As she went to climb in, a footman reached out to aid her, but James waved him away so he could help her himself. She glared at his extended hand, then hoisted herself in without a.s.sistance. He shook his head, intrigued by her spirit. She annoyed and enchanted him in equal measure.

He climbed in behind her, sitting on the opposite seat so he could study her expressive face as they chatted.

Shortly, the driver cracked the whip, and they were off. Miss Stewart stared out the window, ignoring him, which he would never allow.

"I like to see you with your hair down," he said.

"I'm so relieved to hear it." She oozed sarcasm.

"While you work for me, I don't want you to pin it up."

She scowled. "You hired me to be a companion for your ward. I can hardly go about looking like a strumpet."

"It's my house, Miss Stewart, so you'll follow my rules."

"You're a tyrant."

"Yes."

"Aren't I lucky to have crossed paths with you?"

"Your hair I like," he repeated, "but your dress, I hate."

"I don't care."

"The color washes out your skin. It makes you appear pallid and sickly."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"When you're around me, you are never to wear gray. I'm afraid I have to insist."

"Will you?" She wrenched her eyes from the pa.s.sing scenery, her furious gaze locked on his own. "For your information, I have precisely two gowns. They are both gray."

"I figured as much. I'll have my clerk arrange a fitting for you. I'll buy you some new ones."

"I will not have you buying me clothes as if I was some sort of...of..."

"Kept woman?" he unhelpfully supplied.

"Exactly."

They rode in silence again, and he watched her, as a cat watches a mouse.

Finally, she couldn't stand it, and she inquired, "Is there some reason you've decided to torment me?"

"What do you mean?"

"At this very moment, there are thousands of females in the city who would jump at the chance to work for you. Within the hour, Mrs. Ford could show you a hundred other, more suitable candidates. I'd rather suffer a trip to the barber to have a tooth pulled than do this, yet you force me into it. Why?"

"Because you told me no."

"And that's it?"

"Yes. I loathe it when people refuse me."

"So if I'd been fawning and had begged you for a job, you'd have sent me packing?"

"Most likely."

"I'll remember that in our future dealings."

"As long as you let me have my way, you'll find I'm extremely amenable."

She huffed out an aggravated breath. "I don't like you."

"I'll grow on you."

"I doubt it."

He chuckled. "How old are you?"

"Twenty. Why?"

"I'm curious where you come by all this sa.s.s and vigor. It exhausts me."

"I come by it from having dealt with others who are just like you. I lost my patience for nonsense years ago."

"You talk as if you're a decrepit, elderly matron."

"Occasionally, I feel as if I am."

He wondered about her again, about her past and her family. Obviously, someone had paid to have her educated. She was refined in her speech and habits, in her grooming and deportment, yet she was poverty-stricken and a mere step away from living on the streets.

Somewhere along the way, catastrophe must have befallen her. What had it been? Why was she all alone?

His interest in her was astonishing. He never fretted over the commoners he met. He had his own difficulties that required his full attention, but Miss Stewart had captured his fancy.

Tristan's wedding to Miranda was scheduled for the last week of September, which was four months away, so Miss Stewart would be with him through the summer. The notion was refreshing and stimulating.

"You'll be glad to work for me, Miss Stewart," he claimed. "In the end, you'll be glad I pressured you into it."

"Miss Wilson hates me."

"What makes you say so?"

"I spoke with her yesterday"-this was news Miranda had failed to mention-"and she was quite clear. She neither wants nor needs a companion, and if you insist on providing her with one, she doesn't want it to be me. Her antipathy was tremendously apparent, and I don't understand why you'd foist me off on her. Why torture me like this?"

"As you said: I'm a tyrant. I relish cruelty. In fact, I live for it."

She snorted. "Would you be serious?"

"All right, I will be. Miranda is eighteen, and she's marrying my brother in the fall. She's come to town while he is away, but I don't have the time or energy to entertain her."

"Send her home, and your problem will be solved."

"She informs me that she must make wedding plans and shop for her trousseau. I can hardly deny her the opportunity."

"Am I to a.s.sist her with her wedding preparations, too?"

She seemed pained, as if he'd strapped her to the rack and twisted the screws.

"Yes."

"Lucky me." She glanced down at her hands, her slender fingers clasping at the fabric of her skirt. "Don't do this to me," she softly implored. "Don't put me through this ordeal. Please?"

She peeked up, her vibrant green eyes beseeching, and though it was very strange, he suffered the most strident wave of affection for her. She looked young and earnest and vulnerable, and just then, had he been kinder or more considerate, he might have done anything for her.

The sudden burst of compa.s.sion shocked him.

He never attached himself to women, never bonded or agonized over their plights. While they were always eager to form an alliance with him, he never reciprocated the sentiment. His mother's behavior had seen to that.

When he was a boy, his mother had been seduced by Charles Sinclair, Lord Trent. Though she'd been a countess and married to James's father, though she'd had two sons who'd needed her, she'd been swept away by the infamous rogue.

She had fled to Paris with Trent, had consorted openly with him and even given birth to Trent's b.a.s.t.a.r.d son. But eventually, Trent had left her there, pregnant and broke and alone. She'd died, still loving Trent, still foolishly praying for him to come back to her.

Her shameful saga had ripped James's life apart. Soon after she'd sneaked away, his father had begun to gambol as if he had no responsibilities either. James and Tristan had been like a pair of orphans, shuttled from school to school until there was no money to pay their tuition and no further credit to be extended.

Through all the years of penury and neglect, James had stupidly waited for his mother to realize she'd erred and return, but she never had, and her callous conduct had taught him an important lesson: Women couldn't be trusted.

In the lofty circles where he roamed, observing the antics of the wives and daughters of his acquaintances, his low opinion had been validated over and over. So why did Miss Stewart incite a different reaction?

He had no idea.

The coach rattled to a halt in front of his town house, and the footmen occupied themselves with their arrival.

"Don't worry so much," he told her. "It will be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to endure Miss Wilson's disdain."

"Miranda will be civil to you. If she's not, come to me at once."

"And ask you to do what? Spank her? Scold her?"

It was a legitimate question. What would he do? And why did he care one way or the other? He had a competent staff so he could spend as little time as necessary fussing over the running of his household. If Miranda was impolite to Miss Stewart, why bother over it?

He flashed one of his lazy smiles. "How about if I swear to beat her, then lock her in a closet?"

Her derision was undeniable. "This is a recipe for disaster."

"It won't be. I promise."

She scrutinized him, her mind busy with arguments she could never win. Ultimately, she capitulated, as he'd known she would.

"There can't be any gambling," she said.

"In my home? Or anywhere?"

"In your home. If I find out that you're having gaming parties, I won't stay. It's vital that I maintain a stellar reputation. I won't have it destroyed by you."

"Are we haggling over employment terms?"

"No. I'm merely stating my conditions for remaining: no gambling and no loose women. For my sake-and for Miss Wilson's-I must insist."

"No women or gaming," he pretended to muse. "Anything else?"

"That should cover it. For now. After I've gotten to know you better, I'm sure I'll stumble on other bad habits of which I'll disapprove."

"You're determined to spoil all my fun."

"I'm determined to labor in a decent environment where I don't have to be mistaken for a harlot by any of your seedy friends."

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Stewart, but I give up. You will toil away in a domicile as dull as a Puritan's."

"Thank you."

He was more humored than ever by her, aware that-despite what he'd vowed-he would behave exactly as he pleased. If she caught him in a scandalous situation and tried to sneak to Mrs. Ford, he'd simply fetch her back, and he'd keep on fetching her until she understood that she couldn't defy him.

He stared at her, and though a footman had yanked open the door, neither of them moved. They sat, transfixed, as the most thrilling surge of recognition flowed between them. It was physical attraction, but fondness too, and some other emotion he couldn't quite identify.

He felt as if he'd always known her, as if he'd been charged with protecting her. The sensation was bizarre and unnerving, and he was relieved when she was the one to break the contact.

She climbed out, and he followed, hating to admit that he was fl.u.s.tered by the encounter.

Why would he be?

She was a twenty-year-old dest.i.tute female. She would work for him for a few months as any other servant might do. He would rarely see her. They would rarely interact.

But as she marched up the steps and bustled into his foyer, the moment seemed normal and expected, and he experienced the most peculiar rush of happiness, convinced that she'd finally arrived right where she belonged.

CHAPTER THREE.

"When I want your opinion, Miss Stewart, I'll ask for it."