A Reckless Promise - Kasey Michaels The Little Season

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imp, her entire life has been one long litany of tragedy and loss. Save for her dearest aunt, that is.”

      Would he just stop smiling and shut up!

      “But she is not without hope. You promised John. John is dead. As her aunt, I have decided where her best future lies, and that is with you. Please don’t force me to rethink my decision.”

      He stepped back a few paces, and Sadie realized her hands were shaking.

      “I would never do that. At least not until I understand what the devil is going on here. Are you going to tell me the truth?”

      It wasn’t easy, but she kept her gaze locked with his.

      “I’ve told you the truth.”

      “Very smoothly, yes. Very nearly as if you’d rehearsed every word, save for a few unsettling stumbles. Perhaps a few tears might have made it all more convincing.”

      Tears? She was more than ready to box his ears. How dare he be so clever.

      “I have no time for such miss-ish indulgences, my lord. I have a responsibility.”

      “As do I. Yes, Mrs. Boxer, you’ve driven your point home. Make yourselves comfortable in my absence. And then we’ll have us another small, hopefully more enlightening conversation.” The viscount strolled to the closed door and opened it with a flourish, inviting her to leave.

      If she were Marley, she would have kicked him in the shin. But she wasn’t, and since their newly acquired safe haven hung in the balance, she would do her best to behave.

      “I can’t help but wonder. Did you kill him?” His Lordship asked as she walked by, her chin once again held high.

      Sadie stumbled, nearly fell, so that he grabbed her elbow to steady her. She felt light-headed, her knees nearly turned to water, her vision blurry, and for a moment she thought she either might vomit on His Lordship’s shoe-tops or faint at his feet.

      “Steady on, Mrs. Boxer.”

      She had no choice but to pretend to have not understood the question.

      “Forgive me, I stubbed my toe on the carpet. Did you mean my husband, my lord? I suppose you would think his death a happy release, married to me. How very droll of you.”

      “No, Mrs. Boxer. I was referring to my friend John. You’ve been a puzzle to me since you first stormed into this house. It would seem your lot in life has improved immeasurably thanks to your brother’s demise, no longer forced to care for him as he continued to linger on after his wound. I hadn’t considered your husband. Should I? No, don’t answer, not on either head. I’m certain I’ll find out soon enough, as I do so love a puzzle. In the meantime, I have no fears for my ward. After all, she’s your golden goose, isn’t she? In any case, I’ve now changed my mind about keeping her here. Be ready, both you and my charge, to leave for London in two hours.”

      “Her name is Marley, my lord. I suggest you become familiar with it. And I will add that you’re extremely insulting. Everything is just as I told you.”

      “So you say, and I’ve carefully noted your vehemence as you denied my purely idle question without really answering it. That said, I’m equally as certain you won’t mind if I satisfy my curiosity by doing a bit of investigating on my own. I feel I owe that to John.”

      “No, I most certainly don’t mind. And then, sir, you can apologize.” With that her only parting shot, she curtsied rather rudely and turned for the door.

      “We shall see, won’t we, Mrs. Boxer? Remember, two hours, no more.”

      Sadie was halfway to the nursery before she calmed herself enough to realize that one of the things he’d do would be to search out any information he could about one Maxwell Boxer.

      And good luck to you with that, Lord Nosypants!

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT HAD BEEN a decidedly odd journey to London, with Darby leading the way in his curricle, followed by his traveling coach containing Mrs. Boxer, his new ward and—Good God, how had he forgotten?—Norton, dressed in his best clothes and visibly eager to visit with his chums at the Crown and Cock.

      He would have enjoyed being privileged to overhear any conversation transpiring within the coach during the hour-long drive.

      It certainly had been interesting when Mrs. Boxer and his ward—Marley, he really should think of her by name—had stepped out of the house to see Norton holding open the door to the coach and the latter had immediately inquired as to the valet’s odd hair coloring.

      “Sadie, why is that man’s hair red if his beard is black? Remember when we found that baby woodpecker that had fallen out of a tree and the top of his head looked as if he was wearing a red cap, but the rest of him was black and white, and you said that was because he was a baby woodpecker and—”

      “Marley, shhh.”

      “But his hair is red and his beard is black.”

      “I heard you the first time. ‘Shhh’ means to stop talking. And I would imagine it’s because he prefers it that way.”

      “You mean he did it on purpose? Like the vicar’s wife when she painted her hair orange, and wouldn’t take off her bonnet for six whole months? Why would he do that?”

      “I’m certain that’s no business of ours, just as I told you it was no concern of yours just before you asked Mrs. Thompson that same question before vespers.”

      “But he looks silly. Shouldn’t we tell him?”

      “I believe you already have. Lower your voice.”

      “I think I like the red better than the black.”

      “An opinion you will keep to yourself.”

      “I don’t understand why people can’t ask questions. If someone doesn’t want questions, someone shouldn’t paint his hair. That’s what I think. Sadie, what do you think?”

      “I wouldn’t dare tell you,” Mrs. Boxer had said, taking her niece’s hand as they made their way down the marble steps to the drive, and the waiting Norton.

      Who had smiled quite genuinely at Marley and tipped his hat before offering to lift her up and into the coach, already having launched into an explanation about his black mustache and beard.

      Mrs. Boxer had turned her head to encounter Darby standing there, still doing his utmost not to laugh, and she’d shot him a smile clearly meant to imply that children were such a treat, weren’t they?

      At that moment he had very nearly changed his mind about choosing his curricle over his coach. But he had too much to think about as they made their way to Mayfair, and clearly Mrs. Boxer would prove a distraction.

      And now they were here, having dropped Norton at the Crown and Cock as promised, probably not more than three hours after his hastily scribbled appeal to the Duchess of Cranbrook had arrived in Grosvenor Square.

      Vivien, darling lady, my ward has arrived at last, and trouble travels with her in the form of her aunt, who appears too nervous by half and, I believe, is not being entirely truthful with me for reasons I’ve yet to discern. In any event, they cannot stay with me in my bachelor residence, nor can I leave them at the cottage since I refuse to remain there while everyone else is kicking up their heels in Mayfair. In my desperation, I am bringing them to you yet today, falling on your mercy and that of my friends.

      To compensate for any inconvenience, I feel certain you’ll all find much to amuse you in my dilemma, one most probably made more pronounced by the fact that the aunt is also quite beautiful, something I’m doing my utmost to disregard, at least for now.

      As he tossed the reins to one of the duke’s grooms and hopped down to the

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