Stephanie Laurens - A Gentleman's Honor

Tony frowned; Maggs forestalled him. “Scully’s with ’em. No need to fret.”

His frown darkening at the thought that he was that transparent, he crossed the threshold. “I want to speak with the staff—all of you who are here. It might be best if I came down to the kitchens.”

From beneath the wide branches of one of the trees in Green Park, Alicia watched, a smile on her lips, as Scully and Jenkins wrestled with the second of the two kites they’d brought out.

The first kite, under Harry’s narrow-eyed guidance, was soaring over the treetops. David was watching Scully and Jenkins, a pitying look in his face; Matthew’s eyes were glued to the blue-and-white kite swooping and swirling above the trees.

“There you are.”

She turned at the words, knowing before she met Tony’s eyes that it was he. “As always.”

Smiling, she gave him her hand; his eyes locking on hers, he raised it to his lips and pressed kisses first to her fingers, then to her palm. Retaining possession, he lowered his hand, fingers sliding about hers, and looked out at the scene in the clearing before them.

“I wonder…” He glanced at her, raised a brow.

“Should I rescue Jenkins and Scully from sinking without trace in your brothers’ estimation?”

She grinned; leaning back against the tree trunk, she gestured. “By all means. I’ll watch and judge your prowess.”

Over numerous afternoons, he’d taught the boys the tricks of keeping their kites aloft. He’d transparently enjoyed the moments; something inside her had rejoiced to see him caught again in what must have been a boyhood pleasure.

“Hmm.” Studying the kite flyers, he hesitated; she got the impression he was steeling himself to resist the lure of the kites and do something else, something he was reluctant to do.

A moment passed, then he looked at her. “Actually, I wanted to speak with you.”

She widened her eyes, inviting him to continue.

Still he hesitated; his eyes searched hers—abruptly she realized he was metaphorically girding his loins.

“I want you to move house.”

She frowned at him. “Move? But why? Waverton Street suits us—”

“For safety reasons. Precautions.” He trapped her gaze.

“I don’t want you or your household subjected to any repeat of yesterday.”

She had no wish to argue that; no one had enjoyed the experience. But… she let her frown grow. “How will a different house avoid…” The intentness in his black eyes registered. Her lips parted; she stared, then baldly asked, “To which house do you wish us to move?”

His lips thinned. “Mine.”

“No.”

“ Before you say that, just consider—living under my roof you’ll have the protection not just of my title, my status, but also of all those allied with me and my family.” His eyes pinned her. “So will your sister and brothers.”

Folding her arms, she narrowed her eyes back. “For the moment, let’s leave Adriana and the boys out of this discussion—it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re always quick to drag them into the fray.”

He scowled at her. “They’re part of it—they’re part of you.”

“Perhaps. Be that as it may, you can’t seriously think—”

He cut her off with a raised hand. “Hear me out. If it’s the proprieties that are exercising you, my cousin and her two young daughters—they’re ten and twelve—will be arriving tomorrow. With Miranda in residence, there’s no reason—social, logical, or otherwise—that you and your household cannot stay at Torrington House. It’s a mansion—there’s more than enough room.”

“But…” She stared at him. The words: I’m your mistress, for heaven’s sake ! burned her tongue. Compressing her lips, she fixed him with a strait look, and primly asked, “What will your staff think?”

What she meant was: what will the entire ton think. To be his mistress was one thing; the ton turned a blind eye to affairs between gentlemen such as he and fashionable widows. However, to be his mistress and live openly under his roof was, she was fairly certain, going that one step too far.

His expression had turned bewildered. “My staff?”

“Your servants. Those who would have to adjust to and cope with the invasion.”

“As it happens, they’re delighted at the prospect.” His frown returned. “I can’t imagine why you’d think otherwise. My butler’s going around with a smile threatening to crack his face, and the staff are buzzing about, getting rooms ready.”

She blinked, suddenly uncertain. If his butler thought her living in the Upper Brook Street mansion was acceptable… she’d always understood tonnish butlers to be second only to the grandes dames in upholding the mores of the ton.

Tony sighed. “I know we haven’t properly discussed it, but there isn’t time. Just because we’ve trumped A. C.’s last three tricks doesn’t mean he won’t try again.” His expression resolute, he met her eyes. “That he’s tried three times to implicate you suggests he’s fixated on the idea of using you to cover his tracks. I’m sure he’ll try again.”

An inkling of why he was so set on moving her into his house, having her, at least for the present, under his roof, reached her. She hesitated.

He sensed it. Shifting closer, he pressed his point. “There’s a huge schoolroom with bedrooms attached, and rooms for Jenkins and Fitchett nearby. There’s a back garden the boys can play in when they’re not having their lessons—and the staff truly are looking forward to having boys running up and down the stairs again.”

Despite all, that last made her smile.

He squeezed her hand, raised it to his chest. “You and the boys and Adriana will be comfortable and safe at Torrington House. You’ll be happy there.”

And he’d be happy if she was there, too—that didn’t need saying, it was there in his eyes.

“Please.” The word was soft. “Come and live with me.”

Her heart turned over; her resolution wavered.

“There’s no reason at all you can’t—no hurdle we can’t overcome.”

Lost in his eyes, she pressed her lips tight.

Felt a tug on her gown. She looked down.

Matthew stood beside them; neither of them had noticed his approach. Face alight, he stared first at one, then the other, then breathlessly asked, “Are we really going to live at Tony’s house?”

By the time they got back to Waverton Street, Alicia had a headache. A frown had taken up permanent residence on her face; she couldn’t seem to lose it.

She was seriously annoyed, not specifically but generally—she couldn’t blame Tony for involving her brothers, but involved they now were, and determined to convince her of the huge benefits of removing with all speed to Torrington House.

If Tony was ruthless, they were relentless. She went up the steps, shooing them before her, feeling almost battered.

Despite their arguments, she felt very sure she needed to think long and hard about this latest proposition. She needed to investigate, and make sure that her presence in his house wouldn’t harm his standing.

Nor make her own any more perilous.

“Off to wash your hands. No tea until you do.”

It was blackberry jam day again, so they rushed off without argument.

With a short sigh, she swung to face Tony.

He was watching her closely. “Come and sit down.”

She let him steer her to the parlor. Scully and Jenkins disappeared. Sinking onto the chaise, she fixed Tony with a darkling glance. “I haven’t agreed.”

He inclined his head and, wisely, made no reply.

Tea should have soothed her temper. Unfortunately, her brothers were not so perspicacious as Tony; although clever enough not to directly argue their case, their artful comments, tossed entirely among themselves, on the possibilities they imagined might accrue should they go to live in Upper Brook Street—possibilities like having suitable banisters to slide down, possibilities they innocently requested advice on from Tony—filled the minutes.