Once an Heiress (9 page)

Aunt Janine subjected her to an icy smile. “And I’ll remind you there are
three
unmarried ladies present. I am a spinster, Mrs. Bachman, yet have managed to enjoy a fulfilling life. I wonder if you can say the same.”

Mrs. Bachman’s mouth fell open. “Why, Lady Janine, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication — ”

“Bravo!” Aunt Janine exclaimed. “I am astonished a word with as many syllables as ‘implication’ has found its way to your vocabulary. I commend you, madam.”

Naomi pressed a hand to her eyes and shook her head.

“Aunt Janine,” Lily said in a raised voice. “Mama!”

The two older ladies ceased their squabbling. Mrs. Bachman’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, while Aunt Janine looked as though she was enjoying every moment of the exchange.

“You were telling me about Viscount Thorburn’s family,” Lily reminded her.

“Oh yes.” Aunt Janine cleared her throat. “Kneath — Thorburn, then — didn’t pay much attention to the present Thorburn, as he was the younger son. It’s probably for the best, when it comes right down to it. I know I’m not the only one who worried about those boys after their mother had been so ill-treated. The eldest Helling son, Lord Walter, seemed to be turning into a replica of his father. Honestly, it’s just as well that duel did him in. The younger one, Lord Ethan, was left to run wild. His grandfather is the only one who took any interest in him, the poor thing, but he died some fifteen years ago. When Lord Walter died, their father went into mourning and still hasn’t come out of it, even though it’s been three years. He stays at the family heap and won’t acknowledge Thorburn any more now than during his childhood.”

A surge of pity for the young Ethan Helling and his miserable childhood shot through Lily. She squirmed in her seat. She didn’t need to feel pity for him. He was a grown man now, and whatever he’d made of his life — debts and all — was his own doing.

She cleared her throat. “At least that settles one thing,” she said. “If he’s badly in debt and not receiving funds from his father, then he’s almost certainly a fortune hunter.”

Aunt Janine tilted her head to the side. “A fortune hunter he may be, m’dear — but he doesn’t seem to be hunting yours. That must be a relief.”

Lily forced a smile. Somehow, said her despairing heart, it wasn’t any relief at all.

Lily set the letter of reference down in her lap and rubbed her eyes. She’d thought the park would be a pleasant setting to settle on her choice of headmistress before her meeting with Mr. Wickenworth this afternoon. Instead, the sunlight glaring off the white papers gave her the beginnings of a headache.

At the other end of the bench, her lady’s maid, Moira, sat with her ankles crossed and her hands clasped across her belly. Her chin rested against her chest, which rose and fell steadily while she dozed. The warm air
was
rather soporific. Lily’s jaw cracked. She covered her mouth with a hand, arched her back in a stretch, and yawned.

“Miss Bachman! This is an unexpected pleasure.”

Lily startled. She opened her eyes to see Lord Thorburn standing there, his left hand covering the brass head of a black lacquered walking stick. In his right hand, he held what appeared to be a letter. He quickly folded it. As it passed over his waistcoat on the way to his inner coat pocket, Lily caught a glimpse of a florid V at the top of the stationery.

Her stomach flipped at his sudden appearance. It was his fault she couldn’t concentrate on work at home. She still hadn’t decided whether or not he was a rotten bounder like the rest of the Leeches, but she had given up on him coming to call after her fortune. But now here he was, unexpectedly showing up at her park bench. Had he followed her? Was he full of mercenary intentions, after all? She eyed him suspiciously, trying to divine some meaning from his gray morning coat and blue waistcoat, as though they were scrying stones.

“I have interrupted you,” Thorburn said. “Forgive the intrusion.” He touched his gloved hand to the brim of his hat. He was going to walk away, and Lily hadn’t said a single word to him!

“No, please,” she blurted. “I’ve cobwebs in my skull this morning.”

Thorburn paused. A small smile touched his lips.

Lily swallowed, her innards fluttering. “What are you doing?” She realized as the words escaped her lips that it was an impertinent question. It wasn’t her business in the least what Lord Thorburn was doing this morning. Heat flooded her cheeks.
Why haven’t you come to call?
That was the question she really wanted to ask, but it would be exponentially more outrageous to voice that than the question she’d already posed.

Thorburn didn’t seem to mind. “I’m on my way to visit a friend,” he answered, “though I’m in no hurry. It’s such a fine morning, I thought I’d enjoy a walk before I called.”

Lily furrowed her brow and nodded. She looked down at her hands in her lap, unaccountably stung that he was going to call upon someone other than her. He’d not so much as popped in for tea, even though he’d dragged her into the hedge and kissed her.

From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of him swaying, on the verge of departure. He hadn’t followed her or anything of the sort, she realized. He’d happened upon her by chance and stopped to be polite, and she was making a muck of it.

“Would you care to sit down?”

A shadow crossed his face at her invitation, reminiscent of the hungry wolf she’d glimpsed in his study. Then he blinked, once again the image of polite civility.

“Thank you,” he said.

Lily picked up the folio of letters and moved toward the middle of the bench, closer to her abigail. Thorburn sat on her right. Her heart pounded in her chest. She was too aware of him; his solid masculine presence radiated confidence and authority. As much as Lily liked to command situations, it was often work to do so when men were involved. They always came around to her perspective eventually, but it sometimes took her entire arsenal of biting words and feminine charms — usually only one of those, sometimes both.

But Lord Thorburn … now, here was a man who had dispatched her whole group of admirers at the ball that night by strolling over and claiming her, with barely a word of protest raised by the others. And then he’d claimed her further with that kiss.

That kiss. That stupid kiss that wouldn’t get out of her mind and had made a wreck of her this whole week past. Well, he was here now, she thought, drawing herself up. Time to grab the bull by the horns and find out once and for all what kind of man he was —

“Miss Bachman,” Thorburn said. “I feel it incumbent upon me to apologize.”

Her eyes flew to his face. His expression was unreadable, his eyes shuttered. “Apologize?” she asked. “Whatever for?”

“I want to assure you,” he said, “it is not my habit to accost young ladies in gardens.”

Her lips pinched together. He was apologizing for kissing her before she had the chance to express her extreme displeasure on the same point! Why did the man have to continually knock her off balance?

“Oh?” Lily said archly, still hoping to score a hit. “Where do you usually accost young ladies? If you’d be so good as to give me the address, I shall be sure to avoid it in the future.”

For an instant, his eyes widened. Then he chuckled. “Touché.”

Lily’s fingers clutched together. Butterflies buffeted her stomach, but now was not the time to retreat. He might not wish to argue with her, but she still had to know. “Why did you do it?”

Thorburn crossed his legs and gazed over the park.

Lily followed his gaze and swept her own eyes over the scene. It was still too early for the afternoon social parade. Children played with governesses. Dogs walked on leads in the care of footmen. It was the time for all the entities who dwelt in the houses of the high, but who were not welcome at their balls and suppers. Just like Lily. No wonder she preferred to come here before noon.

“I suppose I got carried away,” Thorburn said. “You have quite an impressive … stature.”

Lily did not miss the way his gaze flicked to her chest. Heat prickled up her neck. “You kissed me because of my height?”

Ethan shrugged. “It was novel. I’ve never kissed so tall a lady before.”

Lily glanced at Moira. The maid was still asleep, oblivious to her mistress’ inappropriate conversation. She shouldn’t be talking to Lord Thorburn about their kiss, but he made it so very easy to do things she oughtn’t.

“How did you find it?” she asked. The heat creeping up her cheeks belied her bravado. She only hoped he didn’t see the flush.

His lips turned up the barest bit at the corners. “I have often gotten a crick in my neck from bending over so far. Thanks to your considerate height, I did not experience that problem. It was quite pleasant.”

“Pleasant?” she cried, unable to keep the dismay from her tone.
Pleasant?
That one erotic embrace had thrown Lily’s life into turmoil all week long. She’d been unable to concentrate on work. Every time she went out, she hoped to catch a glimpse of him. Her normally logical mind had become possessed by an indecisive madwoman; she hoped he’d come calling just so she could see him, and dreaded the day he knocked on the door and outed himself as a Leech.

And now she was thinking about that blasted kiss yet again, with Thorburn right beside her, his thigh mere inches from her own. Her body reacted in a way she was coming to associate with his presence. Her breasts tightened; her woman’s flesh felt swollen. She was becoming aroused right here in the middle of the park in broad daylight. How did he do that? It would be nothing to shift a little closer, to make him see that kissing her was more than pleasant.

Unless he was being generous as it was, and hadn’t actually enjoyed their kiss at all. The thought stabbed through her gut. He
had
left rather quickly, abandoning her in the hedge like an unwanted heel of bread.

Thorburn gestured to the portfolio in her lap. “Have you been sketching?”

Lily shook her head, clearing her mind. He was sensible to change the subject. With her emotions reeling from one extreme to the other, she was liable to make a fool of herself if they continued down that path of conversation.

She opened the leather binder. “They’re letters of reference. I have to select a headmistress for my charity school by three o’clock when I meet with Mr. Wickenworth.” She exhaled a sigh of despair. “How do I choose? They all seem qualified. My father has hired dozens of employees over the years. I don’t know how he does it!”

“I daresay it comes easier with practice,” Thorburn said. “I could help you, if you’d like. I have experience with headmasters.”

Lily brightened. “You do?”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “I became well acquainted with the disciplinary methods of any number of headmasters during my ignoble adolescent tour of the nation’s institutions of learning. If you’d care to hear a discourse on the relative merits of the paddle versus the strap, I’m your man.” He made a bow from his seat with a flourish of his hand.

How could he make light of being beaten and tossed out of schools? Then she recalled Aunt Janine’s story about the unwanted second son, who suffered God only knew what torments at his father’s hand, and her heart constricted. School must have been a welcome respite, even if he earned the unhappy attentions of a few headmasters.

Thorburn reached for the stack of letters. “May I?”

“Please.”

He scooped several into his hands and leafed through them with his long, slender fingers. He paused at the list she’d written out, detailing the good and bad points of each applicant.

Lily sat quietly while he read, becoming more agitated as time passed. Something about him holding her papers and reading her private thoughts struck her as intimate, even though the subject matter was utterly mundane. Her insights into each applicant were laid bare, and he might find her judgment wanting.

Thorburn looked at her, his expression thoughtful. “You make a good point here.” He pointed to an item on the list. “Mrs. Burns’ years as a duenna do not give her the experience needed to run an entire school. She only ever had one charge at a time, and might not be prepared for a dozen, plus administrative concerns.”

Lily beamed at his compliment of her observation. She riffled through the papers and extracted another letter. “What do you think of this one?” she asked. “For qualifications, I think Miss Cuthbert is ideal — but there seems to have been some tawdry business in her past. It
was
twenty years ago, however. Would you let that stand in the way, or should I give her a chance?”

Thorburn took the paper from her and glanced over it. His lips parted as though to speak, but then he caught her gaze. His mouth closed again.

She detected something almost pained in his eyes.

He handed the letter back to her. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision,” he said. All the playful banter had fled from him, leaving behind a detached, bored aristocrat.

He stood and took hold of a watch fob, then pulled a silver watch from his pocket. “It’s time for me to be on my way. I’m expected.”

“Of course.” Lily scrambled to shove all the papers back into the binder. She rose from the bench. “Good morning, then. And thank you,” she added.

Thorburn bowed. “Good morning, Miss Bachman.” He touched the brim of his hat with the brass head of his walking stick. Then he turned and strode across the green expanse of park toward the streets of Mayfair.

Lily admired the view of his retreating figure. The walking stick touched the grass lightly — a decorative piece only. His form was one of perfect health, moving with a masculine grace that suggested regular physical activity — boxing, perhaps, or riding.

Or wenching,
she thought. She lowered her eyes. He
was
known as an inveterate rake; gambling, drinking, and womanizing to excess. No doubt he got plenty of exercise in the beds of his many lovers.

On the one hand, Lily was relieved to have determined that Lord Thorburn was not after her fortune. On the other, she couldn’t stanch the disappointment she felt that he wasn’t after
her
, either.