Born to Scandal

He held her captive with his eyes, which turned unexpectedly sad. ‘Provide my children what they need. Make them happy.’

For a moment it was as if a mask dropped from his face and she glimpsed a man in agony.

This glimpse shook her more than the pacing panther.

‘I shall try my best,’ she whispered.

‘We are done, Miss Hill. I will send word to you when you are to leave for Brentmore.’ He turned away and prowled to the door.

She remembered to curtsy, but he did not see her. He left the room and a moment later the butler appeared to escort her to the hall. Once in the hall, the butler walked her to the door and opened it.

She was about to step across the threshold when the marquess’s voice stopped her. ‘Do not leave.’ He stood on the marble staircase, looking down on her.

Her anxiety returned. Perhaps he had reconsidered.

‘It is raining,’ he said.

The rain was pouring in sheets outside.

‘I do not mind the rain,’ she assured him.

‘You will be soaked within minutes.’ He descended the stairs and walked directly towards her.

Her fingers fluttered. ‘It is of no consequence.’

‘I will call my carriage for you.’ The marquess gestured towards the open door.

Her hand flew to her throat. ‘That is much too much trouble, sir. If you insist, I will borrow an umbrella—’

He cut her off. ‘An umbrella will be useless.’ Again he stared at her and did not speak right away. ‘I must go out. Very soon.’

The butler made a surprised sound.

The marquess shot him a sharp glance and turned his panther gaze back to Anna. ‘Wait a few moments. I will drop you off on my way.’

Ride with him in the carriage? Enter the panther cage? She could not refuse. He all but demanded it.

She curtsied again. ‘Thank you, sir. It is beyond generous of you.’

‘Shall the young lady wait in the drawing room, my lord?’ the butler asked, closing the door.

‘Yes.’ Lord Brentmore turned back to the stairs.

‘Very good, sir.’ The butler bowed curtly.

He led Anna to a beautifully furnished drawing room on the same level as the hall. Its brocade-upholstered sofas and crystal and porcelain spoke of opulence. One wall held a huge family portrait from a generation ago. A Gainsborough? It certainly appeared to be. She and Charlotte had seen engravings of Gainsborough’s portraits.

There was even a fire lit in the room, taking away the early spring chill.

‘Do sit, Miss Hill,’ the butler intoned.

She lowered herself into a chair by the fire and listened to the ticking of the mantel clock as she waited.

Twenty minutes later Brent was informed that the carriage waited outside. He donned his topcoat and hat, and had Davies collect Miss Hill.

He was putting on his gloves when Davies led Miss Hill back to the hall. Brent nodded to her and Davies escorted her to the door where footmen waited with umbrellas. One walked her to the carriage and helped her inside.

When Brent climbed in, she had taken the backward-facing seat, which meant he could not avoid watching her the whole trip.

She sat with graceful poise, her hands folded in her lap.

The carriage started moving.

He ought to engage her in polite conversation but, in such intimate quarters, he could not trust what might escape his mouth.

Finally it was she who spoke. ‘This is kind of you, sir. I am certain it takes you out of your way.’

He shrugged. ‘Not too far out of the way.’

Lord Lawton’s town house was on Mount Street, not more than a mile from Cavendish Square.

While the carriage crossed the distance, she looked out the window, but glanced his way occasionally. He could not keep his eyes off her, although he tried. When she caught him gazing at her, she smiled politely. He pined to see that genuine smile, the one that burst from her when she realised he had hired her.

The carriage reached Mount Street and stopped at the Lawton town house. One of the marquess’s footmen put the stairs down and opened the door, his umbrella ready to shelter her. The footman assisted her from the carriage.

She turned back to Brent. ‘Thank you again, my lord. I will await word from you when I should leave for Essex.’

He inclined his head. ‘I will see you are informed as soon as possible.’

‘I shall be ready.’ She smiled again, a hint of her sunshine in this one. ‘Good day, sir.’

He watched as the footman escorted Miss Hill to the door of the Lawtons’ town house. Even hurrying through the rain, she made an alluring picture. He watched until she disappeared behind the town house door.

He groaned.

It was a good thing she’d be on her way to Brentmore in a few days.

The coachman knocked at the window. Brent leaned forwards to open it.

‘Where to next, sir?’ the man asked.

‘Home,’ Brent said.

‘Home?’ His coachman probably thought Brent was addled.

And the man would be dead accurate if he did.

Brent had ordered his carriage, his coachman, footmen and horses out in the pouring rain. All to carry a governess one mile.