Dangerous Lover, page 12
“Did she go back to Lord Chivers?” Alexandra wondered.
“No, though Chivers was prepared to accept her. She seems to have vanished into the demi-monde. Only her old father seems to remember her now. According to Her Grace, he insists a place is set at the table for Lady Nora every Christmas. Isn’t that sad?”
Alexandra’s next question vanished into another. “Lady Nora?” she repeated, spinning around to stare at Griz.
“Why yes. Before her marriage to Chivers, she was Lady Nora Tranter. Do you know her?”
“Well, yes, I think I might. There is a Lady Nora staying here who came with them from Italy. She is very ill, dying, they say. Could it be the same woman?”
“You mean he didn’t abandon her at all?” Griz said thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. He seems to care for this Lady Nora.”
“Well, after he apparently left her in Paris, he set about making his fortune, in shipping and other ventures, eventually with offices all over Europe. He settled in Venice, where my brother met him, living in the lap of luxury. There was talk there of a past duel, too, which might be the root of Evelina’s remark about murder, but I don’t think they know anything about it. On the other hand, Monkton—my bother—thought Sir Nicholas had some unsavory connections.”
“Unsavory?” Alexandra repeated uneasily. “Like our smuggler friend?”
“More like Dragan, to be honest,” Griz said with the flicker of a smile. “Revolutionary types. My brother disapproves of such views. He thinks that might have been why Sir Nicholas came home—being persona non grata in Italy when the revolutions there failed.”
Alexandra turned back to the mirror to place her last pin. “I do not think,” she said carefully, “that Sir Nicholas is a bad man.”
Griz was watching her in the mirror, her eyes uncomfortably penetrating.
“I am a governess, Griz,” Alexandra said, turning toward the door. “I will never be more or less.”
Griz followed her from the room. “See if Sir Nicholas will give you every second Saturday afternoon free. We can have our musical practice then.”
Alexandra nodded. “I would like that. Griz?” she added as they parted, and her friend glanced back. “Thank you.”
Griz grinned and carried on to the staircase.
Alexandra found it difficult enough to concentrate on teaching Evelina that morning, without all the bumping and frequent, sudden shouts that sounded throughout the house.
“What on earth is that?” she demanded around the middle of the morning as another bump echoed from below.
“They are cleaning the big hall to make a drawing room,” Evelina offered.
“It sounds like they’re knocking down the walls.”
Evelina giggled and returned to her work.
A few minutes later came the sound of a musical note, repeated over and over, then silence, then the note again, and again until it was pure. And then another note.
Alexandra’s breath caught. “It’s a pianoforte being tuned.”
“We don’t have a pianoforte,” Evelina reminded her.
They both began to smile at the same time. For once, Alexandra did not inquire as to the completion of the work she had set. She only stood and made for the door, holding her hand out to Evelina on the way past.
They all but ran along the passage to the stairs and hurried down. The double doors of the new drawing room were thrown wide, and the transformation was all the more astonishing because the doors had been closed the last two days. The room had been cleaned and painted. Beautiful carpets were scattered on the freshly polished floors. Velvet curtains hung from the windows, and in pride of place stood a beautiful walnut piano with its lid wide open. A balding man in an apron stood before it, the tools of his trade clutched in one hand to correct the strings, while with the other, he sounded the notes.
“Morning, ma’am, Miss,” he greeted them, then put his finger to his lips and carried on. Alexandra and Evelina crept inside and sat on one of the new sofas. Deciding it was part of her education, Alexandra let the child go up for a closer look until the tuner finished his work, packed up his tools, saluted them, and left.
Evelina sat on the matching stool, gently sounding the notes in random order. “Can you play, Miss Battle?”
“A little,” she replied. And suddenly, she was so pleased that Sir Nicholas had done this, that there was such a fine instrument in the house, that she sat down beside Evelina and played some songs Evelina already knew, in both Italian and English. She played with a sense of fun and exuberance, and Evelina joined in, her voice raised with Alexandra’s in pure happiness.
“More, more!” Evelina laughed when she stopped.
Alexandra was still smiling as she turned to the child. Something made her glance up. Sir Nicholas stood leaning against the door, large, male, imposing. A faint, enigmatic smile played on his lips as he watched them.
A jumble of anxieties deluged Alexandra. How long had he been there? Was he angry? Why did her heart seem to turn over like this whenever she saw him?
Then the focus of his gaze shifted, their eyes clashed, and her world exploded in intense pain and unimagined joy.
Dear God, I love him. How can this have happened?
*
Nicholas had felt curiously relieved when Dragan was announced that morning. Having cleared his appointments and told everyone who needed to know that he would be at home that morning, he shut himself in the library after breakfast and gazed unseeingly at the letters before him.
His mind was full of Alexandra Battle, and he did not like that. The body’s yearnings one could distract and deal with, but it was so much harder when a web was winding itself around his thoughts, and tugging. The trouble was he liked her. He liked her fearless retorts and her innate compassion. He liked the way she dealt with Evelina. He liked her quick mind and her company. And he liked the way she looked, all prim beauty and neatness tied into a dull gown—beneath which, he was sure, lurked a simmering passion any man would long to taste.
And he did. He wanted her with increasing intensity, no doubt spurred on by the knowledge that he could not have her. One did not seduce the governess, even supposing she would let him. For one thing, it would immediately make her an unsuitable companion for one’s daughter. For another, a ruined governess would never get another post. He could not do that to her, or ruin his daughter’s burgeoning contentment under the care of her teacher.
And then there was the fact that he liked having her around. He liked the sound of her voice, her rare laughter, her wit, her soothing, comfortable presence. He liked to look at her.
And clearly, he liked to think about her rather than the damned letter he was supposed to be answering. Impatiently, he picked up his pen and dipped it in the ink.
A knock sounded at the door, and he looked up with relief at the distraction.
James walked in. “Mr. and Mrs. Tizsa are here, sir. He asked to see you.”
“Send them in,” Nicholas said resignedly. He expected some kind of scold from Tizsa about the dead smugglers.
Only Tizsa walked into the room, which meant his wife was running tame about the house, no doubt visiting Miss Battle, whether from friendship or a more practical purpose. Were governesses even supposed to receive visitors? Not on teaching time, he supposed, but then it was not yet nine o’clock.
He rose to shake hands with the Hungarian and invite him to sit. “Did my brother contact you?”
“He did, which is one of the reasons I’m here.” Tizsa sat, his dark eyes full of speculation as well as determination. “Mr. Swan has received ransom instructions and is desperate none of this reaches the police to endanger his son.”
“And he does not have the money,” Nicholas said. “No wonder he was dismayed when I appeared at exactly the wrong moment.”
“May he use your money to ransom the boy?”
“Of course,” Nicholas said. He twisted his lips. “Though it goes against the grain. He may get Henry back, but it won’t stop some other child being taken for the same purpose.”
“That is the problem,” Tizsa agreed. “I have a plan if you have no objections.”
“That is between you and Ralph or any other parents you represent.”
“Not if it is your money. I propose to let Ralph hand it over, then follow whoever receives it to discover the culprits. There are no guarantees of success. I may simply lose your money.”
“Or die trying to retrieve it,” Nicholas said bluntly. “Don’t even think of going after them alone.”
“Oh, I shan’t. Once I know where they are, I shall call on Inspector Harris.”
“And if they are gone by the time Harris and his men appear?”
“I hope I will have enough friends scattered about to tell me where they went.”
Nicholas stared. “You’ll need a lot of friends. This is a large city.”
“That is true, but I have narrowed it down to a smaller area.”
“How?” Nicholas asked, fascinated.
“Your smugglers. I think, having taken Evelina to shut her up, they decided to get rid of her by taking her to someone they knew who dealt in children. Perhaps they thought they could get a cut of the ransom, or—er… a finder’s fee.”
An echo of fear clawed at Nicholas’s stomach. “There are many in this city who deal in children, and for all sorts of purposes.”
“I know. It is a gamble, I admit. But our ransom-seekers are, currently, the talk of the underworld, and our men went via Covent Garden. If I’m wrong, I will find out when I follow your money.”
“I have some stout men you might draw upon.”
“Thank you,” Tizsa said politely. “I might, once I have discovered where our villains are.” He delved into his pocket and took out a handful of papers, which he unfolded, smoothed, and passed across the desk.
Nicholas picked them up. “What is this?”
“It is my observations on poverty and sickness in various parts of the city, and my recommendations. It says little that is new, except that it is observed by a foreigner brought up in tyranny. If you know someone who will publish it as it stands, without political comment, you are welcome to arrange it. If you don’t, just give it back when you wish.”
Nicholas smiled. “Thank you. I shall read it with interest and let you know.”
Tizsa nodded and stood.
“Wait,” Nicholas said, looking up from the essay, “you haven’t told me when the ransom for Henry is to be collected.”
“That is true,” Tizsa agreed. “I have not. Good day, Sir Nicholas.”
Nicholas resisted the urge to throw something after him, then shook his head and read Tizsa’s essay with increasing interest. Before he had finished, he was interrupted by the sounds of furniture being lugged upstairs and into the drawing room.
He was glad when it stopped. Until the piano tuner began his work. After that torture stopped, there was a short, blissful silence. And then someone began to play the blasted piano.
Nicholas sprang up and strode purposefully across the room with every intention of closing the drawing room doors to give himself some peace to work. Only, before he even left the library, he heard his daughter’s childish voice raised in merry song. He paused, smiling involuntarily, until another, more mature voice lifted to join Evelina’s.
Somehow, his purpose had changed, and a moment later, he found himself in the drawing room doorway, watching his daughter and her governess play and sing with such innocent pleasure and laughter that it made his heart ache. Watching them together made his heart ache.
It had been a moment of kind concern that had caused him to ask her last night if she ever had fun. But how superior, how condescending that seemed now. She found fun as it was offered, in a few moments of musical nonsense with her pupil. She did not need to spend huge amounts of money and plan and plot. She lived in the moment and grasped whatever pleasure that offered.
It was beguiling and oddly familiar. He remembered, vaguely, a boy with his name who had once lived by the same instinct. Carpe diem. He ached suddenly for that boy, too. But mostly, it seemed, he ached for Alexandra Battle. Especially when her gaze lifted suddenly and caught him watching her.
Something changed in her eyes. The smile begun for his daughter did not quite die, but something else gleamed there, too. It might have been excitement or fear or an acknowledgment of inconvenient desire. Or all three.
Or perhaps she was just embarrassed to have been caught out during lesson time. Whatever, it stirred his already turbulent blood.
Until Evelina cried, “Papa!” And threw herself off the piano stool and across the space between them. “You did buy a piano! Thank you, thank you! Isn’t it lovely? We may practice on it, may we not?”
“Of course,” he replied, ruffling her hair. “I can’t play the wretched thing, so it is up to you and Miss Battle.”
Evelina began to drag him toward the piano. “Come and see Miss Battle play! And you can join in the song, Papa!”
Nicholas laughed, though he allowed himself to be hauled to the instrument, where Miss Battle now stood, smiling faintly at Evelina, not him. “How would that work when I cannot hold a note?”
“Miss Battle will teach you,” Evelina said confidently.
Her eyes lifted involuntarily to his and flamed, depriving him of breath. Alexandra Battle could teach him anything she liked. And he would be glad to return the compliment.
“Good grief,” said a lazy, amused, female voice from the doorway. “You really do live here.”
Nicholas swung around, more annoyed than anything by the interruption. A lady stood framed in the doorway with another, older woman hovering behind. And behind both, James, unable to get past without rudeness, looking at once irritated and guilty.
With an effort, Nicholas recalled his visitors. The beautiful young widow, Mrs. Caroline Jenner, who had visited Venice last year and danced with him. Flirting widows, unlike governesses, were fair game in his book, but she had resisted seduction, probably to intrigue him further. It had worked, too. But it took more than physical desire and the presence of a respectable mother to win an offer of marriage from Nicholas Swan, and he had barely thought of her from that moment to this.
“Mrs. Jenner,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Yes, we have tracked you down,” she said gaily, sweeping into the room. “You remember my mother, Mrs. Talley?”
Nicholas bowed to each. “My daughter, Evelina, and Miss Battle, her governess.”
Mrs. Talley’s nostrils flared.
Caroline Jenner smiled kindly upon Evelina. “What a pretty little girl.”
Both of them ignored Miss Battle. Perversely, Nicholas chose to introduce his visitors.
“Mrs. Talley and her daughter, Mrs. Jenner, old acquaintances from Venice,” he said.
“Hmm, I’m not sure the Thames has the attraction of the Grand Canal,” Caroline Jenner said with amusement. “What on earth possessed you to live here?”
“I like the house. And I had no intention of going into society.”
“Well, I hope you will make an exception for us,” Caroline said archly. “As soon as we heard you were in London, I thought, we must have Sir Nicholas for our soiree. What a triumph that would be.”
“A crusty old hermit will add no cachet to your party, ma’am,” Nicholas said dryly.
“Come anyway,” Caroline said, presenting him with a card whisked from the reticule on her arm.
“Are we not going to play, Papa?” Evelina asked determinedly.
Miss Battle already had hold of her hand, urging her from the room. “Later, Evelina,” she murmured. “We have to have luncheon before we go out in the afternoon.”
It was a masterstroke to divert her with the afternoon’s treat, and it almost worked. But after an instant’s consideration, her brow lowered “There is easily time for both, and Papa said—”
“Papa has visitors,” Miss Battle said firmly, tugging her toward the door. Evelina’s face had taken on that flushed, furious look. Her body had gone rigid. A tantrum clearly threatened, so in solidarity, he walked with them to the door, hoping Miss Battle wouldn’t have too much trouble dragging her upstairs.
“Papa…” Evelina uttered warningly.
“Evelina, remember what we agreed,” Miss Battle said calmly, without pausing, “now that you are so grown up and ready to go on outings and meet visitors…” Her voice faded as she hurried the child forward toward the staircase, talking quietly. Evelina’s voice sounded once, sulky and petulant, but there was no tantrum. At least not yet.
“Send up some tea, James,” Nicholas said wearily, and returned to his guests.
Chapter Thirteen
It crossed Alexandra’s mind that these intruders from Sir Nicholas’s own world would keep him, and that she and Evelina would end up going to the Exhibition without him. She tried not to care, and when she still did, convinced herself it was only for Evelina’s sake, and because she doubted she could deflect another tantrum.
However, when they emerged from the schoolroom after luncheon, she could hear his voice in the hall downstairs, asking when the carriage would be ready, and a load seemed to lift from her mind and heart.
It was the beginning of a delightful afternoon. In the carriage, Evelina chattered excitedly and pointed out to her father the patch of park where she and Alexandra had had their picnic. The Exhibition building, the so-called Crystal Palace, all glass and steel, was unique enough to awe her, and once they were inside, she wanted to see everything at once.
Of course, there was far too much to see in one afternoon, though Evelina seemed happy enough to try. In the end, her father enticed her away with the need to buy souvenirs for Lady Nora and the promise of tea in a nearby tearoom.
The tearoom he chose was large, luxurious, and busy, but at a word from Sir Nicholas, they were led immediately to a vacant table by a window. Evelina gazed about her with frank curiosity, which seemed to be returned. Several people gazed at their table, no doubt wondering what the great Sir Nicholas Swan was doing with such a dowdy female.
“No, though Chivers was prepared to accept her. She seems to have vanished into the demi-monde. Only her old father seems to remember her now. According to Her Grace, he insists a place is set at the table for Lady Nora every Christmas. Isn’t that sad?”
Alexandra’s next question vanished into another. “Lady Nora?” she repeated, spinning around to stare at Griz.
“Why yes. Before her marriage to Chivers, she was Lady Nora Tranter. Do you know her?”
“Well, yes, I think I might. There is a Lady Nora staying here who came with them from Italy. She is very ill, dying, they say. Could it be the same woman?”
“You mean he didn’t abandon her at all?” Griz said thoughtfully.
“I don’t know. He seems to care for this Lady Nora.”
“Well, after he apparently left her in Paris, he set about making his fortune, in shipping and other ventures, eventually with offices all over Europe. He settled in Venice, where my brother met him, living in the lap of luxury. There was talk there of a past duel, too, which might be the root of Evelina’s remark about murder, but I don’t think they know anything about it. On the other hand, Monkton—my bother—thought Sir Nicholas had some unsavory connections.”
“Unsavory?” Alexandra repeated uneasily. “Like our smuggler friend?”
“More like Dragan, to be honest,” Griz said with the flicker of a smile. “Revolutionary types. My brother disapproves of such views. He thinks that might have been why Sir Nicholas came home—being persona non grata in Italy when the revolutions there failed.”
Alexandra turned back to the mirror to place her last pin. “I do not think,” she said carefully, “that Sir Nicholas is a bad man.”
Griz was watching her in the mirror, her eyes uncomfortably penetrating.
“I am a governess, Griz,” Alexandra said, turning toward the door. “I will never be more or less.”
Griz followed her from the room. “See if Sir Nicholas will give you every second Saturday afternoon free. We can have our musical practice then.”
Alexandra nodded. “I would like that. Griz?” she added as they parted, and her friend glanced back. “Thank you.”
Griz grinned and carried on to the staircase.
Alexandra found it difficult enough to concentrate on teaching Evelina that morning, without all the bumping and frequent, sudden shouts that sounded throughout the house.
“What on earth is that?” she demanded around the middle of the morning as another bump echoed from below.
“They are cleaning the big hall to make a drawing room,” Evelina offered.
“It sounds like they’re knocking down the walls.”
Evelina giggled and returned to her work.
A few minutes later came the sound of a musical note, repeated over and over, then silence, then the note again, and again until it was pure. And then another note.
Alexandra’s breath caught. “It’s a pianoforte being tuned.”
“We don’t have a pianoforte,” Evelina reminded her.
They both began to smile at the same time. For once, Alexandra did not inquire as to the completion of the work she had set. She only stood and made for the door, holding her hand out to Evelina on the way past.
They all but ran along the passage to the stairs and hurried down. The double doors of the new drawing room were thrown wide, and the transformation was all the more astonishing because the doors had been closed the last two days. The room had been cleaned and painted. Beautiful carpets were scattered on the freshly polished floors. Velvet curtains hung from the windows, and in pride of place stood a beautiful walnut piano with its lid wide open. A balding man in an apron stood before it, the tools of his trade clutched in one hand to correct the strings, while with the other, he sounded the notes.
“Morning, ma’am, Miss,” he greeted them, then put his finger to his lips and carried on. Alexandra and Evelina crept inside and sat on one of the new sofas. Deciding it was part of her education, Alexandra let the child go up for a closer look until the tuner finished his work, packed up his tools, saluted them, and left.
Evelina sat on the matching stool, gently sounding the notes in random order. “Can you play, Miss Battle?”
“A little,” she replied. And suddenly, she was so pleased that Sir Nicholas had done this, that there was such a fine instrument in the house, that she sat down beside Evelina and played some songs Evelina already knew, in both Italian and English. She played with a sense of fun and exuberance, and Evelina joined in, her voice raised with Alexandra’s in pure happiness.
“More, more!” Evelina laughed when she stopped.
Alexandra was still smiling as she turned to the child. Something made her glance up. Sir Nicholas stood leaning against the door, large, male, imposing. A faint, enigmatic smile played on his lips as he watched them.
A jumble of anxieties deluged Alexandra. How long had he been there? Was he angry? Why did her heart seem to turn over like this whenever she saw him?
Then the focus of his gaze shifted, their eyes clashed, and her world exploded in intense pain and unimagined joy.
Dear God, I love him. How can this have happened?
*
Nicholas had felt curiously relieved when Dragan was announced that morning. Having cleared his appointments and told everyone who needed to know that he would be at home that morning, he shut himself in the library after breakfast and gazed unseeingly at the letters before him.
His mind was full of Alexandra Battle, and he did not like that. The body’s yearnings one could distract and deal with, but it was so much harder when a web was winding itself around his thoughts, and tugging. The trouble was he liked her. He liked her fearless retorts and her innate compassion. He liked the way she dealt with Evelina. He liked her quick mind and her company. And he liked the way she looked, all prim beauty and neatness tied into a dull gown—beneath which, he was sure, lurked a simmering passion any man would long to taste.
And he did. He wanted her with increasing intensity, no doubt spurred on by the knowledge that he could not have her. One did not seduce the governess, even supposing she would let him. For one thing, it would immediately make her an unsuitable companion for one’s daughter. For another, a ruined governess would never get another post. He could not do that to her, or ruin his daughter’s burgeoning contentment under the care of her teacher.
And then there was the fact that he liked having her around. He liked the sound of her voice, her rare laughter, her wit, her soothing, comfortable presence. He liked to look at her.
And clearly, he liked to think about her rather than the damned letter he was supposed to be answering. Impatiently, he picked up his pen and dipped it in the ink.
A knock sounded at the door, and he looked up with relief at the distraction.
James walked in. “Mr. and Mrs. Tizsa are here, sir. He asked to see you.”
“Send them in,” Nicholas said resignedly. He expected some kind of scold from Tizsa about the dead smugglers.
Only Tizsa walked into the room, which meant his wife was running tame about the house, no doubt visiting Miss Battle, whether from friendship or a more practical purpose. Were governesses even supposed to receive visitors? Not on teaching time, he supposed, but then it was not yet nine o’clock.
He rose to shake hands with the Hungarian and invite him to sit. “Did my brother contact you?”
“He did, which is one of the reasons I’m here.” Tizsa sat, his dark eyes full of speculation as well as determination. “Mr. Swan has received ransom instructions and is desperate none of this reaches the police to endanger his son.”
“And he does not have the money,” Nicholas said. “No wonder he was dismayed when I appeared at exactly the wrong moment.”
“May he use your money to ransom the boy?”
“Of course,” Nicholas said. He twisted his lips. “Though it goes against the grain. He may get Henry back, but it won’t stop some other child being taken for the same purpose.”
“That is the problem,” Tizsa agreed. “I have a plan if you have no objections.”
“That is between you and Ralph or any other parents you represent.”
“Not if it is your money. I propose to let Ralph hand it over, then follow whoever receives it to discover the culprits. There are no guarantees of success. I may simply lose your money.”
“Or die trying to retrieve it,” Nicholas said bluntly. “Don’t even think of going after them alone.”
“Oh, I shan’t. Once I know where they are, I shall call on Inspector Harris.”
“And if they are gone by the time Harris and his men appear?”
“I hope I will have enough friends scattered about to tell me where they went.”
Nicholas stared. “You’ll need a lot of friends. This is a large city.”
“That is true, but I have narrowed it down to a smaller area.”
“How?” Nicholas asked, fascinated.
“Your smugglers. I think, having taken Evelina to shut her up, they decided to get rid of her by taking her to someone they knew who dealt in children. Perhaps they thought they could get a cut of the ransom, or—er… a finder’s fee.”
An echo of fear clawed at Nicholas’s stomach. “There are many in this city who deal in children, and for all sorts of purposes.”
“I know. It is a gamble, I admit. But our ransom-seekers are, currently, the talk of the underworld, and our men went via Covent Garden. If I’m wrong, I will find out when I follow your money.”
“I have some stout men you might draw upon.”
“Thank you,” Tizsa said politely. “I might, once I have discovered where our villains are.” He delved into his pocket and took out a handful of papers, which he unfolded, smoothed, and passed across the desk.
Nicholas picked them up. “What is this?”
“It is my observations on poverty and sickness in various parts of the city, and my recommendations. It says little that is new, except that it is observed by a foreigner brought up in tyranny. If you know someone who will publish it as it stands, without political comment, you are welcome to arrange it. If you don’t, just give it back when you wish.”
Nicholas smiled. “Thank you. I shall read it with interest and let you know.”
Tizsa nodded and stood.
“Wait,” Nicholas said, looking up from the essay, “you haven’t told me when the ransom for Henry is to be collected.”
“That is true,” Tizsa agreed. “I have not. Good day, Sir Nicholas.”
Nicholas resisted the urge to throw something after him, then shook his head and read Tizsa’s essay with increasing interest. Before he had finished, he was interrupted by the sounds of furniture being lugged upstairs and into the drawing room.
He was glad when it stopped. Until the piano tuner began his work. After that torture stopped, there was a short, blissful silence. And then someone began to play the blasted piano.
Nicholas sprang up and strode purposefully across the room with every intention of closing the drawing room doors to give himself some peace to work. Only, before he even left the library, he heard his daughter’s childish voice raised in merry song. He paused, smiling involuntarily, until another, more mature voice lifted to join Evelina’s.
Somehow, his purpose had changed, and a moment later, he found himself in the drawing room doorway, watching his daughter and her governess play and sing with such innocent pleasure and laughter that it made his heart ache. Watching them together made his heart ache.
It had been a moment of kind concern that had caused him to ask her last night if she ever had fun. But how superior, how condescending that seemed now. She found fun as it was offered, in a few moments of musical nonsense with her pupil. She did not need to spend huge amounts of money and plan and plot. She lived in the moment and grasped whatever pleasure that offered.
It was beguiling and oddly familiar. He remembered, vaguely, a boy with his name who had once lived by the same instinct. Carpe diem. He ached suddenly for that boy, too. But mostly, it seemed, he ached for Alexandra Battle. Especially when her gaze lifted suddenly and caught him watching her.
Something changed in her eyes. The smile begun for his daughter did not quite die, but something else gleamed there, too. It might have been excitement or fear or an acknowledgment of inconvenient desire. Or all three.
Or perhaps she was just embarrassed to have been caught out during lesson time. Whatever, it stirred his already turbulent blood.
Until Evelina cried, “Papa!” And threw herself off the piano stool and across the space between them. “You did buy a piano! Thank you, thank you! Isn’t it lovely? We may practice on it, may we not?”
“Of course,” he replied, ruffling her hair. “I can’t play the wretched thing, so it is up to you and Miss Battle.”
Evelina began to drag him toward the piano. “Come and see Miss Battle play! And you can join in the song, Papa!”
Nicholas laughed, though he allowed himself to be hauled to the instrument, where Miss Battle now stood, smiling faintly at Evelina, not him. “How would that work when I cannot hold a note?”
“Miss Battle will teach you,” Evelina said confidently.
Her eyes lifted involuntarily to his and flamed, depriving him of breath. Alexandra Battle could teach him anything she liked. And he would be glad to return the compliment.
“Good grief,” said a lazy, amused, female voice from the doorway. “You really do live here.”
Nicholas swung around, more annoyed than anything by the interruption. A lady stood framed in the doorway with another, older woman hovering behind. And behind both, James, unable to get past without rudeness, looking at once irritated and guilty.
With an effort, Nicholas recalled his visitors. The beautiful young widow, Mrs. Caroline Jenner, who had visited Venice last year and danced with him. Flirting widows, unlike governesses, were fair game in his book, but she had resisted seduction, probably to intrigue him further. It had worked, too. But it took more than physical desire and the presence of a respectable mother to win an offer of marriage from Nicholas Swan, and he had barely thought of her from that moment to this.
“Mrs. Jenner,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Yes, we have tracked you down,” she said gaily, sweeping into the room. “You remember my mother, Mrs. Talley?”
Nicholas bowed to each. “My daughter, Evelina, and Miss Battle, her governess.”
Mrs. Talley’s nostrils flared.
Caroline Jenner smiled kindly upon Evelina. “What a pretty little girl.”
Both of them ignored Miss Battle. Perversely, Nicholas chose to introduce his visitors.
“Mrs. Talley and her daughter, Mrs. Jenner, old acquaintances from Venice,” he said.
“Hmm, I’m not sure the Thames has the attraction of the Grand Canal,” Caroline Jenner said with amusement. “What on earth possessed you to live here?”
“I like the house. And I had no intention of going into society.”
“Well, I hope you will make an exception for us,” Caroline said archly. “As soon as we heard you were in London, I thought, we must have Sir Nicholas for our soiree. What a triumph that would be.”
“A crusty old hermit will add no cachet to your party, ma’am,” Nicholas said dryly.
“Come anyway,” Caroline said, presenting him with a card whisked from the reticule on her arm.
“Are we not going to play, Papa?” Evelina asked determinedly.
Miss Battle already had hold of her hand, urging her from the room. “Later, Evelina,” she murmured. “We have to have luncheon before we go out in the afternoon.”
It was a masterstroke to divert her with the afternoon’s treat, and it almost worked. But after an instant’s consideration, her brow lowered “There is easily time for both, and Papa said—”
“Papa has visitors,” Miss Battle said firmly, tugging her toward the door. Evelina’s face had taken on that flushed, furious look. Her body had gone rigid. A tantrum clearly threatened, so in solidarity, he walked with them to the door, hoping Miss Battle wouldn’t have too much trouble dragging her upstairs.
“Papa…” Evelina uttered warningly.
“Evelina, remember what we agreed,” Miss Battle said calmly, without pausing, “now that you are so grown up and ready to go on outings and meet visitors…” Her voice faded as she hurried the child forward toward the staircase, talking quietly. Evelina’s voice sounded once, sulky and petulant, but there was no tantrum. At least not yet.
“Send up some tea, James,” Nicholas said wearily, and returned to his guests.
Chapter Thirteen
It crossed Alexandra’s mind that these intruders from Sir Nicholas’s own world would keep him, and that she and Evelina would end up going to the Exhibition without him. She tried not to care, and when she still did, convinced herself it was only for Evelina’s sake, and because she doubted she could deflect another tantrum.
However, when they emerged from the schoolroom after luncheon, she could hear his voice in the hall downstairs, asking when the carriage would be ready, and a load seemed to lift from her mind and heart.
It was the beginning of a delightful afternoon. In the carriage, Evelina chattered excitedly and pointed out to her father the patch of park where she and Alexandra had had their picnic. The Exhibition building, the so-called Crystal Palace, all glass and steel, was unique enough to awe her, and once they were inside, she wanted to see everything at once.
Of course, there was far too much to see in one afternoon, though Evelina seemed happy enough to try. In the end, her father enticed her away with the need to buy souvenirs for Lady Nora and the promise of tea in a nearby tearoom.
The tearoom he chose was large, luxurious, and busy, but at a word from Sir Nicholas, they were led immediately to a vacant table by a window. Evelina gazed about her with frank curiosity, which seemed to be returned. Several people gazed at their table, no doubt wondering what the great Sir Nicholas Swan was doing with such a dowdy female.
