An Unexpected Encounter ( Half Moon House, Novella 1) (10 page)

“Miss Moreton?” The first, shrill note of
panic sounded in Aurelia’s voice.

Lisbeth reached out. She let her hand rest
for a moment on his chest, over his heart. Surely she felt the wild
beating of it against her fingers. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Moving away, she called for Aurelia and
stepped back into the light.

Chapter Seven

“Yes, the Tierney girl,” James said to one of
Cotwell’s servants. “I am one of her trustees. I’ve come to see how
she’s getting on.”

Lord, he was so far gone he didn’t blink an
eye at the lie. He’d barely given Freddy’s girl a second thought
since he’d sent her here—because truly, who on God’s earth could
rightly expect him to look after a child? But Lisbeth—that was
another matter. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else since
he’d caught that glimpse of that woman outside his rooms. He
couldn’t even be sure it had been her. After all, he could think of
no discernible connection with Cotwell. It must have been a trick
played by his guilty, drink-fogged mind.

His acquaintance with shame had never been
extensive—and he didn’t enjoy renewing it now. Beyond guilt and
shame, though, he felt truly sorry. Lisbeth had been a friend.
Failing her might be the worst thing he’d done in his wastrel
career—and his father would never know of it.

He had to know what had happened to her. He’d
written to her home, but had no answer. That fleeting glimpse kept
replaying in his mind, however, nagging incessantly. So he’d
finally given up and dragged himself over to Cotwell’s home to
investigate.

He’d been directed to the park, which was why
he was suffering under the wretchedly bright sun now, strolling the
edge of the Serpentine and trying to protect his tired eyes from
the glint of light off the water.

He scanned faces, looking for the pale child
he’d seen twice now. There were damned few children about. The hour
had gone late and soon the fashionable set would be out. Lord, he
might run into Lily Devreaux. Or worse, his mother. He’d just as
soon wrap this up quickly.

There. He spotted a girl on her knees near a
grove of trees. She was grubbing under the leaves, looking for
something. It seemed entirely appropriate for a child of Freddy’s.
He started toward her and she looked up.

Moving quickly, she climbed to her feet. She
wore a somber grey dress that someone had lightened with touches of
pink and white. She clutched some sort of small box close.

“Miss Moreton?” she called.

His stomach plummeted. His pulse ratcheted.
The girl was watching him with a white, strained face. She called
again.

Someone answered. After a moment Lisbeth
stepped from behind the line of trees, out of the shaded darkness
and into the clearing. Her hair was mussed, her color high. As
James stared in horror and fascination, she greeted the child, then
self-consciously touched her finger to her lips.

Thirty seconds later, Cotwell emerged from
the shaded grove at the same spot.

James reeled.
God
. He’d given Lisbeth
her first kiss. It had been outside too, somewhere on the estate
that she cared so much for. Their flirtation had been light, a
distraction from the boredom of forced rustication, but he knew
she’d felt something for him. Perhaps he’d held on to that,
somewhere deep, when he’d gone.

And he had gone. Left her behind with
scarcely a moment’s hesitation. Yet when she’d asked for his help,
he’d offered it right away. And then failed to follow up. She’d
come to London on his word and now she was kissing someone else in
a wooded grove. Her employer, it would seem. Cotwell.

James had no claim on the girl, and yet
poisoned darts of shock, fury, shame and despair hit him hard and
stung deep. A huge weight of responsibility crushed him, opened him
up and flooded him with darkness, leaving him pale, trembling and
wildly out of control.

He stalked forward. His head felt as if it
might explode with each step. “What in blazes is going on
here?”

Lisbeth looked up. For the briefest span of
time, her eyes lit up. Then reality struck and drained all of her
high color away. “James?” she whispered.

Multitudes of questions and worlds of hurt,
all in one syllable. The weight on him grew heavier still.

The little girl ducked behind her skirts.

Cotwell moved to stand between him and the
two females. Damn, how had he forgotten his size?

“Move on, Vickers,” he growled. “There’s
nothing to be said here. You’ve done the girl enough damage.”

He nearly sputtered in indignation. It might
have been humorous, did he not feel so wretchedly to blame—and
outraged by the pious Cotwell’s misbehavior. “I? I have done
damage?” He flung a pointed finger toward the trees. “That is a
girl of good family you had in there! I’m not blind, you
hypocritical ass! I can see what is happening here.”

“Don’t let him take me.” The girl clutched at
Lisbeth, but raised her chin in defiance.

“There’s no need to worry,” Cotwell answered
her soothingly.

“I don’t want to go with him,” she
insisted.

Lisbeth knelt beside her. “Aurelia, of course
you are not going anywhere. This is only the old friend I mentioned
to you.” She cut a glance at him. It nearly breathed
disappointment, something he was far too familiar with, but had
never seen in her. “A former friend.”

Thunder gathered in Cotwell’s frown. “Wait a
moment. You know Vickers?” he asked Lisbeth.

She flushed once more, but refused to look at
James again. “Yes, of course. But how do you . . .” Her voice
trailed off. She looked at the girl and then at him. Sudden tears
welled. “Oh, no. No. It was you?” She clutched the girl tight.

“It was he,” Cotwell affirmed. “He who shut
his door in Aurelia’s face, without even checking to see if I was
in Town. He who left her with a man he didn’t know, who might have
done any damned thing with her.”

Cotwell’s righteous anger was a sight to
behold, but James knew how to scuttle it. “Please,” he scoffed. “I
knew you were in Town. I’d heard the rumors, the laughter, the
complaints that your neighbors feared you would blow them all to
pieces in their beds.”

But Cotwell ignored him. He stared at Lisbeth
now. “Friend, you said?
Friend
? Do you mean to say that he
was also the one who abandoned you? Who left you alone and waiting
at the museum?”

Lisbeth bit her lip, but she didn’t need to
answer. Silent communication flew between them, thickening the air.
The sight of it hurt—and fired James’s own fury to another
level.

“And just how did you get word of that?” he
demanded. “Have you been keeping tabs on me, Cotwell?” He eyed the
man with the kind of derision that he knew would infuriate him.
“You surprise me, Sparsebrow. I recall you being too proud and
fastidious to partake of my leavings.” He raised a brow. “Changed
your mind about that, have you?”

This was all moving so fast—but no one could
have predicted the speed with which Cotwell launched at him. James
flew backward before he even registered the attack, his jaw
erupting in pain. He knew the full measure of true fear too, when
he shook his head, sat up, and saw the baron advancing on him with
hurt, fury and hate in his eye.

Lisbeth disentangled herself from the
girl—and dealt James another blow when she rushed to press herself
against Cotwell’s chest. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Leave him.” She
didn’t even turn to look at him. “He’s not worth it.”

Cotwell looked down at her—and calmed. “Damn
him,” he answered. “It’s you and Aurelia I don’t want to hurt. Take
her home now. I’ll be along shortly.”

Lisbeth stayed a moment, staring into the
baron’s eyes, then moved to gather up the girl. One last look she
cast in James’s direction—and it was utterly devoid of any emotion
at all.

He felt broken all over as he watched her go.
He only fingered his jaw, though, as he rose to his feet and
contemplated the man who’d been one of his closest friends.

“She deserves better than you,” Cotwell said
quietly.

James nodded. “I failed her. God knows I’m
sorry for it.” He fixed the baron with a glare. “Don’t dally with
her, Cotwell. She might be different, but she’s also . . .”

“A treasure,” Cotwell finished softly.

“Precisely.” He stared off in the direction
she’d taken. “I hate to say it, but she deserves better than either
of the likes of us.”

“I know.”

It was said so quietly, James almost missed
it. There was nothing to say in response, in any case. Picking up
his hat, he turned away and started for home.

* * *

Lisbeth couldn’t stop looking out of windows.
She’d been distracted and in mental disarray since all of
yesterday’s revelations in the park, but it had just got worse with
the delivery of the post. From the small, high window in her
bedroom, to the schoolroom, to the nursery playroom she wandered,
staring blankly out while her mind whirled and her fingers crushed
the letter just delivered.

It came from Mrs. Hollandale. She’d written
with what she obviously considered unexpected good news: she’d
found Lisbeth a position.

The house in Shropshire is massive—an old
castle with multiple additions. The housekeeper there means to
retire. She wants an apprentice to learn the job, but she does not
wish to hire from within the household. I’ve put you forward and
she likes the sound of you. I admit I did not think to find
something to suit you so easily. Just bring your recommendations by
the office and I’ll forward copies and finalize the
arrangements.

Likely she was ruining the note, so tight did
she hold it with her moist, relentless grip, but she couldn’t seem
to set it down. It was perfect. It was exactly what she’d hoped
for.

Except, perhaps it wasn’t.

There could be no recommendation from James,
no help from him or his mother. Not for a hundred perfect positions
would she ask him now. She wondered that she wasn’t more
disappointed—in him and for herself. There still did exist the
possibility of going to Mr. Thorpe, but the chances of an offer of
help were slim—and there were so many other things occupying her
mind just now.

That kiss. She could still feel the press of
the baron’s thighs, recall the hard expanse of his chest and the
warm sweep of his tongue. Such a simple, everyday thing, a kiss.
Yet it held the power to shift destinies and change lives. When she
put it together with his words—
You are the lady that she is
not—
and with his compliments—
Those girls do not have your
grace or generosity
—then it allowed her to think of
possibilities she would never have contemplated before.

She’d arrived at this house with gratitude,
but with one eye on the door. She’d convinced herself it was best
for her, best for Aurelia. But Aurelia and her guardian, they had
burrowed inside of her and begun to change her. She’d learned to
trust a little, and she’d learned to see herself in a new light.
Here she was more than just a drudge, a family joke, good only for
maintaining the comfort of those around her. Here
she
felt
appreciated as much as her work. For the first time, someone
listened to her.

More than that, for the first time, she’d
begun to imagine more for herself. She realized how much weight
she’d leant her stepfather’s judgment that she would never fit into
society, never appeal to any man who did not labor from dusk to
dawn. She flushed. That kiss, those words—they made her question
that certainty.

A knock sounded behind her. Startled, she
crushed the letter further. Turning her head, she found Lord
Cotwell hovering in the doorway.

He stomach flopped. “Good afternoon, my
lord.” With short, nervous moves she folded the letter away. “Have
you brought Aurelia back to me?”

“No, she left me a bit ago, at Cook’s
invitation. It seems she’s to learn how to make muffins for tea. By
now she’s likely covered in flour and pounding dough.”

“Good. She’ll enjoy that. She’s been a little
out of sorts.” Since yesterday. She didn’t say the words but
yesterday hung between them all the same.

He crossed the room to glance out the window
she’d been staring out of. “I thought we might talk.”

“Of course.” There were no adult sized chairs
here save for the one at the desk. She should ask him to retire to
the playroom where a pair flanked the hearth. But she couldn’t seem
to speak, or move. Only her gaze wandered, taking in his calm
expression, the casual way he leaned against the sill.

“I was thinking of all that you said
yesterday.”

She nodded breathlessly. She’d done little
else herself.

“I think it’s clear that you should abandon
the plan of hiring yourself out as a housekeeper.”

He heart pounded. She gave him a quick smile.
“I was just thinking the very same thing.”

He didn’t respond right away. Her heart
lifted as she realized his gaze had locked onto her mouth. She
hated to think she was the only one affected by the memory of what
they’d done together. But he appeared to be caught, intent, and she
felt . . . strange. Empowered. As if she could, at last, ask for
what she truly wanted.

“I was thinking,” she began.

“As was I.”

Heart light, she surged ahead. “I thought
perhaps I might stay on.”

“We’ll have to step up the search for a new
governess,” he said at the same time.

She froze. Prayed he could not hear the sound
of her heart shattering into pieces. “Oh.”

He blinked. “I meant only that it’s clear
that you don’t belong in this position.”

Grief and embarrassment held her locked in
place. She fought the horrid rise of tears.

He huffed out a breath. “I’m expressing
myself badly. What I mean to say is that clearly you are entitled
to a Season of your own.”