From Governess to Society Bride. Helen Dickson
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Besides, I have nothing better to do. Where do you live?’
‘Not too far away, just across the park in Upper Brook Street.’
‘Then it is not far from Berkeley Street, which is where I live. Come, children,’ Eve called. ‘Estelle, you must carry Jasper.’ She smiled as she watched her daughter bend down and pick a wriggling Jasper up off the grass and tuck him beneath her arm.
Stainton House was certainly in a state of upheaval. Workmen swarmed about all over the place and furniture was being either covered with dustsheets or loaded on to wagons in the street. Holding the children’s hands, Eve and Sarah went inside. The size of the house surprised and impressed Eve. With its white-and-gold décor, she could well imagine how elegant it must have looked before the workforce moved in.
Eve was about to say her farewells to Sarah and the children when Jasper broke free of his captor and landed on the floor. Excited by the new environment and noise, the little dog bounded yelping loudly up the broad sweep of the staircase rising gracefully from the centre of the hall.
‘Don’t worry,’ Sarah said, having recovered a little from her earlier discomfort. ‘I’ll go after him.’
The three children went and sat halfway up the stairs, watching the workmen with rapt expressions on their faces. Eve stepped aside to let two men pass carrying a gold-and-green striped sofa in the direction of the street, and turned when a voice barked out, ‘Bloody hell, man, be careful! That portrait is worth a small fortune. Any damage and the buyer will refuse to take it.’
Eve strode over to the owner of the remark—a jacket-less, dark, forbidding figure, his grey breeches moulding his muscular legs and thighs, his white shirt open at his tanned throat, and his hair as black as a panther’s pelt. Her face was a mask of indignation.
‘Do you have to swear in front of the children?’ she remarked haughtily. She saw his shoulders stiffen at the sound of her voice and when he spun round and his eyes sliced over her, she could almost feel the effort he was exerting to keep his rage under control. The man had ramrod posture and an aura of exacting competence, and Eve almost collapsed when she saw his face—it was as hard and forbidding as a granite sculpture and he was looking at her as if she were a mad woman who had invaded his domain.
She also recognised him as being the man whose horse had almost trampled her to death the day before.
‘I’ll swear when I like in my own house…’ Suddenly he froze and his eyes widened. ‘Good Lord, it’s you—’
‘Unfortunately that is so. And do you have to shout? My hearing is perfectly sound and you’re frightening the children.’
‘Children? Don’t be ridiculous. I’m their father.’
‘Precisely, and for that reason alone you should have more control over your temper,’ Eve snapped, having recovered from the shock of meeting the rude and thoroughly obnoxious gentleman for a second time.
Lord Stainton turned his dagger gaze on the terrified servants, who had ceased what they were doing and stood frozen to the spot, their eyes agape. ‘Who the hell let this emotional woman into my house without consulting me first?’
‘I am not an emotional woman and, as I have already told you, I am not deaf, so kindly lower your tone.’ Turning on her heel, she strode to the stairs to collect Estelle.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he thundered, striding after her irate figure with the silent sureness of a wolf, stopping in his tracks when he saw three apprehensive young faces peering down at him from the stairs instead of the usual two. Placing his fists on his hips, he glowered from the extra child to the angry young woman. ‘Miss Lacy,’ he shouted. When Miss Lacy failed to appear, he cursed softly and pinned Eve with his gaze. ‘Where has that child come from,’ he demanded, pointing a long narrow finger at the offending child, ‘and what the hell is she doing in my house, today of all days?’
Eve’s eyes flew to the children while still feeling concern for Sarah. After all, it was the purpose for which she had walked into the lion’s den just minutes before.
‘The child you are referring to is my daughter.’
‘Then do you mind removing her from my house and yourself along with her? As you can see—’
‘You are moving out,’ Eve snapped.
‘Do you always make a habit of stating the obvious, Miss…?’
‘Mrs—Brody, and, yes, I do,’ she said, her eyes flashing as cold fury drained her face of colour and added a steely edge to her voice.
He returned her gaze steadily, studying her as though she were some strange creature he had just uncovered in his home. He had already noted her slight American intonation; her Scottish name was another fact that intrigued a rather bemused Lord Stainton. There was a moment of silence in which he tried to calm himself.
At thirty-two years of age, six feet four inches tall and with amazingly arresting eyes he was a strikingly handsome man. Rugged strength was carved into every feature of his bronzed face, from his straight dark brows and nose, his firm and sensually moulded lips, to the square, arrogant jut of his chin. Just now he was also formidable as he glared at the young woman who stood before him on his black-and-white marble floor. Every line of his face was set with disapproval.
‘Have you had an edifying look at me, Lord Stainton—I assume that is who you are?’
‘You are correct in your assumption, Mrs Brody.’
‘You are also the most ill-mannered, arrogant, inconsiderate man I have ever encountered,’ she upbraided him coldly.
His eyes narrowed and his lips tightened. ‘I dare say I am all you accuse me of. It goes with the title.’
Eve was in no mood to be mocked, and she could see by the gleam in his eyes he was doing exactly that. ‘Then with you as an example, I can only hope you are the last titled Englishman I shall ever meet. Yesterday I fervently hoped and prayed I would never have the misfortune to set eyes on you again. Nothing has changed. Such an outward display of temperamental frustration is regarded as a sign of bad breeding where I come from.’
Ramming his fists into his waist, leaning forward, he stared at her in blank fury. ‘Really! You really are the most infuriatingly outspoken woman I have ever met. How dare you come into my house and say these things to me—things you know nothing about.’
‘Oh, I dare say a lot of things to a man who scares his children half to death and terrifies each and every one of his servants so they creep about in fear of you. The whole house vibrates with a tension that springs from you, Lord Stainton. It’s a wonder you have any servants at all to order about. By the look on your face I would wager I’ve hit a sore spot. Please don’t disappoint me by holding your temper. I would hate to see you explode with the effort.’
‘Believe me, Mrs Brody, you would not want to see me explode. I have a temper, I admit it, a violent one when I am driven to it. And how I raise my children and choose to live concerns only myself.’
Eve had made her point with an icy calmness. Lord Stainton was so taken aback by her outburst and her forthright way of speaking that his superiority evaporated as he stared at the attractive young woman whose fury turned her dark blue eyes beneath gracefully winged dark brows to violet. Framed by a heavy mass of auburn hair arranged neatly beneath her bonnet, her face was striking, with creamy, glowing skin, high cheekbones, and a small round chin with a tiny, intriguing cleft in the centre. Her nose was straight, her mouth soft and generously wide. His gaze moved over her slender body with a familiarity that brought a rush of colour to her cheeks.
Mrs Brody was a young woman in her early twenties, and she moved with a natural grace and poise that evaded most of the women he knew. Despite being a married woman, she exuded a gentle innocence that he found appealing. Beneath this he sensed an adventurous spirit tinged with wilfulness and obstinacy.
Appalled that he could find the time to scrutinise a complete stranger