time ’e come to call.”
Like every other young woman, one day Tory hoped to marry. Someone kind and considerate, a gentle sort of man, she had always imagined, a man much like her father, who never spoke a harsh word to either his daughters or his wife.
Certainly not a man like Brant with his fiery temper and equally fiery passions.
Fortunately, aside from the hot looks he had cast her way last night—due, she was certain, to the natural instincts of a male in the proximity of a young woman in a state of semi-undress—Lord Brant had eyes only for Claire. In that regard, Tory vowed to remain vigilant. If Brant were half the rake he seemed, Claire yet remained in danger.
Tory strengthened her resolve to do whatever it took to protect her sister from the earl.
Four
“T ory?” Claire flew toward her up the stairs. Three days had passed since the earl had barged into her room and things seemed to have returned to normal. “Thank goodness I found you!”
“What is it, darling?”
“It’s Mrs. Green and her daughter, Hermione. They had to leave for the day. Mrs. Green says she is coming down with an ague and she thinks Hermione has contracted it, as well.”
“An ague? They both looked perfectly healthy this morning.” Then Tory remembered that she had assigned the women the job of preparing two of the upstairs guest rooms for the arrival of Lady Aimes, one of the earl’s cousins, and her little boy, Teddy. It was simply another attempt to make Tory leave, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
She looked down the stairs to the grandfather clock in the entry. The day was rapidly slipping away. The rest of the staff was busy, grudgingly doing the work she had assigned them. Any attempt to rearrange theirschedule would simply cause more trouble than it was worth.
“I’ll take care of it, Claire. You go ahead and finish helping Mrs. Wadding. She is outside beating carpets.”
Claire hurried off to her tasks and Tory made her way downstairs to collect a broom, mop and pail.
All the rooms in the house were lovely, and the two she had chosen for Lord Brant’s guests overlooked the garden, one of them done in peach and cream, the other in shades of robin’s-egg blue.
Deciding the little boy should have the blue, she began her work in there, opening the windows to let in the summer breeze, fluffing the feather pillows, dusting the landscape paintings on the wall and the marble mantel over the hearth. She did the same to the second room, grateful that at least the linens had already been changed, then began the job of mopping the inlaid parquet floors.
She was down on her hands and knees scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain when a pair of shiny men’s shoes appeared in her line of vision. Her gaze traveled up a set of very long, very masculine legs, over a broad chest and extremely sizable shoulders.
Tory sank back on her heels as she looked up at the earl. “My lord?”
“What the devil are you doing?”
She glanced down, saw that her skirt was wet, her white blouse damp and clinging to her breasts, so translucent she could see the shadow of her nipples.
Brant must have noticed. His gaze fixed there and some of the heat she had seen before reappeared in his eyes. Tory’s face heated up as he continued to stare at the damp fabric plastered over her bosom.
Tory swallowed, tried to pretend nothing was wrong. “Two of the chambermaids took ill,” she explained. “In their stead, I am completing the work necessary for the arrival of your guests.”
“Is that so?” The earl’s jaw hardened, and instead of answering, she found herself wanting to back away. A little squeak escaped as Brant caught her arm and hauled her to her feet.
“Dammit, I didn’t hire you to scrub my floors. I hired you to run my house. As I see it, there is a very large difference.”
“But—”
“There is a virtual bevy of servants in this house. Find one to take care of the guest rooms.” He frowned at
Like every other young woman, one day Tory hoped to marry. Someone kind and considerate, a gentle sort of man, she had always imagined, a man much like her father, who never spoke a harsh word to either his daughters or his wife.
Certainly not a man like Brant with his fiery temper and equally fiery passions.
Fortunately, aside from the hot looks he had cast her way last night—due, she was certain, to the natural instincts of a male in the proximity of a young woman in a state of semi-undress—Lord Brant had eyes only for Claire. In that regard, Tory vowed to remain vigilant. If Brant were half the rake he seemed, Claire yet remained in danger.
Tory strengthened her resolve to do whatever it took to protect her sister from the earl.
Four
“T ory?” Claire flew toward her up the stairs. Three days had passed since the earl had barged into her room and things seemed to have returned to normal. “Thank goodness I found you!”
“What is it, darling?”
“It’s Mrs. Green and her daughter, Hermione. They had to leave for the day. Mrs. Green says she is coming down with an ague and she thinks Hermione has contracted it, as well.”
“An ague? They both looked perfectly healthy this morning.” Then Tory remembered that she had assigned the women the job of preparing two of the upstairs guest rooms for the arrival of Lady Aimes, one of the earl’s cousins, and her little boy, Teddy. It was simply another attempt to make Tory leave, but there was nothing she could do about it now.
She looked down the stairs to the grandfather clock in the entry. The day was rapidly slipping away. The rest of the staff was busy, grudgingly doing the work she had assigned them. Any attempt to rearrange theirschedule would simply cause more trouble than it was worth.
“I’ll take care of it, Claire. You go ahead and finish helping Mrs. Wadding. She is outside beating carpets.”
Claire hurried off to her tasks and Tory made her way downstairs to collect a broom, mop and pail.
All the rooms in the house were lovely, and the two she had chosen for Lord Brant’s guests overlooked the garden, one of them done in peach and cream, the other in shades of robin’s-egg blue.
Deciding the little boy should have the blue, she began her work in there, opening the windows to let in the summer breeze, fluffing the feather pillows, dusting the landscape paintings on the wall and the marble mantel over the hearth. She did the same to the second room, grateful that at least the linens had already been changed, then began the job of mopping the inlaid parquet floors.
She was down on her hands and knees scrubbing a particularly stubborn stain when a pair of shiny men’s shoes appeared in her line of vision. Her gaze traveled up a set of very long, very masculine legs, over a broad chest and extremely sizable shoulders.
Tory sank back on her heels as she looked up at the earl. “My lord?”
“What the devil are you doing?”
She glanced down, saw that her skirt was wet, her white blouse damp and clinging to her breasts, so translucent she could see the shadow of her nipples.
Brant must have noticed. His gaze fixed there and some of the heat she had seen before reappeared in his eyes. Tory’s face heated up as he continued to stare at the damp fabric plastered over her bosom.
Tory swallowed, tried to pretend nothing was wrong. “Two of the chambermaids took ill,” she explained. “In their stead, I am completing the work necessary for the arrival of your guests.”
“Is that so?” The earl’s jaw hardened, and instead of answering, she found herself wanting to back away. A little squeak escaped as Brant caught her arm and hauled her to her feet.
“Dammit, I didn’t hire you to scrub my floors. I hired you to run my house. As I see it, there is a very large difference.”
“But—”
“There is a virtual bevy of servants in this house. Find one to take care of the guest rooms.” He frowned at
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