Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “Dash!” Harry cried out again and took off.

  “No,” Ada yelled, colliding with Nanny Finn as they both dove for the boy, who darted nimbly under the table of meat pies and toward the edge of the marketplace.

  “Harry,” Ada cried out to him. But he continued to run.

  “Naughty boy,” Nanny Finn said, but Ada could hear the panic in her voice as they both tried to see the quickest way through the maze of stalls.

  They needed access to the field, which apparently, only a two-year-old and a dog could get to under the tables and through a hedge.

  Beginning to run, Ada thought it quicker to continue on rather than to go back the way she’d come. Soon, she’d cleared the market stalls and rounded the hedge and was at the far end of the field. There was Dash running in happy circles, barking madly, interrupting the game. One of the players, however, threw a spare ball to the far side of the field to get rid of the nuisance, and the dog took off.

  “For pity’s sake!” Ada exclaimed as the game resumed.

  Suddenly, heart-stoppingly, there was Harry, about to come up behind the wicket and the batter whom she feared hadn’t seen her little boy.

  She kept running straight toward the game, all the while screaming his name.

  And then, out of nowhere, tall, solid Michael Alder had taken to the field, yelling “Halt!” just as the pitcher wound up to throw.

  To her relief, everyone did exactly as ordered. The batsman lowered his bat, the pitcher lowered the ball, even the dog seemed to stop barking. And Harry suddenly looked around him, realizing he was in the middle of trouble.

  She was still yards away as he put the tips of his fingers into his mouth in a familiar gesture when frightened. Michael Alder scooped him up with a “Sorry, lads, carry on,” and headed toward her.

  Their eyes locked, and he offered her a comforting smile.

  Seeing Harry carried on Michael’s hip, her son’s arms around Michael’s neck, her stomach did a strange flip and tears filled her eyes.

  As soon as he was close enough, Michael set the boy down so she could scoop him up, though he was nearly too big for her to carry.

  After a moment, she set him on his feet and stayed down with him, her second time on her knees on the grass that day.

  Looking up at Michael, she said, “Thank you.”

  He nodded, then with a light tone added, “I would fire your nanny, if I were you.”

  “I suppose you have a spare one of those to send my way, as well,” she joked back until her heartbeat slowed. Harry was safe. That was all that mattered.

  Nanny Finn arrived, breathing hard at the unaccustomed run.

  “So sorry, madam,” she began.

  “It’s not your fault,” Ada said. “Who could imagine he would go under the table?”

  “Dash,” Harry said, reminding them of the little troublemaker who’d started it all.

  Michael glanced around. “If my brother did his job, I’m sure we can get him back.”

  He peered toward the distant edge of the field where the dog seemed to be playing by itself with no recollection of its owners.

  “Dash,” he yelled as loudly as possible over the sound of the cricketeers and the few noisy spectators. The dog lifted its head at hearing its name. “Come!”

  Instantly, and to Ada it looked like pure magic, the spaniel began running toward them at full speed.

  “Thank goodness,” she said.

  “Yes,” Michael quipped. “I’d hate to have to tell my brother we’d lost him in such a short time. I’m certain it would reflect poorly on us and not the dog.”

  Ada stayed on her knees as Dash arrived, nearly knocking her and Harry over.

  “He acts as though we left him,” she said, slipping the collar over his head and tightening it. “No more disappearing acts, thank you.”

  Standing, her gaze met Michael’s and, to her relief, some, if not all, the awkwardness had vanished, along with her exasperation.

  “Shall we join the others for the rest of the match?” he asked, taking hold of Harry’s hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  She exchanged a glance with Nanny Finn, who shrugged.

  “Let’s get some lemonade along the way,” Ada suggested, since her nanny still looked a little out of sorts.

  Thus, as they sipped lemonade and strolled to meet up with the rest of the Alder family, Ada felt a sense of peacefulness overtake her. She needn’t make any decisions regarding her plans at that moment. The future was uncertain, true, but Harry had been welcomed by his father and his father’s family, even if none of them were the wiser—an unexpected outcome of insinuating herself into Lord Vile’s life.

  *

  Being with Mrs. St. Ange was rather like being on a small boat in a rough sea, going up and down, and wavering between frustration, gladness, fear, and astonishment. In a word, exhausting!

  Also, utterly refreshing. And who would have thought he would be the hero of the day, rescuing both boy and dog? Their ride home was uneventful and quiet, as Harry fell asleep leaning against him, with Dash draped across them both.

  If he wasn’t careful, he would turn into an entirely domesticated male. He ought to go out carousing that very night to shake it off. First to White’s and then to one of the private Cyprian clubs where a luscious willing woman would be only too happy to share a few hours of pleasure.

  Except as he rode along with the St. Anges, sharing an occasional word with Ada Kathryn when she wasn’t reading from the newspapers his father had given her, he realized he didn’t want to carouse. This woman seated across from him, next to a snoozing Nanny Finn, had so taken hold of his senses and captured his interest, he couldn’t imagine being with any other.

  Even after the previous night’s debacle, which had begun divinely only to end with him in absolute confounded desolation.

  Pulling his flask out, he had a sip of brandy from his father’s well-stocked sideboard, a gift which he considered far better than newspapers. This small taste of delight engendered one of Ada’s sharp, disapproving glances.

  After another draught, he put it away, sighing to himself.

  He would like to stay in her good graces long enough to win her—

  Stop! Michael told himself, staring at her bowed head as she read an article. He’d nearly thought about winning the lady’s heart, as in having her fall in love with him. What a piss-poor idea!

  Shaking his head, he rested it on the leather headrest and closed his eyes. If he didn’t look at her, he needn’t think about her.

  He didn’t know how long he’d slept when he heard her voice and opened his eyes. She was in a discussion with Nanny Finn. When she saw he had awakened, she tilted her head, considering him.

  “Would you care to have dinner with us, Lord Alder? Since it will be nearly that time when we arrive home.”

  Her question filled him with warmth. And hope. How different an invitation than one he would receive from Elizabeth. She’d never invited him without needing his presence either for escorting her or for her bed. They never dined together merely for the pleasure of each other’s company as he and Ada already had.

  At least the food would be better this time, if Mrs. Beechum had done her job training Mary.

  “I would like that very much.” After all, “us” meant only the two of them.

  Thus, instead of being given a quick dismissal, Michael found himself seated in Ada’s dining room, discussing what she thought of his family and their estate, the events of the week she’d read in the paper, and how they hoped the food would taste as good as it smelled.

  With a glass of wine in hand and a perfectly creamy potato soup in front of him, Michael was relieved Ada no longer seemed upset the way she had at breakfast, when she wouldn’t even look at him. Thank God for the naughty dog.

  “Does Harry ever eat with you in here?”

  She shook her perfectly lovely head. “Not because I wouldn’t like it. But he gets fidgety, and it seems mor
e torture for him than a privilege. In a few years maybe.”

  She had a wistful look on her face.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked her, hoping she would tell him without hesitating and arranging her answer.

  To his surprise she did. “That it would be lovely for him to have a brother or sister in the nursery.”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, though, her blue eyes widened, and she gasped softly. To cover her embarrassment, she took a sip of wine and looked down at her soup bowl as if it was the most captivating sight in the world.

  Obviously, with her husband dead, she wasn’t going to give Harry a sibling anytime soon. She must have been thinking of it after seeing him with his own family. He could ease her mind.

  “I was so much older than my siblings, who are quite close in age, it was almost as if I was an only child. Look how I turned out.” He smiled.

  To his chagrin, she raised to him what could only be described as a horrified expression, staring with even wider eyes than before.

  “What?” he asked.

  She shook her head, shoveling in some soup and clamping her lips around the spoon, as if to keep from speaking.

  “Come now,” he urged her. “You’ve always spoken plainly to me. Brutally so, in fact. What have you to say?”

  “Only that you’ve turned out incredibly selfish, self-centered, self-serving, and even self-destructive.” She paused, then added, “Only from how little I know you, of course.”

  Good lord! She certainly didn’t mince her words. Taking a breath, he picked his serviette off his lap and dabbed at his mouth before placing it back. He had nearly picked it up and tossed it on the table.

  Part of him wanted to stand, give her a dressing down, and walk out. Yet he feared if he did, she would never contact him to apologize, and he might never see her again.

  How could he respond to a hostess who had so insulted her guest?

  “I see.”

  She chuckled. It sounded cynical to his ears.

  “And now you’re laughing at me?” He reached for his wine and drained the glass.

  “Well, you seem offended, which is laughable. As if your own behavior were a mystery to you, and as if you weren’t aware of what people call you.”

  He considered this. She was right in some respects, though he thought she probably imagined he’d lived his life even worse than he had. Perhaps far worse. Moreover, he had let people call him Lord Vile and not gainsaid them because he simply didn’t give a damn.

  Except he did when it came to her. He didn’t care what other people called him, but Ada…

  “What do you call me?”

  She sobered and tilted her head, taking his measure with those intelligent eyes of hers.

  “I call you Lord Alder, of course.”

  He waited while her maid filled his glass and left the room.

  “In your head, I mean. What do you call me when you’re alone?”

  She paled slightly, which he found interesting. To his way of thinking, it was an admission she did, indeed, think of him.

  However, all she did was shrug. “Don’t you think my cook has improved tremendously?”

  He kept her gaze captive a moment longer, then he nodded and looked at his soup. He ate a few more spoonfuls.

  “I do. Thanks to me, a selfish, self-centered oaf, we aren’t dining on gruel and pig slop.”

  With a rich, full sound, Ada laughed. He enjoyed it this time, far more than her mocking laughter.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” she protested.

  “Yes, it was. Truly, it was.” He nearly warned how she might start eating more and putting on a few pounds now that Mary could scrape a decent meal together. Yet—despite being considered vile—even he knew discussing her physical appearance, particularly her weight, would cause her to summon Mr. Randall and toss him out.

  Besides, he could easily recall her perfect shape, how much he enjoyed looking at her, touching the fullness of her breasts and the curve of her waist and her smooth, slender thighs.

  If she only knew what he was thinking, she certainly would have her butler throw him to the pavement.

  He wanted, instead, to be invited to her bedroom, and on a regular basis, too. How could he accomplish such a feat?

  “You’ve met my family,” he began. “May I meet yours?” He actually surprised himself, but found he very much wanted to meet them. At the moment, she was still a singular mystery. Perhaps if he met her parents or saw where she was raised, he could understand her better.

  A long silence followed his request.

  “They are not in London at present,” she finally responded.

  “Nor was my family.”

  She visibly sighed. “My parents’ home is farther away than yours.”

  “Surely you take Harry to see his grandparents periodically.”

  She sipped her wine. “I have only recently moved here. I have no plans to visit them anytime soon.”

  “And if you did, I take it, I would not be welcome.” He was starting to think he should have fought the ton at the outset of their nasty name calling.

  She hesitated again. He couldn’t imagine what she was pondering.

  “Perhaps when they next come to London.”

  He waited for her to finish the sentence, but she didn’t.

  That was it, the vaguest of suggestions. At some point in the future, her parents might come to London, but she would give him absolutely no assurance he would get to meet them.

  Perhaps, as an independent woman, she preferred a more direct approach.

  “I would like your leave to call you Ada without the uncomfortable feeling I am overstepping. Given all we have already experienced together, I believe that’s a reasonable request.”

  She stared at him, blinking her lovely blue eyes.

  Eventually, after a visible swallow, she nodded slowly.

  Good God! One would think he’d asked her some extraordinary favor.

  “Of course, I insist you begin calling me Michael.”

  Her eyes widened, and he thought she was going to refuse as she had done before. What would he do if she did? Nothing. She could call him whatever she liked, and he knew he would still be happy just to be in her presence. How odd!

  “Very well.”

  He was surprised by the tone of her voice, neutral not forced, and how she’d managed the words without choking. They were making progress. If she’d always been so difficult, though, he wondered at the power of her former husband to breach her walls and become close enough to ask her for her hand.

  What had she seen in Mr. St. Ange which had caused her to marry him? He longed to ask. If he ever did get to meet her parents, he might become as nosey as a maiden aunt.

  In any case, they were on a first-name basis at last. As the next course came in, smelling delectable, he decided to try it out.

  “Ada,” he began, watching her purse her lips, “how can I further my suit of you so we can reach an understanding?”

  “An understanding?” she repeated.

  “Yes, that we are a couple, linked in our own minds and in society’s. I want to make no more missteps, but I fear I don’t even know when I am making one.”

  “You assume I wish to become a couple, and to do so with you. What if I don’t want to with anyone? Perhaps I don’t wish to have an understanding.”

  It was his turn to sigh.

  “We are having dinner together. Moreover, in the privacy of your home and my parents’, we have—”

  He broke off as she paled. He’d better not speak words of intimacy or she might toss her plate at him.

  “We have been alone,” he finished lamely, leaving out all reminder of what they’d done when alone.

  “Yes,” she agreed, hissing slightly.

  “You seem to want my company.” Actually, it was more that she seemed to tolerate him, but he had too much pride to say that.

  “Yes,” she said more softly, as if loath to admit anything.


  He wanted to tear his hair out. She would give him absolutely no encouragement and no direction, not even the smallest hint she wished to become his exclusive paramour.

  “Is there something you wish me to do in order for us to become a couple?”

  What a convoluted, needlessly difficult situation!

  “Michael,” she said, trying out his name.

  He liked the sound of it on her tongue. Of course, it made him think of making love to her. Everything about her made him think the same as if he were a randy schoolboy.

  “If I were a debutante or even on my second Season, meaning if I were simply any innocent woman, not a widow and a mother—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted, “I understand the concept of a virginal lady. Please go on.”

  Her cheeks pinkened, as if she were indeed the very embodiment of a virgin.

  “Well, if I were such, then how would you go about forming an understanding with me? Certainly not in any of the ways you have so far,” she added. “They would all be considered too forward, including this meal tonight.”

  He considered her point. How did a normal man and woman form an association? They didn’t, he supposed, unless it were leading to an engagement, as he’d tried with Jenny, and then a marriage.

  Marriage with Mrs. St. Ange? Is that what she was meant? Every day and night together, living in the same house? Even raising Harry as if he were his natural father.

  He grabbed his wine and took a large sip. Yet, the dread of such a permanent and encompassing relationship did not materialize. He’d felt it before. Not with Elizabeth, for she never wanted any such thing. But with a few women before her who’d grown too fond of him and hinted at a permanent arrangement. Then, instantly, terror had gripped him, and he’d seen the woman’s many flaws, the things about her that annoyed him to the point of distraction. He’d always broken it off within hours.

  Another sip of wine, still, he felt none of the heart-pounding trepidation, only the desire to know Ada better.

  “I suppose if you were, as you say, an innocent, and if I wanted to form a lasting attachment, then I would properly woo you with flowers and poetry, sweet treats and outings, always with a companion so as not to sully your reputation.