“So you think I should send the girls to a hotel?” he said in his most clueless-male manner.
“Ahotel?” she said, scandalized. “Hotbeds of vice, hotels. Filled with rakes on the prowl.”
“Well, what else can I do?”
She snorted. “They must stay here, of course, with me. The dogs and I will protect them.”
Leo looked at the shawl-swathed old lady and themisbegotten little mongrels that clustered around her. “Of course you will. What an excellent solution. Thank you, Aunt Olive. I’ll bring the girls across when they arrive.”
He took his leave of her and returned to his house, well pleased with his arrangements. The girls would be safely and respectably housed, and it would be a matter of moments to arrange an allowance for the er-relative, which would deal with that little problem. All that was left was to find a chaperone. Perfect.
And then back to his life.
***
It was late afternoon, and Leo sat in his bare, thoroughly cleaned library, going though papers and attending to matters that had been awaiting his attention until he returned to England. It would have been vastly more comfortable to do it at his club, where he was now staying—the unceasing chaos in the house was unbearable—but if the lawyer was correct, those wretched girls were likely to arrive at any time.
They would call at Melkin’s office, and he would give them this address. Young women—women of any age—were not allowed in gentlemen’s clubs.
He worked his way methodically through his papers, making a note of matters that needed his personal attention, and composing letters to his man of affairs, his bank manager and the estate manager at Salcott. Despite his long absence, everything had continued fairly smoothly; they were expecting a good harvest, most of his investments were continuing to pay healthy dividends, and those that weren’t, he put aside for further consideration.
There were a few estate matters, however, that he would have to see to in person; he’d attend to them as soon as Studley’s daughters were settled with his aunt.
The library was on the second floor at the front of thehouse and, it being a warm day, he’d opened the windows. Thus, when he heard the sound of a carriage pulling up outside, he rose to take a look.
A shabby old-fashioned traveling carriage, piled high with luggage, covered with dust and pulled by four weary-looking horses, had stopped at his front entrance. This then was it. He sighed and for the thousandth time cursed Sir Bartleby Studley.
A footman let down the steps of the coach, and a young lady alighted. Slightly plump and dressed in pink, with a hat encrusted with roses, she stood on the footpath, gazing about her surroundings with interest. Which one was she, Leo wondered, the legitimate daughter or the other?
A second young woman stepped down from the coach. She was slender and dressed in an olive-green dress and a bronze-colored spencer. Her hat was plain straw and was simply finished with an olive-colored ribbon. A matter of taste or a lack of money?
He couldn’t see their faces for their hats.
Matteo ran down the front steps, bowed to the young ladies, then turned with a sweeping gesture to halt the footman who was about to start unloading luggage. He spoke briefly to the coachman, who visibly bristled—large Englishmen apparently didn’t take kindly to being ordered around by small Italians, but Leo had every faith in Matteo. His majordomo then escorted the young ladies into the house.
After allowing the young women to refresh themselves in an upstairs room he’d especially prepared for them, Matteo escorted them to the sitting room where Leo was waiting. “Miss Studley and Miss Studley, milor’,” he said, presenting them with a flourish.
Miss Studley and Miss Burton, Leo corrected him mentally. Studley’s illegitimate daughter had no right to his surname, but Matteo couldn’t be expected to know that.
He introduced himself. Miss Flowery Hat turned out tobe Miss Clarissa Studley; the other one was, therefore, Isobel Burton. Leo took one look at her and his throat dried.
Oh. My. God.Why had no one warned him?
There could be no doubt of her paternity: she was the feminine embodiment of Sir Bartleby Studley—only beautiful. Stunningly beautiful. And not just in the common way. If beauty could ever be common.
Clad in a plainly cut dress of olive green and bronze, she should have looked drab, but instead the dull colors flattered her pure, satiny complexion and highlighted the color of her wide fern-green eyes, which, he couldn’t help but notice, were framed with long dark lashes. Tiny dark curls danced around a face that was a perfect oval. His fingers itched to run through those curls, see if they were as soft and silky as they looked.
And her mouth, dear lord, her mouth... He swallowed. He had not bargained for this...
Matteo fussed around, getting the ladies seated and comfortable, which gave Leo a moment or two to gather his scattered wits.
He was jerked back to attention when Matteo cleared his throat ostentatiously. “I bring tea and cakes, milor’, yes?” he suggested with a droll look that implied that he was repeating the question and was quite aware of the cause of Leo’s distraction. And approved.
Leo nodded vaguely and tried to drag his gaze off Isobel Burton. She wasn’t a conventional beauty, he told himself. She was arresting, rather than pretty, with a small straight nose, high cheekbones, a pointed chin, and a mouth that...
No. Leo swallowed again. He didnotneed to be thinking of her mouth. He was in some sense—at least for the moment—her guardian, not some irresponsible rake. His job was to get rid of her, not stare at her mouth as if it were... edible.
He tried to remember what he’d planned to say. Hefastened his gaze, if not his whole attention, on Miss Studley. Who was much safer.
