‘Oh, pshaw, Mr. Carling! You do say such things!’ Lady Ottersby cried.
A spasm of irritation crossed Mr. Carling’s face. He rolled his eyes ever so briefly.
Lady Ottersby snapped, ‘Explain yourself, Miss March!’
Beatrix had been gazing in growing astonishment at Mr. Carling, but now composed herself. ‘Miss Eudora asked me to fetch a shawl.’ She tried to sound obedient and submissive, neither of which virtue she could rightly claim.
‘Not that old rag,’ Lady Ottersby said with a contemptuous laugh and an arch glance at Simon. ‘Miss March has no concept of fashion.’
Again, Beatrix stomped on her indignation. She possessed plenty of fashion sense. She’d spent much of her time here playing lady’s maid as well as governess, doing her utmost to prevent the Ottersby girls from looking like dowds.
Judging by the spark in Lady Ottersby’s eye, Beatrix hadn’t suppressed her true feelings well enough. ‘The new Norwich shawl, stupid girl. Hop to it and return to your post, or I shall consider replacing you.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ Beatrix said. This was no idle threat, and a shiver of trepidation ran though her. She couldn’t leave without the reliquary. She had to get it back.
Lady Ottersby jabbed her hand into the crook of Simon’s arm. ‘Mr. Carling, we are about to indulge in some music. You must hear my Eudora play. You shall be rapt, I assure you!’ She hauled him down the passageway.
Appalled, Beatrix watched them go. Mr. Conk had spent most of his time in London for the past few months, dashing Eudora’s hopes, and meanwhile Lady Ottersby’s ambition for her daughters had grown more and more unrealistic. That afternoon, Beatrix had tried to warn Lady Ottersby about Simon’s reputation and been rebuked for gossiping about her betters. Now, after Simon’s frank confession of his lecherous nature, Lady Ottersby still saw him as a prospective suitor for her daughters.
Beatrix considered speaking to Lord Ottersby, but dismissed the idea immediately. When she’d first come to the household, he’d seemed a fond enough father, but she must have been mistaken. Lately, he’d paid no attention to his daughters at all.
Beatrix hesitated outside the door of Eudora’s chamber, her eyes still on Simon. His appearance was faultless: his cravat snowy-white, his coat perfection across his wide shoulders, his buff pantaloons snug on well-formed calves, but underneath…oh, underneath those clothes he was doubtless a fine-looking man as well, and she shouldn’t be thinking such thoughts. Inside, then. Inside, he was a Bad Man.
Bad or not, he would undoubtedly approve Beatrix’s choice of shawls for Eudora, once he saw how the new one would clash with her evening gown. Why Beatrix should care what Mr. Carling thought, she had no idea, but as the ill-assorted pair rounded the corner, he turned and flashed her a wink.
A little thrill tingled inside Beatrix’s belly. Resolutely, she ignored it. He probably winked at every attractive woman who crossed his path. Determination simmered inside her. She’d begun to pity Eudora, thief though she was, and she couldn’t let her life or the lives of her younger sisters be ruined by this callous rake. Lady Ottersby might think she could trap him into marriage with one of her daughters, but Beatrix knew better.
She folded the old shawl and put it away, got out the new one, and glanced into the adjoining dressing room. Yes! There were a number of boxes on the shelves which might contain personal items. All she needed was another chance to search before she lost her temper and her job.
By professing to know nothing about music, ignoring his hostess’s machinations, and doing some insistent shoving, Simon maneuvered Delbert Conk into turning the pages of Miss Ottersby’s music. At this rate, he would have to propose marriage for Del as well. He stepped a little behind the circle of guests standing around the piano, pondering whom to choose for his next victim. He’d ogled every female guest, but apparently he would have to try harder to convince Lady Ottersby, or at least her daughters, of his lecherous nature. Their father seemed hardly aware of their existence, so he could expect no help there. A married guest might be more useful than a maid, as long as she could be counted upon to shriek at his effrontery and vilify his character to all the other guests. Oh, and as long as her husband didn’t take offence and try to kill him.
There weren’t many to choose from. He was taking stock of the female guests, wondering which might prove most high-strung, when he found himself trapped: Miss Helena Ottersby sidled up on his left flank and Miss Louisa on his right. On the far side of the piano, a little smile played about their mother’s mouth. As if at some invisible signal, the two girls—ridiculously young at sixteen and seventeen—moved closer. Helena put her hand on his arm and smiled archly up at him, while Louisa’s hip bumped his and stayed there.
Simon began to be annoyed. Such blatant tactics merited an equally crude response.
Miss March appeared in the doorway. He smiled at her, and she stared haughtily back, but he didn’t miss the flush that rose to her cheekbones. Now, this was a woman worth pursuing. He’d noticed her in London a year earlier, but rake though he might be, he didn’t seduce virtuous governesses.
Pretty, but not in the common way, with lush chestnut hair and an elegant figure, she was far more of a lady than his dragon of a hostess. Although her simple gown befitted her occupation, its excellent cut and expensive fabric spoke of money and taste. A cast-off from a previous mistress, perhaps, but that didn’t explain her poise. She held herself with too much confidence for a semi-servant, and she had a temper. She hadn’t hesitated to say what she thought of him, and she’d been within Ames’-ace of retorting to Lady Ottersby. It seemed she was appalled as he at the idea that he might compromise one of her charges, although for another reason entirely.
How amusing. He followed her graceful figure as she edged around the room, trying to be unobtrusive. He chuckled. She wasn’t meant to be invisible. She reminded him a little of a courtesan he’d once known, not beautiful as much as fiercely alive, and a tigress in bed.
She hovered against the wall with the Norwich shawl over her arm. It would look atrocious with Miss Ottersby’s pink gown. Poor Miss March must be humiliated at the prospect of draping it over the girl’s shoulders. He would give her something more interesting to think about and have some fun as well.
While Eudora pounded out page after page of a sonata, Simon whispered to one sister and the other, back and forth, making progressively more improper remarks about the sort of pleasures a rake enjoys. Louisa moved an inch or two away. Helena’s hand dropped from his arm. He didn’t need eyes in the back of his head to know how intensely the governess watched him or to sense her gradual approach.
‘Come to think of it,’ he said a little louder, running a finger down Helena’s spine, ‘I should like to do it to both of you at once.’
Helena gave a horrified gasp and sprang away. Louisa merely froze, so he snaked a hand behind her and pinched her bum. She shrieked, and at the same instant Miss March slipped neatly between them, and his wayward hand brushed her breast.
Beatrix hissed. Mr. Carling’s fingers slid gently down the edge of her breast, sending an inconvenient thrill directly to her core. How could she be attracted to such a devil?
‘Feeling neglected, Miss March?’ he murmured. ‘So sorry, but I only have two hands.’
She wanted to slap him silly, but the music had stopped at Louisa’s shriek. Everyone turned their way. ‘It was a rat,’ Beatrix said quickly. ‘Are you all right, Miss Louisa?’
‘Of course she is,’ said her mother. Lord Ottersby had fallen asleep on the sofa and didn’t even stir. ‘Such a fuss over nothing. Miss March, I can’t allow you to foster weakness in my daughters.’
Yet ruining their lives was perfectly fine? Marriage could be a prison even with a relatively