“My lord, surely you must recognize that this poor child is in distress and in need of our care.”
Two soft brown eyes peered up at him through a curtain of matted hair. The imp had the cheek to grin at him as she cuddled closer to Gillian.
Weston counted to ten before he addressed the woman kneeling before him. “I appreciate the fact that you have a kind and sensitive nature, Miss Leigh, but now is hardly the time to impress me with your good works. You could have been kil—”
“Impress you with my good works, my lord?”
If Weston didn’t know better, he’d believe the glitter in the eyes of the woman who slowly rose to her feet before him indicated annoyance. He nodded and waved toward the child, who had her eyes greedily fixed on the earl’s watch chain. “It is obvious to me that you seek my approval and wish to demonstrate your concern for the less fortunate, but it is not necessary.”
Gillian stared at him openmouthed. God’s nightgown, the arrogance of the man was overwhelming! Impress him, indeed! If he hadn’t addled her brains so thoroughly by standing there looking every inch the handsome rake she knew he was, she’d give him a piece of her mind. What remained of it, that is. A tug at her sleeve reminded her of her duty, however.
“My lord, a coin, please.”
“A coin?” Weston frowned at her outstretched hand.
“Yes, a coin for the child.”
So surprised was he by her request that he handed her a coin without thinking. She knelt before the child. “Now, my dear, don’t fret. I shall take charge and you will not have to live on the streets any longer, subject to cold and hunger and the abuses of strangers. I’m sure my aunt and uncle will be happy to take you in and see to your welfare. You’ll be educated, of course — perhaps trained as a lady’s maid? Would you like that? Yes, of course you would. You don’t happen to speak French, do you? ’Tis of no matter; take my hand, sweet. Lord Weston will drive us somewhere we can feed you, and then he’ll escort us home and you’ll have a bath and—”
Weston started to interrupt but was cut short when the child spat out a curse, snatched the coin Gillian held, and dashed off into the crowd.
She watched the child disappear, then closed her mouth with an audible snap and turned to face the earl. “Don’t say it.”
He looked for a moment as if he would take exception to her instruction, then without a word held out his hand and escorted her back to his phaeton.
An hour later, as he was handing her down in front of her uncle’s house, she couldn’t help but shiver at the sight of his cold, unmoving face. Surely a man who had gone through as many trials as he had during their drive should be showing some emotion by now — annoyance over the scene with the street urchin, exasperation when she argued vehemently that they were traveling in the wrong direction based on the position of the sun and the direction of the wind, and finally, there was that painful episode with his horses…but no, it was best to put that behind them. The Lord of Granite held her hand for a moment longer than was proper, and when she looked up into his eyes, he held her gaze.
Her mind went completely blank of all thoughts but those of the man standing before her. Slowly he raised her hand to his lips. Gillian gulped at the shock of the touch and tried to think of some way to apologize for the disastrous outing but couldn’t form words under the penetrating scrutiny of those silver-gray eyes.
“Tomorrow, madam.” He bowed and turned to leave. Gillian floated up the steps and through the opened door with only a brief greeting to the footman.
Tomorrow? What could he mean?
“What does he mean?” Gillian asked three hours later, as she lay prone on her stomach on Charlotte’s bed, kicking her feet in the air and watching her cousin’s maid create long blond ringlets out of the girl’s mass of hair.
“For heaven’s sake, Gillian, you are a goose! I can’t believe you’re seven years older than me. He’s paying court to you, of course. Just as the dangerous Raoul did to Beatrice in The Castle of Almeria.”
Gillian looked thoughtful as she picked at the soft shawl in front of her. “Was that the novel that opens with the heroine covered with blood after she believes she murdered her father who tried to rape her and is later befriended by the kindly vegetarian?”
“No, that was Louisa, or The Cottage on the Moor.”
Gillian tapped a long finger on her lower lip. “Is it the one that had the heroine beset with wolves and marauding strangers after she’s kidnapped by her sinister father’s men, only to be nearly ravished in a French chateau?”
Charlotte frowned briefly, then shook her head. “No, that was Romance of the Forest.”
“Then it must be the one where the heroine strangles the nefarious lord who attempts to sully her virtue, and the evil villainess gets an unspeakable disease due to her lust for anything in trousers.”
“Yes, that’s Almeria, although I don’t understand why Madam de la Rouge was made out to be such an evil woman. I quite understood her fascination with the count. And the blond footman. And, of course, that rogue of an under-gardener. However, as I was saying, Lord Weston is clearly made of the same romantic material as Raoul. Just as Raoul fought the kidnappers, pirates, and the evil brandy-swilling monks of Clermont in order to be with his true love, so, I feel sure, would Lord Weston fight for you.”
Gillian rolled her eyes and made an unladylike snort. “Oh, yes, why didn’t I see that? Of course, it makes perfect sense. Here is a man — wealthy, enormously attractive even if he is thought to be a murderer, and in possession of a title — and he falls madly in love with untitled, poor, freckled, opinionated, clumsy me. How could I have missed such an obvious fact?”
“Don’t be sarcastic, cousin, it will give you spots. You have many charms, even if you don’t have a dowry or a title. Perhaps Lord Weston is enamored with you. After what you’ve told me about your drive this afternoon, such a romantic gesture would certainly fit with his actions today.”
Gillian sucked in her lower lip and considered Charlotte’s comments. She possessed enough self-awareness to realize that the attraction she felt for the Black Earl went beyond what was acceptable for casual acquaintances, and in an honest moment she even put a name to the emotion. That same honesty forced her to admit that such instantaneous and overwhelming attachments were rare and not, as a rule, duplicated on the gentleman’s side. Pride drove Gillian into wanting the earl to spend time in her company not because he was bored and had nothing better to do, but because he found her witty, amusing, and completely captivating.
She frowned at the figure seated before the dressing table. “What charms?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said I have many charms. What, in particular, do you consider my many charms?”
Charlotte waved away her maid and turned to look at her cousin sprawled out across her bed.
“Stand up.”
Gillian sighed and rose from the bed, trying without success to smooth the wrinkles out of her new gold evening gown.
“You’re tall,” Charlotte pronounced, circling her cousin and eyeing her from ears to toes.
“I know that,” Gillian replied tartly. “I’m taller than most men.”
“But not taller than the earl. In fact, you come only to his nose. That’s good.”
Gillian rolled her eyes again but kept her comments to herself.
“You carry yourself well.”
“Oh, come now, cousin! I fall over my own very substantial feet!”