My Brown-Eyed Earl (22 page)

Will laid the newspaper on the dining-room table, too preoccupied to care about either the latest maneuverings of Parliament or the latest episodes of scandal. He picked at his dinner, wondering how to best convince his stubborn governess that she wanted to be his countess.

He had been doing a hell of a lot of thinking since he sneaked out of Meg's room in the pre-dawn hours that morning. And what he thought was that he had to tread very, very carefully. No one in the household seemed to suspect that he'd spent the night with her, but it would only take one slip-up—an overheard whisper or an indiscreet glance—to jeopardize her reputation.

He would not take unnecessary risks where she was concerned, even if he
did
wish to take her to his bed and keep her there for a week.

Having her so close throughout the day but being unable to touch her was driving him mad. And while he meant to make her his, he knew better than to demand it or treat it as a foregone conclusion. That strategy had not served him well the first time he'd proposed to her.

No, Meg had to think it was
her
idea. Even if it was not.

Hell, he'd had to pull out every stop just to convince her to attend a dinner party. Persuading her to marry him was bound to be considerably more difficult.

The problem was that she had far too many distractions right now—ones he intended to eliminate. First, he needed to find a way to help her Uncle and sisters out of their dire financial straits without offending their pride—which the entire family apparently had in spades.

Second, he needed to settle the twins in the best possible situation for them—whether that was there with him or in Hackney with their mother. Either way, it was essential that they were well cared for. He'd made a vow to Thomas. But this was not solely about fulfilling the promise to his friend. It was about Valerie and Diana.

He'd just set aside his plate when he heard Meg and the twins chatting outside the dining room. Unable to resist the chance to see Meg, he met them near the staircase.

“Good evening, Miss Lacey.” She spun around and the girls followed suit.

“My lord,” she said, blushing prettily as she dipped a curtsey. The twins watched her and tried to mimic the motion; both nearly toppled over before Meg caught them by their hands. “We shall have to practice that,” she murmured, as though adding it to a mental list.

He examined the twins' faces, grateful for Diana's distinguishing dimple, and greeted each of them by name. Meg raised her brows, clearly impressed.

“We were just going upstairs so the girls could prepare for their baths,” she said a little breathlessly.

Will frowned. He didn't think most governesses oversaw bath time as well as lessons and shopping and trips to the park. Meg hardly had a moment to herself—which meant she hardly had a moment to spare for
him
.

“I won't keep you,” he said. “However I had hoped to schedule a meeting with you. I have plans at my club this evening, but perhaps tomorrow afternoon?”

“Certainly, my lord.” The soft look in her eyes made his heart beat faster.

Valerie tugged on her arm, pulling her close enough to speak in her ear. “Are you in trouble with Lord Castleton?” she asked in a stage whisper that could easily have been heard across a theater.

“I might be,” Meg whispered back. “But I'm not worried.” As she bustled the girls up the stairs, she smiled at Will over her shoulder. “Good night.”

“Good night, ladies,” he replied formally, causing a chorus of giggles.

He watched the gentle sway of Meg's hips until she was out of sight, trying to remember if
he'd
ever had a bath prepared by someone as lovely as her. But his own nanny had been three times Meg's size and sixty years old if she was a day.

And then the realization hit him. What the twins needed was a
nanny
. Someone to lighten Meg's load. Or, in the event that they returned home to live with their mother, someone to care for them there. He would pay the woman's salary, regardless, and have some peace of mind, knowing the girls were in good hands.

It was the perfect plan. And if he was able to find someone soon, she could watch over the girls on Thursday evening while Meg enjoyed herself at the dinner party.

Hiring a nanny shouldn't prove too difficult. He was tempted to solicit help from Meg when it came to interviewing and screening candidates, but the last thing she needed was another duty to add to her list. No, he'd take care of this on his own—and surprise her.

*   *   *

Meg propped her head on her hand and stifled a yawn, determined to finish tomorrow's history lesson on Mary Queen of Scots. She was close to done—just a murder, a third husband and a beheading to cover. She'd worried that the accounts might be too gory for the twins, but Charlotte had assured her that there was nothing like a little blood to hold children's attention. Meg wished it could hold hers, because on the other side of the room, her soft bed and its plump pillows beckoned like a siren.

“I thought I might find you still awake.” Mrs. Lundy walked into Meg's bedchamber and handed her a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “This arrived for you just after dinner. I didn't have a chance to bring it up until now.”

Charlotte's dress. Meg could hardly wait to try it on. “Thank you. You didn't have to do that.”

The housekeeper's critical gaze swept over Meg's face, no doubt lingering on the dark smudges beneath her eyes. “You've made enough trips up and down the stairs today. I suggest you retire for the evening—and soon.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Meg replied with a smile.

But as soon as Mrs. Lundy said good night, Meg closed her door and tore open the package.

A cheery shade of blue peeked out from beneath the brown paper, instantly brightening the room. And though the muslin wasn't as fancy as silk or satin, it was finer than anything she owned, including the brown wool monstrosity she now wore.

She hauled off her old dress and held Charlotte's beneath her chin, letting the petal-soft fabric cascade down her legs and lap at her ankles.

The length seemed about right, but there was no way to know whether the gown would suit her until she tried it on. Why, then, was she suddenly reluctant to do so?

She swallowed. Abandoning her drab wardrobe was akin to shedding a shabby but comfortable skin. What if fine clothes made her look foolish or pretentious or absurd? In her old gowns, she expected to be mocked. But those dowdy dresses had one distinct advantage. If members of the ton did not embrace her, it was easy to lay the blame with her wardrobe. Charlotte's gown would provide no such excuse.

Shrugging off her anxiety, she slipped the sky-blue muslin over her head, secured the pristine white sash beneath her breasts, and spun to face the full-length looking glass.

Good heavens.

At first glance, she resembled the fashionable ladies she saw strolling in the park—the ones who regularly shunned her or, worse, acted as though she were invisible. So much so, that she resented herself for a moment.

But it was
her
. Her legs beneath yards of gauzy muslin. Her breasts framed by the low square neckline. Her arms revealed by the tiny puffs of sleeves. She twirled in front of the mirror, mesmerized by the way the fabric floated about her body.

It made her feel beautiful in spite of her dark circles and mussed hair and bare feet.

God bless Charlotte for lending her this gown and for guessing it would be perfect. Thanks to her thoughtful friend, Meg found herself almost looking forward to the dinner party—and in particular, Will's expression when he saw her in this gown.

That alone might make the evening worthwhile.

 

Chapter
TWENTY-THREE

 

Will strolled toward the nursery, hoping that his visit coincided with the twins' naps. Finding the door slightly ajar, he peeked in, happy to see the twins tucked in their beds, if not asleep. Meg sat on the edge of Valerie's bed, gently stroking her hair.

“How long was she in prison?” the girl whispered.

“Eighteen years.”

Valerie gasped. “That's almost as long as you've been alive.”

“True,” Meg whispered.

“And then they…?”

Meg nodded soberly. “Yes.”

“How did they do it?” Diana asked from her bed.

Meg hesitated a moment. “An axe.”

“Oh,” said both girls, properly awed.

Meg closed her eyes briefly and shook her head as though scolding herself. “I fear that was not the best bedtime story. But you needn't worry—England is a much more civilized place in the nineteenth century than it was back then.” She planted a kiss on Valerie's forehead, then glided to Diana's side and kissed her as well.

“If I had a cousin, I would never throw her in prison,” Valerie said, yawning.

“I might,” Diana confessed, “but I would visit her.”

“I've no doubt you would. Rest your eyes, now,” Meg said, “and we'll talk more about it this afternoon.”

Will may not have known much about children, but he knew better than to dare venture into the nursery at this critical juncture. Instead, he watched from the corridor as Meg quietly drew the curtains, straightened her papers, and placed Valerie's doll in the crook of her arm. When at last she walked toward the door and him, Will waved, startling her.

She pressed a hand to her chest but smiled as she closed the door behind her. “I didn't know you were here.”

“But you're glad I am?” he provided helpfully.

“I might be,” she admitted.

“I consider this marked progress.” He took her hand, turned it over, and kissed her palm. “I missed you last night.”

Her cheeks turned a fetching shade of pink. “I confess I slept like a rock.”

“I thought you might need your rest. That's why I went to my club. If I'd been here, I would have been unable to resist knocking on your door.”

Arching a brow, she said, “My door? How positively ordinary.”

“You prefer the window then?”

She shrugged, unimpressed. “That's been done. Perhaps next time you could try the chimney.”

“It might be messy.” He cupped her cheek and brushed a thumb across her lower lip. “But you'd be worth it. Shall I come tonight?” His heart pounded as he awaited her answer.

“I don't think that's wise.” Her face clouded with regret, she glanced down the corridor. “We were very lucky not to be discovered last time.”

Will tamped down his disappointment. “I agree we must be cautious. But you cannot blame me for trying.”

“No.” She squeezed his hand, instantly heating his blood. “Thank you for understanding.”

“How are you?” He really wanted to ask if she thought about him half as much as he thought about her.

“I'm well. And the twins seem to be doing better, too. Diana's still a little quieter than usual.”

“You say that as though it's a bad thing,” he teased, but it concerned him as well. “I wrote to Lila this morning.” It had taken him a damned hour to compose a letter that struck just the right tone, splitting the difference between barely civil and friendly. He'd made it clear that the twins were not pawns to be used for her personal gain and that he wouldn't allow her to hurt them again.

“Thank you.” She beamed at him, making the whole letter-writing exercise worth it. “I'm nervous that she won't respond … and equally worried that she will.”

“Whatever happens, we will make sure Diana and Valerie are well cared for. They're strong girls—not unlike you and your sisters.” He pulled her into a light embrace, savoring the feel of her in his arms. “The dinner party is tomorrow night.”

“I haven't forgotten.”

“But you'd like to.”

She shot him an impish grin. “I've resigned myself to going, and at least Charlotte will be there.”

“You're fortunate I'm not easily offended, vixen.” He nudged her toward the wall, pressed her back against it, and braced his arms on either side of her head. “I want you to think very carefully. Is there anyone beside Charlotte you look forward to seeing?”

“Well…”

While she pretended to consider the question, he kissed the side of her neck. God, she tasted good. Like vanilla and cream.

“Do you have an answer yet?” he murmured against her warm skin.

“Hmm…”

He wedged his leg between hers and leaned into her hips, loving the way her breathing quickened in response.

“Will.” She speared her fingers through his hair and pulled him down for a kiss that made his head spin.

Jesus. He was trying to listen for anyone who might be coming down the corridor, but the truth was, as long as Meg was kissing him, a parade could march right by and he'd be none the wiser. Desperate to quench the desire that engulfed them, he swept his hands down her sides, over her hips, and beneath her bottom, rocking against her until she moaned.

“You are mine,” he breathed. “Now. Always.”

She pulled back and blinked up at him. “What does that mean?”

“We will discuss it. Soon. For now, all you need to do is trust me. And endeavor to enjoy yourself at the dinner party tomorrow night.” He brushed a loose curl away off her cheek and tucked it behind her ear.

“I will try,” she said doubtfully.

“I think you'll be pleasantly surprised.” It was all he could do not to give the surprise away.

He'd wanted to do something special for her in advance of the dinner party. Something that would let her know how much she meant to him and boost her confidence. His first thought had been to purchase her a new gown. But they'd sparred about her wardrobe on several occasions before. He'd invariably lost. Besides, he didn't give a damn what she wore as long as it eventually ended up on the floor of his bedchamber.