Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (3 page)

He glanced over, tickled to note that, when Mrs. Ford had summoned her, she hadn’t had time to put up her hair. The golden locks flowed down her back, restrained with a single green ribbon that matched her emerald eyes.

The lengthy tresses were the oddest shade, not blond and not brown, but somewhere in between. He’d never seen hair like it, and he decided that—so long as she was employed by him—he wouldn’t let her hide it.

She was petite and slender, willowy and lithe, yet she was curved and shapely, so he wasn’t surprised to find himself evaluating her in a thoroughly masculine fashion. He was only human after all, and he wouldn’t ignore the fact that she was very pretty or that he enjoyed looking at her.

“May I ask what is happening?” Miss Stewart demanded, her rage barely contained.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he replied. “I’ve hired you to be a companion to my ward.”

“You better not have.” She whipped her hot gaze to Mrs. Ford. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

“Oh, but it is,” Mrs. Ford confirmed, “and I couldn’t have found you a more prominent position. I’m thrilled to provide Lord Westwood with one of my best girls.”

“Best girls indeed,” she fumed. “I know what kind of
girl
he wants, and it’s definitely not a lady’s companion.”

“Miss Stewart”—Mrs. Ford had a steely tone in her voice—“you’ve insulted the earl several times now, and I command you to desist immediately.”

Miss Stewart nearly retorted, then she bit her tongue. She turned to him, appearing furious and aggrieved.

“I won’t do it!” she snapped. “I don’t care how much you swagger and bully me. I won’t do it! I won’t!”

She was carrying on like a spoiled toddler, and he grinned. The money had already been paid, and Mrs. Ford—for all her accommodating ways—was a shrewd businesswoman. With the bank draft having been deposited in her cash drawer, she would never give it back.

“You humor me with your protests,” he advised Miss Stewart, “but they grow tedious. Shall we go? I’ve had your room prepared, so you can unpack quickly, because Miranda needs you to accompany her on a shopping excursion.”

“I must speak privately with Mrs. Ford,” she said, fit to be tied. “Would you excuse us?”

“No.”

She growled with frustration and strutted past him so she could whisper in Mrs. Ford’s ear, but James was only a few feet away. He could hear every word.

“Don’t make me to this,” she begged.

“Why are you in such a dither?” Mrs. Ford responded in a temper. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Have you any idea what the result will be if I work for him? When I’m finished, my reputation will be in shreds.”

“What foolishness! After you’ve been in his employ, every woman in town will want to hire you. Now get going.”

“I can’t imagine what—”

Mrs. Ford cut her off. “You will take this position, and you will perform your duties with as much grace and courtesy as you can muster, or you will no longer use my placement agency. Am I making myself clear?”

Miss Stewart’s shoulders slumped with defeat. Mrs. Ford’s agency was the best in the city. If she declined to continue with Miss Stewart, the girl would very likely never find another job. Miss Stewart knew it, and
he
knew it, though he tried not to be too smug.

He tamped down another grin.

“Shall we go?” he said again.

“I have to get my bag.”

“Mrs. Ford had it put in my coach.”

“Fine then. Yes, we can go.”

She swept by him, regal as any queen, and he followed her out, watching how her shapely hips moved under the fabric of her horrid gray dress.

It was the same one she’d been wearing the prior afternoon, and it occurred to him that perhaps she didn’t have any others, and he made a mental note to have his clerk order her some clothes.

She might be a lowly lady’s companion, but he liked to see pretty women display their charms, and if he had to have a new servant underfoot, he refused to have a drab.

They walked outside, and as she espied his coach, he was amused by her reaction. Deliberately to intimidate her, he’d arrived in his grandest vehicle that was pulled by a team of magnificent white horses. Their manes and tails were braided with red ribbons to match the red and gold livery of the driver and six outriders.

He loved traveling in it, loved how heads turned when he passed by. The petty vanity was irksome, but he couldn’t set it aside and he’d given up trying.

The ostentatious carriage was the first item he’d retrieved after his father had died and James had inherited the title and bankrupt estates that went with it. The vehicle had been his father’s pride and joy, but he’d lost it in a bet. James had been a seething adolescent when the new owner had come to seize it, and James still reeled with irritation whenever he recollected the humiliating episode.

His life had been spent observing his father fall apart from gambling and drink, and James was determined to recoup the family’s fortunes. His father had been a weak and despairing man who’d made one bad decision after the next. Nearly everything that could be wagered had been, and the games hadn’t been won by strangers—but by his father’s so-called friends. They’d taken advantage of his wretched condition to plunder what never should have been theirs.

Upon becoming earl, James had sworn to himself and to his brother, Tristan, that—eventually—he would get it all back, whether through fair means or foul. He was well on his way to financial security, though a few knaves had eluded his grasp.

One in particular, Charles Sinclair, Earl of Trent, needed to be brought low. Before the year was out, James planned to have his revenge.

“This is your coach?” Miss Stewart inquired, peering up at him.

“Yes.”

“I might have guessed it would be pretentious and extravagant—like the owner.”

James laughed. “What is the use of having money if you don’t flaunt it?”

She scoffed and marched to it, pausing to ensure that her portmanteau was indeed strapped to the rear. The bag was small and tattered, a sorry symbol of her reduced circumstances, and he wondered what it would be like to be able to carry all your worldly belongings in a single satchel.

When her situation was so pitiful, he couldn’t fathom why she would balk at his offer of employment. She ought to be grateful. She ought to be down on her knees and thanking him.

As she went to climb in, a footman reached out to aid her, but James waved him away so he could help her himself. She glared at his extended hand, then hoisted herself in without assistance. He shook his head, intrigued by her spirit. She annoyed and enchanted him in equal measure.

He climbed in behind her, sitting on the opposite seat so he could study her expressive face as they chatted.

Shortly, the driver cracked the whip, and they were off. Miss Stewart stared out the window, ignoring him, which he would never allow.

“I like to see you with your hair down,” he said.

“I’m so relieved to hear it.” She oozed sarcasm.

“While you work for me, I don’t want you to pin it up.”

She scowled. “You hired me to be a companion for your ward. I can hardly go about looking like a strumpet.”

“It’s my house, Miss Stewart, so you’ll follow my rules.”

“You’re a tyrant.”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t I lucky to have crossed paths with you?”

“Your hair I like,” he repeated, “but your dress, I hate.”

“I don’t care.”

“The color washes out your skin. It makes you appear pallid and sickly.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“When you’re around me, you are never to wear gray. I’m afraid I have to insist.”

“Will you?” She wrenched her eyes from the passing scenery, her furious gaze locked on his own. “For your information, I have precisely two gowns. They are
both
gray.”

“I figured as much. I’ll have my clerk arrange a fitting for you. I’ll buy you some new ones.”

“I will not have you buying me clothes as if I was some sort of...of...”

“
Kept
woman?” he unhelpfully supplied.

“Exactly.”

They rode in silence again, and he watched her, as a cat watches a mouse.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it, and she inquired, “Is there some reason you’ve decided to torment me?”

“What do you mean?”

“At this very moment, there are thousands of females in the city who would jump at the chance to work for you. Within the hour, Mrs. Ford could show you a hundred other, more suitable candidates. I’d rather suffer a trip to the barber to have a tooth pulled than do this, yet you force me into it. Why?”

“Because you told me
no
.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes. I loathe it when people refuse me.”

“So if I’d been fawning and had begged you for a job, you’d have sent me packing?”

“Most likely.”

“I’ll remember that in our future dealings.”

“As long as you let me have my way, you’ll find I’m extremely amenable.”

She huffed out an aggravated breath. “I don’t like you.”

“I’ll grow on you.”

“I doubt it.”

He chuckled. “How old are you?”

“Twenty. Why?”

“I’m curious where you come by all this sass and vigor. It exhausts me.”

“I
come by it
from having dealt with others who are just like you. I lost my patience for nonsense years ago.”

“You talk as if you’re a decrepit, elderly matron.”

“Occasionally, I feel as if I am.”

He wondered about her again, about her past and her family. Obviously, someone had paid to have her educated. She was refined in her speech and habits, in her grooming and deportment, yet she was poverty-stricken and a mere step away from living on the streets.

Somewhere along the way, catastrophe must have befallen her. What had it been? Why was she all alone?

His interest in her was astonishing. He never fretted over the commoners he met. He had his own difficulties that required his full attention, but Miss Stewart had captured his fancy.

Tristan’s wedding to Miranda was scheduled for the last week of September, which was four months away, so Miss Stewart would be with him through the summer. The notion was refreshing and stimulating.

“You’ll be glad to work for me, Miss Stewart,” he claimed. “In the end, you’ll be glad I pressured you into it.”

“Miss Wilson hates me.”

“What makes you say so?”

“I spoke with her yesterday”—this was news Miranda had failed to mention—“and she was quite clear. She neither wants nor needs a companion, and if you insist on providing her with one, she doesn’t want it to be me. Her antipathy was tremendously apparent, and I don’t understand why you’d foist me off on her. Why torture me like this?”

“As you said: I’m a tyrant. I relish cruelty. In fact, I live for it.”

She snorted. “Would you be serious?”

“All right, I will be. Miranda is eighteen, and she’s marrying my brother in the fall. She’s come to town while he is away, but I don’t have the time or energy to entertain her.”

“Send her home, and your problem will be solved.”

“She informs me that she must make wedding plans and shop for her trousseau. I can hardly deny her the opportunity.”

“Am I to assist her with her wedding preparations, too?”

She seemed pained, as if he’d strapped her to the rack and twisted the screws.

“Yes.”

“Lucky me.” She glanced down at her hands, her slender fingers clasping at the fabric of her skirt. “Don’t do this to me,” she softly implored. “Don’t put me through this ordeal. Please?”

She peeked up, her vibrant green eyes beseeching, and though it was very strange, he suffered the most strident wave of affection for her. She looked young and earnest and vulnerable, and just then, had he been kinder or more considerate, he might have done anything for her.

The sudden burst of compassion shocked him.

He never attached himself to women, never bonded or agonized over their plights. While they were always eager to form an alliance with
him
, he never reciprocated the sentiment. His mother’s behavior had seen to that.

When he was a boy, his mother had been seduced by Charles Sinclair, Lord Trent. Though she’d been a countess and married to James’s father, though she’d had two sons who’d needed her, she’d been swept away by the infamous rogue.

She had fled to Paris with Trent, had consorted openly with him and even given birth to Trent’s bastard son. But eventually, Trent had left her there, pregnant and broke and alone. She’d died, still loving Trent, still foolishly praying for him to come back to her.

Her shameful saga had ripped James’s life apart. Soon after she’d sneaked away, his father had begun to gambol as if
he
had no responsibilities either. James and Tristan had been like a pair of orphans, shuttled from school to school until there was no money to pay their tuition and no further credit to be extended.

Through all the years of penury and neglect, James had stupidly waited for his mother to realize she’d erred and return, but she never had, and her callous conduct had taught him an important lesson: Women couldn’t be trusted.

In the lofty circles where he roamed, observing the antics of the wives and daughters of his acquaintances, his low opinion had been validated over and over. So why did Miss Stewart incite a different reaction?

He had no idea.

The coach rattled to a halt in front of his town house, and the footmen occupied themselves with their arrival.

“Don’t worry so much,” he told her. “It will be fine.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to endure Miss Wilson’s disdain.”

“Miranda will be civil to you. If she’s not, come to me at once.”

“And ask you to do what? Spank her? Scold her?”

It was a legitimate question. What would he do? And why did he care one way or the other? He had a competent staff so he could spend as little time as necessary fussing over the running of his household. If Miranda was impolite to Miss Stewart, why bother over it?

He flashed one of his lazy smiles. “How about if I swear to beat her, then lock her in a closet?”