Shev (7 page)

Since the collapse of the French
ancien régime
fifteen years ago, London’s ballrooms, drawing rooms, card rooms, brothels, and gentleman’s clubs had housed any number of passionate, counterrevolutionist émigrés and British-hating visitors.

For the past decade, the dissolute, detached Marquess of Shevington had been there, watching and listening. Reporting all he heard to the Earl of Somerton, England’s greatest spymaster.

Before Miss Crawford’s arrival, he had cared little about how others perceived him. The persona he’d carefully crafted hurt no one. Most found his antics amusing rather than off-putting. The one character flaw he’d needed no help in creating was his inability to care deeply about any topic.

What he did for his country he did because of a strong dislike of idleness and the mind-numbing boredom induced by his set’s pastimes. Of late though, he’d found himself looking forward to the day when Britain and her allies crushed Bonaparte’s growing empire, thus ending the Corsican’s reign and terminating Shev’s pact with Somerton.

A sound in the corridor outside his study caught his attention. The rotating chain clanked to a halt. He peered out the window and realized midmorning had arrived while he’d sat here ruminating over an angry, distant child and a desirable, forbidden governess.

He checked his timepiece and saw that it was time to unveil his surprise. He hoped it would accomplish what he had failed to do since Jacqueline’s arrival—make her smile.

Standing, he straightened his clothing, anxious to get through the next thirty minutes without making matters worse. For someone who was unaffected by the feelings of others, Shev found himself navigating unfamiliar territory with his daughter—and the governess.

Many of his actions and comments were now carefully crafted around what he
thought
would please them. And, to be honest, him. It didn’t take a wise man to discern Anne’s unease at having to dine with the family. But he couldn’t elevate her need to avoid him above his need to have her close.

Selfish bastard.

Jacqueline’s impatient voice reached Shev’s ears before he even made it into the entry hall. He quieted his footsteps until Miss Crawford and the girl came into view, their backs to him.

Dressed in a serviceable buckskin-colored dress trimmed in black, the governess spoke to Jacqueline in soft, guiding tones. Tones that matched the gentle contours of Anne’s beautiful face and the subtle curves of her body.

“When do we leave?” Jacqueline asked in French.

“As soon as Lord Shevington arrives,” Miss Crawford answered in English.

Jacqueline turned her attention toward the grand staircase, no doubt expecting him to descend from the family quarters rather than approach from his study. Although her expression remained impassive, her small frame vibrated with anticipation. The dread he’d been feeling all morning lifted.

“Where is he?” Impatience laced the girl’s words.

“His lordship said he would meet us here at half past ten.”

Jacqueline squinted at the large antique clock resting against one wall. “He’s late.”

“Not yet.” Anne indicated the clock’s long hand. “Half past is when this arm is pointing toward the six. It’s only on the five, which means Lord Shevington has five more minutes.”

The girl’s eyes narrowed on the clock.

Anne smiled. “I’ll introduce you to time telling soon enough.”

Shev stepped out of the shadows. “Time telling? Why would a five-year-old need to know the time?”

They both jerked as if Cook had caught them with their fingers in the meringue. “To know whether a young man is late or not, of course,” Anne replied.

“I’ve found punctuality to be a dead bore. Anticipation keeps things interesting.”

“Only if you’re the one creating the anticipation.”

“Sounds like you are too often the recipient and not the creator. Something I shall have to remedy.”

“Instead, why don’t you explain why you’ve arranged this outing.”

Shev glanced down and found wide brown eyes riveted on him. “What do you think, Jacqui?” Shev asked in English. “Shall I allow Miss Crawford to win this battle?”

The girl’s brows scrunched together at his shortening of her name. Slowly, she nodded, as if she were waiting for an unpleasant response.

“Win goes to the lady, then.” Shev smiled at Anne before leading them outside—toward the large barn.

The moment Jacqueline realized their destination, she hurried to his side and asked in French, “Do you have horses, sir?”

“Pardon?” he asked in English. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”

Jacqueline’s jaw clenched, weighing how far she could push the issue. Anyone who knew him well could have told her that Shev rarely lost such challenges.

She asked again, this time in broken English.

He rewarded her with a smile. “A few. Why? Do you like horses?”

“Oui
.
”
Cautious joy lit her solemn face. “Father would not let me near—” She cut her confession off and lowered her attention to the ground.

“The horses?” Shev finished for her, halting.

Every muscle in her small body locked in place. With her chin tucked in so tightly against her chest, her dark hair created a shield around her face. She said nothing.

Bending low, Shev asked, “Why won’t your father let you around his horses, Jacqui?”

Silence.

“Do you like to poke them with a stick?”

Her head snapped up. “No!”

“Do you steal their food?”

“No.” She stamped her foot for emphasis.

“Do you tickle them until they’re rolling on the ground?” Shev put words to action and, his fingertips attacked her middle.

While trying to defend her ribs, Jacqueline stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. He understood then that no one had ever tried to make her laugh. No one had ever played with her until she shrieked with abandon. Shev increased his efforts until the girl’s giggles filled the air, then he swooped her up into his arms and lifted her chin. Her laughter died.

“Why are you not allowed near the horses?” he asked quietly.

When she did not answer him, he glanced at Miss Crawford, who only sent him a soft, sad smile in return.

Shev was at a loss. He knew nothing of children and even less of little girls. They were strange creatures, girls. And they only grew more perplexing as they matured. So he did the first thing that came to mind.

Lifting his free hand, he waited for Jacqueline’s curiosity to get the best of her. The moment she transferred her dejected attention to his hand, he curled his fingers into a claw, then aimed for her stomach.

“Tell me, or face the tickle monster.”

“
Non, non, non!
”

“Tell me now—in English—and I’ll call the monster off.”

She leaned way back, pushing against his chest. Never taking her eyes off his hand. “Little girls are too loud. They scare the horses.”

Only days ago, Shev would have agreed with Bélanger. But seeing the girl’s desolate expression made him rethink his earlier assessment. “Shall we put his theory to the test?”

“Theory?” Jacqueline looked from him to Anne.

“Thoughts,” Miss Crawford offered as a substitute.

“I don’t want to scare the horses,” Jacqueline whispered. “Just want to pet them.”

“Then pet you shall—after a bit of shrieking.” Shev danced his fingertips beneath the girl’s chin, under her arms, and along her sides.

Overcome with laughter, she did not even realize they now stood inside the stables, amidst thirty prime horses. Their big brown watchful gazes followed the wiggling girl as she tried in vain to evade his fingers. The more curious horses stuck their heads out into the aisle for a better view. The shyer ones tracked her progress from within the safety of their stalls.

Shev wondered what Miss Crawford thought of his antics. He was rather surprised by them himself. Children always tended to want something, either physically or emotionally. The former was easily achieved with a penny here or there. However, he had no notion of how to assuage their emotional needs. They seemed to flop about like leaves in a storm.

He stopped in front of his gentlest mare, Lottie. Overcome with giggles, it took Jacqueline a few seconds to become aware of her surroundings. About the same time, Lottie nosed her shoulder. Not understanding, Jacqueline arched away from the mare and wrapped her thin arms around Shev’s neck.

The contact caught him off guard and, once again, he looked to Miss Crawford for guidance. This time, her expression glowed with encouragement and, if he wasn’t mistaken, pride. Her simple acknowledgment that he’d done right by the banshee made him feel more alive than he’d felt in years, decades.

Jacqueline buried her head deeper into his shoulder, bringing his attention back to his mission, of sorts. He rubbed his hand over her narrow back. “Jacqui, meet Lottie. Not everyone gets her nose nudge on the first day. She likes you.”

Using his free hand, he slid it down the mare’s sleek brown cheek. He continued the motion until Jacqueline raised her head. “Would you like to give it a try?”

She nodded and made a quick movement toward the horse. Lottie backed up a step. Jacqueline retreated to his shoulder. “I scared her.”

“Nonsense. Lottie’s a brave girl, and it will take more than a wee lass to spook her.”

“But she backed away.”

“Sudden movements can cause uncertainty in any animal. People too.” Shev angled his head to the side to see her face. She stared at the horse with a mixture of longing and dejection. Moments like this reminded him of why he kept his association with people brief and of little consequence. Stringing together a proper set of words to soothe another’s feelings was foreign to him. Normally, he would not even try. However, Shev felt an unusual, compelling need to return the smile to Jacqueline’s miserable face.

“Lottie likes you. Now you must earn her trust.”

A small spark of hope entered Jacqueline’s sad eyes. “How?”

“Hold your hand out flat like mine.” He waited for her to comply. “Follow my lead. Gentle strokes.”

With a timidity he had never witnessed in her before, Jacqueline’s hand followed his down Lottie’s broad, white-streaked nose. They repeated the action twice more before the mare stepped closer, her eyelids growing heavy. Shev removed his hand and allowed the girl to continue on her own.

“Now you have her friendship and trust,” he said in a low voice. “You must work hard to keep it.”

“I will.” Determination laced her awed voice.

Shev glanced over Jacqueline’s head in time to see Miss Crawford spin around and stride in the opposite direction. He started to call out to her, then noticed she made a surreptitious swipe across one cheek.

He caught the eye of his stable master and motioned him over. “Finn, would you mind giving Miss Jacqueline a tour?”

“Would be my pleasure, sir.”

The Irishman peered down to where Jacqueline now stood at Shev’s side. Women of all ages found Finn’s exaggerated winks and crooked smile charming and his brogue lyrical. He wondered if Miss Crawford would agree.

“Have you much experience with horses, lass?” Finn asked.

“No, sir.”

Lottie picked that moment to extend her long neck over the stall door and nudge the back of Jacqueline’s head, causing the girl to giggle.

Finn held out his hand. “Looks like Lottie wants you to meet the rest of the ladies and gents.”

Jacqueline looked to Shev for confirmation. He nodded and she slid her tiny hand into the stable master’s.

“Finn, I’ll rejoin you in five minutes. Why don’t you take Jacqui to see the newcomer?”

The man flashed him a mischievous smile, then led Jacqueline away. Shev watched them for a moment, admiring Finn’s ease with the child. In no time, he had her skipping along next to him.

He found Miss Crawford hovering near the entrance to the stable, the bright morning sky glowing behind her, casting her familiar form in dark shadow. She was like a forbidden beacon, one he could not ignore.

Stopping a few feet away, he clasped his hands behind his back. “Did I say something to upset you?”

She stiffened at the sound of his voice, then her shoulders relaxed and she turned to face him. All traces of her tears had disappeared. “Of course not, my lord.”

“Why did you walk away?”

“What you did back there, with Jacqueline, was amazing.”

Shev’s grip on his hands tautened. “And this distressed you?”

“Quite the contrary, my lord.” She glanced down at her own tightly clasped hands. “I found myself riveted by the way in which you worked to repair the deep wounds inflicted by her French father. And for that, I beg your pardon.”

He stepped closer, wanting to ease the tense lines bracketing her forehead, her eyes, even her mouth. His gaze lingered on the fullness of her lips, the delicate pink hue. He had no doubt their softness would be unrivaled by any he’d tasted before.

When the ravaged sound of his breath reached his ears, he dug the blunt tips of his fingernails into his palms.
Focus on the conversation at hand, Shevington.
“Why do you need my pardon?”

“It was a private moment between you and Jacqueline, and I had no right to intrude. I’ll not make the same mistake again, my lord.”

Knowing he shouldn’t, but helpless to stop his forward momentum, Shev reduced the distance between their bodies. “Number one: Had I wanted privacy, I would have asked for it. Number two: Your presence provided the necessary guidance I needed not to muck up the situation. And number three: You had every right to be there. Without your patience and gentle hand, Jacqueline would never have given me the opportunity. She would have run away, screaming something indecipherable.”

The governess’s expression went from embarrassment to shock to disbelief to horrified amusement. He enjoyed the latter the most. In her sparkling wide eyes, he glimpsed not the unblemished, leather-bound edition of Anne Crawford she presented to the world, but the raw, unedited, infinitely more interesting version.

“Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Miss Crawford?”

“Certainly, my lord.”