And she was not happy about the recognition.
Now, he was certain she could not have been completely forthcoming with Ash and Alicia. He felt no triumph...just a tug somewhere beneath his ribs, a sharp yank demanding hedo something. But what? Force her to reveal her secrets? Offer her his aid? Given the impression he’d made, she’d hardly be willing to take him into her confidence.
“Can you braid my hair like hers?” Fee asked.
“They’re a little more complicated than your usual braids.” Mrs. Montrose settled back into the chair. She turned Fee’s face away and ran her hand over Fee’s hair. “We can certainly?—”
“Uncle Heven!”
The nursemaid whipped around.
Caught. “Good evening, Lady Felicia. Mrs. Montrose.”
Fee scrambled down from Mrs. Montrose’s lap. “I love my doll. Where is she from?”
He met Mrs. Montrose’s gaze. “My travels.”
She flushed but did not look away. If only he could read the emotion behind her eyes.
“Austria?” Fee asked.
“In the vicinity,” he answered. He could be vague, too.
His mind wandered, seeking possible answers. She couldn’t have had anything to do with the events that transpired in Vienna—she’d been here at the time. However, he knew that Prince Karl had resided in London prior to being called to the Congress. Had the nursemaid some connection to him when he was there?
Hurtheven didn’t like the idea in the least. Karl had been manipulative, peevish, and vindictive, abusive to those beneath him while toad eating those above. In short, not anyone a young woman alone in the world should know.
“Is there something we can do for you, Your Grace?” she prompted.
Tell me the truth.
If anything, her gaze completely shuttered.
He inclined his head. “The duchess sent me to escort Lady Felicia, and you, Mrs. Montrose, down to dinner.”
“Then we shouldn’t keep your parents waiting, should we, Fee?”
Hurtheven lifted Fee into his arms and then settled her to one side. In another year or so, he was not going to be able to do that anymore. But for the time being, he savored the feel of her head against his shoulder.
“Escort.” Fee pointed to Mrs. Montrose. “Means you give Mrs. Montrose your arm.”
“Who am I to break a rule of propriety?” He winked at Fee before he presented Mrs. Montrose with his arm. “Mrs. Montrose?”
She gazed down as if touching him would leave her scalded. Then, she placed her fingers gently against his sleeve.
Fee chattered away as, together, they walked through the adjoining rooms towards the stairs.
In-between Fee’s breathless accounts of her exploits, Hurtheven’s mind wandered, marveling at certain contradictions...such as how the scent of a woman could feel like a pleasant memory. How a feather-light touch could produce a curious sense of connection. And how a state of vigilant wariness could be shifted in opposite directions by one, tiny preposition.
But which preposition should he use concerning Mrs. Montrose?
Waryofor waryfor?
Or both?
ChapterThree
Following dinner, Hurtheven lingered in the garden as, Mrs. Montrose, Alicia, Pen, and the children, swept back up the terrace steps and then into the house. Mrs. Montrose tilted her head toward Pen, continuing the deep, low-toned conversation they’d started just after they’d risen from the table.
