever done, said, and thought. And to that justified end, God had sent three avenging angels to show him no mercy.

“Ladies,” he said, his head spinning and his knees going swiftly to pudding. He opened his carriage door for them while he still had the ability to move with any sort of dignity and calm.

“Another regimental friend has arrived to accompany us to Ryland Castle,” he said, handing Fiona in first. Simone
bounded in without his help. He turned and offered his hand to Caroline. With every last measure of his control, he smiled and handed her in, saying, “Since he’s in his own carriage, Haywood and I will ride with him and spare you the extreme boredom of our male company. I’ll see you all again when we arrive at our new home.”

Caroline nodded as she sat and then wished him a pleasant visit with his friends. He closed the door and motioned for his driver to proceed. The carriage rolled off just before the whimper rolled up his throat and out.

  Eight  

HE RALLIED. LARGELY BECAUSE HE DIDN
’
T WANT TO
collapse into a whimpering puddle in front of Haywood and Aubrey. As their commanding officer in the regiment, he’d always had to set the example for them. And now that he found himself a duke to their lesser ranks, the duty of leadership seemed to be even more important. Not that he had the slightest notion, in any sort of specific sense, of where he was supposed to lead them.

“Aubrey,” he said, as the footman opened the carriage door and Haywood led his mount to the rear to tie it off. “What a nice surprise.”

Aubrey, who, as always, looked as though he’d been sewn into his clothing by a sausage maker, laughed and motioned him in, saying, “Then why do you look like you’ve been gut shot?”

“In a manner of speaking, I have,” Drayton admitted, taking the opposite seat. “A month ago I was happily content, my only obligation being to ably command my company. Today . . . ” He shrugged and decided it wouldn’t do his leadership image any good to go into the gory details.

“Oh, don’t listen to his tales of woe,” Haywood said, vaulting in and flinging himself into the seat beside Aubrey.
“He’s not only managed to outrank us in the peerage, too, he’s also acquired a delightful collection of female wards. The eldest of which, I might add, is stunningly gorgeous.”

“And opinionated,” Drayton countered. “As well as independent and altogether too . . . too . . . ”
Damn delicious.

“Gorgeous?” Haywood offered.

Well, at least it was a rather neutral observation. “Yes, she’s beautiful.”

“And the middle one . . . Lady Simone,” Haywood went on with a chuckle. “Oh, Aubrey, she’s delightfully irreverent. Shockingly plainspoken and appallingly direct. You’ll loathe her.”

“I’m sure I’ll adore them all.”

Drayton was trying to think of a polite way of suggesting that Aubrey not harbor any ideas of enjoying Caroline, when Haywood gushed onward. “And the little one. Lady Fiona. A bit withdrawn, but Dray made fabulous progress this morning with a mere cup of hot chocolate. In time, she’ll come around. Someday, mark my words, she’ll set London on fire.”

“No, that will be Simone,” Drayton corrected. “And it will be quite literally
on fire
. God help the poor bastards.”

Aubrey laughed and shoved a lock of brown hair off his forehead. “You do have your hands full, don’t you?”

“You needn’t look so happy with the situation.”

“Ah,” he drawled, ignoring the fact that his hair had fallen right back out of place, “but it’s so rare that we’re indispensable, you have to allow us a few moments to revel in it.”

“Indispensable how?”

“We were born to the peerage.”

“We know the rules,” Haywood added as the carriage rolled forward.