This was even worse than he’d thought.
Neil crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat just loud enough for the boys in the outer circle to hear him. One or two turned around, and eyes growing large as plates, they tapped the shoulders of their neighbors. Neil watched awareness ripple through the circle, and within seconds, the boys parted, leaving the two combatants and Lady Juliana exposed. Those three were so occupied they did not see him. The two boys—about eight years of age, if he judged correctly—swung at each other and tried to skirt around Lady Juliana. For her part, she ordered them to Cease this instant and Do behave while she danced between them and kept them apart.
He shouldn’t have wanted to laugh. He never laughed anymore, and this situation was particularly unamusing because he had a feeling that the more trouble Lady Juliana faced with these lads, the more determined she would be to reform them. On the other hand, perhaps after this experience, she would have seen the futility of reform and would welcome being saved. That cheerful thought gave him pause to appreciate how utterly ridiculous—and, truth be told, adorable—she looked. She couldn’t have been more than an inch or two over five feet and the curves her efforts exposed above the high waist of the voluminous gown were nicely rounded. Her coppery-red hair fell about her shoulders and her large, brown eyes flashed anger while the pale skin that often accompanied that red shade of hair was tinged pink with exertion.
With all the flour and dirt streaking her cheeks and arms, her wrinkled gown, and her hair flying in every direction, she should have looked as though she ought to be a resident of the orphanage. Instead, she brought to mind the image of a woman rising from rumpled sheets, skin pink from exertion—and pleasure.
He had heard his half brothers mention her name a time or two over the years. Lady Juliana was considered a beauty and had a dowry large enough to tempt one or two of them to court her, though it appeared no one had tempted her into marriage. Either that or her suitors had run screaming from the room at one flash of fire from her eyes. She did have expressive eyes. But he wasn’t cowed, and unfortunately, neither were her charges.
Neil straightened his shoulders and marched forward to do what he’d come to do—save the day.
Standing before the threesome, he cleared his throat again. This time the three pairs of eyes darted to his face. Lady Juliana’s gaze locked on his in horror, but the two boys were too enraged to take much note of him. Instead, they took advantage of the lady’s momentary lapse of attention and tore at each other like rabid dogs.
With a screech, the lady jumped back and out of the way. And then, instead of doing what she ought and scampering to safety, she jumped between the two boys.
Neil was so completely surprised that he didn’t move for a full three seconds. In that time, she almost parted the boys, but her skirts tangled about her feet and she ended up on her bottom.
“What the devil is going on?” Neil bellowed. “You, over there. You, on that side!” His temper began to simmer, and he pushed it back down, reminding himself these were children. He reminded himself as well that he’d sworn after that bloody day in Portugal he would never lose control again. Like a fist closing, he reined his emotions in and stepped forward. The two combatants scattered, and Neil held out a hand to Lady Juliana.
She brushed it away.
Confused, Neil continued to extend it, but she didn’t take it. Instead, he stared in astonishment as she climbed to her feet unassisted. Then she pushed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him. She’d probably been glaring at him for several moments, but he hadn’t been able to see for the profusion of coppery hair. “You.”
The one word was full of seething anger and condemnation.
What the devil was wrong with the woman? Perhaps she’d misunderstood. “I would have helped you to your feet, my lady,” he said.
“Oh, I think you’ve helped quite enough for one day,” she answered, her jaw clenched and her lips barely moving.
He stared at her and pointed a finger at his chest as if to ask whether she was referring to him.
She gestured to the pugilists. “I had the situation under control.”
He let out a huff of laughter. She was obviously deluded. “Is that what you call it?”
She looked as though she had a ready retort on her lips, but he was saved from the tongue-lashing when one of the boys who had been fighting jumped forward. “Forgive me, my lady. I didn’t mean to make you fall.”
“Me either,” the other one said, head hanging in a very good imitation of one shamed by his actions.
She gave the boys narrowed looks. “This wouldn’t have happened if you had not been fighting. How many times have I told you fighting is not allowed?”
One of the boys with dark hair and freckles waved his hand and jumped up and down eagerly. “Ooh! I know! I know!”
She turned and sighed. “Michael?”
“One hundred and twelve times, Lady Juliana. I’ve been counting, I have!”
“I know you have, Michael. Your counting skills are quite extraordinary.” She looked back at the combatants. “You would think after”—a glance at Michael—“112 reminders you would know the rule by now.”
“I do, Lady Juliana, but he took my cards.” This from what Neil had come to consider the older combatant, as he was taller and had a shaggy mane of brown hair.
The other, a bit shorter with curly, blond hair and a chubby face, which grew redder at the accusation, clenched his fists. “Did not. Those cards are mine!”
“Are not!”
“Are too!” countered the younger one.
Neil raised his brows at Lady Juliana as if to ask whether this was what she meant by under control. She glared right back at him, then held her hand out in front of the boy with the curly hair. “Give me the cards, George.”
“But, Lady Juliana…” George whined.
“I told you there’s to be no gambling.”
“No fighting, no gambling. What type of establishment is this?” Neil drawled.
She turned her fiery, brown eyes on him. “And you, sir. I will speak with you in the parlor, if you would kindly wait for me there.”
He gave her a mock bow. “Of course, my lady.” But she would not win the field that easily. “The pies in the kitchen are growing cold.”
“Pies!” That exclamation from every child in the room. And then he flinched as a line of boys, every bit as formidable as one of the French battalions, raced past him, thundered down the steps, and presumably landed in the kitchen.
The lady blew out an exasperated breath as though to indicate he had done something else of which she disapproved. “I’d better go down and make sure the little ones are given their fair share. There will be no practicing table manners this morning,” she said, attempting to sweep by him as though her stained attire were a court-presentation dress.
He caught her arm, surprised by the warmth of her skin. “A moment of your time, my lady. I believe introductions are in order.”
She sighed. “You are right. I’ve been terribly remiss. The morning has been rather hectic. I wish I could say it has been unusually hectic, but I’m afraid chaos has been the norm since I arrived.”
He released her arm. “And when did you arrive?”
“Oh, almost three months ago. Or has it been four?”
The shock must have showed on his face because she quickly continued, “It used to be much, much worse. We actually have something of a routine now.”
This was a routine?
A crash sounded from somewhere in the building, but before she could run off, he made a slight bow. “I am Neil Wraxall. My father is the Marquess of Kensington.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then you’ve come at my father’s request. St. Maur and Kensington have been friends since their days at school.”
He inclined his head. “As you say.”