Rules for Reforming a Rake(3)
“I certainly hope not,” Gabriel muttered, brushing the tightly coiled gold curls off the boy’s moist brow. “Ah, there’s a good lad. Feeling better now?”
The boy responded with a tiny nod.
Quite pleased with himself and the efficiency with which he’d restored order, Gabriel turned back to the Farthingale house as the young woman burst through the gate, followed by a small army of children in varying states of disarray. She paused but a moment to order her squealing troops “Back inside!” and to Gabriel’s surprise, they promptly complied.
The young woman then turned toward him, her black hair half done up in a bun and the rest of it falling in a shambles about her slender shoulders. “Thank you! Thank you! You saved Harry’s life! We’re so grateful.”
He frowned down at the seemingly appreciative girl. She was young and slight, barely reaching his shoulders. She took no notice of his displeasure, and instead smiled up at him, her eyes glistening as if holding back unshed tears.
Still smiling, she turned to the boy. “You gave me a terrible scare, you little muffin. I’m so glad you’re unharmed.”
Gabriel thought to chide her, but the girl chose that moment to smile at him again, and the words simply refused to flow from his mouth. Well, she did have an incredible smile. The sort that touched one’s heart—if one had a heart—which he didn’t, having lost it sometime during the war.
Her eyes were bluer than the sky.
His frown faded.
She shook her head and let out the softest sigh. “You’re so wonderful with him. Do you have children of your own?”
“You ought to be more careful with your young charge,” Gabriel said, clearing his throat and speaking to her with purposeful severity. The girl’s attributes, no matter how heavenly, did not excuse her lapse in duty.
“Oh, Harry’s not my charge... well, he is in a way. You see, he’s my cousin. And the nannies have all quit our household, so I’m left all alone with the seven children until my family returns.” She wiped a stray lock off her brow, then put her arms forward to show him her rolled up sleeves. “I was trying to bathe the littlest ones.”
He noticed that her finely made gown was wet in several spots. “It seems they bathed you.”
“What? Oh, yes. They did give me a thorough soaking.” She laughed gently while shaking her head in obvious exasperation. “Harry was the last, but now I’ll have to bathe him all over again.”
“Don’t let me delay you.” He attempted to hand the squirming bundle back to her, but before he could manage it, Harry decided to leave him a remembrance.
What was the expression? No good deed ever goes unpunished? Gabriel watched in horror as an arc of liquid shot from the naked imp onto his shirt front, planting a disgustingly warm, yellow stain on the once immaculate white lawn fabric.
He didn’t know whether to laugh or rage. He’d been undone. Brought to his knees by an infant and an incompetent guardian.
“Oh, dear,” the girl said, closing her eyes and groaning. “I’m so sorry. So very, very sorry.”
So was he. He ought to have listened to Ian, but not because the Farthingale women were dangerous. It seemed all Farthingales were dangerous. Young. Old. Male. Female.
The family and their servants were to be avoided at all costs.
“We’ll pay for the damage, of course,” she continued in obvious distress, her eyes remaining firmly closed, as if not seeing the damage would somehow make it go away. “We’ll replace whatever needs... er, replacing. Please have your tailor send the bill to Miss Daisy Farthingale. I’ll make certain it is paid at once.”
Gabriel’s heart stopped beating. Yes, it definitely stopped. And then it began to beat very fast.
“You’re Daisy?” he mumbled, his tongue suddenly as numb as the rest of his body. Not that he cared who she was, or what Ian had warned. He wasn’t afraid of any female, certainly not this incompetent slip of a girl.
She opened her eyes and graced him with a gentle, doe-eyed gaze. “I am.”
Very well, Ian was right. She was a force to be reckoned with, but so would any woman be with glistening blue eyes, pink cheeks, and cream-silk skin.
“Sir, may I be so bold as to ask who you are?”
“I’m late, that’s what I am.” He plunked Harry in her arms and hastened to his grandmother’s house.
CHAPTER 2
A lady must be witty and clever, for a rake is always enticed by good conversation.
DAISY STOOD at the front door of Lady Eloise Dayne’s elegant townhouse, tightly gripping the shirt in her hand. The massive carved oak door swung open and Lady Dayne’s gray-haired butler stepped forward. “Miss Daisy?”