Leslie Lafoy Read Online Free Page B

manner about them, as well. All the world was an adventure for them, every person in it subject to open scrutiny and finely honed analysis. And at that moment he felt very much like a bug in a jar.
    “Mr. Reeves,” their nurse said as they boldly looked up at him, “may I present your nieces, Amanda, Beatrice, and Camille.”
    Alphabetical. How typically Arthur.
    “Darlings, this is your Uncle Carden. Your father’s younger brother.”
    Out of sheer habit, he countered, “Half-brother.”
    The littlest one looked as though she might cry. The eldest didn’t react at all, her face seemingly having turned to stone. The middle one cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes as though she were trying to see him more clearly. Their nurse—Mrs. Treadwell, he recalled—arched a gorgeously shaped eyebrow and softly cleared her throat. The sound reminded him of Sawyer and, belatedly, good manners.
    “Won’t you please come in?” he asked, stepping back and drawing the door wide with a gesture every bit its equal. Mrs. Treadwell nodded and motioned his nieces forward. They marched across his threshold in alphabetical order and then stopped dead in the center of his entryway. He closed the door, his mind racing.
    “Ah … This way, into the parlor,” Carden said, motioning yet again, this time to the small room reserved for the receiving of guests—not that he ever had any that didn’t know him well enough to come in through the back door.
    “If you’d like to have a seat, ladies,” he offered even as he noted the layer of dust covering all of the furnishings. Someone—probably Barrett—had written “hire a maid” in the stuff that coated the narrow table backing one of the matching settees. Hiring a maid was properly within the housekeeper’s duties, of course. And he definitely intended to hire one of those today. In a matter of hours, in fact. “If you’d be so kind as to excuse me for a few moments,” he said as the three younger guests plopped down on the upholstery with enough force to raise a choking cloud. “I need to make myself a bit more presentable.”
    “That would be fine, Mr. Reeves,” the nurse said, apparently rooted to a spot in front of the unlit hearth. “And most appreciated,” he thought he heard her add under her breath.
    He was tempted to point out that she hadn’t shown the least little sign of being repulsed by his state of near nudity; that she’d seemed more entranced than anything. He kept his observations to himself, however, deciding that they’d gotten off to a rough enough start without deliberately trying to embarrass her. “Would you care for some refreshments while you wait?”
    “That would be most considerate.”
    “I’ll see to it, then. Ladies,” he offered, giving them a brief bow as he backed out of the room and pulled the doors closed behind himself.
    Once alone and out of their sight, he paused and raked his fingers through his hair. Sweet Jesus. Arthur. Dead. And with daughters his only legacy. What a hell of a mess this was now. How long could he hold things off? How long could he keep up the pretenses and maintain the tidy, uncomplicated nature of his life? Six months? Maybe a year? It all depended on what he did with his nieces and with their exotically tempting nurse. Sending them away would be the easiest, most intelligent thing to do. The rebellion of the Sepoys had made a mess of India. But he had friends still garrisoned in the Transvaal. Maybe …
    Carden raked his hair one more time and set himself in motion, hoping that he’d have a solution by the time he finished dressing. In the meanwhile, he had something approximating a plan that didn’t involve any effort from him beyond giving orders. He could delegate with the best.
    He’d no more than stepped into the breakfast room than Aiden looked up from the Times and quipped, “You look a little harried.”
    “There’s a crisis of sorts. Have you heard Sawyer come in?”
    “No. But