Texas Viscount by Shirl Henke Page A

she's been far too well apprised of the herculean efforts civilizing you will require. If I had the slightest notion you'd end up dumping her in the fountain—”
           “She did a hell of a lot more damage to me than I did to her,” Josh shot back, pointing to the fresher of his two black eyes and the lump on his head. “And she wasn't the only one who ended up in the fountain.”
           Hambleton rubbed his hands together and chuckled with self-congratulation. “The gel's half your size, boy. If she continues to hold her own this well, I cannot imagine anyone better suited for the job. It would appear I've made the perfect choice.” Yes, the perfect choice indeed!
           “Do they grow loco weed in London?” Josh asked in exasperation. “A female like that one is the worst choice on God's green earth for me. Anyways, she'd sooner eat a bucket of worms and turn up her toes than lay eyes on me again,” he said glumly.
           The earl's silver eyebrows rose as he studied his young nephew. “Then we shall both have to see to it that she changes her mind, shan't we?”
     
    * * * *
     
           The ballroom was crowded, filled with ladies in brilliantly colored silks and bedecked with jewels that sparkled in every color of the rainbow, reflecting from the Duke of Chitchester's massive crystal chandelier overhead. Music and laughter wafted gaily on the warm autumn air as Sabrina inspected her charge behind the cover of a large potted fern in one corner of the ballroom.
           “Now remember, Miss Forsythe, you are to dance no more than twice with Mr. Chalmers, no matter how he importunes you,” she instructed firmly as she tucked an errant curl back into place and wiped a trickle of perspiration from one plump cheek. With soft brown hair and wide gray eyes, Esther Forsythe could be a pretty girl...if she would forsake bonbons and clotted cream long enough to shed twenty pounds of baby fat. But all the subtle hints and suggestions about ladylike portions had fallen on deaf ears so far.
           “But I like Mr. Chalmers. His father is a marquess,” Esther replied petulantly, sticking her lower lip out, another thing Sabrina had attempted in vain to change.
           “His father is indeed a marquess, but he is the youngest of four sons and will never inherit. If you wish to enter the peerage, you must cast your sights on a first son.” Heavens above, this child was as dense as iron. But, used to dealing with stupidity as well as spoiled tantrums, Sabrina kept her voice low and smooth as she adjusted the bow on Esther's shoulder.
           “Is it one-two-three for the waltz?” Esther asked nervously.
           Sabrina could see the girl mentally picturing each step in her mind. Esther had an unfortunate tendency to lose count and tromp on her partner's feet with distressing frequency. It was fortunate that her father was one of the wealthiest merchants in England, else she'd have men fleeing from her. All Sabrina had to do was see that she did not fall prey to a fortune hunter who would abuse the poor child.
           “Do not count. Just follow your partner's lead and you shall do splendidly,” she replied, giving Esther a winsome smile. “Now, here's your dance card. I believe Mr. Sheffield has the first dance.” Sabrina pointed her in the right direction and the girl entered the fray, clutching the card like a medieval knight would clutch his shield in battle.
           When the gentleman in question bowed and led her into the waltz, Sabrina stood watching with a pleased smile from her place of concealment. Mrs. Forsythe had fallen victim to one of her migraines tonight and requested that Sabrina see her daughter through the evening. She needed the extra money this night's work would bring, and so far all was going well.
           Until a familiar voice behind her said, “So you really are a teacher. Got your work cut out for you with