Page 35 of A Stranger’s Promise

Apparently not, for the entire staff froze and stared like frightened rabbits.

He smiled. “Never fear, Madam, I am only passing through.” He waved them back to their business and turned up the servants’ stairs, taking the steps two at a time. He detoured first to his room for fresh, dry clothes, then resumed his ascent to the nursery.

At the sound of muffled laughter, he turned the handle and eased open the nursery door a crack until Charlotte came into view. She sat with the children at a table set for afternoon tea. His heart warmed at sight of the familial gathering. When he’d decided to take in his niece and nephew, it hadn’t occurred to him that he might be starting a family. Duty dictated he care for his kin, and duty was as far as he’d gotten. It also hadn’t occurred to him that he might fall in love—ever—much less with a woman in his employ. He couldn’t fail to miss the parallel with his own parents’ relationship.

As Charlotte smiled at Charlotte, his attention snagged on Charlotte’s delicate jaw. He slid his gaze down the graceful line of her neck to the rise of her breasts above the blue muslin bodice. He drew his eyes up the line of her spine and locked his gaze on her recalcitrant curls. They clustered at the nape of her neck simply begged to be twisted around his fingers. As he watched, she tilted her head back, lifted her nose high, and held her tea cup high in the air with her pinky extended.

“One sips their tea, Oliver,” she said in an overly exaggerated, prim-and-proper falsetto. “And one must lift the nose in disdain.”

The children giggled.

Alistair bit back a laugh, delighted to have caught her in a playful mood.

“Say it again,” the children urged. “Say it again.”

“Speak softly, children,” she urged in a hushed voice. Then, much to their delight, she lifted her nose again and mimicked a high-society lady’s snooty drawl. “My deaaahhhh, however do you do?”

He pushed the door open a few inches more and caught sight of Meg, who sat by the fire. Her gaze met his and she opened her mouth, but he placed a finger to his lips and shook his head. She nodded, ever so slightly, and sent him a knowing smile.

“Pleaaaaase have a seat,” Charlotte said in lofty tones. “Would you cahhhre for a drop of teaaaa?”

The children snickered. “More,” they chorused. “More.”

Charlotte laughed and, squinting into her teacup, set it on the table. “I fear there is no tea left. We drank it all.”

“Losh, Charlotte, you don’t need tea to make us laugh,” Meg teased. “Do Lady Toffee Nose again, will you, now? I haven’t laughed so hard in ages.”

As Charlotte squealed and clapped her hands, Oliver leapt from his chair and, with the first real smile Alistair had seen on his small face, bowed and asked, “Lady Toffee Nose, may I have this dance?”

Charlotte lifted her nose so high in the air that a curl slipped free from her bun and coiled softly over her shoulder. How soft would her flesh feel beneath his lips? How would she taste? His body rushed with heat at the thought.

“But dancing might wrinkle my fawwnncy gown, my lord,” Charlotte objected in her high-pitched, wobbly voice. She fanned her face with an imaginary fan. “And it mustn’t be the waltz—such a scandalous dance. Let’s dance a Scottish reel, but will you promise to mind my toes?”

“Nae,” Oliver sniggered. “I shall step on them.”

“Then, I shan’t dance with you.” She sniffed and waved her imaginary fan again. “Besides, the musicians seem to have fallen asleep, do you not think so, Sir Oliver?”

Charlotte scrambled to her knees on the chair and began to sing. Meg joined in, clapping her hands to a rousing, jolly melody.

Again, Oliver bowed. “Please, Lady Toffee Nose.”

She made him wait, drawing out the suspense, then finally said, “Very well.”

Charlotte stood from the table and pranced to the center of the nursery where she curtseyed as Oliver bowed. They began to dance, laughing and twirling in a lively reel.

Charlotte looked so light on her feet, so carefree that Alistair found himself smiling, and when she twirled past him for the second time, he couldn’t resist. As she spun, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Alistair caught her about the waist abd swung her around until she stood in his arms, face to face.

She froze.

Charlotte’s singing came to an abrupt end, but Meg’s voice carried on a bit before melting into laughter.

Alistair looked down at Charlotte and smiled. “Shall we dance, Miss Atchenson?” He leaned closer. “Or should I say, Lady Toffee Nose?”

Charlotte stared, eyes wide and cheeks growing pink.

“That must be a yes.” He pulled her close—much closer than propriety allowed—then cocked a brow at Meg and announced, “I, however, shall dance the waltz.”

Charlotte tensed, but Meg gamely began to hum once again. The children joined in and he turned her in a twirl in time with the rhythm. She moved with perfect grace and fit so well against him. The top of her head just reached his chin. Wrapped in his arms, the perfume of her hair and the warmth of her body kindled a hot desire that made his body sing. He couldn’t resist sliding his thumb an inch or two over the small of her back in an intimate gesture no one could see. Her head snapped up and he read in her eyes a combination of shy embarrassment and excitement. Aye, if she every fully unleashed that bold lass, he’d be powerless to resist her—but then, he already was.