The Virgin Who Humbled Lord Haslemere

by Anna Bradley

  Let him in? Why, he truly had gone mad! She poked her head out the window again. “Do you have any idea what Daniel Brixton will do to you if he catches you here?” And that was to say nothing of Lady Clifford, who could be a great deal more frightening than Daniel when her temper was roused.

  “He will catch me here if you insist on conducting our negotiations through the window.” He tutted, shaking his head as if she were a naughty child.

  “We have nothing to negotiate!” Georgiana meant to whisper, but her ire made her voice louder than it should be. She jerked her head back inside and cast a fearful look at Emma’s bed before recalling Emma wasn’t there.

  She was on her own. On her own with a large, persistent earl who—

  “Miss Harley? Are you there?”

  An earl who didn’t have the sense to keep his voice lowered. Georgiana drew in a deep breath and thrust her head back out the window. “I already told you, my lord. I have nothing to say to you.”

  He was quiet for a moment, then, “Is this about the preserves?”

  She stared down at him, baffled. Preserves? What was the man on about now? What pre—

  Oh. Her quince preserves. Her sweet, lovely, delicious quince preserves that he’d sent to a syrupy grave with his foolishness. It didn’t have to do with the preserves, though if the truth were told, the loss of them hadn’t helped his cause any.

  Even from up here Georgiana could hear his exasperated sigh. “Answer the question, Miss Harley. Are you holding a grudge against me because of the quince preserves? If you’re that put out about it, I’ll scour London until I find you something else—”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake!” Georgiana tugged the window down, lit a candle, then snatched up her cloak and hat and scurried from her bedchamber, muttering furiously to herself as she made her way down the stairs. “…a menace…meddling, arrogant rake…should just let Daniel have him, only…only…”

  Only a pistol shot would wake Lady Clifford and the girls. It wasn’t because she cared a whit for Lord Haslemere’s welfare.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs, hurried down the hallway, and opened the front door, wincing as her bare feet landed on the cold stone of the top step. She didn’t venture any further, but glared down at Lord Haslemere, who was waiting on the pavement. “Well?”

  He didn’t answer right away, but frowned as he took her in from head to toe. “Do you sleep in that cloak and hat?”

  “What?” Georgiana glanced down at herself and huffed out a breath. “What kind of absurd question is that?”

  “I was just curious. Aside from Lady Wylde’s ball tonight, I’ve hardly ever seen you out of it.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “The hat doesn’t suit you. The cloak either, but the hat is worse by far.”

  Georgiana raised a self-conscious hand to her head, then jerked it away again, furious with herself. “Is that why you came here in the middle of the night, my lord? To find out what I wear to bed?”

  His brow furrowed. “No. Why should I come here for that?”

  “I’ll give you exactly one minute to explain what you’re doing here, Lord Haslemere, and then I’m going to wake Daniel Brixton.”

  “My, you’re cross when you first wake up, aren’t you?”

  Georgiana stared at him, her heart turning somersaults in her chest. It was a good thing she was immune to his charm, because otherwise she might have felt a little flutter in her belly at the hint of humor in his dark eyes. “Fifty seconds, Lord Haslemere.”

  He held up his hands. “Yes, yes, all right. I want you to help me untangle these rumors about my sister.”

  Georgiana’s mouth fell open. Dear God, did he not understand the word “no”? This was what happened to a man when his every whim was indulged. “Let me see if I understand you. You came here in the middle of the night to demand something I’ve already refused you?”

  “I wouldn’t put it quite like—”

  “Does your arrogance know no bounds, Lord Haslemere? You eavesdropped on my conversation this evening, then followed me home, accosted me on a dark street, smashed my preserves to bits—”

  “Ah ha! I knew you were holding a grudge about the pres—”

  “Now you’ve assaulted my window and dragged me from my bed, and no doubt you think that charming smile of yours excuses it all!”

  There was a brief silence, then a slow grin lit his face. “You think my smile is charming?”

  Georgiana clenched her teeth. “I’ve already given you my answer, my lord.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t have all the information then.” He braced his hands against the fence railing, his teeth flashing white in the dim light. “I don’t think you’ll refuse me this time. You see, Miss Harley, I have something you want.”

  A sigh jerked loose from Georgiana’s chest. Even the man’s teeth were handsome. “That’s curious, my lord, because I can’t think of a single thing you can offer me.”

  “I own an empty building on Mill Street.” Lord Haslemere was paying close attention to her reaction, and he noticed her indrawn breath. “Might such a thing be of interest to you?”

  Without realizing she did it, Georgiana stumbled down one stair, then another, her held breath burning her lungs.

  “Struck dumb, Miss Harley? How gratifying.” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close to it. “I understand Lady Clifford is keen to expand the school. Is that the case?”

  Georgiana hesitated. She should deny it, refuse to give him such power over her, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “I…yes. There aren’t many buildings to let at a reasonable price, and most of them are too small for our needs. You’d be amazed at how much room little girls require.”

  “As much room as little boys, I’d guess. The building has remained empty since my grandfather’s death some years ago. It needs a bit of polishing, but it’s large, and near here.”

  Georgiana thought she knew which building he meant, and had never once imaged it could be theirs. After all those troublesome numbers that refused to add up, those uncooperative columns and rows she could still see swimming in front of her eyes, were their prayers really going to be answered as easily as this?

  And by a demon like Lord Haslemere?

  “Well, Miss Harley? Don’t keep me in suspense. Do we have an agreement?”

  One word, one small word was all it would take. Georgiana opened her mouth to say it, but the memory of the Duchess of Kenilworth’s pale face, the hint of fear there swam before her eyes. She’d made the duchess a promise.

  But then she’d made an implicit promise to her girls, too, her motley little group of six. She’d promised she’d take care of them, give them something to hope for, save them from the years of loneliness and misery she’d lived through after…

  She shook the thought from her head. It didn’t matter now.

  Surely, she could help Lord Haslemere while still keeping her promise to the duchess? Lord Draven was somehow connected to both Clara Beauchamp and the Duchess of Kenilworth, so the two matters already overlapped. Surely, she could do both at once?

  “You seem undecided, Miss Harley. Perhaps I should take my offer directly to Lady Clifford—”

  “No! We have an agreement, Lord Haslemere.” Georgiana couldn’t let that building slip through their fingers. She simply couldn’t do it.

  This time there was no mistaking the smirk, or the subtle mockery of his bow. “Good. I believe a call on Lord Draven is in order. I’ll fetch you tomorrow morning, just before calling hours. Until then, sweet dreams, Miss Harley.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled off into the night, whistling, leaving Georgiana nothing to do but watch him go, and wonder how a careless, feather-brained, arrogant rake like Lord Haslemere had gotten the best of her.

  Chapter Seven

 
It was appalling what a lady had to do to get her hands on a decent-sized Mayfair townhouse.

  Georgiana eased open the doorway of her bedchamber, poked her head out, and peeked down the hallway. Empty, just as she’d predicted. She crept down the stairs to the entryway, rose to her tiptoes, and peered through the panel of glass fixed into the front door. Weak morning sunlight struggled through the gray layers of smog and clouds above, but just as she’d expected, the steps and the street beyond were empty.

  Her lips curled with satisfaction.

  Of course, he wasn’t waiting for her. It was much too early for a fashionable gentleman like him to have risen for the day. No doubt he was lounging in his bed, and would remain there for, oh, another two or three hours, at the least. By the time he did stumble from his bed, she’d already have settled their business with Lord Draven.

  Lord Haslemere might have gotten his way last night, but just because she’d let him coax her into an arrangement didn’t mean she’d changed her mind about him. If last night had proved anything, it was that the man was careless, flighty, and unpredictable. It was sheer dumb luck his trick last night hadn’t ended with a pistol ball between his eyes.

  How could she be expected to work with such a man as that? At best, he was a distraction, and at worst, a liability. Fortunately, there was another way to get this business done, one that didn’t involve Lord Haslemere. If it meant she’d have to tell a few harmless falsehoods and sneak about a bit, then so be it.

  It wasn’t, after all, the first time.

  She eased the door open a crack and glanced around, just to be sure he wasn’t lurking in the shrubs as he’d done last night, but there wasn’t any sign either of him, or anyone else.

  Georgiana slipped outside, taking care to close the door quietly behind her. If she didn’t feel even a twinge of conscience at dodging Lord Haslemere, she did have an uncomfortable pang or two on Lady Clifford’s account.

  Georgiana didn’t make it a habit to sneak, hide, or lie to Lady Clifford. That is, she’d hadn’t lied, precisely. She’d simply withheld the entire truth, which wasn’t nearly as bad.

  In any case, she hadn’t had a choice. She couldn’t tell Lady Clifford about Lord Haslemere’s bribe—not when they’d already agreed to take on the duchess’s business. Lady Clifford would insist they do the honorable thing, and the Mill Street building would slip through their fingers like so much water through a sieve.

  It was a great pity honor should so often be at odds with practicality. Georgiana didn’t object to honor, of course. Not until it got in her way, that is.

  As far as Lord Haslemere was concerned, it was best for them both if she let him slumber and proceeded on her own, as she was accustomed to doing, then begged everyone’s pardon afterward. She’d wrap up this business more quickly that way, and really, wasn’t that what she and Lord Haslemere both wanted? Why, by the end of it he’d be thanking her for—

  “Going somewhere, princess?”

  Oh, no. Georgiana froze mid-step, her eyes slipping shut.

  “It’s a bit early in the morning for a stroll.” Slow, lazy footsteps approached, and Georgiana turned to find Lord Haslemere sauntering toward her.

  He didn’t look as if he’d just rolled out of bed. He was perfectly respectable this morning in tight, buff-colored breeches, a bottle-green coat, polished black boots, and a snowy cravat tied à la Haslemere. His auburn hair was slightly damp, and…she took a cautious sniff of the air.

  He smelled like peppermint, as if…

  He’d just emerged from his bath.

  An unexpected and wholly unwelcome image of Lord Haslemere lounging in his bath, his skin flushed and his damp hair curling against his neck, rose in her mind. She made a desperate attempt to banish it into the dark, cobwebbed corner where she buried such thoughts, but much like the man himself, they weren’t easily dismissed.

  Lord Haslemere—who was no doubt accustomed to ladies gawking at him—didn’t appear to notice her struggles. “I suspected you’d make an attempt of this sort.” He tutted, shaking his head. “Is this how you honor your commitments? For a lady with such high principles, you’re as wily as a rookeries pickpocket.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I’ve never picked a pocket in my life.” Why bother picking a pocket when it was so little effort to fleece them? “I don’t know what you’re suggesting, Lord Haslemere, but—”

  “We’re well past suggestion, Miss Harley. I’m outright accusing you of lying, sneaking, and base treachery.”

  Georgiana tossed her head. “Treachery is such a theatrical word. You have a flair for the melodramatic, my lord.”

  “Is that so?” Lord Haslemere pulled out his pocket watch and flipped it open with a careless flick of his finger. “I told you I’d fetch you at calling hours. It’s nine o’clock in the morning. If I didn’t know subterfuge to be beneath you, Miss Harley, I might think you were sneaking off to Lord Draven’s without me.”

  Georgiana tried to ignore the guilty heat creeping into her cheeks. Keeping the duchess’s secrets from a meddlesome lord who insisted on sticking his nose into his sister’s business was a delicate thing. It required some…finessing.

  “Careful, Miss Harley. That blush is giving you away.” Lord Haslemere raised an eyebrow at her. “It’s a very pretty one, but an innocent lady has no reason to blush.”

  Georgiana’s cheeks burned even hotter at his teasing, but she drew herself up with a sniff. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, my lord. I never blush.”

  “No? I must be mistaken. Still, I insist you allow me to escort you on your perfectly innocent morning errands. My carriage is just there.” He nodded toward the other side of the street, then held out his arm with an infuriating smirk. “Shall we, then?”

  “That’s, ah…that’s not necessary, my lord.” Even as the words left her mouth, Georgiana was bracing herself for the inevitable confrontation. Lord Haslemere had risked a midnight skirmish with Daniel Brixton last night. He was hardly going to give up now.

  “Oh, but I think it is.” His dark eyes were narrowed to slits. “Come now, Miss Harley, you insult me with this game. I know you were sneaking off to Lord Draven’s on your own, so let’s have the truth, if you please.”

  Georgiana bit her lip. “I fully intended to seek you out later, and tell you every—”

  “I slept well last night, Miss Harley. Peacefully, even, secure in the knowledge that whatever my sister’s trouble might be I’d soon get to the truth of the matter, with your help.”

  “We will get to the truth, I promise you, but—”

  “I was well satisfied with our bargain, you see,” he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “My building on Mill Street seemed a small enough price to pay to secure my peace of mind.”

  “Lord Haslemere, I—”

  “But my mind isn’t peaceful, Miss Harley, nor is any other part of me. We made an agreement, yet here you are, not twelve hours later, already breaking it. If I hadn’t been lying in wait for you and caught you out, I suspect you would have continued to prove elusive for the rest of the day.”

  “You admit you were lying in wait, then?”

  It was a feeble enough accusation, and predictably, it did nothing to deter Lord Haslemere, who was intent on a lecture. “Let’s clarify our positions, shall we? You’re my employee. That means I issue the commands, and you follow them.”

  “Commands!” Why, the nerve of the man. “I never agreed to follow your every—”

  “No more evasions, Miss Harley. No subterfuge, no lies, and no more sneaking about like a child with fistfuls of pilfered sweets. Do I have your word?”

  Protestations rose to Georgiana’s lips, but one look at him made her bite them back. He’d spoken calmly enough, but his eyes were surprisingly stern, and for the first time since their infamous meeting in Maiden Lane, it occurred to her Cecilia might be right ab
out him.

  Perhaps Lord Haslemere wasn’t quite the reckless, feather-brained rake all the ton supposed him to be. Cecilia had warned her he was much cleverer than people gave him credit for being—than even he gave himself credit for being.

  Georgiana had always assumed Cecilia was exaggerating Lord Haslemere’s abilities because he was Lord Darlington’s dearest friend, but now…well, she’d been tangling with him for less than a day, and he’d already managed to pin her down, hadn’t he?

  She blew out a breath and steeled herself for the humiliation of begging Lord Haslemere’s pardon. Oh, he’d make it unpleasant enough for her—she hadn’t any doubt of that. He’d tease and crow about it, and she’d hold her tongue, dash it, because the truth was, she was his employee, and she desperately wanted his building on Mill Street.

  The school needed it. The girls needed it.

  She threw her shoulders back and forced herself to meet those disturbing dark eyes. “You’re right, my lord. I did intend to sneak off to Lord Draven’s before you arrived, and I beg your pardon for it. It won’t happen again.”

  She waited, but the gloating she dreaded never came. Lord Haslemere studied her, as if he were gauging her sincerity, and then…

  “Very well. We’ll say no more about it.” A smile curved his lips, and it was like the sun emerging from a bank of clouds. Georgiana blinked at him, blindsided. It wasn’t just the smile, although now that the sensuous curve of his lips was directed only at her, she began to understand why every lady in London swooned over his smile.

  Not her, but…other ladies.

  But what really surprised her was the swiftness with which his emotions shifted from frustration to forgiveness, and from there to equanimity. It was all right there for anyone to see, playing like quicksilver over his face.

  Her own face felt stiff in comparison, immobile, but she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Lord Haslemere took her arm and began half-leading, half-tugging her toward his carriage. “Are you acquainted with Lord Draven, Miss Harley?”