Chapter 2
It is a pity about the Thraxtons. Not even the prince can do anything for them now.
The Dowager Duchess of Roth to Sir Alfred Locksley, at a private party at Vauxhall Gardens
Dandridge House, London
August 3, 1816
Her silk dress rustling delicately, Anna Thraxton pulled off her left glove and tossed the entire contents of her glass of orgeat directly into Viscount Northland’s leering face.
To her immense satisfaction, the pudgy lord reeled back, tripped over his own feet, and landed against a tall potted plant—the very one he’d cornered her behind. Leafy plant and damp viscount went sprawling onto the edge of the dance floor, dirt sliding across the polished floor as the music in the ballroom came to an abrupt halt.
Anna set her empty glass back on the table and replaced her glove. “Oh, dear!” she said loudly. “Poor Lord Northland has tangled his feet and fallen!”
A loud snicker met this statement, for everyone knew Northland was a bumbling fool. A few even knew he was also an insistent letch who believed the word “no” meant “make me yours, my lusty lord.”
Within moments, His Lordship’s anxious mother had rushed to her son’s side, a servant had righted the upset plant and brushed away the loose dirt, and the music had resumed. Once again, dancers swirled across the floor, and no one was the wiser that Anna Thraxton had efficiently dealt with one of London’s most irritating toadstools.
“Bloody fool,” Anna muttered behind her false smile, picking up her skirts and stepping over the dazed lord as his fretful mother patted his wet face with her handkerchief. That was the problem with being an unprotected female—and a poor one, at that. She was a walking target for every dandy with the desire to embark on a senseless flirtation, and she was getting deuced tired of it.
She shouldn’t have come, and she knew it. But she had been unable to turn away from what had promised to be a truly magical event as the Dandridges’ soirée. Lucinda Dandridge was a particular friend of hers, and Anna had allowed herself to be swayed by protestations of friendship into forgetting one, unavoidable fact—the Thraxtons were no longer sworn members of the ton.
Her throat tightened, though she managed to keep her smile rigidly in place. She had once belonged in gatherings such as this; her name and position secured, her bloodlines as pure as anyone else’s. But all that had changed last year when Anna had been forced to accept employment as a governess.
Two circumstances had smoothed the way for Anna in her quest to support herself. First, though she had never been the sort of woman given to cooing over babies or collecting stray dogs and cats, she discovered, to her surprise, that she actually liked working with children, especially the older ones. They understood her, and she understood them.
Secondly, since Anna had very little experience in being a governess, the only positions she could find were for the more troublesome charges. But most of the children that had been labeled thusly were nothing compared to Grandpapa and his scheming ways.
Anna knew that her burgeoning reputation was based on only a very few successes—five, to be exact. It would take only one failure and the very members of the ton who had spread the word that she was a governess beyond compare would just as quickly condemn her. The thought made her chest tighten.
She impulsively smoothed her silk gown, her heartache easing somewhat at the feel of the rich silk beneath her fingertips. It was a pity she possessed the family weakness. Despite enjoying the most pragmatic of characters, she was sadly addicted to fashion, and heaven knew, she did not have the money to support her addiction. In fact, the blue gown was far more dear than she could afford. French by design and cut of fabulous watered silk, it looked wonderful on her tall frame, and she knew it. Still, that did not excuse her for spending money that should have gone for a new chair for the morning room. A chair that did not have a ripped cover or a sagging seat like all the others.
But somehow, as Lucinda Dandridge’s pleas for her friend’s presence at the soirée increased, the need for a new gown became imminently pressing. Anna had finally succumbed, reasoning that she could buy a new chair with the income from her next position—a hazy bit of logic that she was sure she would find faulty once she examined it in the glaring light of day and away from the mesmerizing effects of blue watered silk.
She looked down at the new satin slippers she’d bought to go with the gown and sighed. No wonder their family was nigh destitute. Of course, she wasn’t totally at fault. A good deal of the problem lay in Grandpapa’s tendency to disburse their funds on every “guaranteed” investment that came along. Between Grandfather’s spendthrift investments and Anna’s inability to stay within budget, they had found themselves in dire straits.
Anna had been forced to make a decision—debtors’ prison or employment. The decision hadn’t been difficult, but it had hurt, especially the realization that the second she became a governess, her old way of life was lost forever.
Of course Grandpapa didn’t see it that way. He firmly believed that their bloodlines protected them from all harm, though Anna knew better. She straightened her shoulders, aware that people had begun to stare covertly. Damn Northland for drawing attention to her; she’d been careful not to put herself forward, but now…
She lifted her chin. Perhaps it was time to leave. She’d make her apologies to Lucinda and—a commotion stirred to life at the door. The crowd parted to reveal Anthony Elliot, the Earl of Greyley, looking devastatingly handsome in his formal black attire.
An older woman dressed in the most atrocious pink flounce tittered excitedly, then said to no one in particular, “Oh, look! ’Tis the Earl of Greyley. I didn’t expect to see him here.”
Neither had Anna. The earl was on her list of “people one should avoid at all costs.” He was the half brother of Anna’s best friend, Sara, but there’d been an instant antipathy between Anna and the earl—the kind that made her neck tingle as if she were standing in a violent storm, in immediate danger of being struck by lightning. They’d had more run-ins than she could count, and none had left them on speaking terms.
She watched him stop to greet their host. Tall and broad-shouldered, he looked like a giant among ants, his tawny hair the color of a lion’s mane—amber shot with streaks of gold. His eyes were the deepest chocolate brown, fringed by such thick lashes that he appeared half asleep.
But Anna knew that air of sleepy watchfulness was a thin guise. Beneath that lazy facade was a mind strong as steel and as sharp as an arrow’s tip. Her gaze flickered past Greyley’s mouth to his firm jaw, and then slid down to where his powerful thighs showed to advantage beneath the snug black fabric of his trousers. It was a good thing she disliked him so much, she thought with a faint stir of approval. She was very susceptible to men with strong thighs.
“Wealthy, titled, and handsome.” The matron in pink flounce leaned toward the younger dab of a female who stood at her side. “Straighten up, Mary! He might look this way. He’s a good catch, even with all those children.”
“Children?” Mary said, unconsciously echoing Anna’s own thoughts. “What children? Mama, I thought the earl was still a bachelor.”
“Lud, child, where have you been? Greyley inherited an entire brood of children. And now that he’s awash with responsibility, speculation is rife that he will wish to marry. I’ve heard it said that he’s worth twenty thousand a year, too.”
Anna barely refrained from snorting aloud. Greyley might be worth twenty thousand a year, but he was also the most arrogant, most insufferable, and most obstinate man to walk the earth.
Mary gasped. “Look, Mama! He’s coming this way.”
Anna followed the girl’s gaze, and sure enough, Greyley was bearing down on them, but his dark eyes were not fastened on the woman in pink flounce, but on Anna. A trill of uncertainty touched her, and her shoulders lifted of their own accord.
Why on earth would Anthony Elliot wish to see her? Perhaps he wanted to speak about Sara
. Or maybe—
Dear God, the children. Anna whirled on her heel and slipped through the crowd, weaving through a crush of people by inserting an elbow here, a polite smile there. She circumvented the earl altogether and reached the foyer as if pursued by the devil himself. Despite the fact that Greyley was a commanding presence, Anna knew it would be some time before he extricated himself from that crowd of milling mamas and their dangling daughters.
She reached the safety of the foyer in what must have been record time, glancing over her shoulder and sighing in relief when she saw no sign of the earl. She called for her carriage, waiting impatiently until it rumbled up.
Anna was just lifting her foot to climb inside when a warm hand closed over her elbow. A hot jolt of sensation trembled up her arm and made her jerk away. Off balance, she reeled backward, her shoe falling from the foot she held aloft and landing with a clack on the cobblestone.
Still wobbling, she was caught in a firm embrace and unceremoniously righted. “Running away?” said a deep, masculine voice. “I would never have thought it of you.”
The warm, smoky timbre of Greyley’s voice made Anna stiffen and she was immediately released. She placed an unsteady hand on the side of the coach and turned to face her accuser. It was very difficult to be dignified when one had to hold one’s stocking-clad foot above the muddy cobblestones, but she thought she managed quite well.
Or she thought she had until she found herself staring into Anthony Elliot’s darkly lashed eyes. Pools of melted chocolate, they made her heart race, her skin heat. Fascinated, she found she could not look away. “I am not running anywhere.”
He gave the carriage a pointed stare.
“I was just, ah, going home. But slowly. I really wasn’t running.”
Amusement softened the hard line of his mouth. He waved the waiting footman away before turning the full force of his heated gaze back on Anna. “Leaving without your shoe, Miss Thraxton?”
Anna followed his gaze to where her shoe lay on its side, looking forlorn and alone on the curb. “I suppose I will need that.”
He picked it up, then turned to her, his eyes almost black in the faint light. “Get into the carriage. If you attempt to put your shoe on here, you’ll drag your hem in the muck.”
The street was dirty. And they were blocking the entry, not that anyone else was leaving the ball this early. Plus it was her new gown, and it would be a long time before she could afford another. Anna allowed Greyley to help her into the low slung coach, his long fingers resting lightly on her arm. Agonizingly aware of his presence, she found herself savoring his warm, masculine scent. She settled on the seat and deliberately leaned away. “Thank you, Greyley. If you’ll just hand me my shoe, I’ll—”
A warm hand encircled her ankle. Anna was too shocked to do more than stare. Compared to the size of his huge hand, her stocking-clad foot actually looked…small. Even dainty. It was a heady experience for a woman used to hiding her large feet beneath the edge of her skirts.
Greyley slipped the satin slipper over her toes and pushed her heel into place. It really was a pretty foot, Anthony noted with something akin to surprise. Long and delicately made, it said volumes about the fact that this was not an ordinary governess, but a lady of quality. And that was what Anna Thraxton was—a lady of quality reduced by her circumstances to take on employment.
But that apparently hadn’t prevented her from mingling with her peers. It was something of a shock to see her after so long, looking coolly elegant in pale blue silk that made her eyes seem an even lighter silver than usual, her vivid hair attracting his gaze as surely as a lit flame.
Beneath Anthony’s fingers, the warmth of her skin seeped through her silk stockings. Entranced, he slowly slid his thumb across the slope of her foot, relishing the contact. A slow, low heat began to build, brushing over him and leaving a trail of delicate fire.
“I believe my shoe is on.” Anna pulled her foot free, arranging her skirts so that they hid her feet. “Lord Greyley, thank you very much for your assistance, but—”
“I must speak with you,” he said, struggling to regain his senses. Good God, but the children had indeed driven him to distraction. He was dizzy with relief at finally finding a capable governess. “It’s urgent.” He rammed his hands into his pockets, ignoring the call from the driver of another carriage that had pulled up behind them. “We can’t discuss this here. I will call on you tomorrow and we will talk then.”
Her creamy skin touched with pink. “Lord Greyley, I’m afraid I cannot—”
“I wish to hire you and I will pay well.”
To his chagrin, he thought he caught a hint of something like hurt in her eyes as she said, “I’m afraid I’ve already accepted another position with Lord Allencott. I’m leaving this week.”
“Thraxton, just hear me out. That’s all I ask.” He saw her hesitate, and he added softly, “If not for me, then for Sara. I need your help.”
Her generous mouth turned down at the edges. “It is very unscrupulous of you to use my friendship with your sister.”
It was true; he was shamelessly trading on his sister’s friendship just to get an interview with London’s best governess. In the month since Sara’s visit, things had spiraled even more out of control. His life had well and truly become a hell, and here before him, her chin tilted at a mutinous angle, her luxurious red hair curling over one white shoulder, sat his salvation. “Miss Thraxton…” He grit his teeth. “Please.”
Her eyes widened. “What did you say?”
“You heard me.”
“So I did.” A mischievous twinkle lit her gray eyes. “Would you mind repeating it? I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
Anthony scowled. “You’re determined to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Greyley, I cannot accept your offer, so there’s no more to be said.” She tilted her head to one side, a thick curl of her hair swinging forward to rest on the curve of her breast. “Still…I may know of someone who could help. After all, it had to be quite galling for you to seek me out at all. And the fact that you said please—things must be dire indeed.”
A shout arose from the coachman behind them, and Anna nodded as if she’d just made up her mind. “Come and see me tomorrow. Number four, Roberts Street.”
“At ten,” he said quickly. Anna Thraxton might think she was controlling the moves in this game, but she was wrong. “Until tomorrow.” Anthony closed the door and stepped back. The carriage started with an abrupt jar as it hobbled over the cobblestone drive and rolled out into the street. Anthony watched until it disappeared from sight, his fingers still tingling with warmth where he’d cupped Thraxton’s amazingly delicate ankle.
He shouldn’t have touched her in such an intimate fashion, but the opportunity to rattle her was too tempting. He looked down at his hands and thought of her calf as it rested against his palm, curved and firm. The gesture had been innocent, yet erotic at the same time.
Anthony closed his hands into fists and shoved them into his pockets, his fingers catching a round object. He pulled it out and glanced at it. His mother’s talisman ring. He’d forgotten about it. Where in the hell was Chase, anyway?
The thick silver seemed warm in his hand, the strange silver runes gleaming as if just polished. A bittersweet warmth in his chest, he closed his fingers over the circlet. His mother had believed in the power of the ring, but then she’d also believed in fairy sprites that made dew circles in the grass. Shaking his head at such unaccountable whimsy, Anthony tucked the ring away. He missed his mother even now, after all these years.
He’d find Chase another night. Tonight was for celebrating. By this time tomorrow, Anthony would have London’s best governess in his possession, and woe betide Desmond and the hordes. If Anna Thraxton was even half as good as rumor reported, Anthony was going to win the war. And winning had become imperative. There was no such thing as bad blood—only bad behavior. And Anna Thraxton was going to help Ant
hony prove it, once and for all.
Whistling to himself, Anthony turned and made his way back into the Dandridges’ house. Things were finally going his way.
Chapter 3
Phineas Thraxton is a taxing companion. The last time I saw him, he taxed me to the amount of 150 guineas.
Sir Alfred Locksley to Lord Brevenham, over a glass of port at White’s
Sir Phineas Thraxton leaned on his cane and stared out the window of the tiny, cramped room that passed as the morning room. He glanced once at the closed door, then leaned over the windowsill and blew a cloud of smoke into the chilled morning air. As he stood, he bumped the edge of the shutter where it hung drunkenly on its hinges. He winced at the resulting groan of rotted wood and rusty fasteners, a sad testament to the state of the entire establishment.
He hated this house. Hated every creaking, leaking inch of it. Narrow and drafty, it was in a part of town he openly considered deplorable. He took another pull of the cigarillo, savoring the pungent aroma even as he tried to wave it out the window.
It was his only vice, and it was a demmed shame his granddaughter had taken it into such dislike. He deserved a few pleasures, at least. Especially now that fortune had turned her back on the Thraxton family. Gingerly holding the rapidly shrinking cigarillo, Sir Phineas blew a perfect circle of smoke into the air. A noise in the hallway made him freeze, and he relaxed only when he heard Mrs. Duckrow’s raw voice raised in outcry at the clumsiness of a maid. The housekeeper might be a termagant, but she didn’t interfere with his pleasures. No, that privilege was reserved to his granddaughter, Anna.
Anna was Sir Phineas’s ultimate joy. Free spirited, intelligent, attractive, and opinionated—she possessed all the best Thraxton qualities. Phineas had no doubt that, had he not been so foolish as to tie up the family fortune in a series of unfortunate investments, Anna would have found a nice, handsome young man and settled into a life more suitable to her station.