Minx (20 page)

Henry sat stock still until she couldn't stand it any longer. "Dunford?"

"Yes?" It was amazing how a single word could convey such feeling. And not good feelings, either.

"What are we going to do?"

He took a deep breath—possibly his twentieth of the morning. "You are going to bury yourself under the covers as you did last night, and I am going to get dressed."

She obeyed his order with alacrity.

He rose with an unabashed groan and crossed the room to where he'd left his clothing. "My valet will have a fit," he muttered. "What?" she yelled from beneath the covers.

"I said," he said more loudly, "that my valet will have a fit."

"Oh, no," she moaned, sounding considerably distressed.

He sighed. "What is it now, Hen?"

"You really should have your valet," came the muffled reply. "I feel dreadful."

"Don't," he ordered sharply.

"Don't what?"

"Don't feel dreadful," he practically snapped.

"But I can't help it. We're going to be arriving in London today, and you'll want to look nice for your friends and...and for whomever else you want to look nice and..."

How was it, he wondered, that she managed to sound as if she would be irrevocably hurt if he did not avail himself of his valet?

"It's not as if I have a maid, so I'm sure to look rumpled anyway, but there is no need for you to do so."

He sighed.

"Therefore you must get back into bed."

That, he thought, was a very bad idea.

"Hurry up now," she said briskly.

He voiced his feelings. "This is a very bad idea, Hen."

"Trust me."

He couldn't help the short bark of ragged laughter that flew from his mouth.

"Just get back into bed and hide under the covers," she explained patiently. "I'll get up and get dressed. Then I'll go downstairs and summon your valet. You'll look beautiful."

Dunford turned to face the large, extremely vocal lump in the bed. "Beautiful?" he echoed.

"Beautiful, handsome, whatever it is you want to be called."

He had been called handsome many times, by many different women, but never had he felt as pleased as he did that very moment. "Oh, all right," he sighed. "If you insist." A few seconds later he was back in the bed, and she was scurrying out and across the room.

"Don't peek," she called out as she pulled her dress over her head. It was the same one she'd worn the previous day, but she had laid it carefully on a chair the night before, and she supposed it was less wrinkled than those in her valise.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he lied blandly.

A few moments later she said, "I'll summon your valet." Then he heard the click of the door.

After sending Hastings up to his employer, she wandered into the dining room, hopeful that she could order some breakfast. She had a feeling she wasn't supposed to be there unescorted, but she didn't know what else to do. The innkeeper spied her and hurried to her side. She had just finished ordering when she saw a little old lady with blue hair out of the corner of her eye. She looked unbelievably regal and haughty. The Dowager Duchess of Beresford. It had to be. Dunford had warned her not to let the lady see her at all costs.

"In our room," Henry blurted out in a strangled voice. "We'd like breakfast in our room." Then she took off like a shot, praying the duchess hadn't seen her.

Henry ran up the stairs and burst into the room, not giving a thought to its inhabitants. With slowly dawning horror, she realized Dunford was only half dressed. "Oh, my," she breathed, staring at his naked chest, "I'm so sorry."

"Henry, what happened?" he asked urgently, oblivious to the shaving lather on his face.

"Oh, dear. I'm sorry. I-I'll just stand in the corner with my back turned."

"Henry, for God's sake, what is wrong?"

She stared at him with wide silver eyes. He was going to come to her, she thought. He was going to touch her, and he wasn't wearing a shirt. Then she belatedly noticed the presence of the valet. "I must have entered the wrong room," she hastily fabricated. "Mine is right next door. It was just... I saw the duchess...and..."

"Henry," Dunford said in an unbelievably patient voice. "Why don't you wait in the hall? We're almost done here."

She nodded jerkily and nearly flew back into the hall. A few minutes later the door opened to reveal Dunford, looking marvelously debonair. Her stomach did a somersault. "I ordered breakfast," she blurted out. "It should be here any minute now."

"Thank you." Noting her discomfort, he added, "I apologize if our rather unconventional stay here has disturbed you in any way."

"Oh, no," she said quickly, "it hasn't disturbed me. It's just... I just...Well, you've got me thinking about reputations and such."

"As well you should. London, I'm afraid, will not afford you the same measure of freedom you enjoyed in Cornwall."

"I know that. It's just..." She paused thankfully as she watched Hastings slip out of the room. Dunford shut the door a discreet halfway. When she continued, it was in a loud whisper. "It's just that I know I shouldn't be seeing you without your shirt on, no matter how nice you may look, because it makes me feel quite odd, and I shouldn't encourage you after—"

"Enough," he said in a strangled voice, holding up a hand as if to ward off the innocently erotic words tumbling from her mouth.

"But—"

"I said enough."

Henry nodded and then stepped aside to allow the innkeeper to enter with breakfast. She and Dunford watched in silence as he laid the table and left the room. Once she was seated, she looked up at him and said, "I say, Dunford, did you realize—"

"Henry?" he interrupted, terrified she was going to say something delightfully improper and convinced he would not be able to control his reaction to it.

"Yes?"

"Eat your eggs."

Many hours later they reached the outskirts of London. Henry practically had her face plastered up against the glass windows of the coach, she was so excited. Dunford pointed out a few of the sights, assuring her there would be plenty of time for her to see the rest of the city. He would take her sightseeing just as soon as they had hired a maid to act as her escort. Until then he would have one of his female friends show her around.

Henry swallowed nervously. Dunford's friends were undoubtedly sophisticated and dressed in the first stare of fashion. She was nothing more than a country bumpkin. She had a sinking feeling she would not know what to do when she met them. And Lord knew she had no idea what to say.

This was particularly distressing to a woman who had prided herself on always having a ready retort.

As their carriage rolled toward Mayfair, the houses grew progressively grander. Henry could barely keep her mouth shut as she stared. Finally she turned to her companion and said, "Please tell me you don't live in one of these mansions."

"I don't." He gave her a lopsided smile.

Henry breathed a sigh of relief.

"But you will."

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't think you could live in the same house as I, did you?"

"I hadn't really thought about it."

"I'm sure you'll be able to stay with one or another of my friends. I'm just going to drop you off at my house to wait until I make arrangements for you."

Henry felt rather like a piece of baggage. "Won't I be an imposition?"

"In one of these houses?" He quirked a brow and waved his hand at one of the opulent mansions. "You could go for weeks without anyone even noticing your presence."

"How very encouraging," she muttered.

Dunford chuckled. "Don't worry, Hen. I have no intention of settling you with a miserable harridan or a doddering old fool. I promise you'll be happy with your living arrangements."

His voice was so rich and reassuring that Henry couldn't help but believe him.

The carriage turned into Half Moon Street and came to a stop in front of a neat little town house. Dunford alighted, then turned to help Henry down. "This," he said with a smile, "is where I live."

"Oh, but it's lovely!" Henry exclaimed, feeling overwhelmingly relieved that his home wasn't too grand.

"It's not mine. I only lease it. It seems silly to purchase a house when we've a family home right here in London."

"Why don't you live there?"

He shrugged. "I'm too lazy to move, I suppose. I probably should. The house has rarely been occupied since my father's death."

Henry let him lead her into a bright and airy drawing room. "But in all seriousness, Dunford," she said, "if no one is using the house here in London, wouldn't it make sense for you to use it? This is a lovely house. I'm sure it costs a pretty penny to lease it. You could invest those funds..." She broke off when she realized Dunford was laughing.

"Oh, Hen," he gasped. "Don't ever change."

"You may be sure that I won't," she said pertly.

He clucked her under the chin. "Was ever a female so practical as you, I wonder?"

"Most males are not, either," she retorted, "and I happen to think practicality is a good trait."

"And so it is. But as for my house—" He bestowed his most devilish grin upon her, sending her heart and mind into a whirl of giddy confusion. "—at nine and twenty I'd rather not be living under a watchful parental eye. Oh, and by the way, you'll want not to talk about such matters among ton ladies. It's considered crass."

"Well, what can I talk about, then?"

He paused. "I don't know."

"Just as you didn't know what ladies talk about when they retire after supper. It's probably dreadfully dull."

He shrugged. "Not being a lady, I have never been invited to listen to their conversations. But if you're interested, you can ask Belle. You'll probably meet her this afternoon."

"Who is Belle?"

"Belle? Oh, she is a great friend of mine."

Henry began to sense an emotion that felt uncannily like jealousy.

"She's recently married. Used to be Belle Blydon, but now she's Belle Blackwood. Lady Blackwood, I suppose I should call her."

Trying to ignore the fact that she felt rather relieved at this Belle person's married state, Henry said, "And she was Lady Belle Blydon before that, I imagine?"

"She was, actually."

She swallowed. All these lords and ladies were a trifle unsettling.

"Don't let Belle's blue blood send you into palpitations," Dunford said briskly, walking across the room to a closed door. He put his hand on the knob and pushed it open. "Belle is extremely unpretentious, and besides, I'm sure that with a little training, you'll be able to hold your head high with the best of us."

"Or the worst," Henry muttered, "as the case may be."

If Dunford heard her, he pretended not to. Henry's eyes followed him as he walked into what appeared to be his study. He bent over a desk and quickly shuffled through some papers. Curious, she followed him in, perching impishly on the side of the desk. "What are you looking at?"

"Nosy brat."

She shrugged.

"Just some correspondence that accumulated while I was gone. And some invitations. I want to be careful about what you attend at first."

"Afraid I might embarrass you?"

He looked up sharply, relief evident on his face when he saw she was only teasing. "Some of the ton events are mind-numbingly dull. I wouldn't want to make a bad impression on you the first week out. This, for example." He held up a snowy white invitation. "A musicale."

"But I think I would enjoy a musicale," Henry said. Not to mention the fact that she probably would not have to make conversation for the bulk of the evening.

"Not," he said emphatically, "when it's being given by my Smythe-Smith cousins. I went to two of them last year, and only because I love my mother. I believe it was said that after hearing dear Philippa, Mary, Charlotte, and Eleanor play Mozart, one would know exactly how it would sound if performed by a herd of sheep." Shuddering with distaste, he crumpled up the invitation and dropped it carelessly on the desk.

Henry, spying a small basket that she guessed was used for discarded paper, picked up the crumpled invitation and lobbed it in. When it hit its mark, she let out a soft whoop of triumph, clasping her hands together and raising her arms in the air in a victory salute.

Dunford just closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Well, goodness," she said pertly. "You can't expect me to abandon all of my hoydenish habits, can you?"

"No, I suppose not." And, he thought with a tinge of pride, he didn't really want her to.

An hour later Dunford was seated in Belle Blackwood's parlor, telling her about his unexpected ward.

"And you had no idea you were her guardian until Carlyle's will arrived a week and a half later?" Belle asked disbelievingly.

"Not even an inkling."

"I can't help but chuckle, Dunford, to think of you as a young lady's guardian. You, as a defender of maidenly virtue? It's a most improbable scenario."