To Love a Lord (10 page)

Jaw firmed with determination, Lady Chloe gave a brusque nod. “I will. Despite my brother’s expectations.”

Despite everyone’s expectations
. Having lived a life where her mother was nothing more than a plaything to a powerful duke, Jane had vowed to never surrender her happiness or independence to a man. Curiosity tugged at her. What accounted for this young lady’s like sentiments? Something quelled the question on her lips. A knowledge that it wasn’t her right to know; an understanding that it was a truth Lady Chloe would impart if or when she felt Jane was deserving to know.

“You are quiet,” Chloe observed.

She smiled wryly. “I suspect that is why your brother believed I would not suit.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shot up. “He didn’t?”

Jane bit the inside of her cheek at revealing that fact about her employer.

A small laugh bubbled past Chloe’s lips. “Oh, come. I assure you, you’ve freedom to speak candidly with me.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Particularly about my domineering brother.”

Odd the word choice ascribed by his sister was how Jane, too, would have described him. And yet… “You are fortunate that he at the very least cares.” Unlike her, who was the shameful, dirty secret of a lofty duke.

“I don’t doubt he loves me,” Chloe whispered, the words spoken more to herself. She fanned the pages of the top volume. “However, in his love for me, in his desire to see me protected, he would take upon himself finding a gentleman who’d suit.” With a snort she slammed closed the book. “Only, he doesn’t realize I don’t want any gentleman.” She beamed. “Why, I’m quite content to become the eccentric spinster who doesn’t give a jot for Society’s opinion.”

With that handful of words that revealed so very much of the young woman she’d serve as companion to, Jane came to the swift realization—she liked Lady Chloe Edgerton a good deal. A smile pulled at her lips. “I can only imagine how Mrs. Belden would have responded to such an opinion.”

Chloe wagged her eyebrows. “Poorly.”

A burst of laughter escaped her and she stifled it with her fingers. “Never tell me you told her your hopes for your marital state.” Or lack thereof.

Chloe gave a vigorous nod, a devilish sparkle in her eyes. “I told her quite often.”

At last Gabriel’s dismissal made sense. Any one of Mrs. Belden’s instructors would have come here staid, proper, and determined to help Lady Chloe coordinate an advantageous match.

Some of Chloe’s amusement lifted, replaced instead with a contemplativeness. “My brothers and friend, Imogen, are quite insistent that I’ll one day wed and,” she gave a wry smile, “fall in love.” The droll edge to her tone indicated Lady Chloe Edgerton was not one of those romantic sorts, with hopes of a powerful match and the dream of love all rolled perfectly together.

Clearing her throat nervously, Jane then filled the quiet. “Are you familiar with her works?” she asked, nodding to the pile as Chloe proceeded to leaf through the books. All the books in question were the products of Mrs. Wollstonecraft, the unwed philosopher and mother with two illegitimate children. With her scandalous thoughts, she’d hardly be a favored figure in polite and, most times, impolite Society.

The young lady shook her head.

Well, if he’d not sacked her already, Gabriel would likely do so for this. And yet, she had an obligation to Chloe that moved even beyond the security Jane craved that would come at the end of these two months—if she could behave.

Alas, she’d never properly behaved.

She gestured to the stack of books. “Mrs. Wollstonecraft was an English writer.” Interest sparked in Chloe’s pretty blue eyes, and she then picked up the book she’d been toying with earlier and skimmed the cover. Her lips moved silently as she read the title.

“Mrs. Belden, your brother, Gabe—” Chloe whipped her head up and Jane’s cheeks heated at her inadvertent error. “The marquess,” she substituted lamely. “They will urge you to make a match, all the while trusting they know who will
make
you a good match.” Gabriel’s face flashed behind her eyes. “Perhaps he will be powerful,” she added. Her lips still burned with the imprint of his kiss. “He’ll have wealth and status, and Society thinks they know what you want, because Society believes you can’t yourself know what you want.” As Jane spoke, Chloe stilled, frozen, with her silence giving no indication as to whether she approved, disapproved, or worse, was indifferent, to Jane’s words. Regardless, Jane pressed forward. “Mrs. Wollstonecraft didn’t believe women were inferior. She believed we are uneducated and through that forced ignorance, we are treated as less than logical, rational people.”

The hum of silence met her words. Treasonous ones, Mrs. Belden had claimed. Then a slow smile turned Chloe’s lips upwards. “Mrs. Munroe—”

“Jane.”

“Mrs. Munroe, I quite like you.” She eyed the book in her hands a long moment and then set it down. “Are you certain you were one of Mrs. Belden’s instructors?”

Not for the first time since she’d slipped into Gabriel’s household did she feel the pinpricks of guilt sticking at her conscience. “I was.” She curled her fingers tightly into her palm. It wasn’t wholly a lie. Chloe had spoken in the past tense and Jane had once held one of those distinguished posts.

“You are not at all like any of the instructors I’d known.” A small sigh slid past the young woman’s lips. “What a very different time I would have had at Mrs. Belden’s had you been my instructor.” She wrinkled her nose. “Trust Mrs. Belden to do something as contradictory as hiring smiling, kindhearted and clever instructors such as you only after I’d left.”

“You may rest assured that Mrs. Belden still is in possession of her stern set, drumming lessons of propriety and properness into each and every lady,” she said dryly and then silently cursed at her quick tongue.

Except—Chloe burst out laughing. Her narrow shoulders shook with the force of her mirth and she dashed back tears from her cheeks. “Well, I am very glad she sent you to us.” With that she all but sprinted to the door, but then paused with her fingers on the handle. “Mrs. Munroe—Jane,” she self-corrected. “I believe we are going to get on very well.” One more smile, a jaunty wave, and a rapid snap of her skirts later, Chloe hurried from the room.

Jane stared at the closed door. With the trusting, kindhearted young woman’s faith in her and her worth, the weight of guilt magnified, pressing down on her like a boulder being applied to her chest. Before, she’d lied to strangers who believed her inferior. Gabriel, the austere nobleman, and his sister, the spoiled, indolent lady, had represented a path to freedom. Now, they were more. Gabriel was a brother who loved and loyally protected his sister. Chloe was a woman with dreams and hopes that existed beyond the strictures polite Society would impose.

She closed her eyes. Could she remain here under the guise of being sent by the harridan, Mrs. Belden, and violate Gabriel’s trust, while all the while strengthening a friendship with his sister?

Then, what choice did she have?

“W
e must visit the modiste. We are in need of gowns.”

Seated behind his desk the following morning after his sister had gone and upended his carefully ordered world with her insistence on keeping Jane on as companion, Gabriel glanced up from the open ledgers upon his desk.

“Gowns,” Chloe repeated as though he one, didn’t know what a dress was, or two, as if there was something wrong with his hearing, which there certainly wasn’t. He was just two and thirty years, hardly one of those doddering old lords.

Either way, “
You
want to go shopping?” What would come next? She’d be hoping for suitors and eagerly planning her wedding? He snorted. Horses would likely fly above Tower Bridge before that day came.

“Not for me.” She clapped her hands together once in what he expected was a clue indicating he was to stand. He remained seated. His sister frowned. “For Jane.” Jane? As in Mrs. Munroe? The straitlaced, bespectacled woman whose kiss still haunted his waking and sleeping thoughts? “Now, do hurry.” With another clap of her hands, Chloe spun on her heel and started from the room.

He blinked, slowly processing that pert announcement. “Chloe?” he barked.

At once, she poked her head back inside his office. “Yes, Gabriel?”

How many years had he taken his brother, Alex, as the indolent, shiftless rogue? Gabriel swiped a hand over his face. Now, he appreciated that with his care of Chloe over the years, he’d spared Gabriel from a good deal of her scheming. He folded his hands before him and rested the interlocked digits upon the desk. “Just what does Jane,” his sister narrowed her eyes. A flush heated his neck. “What does Mrs. Munroe require new gowns for?”

With a beleaguered sigh better suited a bothered mama, she reentered the room. “Have you seen Jane?”

The bespectacled, plain young woman with her dull skirts slipped into his mind but as she’d been with her glasses knocked to the floor and the captivating blues of her eyes, her full lips swollen from his kiss. Unable to force out any words, he managed a nod.

“Well, she is perfectly lovely.”

Lovely. Jane’s was an understated beauty made all the more intriguing when challenges flew from her lips. He gritted his teeth at the wandering direction his thoughts were taking him down. “Chloe?” he bit out, his tone heavy with impatience.

“Yes, right.” Chloe flicked a hand about. “She is perfectly lovely, however, she cannot attend Societal functions in her dragon skirts.”

“And you’d have me fit her for a wardro—ouch,” he winced as she pinched him.

“Do not be a pinchpenny.” She furrowed her brow. “Unless your estates are not prospering in which case, then, we really should all consider adjusting our—”

“My estates are just fine,” he snapped.

A triumphant gleam lit Chloe’s eyes and he bit back a curse at the second cleverly laid snare he’d stepped into. “Perfect. I shall collect my cloak, then.” She skipped to the door and disappeared out the entrance.

He dug his fingertips into his temples. “Chloe,” he called. Not for the first time wishing his sister, Philippa, had the patience to wait until the Season was concluded before seeing to all the
enceinte
business.

“Yes?” She stuck her head inside the room once again, an impish grin on her face.

Gabriel folded his arms at his chest. “I have matters of business to attend. Important matters.” Ones that did not include squiring her and Mrs. Munroe to modistes and milliners. When she opened her mouth, he continued, speaking over her. “And furthermore, you have Mrs. Munroe to accompany you about town.”

She dropped her eyebrows and, by the darkening of her eyes, he knew he’d made a faulty misstep.

“Oh, so you’ve foisted all of your responsibilities off on Mrs. Munroe, have you?”

Oh, bloody hell.

He tugged at his cravat, which only drew his sister’s attention to that guilty action. Gabriel immediately stopped and laid his hand back to the desktop. “I am not foisting you off on another.” Not
entirely
.

She brightened. “You aren’t?”

Well, perhaps he was. “Of course not.”

A pleased smile turned her lips. “Splendid.” She gave another annoying clap of her hands. “Now, do hurry.” With that, she dismissed him and rushed from the room.

Oh bloody,
bloody
hell. On a groan, he dropped his head into his hands. Knowing his sister as he did, Chloe had every intention of making him miserable for saddling her with a companion. Yet again, he’d stepped neatly into one of her traps. Lord Wellington himself would have admired Chloe’s masterful plotting.

Abandoning his plans for the morning, he came to his feet. Gabriel took his leave of his office. He walked at a quick, clipped pace through the corridors to the foyer. As he stepped into the marble foyer, he came to a sudden, jarring stop.

Jane stood at the center with her back arched and her neck tipped back at such an impossible angle it was a wonder she remained upright. Those tempting, red lips, that had made him forget the vows he’d taken to never be the dissolute lord to dally with his staff, were parted as though in wonder. She stared transfixed up at the towering ceiling above. The air left him on a slow exhale and it was a physical hungering to know what should so move this usually stoic, often frowning woman to such awe. It was a physical effort to tear his gaze from her moist lips.

He followed her stare upward to the mural painted on the high ceiling and frowned. He’d long detested the heavenly scenes captured by his ironical father, the devil who’d delighted in those tableaus of cherubs and angels. They adorned nearly every blasted room. When he had been a boy of nine years and his father had forced him to sit at his knee while he imparted all the dealings that would one day be Gabriel’s, he’d allowed his mind to wander. In those dreams, he’d crafted his revenge. On the darkest days, after his brother and sisters had been battered by the birch rod, Gabriel had gleefully plotted all the ways he might kill the bastard. On other days, he’d scheme up ways in which to destroy the marquess’ legacy—having those murals painted over had been one promise he’d made to himself. And yet he’d never gotten around to it.

Seeing the wide-eyed awe stamped upon the heart-shaped planes of her face, he was glad he did not. For then he’d never have witnessed Jane, riveted in silent wonder. What manner of madness possessed him? He kicked dirt upon his fanciful musings. “Jane,” he greeted with an icy calm.

She shrieked. Her slippered feet slid out from under her and she flailed her arms.

Gabriel closed the distance between them in three long strides and slid his arms under her slender frame and caught her. He braced for a stiff, polite “thank you”.

She blinked up at him. “Hullo,” she said her voice a breathless whisper that carried up to his ears. In the four days he’d known Jane Munroe, he should have learned she never did what was predicted.

With a forced nonchalance he inclined his head. “Jane.” But then, he made the mistake of looking down and his gaze snagged upon her bow-shaped lips once more. And the sight held him as transfixed as the sight of her moments ago, head tilted back in awe. Gabriel hurriedly set her upright on her feet. He cast a desperate glance about for Chloe.