Gasping in horror that her little boy would be so familiar as to lock his arms around a stranger’s thigh, or anyone’s, and be happy as a puppy while doing so, immobilized Julia. Mr. Stockton seemed completely calm. He looked down at Chatwyn, ruffled his hair a couple of times, and asked, “Who are you running from?”
“Miss Periwinkle is after me.”
Julia could only manage a whispered, “Chatwyn, what are you doing?”
“Playing chase,” he answered loudly, looking around Mr. Stockton’s long, sturdy, and quite powerful-looking leg to stare at Julia. A gleam of youthful mischief shone in his bright blue eyes. He giggled again. “And I caught him. It’s his turn to chase me now.”
“What?” Julia almost sputtered the word. “Absolutely not! Mr. Stockton isn’t playing with you. He is a guest in this house. Let go of him this instant!”
Miss Periwinkle made it to the bottom of the stairs and assessed what was going on. “I am very sorry, my lady,” she said hastily. “I told him it wasn’t playtime but he can get past me so quickly. Master Chatwyn, you must come with me at once.”
Chatwyn paid no mind to Julia nor to Miss Periwinkle. He continued to stare up at the man he held hostage, seeming captivated by him. Spurred into action, Julia rushed forward, and the timid Miss Periwinkle reached for Chatwyn.
Mr. Stockton stayed the governess’s hand and glanced back to the distraught Julia. “He’s all right. He’s just being a little boy.”
“A very naughty boy,” Julia whispered under her breath, stopping beside the two.
Mr. Stockton looked down at him, smiling. “It looks as if you won the game. I’m caught and can’t go anywhere.”
“I’m fast and strong,” Chatwyn said. “Do you want to play chase with me?”
Julia listened to her son in stunned disbelief, quite humiliated by his refusal to obey her command and let go of Mr. Stockton. “He’s not the duke, Chatwyn. He can’t play games with you.”
“Your mother’s right,” Mr. Stockton said good-naturedly. “I can’t play with you today, but maybe another time.”
“When?” her son asked.
“I’ll have to discuss that with your mother and she’ll let you know.”
Mr. Stockton glanced at Julia. She gave him a grateful smile. He was being kind and patient to a little boy who was misbehaving badly. Her heart softened even more toward the sojourner. “Chatwyn, you must let go of him now.”
“I’m going to be tall like you when I get older,” Chatwyn said, continuing to ignore his mother completely. “When I turn five, I’ll be as tall and big as you are.”
“You probably will.”
“What’s your name?” Chatwyn asked.
“That is none of your concern, young man,” Julia said sternly, having had enough of her son’s deliberate disobedience. “Let go of him this instant or you won’t be allowed to go outside for the rest of the day and maybe not for an entire week.”
“Chatwyn,” Brina said, walking up to him with York ambling slowly behind. The old dog looked as if he had no clue as to what was going on in the entryway.
Brina stopped beside Chatwyn and bent down to his level. “Look what I have here in my hand. I brought you something I think you will like very much.”
Chatwyn’s blue gaze searched the pretty wrapped package she held. “What is it?”
She placed it close to his face, and with a smile she said, “Smell this and I think you’ll know.”
He leaned in and put his nose against the cloth. So did York, who had nudged in between them. There was no doubt when Chatwyn caught the scent of baked pastry and fruit filling. His eyes grew wide with delight. York’s tail started wagging and he licked his chops. He might have lost his hearing but not his sense of smell.
“Mama, can I have one?” Chatwyn asked.
“Of course, but you must—”
Chatwyn didn’t wait to hear more. He let go of Mr. Stockton and reached for the tarts.
Brina pulled them back just before his little hands closed around the fragrant bundle, and rose. “Not yet, my little friend. You can’t eat them here in the entryway. That wouldn’t be the polite thing for us to do. You must come with me and I’ll give you one—or two or maybe three if you are a good boy.”
“I’ll be good.” He looked at Julia. “I love you, Mama.”
Julia’s throat clogged with emotion.
“Come on,” Brina said. She held out her hand to him. In an instant he reached up for her. Brina smiled at Julia. “No need to thank me. We’ll be in the breakfast room if you need us.”
With a bob of her head, Julia motioned for Miss Periwinkle to go with them before taking in a deep breath and facing Mr. Stockton again. Their eyes met and held. What had just happened left her feeling drained, and strangely moved by how he’d talked to her son and how he’d looked at him so calmly and didn’t seem perturbed at all. She was grateful he wasn’t as horrified as she was by her little boy’s behavior.
Instead of following the food as a younger dog would have done in hopes of a dropped crumb or two, York decided to sniff around Mr. Stockton’s boots. She reached down and tried to brush the old hound away, but he didn’t obey her any better than Chatwyn had.
“I’m sorry for that display of childish behavior and his wanting to be in control,” she finally managed to say and hoped Mr. Stockton didn’t hear the catch in her breath. “Chatwyn is still learning his manners and, apparently, has further to go than I realized.”
“He was fine. He behaves better than some of the men I’ve sailed with.”
His words comforted her and she whispered a laugh. “I remember you saying yesterday you didn’t know much about children. That can’t be true. You certainly showed you know how to handle a rambunctious little boy. You didn’t blink an eye at his overactive behavior.”
Mr. Stockton looked thoughtful, as if he were weighing whether or not he wanted to say what had entered his mind. He must have decided against whatever it was because he looked down at York, who acknowledged him with a woof.
“What’s this fellow’s name?” he asked, and knelt on one knee to rub the foxhound’s head, behind his ears, and down the back of his thinning fur.
“I call him York, but I don’t think it matters. He doesn’t hear very well and no longer bothers to be inquisitive about most things.”
“He has a few years on him.”
“Yes,” Julia agreed softly, thinking of her fondness for the old hound. “I have no idea how many.”
“So you haven’t had him since he was a pup?”
“No, only a little over a year. I’m glad to see him moving around today. The journey from Sprogsfield this week was hard on his bones. But he’s getting up and walking better now that he’s had time to recover from being curled upon the floor of a coach for the better part of two days.”
Mr. Stockton gave her a quizzical look and rose. “Does he belong to the duke?”
As if sensing he’d gotten all the attention he was going to get, York turned away from them and slowly walked down the corridor toward the breakfast room.
“Heavens, no. I found him on a street here in London. He was so thin, dirty, and hungry, of course. I brought him home with me. Since I was a child I’ve had a fondness for old dogs. They’re so gentle and seldom seek attention like the younger ones. I only take in strays who are older and can’t take care of themselves anymore. I enjoy giving a little comfort to them in the last years of their lives—no matter how long that might be. When York is gone, I’ll find another to care for.”
Mr. Stockton’s steady gaze didn’t give away his thoughts. All resolve she had not to be tempted by the adventurer fell away from her as easily as rose oil gliding across her skin.
She didn’t know why, but she felt as if he wanted to reach over and touch her cheek, brush his thumb across her lips, and then let his fingertips trickle down her neck while kissing her softly. And she would have let him, but he made no move to do so. It was odd, but she had the feeling he wanted her to make the first move. She was tempted to do just that even though it was foolish to think about the possibility of doing such a dangerous thing. Mrs. Desford could walk past the doorway at any moment.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever met a lady quite like you before, Lady Kitson. Freeing trapped butterflies and saving old dogs. You obviously have a very tender heart.”
She did have a love for all animals and couldn’t bear to see them mistreated or neglected. “You forgot educating girls, Mr. Stockton,” she said with a hint of pride in her tone. “With the school, I’m helping improve their lives now and for their future. They will have the skills of a seamstress when they finish and will be able to take care of themselves, should they ever need to do so. I’m quite pleased about that accomplishment, too.”
He stepped in closer to her. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten that.”
“You probably have no idea why I’m so interested in the school, do you?”
“I know,” he answered softly. “I wasn’t without news of London while away. I received mail in India and Turkey. I mentioned my childhood friend who will be getting married, Wiley Calder. He and my manager, Mr. Urswick, keep in touch with me when I’m away. Whenever letters or financial papers were sent to me, newsprints and other readings from home they thought might be of interest were always included.”
Julia puffed out a soft laugh. “By other, do you perhaps mean the gossip pages and scandal sheets? Do you dare admit you read them?”
He met her teasing with all the confidence a rogue should have. “I read each one and was happy to get them. No matter how far away I was, how eager I was to see different places and experience the different customs in the world, I was always eager to receive news from England.”
“I’m sure I would be that way, too. Why do you stay away for so long each time?”
“There has never been a reason not to. Mr. Urswick is the most intelligent man I’ve ever met. He’s a genius with numbers and details. I trust him to manage the day-to-day business of my company.”
“You are fortunate to have him and such trust in what he does for you.”
Mr. Stockton nodded.
With conflicting emotions, she said, “You didn’t come over here just to tell me you went back to get the butterfly net, did you?”
“No,” he said with remarkable ease, taking a step closer to her. “I wanted to see you again.”
A delicious tingling sensation rippled through her chest and spiraled down to her abdomen. She’d wanted to see him again, too, and was glad he’d admitted it even though she couldn’t. He was a rogue with no ties and no restrictions. He could be forward. She liked that.
She didn’t need to have what he was implying spelled out for her. It was probably scandalous of her to want to know. Yet she couldn’t seem to stop the word “Why?” from slipping off her tongue.
He remained at his comfortable stance and offered, “I wanted to know if seeing you today would make me feel the same way I felt when I first saw you standing in the tree.”
Unable to bear not knowing, she asked, “What is the answer to that?”
“I do feel the same way.” His gaze was intense but his voice soft.
Her throat tightened, shortening her breaths even more. His answer led to more questions she didn’t need to ask, didn’t need to know the answer to. He admitted his attraction to her was as real as hers was to him. That should have been enough. She didn’t need to fuel the fire going on inside her, but one thought was saying, Don’t ask anything else. He is nothing but a danger to you. Show him the door. But another, stronger voice was demanding she ask him, How do I make you feel? Tell me everything you are feeling and make me yearn for your touch.
Their gazes stayed locked together. The seconds tumbled by, one after the other. Neither of them moved. There was a warm glow in his eyes that made her feel exceedingly precious, wanted and longed for.
“What did you feel when you saw me yesterday, Mr. Stockton?”
“Desire for you. I still want you in my arms. I want to feel your lips on mine. You felt the same for me, too.”
Yes, she’d felt heavenly desire for this seafaring man who had reportedly fought pirates, dueled gentlemen, and dined with monarchs around the world.
All of that made him an exciting man to think about, to wonder what his touch and kisses would be like, but that wasn’t all that drew her to him. She had no knowledge of whether those stories were true. She desired the man before her now, who understood a little boy’s eagerness to be tall and brightened Brina’s day with a few kind and simple words about a husband most had already forgotten.
Julia’s heartbeat went from slow and steady to hard and fast. She had no idea how long Mr. Stockton would be in London. It might be only a short time before he headed back to sea. If she was ever going to defy the duke’s decree she rebuff all men, Mr. Stockton was exactly the kind of man she needed to be involved with. He wouldn’t court her openly, with thoughts of marriage on his mind—something she couldn’t possibly consider. His sojourner’s way of life would never fit in with that. Their desire was mutual. Could she dare think about a safe and secret way to be with him so she could feel the strong, sure touch of his hand against her skin?
He wasn’t hurrying her for an answer, only waiting for an invitation he had to know she wanted to give. That made him even more attractive to her.
Julia wanted to ask him to meet her where they could be alone and share those kisses he spoke about. She opened her mouth to let him know she would consider a secret rendezvous with him, but then she heard Chatwyn laughing. His gleeful boyish sounds pulled at her heart.
What if she were caught and the duke found out? She couldn’t take the chance of losing her son to spend a few moments, a few hours, or a few evenings with this man, no matter how tempting he was. For now, fear of what the duke could do would continue to control her.
Julia sucked in a deep breath and walked over to the side table. She picked up Mr. Stockton’s hat and extended it toward him.
“Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Stockton.”
He gave her a long, hard look but didn’t take the hat. “I meant it when I said you could trust me, Lady Kitson.”
She believed him. Perhaps it was because of the bond she’d felt with him when he’d saved her from that wretched tree and their near fall. She sensed he’d felt it then and again now, too. Thoughts started churning in Julia’s mind.
“In that case, if you don’t mind, I do have another question for you, Mr. Stockton.”
“I am at your pleasure, Lady Kitson.”
Julia cleared her throat. “I know you haven’t been in London very long, but have you heard anything about a recent explosion in a mine? A dreadful accident where lives were lost?”
He quirked his head and gave her a questioning expression. His interest was clear.
“It’s an odd question, I know,” she hurried to add. “I thought there might have been something in the morning’s newsprint, or perhaps you heard talk in one of the clubs or—wherever you might have been last night.”
“In a mine, no.”
Julia’s spirits plummeted.
“There was a short article in The Times this morning about an explosion in Manchester about six weeks ago that brought down several buildings. More than a dozen people were killed.”
“Yes, that must have been the terrible accident I heard about,” she said. “The entire town must be in mourning. Did the article say anything more about it?”
“They discovered that one of the buildings—a gaming house—was storing barrels of gunpowder. No one knows what ignited it and there was no reason to believe it wasn’t an accident. The men who worked there and several patrons were killed in the blast. They’re still trying to locate the man who owned the building. He seems to have vanished. And no wonder, the amount of gunpowder it would have taken for such destruction should never have been stored on a busy street. Could that be what you’re referring to?”
“Yes,” she murmured softly. “That must be what he was talking about.”
“Who, Lady Kitson?”
Julia blinked. “It was a conversation I overheard. I didn’t have the details of what happened. That’s why I was asking about it. I hope they find the man who owned the building and he’s forced to help the town recover. Thank you, Mr. Stockton. What you told me has helped me tremendously. I didn’t know what kind of explosion it was. Only that it was recent and people were killed. Do you remember if the article reported the name of the company that was storing the gunpowder?”
“Eubury-Broadwell Gaming House.”
Julia suddenly felt lightheaded.
“Why don’t you tell me why this information is so important to you?”
Should she confide in him? Could she trust him to keep her secret? If she did, was there anything he could do? She couldn’t ask him to help her search the house for the documents and see to it that the duke took responsibility for the tragedy and helped the victims. Yet, because of a twist of fate, she felt an uncommon bond with the adventurer, but she didn’t know if it was wise to act on that. She wanted to accept she could trust him. Suddenly the doorknocker sounded, making her jump. No, it was best she keep this information about the duke and his hidden companies to herself for now.
“Thank you, Mr. Stockton. You’ve been very helpful.” She looked down and saw that her hands had made tight fists on the brim of his hat. “Here you go,” she said, giving it to him as Mrs. Desford came down the corridor toward them.
Julia and Mr. Stockton moved to the side of the vestibule for the housekeeper.
“If you should need me, Lady Kitson, I’m staying at the Holcott-Fortney Inn. Send me a note.”
She nodded once as Mrs. Desford opened the door. “I hope that won’t be necessary.”
He smiled at her. “I hope it will.”
A man of average height, dressed in black except for his shirt and neckcloth, stepped into the vestibule and removed his hat. He had a round, full face with large green eyes that seemed to pierce Julia. He carried a well-worn brown leather satchel. He bowed to Julia and dipped his head toward Mr. Stockton. She didn’t know why but she took an instant dislike to the man.
Mrs. Desford continued to hold the door open, no doubt expecting that Mr. Stockton was going to exit through it, but he remained by Julia’s side. He must have perceived that just the appearance of the stranger unsettled her.
“I’m Mr. Oren Pratt, here at the request of the Duke of Sprogsfield, my lady. I’m to tutor Master Chatwyn.”
“Tutor?” Julia asked anxiously as a feeling of foreboding curled inside her. “I don’t understand. For what?”
“I am to take over instructing the duke’s grandson in his lessons during the day.”
Julia stared at the man, astounded. “What do you mean? He’s just turned four. He’s too young to have such strict structure in his life, and if the duke doesn’t know that, you should.”
With an air of superiority, the man lifted his chin. “One is never too young to begin learning. The sooner he starts, the more advanced he will be. I’m to start his formal training.”
“Formal? That will begin when he goes to Eton.” She glanced at Mr. Stockton. He was intently listening to every word that was said.
Mr. Pratt reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a letter, and handed it to Julia. “This is from the duke. I assume it will explain everything to your satisfaction.”
A dizzying swell of anger replaced astonishment as she took the letter and squeezed it in her hand. Julia felt as rigid as the tutor looked. “No, Mr. Pratt. I can assure you it won’t.”
He merely smiled condescendingly and said, “I have my instructions from the duke, my lady. If you’ll introduce me to the child, I’ll begin.”
Instructions indeed! Despite the warm day, she shivered. A deep, suffocating weariness stole over her. Even in sickness the duke intended to maintain control over her and Chatwyn. This was madness. Her little boy was too active to be made to sit in a chair for hours a day. He still needed the relaxed instructions Miss Periwinkle gave him. It was unfair that the duke allowed her no say in Chatwyn’s life.
Sick or not, she should have known the duke had something up his sleeve when he agreed that she could come to London without him. This was just the duke’s way of making it clear to her she would never be free of him, never be allowed to live her own life as she chose. Who was she to think she could take on the duke and win?
Not knowing exactly what she was going to do, Julia turned stiffly toward Mrs. Desford. “Would you please show Mr. Pratt into the drawing room and have him wait for me there?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Mr. Pratt stared at Julia. For a moment, she thought he was going to take her to task or refuse to leave. But then, after a parting glance at Mr. Stockton, he turned and followed the housekeeper.
Julia tried to hide her seething anger when she gave her attention to Mr. Stockton once more. The way he studied her face intently, she knew he wanted to make sense of what was going on. She knew he wanted to help her. But what could he do about the tutor or the duke? What could he do about any of her troubles other than make them worse? If that were even possible.
“That man seems determined to do the job the duke sent him to do.”
“Yes,” she answered tightly. “For now, anyway.”
“Would you like for me to have a word with the man?”
“No, no, of course not. I will post a letter to the duke immediately and hopefully be able to clear this up quickly.”
The corners of his mouth tightened. “I think you need my help in some way, Lady Kitson, and you are afraid to ask me.”
His words stole over her like a warm shawl on a chilly night. Once again she had an overpowering need to reach out to him. He would only be in London for a short time and then be on his way to another country. Surely her secrets would be safe with him.
While she contemplated a way to respond to him, his eyes continued to search her face, encouraging her to trust him. But how could she? Mr. Pratt wouldn’t stay away just because Mr. Stockton asked him to. She was sure the duke was paying the tutor a handsome sum. In fact, he probably wasn’t just a tutor but also a spy sent to watch her every move each day.
No, as much as she would like to see Mr. Stockton again, confide in him, it was best she not be seen with the sojourner.
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Stockton, but I am fine. I must bid you good day.”