Page 22 of A Stranger’s Promise

Nicholas entered, the corners of his ice-blue eyes crinkling with humor, a humor that vanished the moment he sat down.

Alistair sighed. “What ails you, now?”

“I’ll say it and have done. When will you do me the honor of an introduction to Miss Atchenson?”

Alistair slammed the paper down on the table. “Never.” The word erupted from his lips. “Is not Catherine Brexley enough for you?”

“I fail—” Nicholas began when shattering glass sounded in the hallway.

Both men jumped to their feet and dashed through the door in time to witness Charlotte flying down the grand oval staircase toward them, her dark curls bouncing over her shoulders and her pink mouth set in a determined line.

Alistair started toward her. His nephew shot from the stairs and tried to veer around him. Alistair seized the boy’s collar. “What mischief have you fostered this fine morning, young rascal?” he asked the boy wriggling in his grasp.

The child winced.

Alistair took in his crumpled white shirtsleeves, wrinkled trousers, and uncombed hair, and said in mock sternness, “You look quite the ragamuffin.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” Charlotte arrived breathless.

Alistair’s heart leapt. Would her cheeks flush like that while she lay beneath him? He couldn’t halt a flick of his gaze to the swell of her breasts as they rose and fell. Her simple blue dress molded to her slender figure almost indecently. Zounds, she was beautiful. And her lips? He was becoming obsessed with them. He’d never seen a softer, sweeter, or more tempting pair in his life.

“A wild hellion,” a poisonous voice ripped through his distracted muse.

His lust vanished. Alistair shifted his gaze to Lady Cassilis. She descended the stairs, dressed in a fine peach taffeta gown, a look of withering reproach on her face.

“A miserable boy,” she said as she reached the final steps. She sidestepped something and Alistair caught sight of shards of a china basin on the hallway floor—the source of the crash.

Lady Cassilis reached them and turned toward Charlotte. “A governess is to instill the social graces above all else, etiquette, manners—do you understand the meaning of those words?”

The boy wriggled in Alistair’s grasp in a clearly attempt to flee this new adversary. Alistair couldn’t blame him. With a firm grip on the lad’s collar, he addressed his stepmother, “I suggest you practice what you preach, Lady Cassilis.” She drew a sharp breath, but he cut off any retort, “If you cannot be civil, then say nothing at all, lest you wear out your welcome.”

Her head snapped in his direction, then her eyes dropped to the boy and her expression softened. Alistair remained still. Had her maternal instincts stirred, at long last? The boy was, after all, her grandchild. Then, the cold anger Alistair had grown accustomed to clouded her face once again.

“Your brat, to be sure.” Her thin jowls jiggled with repressed anger.

Alistair stared in shock. Charles had acknowledged the children when he abandoned them on Lady Prescott’s door. Lady Cassilis knew right well they were her very own grandchildren, sired by her son.

Anger flashed through him. “The hardness of your heart has always astounded me, Lady Cassilis. Until now, I thought you had at least some sense. However, it appears old age has fossilized your heart. Have a care. Where it comes to these children, I shall not tolerate your venom.”

With a huff, she gathered her skirts and swept from the hallway.

Alistair turned his attention to the boy. “What have you to say for yourself, lad?”

The boy widened his nostrils, defiant, but remained silent.

“Oliver?” Charlotte prompted.

Oliver. So, she’d ferreted out the lad’s name? Of course, she had. Alistair looked down at the young boy. “The basin on the floor, Oliver. Your doing, I assume?”

The boy’s green eyes flashed.

Alistair blinked, suddenly struck by the lad’s likeness to his father. Well, the resemblance would end there. He wouldn’t allow the boy to follow Charles’ ne’er-do-well footsteps.

“It is time you learn the value of a shilling,” Alistair said.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “You brought me here to work?”

Alistair cursed silently. He was bungling this whole affair. The last thing he intended was for the boy to feel the pain of being sent off to work. “Every man should know the worth of a good day’s labor,” he said gently. “There’s no shame in that.”