by Amelia Grey
Lyon stomped out the back door and across his lawn, and jumped over the low garden wall. He skimmed down the tall yew hedge that separated Lady Wake’s garden from the schoolhouse. He walked along the side of her house to her back garden, his head and ears pounding with every step. A natural-stone pathway led him to the archway the countess had stared at for so long a few days ago. Passing underneath it, he saw the little girls romping and playing to their hearts’ content.
Smiles and happiness that he hadn’t been able to see from the window brightened their faces. The sight gave him a moment’s pause and more than a little doubt concerning his intentions. Perhaps he was being a bit hasty.
But then, a shrill shriek shuddered through him, underscoring his headache once more.
Why, he didn’t know, but he’d always assumed girls were quieter, calmer, and more genteel than rambunctious schoolboys. He could understand little fellows exhibiting such uncontrolled behavior. But, whether boys or girls, this was an ungodly hour to be outside running about and disturbing the neighborhood. He would ask them to be quieter and suggest they find a different time of day for their playfulness. Perhaps in the afternoon, when he was usually gone from home.
That should do it and put an end to such nonsense today and every day.
“Girls,” he called in a normal voice.
Not a one of them paid him any mind. Perhaps they couldn’t see him. Or hear him. Small wonder with the commotion going on.
His quest continued. Impatiently, he stepped closer and called louder, “Girls! Girls!”
In an instant they all stopped. Not just the laughter, but their arms, legs, heads, and bodies became motionless, too. In fact, everything surrounding them went quiet. Distant horse and carriage traffic seemed to suspend sounds, as well. But only for a second or two. The smallest miss, who looked to be no older than eight or nine, started screaming, and hell broke its chains. All the girls started screaming at the top of their lungs. Not with the earlier joyfulness, but with terrified sounds.
Good lord, what did he do wrong? They were acting as if he were a wild boar charging toward them and they feared for their lives.
Lyon didn’t know what to do. His ears drummed, his head hammered, and his heart slammed against his chest. The girls huddled together, locking their arms around one another, looking at him as if he were a monster that had been unleashed and was getting ready to devour them. He’d never seen or heard anything like it. When it came to women and ladies, Lyon knew what to say and do. How to charm or coax them into understanding whatever situation they might be in at the time.
He didn’t know anything about girls.
A tall buxom woman about the age of his aunt Cordelia came running out of the building and down the three steps, two younger women following behind her. Good, he thought. Someone strong to calm and settle the girls. But no. She started yelling at him to go away, as she gathered the girls around her.
“Wait,” he said, in a reassuring voice. “No, no, don’t worry, girls. It’s all right. There’s no need to be afraid of me.”
But then he must have done the inconceivable and walked closer to them. Though he didn’t think it possible, the screams became louder. They couldn’t have been more frightened if he’d been a ghost that had risen from a grave in the dead of night.
Lyon stopped moving and held out his arms and hands as if he were showing a thief he had no purse to steal.
From the other side of the yew hedge he heard, “What in the name of heaven is going on out here?”
Bloody hell.
Lyon knew that lovely voice. Lady Wake sounded out of breath, as if she’d run down three flights of stairs. He turned and saw her rushing under the vine-covered trellis with her dark brown skirts swirling about her legs. His stomach tightened at the sight of her. She hurried over to where the girls were huddled near the front of the school door.
“Mrs. Tallon, is someone hurt?” she asked with evident dismay. “Stung by a bee? Bitten by a spider? What?”
“No, nothing like that,” the woman said in a strong voice and pointed. “It’s him.”
That’s when Lady Wake’s gaze aimed straight as an arrow at Lyon. He had no choice but to incline his head in a polite greeting.
Surprise lit in her eyes before she gave him an expression that could have easily froze boiling water.
She ignored him, turned back to the woman, and asked, “What about him? Why was everyone screaming?”
That’s what Lyon wanted to know.
“I heard this man yelling at the girls,” the woman said in a sputtering of words. “I don’t know why, but he shouldn’t be here saying anything to the girls. He frightened all of us.”
The countess whirled back toward him and snared him with another penetrating gaze. “Did you do that?” she asked unbelievably. “Yell and panic everyone?”
“Certainly not,” he answered testily, not used to having to defend his actions to anyone and certainly not to a saucy widow who made him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her every time he saw her. However, feeling a little guilty, he added, “I might have spoken a little loudly.”
“A little loudly? Don’t be ridiculous.” She glowered at him. “That is the same thing as yelling.”
He frowned and took a step closer. One of the girls screeched again, so he stopped once more. By Hades, didn’t the girls know by now he wasn’t going to harm them?
The countess turned immediately back to the girls and said, “This gentleman doesn’t intend to hurt you.” She glanced back toward him with cool irritation seething in her expression. “Right?”
“Rest assured,” he said stiffly, trying to hold on to what little patience he had left.
“This is our neighbor, the Earl of Lyonwood. I want all of you to stop whimpering and give him a proper curtsy.”
They obeyed without question, though some of the girls continued to sniffle. Others looked as if they’d quite literally seen a ghost—the kind that ate little children. Only one was smiling, Lyon noticed. A blue-eyed redhead whose chubby cheeks were covered in freckles. She seemed to be the only one who saw humor in the madness of the situation that had taken place, and she was enjoying it.
“Mrs. Tallon,” Lady Wake said, “please take the girls inside. Make them some tea to calm them. Give them a few minutes to collect themselves before you resume their lessons. I’ll take care of things out here. The earl was obviously looking for my house, became confused, and ended up at the wrong door.”
Confused? Not bloody likely, Lyon thought but remained silently fuming so he wouldn’t upset the girls any more than he already had. He’d have his say to the strong-willed widow once the girls were out of sight.
Lady Wake crossed her arms over her chest and gently tapped one foot as she watched the teacher scurry the girls into the schoolhouse. The woman then closed the door behind them so quickly and firmly it rattled the windowpanes.
“Follow me,” she said, and started marching back under the trellis and into her garden.
“Gladly,” he muttered, his mouth tightening and his resolve strengthening.
Lyon had a feeling this wasn’t going to be an argument he could win. But he wasn’t going to back down from the fight. Especially not with this spitfire. He’d give it all he had despite the fact he thought they’d soothed over their initial meeting a few mornings ago when he’d seen her standing in her garden. Apparently, he’d been wrong. Lady Wake had already proven she wasn’t a frail weakling. Usually he didn’t mind a lady with a bold temperament, especially such an intriguing one, but it appeared the countess was itching for another quarrel with him.
And he was in a good state of mind to give her one.
The petite housekeeper he’d met a few days ago was standing on the back step of the house holding onto the tail of her apron. “Is everything all right, my lady?” she asked in a timid voice. “Can I do anything to help you or Mrs. Tallon?”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Lawton. Everything is fine and under cont
rol. You don’t need to go for help. Thankfully, no one is hurt. You can go back inside now.”
After throwing a not-so-well-hidden disdainful expression in Lyon’s direction, the housekeeper pivoted on her heel and went back inside. Apparently she wasn’t ready to forgive him for upsetting the girls or brushing past her and into the countess’s drawing room without permission.
Lady Wake confronted him with glinting, golden-brown eyes that he somehow managed to find more attractive than fierce. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion and single-minded dismay. She wore no bonnet, so a breeze nipped at her dark honey-colored hair, sending wispy strands blowing against her cheeks. The sides and crown of her long tresses were pinned up, but the rest hung down the back of her shoulders in beautiful tumbling waves.
Lyon knew, just as he had the previous two times he’d seen her, that he was attracted to her in the most primal sense, but her strength of determination and bold personality made her just as desirable.
“What happened just now?” she demanded as he halted in front of her. “What in the name of all the saints were you doing at the school making the girls scream?”
The short hair at the back of Lyon’s neck rose. He’d never met a lady who could rile him so quickly. “They were already running around screaming when I arrived.”
Her lovely winged brows flew up in skepticism, and that bothered him all the more.
“They were playing,” she assured him.
“At this time of the morning? Barely past sunrise.”
“What are you talking about?” she asked, keeping her gaze solidly on his. “In another hour it will be afternoon.”
Really?
He managed a light shrug. He hadn’t realized it was that late. His thumping temples made it feel as if he’d just gone to bed when the racket had first startled him awake. “No matter the time of day, just seeing a man and hearing him call to them loud enough they could hear over their own voices shouldn’t have frightened them.”
“Perhaps it wouldn’t have if you didn’t look like a ruffian or as if you’d just—”
She looked at his tousled hair, and then let her gaze flutter down his face to the open neckline of his shirt. Lyon sucked in an unexpected breath of arousal that not even his pounding head and lack of sleep could hold at bay. She was too tempting.
“As if I just got out of bed?” His voice sounded huskier than he’d intended.
“Yes,” she admitted softly, lowering her lashes, obviously uncomfortable and as if feeling suddenly shy to admit to such an intimate thought to him.
“It’s true it could have upset the girls because I’m not properly attired. I was sleeping when the noise started.”
“Noise?” she scoffed, staring up at him again with renewed resistance to his claim and seeming to overcome her moment of gentleness along with the truce he thought they’d reached a few days ago.
He nodded. “I walked over thinking only to ask them to be a little quieter.”
Her eyes rounded instantly and her hands clenched tightly at her sides. Clearly she had no fear of doing battle with him and felt prepared to do so. Not that after their first meeting that should amaze him.
“You admit that?” she demanded.
“With no hesitation.”
She listened to him in stunned disbelief and then said, “What do you have against children?”
That took him aback, and he resented her implication he didn’t have a fondness for children. He would welcome the sound of children playing one day—in the future. He looked forward to his sons and daughters laughing and romping about the grounds of Lyonwood. “Nothing. I like children.”
She folded her arms across her chest and harrumphed defiantly.
“I don’t have a problem with them,” he insisted. “Just the noise they were making earlier.”
“You are unbelievable, my lord! You complain about delightful squeals from girls having an enjoyable time when I am sure you will enthusiastically sit in the midst of more than a hundred men shouting and yelling insults, swears, and jeers in your ears at a pugilist match, a horse race, or a cock fight. Yet, you let the sounds of little girls having a playful time disturb you. What kind of man are you?”
The fiery countess wasn’t going to budge an inch, but neither was he. “The usual kind, my lady. I expect to hear caterwauling at those events. And they don’t take place in the morn when respectable people are sleeping.”
“Are you saying the girls aren’t respectable for playing?”
He would not let the intriguing lady get away with a statement like that no matter how fetching she was with her sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, and indignant manner. Controlling his anger, he said, “You are deliberately mistaking my words, Lady Wake.”
“How can you say that? There is no other meaning that makes sense to what you said.”
“It’s not that I don’t like children. I’ve never been around them.” Not for many years anyway. “I didn’t realize they could be so loud. Girls were running around everywhere and no one was even chasing them.”
“That’s no excuse. Children need time to enjoy a few minutes of normalcy. You are an impossible man to deal with. What is wrong with you?”
You, he almost said aloud but caught himself and only replied, “Nothing.”
“I think not, Lord Lyonwood. You charge into my house and accuse me of amoral behavior before gathering the first fact about who had moved in next door to you. You watched me from your window, and now you storm into my garden to reprimand the students without coming to me first with your complaint. Not only all that, you have managed to scare the girls and their teachers half out of their wits for no good reason other than you spent your night swimming around in the bottom of a grog barrel.”
Grog?
“Your nerve is so out of bounds, Lady Wake, it would take weeks to find should anyone go looking for it.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Then let me give you another,” he said softly, his gaze sweeping down to her lips. “I appreciate and commend how you’ve come to the girls’ defense.”
For a moment her face softened and she looked as if she might take his praise as he intended. But then, as he suspected she might, considering her propensity to boldness, she spoiled it by saying, “Perhaps you should try drinking a little more while you are spending all night with your cohorts at the gaming halls. That way it won’t be so easy for you to awaken in the morning at the lovely sound of girlish laughter.”
Lyon wasn’t sure if he grimaced or grinned at her comment. Today she was clearly not interested in the modicum of a truce that had been struck between them.
Fine.
“That idea has merit, Countess. I’ll only have to decide which gives me the greater headache. Too much drink or shrill merriment exploding into my bedchamber.” He stepped closer and looked right into her eyes. “I will allow that I’m not a patient man and that I like order and calm, but I’m not a wild ogre out to harm children.”
“You are just heartless.”
“No,” he insisted, not that it seemed to matter to her. “I want them to play. Just quietly. This is a neighborhood. If the little chicks can’t play quietly, then you should move your boarding school to the country and give them all the ground they want to run around.”
The countess looked aghast at what he said. Fearing she might tempt him to say more and disprove his staunch oath that he wasn’t an ogre, Lyon turned and stomped off. He’d never met a lady with such a fearless spirit. One who stood her ground no matter the odds or the situation in which she found herself.
The devil take it. A brothel would have been easier to deal with and far more quiet.
His temples were throbbing like a thumb that had been caught in a slammed door, and worse, his stomach was cresting up and down like a huge wave. Nevertheless, he thought he’d been quite good controlling his temper toward the willfully strong widow, considering his splitting head. He needed a splash of brandy and breakfast. In
that order.
And coffee.
Lots of coffee.
After that, he needed to talk to his solicitor. He wanted to see what could be done to move Lady Wake and her school out of the neighborhood to somewhere more appropriate.
Like the northern coast of Scotland. That should be far enough away to suit him nicely.
Chapter 7
Adeline paced in her garden until she wore herself out. All because of the tempestuous earl. He had the gall of the Prince himself. And then some. Lyon simply wasn’t worth all the effort she was putting into thinking about him time after time. It was exhausting.
Yet, she couldn’t seem to stop.
They’d had what she thought was a respectable, neighborly conversation just two or three days ago. Except for the carriage traffic his visitors caused in front of her house, she was beginning to believe they might dwell in peace as good neighbors. Now he was back to his old tricks of storming over without just cause and distressing her.
Still too agitated and not ready to go inside, Adeline wandered over to an old wooden bench that stood against the back wall of her house and plopped down. That he’d upset the girls so terribly, after all they had been through, angered her beyond words. Their tragic losses, and getting used to living with strangers in a boarding school under the strict environment of learning skills, were frightful enough for them without him adding to their fears.
Rushing over half-dressed to chastise them for being too noisy was unforgivable. Calling them chicks! In fairness, she knew it had been a rash comment he made in the heat of the moment. It’s not that a baby bird was such an appalling name to call the girls. Chicks were actually extremely soft with their downy newborn fluff before their feathers appeared. They were warm, cuddly, and quite precious to hold in the palm of one’s hand. Perhaps they made a little squeak from time to time, but it wasn’t a repulsive noise. It was high-pitched, but sweet and innocent sounding.