An Improper Aristocrat

The tears swelled and ran over, making tracks on her dirty cheeks. ‘Uuuuuppp!’ she wailed, and her little body began to shake with the force of her sobs.

Oh, Lord, no. ‘Don’t do that,’ Trey commanded. ‘I’m picking you up.’ Grimacing in distaste, he plucked her off the sofa, trying to keep her at arm’s length. Quicker than a flash, more subtly done than the most precise of military manoeuvres, she foiled his effort and nestled up tightly against him.

Trey was suddenly and fiercely glad of the borrowed coat he wore. Underneath the chit’s sweet honey smell lurked a more suspicious odour. ‘Let’s go, then,’ he said, ‘and find your keeper.’

The door opened with a bang and a distracted Miss Latimer rushed in. ‘Oh, no,’ she gasped, rushing forward to take the child.

‘Shone!’ cried the little girl. ‘She-own! Livvie do it.’

‘I do beg your pardon, my lord.’ Miss Latimer strode back to the doorway and shouted in a most unladylike fashion, ‘I’ve found her!’

The dour housekeeper arrived a moment later. She never glanced at Trey, but took the child and scowled at her young mistress. ‘She’s taken a plate of bannocks with her,’ she said with a roll of her eyes, ‘so there’s no tellin’ where we’ll find the mess later.’

Miss Latimer shot an inquiring look at him. Trey had not the smallest desire to witness the fuss created should that discovery be made. He shrugged and maintained an air of innocence, and the young lady soon bundled the girl and the older woman out of the door.

Miss Latimer winced. ‘I must apologise, my lord. Our household has been greatly diminished since Richard’s death and Olivia will wander.’ She continued on, but Trey was not listening. He knew he was glowering at her, but he could not help himself.

God’s teeth, but he could not get over how beautiful she was. Her heavy, black tresses shone, as black as the moods that plagued him, as dark as any he had seen in his travels to the east. It was the perfect foil for her exotic skin, just exactly the tawny colour of moonlight on the desert sands.

Her eyes, framed by those lush lashes, agitated him. They were too old for her young and beautiful face. It was as if she had experienced too much sorrow, too much of the dark side of life, and it could not be contained. It spilled out of her, tinting her gaze with mystery, with knowing.

He realised most men would find her beauty fascinating, but damn it, this was exactly the sort of situation in which a man couldn’t afford to give in to attraction. Women like this came with a multitude of strings attached, and Trey hadn’t thrown off his own yoke of responsibility so he could take on someone else’s.

He could see that his glare was unsettling her. He knew that she was at best unnerved, and at worst unhappy, at his presence. He did not care. He was unnerved and unhappy, damn it, so she might as well be, too.

He had come to England to aid an ageing spinster facing an undefined danger. He had been fully prepared to root out the trouble, deliver the damned scarab, and then quickly return to Egypt. There had been no mention of thick eyelashes and long ebony hair. He was not supposed to be dealing with children, and their flying joints of meat and their artful tears. In fact, the only danger here appeared to be to his wardrobe.

And the girl was still talking. Trey had the sudden, nearly irresistible urge to get up and walk out, to drop the scarab in her lap and to never look back. He suppressed a sigh at the thought, for he knew he could not do it. But damn Richard for getting himself killed and thrusting his responsibilities in his lap! He rubbed his temple and wished the girl would stop talking. He wanted to get this over with and get back to his work as quickly as possible.

Miss Latimer did stop, at last, as the door opened again and young Will, freshly scrubbed, bounded into the room, the dog at his heel. The boy dutifully made his bow and went to kiss her. The dog made a beeline for Trey, collapsed upon his Hessians, and gazed adoringly at him, tongue lolling.

‘Oh, dear, I am sorry,’ Miss Latimer said yet again. ‘She has a hopeless passion for gentlemen.’

‘Mrs Ferguson says she likes their accessories—particularly the ones made of hide or leather.’ Will grinned.

‘Will—take the dog outside.’

‘She will howl,’ warned Will. He turned to Trey. ‘Morty likes you, Lord Treyford. Do you like dogs?’ he asked ingenuously.

‘For the most part,’ Trey said, reaching down to scratch behind the beast’s ears and lift her drooling head off of his boots. ‘Morty?’ he asked.

‘Her real name is Mortification,’ Will explained. ‘Squire named her because he said he was mortified that such an ugly pup came from his prize bitch. I shortened it to Morty so her feelings wouldn’t get hurt.’

‘Will saved her life,’ Miss Latimer explained. ‘Squire was going to have her destroyed.’

‘I gave my last guinea for her,’ said Will. ‘She’s my best friend.’

Women, babes and puppy love. Good God. No wonder Richard had fled to Egypt.

‘I’ve asked Mrs Ferguson to save a bone for her,’ she continued. ‘She will have it in the kitchens, so you may be left in peace, Lord Treyford.’

As if summoned by the mention of her name, the housekeeper appeared in the parlour door. Without ceremony she snapped her fingers at the dog. ‘Come, you hell-spawned hound. Bone!’

Evidently the dog was familiar with the word. She rose, gave herself a good jaw-flapping shake, then trotted off after the housekeeper, casting a coquettish glance back over her shoulder at Trey.

The damned dog was flirting with him.

He looked up. The girl gazed back, expectation clear in those haunting eyes.

Trey faltered at the sudden, strange hitch of his breath. Something sharp moved in his stomach. This was, suddenly, all too much for him. Too much clutter, too many people. Hell, even the dog seemed to want something of him. Trey knew himself for a hard man, surviving in a harsh world. He lived his life unencumbered, with relationships kept to a minimum and always kept clearly defined. Servant and master, buyer and seller, associate or rival. It was simpler that way. Safer. Neither of those attributes, he was sure, could be applied to this family, and that made him uncommonly nervous.

The intense stare that young Will was directing at him only increased his discomfort. Suddenly the boy opened his mouth and a barrage of questions came out of him, like the raking fire of a cannonade.

‘How long did it take to sail back to England? How hot is it in Egypt? Did you see any crocodiles? Have you brought back any mummies? Did you climb the pyramids? Were you afraid?’ Red-faced, the boy paused to draw breath. ‘Will you tell us over dinner? Please?’

Trey’s breath began to come faster. He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, well,’ he said, trying to keep the harshness from his voice, ‘actually, I’ve come to your home with a purpose, not on a social visit.’ The boy looked mutinous, and Trey rushed on. ‘I need a private moment with your sister, lad. I’ve a sort of…message, from Richard for her.’

The boy’s expression cleared of its clouds. ‘My sister?’ he scoffed. ‘She don’t know enough words to have a proper conversation, my lord. Did you mean Chione?’ He shot a devilish glance at the young lady, then turned to Trey, eyes sparkling as if sharing a great joke. ‘Chione’s my niece, not my sister!’

Now Trey was flustered, something that did not happen often. Niece? What sort of tangled mess had Richard dropped him into? He knew with certainty that there was only one answer to that: exactly the sort he had spent a lifetime avoiding.

Will was staring at him now. ‘Didn’t Richard tell you anything? He wrote us all about you. You see, my papa is Chione’s grandpapa, so I get to be her uncle. And Olivia gets to be her aunt! Isn’t that funny?’

It wasn’t funny. It had been a long time since Trey had felt this awkward. But there was no way he could tell the boy how he had discouraged Richard’s tendency to talk of his family, of anything other than their work. Trey didn’t like chitchat. He liked focus, and determination, and hard work. He liked travel. Distance. Adventure. There was nothing wrong with that. So why was his stomach churning now?

He breathed deeply. It was too damned late to avoid this fiasco, but he’d be damned if he didn’t extricate himself in record time.

Miss Latimer helped him take the first step. ‘Will, why don’t you run along and help Mrs Ferguson with dinner? Lord Treyford and I will take a stroll in the gardens. If that is acceptable, my lord?’

Trey nodded and watched as the boy started to protest, then hung his head. ‘A pleasure to meet you, my lord,’ he said, and turned towards the door.

The boy’s dejected profile was impossible for Trey to ignore. He let loose a silent string of curses. But he was all too familiar with the heavy weight of childish disappointment. ‘Hold, lad,’ he said roughly, and the boy turned. ‘Egypt is as hot as blazes. Yes, I climbed the pyramids, and, no, it was not the least bit frightening. I’ve been uncomfortably close to some crocodiles, too. Egypt is full of wondrous things.’

Trey closed his eyes. Just the thought of Egypt calmed him. He hadn’t expected it, but the country had beguiled him. Time flowed differently there; he’d had a sense that the secrets of the past were just out of his reach, hidden only by a thin veil of mist.

‘And the mummies? Did you bring any back?’ The boy’s eyes were shining.

‘No, although I encountered plenty, both whole and in pieces.’ He glanced over at the girl. ‘Perhaps I will have time to tell you about it before I must go.’

‘Thank you, my lord!’

Miss Latimer wore a frown as she rose to her feet. ‘Just allow me to stop in the front hall to fetch my wrap, and we can be on our way,’ she said.

Good. Perhaps she was as eager to be done with this as he.

Chione wrapped herself well against the chill and led their guest outside, once again restored to her habitual poise. She should be grateful that he had made it easy for her to slip back into her normal, contained role, she told herself firmly, for she had been acting a fool since her first glimpse of Lord Treyford.

She had scarcely been able to help herself. All of that overt masculinity and absolute self-assurance touched something inside of her, stirred to life a part of her that she would rather be left slumbering.