Page 9 of A Stranger’s Promise

They stared at her with unblinking eyes.

The little devils. Of course, she should have known they’d resist. The tips of her ears warmed with embarrassment, but she tossed a glance over her shoulder to gauge Lord Cassilis’s reaction as the door softly clicked shut. Her jaw dropped open.

“Polite society?” she snorted under her breath. The man clearly stood in need of a governess himself.

She pulled off her gloves one finger at a time and bade the children wash their faces and hands. She’d just gotten her gloves off when a knock rattled the door. Charlotte opened the door and the footmen entered with the luggage, followed by a maid with a large tray of covered dishes. Surprisingly, this time, the children listened when Charlotte instructed them to sit at the table. Most likely, their obedience had everything to do with the food rather than her asking.

Whatever the case, in short order, they sat down at a table set with parsnip and savory roast pork pie, a dish of chestnuts, and a flavorsome boiled cod and oyster-sauce casserole. It was a silent but tasty meal. The children ate quickly and with better manners than she’d expected but, at the end of the meal, the little girl yawned, nearly falling asleep at the table.

Charlotte rose, picked up the small dish of chestnuts, and held it out to the boy. “Why don’t you teach your sister how to roast these in the fire? I’ll tidy up a bit and find your bedclothes.”

He glowered but, to her delight, snatched the dish and pulled his sister to the coals glowing in the grate.

Charlotte smiled. At least, he hadn’t refused her suggestion outright. With a sigh, she went to the children’s trunk. She unclasped the brass locks and opened the lid, only to be greeted by the rank stench of the little girl’s soiled dress. She groaned inwardly. She’d forgotten all about the thing.

A burst of giggles from the fireplace caught her attention and she glanced back. The children relaxed on their stomachs before the fire. She smiled, turned back to the dress, shook it out, and held it up for inspection. It was well-made and very new—a much more fitting dress for the daughter of an earl than the worn thing she wore now. Damnation. She couldn’t see a way around it. Lord Cassilis had a reputation to uphold. She would have to wash the dress and dry it before the fire.

A chestnut cracked and the giggles grew louder.

Charlotte set the soiled dress aside, then dug deeper in the chest in search of bedclothes. After a moment, she realized there weren’t any. She’d have to see to the children’s wardrobe at once and—

An eye-burning and acrid stench crossed her nostrils. Charlotte jumped to her feet and whirled. Thick, black smoke billowed from the grate. Her heart leapt to a gallop. She dashed to the hearth and yanked the children back, then grabbed the poker and stabbed the fire, sending a fresh surge of smoke, along with sparks, out into the room.

“Did you put something in there?” she choked out the question.

Neither child answered, but she hadn’t expected them to. Coughing, she covered her nose with her arm and poked the fire again in an effort to identify the source of the smoke. A sudden tower of flames ignited, clearing the smoke just enough to reveal the root cause.

Charlotte could only stare at Lord Cassilis’s black silk top hat going up in flames.

“Damnation!” she swore.

The boy grinned, green eyes alight.

Charlotte planted her hands on her hips. “How could you do this?” Another black cloud of smoke gusted over her. She coughed and jabbed a finger at the burning hat. “I understand you resent your father, but he is making amends now, is he not? And whatever has happened, you simply cannot burn hats in the fire willy-nilly, young man.”

The mirth died on the boy’s face. Their gazes locked in a clash of wills. Charlotte stared. Three heartbeats passed before he looked away. Still irritated, Charlotte blew hair from her face, then strode to the window and shoved it open. She faced the young miscreants once again.

“To bed, the both of you.” She cocked a censorious brow at the boy and added, “I will inform you of your punishment in the morning, young sir, and just how you will confess to your father what happened to his fine hat.”

He glared, but turned, shoulders slumped, and shuffled to the bed. He climbed beneath the blankets, his little sister scrambling in close behind him. As they burrowed beneath the covers, Charlotte returned to the window to fan more smoke out of the room. Thank heavens, they hadn’t burnt the place down. She’d been quite lucky. In the future, she’d do well to keep a much closer eye on the mischief-makers. And the hat? She didn’t relish the thought of informing Lord Cassilis she’d let his son burn his hat under her very nose. Deuce take it. How and when had the child filched the thing? Hadn’t it been on his father’s head?

When the room had sufficiently cleared and she could breathe easily once again, she closed the window all but a crack and returned to the bed to peer down at her charges. To her relief, they’d both fallen asleep. She heaved a long sigh through her nose and pulled the covers up under their chins. Poor mites—mischievous mites. Yes, she pitied them, but she couldn’t let them rule the roost. Tomorrow, she’d wring their names out of them or dub them with names of her own choosing.

She tidied the room, confident the children’s slow, deep breathing signaled they still slept, grabbed the soiled dress and slipped away in search of soap and water. It was late, the guests had already retired along with most of the help, but she found an aproned matron in the kitchen who kindly lent her a bar of lye soap and a bucket of hot water.

In short order, she had the dress scrubbed and wrung dry and started back to her room, eyes burning with exhaustion. After she hung the dress before the fire, she could hop into bed. She couldn’t wait. It had been a long, trying day. At her door, she smothered a yawn, twisted the knob, and gave the door a solid shove.

It didn’t move.

Charlotte blinked and frowned. A quick glance confirmed she did, indeed, stand in front of the correct door. She rattled the knob again.

Giggles emanated from the room. Her heart sank.

Damnation. They hadn’t been asleep, after all. They’d locked her out.

“Open the door at once,” she hissed.

Small footsteps ran to the door and for a single relieved moment, she thought they’d listen.

“Nae,” came the giggling reply, then the feet scampered away.

Well, at least the boy could talk. Why, oh, why, hadn’t she remembered to take the key? She already knew she couldn’t trust the children. Frustrated, she banged her forehead softly against the door before making up her mind. Fine. She’d have to outwit the scoundrels. She could ask the innkeeper if he had another key. But that required waking the man and making a scene—a scene that Lord Cassilis would no doubt find out about tomorrow. Surely, there had to be another way. She couldn’t let him discover his children had outfoxed her on the very first night.

An idea struck. The window. She’d left it open. Charlotte flew down the maze of passages, mentally mapping them as she went along. The inn had been built in a haphazard fashion over the years, but finally, she found a door leading outside. Carefully, she lifted the latch, then stepped out into the night.

The clouds had retreated from the sky and exposed a bright moon that provided ample illumination as she picked her way through the snow. Wind ruffled her hair. The snow had already begun to melt. Several clumps slid into the heel of her shoes. Charlotte grimaced. She detested wet feet. With her mood rapidly deteriorating, she traced her way back to her room. It took longer than expected. She’d almost given up when she found it, a window with roughly the same view and still ajar.

“You can’t defeat me, young sir,” she muttered. “So, you don’t have a name, do you? Then I’ll take care of that. I’ll think of the perfect one for you.”

She stomped to the window, pulled it open, tossed the wet dress inside, and threw a leg over the ledge. The rip of cloth, caused her to freeze and glance back. Her dress had snagged on a nail.

“Deuce take it,” she grumbled. Now she’d have to mend her dress as well. Would the night ever end? She reached back and carefully lifted her dress free.

The next moment, a pair of strong hands grabbed her about the waist and yanked her inside. She landed against a broad, well-defined, and very bare chest. She opened her mouth, but the scream died on her lips as a shaft of moonlight fell upon her assailant. Charlotte recognized the sensual jawline, and lifted her gaze to the green eyes that stared down at her.

Lord Alistair Cassilis.