Frovtunes’ Kiss Read online

  She stared down at the blank page while tapping the end of her pen to her lip. She didn’t like lying, especially to her mother, but what other choice? Besides, accompanying the missive would be the wages she earned as a maid. She hoped even that small amount might bring cheer to her mother’s comfortless cottage, perhaps a small treat or two. Reaching across to the end table, she dabbed the brass nub of her pen into the ink.

  Her pillow shifted beneath her, and her effort to catch her balance resulted in a gleaming black splatter across the edge of her pillowcase. Oh, rotten luck, the case happened to be part of the Alençon lace-edged linen set her mother had purchased in Paris several years ago.

  Perhaps Mrs. Higgensworth knew a handy recipe for ink stains. In the meantime, the occasion called for a fresh case. After sliding the pillow free, she swung her dressing gown over her nightgown and padded barefoot from her room.

  The doorknob of the linen chamber wouldn’t budge. Locked? She tried again. How odd. As if there were treasure rather than towels and bedclothes inside. She glanced up and down the empty corridor. As she stood contemplating the puzzle of the locked door, a thunking echoed from the back staircase that led from the attic rooms to the ground floor.

  Moira hurried along the carpeted hall, and stepped over a threshold onto the bare floorboards of the service stairwell. A maid descended to the landing, her mouth gaping in a hearty yawn as she reached around to tie the trailing ends of her apron.

  “Excuse me,” Moira said.

  The woman came to a halt, one hand absently tucking a curl into her frilled mobcap. She bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning, ma’am. May I be of service?”

  “Yes. Sorry to bother you.” Moira stopped, realizing she’d never uttered those words to a servant before. She felt a little silly for it, and noticed the maid eyeing her with a mildly amused expression. Did the girl recognize her as the newest and briefest member of the household staff? “I’ve just been to the linen chamber to discover the door locked,” she explained. “Do you have the key?”

  “Why, no, ma’am. Only Miss Foster has the key.”

  “Oh. It’s never been locked before.”

  “Miss Foster’s orders, ma’am.” The maid gave an apologetic nod. “As of yesterday. The tea service and silverware cupboards, as well.”

  “And why in deuced hell would that be?”

  Moira spun about to find Graham looming behind her. The sight of him produced prickles of self-consciousness. In the dusk of the service hall, even with the maid present, there seemed something far too intimate about standing before him in her dressing gown and bare feet. Moira felt…chilly and exposed and rather regretful she hadn’t considered this possibility before leaving her room.

  He, on the other hand, looked elegant and entirely at ease in wheat-colored trousers tucked into glossy boots, and a stark white shirt that brought out the lingering traces of Egyptian sunshine on his face and throat. For several foolish moments, she stared, caught like a butterfly in a sunbeam, captured by the beauty, the sheer, simple magnificence of the man in shirtsleeves who filled the doorway and dwarfed his surroundings.

  She was so taken by him that she didn’t at first notice how intensely he returned her gaze. Then a single dimple winked at her. How did he do that? She blinked and looked away.

  Moira Hughes, remember yourself.

  “G-good morning, your lordship.” The maid dipped an unsteady curtsy and caught the banister for balance. “I don’t know why the cupboards have been locked. I-I only know what I’ve been told, milord.”

  Graham’s gaze lingered on the woman. “Of course. I’ll inquire with Mrs. Higgensworth. That will be all.”

  The young woman made another stiff curtsy in preparation of continuing down the stairs, but Graham stopped her. “What is your name?”

  Her face filled with alarm. “A-Anne, milord.” Her eyes began to glisten, her chin to tremble. “I’m sorry, milord, I—”

  “It’s all right, Anne. You aren’t in any trouble. You’re part of my staff, and I only wished to know your name.” He offered a benevolent smile that made Moira-the-former-maid’s heart leap with gratitude. “Keep up the good work.”

  “Yes, milord. Thank you, milord.” Anne scurried away, raising a clattering echo down the steps.

  “Come with me.” Taking Moira’s hand, Graham drew her down the hall and around a corner to his sister’s room. He rapped his knuckles against the door. “Letty Foster, I wish to speak with you this instant.”

  A noticeable moment passed before they heard a light scuffle of footsteps inside. The door cracked open little more than an inch. “Yes, Monteith? Why ever are you kicking up such a clamor at this uncivilized hour?”

  “Open the door and come out here, Letty.” Between gritted teeth he added, “Now.”

  “Oh…all right.” She stepped into the hall wearing a pretty morning gown of sunny lawn sprinkled with a green leaf pattern. Short puffed sleeves brought grace to her long, lean arms.

  Graham glared down at her. “I’m interested in knowing, Letty, why we are suddenly locking doors in this house that have never been locked before.”

  Letitia sniffed, bit her bottom lip, and looked so nonplussed Moira experienced ripples of embarrassment on her behalf. It was like the other night at supper all over again. Moira tried to catch Graham’s gaze and issue an unspoken admonishment to be kind, but he seemed not to notice.

  “Well?” The word was a growl. “I’m waiting.”

  Letitia summoned her courage with an up-tilt of her chin. “It seemed prudent.”

  “Prudent?” His retort made both Letitia and Moira jump.

  “Y-yes. There are strangers about.” Moira supposed Letitia didn’t quite intend to level such an accusing gaze on her. The girl shrugged. “One can’t be too careful nowadays.”

  Graham thrust his face close to his sister’s. “Is Mother privy to this? Or did you conceive of it all on your own?”

  “Mother knows,” she murmured and eased away a step.

  “The keys.” Graham held out his hand. “All of them.”

  After the briefest hesitation, Letitia spun about, stalked to her dressing table, and returned holding a ring of keys of various shapes and sizes. A disgruntled sigh escaped her as she dropped them into her brother’s hand.

  He passed the keys to Moira. “I believe you needed something in the linen room. Feel free to help yourself to anything else you desire, even if it might happen to be a handful of silverware.”

  His sister flamed scarlet from neck to hairline. Hefting fistfuls of skirt, she whirled to trounce back into her room.

  “Stop right there, young miss. You and I are going to talk. Moira, will you please excuse us?”

  Despite Letitia’s less-than-generous disposition, Moira didn’t favor abandoning her to her brother’s unpredictable temper. Not with that stormy look on his face and that craggy ridge above his perfectly chiseled nose.

  “Graham, please…I only wanted a pillowcase.”

  “And now you shall have it.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Too late. He took possession of his sister’s elbow and marched her across the gallery to his suite of rooms. Moira knew what a persuasive bully he could be. Poor Letitia. Moira would say a little prayer for her.

  “Letty Foster, have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “You have been keeping your study door locked,” she countercharged.

  “That was to reserve one room in this house other than my bedchamber as completely mine. Besides, this is my house, Letty, not yours. I decide if rooms are to be locked or not.”

  Despite her brave scowl, Letty’s shoulders slumped. “I’m merely looking after your interests.”

  “My interests?” Graham took a stride toward her, his voice soaring several notches. “After the kind of debts you and Mother ran up in my absence?”

  “I should think that would be different. We are your family, though you seem hard put to act the concerned brother. Meanwhile you bring
complete strangers into the house…”

  “Moira Hughes is hardly a stranger. This was her home before it became ours.”

  “Precisely!“ Her finger shot into the air. “All the more reason for caution. How do we know she won’t try to reclaim what she’s lost?”

  “Ah, Letty.” Sadness dragged at his anger as he wondered, not for the first time, where his high-spirited, charming little sister had gone. “Letty, Letty. I don’t think I’ve ever been more disappointed in anyone than at this moment. Moira’s situation should raise your compassion, not your disdain.”

  She sniffed. “What about that acquaintance of yours? The one who seems to have nowhere else to go?”

  “Shaun? What about him?”

  “Exactly who is he?” Her chin poked forward. “Who are his family? You say you met him in Egypt. What do you really know about him? Why, he could be a vagabond, a criminal—”

  “Now you listen here.” He paused for a breath and to calm an urge which would yield regrettable results. “Shaun Paddington is one of the truest souls I’ve ever had the privilege to call friend, and if you so much as whisper an unkind word about him again, I’ll…shake you till your teeth rattle.”

  “Oh! You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me.” He stepped closer, towering over her. The next thing he knew, tears spouted from her eyes.

  A knock sounded at the door, opening an instant later upon their mother’s startled face. “What on earth is going on in here? I heard shouting. Heavens, Letitia, are you crying?”

  “He threatened me, Mama.”

  Graham massaged a throbbing temple. “What do you know about locking doors against our guests, Mother?”

  Augusta’s gaze flicked back and forth between them. “Locking the cupboards is just a precaution, dear. It’s certainly no reason to browbeat your sister.”

  “He said he’d rattle my teeth.”

  “Oh, my darling girl.” Her arms opened, and Letty scurried into them. “Monteith, what were you thinking?”

  “I’m wondering the same about the two of you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to be doing this. No, he’d much rather be back in the servants’ staircase, admiring how Moira’s satin dressing gown hugged her luscious curves.

  He sighed. “There are going to be changes around here, and if you both wish to remain in this household, you had better accept those changes as ironclad and nonnegotiable.”

  The women traded wounded expressions. Augusta dabbed at Letty’s tears with an embroidered handkerchief. “I see life in the desert has made you despotic and insufferable, Monteith.”

  Yes, and how they must desire his return to Egypt, so they might cheerfully continue bankrupting the estate.

  Suddenly feeling the need for an ally, he strode to a table by the window, opened Isis’s crate, and scooped her into his palm. Then he went to the door, closed it, and took up position in front of it. “Now, then.” He cleared his throat to reclaim his mother’s and Letty’s attention.

  “Good heavens.” Augusta’s lips turned white. Her finger pointed in Isis’s direction. “Letitia, is that the monster you spoke of?”

  “Indeed, it is, Mama.” Letty averted her gaze. “Hideous, isn’t it? Monteith claims it’s harmless, but look at it. Ugh!”

  “Monteith, what is the meaning of this?” Augusta’s eyes flashed outrage. “Step away from the door and let us pass.”

  “You may walk around me if you wish, Mother.” He smiled. “But Isis and I would much prefer you stay until we’ve all reached an understanding.”

  “Beastly thing. And in this instance I don’t mean your spider. Come, Letitia, let’s be gone.” She touched Letty’s shoulder, giving her a little push. “You first, dear.”

  “No, Mama.” Letty’s upper lip curled as she regarded Isis. “I’m suddenly interested to hear what Monteith has to say.”

  Shaun glanced up and down the gallery. Upon confirming that he was its sole occupant, he pressed his ear to the door of Graham’s suite.

  He’d heard voices—Graham’s, Miss Hughes’s, and lovely Letty’s—all the way from inside his own room. He hadn’t liked the sound of those voices, particularly not Graham’s and particularly not the way he addressed his sister. As if Letty Foster were some inconsequential wench to be taken to task.

  He didn’t hear Miss Hughes now. No, she must have gone back to her room.

  Miss Hughes was top-notch in Shaun’s estimate. No grudges, no axes to grind, just determined to recover what belonged to her and her mother. And who could blame her? Hunting riches was, after all, what he and Graham did, and they employed far more questionable means than Miss Hughes, no mistake about it. No, he couldn’t begrudge Miss Hughes her current goal, even if she did chafe Letty’s patience at times.

  Though presently absent, Miss Hughes nonetheless fueled the debate taking place on the other side of the door. He held his breath and listened.

  “What is she after? The fortune is yours, Monteith, and she has no right to any of it.”

  Not entirely fair to Miss Hughes, Shaun reflected, but Letty could hardly be faulted. After all, her own father’s fortune had been whittled away by creditors shortly after his death, leaving the family on the brink of beggary until Graham was able to send money home.

  “Your responsibility,” their mother said after Graham grumbled some reply Shaun couldn’t make out, “is to marry and produce heirs, not to support distant relatives who wish to impose upon our generosity.”

  “Our generosity?” Graham’s voice became razor sharp. He then launched into a diatribe on the extent to which they had imposed on his generosity and how things were going to change.

  In Shaun’s opinion, his friend was being too hard on the ladies. If only Shaun could think of a graceful way to intervene, to get inside that room. With a look, he would quiet Graham and remind him of a proper gentleman’s behavior. After so many years braving the Egyptian deserts and dangers, a man did tend to forget the more genteel side of life.

  Without warning the door opened. Shaun pitched forward. Tumbling across the threshold, he sprawled without the slightest scrap of dignity at Graham’s feet.

  “Blazing hell, Shaun.” His friend half-laughed, half-scowled down at him. “What the devil are you doing?”

  Shaun negotiated his hands and knees beneath him—oh, the ignominy—and lifted a mortified gaze to his astonished audience. He attempted to grin. “Ju came to inquire if anyone else was going down to breakfast.”

  It was at that moment he noticed Letty’s face. The tears; the mottled cheeks; the swollen, reddened nose. Sweet Amon-Ra, her vulnerability only made her more beautiful. More haunting. Shaun’s chest constricted. Her eyes flickered as she caught him watching her. Tucking her chin, she sniffed and turned away.

  Great Seti’s tomb. An inferno roared through him. Graham had made Letty cry. The sight of those tears upon that tender face fanned a fury Shaun didn’t know existed inside him, a conflagration that virtually propelled him to his feet, curled his fist, established his aim on his best friend’s face, and spurred him forward.

  Graham watched Shaun’s fist sail through the air, heading squarely for him. The act so thoroughly flummoxed him he didn’t think to duck or parry the blow. Shaun Paddington was going to clout him? In the face?

  Had the earth stopped spinning, as well?

  At the last moment, so close Graham felt the breeze of the swing, Shaun’s fist opened. The flat of his palm thwacked the side of Graham’s head, narrowly missing his ear. The blow stunned, though more from astonishment than from any resulting pain. When it was done, Shaun stood before him wide-eyed and unmoving, as if frozen in disbelief.

  “Well,” Augusta said on a little puff of breath. “I can’t say that wasn’t deserved.”

  Her words seemed to shake Shaun out of his stupor. “Graham, old boy, did I hurt you?”

  His hand went to his head. “A little, actually.”

  “You don’t say.” Shaun broke into a rueful grin
.

  Graham darted a glance to Isis, sitting serenely on his sleeve as if the disturbance hadn’t occurred. She lifted several legs and set them down gingerly again. He regarded Shaun. “Why the blazing hell did you do it?”

  Shaun’s amusement faded. “I, ah…”

  His expression sheepish, his gaze skittered over each of the room’s occupants in turn: Graham, Letty, his mother…then Letty again. Shaun’s attention rested on her for the length of a heartbeat, then another. A sentiment flared in his eyes, fierce, brilliant, but so brief Graham almost might have missed it. Letty surely did, for she stared quizzically back, eyebrows converging and tears suspended, her expression now simply one of expectation as she waited for Shaun to explain.

  His shoulders squared, and his chin came up. “What kind of gentleman makes his dear sister cry? Graham Foster, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

  Should he? Letty had been deserving of a thorough set-down since the day he arrived home, probably long before that. She was a conniver and intolerably spoiled. Even now, Graham knew all her tears amounted to so much folderol. What next? An attack of vapors? Besides, would Shaun be as swift to play the gallant if he knew Letty’s complaints were leveled as much on him as on Moira?

  But, by God, Shaun wanted Letty. Graham had suspected before but had dismissed the notion as passing fancy. Good old stouthearted Shaun…and Letty. Who could have guessed? The notion raised Graham’s ire all over again for his friend’s sake, and he silently swore Shaun would never learn of Letty’s sentiments, leastwise not from him.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded and tipped the ladies a smooth bow. “Forgive me if I seemed overly harsh. However, you know my mind.”

  Isis chose that moment to scoot across his shirtfront. His mother gasped and muttered something incoherent. Letty stifled a squeak.

  “Miss Foster.” Shaun stepped forward, the crook of his arm extended. “May I escort you to breakfast?”

  She regarded him down the length of her reddened nose. Graham held his breath.

  Don’t you dare snub him, Letty Foster, or it will be your last mean-spirited act in this house.