Sari Robins - [Andersen Hall Orphanage 05]

by The Governess Wears Scarlet

  Dung?

  He sat up. Sharp pain sliced through his head like a scythe. He groaned, raising his fingers to a lump the size of a plum. “What the…?”

  Bright golden light hurt his eyes as he blinked them open.

  Golden. No, not golden, but straw bathed in sunlight.

  Hay. He was surrounded by mounds of hay. And the odor of dung was so powerful, he almost gagged.

  A pig squealed. A cow mooed.

  A barn. He was in a bloody barn.

  Swallowing back his bile, Steele looked around. The loft of a barn, he corrected, eyeing the wooden beams overhead. Golden wisps of light broke through the cracks in the wood, hailing the dawn.

  The sounds of animals moving below. A door creaking open, footsteps shuffling around.

  How the blazes did I get here?

  He forced his mind to remember.

  The widow! They were arguing…and then she shot him!

  With his heart racing, Steele planted his hands all over his torso, feeling for blood, or pain. But all he felt were the buttons of his coat, the wool of his cloak. No pain, no blood, no injury of any kind. Relief flooded through him. He wasn’t shot.

  But the sound. And all had gone black.

  His head.

  He must have been hit from behind.

  He didn’t know if he was pleased that he hadn’t been felled by the widow’s hand or frightened that someone else had come upon them.

  But wait a minute. She was facing his attacker. She must have seen the person, must have known it was going to happen.

  And she hadn’t warned him.

  His fingers curled and his teeth clenched with impotent rage. Did she have a collaborator? Had he been played?

  His fury was quick and hot as he recalled her moans and how she’d led him along like a dog in heat. Had her partner been waiting in the shadows and—his gut twisted—watching?

  Slowly he shook his head. Somehow he knew that they hadn’t been watched. After all his training, all his years of vigilance, he knew the feel of eyes upon him. He would have known. And even more compelling, the widow had not behaved like a woman acting a part or performing for another. There had been no awareness to her actions. No sense that another had been witnessing their act.

  Rubbing his temple, he forced his aching mind to work.

  So the other person had come after.

  But that person and the widow clearly had been in league together. Or else she would have warned him.

  Why was he assuming that she was rational? Why was he presuming that she wasn’t deranged?

  Because every encounter, everything he’d witnessed told him that she was sane, yet driven to a purpose that he did not understand.

  Peering over the side of the loft and noting the many rungs on the ladder leading down, he doubted she’d have been able to get him up to the loft by herself.

  No, it had likely been a man, and a strong one, to carry him up that ladder.

  The first time he’d encountered her, she’d been cornered by that nasty pair. Then the next she’d been with Jumper, talking about Lucifer Laverty. The circuit.

  Jumper!

  He had been nearby. And although they hadn’t been acting like lovers, they’d certainly exchanged words on some pretty clandestine topics.

  The logic of the idea settled upon him, and he suspected that Jumper was the man who had struck him.

  Exhaling, he scowled, anger and frustration making his belly roil.

  Jumper was going to have a few questions to answer tonight.

  Suddenly Steele’s heart lurched. Jumper’s currency was information! The man’s every act was predicated on knowing everything he could about everyone around him.

  His hand flew to his mask. It was secure. But had Jumper looked? Did Jumper know who he was?

  But Jumper wouldn’t recognize his face. The man didn’t run in his circles, even as solicitor-general. And Steele’s likeness had never appeared in the broadsheets, since in every criminal case it had been the defendant’s picture that had been displayed. For once he appreciated that anonymity.

  But what of the widow? Had she broken the very promise she’d demanded of him? Could she know his face? Could they have met before at a ball or musicale or society event?

  The agony of the betrayal, his humiliation and anger were too great. He ran his hand over his eyes, feeling ill. What had he done? Had he well and truly been compromised?

  A strangled laugh broke through his lips.

  Compromised. Like a lily white miss at the hands of a lecherous rake. In all his thirty-odd years, he never would have considered the possibility of being compromised.

  But in truth, she might not know him. And even if she did recognize him, whom would she tell without first explaining how she knew of his nocturnal activities? She could not let his secret be known without conceding her own behavior. But more importantly, who in his right mind would believe that the Viscount Steele roamed the streets of London at night in a mask? He felt reassured.

  The bigger question that begged to be answered was whether he could now seek out her identity if she’d breached her vow. The barrister in him cried out that all obligations toward her were dissolved by her actions. The gentleman in him knew that no matter what she’d done, he’d given his word and he could not break his vow.

  “So you’re safe for the moment, my little witch,” he muttered.

  “Who’s there?” a voice cried in alarm from below. It was male, and young.

  Rising on unsteady legs, Steele called out, “Have no fear. I mean no harm. I was just sleeping off a wild night.”

  “Who are you?” the voice demanded with a quiver of indignation.

  Steele brushed off the stray sticks of hay clinging to his breeches. “Never fear, there’s coin in it for your hospitality.” Adjusting his mask, he exhaled and moved toward the ladder. He would find out if anyone had been seen bringing him here. “And extra coin for some information.”

  Chapter 22

  Later that day, Steele strode down the lane as the cries of children and the reprimands of their nannies greeted his ears. The air was warm, and spring had burst upon the park in a splendor of thick green bushes filled with tiny white flowers whose name he’d forgotten long ago. The flowers carried a light honeyed scent that had bees buzzing and hovering among the petals.

  Steele wondered what the blazes he was doing here.

  After a bracing bath of icy cold water, he’d gone to his study to work. But for the first time in as long as he could recall, work gave him no escape. Usually searching through the maze of words in legal documents and decoding the finer implications gave him great satisfaction. Not today. Today his mind was pricked by anger, nipped by anxiety, clouded with hidden doubt that he would not acknowledge.

  So he’d left the study that usually gave him comfort and instead prowled around the house looking for a purpose to distract him.

  And when he didn’t find them, he’d had to ask the butler where his charges and their governess might be.

  “At the park,” he’d been told. “Perhaps to meet a Mr. Littlethom.”

  So here he was, searching for his charges on a sunny late morning, hoping that they, at least, would take his mind off the mistakes he’d made the night before.

  As he approached the open lawns, he noted the group of governesses clustered like hens in a barnyard while a gaggle of children screamed and played nearby. The nannies gathered around a set of benches tucked beneath lush green trees as if strategically placed for that very purpose.

  Whereas most of the governesses clucked among themselves with little thought to the world around them, Miss West listened to the others with only one ear, her attention and her eyes never once leaving her charges.

  Steele felt his steps slow as he watched her watching the boys. She was prettier than any of the women around her, with her wide-set, grayish-blue eyes, her upturned nose, and those lush lips that budded into a perfect bow.

  Her blue gown and white
bonnet were both prim and unbecoming, yet she had an air about her of freshness, of youthful vitality that frumpish clothing could not hide. He could only imagine how breathtaking she’d be if she was able to wear the fashionable gowns he’d seen the debutantes wearing this season.

  Again, he had to wonder what had happened between her and Phineas Byrnwyck. She was tempting, to be sure. He veered his mind away from that thought; this woman was in his employ and thus beyond his reach.

  And as an employer, he had to admire how she’d nod now and again, respond to the other women with a word, but keep her keen gaze fixed on the children at play.

  Seth sat a few feet away, his usual pose of legs spread in a V as he dug in the dirt. Yet he was not alone, as three pretty little girls with golden curls hovered nearby.

  One girl in a short green gown stepped over to show Seth something in her hand. He inspected it, commented, and she smiled, as if she’d somehow pleased him. Leaning over, she added it to a pile of rocks near his leg. Another girl came over to show him another stone. He shook his head and she walked away, disappointment on her apple-cheeked face. Then she leaned over and picked up another stone and showed it to Seth. He must have accepted it, for it, too, went into the pile. The apple-cheeked girl spun away, pleased.

  Felix stood in a grassy area nearby, his head leaning toward a carrot-topped boy’s as the two of them seemed engrossed in discussion. Then they ran off, joining a cluster of boys playing tag the tiger.

  Suddenly Miss West stood, her bearing reflecting heightened awareness that reminded him of a hunting dog that caught a scent.

  Steele’s gaze followed hers. Felix and a dark-haired boy were nose to nose, a heated argument in full swing.

  Miss West called out, “The tag was fair.”

  The lads argued on.

  Miss West raised her voice to be heard above the women clucking around her who seemed oblivious to the conflict, “The tag was fair!”

  The boys looked over at her, query in their gazes.

  “It was fair. I saw it.”

  Felix nodded. The other boy shrugged. They spun on their heels, resuming the game again as if nothing had transpired.

  Miss West lowered herself onto the bench once more, the women around her not missing a beat in their conversation.

  An older nanny with a wide white bonnet noted Steele’s presence and muttered a word to the women nearest to her. A sudden hush descended over the group and all eyes turned to him, except for Miss West’s, which were still fixed on her charges.

  A slim, sandy-haired governess tugged on Miss West’s sleeve, whispering something his ears did not catch.

  Miss West started and her gaze moved to him.

  Their eyes met across the grassy patch. He felt sucked into those blue-gray depths, experiencing that stirring charge that he had hoped might have been expunged with his late night activities. He’d wanted the wicked widow to sate his desires and negate the attraction for his pretty governess. But he supposed that desirability was an elemental thing that could not be deleted, only ignored.

  He suddenly realized that the other governesses were studying him with the keen scrutiny of farmers assessing a pig for market. Aware of his audience, he pulled his gaze from Miss West’s and assumed the mien of cool indifference worn by so many members of the ton.

  Scanning the area, he noted that there were no gentlemen in this grassy knoll, just nannies and their charges, making him feel the intruder. At least Mr. Littlethom wasn’t about. Steele ignored the shaft of jealousy in his gut as he wondered about Miss West’s supposed meeting with the tutor.

  Miss West motioned to the two footmen standing aside under a tree, gesturing that they were in charge of watching the boys while she would speak with Steele. Zachariah and Foster nodded their understanding, their sudden alertness evidencing their awareness that Steele was nearby.

  Miss West approached and stopped just a few feet before him. He noted that she was shorter than his widow and carried herself with a humble demeanor, whereas the widow had an air of purposeful authority about her.

  Why the blazes am I comparing the two women? They are worlds apart!

  Angrily he pushed all thoughts of the widow from his mind. “Good morning, Miss West.”

  She looked up at him expectantly, questions swirling in those gray-blue eyes. “Good morning, Lord Steele.”

  He scanned the area once more, irritation making his words clipped. “I was told that you were with Mr. Littlethom. Where is he?”

  “I was wondering the very same thing myself, my lord. He did not arrive as he’d told me he would.”

  Steele ignored the small swell of satisfaction that Mr. Littlethom was proving that he was unworthy of Miss West.

  Miss West waved a hand. “I suppose he must have a good reason for not being here.”

  Pressing his lips together, Steele sniffed. “You are too forgiving. If someone doesn’t keep an appointment, it means that he does not value your time.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps he was delayed.” Her eyes lit up. “Maybe he even secured a new position!”

  He raised a brow. “You seem inordinately involved in his dealings, Miss West.”

  Looking away, she shrugged. “He did us a service; it’s only natural that I wish him well.” Watching the boys, she smiled. “But I’ll venture that the boys will be much happier to see you than a tutor.”

  The boys. Not her.

  “How are Seth and Felix doing?” he asked, following her gaze.

  Motioning to where the children played, she explained, “Felix has made fast friends with Lord Wentworth’s son, Lucas, and Seth has found some playmates who like collecting rocks almost as much as he does.” She turned back to face him, her gaze expectant. “I’m sure, like me, they will be curious as to what we owe the great pleasure of you joining us today.”

  Steele suddenly realized that he’d had no true intention in coming here. “I, ah…I was wondering if the lads might be interested in”—he looked over at the governesses and noted that one was peeling an orange—“eating.”

  Miss West’s lips lifted into a half smile. “The boys do love to eat. I think that they would enjoy that every much.”

  His brow furrowed, as he felt the need for it to be more special for him to have come all the way here. He smiled, suddenly inspired. “Ices.”

  He was gratified to see her eyes widen. “Ices? Why, the boys will be above the moon!” She turned. “Felix! Seth!”

  The lads looked over.

  “Lord Steele is taking you for ices!”

  Seth squealed. Felix cried, “Yippee!” Both boys dashed toward them.

  The governesses sitting on the benches buzzed and twittered, some clearly impressed, others flashing Miss West covetous glances.

  Steele’s eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”

  Miss West raised her brows, her face a mask of innocence. “Did what, my lord?”

  “Shouting about the ices.”

  A small half smile lifted those lush lips. “Well, yes. Lucas Worthington has been crowing to Felix how he’s had Gunter’s ices twice already. And now everyone knows that I have the best employer in London.”

  “As if there was any doubt before,” he teased.

  Her smile widened. “As if there was any doubt before.”

  Exhaling, Steele realized that coming to the park was a good idea. He was feeling better already. “Foster, please run ahead and call for the carriage to be brought around.”

  “Yes, Your Lordship.” Foster nodded and moved ahead.

  “Can I go with Foster?” Seth whined. “I want to run, too!”

  “Me, too!” Felix cried.

  Steele considered the dangers, and then nodded. “Very well. So long as you stay with both Foster and Zachariah.”

  The boys squealed with delight, and all four raced ahead.

  “Oh don’t let me hold you, back, my lord.” Miss West waved a hand.

  “No,” he decided. “I’ll walk with you.” H
e rubbed the spot on his temple where it felt like a spike piercing his skull. “I’m not up for a race right now.”

  “Are you ill?” she asked with concern.

  “No. Not at all. It was simply…the remains of an overindulgent night.”

  “Ah.”

  Ah. What did that mean? Steele pursed his lips. “You don’t seem surprised.”

  She shrugged.

  Despite the fact that he knew he shouldn’t care, he suddenly felt inclined to explore her opinion. It was as her employer, of course, to help maintain their working relationship. “I wonder, Miss West, is your lack of surprise because you believe that as a viscount I am supposed to be a wastrel?”

  “No…”

  “What it is then? That all nobility overindulge?” Somehow he hated to have her think that he was like so many others in his newly achieved class.

  “No…it’s just…well, you work very hard; it makes sense that you would…balance that effort.”

  “Oh.” That was the last answer he’d expected from her.

  Peering up at him from the corner of her eye, she asked, “Any regrets?”

  Thinking about the night in its entirety, the widow’s passionate cries in the vendor’s stall, the incredible coupling, the information he’d learned, he shook his head. “No.”

  Silently she nodded as if considering it mightily. “Then you got off lightly.”

  He hadn’t quite thought of it in that way. “I suppose you’re right.” Steele inhaled a deep breath, smelling pine and grass and feeling the warmth of the sun on his back. “I don’t get outside enough to enjoy the sunshine in the daytime.”

  “We come to the park every day, my lord. The boys would love it if you joined us—any time you can give them.”

  He hadn’t realized that he’d spoken aloud. And it was true, he spent many hours locked in his study, at his office, in court, in meetings; he rarely ventured to a park like this in the daytime. He felt uncomfortable with the admission. “My work does not allow for much…play.”

  “Weather permitting, mine does. On the other hand, your position allows for a much greater impact.”