Four Dukes And A Devil Part 20

She lifted her chin. "May I present Gabriel, Matthew, and Peter? Masters Towland, Smithson, and Linley." Each boy ducked his head at the mention of his name. The last and littlest looked at him reverently.

"And the name of the," he paused, "lady escorting this troop of apostles?" escorting this troop of apostles?"

"Victoria Givan." Her voice was lyrical and soft when she allowed her ire to cool.

He waved to the driver near the horses. "Crandall, please arrange s.p.a.ce for Masters Towland and Smithson in the other carriages. I shall take up Master Linley and Mrs. Givan."

"Miss Givan," she corrected. Givan," she corrected.

John Varick knew well how to hide from the world the humor he felt tickling his mind. He stole another glimpse of her pretty boots.

Soon enough the boys were settled, and he offered his arm to hand Miss Givan into the carriage. "And where shall I direct Crandall? To the Pickworth estate down the road, or perhaps somewhere else in the neighborhood?" Surely she was a governess out taking the air with her charges, although that did not explain the impractical elegant footwear.

She settled on the bench beside the young boy he had carefully chosen as their chaperon and rested the large book on her knees. As he ducked inside to join them, she lowered her mossy eyes. "It's a bit farther down the road, Mr. Varick. We're on our way to Derbyshire actually. Wallace Abbey to be precise."

He nearly missed the last step. The forward motion propelled him into the seat across from her and the boy. "Wallace Abbey? Why, that's sixty sixty miles from here." He should have known better than to have been lured by an unusual face. miles from here." He should have known better than to have been lured by an unusual face.

His amused driver of the last decade and a half cracked a rare smile upon hearing her direction and shut the carriage door, leaving no escape. There had been quite a dry spell since Crandall had last won a round in their a.s.sociation.

"Really? Sixty miles?" she said, lifting her small pointed chin, "I hadn't known it was quite so far."

"Miss Givan, were you planning on walking the entire way?"

"Of course not." Her mien, voice, and eyes violated all ten rules of honesty.

The carriage moved forward, picking up the pace a few moments later. A long silence ensued, during which John poured a gla.s.s of water for the boy, who downed it eagerly. Her hand wavered a bit as she accepted another gla.s.s from him. "Miss Givan, dare I mention that Wallace Abbey burnt to the ground over two decades ago? You weren't planning on spending the night there on your, ahem, pilgrimage pilgrimage?"

"I'm well aware of that. I'm escorting the boys to Derbyshire to take up their new positions there as apprentices to the architect Mr. John Nash. Perhaps you know of him? He's quite famous."

"Certainly."

"Wallace Abbey is to be rebuilt and will serve as an extension of the foundling home where I'm employed in town. I've promised to settle the boys in a refurbished cottage near the abbey and to hire several servants for Mr. Nash's colleagues, who will oversee the boys and the rebuilding."

"I see." He removed his hat, turned it upside down, and slipped it between the parallel leather straps running the length of the carriage's high ceiling. He debated how far he would be willing to accompany the pretty woman and her charges. It would be simpler, nay, more prudent, to arrange pa.s.sage for them on the next mail coach. "Are you ever going to tell me how you came to be walking on this road-so far from London?"

Victoria Givan, orphan, teacher, and all-'round manager of dozens of little-men-in-training, concentrated on steadying her breathing. All it had taken was a glance at the golden B B above the famous royal crest on the carriage's outside door to confirm her suspicions. How on earth was she to think properly with the freshly anointed Duke of Beaufort sitting across from her? above the famous royal crest on the carriage's outside door to confirm her suspicions. How on earth was she to think properly with the freshly anointed Duke of Beaufort sitting across from her?

Good G.o.d.

Every morning and afternoon his sobriquet blazed from all of the newspapers-The Catch of the Century. Sometimes every letter was capitalized if the columnist was especially overawed. His story was oft repeated; as a young man he had taken his modest maternal inheritance and formed a seemingly never-ending string of brilliant foreign schemes and investments leading to a fortune that rivaled the royal families of Europe. And all this before it became apparent that he would, indeed, succeed to the ill.u.s.trious t.i.tle since the former duke, his uncle, had never sired a son. Sometimes every letter was capitalized if the columnist was especially overawed. His story was oft repeated; as a young man he had taken his modest maternal inheritance and formed a seemingly never-ending string of brilliant foreign schemes and investments leading to a fortune that rivaled the royal families of Europe. And all this before it became apparent that he would, indeed, succeed to the ill.u.s.trious t.i.tle since the former duke, his uncle, had never sired a son.

And he was ridiculously handsome-a man in his prime. His mesmerizing blue eyes were said to have caused a mult.i.tude of ladies to swoon dead away in his presence. Silly schoolgirls composed poems about his awe-inspiring smile and his even more dazzling riches. Victoria sighed.

His ability to withstand the onslaught of ambitious ladies flung at him by their determined relations over the last decade or more was one of the most popular topics under the swagged edges of the Fashionable World Fashionable World columns. Why, his every movement and his every word were recorded in biblical proportions. And the gossip had reached its zenith this past month, when the former Duke of Beaufort had died unexpectedly, investing the man before her with the t.i.tle he wore with such ease. columns. Why, his every movement and his every word were recorded in biblical proportions. And the gossip had reached its zenith this past month, when the former Duke of Beaufort had died unexpectedly, investing the man before her with the t.i.tle he wore with such ease.

He began to tap the side of his well-muscled thigh in exasperation while waiting for her answer. What had he asked her? More importantly, how was she to cajole this gentleman into taking them all the way to Derbyshire? There was nothing except common decency to prevent him from leaving them at the next signpost. His Grace did not look the sort who suffered fools lightly. And Victoria felt little more than a fool after today's events.

She stopped biting her bottom lip when he raised his quizzing gla.s.s to his eye again, evidently to intimidate her into an answer.

"Do you need spectacles, Mr. Varick? Peter would be happy to lend you his, won't you dearest?" The boy nodded and produced his small pair straightaway.

He lowered his quizzing gla.s.s. "I do not not require spectacles." require spectacles."

"It's entirely understandable, you know. Failing sight is a common ailment among many gentlemen of your advanced years, and-"

"Advanced years?" he said, one corner of his mouth curling the merest bit.

"Why, yes. Ah, please forgive me, I should never have suggested you are..."

"What, Miss Givan?"

"Well, I do have the greatest respect for the wisdom one acquires with gray hair and all."

"Gray hair? I do not"-he sat up straighter and blinked-"Miss Givan, I'm not in the habit of enduring people who evade questions. Now, will you favor me with your certain-to-be-woeful tale instead of these tedious observations of yours, or not?"

Young Peter Linley's head had been swiveling back and forth in an effort to keep up with the conversation. "I'll tell you, sir."

The duke fastened his penetrating gaze on the boy. "I knew I could count on you, Peter. Men must stick together. Spill it."

"Well, it was like this. Me and Gabe and Matthew-"

"Gabriel, Matthew, and I," Victoria instinctively corrected. "Really, this is the most tiresome story."

He ignored her. "Go on, Peter."

"Right," the boy said. "We were at the last inn. The one in Quesbury. Do you know it, sir?"

"Yes."

"You see, Miss Givan was haggling with the innkeeper because he was askin' too much for the bread and cheese, then the mail coachman's horn sounded and, well..."

"Yes?"

"That's when it got really interesting."

"Peter..." she tried her best 'I shall make you rue the day' voice. Lord, make this day end, please.

"Go on."

"Well, another gentleman, actually he didn't quite look like a gentleman-more like a laborer really since he had lots of dirt on his clothes-anyway, he took up for Miss Givan when the innkeeper winked at her and said she could pay off the debt in another fashion since he fancied red hair. He even pinched her"-Peter darted a glance at her and hurried on-"and the laborer darkened the daylights out of the innkeeper. For some reason that made the rest of the men there join the brawl. We had to crawl out on our hands and knees and had a jolly time of it...until we saw that the mail coach was gone without us and we had to walk."

"And all your belongings?"

"Oh, all of Miss Givan's coins were lost in the brawl, and our belongings are still on the coach, sir. But that's for the best, Miss Givan said. Easier to walk without havin' to carry much." The boy grinned, and the duke ruffled his hair.

Victoria tried to laugh. Tried to appear good-humored. In fact, she was an ugly combination of mortified and anxious. She knew she had only one way to get all the boys to Derbyshire safely, and that would involve engaging the bemused interest of the richest man in England for the next sixty miles or so. It was all that separated the boys and her from spending a hungry night or three under the stars, blanketed by a hedge-row, and all manner of insects and wild animals prowling this jungle. jungle.

For the first time in her life, she felt very much beyond her depth. If she could just make his blue eyes a plain shade of brown, and eliminate, oh, say a few hundred thousand pounds from his staggering wealth, then she would feel much more capable of making this paragon of bachelor-hood come around to her way of thinking.

She also wished for one day and one night of quiet reflection so she could make a bargain with her maker: to get her out of this detestable countryside in exchange for an end to her ridiculously romantic dreams. It was too bad the angel charged with guarding over her took such delight in sabotaging her wishes at every opportunity.

Chapter Two

John glanced up from the large stack of doc.u.ments he had been perusing for the last fifteen miles only to find the boy fast asleep in Miss Givan's luscious little lap. Each time he had allowed his concentration to waver, he had studied her lovely, even profile while she gazed out the carriage window at the day's gloaming. Worry emanated from every stiff inch of her. And he inwardly cursed.

Didn't he dole out enough t.i.thes and coin each year to an endless string of venerable inst.i.tutions to discharge his conscience? He didn't want to have to take a personal interest in any one person in need. There were too many people who suffered, and he could not be responsible for all. He tightened his jaw. It was much more productive to remain apart from others and concern himself with his endless correspondence, investments and speculations that could ultimately benefit many.

Despite the fact that she was a fascinating creature, he didn't have time for this. He had but a week or so to sort out an impossible dilemma in his newest venture if he was going to be ready to take on autumn's cornucopia at the proposed mill. He couldn't spare a moment on an unusual-looking, sharp-tongued teacher wearing mysteriously fashionable half boots. Who on earth had given them to her? A cast-off lover, perhaps? He glanced up from her footwear to find her exotic green eyes flashing at him.

He suddenly realized his carriage had lurched to a stop more than a minute ago. Christ. Christ. What was taking Crandall so long? "Wait here, Miss Givan." John wrenched the door open and jumped from his carriage without waiting for the steps to be moved into place. What was taking Crandall so long? "Wait here, Miss Givan." John wrenched the door open and jumped from his carriage without waiting for the steps to be moved into place.

One of his outriders, who was waiting in the Gray Fox Inn's yard, leapt to attention. "The owner said the roof gave way after the rain two nights ago, Your Grace. The next inn is twenty-five miles from here."

"And?"

"And the innkeeper said he and his wife would be willing to give you the only habitable room-their own-for a pretty penny. Mr. Crandall is having a look."

"Of course there is no second room." There was not a hint of a question in his voice, only barely restrained annoyance.

"Correct, Your Grace. Although there is plenty of room in the excellent stables."

"Have Crandall pay the man for the room if it is suitable and get everyone settled."

The man cleared his throat. "Shall I have Your Grace's affairs brought to the innkeeper's room-or is the lady lady to occupy-" to occupy-"

"Bring my portmanteau inside. And order whatever dinner can be served for everyone as soon as humanly possible."

His outrider darted a glance beyond him and dipped his head.

John turned to find Miss Givan standing there, silent.

"I thought you were to remain in the carriage, madam. Do you ever do what you are told?"

"Rarely. I'm more used to doing the managing. Of the children, of course." She looked pensive and slightly unnerved. "Look, I want to thank you for taking us this far. The boys and I will continue on our way from here. I'm certain it's not that much farther."

"Miss Givan, if you think I will allow you to go trotting off down this obscure country lane, into the darkness, you can discard that idea straightaway." He brushed an invisible piece of lint from his sleeve. "You have never ever been out of London, have you? Do you not know how many bears, mad dogs, boars, and wicked men are lurking about at night?" He hoped she was as ignorant as he thought she might be of the benign nature of the countryside. Why, there hadn't been a wild bear lumbering in England's woods the last century or more.

There was a symphony of skittish doubt in her expression. "We shall sleep in the stable, then."

"Glad to hear it. Can't abide straw ticking myself," he drawled. "Come along now, Peter. Madam, I shall leave it to you to gather the rest of your charges. Dinner awaits." He captured Peter's smaller hand in his own and took a chance by walking away from her.

An hour later, John stared in wonder at the adolescent boys seated around the hastily arranged table in the only chamber untouched by the calamity aside from the kitchen. "Impressive. Who knew dwarfs were capable of consuming an entire side of beef at one sitting?"

"They're of a growing age growing age and not used to such abundance," Miss Givan said defensively, as the boys giggled. and not used to such abundance," Miss Givan said defensively, as the boys giggled.

It had not escaped his notice that she'd eaten very little. "Come now, Miss Givan," he said, nodding almost imperceptibly to the manservant. "You can do better than that crust of bread. We must keep up your strength if you're to have a prayer of keeping this next generation in line." The servant transferred a juicy slice of meat to her plate at the same moment Crandall entered. His loyal driver produced a bottle of the finest brandy one could buy from seasoned French smugglers. John never went any great distance in his carriage without a case of it well-cushioned in fine English wool. A crystal gla.s.s appeared.

Silence reigned as Crandall carefully poured the nectar of the G.o.ds. It was the only thing John had looked forward to this entire problematic day. If he couldn't have a taste of the auburn-haired siren, and his conscience and good sense suggested he couldn't, then he would at least let the amber waves of balm claim a portion of his monumental concerns.

He suddenly realized everyone's eyes were upon him for some odd reason.

"Boys, Mr. Crandall, would you please give me a moment with Mr. Varick?" Miss Givan rose and urged the boys from their chairs.

"Varick?" his driver said, righteously. "Why, he's the-"

"That will be all, Crandall," John cut him off curtly. As the servants and boys exited the room, John lifted the ambrosia to his lips and savored the intoxicating scent.

"Sir," the spitfire said with hauteur, "I would ask you to refrain from consuming spirits in front of the boys. They're of an awkward age awkward age, and easily impressed by gentlemen they might admire."

"So they're of a growing age and and an awkward age?" he asked dryly. "How inconvenient." an awkward age?" he asked dryly. "How inconvenient."

"It would not do to give them the idea that they should spend any monies they might one day find in their pockets-on...on gin or any form of the devil's brew."

"Gin? Why, this is the farthest thing from that vile poison."

She stared at him silently, mutinously.

"Miss Givan, are you truly asking the gentleman who has taken you up in his carriage to forgo the one and only bit of heaven to be found in this G.o.dforsaken excuse of an inn?"

"Well, I'd thought-"

"And here I was considering taking you and the boys miles out of my way tomorrow to deliver you safely to Wallace Abbey." He lowered his voice. "And I was also considering how best to share the one and only room available here." He said the last to provoke her. Her eyes were flashing again. It was definitely how he liked them best.

"Why, I wouldn't share this room if it were the only one in all of England. And furthermore, Mr. Varick, Mr. Varick, I want you to understand that I intend to repay every last farthing for this meal, the carriage ride, and for all the trouble you have so I want you to understand that I intend to repay every last farthing for this meal, the carriage ride, and for all the trouble you have so generously generously taken on today." taken on today."

"Really?" He enjoyed the animated play of her delicate brows and relaxed in his chair to savor another long taste of his excellent brandy. He wondered if she had truly deduced who he was. "And how do you plan to accomplish that, Miss Givan?"

"I shall write to my benefactor, who will forward any and all monies due you straightaway." She pushed back her shoulders. "With or without your further aid."

"You have a benefactor, do you?" He glanced at her elegantly tooled footwear.

"Of course," she said, the tiniest blush finally cresting her cheeks. "And you shall be happy to learn that I have already asked the innkeeper, who I have found to be considerably more civilized than most most men I've encountered since leaving town, to provide a pallet for me in the kitchen, which he has graciously consented to do. I would never dream of asking for the use of this room. I shall be perfectly comfortable with the innkeeper's wife in the kitchen." men I've encountered since leaving town, to provide a pallet for me in the kitchen, which he has graciously consented to do. I would never dream of asking for the use of this room. I shall be perfectly comfortable with the innkeeper's wife in the kitchen."

"And the boys?"

"Will be in the stable."