by Amelia Grey
“That’s right. You can’t even take care of yourself,” Race added with a laugh. “There’s no way you could be responsible for anyone else. No one in their right mind would even ask you to be a guardian for their dog. I hope you showed her and her chaperone the door.”
Blake hesitated. “Not exactly.”
Race and Morgan looked at each other and in unison asked, “Why?”
“First, she doesn’t have a chaperone with her—other than her maid. Secondly, there is the slightest possibility that she knows what she’s talking about.”
“Don’t tell me you got too deep in your ale one night and agreed to be someone’s guardian,” Morgan said.
“Of course not,” Blake said, starting to feel somewhat exasperated by the whole turn of events.
“Did you lose a bet in a hand of cards?” Race asked cautiously.
“Or possibly win the honor of being her guardian in a high-stakes game?”
“It’s nothing like that. She said a solicitor should have notified me of this. The problem is that I haven’t been through my mail in weeks.”
“Good lord, tell me it’s not true,” Morgan added to Race’s breathy swear.
“It’s very much true.”
“Why haven’t you yet hired a secretary to keep up with your correspondence?” Race asked.
“Obviously, he hasn’t had time,” Morgan said, in a slightly mocking tone. “You never should have turned off your father’s secretary until you had a damned good replacement for him.”
Blake knew Morgan spoke the truth, but he would never admit that to his cousin. When Blake’s father died, he made arrangements to keep on his father’s secretary, butler, housekeeper, and a host of other servants employed at the town house in Mayfair. Over the course of time, he’d accepted Mrs. Ellsworth and he’d somehow, so far, managed to tolerate the dour-faced Ashby. But Blake couldn’t abide his father’s demanding and condescending secretary. Now he’d been without one for far too long.
Blake had every intention of replacing the man, but days had turned into weeks and weeks into months without him interviewing anyone for the post. And even though his mail was left unattended for weeks at time, that had never been a problem or bothered Blake until now.
“So did you find these documents she spoke of?” Race asked.
“Not yet.”
Blake really had little doubt that the letter was there. Miss Tweed didn’t strike him as the kind of young lady who’d say something so outrageous if it wasn’t true. Besides, who in their right mind could make up such an extraordinary story about the previous five guardians dying? It was so excessive it had to be true.
“Why the hell not?”
“Yes, damnation, Blake, what are you doing standing here with us?” Morgan asked.
“Pardon me, if I wanted to inform you two that there was a young lady at my house before anyone else heard about this situation and told you.”
“Oh, yes, you’re right about that,” Race said. “We would be upset if we heard this news from the gossips.”
“What is her name?”
“Henrietta Tweed. Her father was Sir William Tweed. Apparently he was an old friend of my father’s.”
Blake took the time to tell them Miss Tweed’s wild tale about the deaths of the previous guardians and her belief that there was a curse.
“Damnation, she’s had an extraordinary life if what she says is true,” Morgan said when Blake finished. “It’s no wonder she believes there’s a curse.”
“Yes, but the question is, what are you going to do about her?” Race said.
“For now, I’m going to Constance’s house and ask her if she’ll be Miss Tweed’s chaperone until I can figure out what needs to be done with her.”
“I don’t believe it. You’re going to ask your lover to be this girl’s chaperone?”
“Former lover,” Blake said in an exasperated voice. He hadn’t been romantic with Constance for quite some time now. They had had a torrid affair that flared quickly, but just as abruptly died away.
“Constance is out of her mourning now and well-respected in Society. She will be the perfect person to chaperone Miss Tweed.”
“She’s respected only because no one knows she became your lover just a few weeks after her husband died.”
Constance sounded like a doxy when Morgan put it that way, and nothing could be further from the truth. Constance’s husband had been in a coma for months until his body simply withered away. She was lonesome and needy for affection of any kind at first. It didn’t take either of them long to realize they weren’t suited for each other as lovers, and they had settled into a comfortable friendship.
“No one but the two of you knows about my liaison with Constance, and it had better stay that way.”
“You know you have our trust,” Morgan said.
“If nothing else,” Race added.
“Constance will know what to do with Miss Tweed, I’m sure.”
Suddenly Race laughed. “I would give anything to see Constance’s face when you tell her you want her to take care of a young miss.”
A satisfied grin flashed across Morgan’s face, which then dissolved into laughter. “I’d rather like to see that myself.”
When Blake didn’t join their merriment, it soon died away with the clearing of throats.
“You have to admit it’s quite ludicrous,” Race said. “What is the girl’s age, thirteen or maybe fourteen?”
“I wish,” Blake admitted aloud. “She is not a child or a young miss.”
His two cousins looked at him with curious expressions.
“She’s a nineteen-year-old young lady with enough confidence to put the two of you in your places.”
“At nineteen?”
“A beauty you say?” Race’s eyes lighted.
“Don’t get any ideas, either one of you. She clearly has been raised as a lady of quality, and I won’t have either of you thinking to change that.”
“Where is she now?”
“I left her in Mrs. Ellsworth’s care. I have little doubt that Miss Tweed has finished her dinner by now and will be sound asleep when I return.”
The wind kicked up, and Blake realized the sky had turned dark. He settled his hat back on his head.
“Sorry, Race, the card game and winning my blunt from Rockcliffe will have to wait until Miss Tweed has been taken care of.”
Twenty minutes later, Blake was sitting in Constance’s parlor waiting for her to see him, but he was thinking about Miss Tweed. Instead of wondering what he was going to do with her as he should have been, he was remembering her sparkling blue eyes, her full and shapely lips, and how he couldn’t help but admire the courage she had needed to walk into his house and declare to a total stranger that he was her guardian.
When he had first seen her coming toward him, heady warmth had spun through his veins, igniting a sharp, purely masculine response of sudden desire in his lower body. What he felt was in no way what a guardian should feel for his ward.
He had wanted her as a man wants a woman.
“Blake,” Constance said as she walked into the room, “what a rogue you are to stop by to see me without an invitation or notification of your desire for a visit.”
Constance wore a beautiful smile and a low-cut black velvet gown. Her long, vibrant red hair had been shaped into tight curls on the top of her head. Her wide green eyes were filled with delight as she walked toward him with the confidence of a woman who knew where she stood with a gentleman.
Blake knew that several men had already made known their intentions to offer for her hand, but she was set to decline them all. And he had a feeling she would continue to do so. That wasn’t because she was pining for her dead husband—or any other man. Rather, Constance was enjoying the life of a wealthy widow and all the freedoms it afforded her.
Blake rose, took both her hands in his, and gently squeezed them as he kissed one of her cheeks just below the eye and the other near the corner of her
mouth. Blake would always love her fresh womanly smell, even if he no longer wanted her in his bed.
“My grandmother tried to teach me proper behavior. I hope you’ll forgive my bad manners.”
Constance looked up into his eyes and said, “I’ll forgive you anything—once.”
He chuckled. “Then I’m a lucky man. I try never to make the same mistake twice—especially with a woman. You look lovely, Constance.”
“Thank you, Your Grace. And you are as handsome as ever. I don’t have to ask how you are doing. I can look at you and see you are doing very well.”
He shrugged off her compliment and said, “I have no complaints. How are you?”
“I, too, am well. Sit down and tell me why you stopped by. I’ll pour you a drink.”
Blake remained standing. He watched her walk over to the side table behind the floral-printed settee and lift the top off a decanter. They had been lovers less than a dozen times. Even at that, their affair lasted longer than it should have. The exciting rush of anticipation had only been between them the first time. They both knew it and accepted it with no misgivings. Constance was intelligent, loyal, and caring, and he would do anything for her, but she wasn’t the lover for him.
“I hear only silence,” she said as she splashed wine into the glasses.
“That’s because I was just thinking that I would have liked for you to have been my sister, should I have been fortunate enough to have one.”
Constance turned and smiled at him. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
“I mean it.”
“I don’t doubt that you do, and it makes me feel rather special.”
He sighed to himself. “I hope you still feel that way after I tell you about a favor I need to ask of you.”
Constance walked back over to him and handed him the drink. He waited for her to take a seat on the settee, and then he joined her.
“You know you have only to ask what you will and, if it’s within my capabilities, I will do it for you.”
She held out her glass for a toast.
“You may want to hear what I have to say before you agree to do it.”
“I trust you,” she said.
The way she looked at him, the way she said those three little words, told Blake he had made the right decision in coming to her for help.
Blake touched his glass to hers and said, “And I trust you, Constance. That’s the only reason I would ask this of you.”
She laughed softly. “You’re making this sound terribly important. You have my curiosity brimming. Now tell me, what do you need from me?”
“I’ve been trying to decide if I should start at the beginning and tell you the entire story, or if I should just tell you what I want of you.”
Constance took a sip from her glass. “You decide, of course, but the night is young, and I just poured our wine. I have plenty of time for a long story, if you do.”
Blake took a deep breath. Time and his duties were two things to which he had to start paying more attention.
“Unfortunately, and as lovely as it would be, I don’t have all evening to sit with you. The short of it is that I need you to be a chaperone to a young lady for me.”
Her eyes narrowed, and the smile slowly faded from her lips. She lowered her glass. “A chaperone? Me? You look serious.”
“As I can be.”
“I’m not in need of any kind of employment, as you well know.”
“Of course not. This would be temporary, a few weeks at most. It’s complicated.”
“Perhaps you should tell me the whole story.”
Blake took a deep breath. He still didn’t understand the whole story himself.
“Apparently many years ago a friend of my father’s listed him, as the Duke of Blakewell, in his will to be the guardian for his daughter. There was nothing wrong with that as long as my father was the duke. Regrettably, as you know, my father is no longer with us, and the duty of seeing to her welfare has apparently fallen to me as the current duke.”
Constance relaxed and set her glass on the rosewood table in front of them. The smile returned to her face.
“That’s simple enough to take care of. You can hire a suitable governess for her and send them both off to
one of your country estates. Give them permission to ride horses every day, and they will never bother you again. All little girls love horses.”
Blake chuckled ruefully and relaxed against the back of the settee. “If only it were that uncomplicated, but I’m afraid that won’t do.”
“Why not?”
“She’s not a little girl. She’s nineteen.”
And she’s lovely, poised, and very desirable.
“Good heavens,” Constance said. “Nineteen. That does present a problem. Doesn’t she have a doddering old aunt, a long-lost uncle, or even a disreputable cousin she can turn to for help?”
“Apparently not.”
“Such a pity. It must be dreadful to be so alone in the world.”
Blake had felt the same way when he’d heard she had no living relatives. Not only did he have his two cousins, he had a host of close and distant relatives from his grandmother’s many marriages. And then, of course, he had Gibby. Now that Blake thought about it, he had no idea how it would feel to be totally alone in the world with only strangers and servants to turn to for help.
“From what I gather, her father’s will listed several names as guardians, with the Duke of Blakewell being the last one.”
Constance frowned. “So she’s been through all the others, and suddenly she’s your responsibility. That doesn’t bode well for you, Blake. She must be hellish to deal with.”
Not wanting to go any further into the sketchy details about Miss Tweed’s bizarre story, Blake simply said, “No, it’s not anything at all like that. It has nothing to do with her behavior. Unfortunately, all her other guardians have gone to meet their Maker.”
“And she lost her parents, too? What a shame. So tell me, what is she like? Is she well-mannered and of quality?”
“Without a doubt,” he answered.
“Intelligent?”
“Extremely.”
“Is she beautiful?”
“Absolutely.”
Constance pursed her lips for a moment before they spread into a smile. She said, “Well, Blake, there’s no problem at all that I can see.”
“I’m glad you don’t see any, my dear friend, because problems are all that I see.”
“I have the perfect solution. You should have no trouble getting rid of her quickly with what I have in mind.”
Blake eyed her warily as he took a sip of his wine. “And what exactly is it that you propose I do?”
“It’s very easy, my friend.” She smiled. “Find a man to marry her.”
Four
Dearest Lucien, my youngest grandson,
Lord Chesterfield once wrote to his son: “Speak the language of the company you are in; speak it purely, and unlarded with any other. Never seem wiser, nor more learned, than the people you are with. Wear your learning like your watch, in a private pocket.”
Your loving Grandmother,
Lady Elder
“MISS TWEED?”
Startled, Henrietta looked up from the envelope she was staring at and froze. The Duke of Blakewell stood in the doorway, tall, broad-shouldered, and scowling. At her. His stance was rigid. His dark, serious eyes seemed to pierce straight through to her soul. There was a commanding presence about him that suddenly felt primal. He looked at her with a single-minded intensity that, for a brief moment, made her want to slink into a corner and curl up so small that no one could see her.
And no wonder! She was sitting in his chair, at his desk, sorting through his mail.
Oh dear! She was in a basketful of trouble.
Tamping down her fear and embarrassment at being caught sorting his correspondence, she rose slowly and, as calmly as she could under the condemning circumstances, sh
e smiled pleasantly and said, “Good evening, Your Grace.”
Blakewell appeared momentarily thrown by her polite greeting. His severe expression didn’t change, but his shoulders relaxed a little as he stepped farther into the room. He was undoubtedly a formidable man to deal with. She had to remain strong and in control.
“I suppose you are wondering what I’m doing in here,” she said with all the aplomb she could muster, given how fast her heart was beating.
“No, I’m not wondering at all. I know exactly what you’re doing.”
Her breath grew uncomfortably shallow. “You do?”
The furrow in his broad brow deepened. His eyes narrowed. “Yes. It’s quite clear to me that you are snooping into my private letters.”
Henrietta gasped. Scorching heat flared in her cheeks. His words were a blatant insult to her character, and she needed a moment to find her voice.
“Snooping? Me?” Her hand flew to her chest in indignation. “Never, Your Grace. That’s an outrageous accusation to make.”
“Is it?” He pointed to the unopened letter on the desk in front of her. “I don’t think so.”
She had never been more mortified in her life. “This is not what it looks like.”
“Really?”
His voice sounded doubtful. And no wonder, considering her predicament.
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should explain to me why I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”
Regaining her composure, she said, “I’d be happy to do that, Your Grace.”
Henrietta walked from behind the desk and stood beside it. Clasping her hands together tightly in front of her, she continued, “Even after the long and tedious coach ride today and the rather trying conversation with you earlier this evening, I was restless and not ready for sleep so I came in here hoping to find a book to read.” She reached over, picked up the copy of The Forbidden Path, and held it up for him to see, confident the evidence would prove her innocence.
But he didn’t deviate from his allegation as he said, “If a book was all you wanted, why were you sitting behind my desk rather than standing over by the bookshelves?”