Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Men enjoy making babies but not tending to them." –from The Masculine Inconvenience: Memoirs of a Superior Lady

J osiah hid behind a potted plant, a red ribbon dangling in his face. He batted at it. Like a damn cat. Who had thought it wise to decorate the plants? The house had not been so jolly since before his mother's death. Garlands of fragrant holly hung everywhere, and a roaring fire crackled cheerfully in the grate, fending off the unusually bitter cold of the winter evening. The crowd filling the room talked and laughed and bounced babies, and Edith, Josiah's sister, plonked away at the piano with a Christmas tune. Sarah had brought joy here.

And he'd helped, making sure gifts would be delivered to the tenants and that those who wished had time to visit their families. Ensuring there was enough in the coffers to support a party like this and keep them warm and merry. Improving the grounds, the stable, the plumbing, even. He'd worked damn hard the last year to do what he'd told Xavier he could when he'd pleaded to manage Apple Grove. He'd achieved all he'd set out to. And more.

The house had spirit again, was more than a dusty mausoleum inhabited by grunting men folk. It felt like his mother had come back to them all in some small way. It felt warm now, hopeful and near perfect.

Near because Crawford's wife Lisibeth had brought her debutante sister. Unmarried and moon-eyed over Josiah. Currently, the chit—Miss Dorinda Darlington—was stretched up on her tiptoes, searching the room. For him no doubt. He ducked farther behind the plant, found another ribbon poking him in the eye, a twig, too. He cursed, swatted it away, and cursed again. Couldn't see a thing now. Meant no one could see him. Good. Nothing would tempt him to reveal his hiding place.

"Lady Georgiana Hunt," the butler announced.

Josiah popped to his full height, knocking the plant over. It wobbled. He caught it, keeping his gaze trained on the woman in the doorway. What the devil was Georgie doing here? When he'd asked her last month if she would attend, she'd said—and he'd never forget it—she'd rather clean her navel with a dirty boot scraper. Colorful. Direct. Every word perfectly Georgie.

She stood tall and regal, defiant, before the room. She was stunning in red velvet. She'd stopped wearing mourning clothes after three months, and he'd been glad for it. Black brought out the jagged ice in her. Her maid had piled her hair high and thread a gold ribbon through it. She looked well. Very well. Intimidating, too. Excellent. Exactly what he needed—a beautiful miracle to scare curious debutantes away.

He ducked behind the plant once more, peeked his head out, and hissed at her. "Gee!"

She blinked, looked to the side of the room, toward him.

"Pst! Gee!" He rustled the plant, revealed his face between the boughs.

Their eyes locked, and her eyebrow arched slowly toward her hairline. She wove a sure way toward his hiding spot, and when she reached him, she crossed her arms over her chest and spoke to the room, not to the plant.

"Hiding? Or do you have a special affection for this particular tree?"

"Not a tree. A plant."

"Oh? What kind?"

"I don't know. The green kind. Mayhap it's a tree. It's not important."

"Oh, I disagree. I've just discovered that this estate's manager does not know when a plant is considered a tree."

"Not my area of expertise," he ground out. "Now help me, and I'll show you to the cake. Sarah's requested stacks of it be made for the party."

Her eyes became gems. Shimmering with malice or eagerness, he could not say. But finally, her red lips parted, and she said, "How may I be of service?"

"Do you see the young lady there, with the blonde hair, standing next to Crawford's wife?"

"Ah yes. Her sister, I think."

"Her sister, Miss Darlington, and the thorn in my side." His grumble was rough enough to shake the tree. Plant? No matter.

Georgiana chuckled. "Set her sights on you, has she?"

"Of course. I'm terribly good looking."

"I suppose some women would find you appealing. That good-natured grin." She studied him with an academic tilt of her head.

"Wicked, you mean."

"Thick black hair with that ever-dangling lock right on your forehead."

He pushed his hands through his hair, knowing it would make that lock fall, jaunty and tempting.

She tilted her head in the other direction. "Good nose. Eyes blue as the sky and full of merriment."

He fluttered his lashes at her.

She rolled her eyes. "A good build, too, sturdy and strong and tall. A true man of the country. Yes, I can see how you might turn some small portion of the female population silly. Poor Miss Darlington. Did she ever have a chance?"

"Not likely."

Georgiana rolled her eyes again and studied the young lady across the room. She crossed her arms over her belly and tapped her arm with one finger. "Hm. How should I help you?"

"Keep up the charade."

"With your entire family so near? Sarah says Xavier is not best pleased with us."

"He has more than once threatened to toss me through the ice in the lake. I do realize continuing our act when under such scrutiny is a risk, but you came to a party you said you would never attend, so I have decided to interpret that as a sign. We must pretend a little longer. It is your turn to protect me."

"Very well."

A quick, succinct agreement. Warmed his soul.

"Will you come out now?" she asked.

He slid out from behind the tree to join her. "I owe you my eternal gratitude, Lady Gee."

She waved his gratitude away with a frosty flick of her hand. "We will be even after this. Does she know you have no time for a wife?"

"I mentioned it a time or two. But it has not seemed to sink in. I found her waiting outside my bedroom door this morning."

"That is daring." Her gaze floated to the girl, a touch of admiration there. "I would like to get to know her even if you do not."

"She pretended it was by chance." He rolled his eyes. "As if I did not know better."

"Brazen chit. Was there a lady in your room?"

"No!" There had been no ladies in his room, or he in theirs, in months.

She shrugged. "A natural assumption with you. A village mistress perhaps?"

"There is no such creature." He poked her in the shoulder. "The lady wounds with such assertions."

She lifted one eyebrow, merriment in the slope of her cheeks and in every bounce of the dancing curls around her face. "Give me a dagger, and I'll show you wounds."

He leaned forward, closing the small distance between them. "You're showing your teeth, Lady Gee."

She snapped those teeth at him, straight and white and sharp behind berry red lips.

They grinned. This—their sharp back and forth—would soothe her grief. What knight ever rode into battle armed with insults? He did if it helped.

He laughed. "Damn, it's good to see you. I've been so bored I can't feel my face."

"Never say so, Mr. E. How will you feel the kisses of all your ladies?"

"True, but I must know. Why did you come? I know how you feel about mud. Did you try the thing with the boot scraper first and decide you'd made the wrong choice?"

She shrugged, licking her lips to tame her smile. "I am here only because your sister-in-law dared me to come."

He tightened his jaw, but that didn't stop it, so he slapped a hand over his mouth, but that proved no barrier either. Finally, the laugh escaped, and he hunched forward in an attempt to corral the sound, keep it from rolling across the gathered guests. "A dare!" he wheezed. "Of course."

Her bow-shaped lips pursed, and her eyes brimmed with ire. "I do not see the humor."

"‘Course you don't, Gee. Not surprised. You debutantes always take your dares seriously."

"I've not been a debutante for some time now," she huffed. "Men. My aunt did warn me."

"Ah, your aunt," he said, recovering and straightening to his full height. "Please say you've brought her memoirs. I must know more of them."

"I have, but I shan't share them with you. You are not worthy."

"Naturally. But let us put aside our differences and seek out more pleasant diversions." He stepped away from the plant and held out his hand.

If it had been a snake, she'd have not shown more wariness of it. "Cake?"

"And babies."

She took his hand, and he tried not to notice the sliver of skin between the white buttoned cuff of her glove and the hem of her long red sleeve. A stripe of her between velvet and cotton. Softer than both? He squeezed his hand and ignored the question, ignored the odd desire to strip his glove from his own hand and rub the pad of his thumb across the sliver of her skin. He dragged her into the crowd, her hand squeezing his own, as if it were a lifeline.

Josiah's nephew Thomas was closest, and they swept in with oohs and aahs , but just as Georgiana held out her arms for the little imp, a shadow stepped before them. No, a large and hulking body.

"Xavier," Josiah said.

"We need to speak." His brother never asked. Only ordered.

"Can it wait?"

"Absolutely not."

Josiah sighed. Usually, he'd do as he pleased, making Xavier red in the face, but if it was estate business, he'd need to know, and he wanted to know now. This house party was proof of his worth, the culmination of everything he valued most—work and family—repairing the damage that neglect could cause so easily. He'd been working for all this, and he'd not let any detail fall through his fingers.

He looked to Georgiana with an apologetic half grin. "Stay here. Save a baby for me."

Her face smooshed up. "I'll do as I please, Mr. Evans." She turned with an arched brow to Josiah's brother. Any other chit would cower under Xavier's glare. Naturally, Georgiana did not. "Lord Flint, will you attempt to command me about, too?"

"I wouldn't dare," Xavier grumbled, wrapping an arm around Josiah's shoulders as he reached for his infant with the other. He led both baby and brother into the hallway.

"Bea's clout needs changing," Xavier said, releasing Josiah.

They often discussed estate matters in locations other than the study. Xavier did not like to sit still, and Josiah would not sit unless he had to. They reached the nursery soon enough, and Xavier handed Bea to the nurse, who soon handed the baby back in a less odiferous state. Xavier took her to the large thick rug near the fire and sat her down, joined her, and waved a wooden toy that resembled a horse in front of her, singing off key.

"Join us, Jos." He didn't even look up.

Josiah sat cross-legged on the other side of Bea who giggled up at him. He tapped her nose. "What's this about, Brother?"

"Tell me about Lady Georgiana."

"As I've told you repeatedly, there is nothing to tell. We have an… arrangement, I suppose, to ward off the unwanted attentions of fortune hunters and marriageable misses. That's it."

"Daft is what it is. Have you debauched her?"

"No! Hell, Xav. No." And what an insinuation. "I don't debauch innocents! And I'm rather insulted you think I would."

"Father would not mind if you did."

"But you'd rip me limb from limb, then force me to marry the woman. And not marrying is the entire purpose of this charade."

"Good." He fell to his back, and Bea giggled, immediately crawling atop him. "I didn't truly think you had. But I like to be thorough."

Josiah joined him, back to the rug, staring up at the ceiling. "Are we done with the interrogation?"

"No. Have you thought about sleeping with her?"

He opened his mouth to say no, but the word would not come. What did come was a thousand visions of wonton delights, honey-gold hair streaming down a lithe back, his name on her soft, pink lips, her usually sharp tongue applied to his neck. He shivered.

"What if you did marry her? Sarah seems to think the two of you would suit."

"She's my friend, Xav. Nothing more." He closed his eyes to press back the flood of visions. "She's asked for my help, and I will give it. I've no intention to wed."

"Why not?"

"I'm too busy. I've asked you if I can take on the care of your northern estate, and—"

"It's too much." A too gruff reply that stung like a saber to the gut.

"I've done an excellent job here." Josiah clawed his fingernails into the plush carpet, seeking the blunt press, the pain of the hard wood beneath.

"I know. You're the best damn manager Father has."

"Not that he notices."

"He notices little but his mistress these days. I'm married and will likely soon provide an heir. Our sister is married well. He's done his duty and is determined to live for pleasure now."

Had their mother known pleasure before her death? Her eyes were always tired in his memory, her face lined with greater age than her years.

"I do though, Josiah," Xavier said. "I notice how well you've done. I do not always say it, but I'm quite"—he tugged at his cravat and studied the ceiling—"proud of you." Mumbled words.

But Josiah heard them. Felt them.

"Anyway." Xavier rushed forward, wading with fast feet out of the murky waters of emotion. "You should focus on only one estate. And you should make a life for yourself here. You have the steward's cottage. It's recently renovated and large enough for a family, and Lady Georgiana—"

"Is a lover of London and not meant for a cottage in the woods. She is going to help me avoid Lisibeth's little sister. Then she is going to return to Town. And that is it." He couldn't imagine her in the cottage, wearing her red velvet gown, looking like a queen as she strode through small rooms with much comfort but little fashion. An heiress like her with an earl's son who reveled in work as earls' sons were not supposed to do. A farce, that.

Xavier grunted. Beatrice crawled off his chest, headed straight toward Josiah, who scooped her up in his arms, cradled her on his chest, and rocked them back and forth until her laughter shook his entire body.

When Josiah caught Xavier's eye, expecting to share a laugh, he saw only the seriousness of steel. "What?" Josiah laughed.

"I dare you to kiss her."

Josiah stopped rocking. "Pardon?"

"Kiss her. See if she'll suit. In that way. If she doesn't… quickest way to figure it out. Why not kiss her?"

"She's an innocent. And weren't you recently warning me off kissing her?"

"She's an heiress who knows her own mind and appears to be as averse to marriage as you are. Why not kiss her?"

Why not strangle Xavier was the better question. He fisted his hands and suppressed the impulse.

"It might ruin our friendship," Josiah said. And he felt peculiarly protective of that.

"Or you might make it better. Come here, darling." He reached a hand out to Bea, who burrowed deeper into Josiah's chest. "Traitor. Jos, kiss her. I dare you."

Once upon a time, his brother had been known as the Dare King, a man who completed dangerous tasks for a lark. He didn't dare now, didn't risk his neck or his family's reputation. That he was using that old phrase now—I dare you—told Josiah one thing: His brother was serious. His brother, for one reason or another, wanted Josiah to kiss Lady Georgiana Hunt.

Josiah rolled his eyes and rocked the baby again, letting the tinkling bell of her laugh heal the unhappy places inside him.

Kiss Georgiana? He couldn't. He shouldn't. A silly dare. A dangerous one because he liked her and kissing for a dare seemed rather… caddish. It might prove Georgie's notion, earned from her aunt, that men were pigs. He didn't like that. Didn't like that she'd known more pigs than princes. Didn't want her to think him a pig despite all his teasing.

He wouldn't oink. Not this time.