Charlotte Louise Dolan by Three Lords for Lady Anne Page A

and with satisfaction watched his unsuccessful efforts to get up. Leaving him crumpled in a heap on the carpet, she went to check on the twins.
    They were in bed but not asleep. “Did you hit him?”
    “I do not hit people,” Anne replied sternly. “I reason with them. Violence solves nothing.”
    “We saw you reasoning his arms behind his back.” Andrew chuckled.
    “I was merely getting his attention.”
    It was undoubtedly only because it was the middle of the night that this remark seemed so funny, but the boys began to laugh, and finally Anne felt the anger drain out of her too. Kissing them good night once again, she returned to her room, where she took the precaution of locking her door behind her. After a moment of reflection, she also locked the French windows, which opened onto a little balcony.
    Not that Trussell was any match for her, even sober. But she had no desire to have her sleep interrupted.
    * * * *
    Creighton did not awaken until well after noon. When he did, every muscle in his body ached, as if he had been run over by a team of horses and a stagecoach. In comparison, the hangover from the large amount of brandy he had consumed the evening before was negligible.
    When he moved even slightly, his shoulders felt as if his arms had been wrenched out of their sockets the day before. Moreover, his back was stiff, his legs—well, it did not pay to itemize every ache. If there was one part of his body that did not hurt, he could not identify it.
    Responding to his feeble cries for help, Wyke came into the room and went directly to the window to pull open the heavy drapes.
    “No,” Creighton barely managed to croak out in time. “No light.”
    Wyke approached the bed and stood patiently waiting. “Do you wish a bath?” the valet asked finally.
    “I want to know what happened last night.” Even his jaw hurt, so Creighton did his best to speak with a minimum of movement.
    “I have no idea what occurred. I helped you prepare for bed, then at your direction, fetched you another bottle of brandy and took myself off to my cot in the dressing room. At about two of the clock, I heard a thump and came in and found you lying on the floor. You were incoherent, so I assisted you to bed.”
    “And that is all you know?”
    “Except... well, this morning the governess returned your robe, all neatly folded.”
    Wyke gave him a sly, knowing look, and Creighton seized the candlestick off the bedside table and hurled it at the valet. It missed, but came sufficiently close that Wyke correctly perceived it as an indication that his services were not wanted at the present time.
    Shutting his eyes, Creighton thought back over the previous night. With Wyke’s explanation to jog his memory, he found he could remember most of what had happened. Enough, anyway, to know that the new governess had not only rejected him, but had treated him with mockery and blatant disrespect. And his nephews had witnessed it, yet had done nothing to help him.
    Fury warred with pain, and fury won. Trussell forced himself to rise from his bed. Calling for his valet, he berated him for not being on hand when needed. Unfortunately, cursing his valet the whole time Wyke was helping him get dressed did little to alleviate his anger. Creighton was still coldly furious by the time he entered the morning room and found Miss Hemsworth and her charges blithely eating a cold repast and showing no sign that they were the least bit repentant for the trouble they had caused him.
    “For conduct unbecoming a governess, you are fired,” he said, noticing with satisfaction the horrified looks on the twins’ faces. “You will pack your things and be ready to leave in the morning. Do not expect to get a character from me, either.”
    She stared at him coldly. If she begged him nicely, he was prepared to reconsider, but she was not acting the least bit repentant.
    “As you are not my official employer, I believe I shall remain here until I receive my