Shev (11 page)

“Do not fault me for the direction of your impure thoughts. I only mentioned the salve.”

“How did I miss the vixen lurking beneath the governess’s façade?”

“Most people see only what they expect to see.”

“I am rather more observant than most people.” The truth hung on the edge of his tongue. He’d rarely sought another’s approval before, but with Anne, he wanted her to know there was more to him than his title and all the privileges that entailed. At the moment, however, he had more important things to sort out. One day soon, he would share with Anne a few of his livelier contributions to securing the kingdom’s borders.

“Then perhaps you chose not to see.”

He conceded the point. Lord knew he’d tried not to notice anything beyond what her position represented. Although he might have missed the vixen, he hadn’t been able to ignore the bright, caring, determined, beautiful, slightly vulnerable woman beneath the governess garb.

“Perhaps, in the beginning. But now, my eyes are wide open.”

Pink tinged her cheeks. Then her gaze shot up, fixed on something behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

“A man,” she said in a low voice. “I think he’s watching us.”

“Where is he?”

Her gaze flicked to his at hearing the lethal quality to his voice. “Standing near the large rock outcropping.” She glanced beyond him again. “He’s gone.”

Shev whirled around and scanned the area, finding no trace of the intruder. “Go to Jacqueline. I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Marcus, no.” She grasped his sleeve. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

He cradled her delicate jaw. “I’ll be all right. I swear it.” He wanted to kiss her, but he feared a quick peck of reassurance would turn into more. So he settled for a simple brush of his thumb across her pale cheek. “Go to Jacqueline. Please.”

The moment she turned away, Shev ran in the opposite direction. When he made it to the outcropping, he glanced back to find Anne picking flowers with Jacqueline though he could tell her every instinct was attuned to her surroundings.

Ten minutes of searching produced no intruder. But Shev found a half-eaten apple near the outcropping and a fresh pile of horse manure within a cove of trees not far away.

At his approach, Anne whispered something to Jacqueline before joining him. “Any sign of him?” She folded her arms around her middle, appearing more vulnerable than he’d seen her in a while.

“Yes.” He slid an arm around her. “I found evidence of where the intruder and his horse were stationed.” A shudder racked her body. “He’s gone, Anne. Everyone is safe.”

“It’s just that I—” She drew in a breath. “For a moment, I thought I had seen a ghost again.”

“What do you mean?”

“The day we arrived, I set off to investigate the mysterious dome in the woods.”

“The folly?”

“I assume so.” She stared into the distance. “I never made it. About halfway there, a silhouette in the trees caught my eye. I thought perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. But my unfortunate encounter with Lord Whitfield has made me…cautious.”

“Shrewd,” he corrected. “My instincts have protected me from a great deal of trouble over the years.”

She nodded. “I convinced myself the shadow was nothing more than one of the neighbor boys sneaking a peek at the newly returned marquess.”

“You may be right. I certainly did my fair share of sneaking about as a young lad.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. “Can you describe the gentleman you saw today?”

“Tall and lean. Older, perhaps in his fifties. Balding.” She frowned. “I think that’s what drew my attention to him. When he removed his hat to swipe a cloth over his head.”

The description didn’t match any of his neighbors, nor anyone else he knew. “A cloud has been cast over our outing. Why don’t we collect the banshee and head back to the house?”

Anne nodded, seemingly reluctant to step out of his embrace. Her small hesitation made him want to drag her back, give her the comfort she so obviously needed but did not want to admit. Her reaction also made him want to track down Whitfield the next time he was in London and show the bastard what true fear and helplessness felt like.

Kneeling beside Jacqueline, Anne helped the girl put her shoes back on. She spoke to Jacqueline in tones that would make one question whether or not the last quarter hour had really happened. He marveled over Anne’s mastery at hiding her emotions. Her ability rivaled his own.

The ladies stood, flowers in hand. Something caught both their attention. Anne shaded her eyes for a better look; surprise slackened Jacqueline’s sweet face. Shev turned, his hands rolled into fists. It all happened as if their movements were slathered in molasses. But never more so than when he recognized the figure striding down the knoll toward them.

Bélanger.

Shev’s heart struck the wall of his chest with such force as to make his body recoil. This couldn’t be the tall, balding gentleman Anne had just seen. Bélanger sported a full head of hair. His gaze slid back to Jacqueline, his little banshee, just as she dropped her wild bouquet and tore after Bélanger. Her father.

“Papa!”

Jacqueline’s small legs spun with amazing speed, her face more aglow than he’d ever seen it.

Bélanger’s pace did not alter or falter at the sight of Jacqueline flying toward him. In fact, the gentleman’s gaze wasn’t on the girl at all. It was fixed squarely on Shev, and he would not describe the man’s expression as pleasant or even anxious. Fury swirled around the Frenchman’s dark good looks.

Anne came to stand beside him. She said nothing, nor did she touch him. A silent symbol of strength, support, and even love, though she would likely never tell him so.

“Papa!” Jacqueline launched herself at Bélanger, wrapping her thin arms around one leg. Love shimmering on her upturned face.

Rather than lifting her into his arms and hugging her close, Bélanger patted Jacqueline’s head and pried open her arms. He barked an unintelligible command at her before resuming his march downhill.

Shev peered around the Frenchman to check on Jacqueline. Her pixie face crumpled before his eyes. Anger burned in his gut.

“Remember, Jacqueline still loves the man, despite him being an arse. If you maim him, she will hold it against you.”

Hearing Miss Anne Crawford, the incomparable governess, use “arse” in a sentence momentarily knocked away thoughts of murdering the Frenchman.

She peered at him without turning her head, the area at the corner of her eye crinkling the slightest bit.

Another clever move by the vixen. She knew the powerful effect her unusual comment would have on him—and the Frenchman’s fate. She had disarmed him with nothing more than a curse word tucked inside a casual comment. What havoc would she wreak on him when she truly set her mind to the task?

“I love you, Anne Crawford. And once I run this
arse
back to France, I’m going to marry you, and we’re going to give Jacqueline a brother and sister to terrorize.”

Her beautiful, tempting mouth sagged open. Her eyes widened, sheened with tears.

“Your mouth is agape, my love.” He winked.

“Lord Shevington,” Bélanger called from a few feet away. “I’ve come to retrieve my daughter.”

All Shev’s humor fled on the heels of those six ugly words. “Take Jacqui back to the house, Anne. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“
Jacqueline
is not going anywhere.”

“Go, please.” Shev nudged Anne forward. “I’ll take care of the arse.”

Anne didn’t argue. She simply strode past the Frenchman with her chin held high, a dark look in her eye.

“Shevington, don’t think—”

Shev held up his hand, cutting off the bastard’s rant. He stayed the man until Anne coaxed Jacqueline away. Then he allowed fury and fear to fuel his heart.

“What do you want, Bélanger?”

“My daughter, of course. You might have stolen my wife, but I will be damned before I allow you to have Jacqueline.”

“Do not pretend to be affronted. I happen to know you exiled both your wife and daughter after learning the truth of Jacqui’s parentage.”

“Her name is Jacqueline. And my family is no concern of yours.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” Shev leaned against the large oak and shoved one hand into his pocket. “The moment you turned your back on your responsibility was the moment she became my concern.” He studied the Frenchman. “How much, Bélanger?”

“Pardon?”

“How much will it take to assuage your wounded pride?”

The Frenchman sputtered a string of incoherent words, his hands slicing through air, punctuating each threat to Shev’s honor, manhood, and a number of other things he couldn’t quite discern. But Shev knew people. He understood the small, telling nuances revealed by lifting a brow, narrowing an eye, straightening a spine, shifting a gaze, tugging a ruffle. Every expression and movement told a story.

And Bélanger’s bespoke greed.

Once again, Shev held up a hand, halting the other man’s tirade. “The
fires of hell
have already singed my soul, Bélanger. Save your threats of damnation. I would much rather you name your price and be done with this farce.”

Bélanger’s chest heaved once before his livid features hardened into a businesslike mien.

Shev should have been happy that he had read Bélanger correctly. But he couldn’t muster an ounce of elation. Jacqueline would be heartbroken when her French father faded away in a few days, never to return. “Let us be done with this.”

Chapter Thirteen

“Everyone is in the drawing room, my lord,” the butler said as he stood aside to allow Shev and Bélanger entry.

“Thank you, Higgins.” Shev could barely tolerate walking the short distance from the stream back to the house with Bélanger. The sum Bélanger had proposed had been staggering though Shev would have agreed to twice the amount to keep Jacqueline away from the bastard.

Bélanger claimed to love Jacqueline, and perhaps he once did. But the news of her paternity had poisoned the Frenchman’s mind. Now, he only cared about revenge and filling his coffers.

How Shev would ever make it through the next few days while the paperwork was drawn up he would never know. For Jacqueline, he would do his best. Bélanger was the only father she had ever known and she deserved time enough to say good-bye.

“I find I am curious about something, Shevington.”

Shev kept walking.

“Why would you spend so much coin to keep a child you barely know? A bastard child from an affair you likely do not recall?”

Shev might have to put up with the man’s presence, but he could not be held accountable if Bélanger’s perfect nose met with Shev’s fist before he slinked off to France.

Halting, Shev didn’t bother facing Bélanger. He simply angled his head to the side and said, “If you haven’t discerned Jacqui’s value in five years, there’s nothing I can say to you in thirty seconds that will enlighten you.”

Before entering the drawing room, Shev took a deep breath and willed away the disgust that must have been evident on his face. He didn’t want Anne or Jacqueline to worry, not when he’d managed to secure their future. A future he was looking forward to with every heartbeat.

A footman opened the drawing room door, and Shev stepped inside—and stopped dead in his tracks. An older, distinguished-looking gentleman nursing a drink stood behind a sofa that held an even more distinguished-looking lady, who peered at him through a pair of spectacles attached to a ribbon hanging around her neck. Next to her sat Jacqueline, hugging a doll he had never seen before. His mother sat in her favorite chair, an inscrutable expression on her normally joyful face. Anne was not among them.

“What are
you
doing here?” Bélanger asked, addressing the older couple.

“An interesting question coming from you,” the woman replied in perfect French.

Shev ignored the exchange, for he had a more important question clamoring in his head. “Where’s Anne?”

The Frenchwoman lifted a penciled brow. “An unusual way to address a governess.”

His mother’s eyes narrowed on him.

The distinguished gentleman took a drink.

“Anne’s not a usual sort of governess.”

“Here, my lord.”

Shev turned to find Anne standing near the door through which he’d entered. Indignation made him snap, “Why are you standing over there?”

“It’s where I belong, my lord.”

“Anne, take a seat by my mother.”

“My lord, I don’t think—”

“Miss Crawford, my son is correct.” The marchioness patted the chair beside her. “Your place is over here with the family.”

In that moment, he could have picked up his mother and whirled her around until they both saw double. Where Anne would have stubbornly refused to budge for him, she could not refuse his mother. No one told his mother no.

With flushed cheeks, Anne passed by him, head held high. “What are you about,
my lord
?” she bit out through gritted teeth, not stopping to hear his answer.

Based on his mother’s devilish smile, she knew what he was up to—and approved. Though he had no doubt she would give him a tongue-lashing for breaking his word about getting involved with the governess. But she knew her son well enough to recognize his intent toward Anne.

No sooner than Anne had taken her spot, another gentleman entered the room. A tall, lean, balding man. Anne sucked in a shocked breath, her frightened gaze meeting his.
Tall, lean, balding man.
Could this be the gentleman Anne saw spying on them earlier?

“What are you doing here?” Shev demanded.

The newcomer ignored him and leaned down to whisper into the Frenchwoman’s ear. Although her expression remained for the most part unchanged, Shev didn’t miss the small wave of disgust that played over her face. It was then he registered the older couple’s identity. They had to be Jacqueline’s grandparents. Giselle’s parents. Friends to Bonaparte.

A boulder rested on Shev’s chest, squeezing the air from his lungs. How could he keep the strength of an empire from taking Jacqueline away?