Page 40 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
“I’ve never been in Regent’s Park.”
The admission seemed to astound her. Her eyes widened further, and her mouth stayed open in a perfectly mesmerizing O. “Never?”
He shook his head, trying not to look at her mouth.
“But why not? It’s a beautiful park, and it’s so nearby...” She paused. “Did you mean, not in the morning?”
“I said never, and I meant never.” When he’d had the time to do things like wander through parks, he’d been a scruffy lad, escaping his strict aunt’s household to seek out gamblers in the rough part of Birmingham. When he’d become more established and the gamblers were coming to him, he’d had no time for things like parks.
But Charlotte did, and it was why he’d brought her here, after all. No need to prevaricate and dither like an old man; he’d already committed himself by filing that petition.
He cleared his throat. “I’m not familiar with the park, but I will allow it. James will go with you.”
“I don’t need a footman to chaperone two girls in Regent’s Park.”
“Nonetheless,” Nick said firmly, “James will go along wherever Charlotte goes. Every time. Do we understand each other?”
“Is there something I don’t know?” Her brows creased in a worried little frown. “About Charlotte?”
Nick opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned toward the windows, overlooking Portland Place. It was a wide, elegant street, despite the building work being done up and down the length of it. He’d bought the house because it was new, it was convenient, it wassafe. He sighed. “It’s a complicated story, Miss Greene. Must we do battle over it now?”
“No,” she said after a longer pause. “It’s been a long time since I had to deal with an employer who wished to oversee my work so closely. I apologize.”
“Accepted.” He turned and put out his hand. After a moment she took it, her hand smooth and warm in his. A perfect fit. A perfectly ominous glow seemed to warm his hand from the contact. “James will be at your disposal any time you wish to go out. He’ll be ready to go to the park when the girls and you are.”
“Thank you,” she murmured. She wet her lips—Nick closed his eyes against the sight—and added, “Perhaps you would like to accompany us?”
He thought of walking in the park with her on his arm, the sun catching her eyes. He pictured her turning her face to the sun, smiling at its warmth, smiling athim, and— He released her hand. “You’ll enjoy it more without me.”
She blinked. Nick headed for the door, so tired now he thought he’d just go up to bed. Food could wait.
“Mr. Dashwood...”
He paused, hand on the latch.
She stood in the center of the room, twisting her hands. She looked genuinely contrite, and somehow even more lovely, biting her lip and gazing at him with soft eyes. Nick began to weaken. He ought to apologize, to assure her he wasn’t usually so abrupt and irrational. Perhaps he ought to go to the damn park—just to assure himself it was safe for Charlotte, not to see the governess’s face flushed with exercise...
“Have you no plans to furnish this room?” she asked.
Nick blinked, then looked around. The estate agent who’d shown him the house had extolled the handsomeness of the spacious dining room: the excellent light from the large windows with their finely molded architraves, and the elegant fittings, from the laurel-wreath frieze of the cornice to the ornate Carrera marble mantlepiece to the intricate parquet floor. Nick had agreed, and then only entered the room a handful of times in the seven years he’d owned the house. There wasn’t a stick of furniture in it, nor even a carpet. “I’m never here, Miss Greene. What would be the point?”
“Yes, so said Mr. Pearce. In that case, would you mind terribly if we used it for dancing lessons? It would avoid moving the furniture in the drawing room, if we could put the pianoforte in here.” She wet her lips again. “And it would be less likely to disturb you.”
He stared, mesmerized by the slide of her tongue along her lips. He was losing his mind, watching a governess’s mouth while she took over his house, his sister, and his life. “Yes,” he murmured. “Whatever you want.”
He was far beyond disturbed.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
As puzzling—and unsettling—as that first morning conversation was, Emilia vowed to learn from it. What was she thinking, to argue with Mr. Dashwood? Any other employer would have sacked her on the spot. Losing her post would mean losing Lucy, and Emilia wasn’t about to let that happen.
It helped greatly that she hardly saw him during the next fortnight. By the time they’d returned from walking in the park, there was no sign of the man—but the pianoforte had already been moved to the dining room. From then on, Mr. Dashwood was always at his club, out somewhere else, or sleeping. He did often take breakfast with them, but it was obvious his mind was elsewhere. Charlotte could make him smile, even laugh at times, but Lucy was still quiet and shy around him. Emilia kept her voice quiet and her eyes lowered, and in return Mr. Dashwood barely glanced her way.
Her apprehension about lessons faded as well. She tried to leave word with Mr. Pearce about her plans, but the reply was always the same:As you think best.Even the matter of her bedroom seemed moot. At times it felt as though she and the young ladies had the house entirely to themselves, and in that circumstance it didn’t matter that she had the mistress’s bedroom. She wasn’t immune to the luxury of having such a room, large and quiet and comfortably furnished. And when Lucy had a nightmare, she heard the screams at once and it took her only seconds to sprint up the stairs.
“There, dear, there,” she crooned, hugging the girl fiercely. “It’s only a dream.”
“It was dreadful,” Lucy sobbed against her neck. She clutched Emilia’s shoulders so tightly, Emilia could feel her fingernails. “Papa found me here, in the drawing room. He-he-he shook me, Millie, and called me filthy and I-I-I couldn’t get away.”
