'Twas the Night After Christmas (6 page)

Mrs. Stuart blinked. Obviously, it was the first time she’d considered the possibility that she was being taken in. “You’re wrong,” she whispered, though she didn’t seem quite so certain. “She’s not like that.”

“You’ve known her for six months,” he ground out. “I’ve known her my entire life. Or at least the part of my life that she—”

He broke off before he could reveal the mortifying truth—that his parents thought so little of him they’d cut him out of their lives. It was none of her affair, no matter what she thought. He didn’t have to explain himself to some paid companion, damn it!

Besides, as meddlesome as Mrs. Stuart had proven to be, she clearly had Mother’s best interests at heart. He didn’t want to dismiss the woman, and he saw no reason to poison her against his mother. He just wanted her to stop making trouble.

He forced some calmness into his tone. “By now you’ve probably gathered that matters between me and my mother aren’t as clear as you think. So I will forget how far you’ve overstepped your bounds, if you’ll agree to keep your opinions to yourself and stay out of my relationship with her in future.”

Though she swallowed hard, she continued to meet his gaze. “I don’t know if I can do that, my lord.”

“Oh, for God’s sake . . . ” He dragged his hand over his face. He was tired and hungry and annoyed. The bloody woman was a plague! “What do you want from me, damn it, short of attaching my mother to my side with a tether?”

The image made her start, then give a little smile. It took him by surprise. Until that moment, she’d lived up to his impression of a self-righteous bluestocking, but a sense of humor lurked inside the indomitable Mrs. Stuart. And somehow he’d tickled it.

“You needn’t go to such an extreme,” she said, her eyes twinkling beneath the spectacles. Then she turned earnest again. “But if you could stay here with your mother until Christmas—”

“No.” He remembered only too well his last Christmas at home. The one that he hadn’t realized was to
be
his last Christmas at home. “That’s impossible.”

He turned away. Perhaps he
should
dismiss the woman.

But she followed him as he headed for the brandy. “You wouldn’t have to spend much time with her, just have the occasional meal with her. The slightest attention from you would make her happy.”

“You think so, do you?” Pouring himself a healthy portion of brandy, he downed it in one swallow. If ever a woman could drive a man to drink, it was Mrs. Stuart.

“I am sure of it. You could stay at Montcliff Manor as you always do, but even if you merely came to dinner with us every night—”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” He set down the
glass and faced her with a scowl. “You’ll keep plaguing me until I do as you ask or you force me to send you packing.”

That seemed to give her pause, but only for a moment. “I would of course prefer that you
not
send me packing. But I must speak what I know to be true, sir.” Her voice softened. “And now that I’ve met you, I believe that you have more of a heart than you let on.”

He snorted. “Do you, indeed?”

Then perhaps it was time he dispelled that ridiculous notion. And in doing so, perhaps he could dissuade her from meddling and tormenting him to death, without his having to dismiss her and go to the trouble of hiring another, who might not be as reliable.

He stalked forward, deliberately crowding her space, forcing her to either back up or stand her ground. Not surprisingly, she did the latter, which put him toe to toe with her, looming over her.

“I tell you what, Mrs. Stuart,” he drawled. “I’m already staying here at the dower house until tomorrow. So I’ll attend dinner tonight with you and my mother and try to be civil. But in exchange, I’ll expect some compensation after she retires.”

Her gaze turned wary. “What sort of compensation?”

“Entertainment. The kind I would normally receive in London.” He let his gaze trail leisurely down her body in a way that should illustrate exactly what he was pretending to demand of her. “And I will expect
you
to provide it.”

C
amilla’s cheeks heated as she gaped at the earl. What a despicable, wicked—

Then her brain caught up with her moral outrage. The earl wore a calculating expression, as if he knew exactly what her reaction would be.

That devil was making this up as he went along. He wanted her so insulted by his proposition that she would stop bothering him about his mother. That made far more sense than believing he actually meant it. She wasn’t the sort of woman whom notorious rakehells tried to seduce.

She made herself look bewildered. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, my lord. How could I possibly entertain a worldly man like you?”

His sudden black frown strengthened her supposition that his bargain was a humbug. “You know perfectly well how. After dinner is over, you and I will have our own party. Here. In my bedchamber, where you can slip in and out without being noticed. If I must spend dinner with her, then you must spend the night with
me
.”

“Entertaining you,” she said primly, buying time to figure out what answer would best gain her what she wanted. “Yes, I understand that part. I’m just not sure what kind of entertainment you want.”

He gritted his teeth. “Oh, for the love of God, you know precisely what kind of entertainment a ‘worldly man’ like me wants.”

Now that she had caught on to his game, it was all she could do not to laugh at him. He was so transparent. What was wrong with all those women in London, that they didn’t see right through him?

“On the contrary,” she said blithely. “I don’t know you well enough to know what you enjoy. Perhaps you would prefer me to sing for you or dance or read you a good play. I understand there is quite an extensive library at Montcliff Manor. Your mother says you bought most of the books yourself. I’m sure there is some volume of—”

“I’m not talking about your reading to me!” he practically shouted.

When she merely gazed at him with a feigned expression of innocence, he changed his demeanor. His eyes turned sultry, and a sensual smile crossed his lips. “I mean the kind of entertainment most widows prefer.”

My, my, no wonder London ladies were rumored to jump into his bed. When he looked that way at a woman and spoke in that decidedly seductive voice, the average female probably melted into a puddle at his feet.

It was a good thing she was
not
an average female. In her other posts, she’d seen plenty of rakehells seducing their way through halls and balls. So even though they’d never tried their skills on her, she had a good idea how to handle such scoundrels.

This was a trickier situation, however. If she was not an average female, he was definitely not an average scoundrel.

She pretended to muse a moment. “Entertainment that widows prefer . . . Works of charity? Taking care of their families? No, those are not actually entertaining, though they do pass the time.” She cocked her head. “I confess, my lord, that you have me at a complete loss.”

Uh-oh, that was probably doing it up too brown, for understanding suddenly shone in his face. “Ah, I see you are deliberately provoking me. Well, then, let me spell it out for you. You’ll spend the night in my bed. Is that clear enough?”

He said it in such a peeved manner that she couldn’t help but laugh. “Clear indeed, though preposterous.”

His gaze narrowed on her. “How so?”

Time to let him know she had caught on to his game. “I’m aware of your reputation, sir. I’m not the sort of woman you take to bed.”

Something that looked remarkably like admiration glinted in his eyes. “I thought you said you didn’t know me all that well,” he drawled.

“I know what kind of women you are most often seen with. By all accounts, they are tall, blowsy blondes with porcelain skin and clever hands.”

He looked startled. “You
do
know my reputation.”

She shrugged. “I read the papers. And your mother insists upon hearing all the stories of you, even the salacious ones.”

Mention of his mother made his gaze harden. “Then you should know that men like me aren’t that discriminating.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you’re discriminating enough not to wish to bed a short, mousy, freckled servant when there are any number of beautiful, blond actresses and opera singers awaiting you in London,” she said coolly.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he dragged his gaze down her again, then circled her in a slow, careful assessment that made her nervous. A pity he wasn’t a perfumed dandy; she could have handled one of those easily enough. But this sharp-witted, secretive rakehell was unpredictable.

Camilla had never liked the unpredictable.

“And what if I say that I really
am
that indiscriminate? Would you then share my bed in exchange for my dining with my mother tonight?”

She swallowed. Why did he persist in bamming her when he knew she’d caught on to him?

Well, two could play his game. “Why not? You
are
rumored to be quite good at that sort of thing, and I
have
been married.” She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “Besides, the likelihood of my ever again having the chance to be seduced by such a notorious fellow as yourself is slim.”

Her frank statement made him halt, then shake his head. “Great God, Mrs. Stuart, remind me never to play cards with you. I daresay you’re a terror at the gaming tables.”

She bit back a smile. “I’ve won a hand or two at piquet in my life.”

“More than a hand or two, I’d wager.” He let out a long breath. “All right, then, let me propose a bargain that we could both actually adhere to. I’ll do as you wish—I’ll dine with you and Mother. Afterward, you will come here to join me in one of your more innocuous entertainments.”

She let out a breath. She’d won! “I am happy to attempt to entertain you, my lord, if you will just give your mother a little time with you. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m not finished.” He gazed steadily at her. “In exchange for my doing so, you must agree never again to try forcing my hand in the matter of my mother.”

When she drew a breath as if to speak, he added more firmly, “One night of watching me and Mother together should demonstrate to you why you have no business involving yourself in our relationship. But even if it doesn’t, tomorrow must mark the end of your meddling on that point. Or I
will
dismiss you, without a qualm. Am I understood?”

She hesitated, but really, what choice did she have? “Yes, my lord.” The dratted devil was tying her hands. She’d have only one night to attempt some repair to his relationship with his mother. But it was better than she’d had before.

A heavy sigh escaped him. “I must be out of my mind to be letting you off so easily, after what you did.”

“Easily?” she said tartly. “Did you forget that I will have to entertain you this evening?”

“Ah, yes, such a trial,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “And I’ll expect rousing entertainment, too. At the very least, you must show me your reputed ability at piquet, so I can trounce you.” He stared her down. “Now that you’ve brought me here to endure this house, it’s only fair that you join me in my suffering.”

The bitter remark gave her pause. Hadn’t Lady Devonmont said that this was the original manor house on the estate? The one where he’d grown up?

As if realizing he’d revealed more than he’d meant to, he flashed her a bland smile. “It won’t be that difficult. I can be charming when I want to.”

“No doubt,” she said dryly.

“Then we’re agreed. I’ll see you here this evening after Mother has retired.”

And after Camilla had put Jasper to bed, though she couldn’t say that.

“But you
will
come down to dinner first, sir?”

His face turned rigid. “That’s the bargain, isn’t it?”

She let out a breath. “I was just making sure.”

“Whatever else you may think of me,” he said sharply, “I do honor my promises.”

“Of course, my lord.”

She turned for the door, relief overwhelming her. She’d braved the lion’s den and survived. She’d even won a small concession. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough to soothe the countess’s hurt
feelings. Spending a night “entertaining” his lordship would be no sacrifice at all, compared to that.

“One more thing, Mrs. Stuart,” he said as she reached the door.

She paused to look back at him.

“You were right when you said I’m discriminating in my choice of bed partners. But you aren’t remotely mousy.” His gaze scoured her with a heat that didn’t seem the least bit feigned.

Could he really mean it?

Oh, she hoped not. Because the last thing she needed in her life right now was a lover—not with Jasper to take care of.

Only when he had her thoroughly agitated did he lower his voice to a husky drawl. “Fortunately for you, I’m not in the habit of abusing the trust of those in my employ, whether chaste maidens or experienced widows. So as long as you want me to play the respectable gentleman, I will do so.”

He fixed her with a smoldering look. “But let this be a warning to you. Give me an inch, and I will take two miles. If you offer more, I will be only too happy to take you into my bed.”