Love With the Perfect Scoundrel Read online

  At that moment Michael turned in her direction and left the children to their game. “Why, you’ve come. I feared you wouldn’t.”

  “Well, if yesterday was any example, I would think you’d know by now that I never renege on a promise, Mr. Ranier.”

  “You’re quite right, Lady Sheffield.” He chuckled, and Grace was reminded yet again that Michael Ranier could, indeed, be a most devastatingly attractive man when he chose. He had only to turn his full attention on a person and unleash his smile.

  Grace searched her pocket for a note. “I promised to deliver this to you.” She did not mutter “Lord help me,” as she wished. “I shall warn you that it’s an invitation from Ata. She would like you to join us at Helston House for dinner tomorrow.”

  His eyes lit up with amusement. “Would she now?”

  “Yes.”

  “And would you like me to come, Lady Sheffield?”

  She just could not do it. Her pride would not allow her to put her feelings before him on a platter. “I would not presume to intrude on your time in town, Mr. Ranier.”

  “I see. And this is to be an intimate family gathering rather than a ball given for half of London?”

  Such a strange question. “One never knows with Ata. It should be the former but when she includes extended family and her ducal friends…well, I should not hazard a guess.”

  His expression turned serious. “I’m honored by her invitation but I must decline. I’ll be needed here. The children—”

  “There’s no need to explain,” she interrupted. “I’m certain Ata will understand.”

  He appeared as if he wanted to say more on the subject but changed his mind. “Come. The children must be served a good show. They’ve waited all year. And you’re just in time.”

  “Really?” She released the tension in her shoulders when she realized the awkward moment had passed.

  So he would not accept Ata’s invitation. He really did want nothing more than friendship. The apologies were complete, and they were to part amicably.

  “Yes, it’s time to drag in the largest Yule log in all of London.”

  The children overheard his rising voice and erupted into cheers.

  She tried to ignore the bruise to her heart. “It sounds daunting. But I’m sure you’ll manage it, Mr. Ranier. You always manage everything perfectly well.”

  “Such flattery, ma’am,” he replied wryly. “Although it won’t help me move the log.”

  “Well, if it’s advice you’re looking for, Mr. Ranier, I’m happy to oblige, although you might not like it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Go on.”

  “Perhaps you should use mind over matter, Mr. Ranier.”

  “Excellent advice, of course, but then I’ve always found those who give advice rarely provide what is really necessary.”

  “And what, pray tell, is that, sir?”

  “A helping hand or an encouraging word. Yes, in your case, encouragement is what is most needed. Most wanted.” His gaze was steady and Grace wished he would sweep aside all innuendo. She had never possessed a talent for deciphering the difference between dangerous flirtation and the harmless wordplay of “friendship.” There was likely nothing behind his words except witticisms meant only to charm.

  At the same moment, Miss Victoria Givan joined them, clapping her hands. “Children, make way for Mr. Ranier, please. Oh, Lady Sheffield, you do us a great honor by joining us. Michael? The porter said he would stand by to aid you if needed.”

  “The only help I will need, concerns the mistletoe. Certainly won’t ask for Charlie’s help in that corner.” He dealt another grin in Grace’s direction and then winked at Victoria Givan. The auburn-haired beauty proceeded to raise one lovely arched brow, and a dimple appeared next to her radiant smile.

  Dizziness almost overcame Grace as she watched Miss Givan. The lady stared after Michael’s powerful figure when he turned his attention to the massive log in the entryway.

  Why had she come here? She felt so very alone. She was always out of her element no matter where she found herself. When she had been a child on Mann none of the other children had been allowed to play with her given the fact that her father, the Baron Atholl, was the highest-ranking peer on the island. Then in London, when her family’s fortune had disintegrated, she’d been shunned. Even with the other widows in Ata’s secret club, she’d felt separate due to her great fortune in the face of the others’ near poverty. And now here, she was nothing more than a distraction. The children kept peeking at her and whispering while Mrs. Kane glanced at her and tried to keep the children more orderly.

  Grace had formed a list of three or four hasty excuses to take her leave, when the sight of Michael pulling the log arrested her attention. Why, it was nearly larger than he. And he had stripped off his rough-hewn coat, and even his neckcloth and shirt, of all things. He’d replaced them with a leather apron to obviously guard against the ill cut branches, and the dirt and dust on the enormous log.

  And then she realized it must be what he had worn in his trade as a blacksmith.

  His shoulders gleamed with the effort, and his muscles bunched from the strain. He appeared as a veritable Atlas struggling with the weight of the world, and then all at once the log moved into position in front of the yawning fireplace.

  “Stop, stop,” the crowd yelled. And the children began to scramble about in an effort to take a turn sitting on the log.

  “They want to sit on it for good luck during the year,” Miss Givan said to her above the boisterous mayhem.

  “Of course,” Grace returned.

  One of the younger children, a little blonde girl of six or so, stood mutely in a far corner.

  “Why is that child not joining in with the others?”

  “Ah, that is Lara. Lara Peabody. It’s really too bad. She wasn’t to return here until after December. The family who took her in during her infancy is having a hard go of it, though. The wife took ill and so the husband had to return Lara early. She’s forlorn because she misses them. But have no fear, she’ll recover her spirits in a day or two. They all do. I remember it took me merely a week or so before I made fast friends with a half dozen girls when I was returned from the country.”

  “I see.” Grace looked at the courageous expression on Miss Givan’s face. “So all the children were placed with families when they were infants?”

  “Yes. Then they come back when they are old enough to learn to read and form letters—the boys at least. They’re all here to learn a trade. The girls usually become servants in great houses; the boys go to sea or to another trade.”

  “Such as smithing,” Grace added, glancing at Michael still tossing the children on and off the log.

  “Yes,” Miss Givan replied. “But we no longer send boys to Manning’s, as Michael has probably told you.”

  So he had apprenticed at Manning’s Livery. Grace drew in an uneven breath, hurt that he had revealed so little to her. “No, he did not.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry. I thought he had confided everything to you.”

  “Our acquaintance is recent in nature.”

  “Ah, that is why. Well, I’ve known Michael ever since he arrived. Even though the boys and girls are not permitted to take classes or dine together, I saw him each week. I was in charge of the wash, and he always helped to carry the boys’ items to the washroom, for there was so much.”

  Grace wished Miss Givan had not drawn her into conversation, but she was too polite to alter the discourse.

  “We were very close. It fair near broke my heart when he left. It is so lovely to see him again. And in such good spirits, too.”

  Without thought, Grace stood up. She couldn’t listen to anymore. She glanced at the dejected little girl in the corner. Large gray eyes looked into her own. “Excuse me, but perhaps I might endeavor to bring a measure of comfort to your newest arrival.”

  “Oh, of course, Lady Sheffield. You are so kind. But then Micha
el told us you were always kind to everyone. Michael is very much the same. We are so grateful for your generosity.”

  Really, what did Grace expect? He was the most charming, virile man she had ever met in her life. And Miss Givan was his equal in vibrancy. Could she blame the lady—or any woman—for being madly in love with him? She glanced at Michael as he seated the littlest children on the log and cajoled the older ones to wait their turn, and was disgusted with herself. She’d never been able to read the nature of a gentleman and a lady’s sensibilities toward each other. Victoria Givan and Michael Ranier had known each other since childhood, just like Georgiana had known Quinn. The latter pair had appeared to have nothing more than a deep friendship between them, but, she thought, her heart in her throat, that had been about as far from the truth of it as was Miss Givan’s friendship with Mr. Ranier. Why, they were from the same societal sphere and were made for each other.

  For the first time ever, Grace felt a vital raw sentiment deep in the bottom of her stomach. She had thought she’d experienced it before, first with Luc and then with Quinn. But no. This was altogether far worse. It made her want to screech like all the pheasants in England.

  Well.

  She would get through this evening as she got through every unfortunate evening of her life. With grace. She could not have been more aptly named than if her parents had given it a second thought.

  She tried to steady her thoughts as she walked toward the little girl. “Excuse me, miss, but I’m feeling a bit out of place since I only know two or three people in the room. I saw you standing alone too. Would it be too much to ask if I could sit beside you?” Grace bit her lip. “You would be doing me an enormous favor.”

  The little girl stared up at her for a long moment, her eyes as gray as the winter skies of Mann. She finally nodded once and then did something that tugged at Grace’s heartstrings. Small fingers wormed their way into her gloved hand and tugged her toward a bench nearby. They sat down, side by side.

  “What’s your name?” the little girl finally asked.

  “Grace Sheffey.”

  The girl peered at her from under long lashes. “Your gloves are very soft.” She said it so quietly Grace had to lean down to catch the words.

  “Thank you.”

  The little girl edged closer to her. “I’m Lara.”

  “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lara. Would you not like a turn atop the Yule log?”

  She shook her head, her expression wistful. “No, I don’t believe in luck.”

  “I don’t either.” Out of the blue, Grace felt at peace with the world. She didn’t need to drum up conversation for the child beside her. And she held on to Lara’s hand, wouldn’t have let it go for all the world.

  Occasionally, Grace looked down at the small head, with the even middle part, and her heart felt less constricted. For the first time in her life, she understood the powerful, unfettered bond a mother might share with a child. She wanted desperately to shelter Lara from any further disappointments and the pain she saw in those sad gray eyes.

  At that moment, Michael looked across the room at her and smiled.

  She was so very beautiful to him. Like a Madonna. The picture she painted with the little blonde girl seated beside her was almost too painful to contemplate. It reminded him of his dream of her in the apple orchard.

  “Michael?”

  He turned his head to find Victoria wading through the sea of children.

  “Yes?”

  “Cook says the food will be ready to serve in a quarter hour. Shall we not proceed to the next game? The children wanted a round of blindman’s bluff.”

  The boys hooted their approval.

  Michael laughed. “And here I’ve dressed for Shoe the Wild Mare. I’ve even provided the ‘horse.’” He nodded toward a beam strung by two cords on either end.

  An older girl stepped forward. “But none of the girls ever win Shoe the Wild Mare. It’s too hard to stay balanced and tap the imaginary nails. Can’t we first play blindman’s bluff?”

  “Never let it be said that I couldn’t be persuaded to accommodate a lady’s wishes.” He bowed grandly and pulled a handkerchief from his leather apron. “Who’s first?”

  One of the more audacious boys called out mischievously, “Miss Givan. We all want Miss Givan.”

  Michael waggled his eyebrows. “Now boys. Decorum, please. Miss Givan? It seems you’ve been chosen.”

  Victoria’s face bloomed into a happy smile and she shook her head helplessly. “Oh, all right.”

  He carefully covered the eyes of the woman who had traded in her former plain features and carrot curls to become a flame-haired beauty. “No peeking, Victoria. I know better than anyone here your penchant for cheating. But happily for me, as your former adversary, I also know all your tricks.”

  “You’re entirely wrong, Michael. I’ve only ever had a penchant for”—she lunged toward him at the same moment he jumped away from her—“winning!”

  Michael laughed and put another few feet between them. “Now, Victoria. Just because you occasionally caught me in our youth doesn’t mean I’ll allow you to win now. You know very well, I’m no good at chivalry.” He dodged left then right at every other word, until Victoria appeared to give up her quest.

  Michael wended his way to the hidden alcove where he had stashed his articles of clothing. After disposing of his smithing gear, he carelessly donned his shirt and neckcloth before buttoning his coat. He crossed to a pillar on which he leaned, his arms crossed, to better watch the merry scene in between covert glances toward Grace.

  He could barely stop himself from walking to her. And despite his earlier reservations, he took the decision to stay just a few days longer—only to see her. Oh, not as long as Twelfth Night, but perhaps, yes, he would depart on the first day of the new year. Surely, few runners would be about during Christmas, Boxing Day, and Childermas.

  His brush with James, the former chimney sweep in the alley, who had failed to meet him at the foundling home, had made Michael realize that he was, indeed, too much like the boy. Too untrusting. Gazing at Grace, he knew he could take a chance—trust her. But at the same time, he wanted to shield her from the worst of the ugliness. And so he would merely explain a portion of the true reasons behind his return to Brynlow. And why he could not in future return to London.

  A hand clawed his side. What in hell…Oh Christ—

  “I’ve caught you,” Victoria said still blindfolded and out of breath. She’d come up behind him, catching him in his reverie. “Now I must be given a moment to guess who it is.”

  Michael froze as the children burst into laughter. Victoria dragged her hand around to the front of his body.

  “Hmmm. Let me see. Could it be Mr. Wilkes? Or perhaps Charlie Howe? No, wait, you’re far too tall and broad to be Charlie,” Victoria said with exaggerated uncertainty.

  “You’re determined to drag out my humiliation as long as possible, aren’t you, Vic?” he whispered for her ears only.

  The pretty mouth below the blindfold curved into a smile. “Of course. It’s the most fun I’ve had all year.”

  Michael cleared his throat and addressed their giggling audience. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you that she cheats. Does anyone not see the gap in the handkerchief? She is looking at my boots. Have you no shame, Miss Givan?”

  “None, whatsoever, Mr. Ranier,” she replied and then removed the scarf. “Now it’s your turn to play the fool.”

  The children all shouted encouragement. And then Victoria pressed her warm bosom against him as she rose up on her toes to fasten the blindfold around his face.

  It was too bad he could not have seen Grace’s expression at that moment.

  Chapter 14

  Michael slid his fingers up Victoria’s sides and began to tickle her. She gasped and tried to wrench herself free. “You wretch!” she cried.

  “You never could take it, Victoria. Could only ever dish it out,” he retorted.

&nbs
p; She spun away from him, laughing. “I should’ve remembered you were a poor loser.”

  Michael reached toward her voice, his hand finding nothing but air. He swung wildly and heard shuffling feet and muffled shrieks as the children scattered away. But they were no match for him. Within moments he’d caught a boy, whose name, predictably, Michael had not a chance of guessing correctly.

  By the time he removed the mask, the dinner bell had rung out, and the mass of exuberant children, long dreaming of the once-a-year feast, stampeded toward the dining hall. Michael turned to escort Grace, only to find she was gone. The pretty girl who had been sitting beside her was now all alone.

  He strode across the floor, worry spurring his steps. “Where did she go?” He rushed on, “Did Lady Sheffield leave?”

  The girl nodded, clutching something to her tightly, while she silently pointed to the doors away from the dining hall.

  Gloves. The child was clutching pink gloves. Good God, she really had left.

  Michael raced to the doors, ignoring Mrs. Kane and Victoria’s questions.

  She was brushing aside the porter’s efforts to place her rose cloak about her shoulders. “No, sir. But thank you. I must go, my carriage is waiting.”

  Michael glared and nodded at the man who scurried away to leave them alone. She took a step toward the entrance and he grasped her arm. “Grace,” he said quietly, “where are you going?”

  Veiled eyes met his. “To Portman Square. I’m very late. Quinn and Georgiana have arranged such a lovely evening for all of my friends and Ata’s family. I must go. Oh, please thank Mrs. Kane for her kind invitation tonight. It was delightful to see the children at play and to see you at your ease with everyone. You must get back to them and—”

  He interrupted her. “Are you finished?” Her expression was closed off and he hated it.

  “I see you’re still refusing to obey the rules of polite conversation, Mr. Ranier.”

  He pulled her into an alcove overlooking the drive.

  “Let me go. My carriage is waiting.”