Formidable Lord Quentin by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

pins and hung in lopsided
disarray. Her shapeless morning gown—at three in the afternoon—was dusted with
a fine powder of unknown origin. When she crossed the carpet and stood on her
toes to grab her brother’s leg and yank off his boot, Quentin noticed that she
was barefoot.
    Barefoot. He stared in fascination.
    “I should leave you up there until bedtime and feed you only
bread and water,” she scolded. “You have ruined my paints and your sister’s
gown. You are much too old to act the part of a toddler who doesn’t know how to
behave.”
    “I want my pony!” the lad retorted. “You promised me a
pony!”
    “And you think you will acquire it faster if you act the
part of infant?” she shouted back at him.
    The marchioness had facets that Quent hadn’t known existed.
The pink in her cheeks looked natural. Her eyes flashed green fires. And those
lovely slender toes . . . Quent raised his eyes heavenward. He
would be pondering ankles and calves next, and then he would have to leave
until he was decent.
    “Perhaps if Mr. Thomas takes him to the park and makes him
memorize the name of every tree, he might be allowed a better seat when he
returns, although bread and water sounds suitable if he doesn’t behave in the
park,” Quent suggested.
    Bell turned and glared at him. “And where the devil have you
been? You send me a tutor who can’t teach and a valet who can’t keep breeches
on him and you disappear off the face of the earth.”
    Quent raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aware that my presence
was required. I had rather thought you’d be happily entertaining your sisters.”
    “Get me down, get me down!” the boy chanted from his perch.
    “Umm, I’ll take him to the park, if uh . . .”
The tutor glanced uncertainly at the tall breakfront.
    Mr. Thomas wasn’t any taller than Bell. With a growl of
disgust, Quent yanked off the boy’s other boot. Then he lifted the wary earl
down and handed him to the tutor, who staggered under the boy’s rather hefty
size and set him down.
    “Put a leash on him if you must,” Quent suggested.
    Bell smacked his arm, grabbed her brother’s shoulder, and
marched him from the study, leaving the two men to stare at each other blankly.
    Contemplating fleeing, Quent swung his walking stick and
prayed to the almighty for guidance. He had never wanted more family. He’d fled
to London a decade ago to escape the extremely large, stubborn, argumentative
one he had. Wives and children had never been part of his horizon.
    Despite all that, he had come here determined to do the
proper thing—but bare toes had reduced his mind to rubble that had nothing to
do with propriety.
    “The boy knows his letters, does he?” he finally asked,
wondering how soon he should send a servant to remind Bell that he was here.
    “And his numbers. He has a quick mind,” the tutor cautiously
agreed. “It’s just . . . The ladies have pampered him a bit,
rightfully so, I suspect, under the circumstances.”
    “We can’t allow him to behave like a heathen. The Boyles, in
particular, need a firm hand. They’re all headstrong. Again, if you do not feel
yourself capable . . .”
    Mr. Thomas ran his hand through his hair. “I can teach him.
But the ladies are not likely to allow me to discipline him.”
    Bell marched back in in time to hear this last. Quent tilted
his chin up to prevent looking to see if her toes were still bare. There had
been little time to do more than hand the boy to a maid, so he suspected they
were. It was hard not to keep glancing down.
    “He will not be beaten just for being a boy,” she said
firmly.
    “A good whack on his bottom will get his attention,” Quent
argued. “But there are better methods to bring him in line. Thomas, since it
apparently takes two to dress the lad, go see that your charge is appropriately
garbed and let loose in the park with some educational project.”
    The man hurried out wearing an expression of relief as Bell
geared