“We’re Rohans, Annis.We can talk about anything we like.”
“What was his last mistress like, Uncle Lucien?”Horry asked eagerly.
“Enough,” Jenny said softly, and Horry threw her a guilty look.
“We don’t need to be discussing Brat,” Miranda said firmly, “particularly when he’s not here.He took a tumble off his horse, but he’s perfectly fine, and last time I saw him, he was going down to the stables to check on his ride and make sure he’d come to no harm.Now cease this talk of mistresses and murder, it’s teatime.”
He’s had some of the most beautiful women in the world.The words rang in Jenny’s head and heart.Why in the world had he bothered with her?She was presentable enough, but she was no great beauty like Caroline Ridgely, and he hadn’t even given the woman a second glance.Instead, he’d danced her through the halls and kissed her.Many times.
Was he hurt?Even though she was a good horsewoman, she’d been thrown, and she remembered all too well the aches and pains from such a jarring.She would be the least of his concerns now.
It was only two days till Christmas.She had no idea how long the Rohans planned to stay at Pawlfrey House, but she could only hope and pray it wasn’t until Twelfth Night.She was having a hard enough time keeping herself together as it was.Another ten days or so would be disastrous.
Of course, Brat could lose interest just as easily as he had gained it.She should probably not resist so much—he was simply enjoying the thrill of the chase.If she stopped fighting…if she stopped fighting, she was doomed for disaster.But was she fighting him?Or herself?
It wasn’t until she was dressing for bed that she remembered the costumes.She’d spent the entire day coaching the girls with their song, as well as playing for some of the younger children who had also chosen to perform, and she’d never had a moment to go through the costumes.The pantomime was the next night, and the twins were determined to be fairy princesses.There was hardly enough time for her to make something, but if she could find the basic dresses, she could doubtless conjure something up.
She dressed quickly again, not bothering with her corset or her petticoats, took her candle, and stepped out into the chilly hallway.One of the servants had shown her the bedroom where the costumes lay, and she only made one wrong turn before she reached it.It was on the floor above hers, and the hallways were long and dark, and she was freezing.
But the earl was right—his servants didn’t make mistakes.The costume room was warm, lit by the dying embers of the fire, and she quickly closed the door behind her to keep the heat in.She would be fine.
She ended up sitting on the floor, the gowns and costumes spread around her.It had been easy enough to find dresses for Penelope and Hortensia, but she’d come across the perfect outfits for Oliver and Finley, two of the de Malheurs’ massive brood, and Alexandra needed a Robin Hood costume for her skit, and she was busy sorting through the piles of fabric when she heard a click, and a sudden chill filled her.She looked up, and Brat de Malheur stood in the doorway, dressed in black with a loose white shirt, no cravat, no coat, no mercy.
“What are you doing here?”she demanded, cursing the fact that her voice wobbled slightly.
“Looking for you.”
“Did you go through the halls opening every bedroom door in your search?That would have proven embarrassing.”
“You mean I might catch my sainted elders having sex?I’d survive the shock.My mother told me where you might be.”
Curse Miranda!Why was she encouraging him?She could hardly want he son to despoil her brother’s governess.
“And here I am,” she said.She was surrounded by clothing piled high—she wasn’t quite sure how she was going to rise to her feet with any grace, but rise she would.
Instead, he solved the problem by dropping down on the clothing with her, with his usual lithe grace.“Here you are,” he repeated, watching her out of those dark, magnetic eyes.
“I heard you had an accident,” she said nervously.“I would have thought you’d be abed, recovering.”
“I don’t bruise easily, and I know how to fall.”
“Is there such a thing as knowing how to fall?”she asked, momentarily distracted.
“There is.I’ll teach you one day.”
Jenny gulped.One day?What day?“I consider that unlikely.”
He smiled at her, this time without the malice that usually tinged his smiles.“I’m an unlikely man.”
Oh, he was indeed.He was so beautiful in the fitful light of the bedroom, watching her, and she wanted to close her eyes and weep.She shoved the yards of fabric off her lap.“What do you want from me, Mr.de Malheur?”
“Call me Brat.”
“No.”
That seemed to amuse him.“Then call me James.”
He was toying with her.At least there was no mistletoe in the room.“Mr.de Malheur, what do you want from me?”
