Page 24 of Beguiling the Baron

Chapter 15

Hal absently stroked the kitten, curled asleep on his lap. It reminded him of Polly as a baby—once the tiny girl had decided to sleep, nothing short of an earthquake would awaken her.

A pang clutched at his heart, and he pressed a hand against it. Now was not the time to weaken his resolve concerning his daughter, especially with Galatea Wyndham lurking about the place, ready to expose every chink in his emotional armor.

He raised his eyes from the kitten to the window. Outside, the lawns surrounding Foxleaze already showed a brighter green, past midsummer now. Soon his tenant farmers would gather in the hay. As a boy, he’d loved to help with this, and with the wheat harvest. As the young Lord of the Manor and his parents’ only child, he was always set triumphantly atop the loaded wagons as they trundled in through the midstrey of the barn.

If it weren’t considered unbecoming, Polly could have done this, too—and would doubtless have enjoyed it. Was Galatea correct? Was he being too hard on his daughter?

But if he didn’t do something to scotch the speculation surrounding his wife’s death, both he and Polly would be pariahs if they ever dared go out in Society again. And if he did attempt to quell the gossip by telling the truth, would it improve Polly’s lot in any way? Almost certainly not.

He was in a wretched coil. The decisions he’d made to protect his wife’s memory and to be sure no scandal ever attached itself to Polly’s name had seemed the right ones at the time.

Ought he now to change his mind?

The kitten stirred in his lap and rolled onto its back, stretching and presenting its fluffy tummy. Hal grinned and risked the tiny creature’s wrath by tickling it. It reminded him of the time he rescued a litter of kittens from the millpond when he was a boy and had kept—and loved—each and every one.

As this former farm creature was now accorded the status of ‘Polly’s Kitten,’ it needed something to set it apart from its siblings. Perhaps a bow around its neck? Although it would soon lose it. A basket to sleep in maybe, lined with the same color cloth as the ribbon. He would leave the items in the nursery for Polly to find.

Would Galatea be satisfied? It had cut him to the quick that she thought he intended to harm it, forcing him to leave the room lest she see how much she’d offended him.

If he went out of his way to please her, would she think it meant she’d won the battle of wills concerning Polly’s schooling? Because he hadn’t changed his mind about sending her to the Academy. If Galatea could be relied upon not to let his daughter become as opinionated and willful as herself, there was a chance he might postpone Polly’s removal. The pair seemed to like each other, and it would be heartless indeed were he to separate Polly from her new friend so soon.

He gazed out the window once more at the sheen of heat rising from the ground and shimmering across the grass, but all he could see was an image of Galatea, dressed in her finery on the way to dine with the Douglas family. She’d no idea he was watching her, of course, but he couldn’t help himself. How jealous he’d been at the thought she would be spending her evening with other gentlemen. Especially looking as ravishing as she did.

Ah, Galatea.

She was so changed since her arrival. Well-fitting clothes direct from the mantua-maker, the services of Paulet and Bessie to assist her with her toilet and the styling of her hair, combined with the fact she was no longer stick-thin, had turned her into a nonpareil. The urge to run his eyes appreciatively over every curve of her body and every feature of her face whenever he saw her was becoming harder to resist.

Not that she’d ever let him touch her. She despised him, he was certain. There was nothing about him of which she didn’t disapprove or seek to change.

True, there had been the occasional mutual spark when they touched, and he’d known the kindling of desire, but he knew better than to give way to it. Satisfying one’s lust with an innocent was anathema.

No. She already held too much sway. As she was antagonistic to everything he believed in, said or did, he was in no hurry to let her augment her power.

It was too damn hot in the house. But he couldn’t throw off his clothes and dive into the river as he was wont to do, as he couldn’t trust Galatea to stay away from any place he’d ordered her to avoid. He’d have to wait until nightfall now.

Suddenly remembering the fresh tisane of St. John’s Wort he’d poured earlier, he lifted the cup and swigged back the tepid liquid. Ugh. There had to be a way to make the stuff taste better.

His eye fell on the port decanter, slightly dusty from lack of use, but the liquid inside retained its ruby hue. When he removed the stopper, it smelled good too. Without bothering to hunt for a glass, he tipped the decanter to his lips and relished the buoying warmth sliding down his throat. The taste of the herbal tea was utterly defeated.

“Ah, port. I’d forgotten what a splendid tipple you were.” Sighing, he shot his wife’s portrait an apologetic look. “Forgive me, Mary. I swore I’d never touch a drop after you died. But I’m thinking maybe three years is long enough. I’ll go to the folly forthwith, to make it up to you.”

Having made this resolution, he tucked the kitten into his pocket, seized the decanter, and set off to give his instructions to Aldergate.