Page 14 of The Trouble with Anna

She curled her chin down and retreated into her layers of wool, presenting him with the top of her head.

Ah.A strange note echoed in Julian’s chest, fighting with the heat already there that was part anger and part something else entirely. The wet and bedraggled scrap standing before him knew how to fight, but clearly she was a stranger to kindness.

“Let’s get you home and warm, and I’ll come again tomorrow,” he offered gently. “We’ll get everything sorted, you have my word.”

Julian only meant to be reassuring, but he should have known it wouldn’t be so easy. Not with her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I don’t need your help! The only thing I need from you is toleave me alone!” Lady Anna gathered the greatcoat around her, and in a flash of boots and bare thighs, she leapt neatly up onto the nearest horse and was gone.

“Christ,” Julian swore as he stared after his ward, who was half-naked, dripping, and running away, all because of him.

He’d bungled it.

Again.

CHAPTER7

BREAKFAST HAD ALWAYS BEEN THEfavorite meal of the day for Lady Alice, the Dowager Countess Ramsay. She only liked it more as she grew older, although she had little appetite to speak of these days. Strange how time took some things away bit by bit—her sense of taste grew fainter by the day—but brought other pleasures into focus. Like the joy of sitting down at a polished table in the quiet of the morning, with the smell of her grandson’s coffee warming the room.

“What a business!” the Dowager said.

“Are you referring to the disgraceful terms of Lord Barton’s will, or has Charlotte fallen into a new scrape I should be aware of?” asked Julian.

“I’m referring to Lord Barton, of course. I’ve never heard of a scheme more likely to end in misery.”

“Ramsay is a rich prize. Others have been desperate to win it.”

The Dowager’s eyes clouded but she resisted the urge to reach for Julian’s hand. She could feel the slight tension from those wide shoulders of his, how he instantly regretted even the slightest reference to that old business. How little he’d ever wanted to talk about it, even back when he was a boy.

Men. So often they confused silence with strength.

The Dowager took a long sip of tea and got back to digging. “How do you find your new ward?”

Julian frowned. “Surprising! She won’t say a word unless she’s upset, and then she chitters like an angry mouse. Half the time she can’t look at me, and the other half she’s utterly fearless. Worst of all,Iact like an ass around her. To be honest, I can’t wait to wash my hands of the girl.” He shrugged and picked up his newspaper.

The Dowager’s eyebrows rose. “Utterly fearless sounds like an excellent quality. I suppose it’s quite out of the question for you to offer for her? No, don’t pull that face with me. You know how I yearn to see you settled.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Have you met her?”

“Not since she was very little, although I very much look forward to renewing our acquaintance. Charlotte adores her, and she’s the granddaughter of a viscount and the daughter of an earl. All in all, extremely eligible.”

“The estate comes with ten thousand pounds and Lord Barton’s racing stud, and it’s still not enough to tempt me.”

“I gather from your reaction that the girl isn’t a beauty, and I must say it makes me cross. I’ve watched many a man turn fool over a pretty face, but I never thought to count you in their number.”

“You did hear me say she can hardly string two words together?”

“Oh, so it’scharmyou’re looking for. Much more important than beauty, to be sure.”

“Gran, enough. I choose my own wife.”

More’s the pity, when I have so many useful thoughts on the subject, thought the Dowager. “It sounds as if you’re making a remarkable effort for the girl.”

Julian shot his grandmother a pointed look over the top of his paper. “Yes, because she’s my ward. I really ought to settle a dowry on her and turn her over to you for a London Season.”

If the years had taught the Dowager anything, it was when tofight and when to leave the field. She smiled serenely and retreated into her own copy of theTimes, opening the London paper crisply to her favorite section: Engagements.

All the color drained from her face.

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