What the Earl Desires (22 page)

“Shite.”

“Exactly.” He sighed. “I have not talked to her since.”

Of all the things, Colin expected what he got wasn’t even close. Wilkes began laughing. Colin scowled at his friend until he managed to get a hold of himself.

“Do you care to explain what is so funny?”

“You,” he managed between breaths. “You are acting like a love-struck chit. Your face screams of the desire to see her again.”

“Sod off, Wilkes.”

He held up his hands, laughter spilling from his eyes. “Go see her.”

“Not something I can manage right now, Wilkes. I happen to be a bit busy with things here then I am going after the one who tried to kill me.”

With those words the atmosphere changed. All joviality vanished.

“What did you find?” Wilkes asked.

The rest of the evening passed with him filling Wilkes in on it all and what he’d learned. His dreams that night were rough. They centered around Najja and his inability to save her. He awoke struggling not to cry out and found Berry over him.

“What?” he bit off.

“You have a visitor, my lord.”

Colin glanced at the clock and cursed. He’d overslept for it neared noon. Wiping the grit from still tired eyes, he sat up and left the bed. Cranky from lack of decent sleep, he pushed into the drawing room and froze at the sight before him.

Viscount Chambers and his family occupied the room.

“Hello cousin,” Stephan said, his small beady eyes staring at him from deep within his fleshy face.

Chapter Ten

Najja followed behind Jo and Lady Adrys as they navigated through the snowy sidewalks in Mayfair. They’d been in London for almost a week and Jo had been going crazy. But then, so had she.

The day’s weather bit at her exposed skin like pinpricks. She felt sorry for the old servant who had to wait with the carriage. Although the streets were mostly quiet she never let down her guard. She still had no clue who was after Hayworth and his family.

She trailed them into a modiste and watched Lady Adrys explain what they were after to a woman with a thick French accent. A fake accent.

“Look at all the fabrics, Najja,” Jo said halting beside her.

Her animated tone almost got a smile.

“There are certainly a lot. Are there colors you like more?”

Jo moved to a bolt of sapphire blue fustian. “This…is beautiful.”

“Josephine, come try some things on,” Lady Adrys ordered.

Najja went too and sat with Lady Adrys during Jo’s fittings. She did her best to stay unobtrusive but it wasn’t easy to do. The Adryses were a hot topic in Society at the moment. The main reason they were out shopping today. They’d received an invite to a winter party. So Lady Adrys decided new frocks were in order.

It was early evening when they returned to the Adrys house. Najja cried off and headed to her room. She pulled out the leather she had been given and got to work on finishing up her new shirt. She barely blinked when the door swung open and Jo bounded in.

“There you are! Why did you not join us for the meal?” Jo sank to the floor beside her.

“I had some other things to finish up. Put that down.” She glanced up and made sure Jo placed her sai back down. “Should you not be readying for bed?”

Jo ignored her and stretched out on the rug next to her. “What are you making?”

With an eye roll, she put her attention back to the leather in her hand and continued making nice even stitches. “A shirt.”

“You do such a good job, Najja. I could never do that.”

“Jo, you can do anything. It only takes practice.”

She scoffed. “I do not think
any
amount of practice will make me good at embroidery.”

Najja struggled not to laugh. Jo had a valid point. Her attempts garnered her bloodstained cloth and injured fingers.

“This is not embroidery.” She put down her shirt and picked up another smaller item. “Here. Sew this. Leave this much extra.” She showed Jo one stitch. “Keep it like that, there is no need for perfection. Just sew.”

So they did. Jo lay on her belly sewing a pouch while Najja sat cross-legged and worked on her new shirt. After Jo finally went to bed, Najja headed for the servants’ hall, the room where they took their meals.

Fowler, the butler, and Mrs. Tenwhyse, the housekeeper, were in there. They both fell silent at her approach. Their gazes weren’t friendly however neither were they hostile. She could care less if they liked her though, she’d been hated plenty.

“Good eve, Miss Najja,” Fowler said, stirring his tea.

“Good evening, Mr. Fowler. Mrs. Tenwhyse.” She faced the housekeeper. “Mrs. Tenwhyse, I was wondering if there happened to be an extra needle I might use.”

The woman sipped her drink before touching the lace cap on her head. She nodded. “I can get you one.” She paused. “Come morn.”

“Thank you,” she replied with a curtsey. “Good night to you both.”

Najja left and grabbed her cloak before slipping to the back door where she hesitated. It wasn’t snowing so her tracks would be visible. She frowned but snuck back up to her room, bypassing a maid enclosed in a passionate embrace with a footman.

Seemed everyone was finding love. Not that she begrudged them. No, more like she envied them. She experienced love and now she had lost it.

Colin. She slid into her bed and closed her eyes willingly entering a world where she and Colin had more than one single night.

In the morning, she accompanied Jo to the parlor where a dour-faced man waited to give her lesson on the piano. Silent she sat in a chair and pretended to be invisible.

Mr. Spindle was not a very pleasant man. Nothing Jo did seemed to please him.

“Sit up straight!” he snapped for what seemed to be the hundredth time, cracking a ruler in his palm directly by Jo’s ear.

“I am!” Jo thundered back obviously having reached her breaking point.

“This is wrong. All wrong.” He waved his hands around for emphasis. “You are slovenly and have no ear for--”

“Enough,” Jo interrupted him. She got off the bench and squared off with the man.

Najja left her chair and moved up from behind, just in case.

“You mannerless chit,” he bit off all trace of his French accent gone. “A proper woman learns to play by letting the teacher do his job.”

Jo propped her tightly fisted hands on her hips and glared. “And if the teacher is incompetent? Then what?”

“In…incompetent?” he sputtered. “I am highly sought after.”

“Not sure why,” she sneered. “You only yell and have deplorable French. Do you
even
speak the language?” Jo tapped her foot. “Do you know what an odious man you are? And how bad you smell?” she demanded in French.

Najja fought back her laughter. The man didn’t seem to get the questions. His face grew red with rage.

“I thought not,” Jo crowed. “We are finished. See yourself out.”

When the man reached for Jo, Najja spoke up.

“That would not be advisable.”

His calculating gaze swung to her and she knew he’d forgotten she had resided in the room. In less than a heartbeat his anger and embarrassment had refocused upon her. Derision flooded his gaze.

“This is of no concern for you, servant.”

“It will be if you try to lay a hand on Miss Adrys.” She maintained a composed tone.

His nose flared and he stepped toward her, she read the menace in his eyes. She blinked and copied his movement, effectively positioning herself in front of Jo.

“Are you threatening me?” he demanded, sounding all kinds of affronted.

“Not at all, Mr. Spindle,” she remarked. “I do not make threats.” The promise laced her tone and she knew he understood.

He huffed and glared behind her and said, “See what happens when you grow up in a place without civilization? You become a savage!” Mr. Spindle stomped out.

Jo hollered after him, “You could not teach a fish to swim you damn—”

“Jo!” Najja reprimanded cutting her off regardless of speaking French.

“What? Do not pretend to disagree with me, Najja. You know I am right.” She fumed. “He called me a savage!”

“Hardly the point, Jo. Now practice.”

Jo harrumphed but sat back down on the oak bench. Najja slid beside her and laid her hands against the keys. “You have a great ear for music, Jo. Why do you fight it so hard?”

Jo hit a few keys. “You play better.”

“Perhaps but you also play the harp and the viola.” Najja stared at her friend before nudging her with a shoulder. “Play with me.”

“Play what?”

“Who cares. Close your eyes and play.”

So they did. When the music stopped, clapping took its place. Najja opened her eyes to find Lord Adrys leaning against the end of the piano.

“Papa,” Jo said affectionately. “When did you arrive?”

He smiled at his only child. “Not long after Mr. Spindle stormed out.” Hayworth frowned even thought his eyes held traces of humor in them. “You cannot act like that, Jo.”

“He called me a savage!” she cried again.

Whatever her father was about to divulge was contained. He stroked his moustache. “Your mother wishes to see you, Jo.”

With a quick hug for her and a kiss for her father, Jo hastened out of the music room. Hayworth looked at her and she waited for him to speak. “He said you threatened him.”

She played a melody she’d learned years ago eyes on her fingers as they danced along the ivory keys. “I do not make threats.”

“You know what I mean.”

Without breaking off the music, she licked her lips and met his eyes. Eyes identical to his daughter’s. “I am here to keep Miss Adrys safe. I stopped him from reaching for her with anger in his expression and body language.” Ending her song she rose from the seat. “Would you like me to leave?”

He stared at her, an affronted expression on his face. For a few charged moments he stared at her before sliding closer, his hand skimmed across the polished top of the piano until it came to an edge.

She held his gaze, her head tipped back in order to do so. His expression confused her, she could sense his displeasure but she had no clear understanding if it was directed at her or himself. He reached out and captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“You will always have a place in my house, Najja. We look upon you as family.”

Then he walked away without a look back. The door closed shutting her in the room. Family. A single word which struck fear into her. The idea so grand, so tempting.

So forbidden.

No matter what they said, she did not belong. With a deep sigh she stood and stepped away from the piano. Her fingers lingered lovingly upon the keys before she shook her head at such fanciful thoughts and strode briskly to the door. There were things to do. Not time for frivolous dreams.

A week later she sat back in the music room while Jo learned how to dance. She observed with half an eye since the teacher was an older gentleman who was very respectful. So she kept the majority of her attention upon the sewing in her hand.

Jo’s laughter made her smile. At least the child had become less reluctant to settle into life here in England. As she sewed, Jo learned the intricacies of the dances. When the session ended she and Jo relaxed before Jo’s night out. The women got ready for the winter ball and headed off in the carriage. Jo fidgeted during the ride and when they arrived she leaned forward and whispered words of encouragement to her friend. Then she focused on her job--keeping Jo safe. In the ballroom she skirted the edge until she got to a vantage point she preferred. Luckily, it was also where the other chaperones sat. Najja moved her chair a little further away and sat, alone with all senses alert.

For the first part of the night, things were pretty mundane. However nothing could have prepared her for when a tingle ran up her spine. The women near her gasped and tittered.

Eyes lifted and her breath caught in her throat. Across the room from her, the object of everyone’s attention stood the newest Earl of Clifton. Colin Faulkner.

The chatter seemed to quiet when he and Wilkes were announced. Sharing a look with his friend, the men separated and he headed toward their hostess, ignoring the numerous gasps that followed his progress.

Dowager Duchess Haversham was near to his mother in age. She spoke as she saw fit and none dared to contradict her. Forgiving her eccentric behavior because of wealth, age, or perhaps both. Her diminutive size mislead many into making the wrong assumption thinking she was a weak woman, or an easy mark. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

He paused before her and sketched a bow. “Your Grace.”

She pinned him with her sharp blue eyes. They were full of calculating light. Her fingers flexed on the handle of her cane.

“Clifton,” she hesitated. “I think we should talk. Escort me to my seat.”

He did as she bade, not giving the mothers with her more than a nod. They sat down after passing some open chairs until she’d found the seat she desired.