The Dangerous Lord Read Free Page B

bit back a smile at the thought of her little tin soldiers manhandling the oily-tongued Mr. Winston. “I tell you what. If you’ll stay out of trouble in the nursery for the next hour, I promise I’ll tell you both stories—the one about the peacock eating the dragon and the one about the evil knight.”
    â€œHurrah! The peacock eating the dragon and the evil knight!” the triplets chorused as they ran back into the nursery.
    Bless their hearts, they never walked anywhere.
    James glanced down at her. “I’ll look after them better this time, I promise.”
    â€œI know you will, sweetheart.” She flashed him a maternal smile. “You’re a good boy and a great help to me. Now go on with you.”
    James beamed as he hurried after his brothers. She must remember not to scold him unnecessarily. He was as sensitive as a poet, poor dear.
    Though he’d not been half as sensitive with Papa.
    A fit of anger seized her, and she scowled up into the heavens. “You see what you’ve done, God? Why did you let Papa fall into the Thames while he was drunk? You could have performed some miracle—parted the river or something. You certainly used to do enough of those. But no, you had to let Papa drown. Well, I hope he’s giving you a time of it up there, gambling by the pearly gates and drinking in the streets of gold.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I hope he’s building your dratted mansions backwards.”
    She brought her head down to find a maid staring at her. The girl jerked her gaze away and began furiously sweeping the carpet again.
    Curse it all , Felicity thought, embarrassed. Oh, well. By now the entire household must be accustomed to hearing her lecture the Deity—as if a house full of scamps wouldn’t drive any normal person to rail at God. How could she accomplish anything with the boys underfoot? Thank heavens Mrs. Box would have them for the next few days while Felicity took her trip. She needed to escape her tin soldiers, especially the triplets.
    But first, work. Hurrying into the drafty study that had once been her father’s, she sat down at the desk by the window and examined a sheet of heavily inked foolscap.
    Hmm, where was she? Ah, yes. Finally, for advice concerning fashion, consider the Duke of Pelham’s profound opinions: “What young girls need is that ancient apparel, the chastity belt, to restrain their passions. Then we won’t have all these elopements .”
    She dipped her quill in the ink bottle and crossed out the s on opinions . Of course, to be perfectly fair, the whole thing needed a drunken slur, but that was a trifle difficult to mimic in words.
    Passions , indeed. It was the duke’s passions the young girls must avoid, as she knew only too well. Fit him for a chastity belt, and every woman would cheer. Though to be truly effective, they’d have to bind his roving hands and gag his disgusting mouth.
    The thought of that was so gratifying she sat back and savored the image of Pelham bound and harmless for once. Attach the lecher to a moving carriage and—
    The sound of rumbling carriage wheels was so real, she jerked up out of her seat. Through her window she spotted a hackney lumbering up the snow-bordered street, its wheels knocking icy water out of every pothole. When it halted in front of the town house, an unladylike oath escaped her lips. The odious Mr. Winston had arrived.
    She wrenched her attention back to her article. Drat. She hadn’t finished reading it over for errors, and there was that troublesome phrase in the second paragraph that she had intended to amend…
    Down in the street and out of Felicity’s line of vision, Ian stood in the shadows watching Mr. Winston fumble through his pockets for the fare. Quickly Ian stepped forward and hailed the driver.
    Producing a few coins, Ian paid him, and said, “Wait a minute, will you? The gentleman has somewhere else