Leslie Lafoy (6 page)

Her smile was soft but her eyes had darkened to the color of steel. It was a most amazing transformation. “My apologies.”

“You don’t mean them.”

“Of course I don’t, but it’s what one is expected to say when called out for being impolite. The other half of the expectation is that you are to accept the apology without comment and change the subject of conversation.”

“I don’t like playing by the rules.”

And I don’t enjoy being appraised like a plum pudding,
Sera silently countered. Unwilling to openly censure a man on whose benevolence the girls largely depended, Sera marshaled what composure she could and replied, “Then it’s undoubtedly for the best that the girls will not be under your daily influence.”

“And they’re going to be that much better off being under yours?” he challenged, grinning and tilting his head to the side in the same way that Beatrice did when intrigued by some new discovery.

And in his gesture, small though it was, she made several important discoveries. The first was that beneath the rakish persona of Carden Reeves lay an unaffected man who possessed both unbridled curiosity and a sense of humor. The glimpse of the real man led instantly to the second realization: she found him attractive in a way she’d never thought of a man before. It was also impossible to remain angry at him.
That
revelation thoroughly flustered her. It frightened her as well. The boyish Carden Reeves posed a very real danger to her good sense and what little remained of her pride and virtue.

“If you feel that I’d be an inappropriate influence on your nieces, your lordship,” she offered, her heart racing, “please feel free to hire a more qualified person. I’ll gladly remain until you can do so, of course.”

“The country house is under renovation,” he said, completely ignoring her attempt to escape. He made a sweeping gesture toward the drawing on the easel in the corner. “A rather extensive one, I’m afraid. Percival started it just weeks before he did the facer into his breakfast. It’ll be largely uninhabitable until the end of the season.”

Sera could see distinct advantages to being well distant from the girls’ uncle. Temptation out of sight was generally well out of mind. “So we’re to go where in the meantime? Have you a second country home?”

He shook his head. “No, sorry. For the short term, you’ll remain here. I’ll make what accommodations are necessary to keep my nieces’ naïveté intact.”

“Thank you,” she replied tightly, wondering just how long the London season was and how deeply his self-discipline ran.

One corner of his mouth quirked up and a spark of devilment brightened his blue-gray eyes. “That was very gracious.”

“I’m trying.”

“Yes, you are,” he laughingly teased. “Very trying, indeed.”

Her heart was thundering against her breast again and her only coherent thought was that she needed to get away from him before she did or said something that would embarrass her for the rest of her life. “Is our conversation concluded, your lordship?”

“Not quite.” He returned to his desk and half-sat on the corner, adding, “There are several matters I’ve yet to address.”

Good Lord. How was it that having seen a glimpse of the real Carden Reeves made the arrogant side of him more tolerable? She fell back on the strategy that had served her well on the front steps. “And these matters are?”

“First, my nieces look like they’ve come off the streets of Cheapside. I expect you to see that they’re properly attired before the week is out. Don’t concern yourself with the expense of seeing it done. I can well afford it.”

Sera nodded her acceptance of the task. “Secondly?”

“I meant what I said about not wanting to be an earl,” he went on earnestly. “There are incredible restrictions and unpleasant realities that go with the title and I intend to avoid them at all costs. Should anyone ask you about Arthur, I expect you to maintain that his return to England is imminent.”

“That would be a lie,” Sera protested.

“Not necessarily.” He cocked a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “But even if it is, you’re to maintain it. I’m a third son and intend to stay one for as long as I possibly can. You are
not
to address me as ‘your lordship,’ either in public or private. Is that clear?”

“Quite,” she all but snapped, not liking one whit the position in which he’d placed her.

“Good.”

“Is there a third point on which you wish me to be equally clear?”

He pursed his lips and squinted toward the closed doors of the study. “I don’t want to trip over girlish things as I walk through my home,” he said after a moment. “Make sure that they confine their belongings to their floor of the house.”

So imperious, so selfish. “Are they to be physically restricted to the schoolroom and their bedchambers?”

Carden chuckled and winked at her. “There’s that tart tongue again, Mrs. Treadwell.”

“My apologies, Mr. Reeves.”

She hadn’t been any more sincere in this apology than she had in the one she’d offered before. A most interesting woman, this Mrs. Treadwell. On the surface of things, she held to social expectations, but, beneath all the polite niceties, she didn’t honor the rules any more than he did. A woman after his own heart. He was going to enjoy having her around just for the breath of fresh feminine air she provided.

“I expect my nieces to generally conduct themselves as do other young ladies of their social class,” Carden replied, deliberately skirting her query. “I’ll leave Sawyer to inform you of the daily household schedule. I’ll plan to dine in on a fairly regular basis for the duration of your stay. In the interest of creating a sense of family for them, they’ll dine with me. Please have my nieces dress appropriately for the evening meal.”

“Of course.”

“You’ll be expected to join us, as well,” Carden went on, working to contain his smile, “so see that you have suitable attire for the occasion. At my expense, of course.” She hesitated and he could practically hear the mental wheels whirling in her brain.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

He tilted his head and grinned. “That was painful for you to say, wasn’t it?”

If her heart hadn’t been skittering all over her chest, she might have acted on the urge to slap him across his very handsome cheek. Instead, she drew her shoulders back, lifted her chin, and fixed her gaze on a point just over his incredibly wide shoulder. “I’ve never been in employ, Mr. Reeves. I’m not at all comfortable with it.”

“You’ll adjust in time.”

“I doubt that very much,” she retorted icily.

He shrugged. “If you’re truly uncomfortable with the notion, perhaps we could negotiate an exchange of sorts. A service for a service.”

“Perhaps,” Sera repeated dubiously. She could well imagine just what services he had in mind. As humiliating as it was being in employ, it was a condition far more honorable than being a decidedly temporary mistress. She took a deliberate step back, asking, “Are we concluded?”

“I believe so.”

“Then I’ll return to your nieces and the affable Mr. Terrell,” she declared, turning and starting for the doors.

The handle was in her hand, escape just a mere second away, when he called out, “Oh, there is one more thing.”

She paused, waiting, but when he said nothing further, she drew a deep breath and turned back to face him. “And that would be?”

His smile was devilish again. “Introductions may be necessary from time to time. Do you have a Christian name?”

“Yes.”

Carden laughed outright. Damn if she didn’t give as good as she got. “What is it?”

“Seraphina.”

“For the angels?” he asked, his grin so wide his face actually hurt.

The color was flooding her cheeks again when she opened the door and stepped out of the room saying simply, “My parents had illusions.”

“I don’t,” he whispered as he watched her pull the door closed behind her. “Seraphina Treadwell.” He liked the sound of it; it rolled off his tongue very nicely. He liked the woman who bore the name, too. She was so delightfully different from all the other women in his world. No coy eyelash-batting. No miss-ish airs. No obedient subservience. No pretending that she was physically unaware of him. Seraphina Treadwell challenged his mind and made his blood race. Oh, yes, he was definitely going to enjoy having her under his roof for a time.

Pushing himself off his desk, he crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. Lifting his glass toward the doors, he said softly, “To the seduction of exotic angels.”

C
HAPTER
4

Sera stood at the window of her room and listened. While all three of them had rendered dramatic protests over retiring for an afternoon nap, the girls had nevertheless gone to their nicely appointed room—where they’d managed to resist all of two minutes before slipping off into their dreams. Alone in the silence, Seraphina looked out over the gloomy outlines of London’s rooftops and assured herself that she’d made the right decision, the only one she could have made. It didn’t matter that London was dreary, damp, and bone-numbingly cold. Seeing the sun and blue skies wasn’t significant among her concerns. Being comfortably warm wasn’t nearly as important as making the girls’ future secure. She could light a fire in the hearth if she wanted.

And she could leave London, too. Eventually. Sera slowly shook her head. To think that, like all far-flung Britons, she’d hoped to come here someday, to make what amounted to a holy pilgrimage to the center of the British Empire. Now that she had accomplished the quest, she couldn’t help but think that the dream was ever so much nicer than the reality. England certainly was an interesting place to visit, but, from what she could tell to this point, it didn’t hold much promise of ever feeling like home.

Not that she truly had one of those, she reminded herself. Her parents’ house in Jamaica had been taken for unpaid taxes. The tent that had housed them in Belize had long since rotted away. What Gerald had considered a suitable dwelling had no doubt collapsed during the first heavy rain of the past winter. It had been on the verge of doing so for the last two years. Very much like their marriage.

Sera sighed and managed a smile of sorts. The very best part of being in London was that it would be the last place on earth Gerald would think to look for her. Her smile faded and she crossed her arms over her midriff to ward off a deepening chill. Gerald was dead. She was free of him, free of the humiliation and the poverty. God had taken pity on her, rewarded her for having endured. Gerald Treadwell and the misery of an arranged, loveless marriage were in the past. Never again would she willingly travel down that path.

Which, she suspected, Carden Reeves knew instinctively. Her mother had always maintained that men had a sixth sense when it came to assessing the prospects for casual seduction, that they could tell by merely looking which women were in the marriage market and which viewed matrimony as nothing more than human bondage. The latter—strictly from their point of view, of course—made for much safer liaisons. From the female point of view … Carden Reeves was clearly the kind of man her mother had admonished her to avoid at all costs.

Sera smiled weakly. Her mother hadn’t mentioned how flattering the attention of such a man could be. Or how exciting. The assumption that the strength of her moral fiber would prevent her from being dazzled appeared, at the moment, to be not only too optimistic, but also a bit naïve. Thank heavens for the power of good judgment and common sense; they were her best defenses against weakness and temptation.

She’d once been weak and surrendered to the temptation of what had been offered as a certain future. She’d learned her lessons well—albeit the hard way. Her life had begun anew the moment she’d led the girls up the gangplank and set sail for England. Today and all of her tomorrows were hers to make of as she willed. She could and would make her life a happy and fulfilling one. Sera rubbed her hands briskly over her upper arms, turned away from the window, and quietly added, “Or freeze in the attempt.”

*   *   *

The fire was burning brightly and, best of all, providing a lovely sheet of warmth when someone knocked on her door. Seraphina frowned at the panel and regretfully abandoned her seat on the hearth. The chill returned midway across the room and was already settling back into her marrow by the time she opened the door.

A tall, white-haired man stood at stiff attention on the other side. His arms at his side, his gloved fingers curled slightly back into his palms, he looked over her head, cleared his throat softly, and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Treadwell. I am Sawyer.”

Ah, yes, the man whom Carden Reeves had said was going to inform her of the daily household schedule. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Mr. Reeves requests your presence in the parlor to meet the new housekeeper.”

There had been no servants in her childhood and she wasn’t quite sure how one was supposed to speak to a butler. Hoping that she wasn’t botching things too badly, she replied, “Please tell Mr. Reeves that I will be along very shortly. And thank you, Sawyer.”

“Very good.” His gaze dropped just long enough for her to note that he had dark brown eyes that were clear and quick like those of a bird. Once again he looked over her head and cleared his throat. “And may I extend my welcome to Haven House. If there is anything I can do to be of service to you, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Haven House? If ever there was an aptly named place … “Thank you.”

“Dinner is served promptly at seven. Will you and Mr. Reeves’s nieces be dining downstairs this evening? Or would you prefer to have your meal served in the schoolroom?”

Carden Reeves had issued a command and she wasn’t in a position to disobey. “We’ll dine downstairs, Sawyer.”

“I will inform Cook.” He bowed, again met her gaze only momentarily, saying, “Madam,” and turned and marched away.

Sera quietly closed the door, listened for sounds of the girls stirring, and, hearing only the popping warmth of the fire, sighed and resigned herself to following in Sawyer’s dignified wake.

*   *   *

She found Carden Reeves precisely where Sawyer had said she would. He was standing in front of the unlit hearth in the parlor, his arm lying causally along the mantel, the very picture of wealth and ease.