Leslie Lafoy Read Online Free Page B

off of him and dropped her skirts—had promised to see him there. He’d promised her that he’d make a trip by the apothecary shop beforehand to purchase an inexhaustible supply of French letters. She’d been delighted. He’d been hardening again as he walked her to her front door and reconsidering her invitation to try out the swing in her bedroom.
    But duty and obligation had asserted themselves in the moment of final decision and he’d deferred on the swing until tomorrow night. Between now and then—well, between now and when he arrived at the Miller-Sands’ mansion—he’d have to find out what the hell her given name was.
    Calling her his wanton was certainly accurate as statements went. She was the very definition of wanton and, in the moments when they were physically joined, she was indeed his. But it tended to imply a possessiveness and an emotional attachment that he didn’t feel in the least. She was a wonderful romp and he sincerely appreciated her easy willingness, but that was as far as it went. And as far as it was ever going to go. Terms of endearment, however tawdry, were likely to give her an entirely wrong impression of his intentions.
    The door opened before him and he walked in past the footman to find the butler waiting for him in the foyer. Given the look on the man’s face … Rowan was a sour-face even on the best of days. At the moment the corners of his mouth were practically under his chin. So much for basking in the delightful memories of Lady Baltrip.
    “Welcome home, Your Grace.”
    “Hello, Rowan,” he said, handing off his cloak, hat and gloves and deciding to be optimistic. “I see the house is still standing. I take it that it was a fairly quiet evening?”
    “Miss Charlotte refused three dinners, Your Grace.”
    So much for optimism, too. “I assume it involved the usual pitching of china and silver?”
    “It did.”
    Ian sighed. “There’s more, isn’t there?”
    “Unfortunately, yes, Your Grace. Sally has quit. She packed her bags shortly after nine and departed the house.”
    And that wasn’t all of it, either. He cocked a brow and asked dryly, “What role did Charlotte play in her decision?”
    “Miss Charlotte also flung the contents of her chamber pot, Your Grace. Sally was not removing the debris from the third dinner quickly enough to suit her.”
    Good God. He was going to have to deal with this. It was clearly over the line. “Has Charlotte retired for the evening?”
    “Yes, Your Grace.”
    “Without supper?”
    “No, Your Grace. Cook was finally able to prepare something to her liking on the fourth attempt.”
    He could storm up the stairs and … and … Hell, he didn’t have the foggiest notion of what he ought to do beyond crisply saying, Bad, Charlotte! Bad! and slapping the end of her nose with a rolled up newspaper. Since she wasn’t a puppy and he’d been given a reprieve of sorts in her having retired, he took it. A crisis among the servants he could ably and confidently manage, though. “Do you know where Sally went?”
    “I would imagine to her sister’s store in Bloomsbury, Your Lordship.”
    Good, still in London. “Please send her a month’s wages in the morning along with a note offering her a housekeeping position on the staff at Heathland. Please express my regrets for the incident this evening and advise her that, if she’ll accept the Heathland position, she’ll not be expected to provide service of any kind for my ward in the future.”
    “Very good, Your Grace.”
    “Thank you, Rowan. That will be all.”
    The butler bowed and Ian walked off toward his study. Yes, that would be all for this evening. Unfortunately, the sun would come up again in a few hours and they would all begin yet another day of Charlotte’s tantrums. How long was one supposed to allow a person to behave badly in the name of grief and rage? he wondered as he got himself a brandy.
    It had been just six months since Charlotte’s world had come