Читать книгу How to Sin Successfully - Bronwyn Scott - Страница 12

‘You’re very good with a kite, Miss Caulfield,’ Riordan called out from the boat pond where he and William were sailing the boy’s new model schooner. Miss Caulfield and Cecilia had opted to take advantage of the breezes and it did his heart good to see the little girl running on the green, hoisting the kite into the air on command. He’d half-expected the kite to break, as much else did that Cecilia touched. Riordan supposed it was the nature of being seven and inquisitive. If it had, he’d have bought her a new one, but to his pleasant surprise, the kite had stayed up, ably piloted by Miss Caulfield.

Riordan smiled, watching Miss Caulfield manoeuvre the kite away from a grove of trees. She’d been a pleasant surprise herself this morning, romping with the children in the nursery. She’d not assigned the task and then stood idly by, ordering the children about like governess Number Three. From the look of her, she’d joined in the game whole-heartedly. She’d been delightfully mussed with her hair coming down and the faintest of smudges on her cheek. It had made him wonder what she’d look like more thoroughly mussed and by a man who knew how—a most arousing mental exercise, to be sure.

She was certainly a lot prettier than Number Four, Old Pruneface. She was wearing green again, this time an apple-green walking dress with a wide-brimmed hat to match—a hat, he noted, that had been discarded since their arrival. Ah, Miss Caulfield, Riordan thought with a smile, you are more impetuous than you let on.

The wind changed and the kite took a dive. Cecilia squealed a warning. Miss Caulfield tugged on the twine, but the kite continued to fall. Riordan gauged its trajectory. It was headed for the boating lake. Riordan sprinted towards Miss Caulfield, who was losing the battle. Beside her, Cecilia jumped up and down, frantic.

‘Allow me, Miss Caulfield.’ He took over the string and reeled it in, tugging every so often until the kite stabilised. ‘There, Cecilia,’ he assured the little girl, ‘everything’s fine now.’ But he was reluctant to turn the kite over. It had been ages since he’d flown one. He and Elliott had flown plenty of kites, built plenty of kites in their childhood. Miss Caulfield was eyeing him with barely disguised impatience. Apparently she, too, was something of a secret kite aficionado.

Riordan couldn’t resist showing off, just a little. He waited until he had the kite in a controlled stall before he let the line go slack, then he tugged, turning the kite on its belly in a flat rotation: a smooth, graceful move that mimicked the gentle glide of a bird.

Cecilia clapped and William was impressed enough to come up from the pond with his boat. ‘Do it again, Uncle Ree!’ He did it several more times, casually lecturing William and Cecilia on the aerodynamics of lift until their interest was satisfied and they ran back to the pond.

Riordan continued to fly the kite, aware of Miss Caulfield’s eyes on him, studying, wondering. ‘How do you do that?’ Miss Caulfield asked at last. ‘Will you tell me how?’

Riordan grinned. ‘Better than that, I’ll show you.’ He passed her the spindle of twine and sat down on the grass. ‘All right, here’s lesson number one. Do exactly as I tell you. The first step to an axel turn is a controlled stall. Let the kite hover in the air. Good.’ He leaned back on his elbows, watching the sun turn her hair the colour of burnished copper. The faintest hints of freckles were making an appearance on the bridge of her nose, a small penance for going without her hat.

His new governess was pretty, slightly mysterious with a dash of impetuosity thrown in—three traits he appreciated in his women. The question was how far could he pursue this? She was in his employ but did that mean he couldn’t flirt a little, especially if she was amenable? She might be. There’d been times at dinner when she’d forgotten she shouldn’t be interested in him. Coaxing her to forget a little more could be fun.

‘Now, pull at the twine to turn the nose away from you. Let the line go slack. Wait until one wing drops a little lower than the other and then tug. No.’ Riordan winced as the kite dipped dangerously low in an out-of-control dive. She tried again with no better results.

Riordan levered himself up off the ground. It was time to intervene. He came up behind her, sliding his hands over hers on the spindle. ‘It’s more of an intuition. You have to feel the moment when the one wing dips.’ She smelled wonderful, light and fresh like honeysuckle and lilac in the spring, but her body was tense. Such close proximity made her self-conscious, as it had in the barouche. If he had to guess, it was because it excited her. ‘Relax, Miss Caulfield. I can hardly ravish you in a public park,’ he whispered playfully against her ear. It wasn’t entirely true. He and Mrs Lennox had proven that claim decidedly false in Green Park last summer. He and Lady Granville had confirmed those findings just a couple of weeks ago, but Miss Caulfield didn’t need to know that.

Riordan steadied the kite, feeling Miss Caulfield’s tension ease as the kite trick demanded more of her attention. He kept his voice low. ‘Do you feel the slack? Now, wait for it—no, don’t go too soon.’ His hands tightened over hers. ‘Wait for the last possible moment … and … now!’ They tugged together and the kite flat-turned effortlessly.

‘It’s like a bird in flight,’ Miss Caulfield breathed.

‘Is that the best you can do?’ Riordan teased her. The description seemed far too tame for such a smooth, elegant move. Surely the woman who recklessly took off her hat in the park and imagined a nursery to be the burning town of Bronte just to get it tidied up could do better than that?

‘It’s apt,’ Miss Caulfield replied, taking umbrage. ‘What do you think it’s like?’

He stepped closer to her, his hands tightening gently over hers as he guided the kite into another graceful flat turn. ‘I think it’s like making love to a woman.’ He put his mouth close to her ear, breathing in the freshness of her. ‘A good lover cultivates patience; a good lover knows how to wait until the most final of moments to …’

‘Lord Chatham, that is quite enough.’ Miss Caulfield dipped and slipped under the circle of his arms. ‘You are really a most audacious man.’ Her face was flushed, but it wasn’t all from embarrassment.

Riordan laughed good-naturedly at the return of her self-consciousness. ‘Maybe I am, a little.’ He executed a few more tricks he remembered from childhood while Miss Caulfield watched, one hand shading her eyes as she looked into the sky, a very convenient alternative to looking at him.

‘Growing up, my brother and I would spend winters in the attics building kites.’ Riordan did a back spin with the kite. ‘Come spring, we’d fly them every chance we got. We had fabulous competitions.’ He hadn’t thought of those days for a long time. ‘We started when we weren’t much older than William.’ Their fascination with kites had lasted quite a while. Even when Elliott had gone away to school, they’d flown kites when he came home on holiday.

‘You miss your brother,’ Miss Caulfield said softly. ‘You were close. His death must be a terrible blow for you.’

‘Yes, Miss Caulfield. It is,’ he said tersely, thankful she wasn’t looking at him. He gave all his attention and then some to the kite, willing the moment of vulnerability to pass. He had not missed the present-tense reference. Everyone said his brother’s death had been a terrible blow, as if it was something he’d got over and relegated to the past. But it wasn’t like that. He missed Elliott every day. He missed knowing that Elliott was out there, somewhere, keeping order and doing good.

Miss Caufield allowed him to fly in silence, standing quietly beside him. It was a smart woman who knew when to give a man his space. After a while, Riordan began reeling the kite in. ‘Why don’t you get the children and we’ll go to Gunter’s for ices?’ He watched her pick up her hat and head down to the boat pond. He wasn’t sure why he’d told that story about building kites. She was a virtual stranger. Maybe he’d told her in apology for his inappropriate comment about making love to a woman. Maybe he’d told her because he didn’t want her to think he was an entirely graceless cad.

‘Is it always this busy?’ Maura looked about her in delighted amazement from the barouche. They were parked across the street from Gunter’s Confectionary with other carriages of the fashionable who’d come to take advantage of the good weather. Busy waiters ran from the store to the carriages, delivering ices and other treats. She marvelled at the waiters managed to stay clear of horses. Any moment, Maura expected there to be an accident.

‘It’s always this busy. Do you know why?’ Lord Chatham leaned forwards with a smile. He was going to tease her. Maura was fast coming to recognise that smile. She braced herself.

‘It’s the one place a young woman may be seen alone with a man without the presence of a chaperon.’

‘Of course. It has nothing to do with the quality of the merchandise,’ Maura replied drily, but she did look around to test his hypothesis. Young men lounged against carriage doors sharing ices with young ladies. ‘It looks fairly harmless.’ Not nearly as wicked as Lord Chatham’s low tones had implied.

Lord Chatham shrugged as if he found her comment debatable. ‘I suppose it depends on who you’re eating ices with.’

A waiter came to take their orders and Maura knew a second’s panic. What to choose? There’d been ices occasionally at her uncle’s home, but never this array of flavours to pick from. The children chose strawberry. Lord Chatham chose burnt filbert. Maura hesitated a fraction too long.

‘Chocolate crème, if you please, for the lady,’ Lord Chatham supplied with a wink. ‘It’s positively decadent.’

Maura flushed. A gentleman had ordered for her, had treated her like a real lady for the first time. She understood it meant nothing beyond good manners—she was a practical girl, after all. He’d been doing his duty. Still, it had felt nice. No one had ever felt compelled to his duty on her behalf before.

The chocolate crème was decadent, Maura decided after the first bite. She let the cool richness slide down her throat, taking care to savour it, aware that Lord Chatham was watching her.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked, although he must have known the answer already. ‘We can set up an order for the house. You can have ice cream delivered every day.’

‘Every day?’ Maura raised an eyebrow. ‘That sounds like the height of luxurious living.’

Lord Chatham took a bite of his ice cream. ‘The Italians eat it every day. Florence is full of gelaterias. Their ice cream is gelati,’ he explained to the children who were hanging on his every word. ‘The flavours would astound you; all types of chocolates, vanilla, strawberry, almonds—almost any flavor you can think of.’

‘I want to live there,’ Cecilia put in. ‘I would eat ice cream every day.’

Lord Chatham waggled his dark brows and gave Cecilia a mock-serious look. ‘I did live there and I did eat ice cream every day. It was one of the best parts of being in Italy.’

‘What were the other best parts?’ William ventured, taking a break from his ice cream. ‘The volcanoes? Mount Etna is in Italy.’

‘As is Mount Vesuvius. One day, I climbed that mountain …’

The rest of the afternoon, Lord Chatham regaled the children with tales of his time abroad. They listened enrapt. Maura listened, too. It was easy to get caught up in the stories. The earl was an excellent storyteller and the topic was captivating. She’d never known anyone who’d travelled as extensively as Lord Chatham. How wonderful it must be to travel like that. Lord Chatham had clearly enjoyed his time abroad. His face took on a softness, his eyes were far away as he recalled narrow streets and hill towns, rich wines and foods eaten in villas that caught the afternoon breezes. Her own world seemed very small. The furthest she’d ever travelled had been her flight from Exeter to London. That hardly counted as a trip. It had been an escape.

Cecilia’s head lolled against her and Maura moved an arm about the sleepy child. ‘Perhaps we should go home.’ The ice creams were eaten and both children were pleasantly drowsy from their exciting day.

The drive home was slow and the noise of late-afternoon traffic made conversation difficult. Maura stayed busy with her own thoughts, most of them occupied by the man sitting across from her. He was proving to be quite the conundrum: fun-loving and stern by turn; easy-going and yet vulnerable; handsome and flirtatious by nature. Her employer presented a most tempting attraction, an attraction that must be resisted. Her post depended on it. She must not even think it, no matter how much the temptation beckoned, no matter how often he lured her with his smiles and bold words designed to spark her passions and curiosities.

Maura scolded herself for the momentary lapse. He would flirt with anything, that much was clear. But she couldn’t afford to be his next conquest. It boded ill that she was thinking such thoughts after only a day in his employ. Perhaps this was why the other governesses had left. Perhaps they had been made of sterner stuff.

‘A penny for your thoughts.’ Lord Chatham stretched his legs. The traffic noise had died down the closer they got to Portland Square and the quieter, elite streets. ‘Or are they worth more than that?’

‘I was wondering why the other governesses left.’ It made little sense. The children were decent children, even if they were a bit unruly at times from a lack of structure. The home was in a good neighborhood, the work no more onerous than any other a governess might expect. In short, there was nothing wrong with the posting, technically. But Mrs Pendergast had made it clear the situation was intolerable.

‘I suspect, Miss Caulfield, they didn’t like me.’ The hint of a mischievous grin hovered on his lips.

‘I find that hard to believe.’ They probably had liked him too much.

‘Is there a compliment in that somewhere?’ He laughed it off and then sobered. ‘I assure you, Old Pruneface—that was Number Four—didn’t like me one bit. I interrupted her lessons far too often. She told me if I interrupted one more time she was leaving. So I did and she left.’

‘Maybe it was calling her Old Pruneface.’ But Maura did not miss the secondary message. Was there a warning for her in it? He would continue to interrupt as he had done today when and where he pleased? ‘About the schedule, Lord Chatham—’ Maura began.

‘Didn’t you like our lessons?’ he broke in with a soft, melting smile.

‘Lessons?’

‘I told you the lessons would take care of themselves and they did. We had etiquette about how to ride in a carriage, we had science about wind and lift and some about the water, too, when William and I were at the pond. We had history and geography, Italy and volcanoes.’

‘So we did,’ Maura conceded with a modicum of surprise. He’d been thoughtful and inventive about the day’s interruption. She’d not known many men like that. Indeed, she’d not known any until today.

He gave her one of his playful winks. ‘You are not the only one, Miss Caulfield, who can turn fun into more noble ends.’

‘Today was lovely, but there is also merit in structure.’ Maura stood her ground. ‘We can plan outings. We can set aside a certain day of the week for them,’ Maura cajoled. ‘I’m not saying we can’t have outings. I believe in them wholeheartedly.’

The carriage pulled up to the town house, effectively curbing further conversation. All she managed to wring from Lord Chatham by way of closure was a lukewarm ‘we’ll see’ before they began the process of getting the children inside. She helped William into the house while Lord Chatham carried a sleeping Cecilia up the steps, looking more like a father than an earl. It was a heart-warming sight that would have made it all too easy to forgive him his myriad sins: the indifference that led to children eating breakfast alone, a messy nursery, the anarchy by which he ran his town house and the rakishness that led him to flirt unashamedly.

Surely a man who was so good with children wasn’t all bad, which made it that much worse for her. It would be better if he were an irredeemable dissolute like Wildeham. Then she’d know what to make of him, how to manage him.

The butler, Fielding, met them in the foyer with a stern look. ‘Milord, your solicitor is waiting to see you. He’s been here since two o’clock.’ Maura sensed it was as close to a reprimand as the butler would dare. Except for a slight tightening of his jaw, Chatham looked unperturbed over the development.

‘Miss Caulfield, if you could take Cecilia?’ Lord Chatham deposited the child in her arms. ‘It seems I have forgotten the appointment. Fielding, show Mr Browning to my study. I will see him immediately.’

Maura climbed the stairs with her bundle, William trailing beside her. She was starting to see reasons for the earl’s indifference. No wonder he wasn’t interested in the children’s schedule and ignored the importance of structure. Lord Chatham couldn’t even keep his own.