Her Proper Scoundrel by A. M. Westerling

when it’s something important.”
    She caught her breath at that. He had bought something for her he considered important. Could that mean he cared for her a little?
    The box lay across her knees. He watched her and she felt her cheeks redden. Hesitantly, she pulled off the ribbon and lifted the lid.
    “Oh,” she gasped.
    It was a cloak. The most beautiful cloak she had ever seen, of bronze felted wool and lined with what she was sure was sable.
    She lifted her head. “I cannot –.” The words died on her lips at the tender expression on his face.
    “You can, Josceline,” he whispered. “And you will.” He lifted it from the box and draped it about her shoulders. “Look in the packages.”
    Speechless, she unwrapped them all to discover a matching sable muff and bonnet, and a bolt of satin fabric the color of copper. For a matching dress, of course. Eyes brimming at his thoughtfulness, she raised her gaze to his.
    “Thank you. They’re all beautiful.”
    “Tom and Philip should be fitted by now.” His voice was brusque but he brushed her cheek with a gentle finger before turning to walk away.
    She watched his retreating back, not knowing what to think. Did he really care for her?
    Or did he mean to buy another kiss?

     
    * * *

     
    It had cost him a pretty penny but the moment Christopher had seen the cloak in the modiste’s window, he knew he had to buy it. True, the ink stain on her old cloak had not been his fault but he did feel responsible for what happened beneath his roof.
    Her reaction pleased him. She had been touched, he was certain of it. Whistling a jaunty tune, he returned to the haberdashery to find the lads looking with astonished faces at each other’s new clothing.
    “Tom, Philip, don’t you both look splendid.” They yet needed a bath but they looked a little less disreputable in the new clothing. His hopes rose. Perhaps the deception for Lady Oakland tomorrow would succeed.
    “Thank ye, sir. My brother thanks ye too,” Philip said. “Shoes. We ain’t never ‘ad shoes.” Beside him, Tom nodded energetically.
    “You are welcome,” replied Christopher. He cocked a finger. “Come.”
    Holding hands, they followed him without a word. The three left the shop and waited for a break in the traffic to cross the road to the waiting carriage.
    “‘Pon my word, Sharrington, my eyes did not deceive this morning. It was you leaving the Hospital with these motley two. Have you taken up as nursemaid, wot? And where’s the pretty piece of fluff?”   
    The familiar, hated voice grated on Christopher’s ears and he turned to see Lord Oliver Candel, tapping a brass-handled walking stick and regarding them with an insolent sneer from beneath a fashionable beaver hat.
    An impotent rage rose within Christopher and he clenched his jaw. This arrogant dandy, decked out in a red and white striped vest, yellow culottes and turquoise tailed coat, was the real reason Christopher found himself in the awkward position he was in.
    If the man had paid his debt like an honorable individual, Christopher would never have stopped the wrong carriage, leading to him engaging the services of Josceline as governess.
    And if Josceline wasn’t his governess, he would not need a boy to fill the role of his own son. Meaning he wouldn’t now be shepherding two boys who weren’t his to pull off the mad scheme. A scheme which now, thanks to the untimely meeting, could be exposed.
    At this particular moment, not even the thought of green eyes and russet hair could soothe him.
    Christopher jammed his hands into his pockets to refrain from ripping off Candel’s starched shirt frills and ramming them down his throat.

      Damn it all to Hades. What rotten luck.

 

     

     

     

     
    Chapter Nine

     
    Just a few feet more and Christopher would have had the boys safely ensconced within his carriage. He had to nip this in the bud before Candel came to any conclusions regarding the boy’s parentage.
    “Not that it