Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

oftly from the open doorway, “Now, little sister, dear Elizabeth must concern herself about something, hmm? After all, she doesn’t have your advantages now, does she?”

“No,” plump, strident eleven-year-old Alice shrilled, “she’s just a silly old spinster!”

What will happen to me when I turn twenty-one?

It was a question that repeated itself unrelentingly once the shock and grief of her father’s death had faded. Chauncey chewed on her lower lip. She was well-educated, at least when it came to England and her empire, but the thought of being a governess left her numb with dread. It was a role she detested. Were all girls like her young cousins? Completely uninterested in anything except the cloying verses to love songs? And what if she did become a governess? Would not her position in a household leave her open to slights? To unwanted advances from the men? Like Owen. Owen, twenty-three, slender as his father was plump, his chin sharp and his pale blue eyes devious and assessing like his mother’s. She had been utterly stunned when he stopped her on the stairs the week before.

“How very sweet it is to have you here, dear Cousin Elizabeth,” he had said, his hand reaching out to lightly touch her cheek.

Chauncey had known no fear. She jerked her face away and watched him drop his hand. “Really, Owen,” she said sharply, “sweetness has little to do with it. I am here, and there is naught any of us can do about it, I least of all.”

“Ah, but, Elizabeth,” he said, giving her that assessing look that made her feel as if she were standing at the top of the stairs wearing nothing but her curiosity, “do not dismiss your . . . charms, my dear. I find them most invigorating. Soon you will be twenty-one, you know. And then what will you do? I can see that the thought worries you. Perhaps, my dear, if you would consider being . . . nice to me . . .” He saw her draw back, anger making her extraordinary eyes gleam. Their strange mahogany color fascinated him. “Yes, just be nice to me, Elizabeth. I can give you things, teach you things. I cannot believe that a husband of any worldly worth is in your future. But a husband is not a necessary commodity.”

So different Owen was from Guy! Or perhaps he was just more honest. “Owen,” she said calmly, “you are my cousin. Nothing else. Pray do not speak to me thus again.”

Lord, but she was lovely, he thought, not at all deterred by her coldness. A bit on the thin side for his tastes, but even her confining corset couldn’t hide the fullness of her breasts. He imagined her slender long legs wrapped around him and felt a surge of lust harden in his groin. But it was her eyes that drew him. He could see the slumbering passion in their depths. They flashed an amber gold at this moment, lightened in her anger.

“Proud little thing, ain’t you, cousin?” He laughed hoarsely. “You shouldn’t be now. No more living in a fancy house with servants bowing to your every whim. And a doting father to buy you pretty things. All you can hope for is a . . . protector.”

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. “You, I take it, are applying for the position?” She watched his face pale in his anger, his eyes narrow. “Leave me alone, Owen, do you hear me? And stay away from the schoolroom.” She added sarcastically, “Perhaps even your sisters will learn something of value if you’re not there to scoff!”

“Perhaps,” he said very softly, “you will quickly change your mind.” He reached for her, clasping her against him, his movements so quick that she did not have time to react. His hands were moving toward her breasts, his breath was on her face. She did not think of laughing now. “Play dead, my baby,” she heard her old nurse tell her. “Then give that Smith boy a pain he’ll not soon forget!”

She went limp. Owen, elated with her submission, eased his hold on her as he lowered his head to find her mouth. Without a thought to the consequences, Chauncey brought up her knee with all her strength. Owen bellowed with pain and fell back, clutching his groin. “You bitch!” he snarled at her. “You’ll pay for that!”

“I doubt it, you miserable toad,” she said harshly. “We will see what your mother has to say about your molesting me!”

Chauncey had gone immediately to her aunt’s room, filled with righteous anger. She shook her head now, still disbelieving her Aunt Augusta’s attitude.

“Whatever are you talking about, miss?” Aunt Augusta demanded, breaking unceremoniously in on her recital. She rose from her dressing stool, flinging a jar of pomade onto the tabletop.

“I am talking about Owen, Aunt Augusta. He has behaved most improperly.”

Aunt Augusta regarded her, her lips pursed. “Really, Elizabeth, such a tale ill suits you. I understand it, of course I do, but it won’t work. You will cease flirting and teasing my son. He will not marry you.”

Chauncey gaped at her. “You believe that I’m making this up? Marry Owen? I would sooner wed a waterfront pickpocket!”

Owen had stalked her after that, but Chauncey wasn’t a fool. Would he never give up? she wondered. He appeared to enjoy stalking her, a cat-and-mouse game that left her always on edge. Thank God for the lock on her door!

What will happen to me when I turn twenty-one next month?

Chauncey stood quietly outside her aunt’s bedchamber door, her hand raised to knock. There was so little time before her birthday, and she must speak to her aunt. Surely her father’s sister must care at least a little about what happened to her!

Her uplifted hand froze as she heard her aunt say with spiteful clarity, “The girl has no notion of how to go along. Look what we have done for her, Alfred, and still she acts the proud heiress! And those lies she told about dear Owen! The poor boy was much shocked, I assure you.”

“Was he now?” Uncle Alfred murmured.

“Indeed! And the girls aren’t learning a thing from her. Poor Janine told me that Elizabeth had the nerve to scold her for not paying proper attention to her math lesson. Math, of all things! I put a stop to that! Such a pity that she didn’t marry Sir Guy, but I suppose he jilted her when he learned the true state of things.”

“No, ’twas Elizabeth who released him.”

“So she said,” Augusta scoffed. “Stupid of her, I say, if it is true, which I doubt. Just like her mother, she is. All proud and misty-eyed, and not a grain of sense! You can stop looking so misty-eyed, Alfred! Oh yes, I know that you looked sheep’s eyes at dear, sweet Isobel.”

Chauncey froze. Uncle Alfred and her mother? You’re eavesdropping, my girl, and hearing things you shouldn’t. She wanted to leave, but her feet seemed nailed to the floor. She heard her uncle sigh deeply. “Isobel is dead, Gussie. I admired her, yes, but so did most people.”

“Ha! All she produced was one worthless girl. Treated her like a little princess until she died in childbed with another daughter. If Isobel had brought a decent dowry to Alec, perhaps today you and I would own Jameson Hall.”

“Elizabeth would own Jameson Hall, not us, my dear.”