The Untamed Heiress. Julia Justiss

of adopting a child entirely unknown to him.

      He certainly hoped his stepmother would be happy.

      This unforeseen addition to his household underlined the imperative to get the Darnell fortunes in order, he told himself as he drove. But since he’d first considered the matter this morning, he’d had an inspiration that he hoped might spare him the humiliation of having to barter his ancient name and lineage for the hand of some newly rich cit’s well-dowered daughter. As long as luck and his old childhood friend Priscilla smiled upon him, anyway.

      Having been abroad for the war with France and then having leased out Claygate Manor, the Darnell country estate that bordered her father’s lands, he’d not seen Miss Standish in some years. But she was still unmarried, he knew. If the plump, cheerful lass who’d loved to trail behind him on his youthful escapades, hanging adoringly on his every word, had not changed too much, he reasoned, he would have as much chance of finding marital harmony with her as with any of the other carefully coifed, capped and costumed chits about to be paraded on the Marriage Mart.

      He’d have to look into calling on Miss Priscilla Standish as soon as he settled this business of the orphan.

      Half an hour later he was escorted by a clerk to Mr. Pendenning’s private salon, where, the young man informed him, the lawyer would join him shortly.

      Knowing there would be lengthy paperwork to sort out, Adam suppressed his irritation at the delay. The salon to which he’d been shown was dimly lit, the curtain of the single window drawn against the light. While his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight of the brisk late-winter afternoon he’d just left, he scanned the room, his gaze settling on a newspaper left atop a side table.

      He was striding to pick up the paper when a rustling noise in the corner of the room distracted him. His vision of welcoming a small, grieving moppet into the family embrace was shaken when what he’d dismissed as an assortment of black rags piled in a chair, suddenly unfolded its length and rose phoenixlike to face him.

      The image of a woebegone child died altogether as the Creature approached. Sticklike legs and narrow bare feet protruded below a faded black gown more than a foot too short for her emaciated frame—which was nearly as tall as his own. Adam’s shocked impression was of a walking scarecrow, until the Creature halted before him and extended one bony hand.

      The girl’s nose protruded beaklike from her thin face. With her sharp cheekbones, lusterless, tangled black hair and the feral dark eyes fixed intently upon him, Adam was put forcibly in mind of a bird of prey about to attack.

      When the Creature’s lips curved into a mocking smile, he realized he’d been simply staring at her, mouth agape, his face no doubt clearly mirroring his thoughts.

      Painfully conscious of having, for the first time in his almost thirty well-bred years, failed to summon polite words of greeting, he felt hot color flush his skin. Before he could get his lips working, the Creature withdrew the hand he’d not managed to shake and made him a curtsey.

      “You must be Lord Darnell,” she said, her voice low-pitched and husky. “How…charming to meet you.”

      CHAPTER THREE

      THOUGH THE GIRL WAS the least attractive example of femininity Adam had ever beheld, her curtsey was graceful. Moreover, the sardonic look in those snapping black eyes and the irony in her greeting told him she was shrewd enough to have guessed what he thought of her appearance.

      Rather than being embarrassed, though, she seemed to derive a scornful amusement from his discomfiture as he stood, still staring, the frilly doll in one hand.

      Before Adam could decide whether he was more offended or diverted by the girl’s antagonism, the door opened and a short, bespectacled gentleman hurried in. Seeing the two of them facing each other, he halted abruptly.

      “Oh, dear! Lord Darnell, I had hoped to discourse with you privately before…well, I see ’tis too late for that. Arthur Pendenning, sir, at your service,” he said with a bow. “You’ve introduced yourselves, Miss Lambarth?”

      “His lordship and I have indeed met,” the girl replied. “As you insisted. Now, if you and I could finish our consultations, I’ll be on my way.”

      “There’s no need to hurry,” Mr. Pendenning said. “Knowing that you have just finished an exhausting journey, I’ve ordered some refreshment. Shall we not sit together and chat while we partake of it? Please, Miss Lambarth. Lord Darnell, you will remain with us, I trust?”

      Rather against his will, Adam murmured a polite acceptance. Far from appearing a grief-stricken waif in need of her relatives’ support, the girl seemed almost hostile—and entirely undeferential, either to him or the lawyer. He struggled to resist the urge to let his initial shock at her appearance turn to dislike at her rudeness.

      He shouldn’t judge her too harshly, he reminded himself. After all, she’d had no mother to guide her for years and, Lady Darnell had warned him, by the time of his death, her late father had become practically a hermit. She probably wasn’t to blame for what appeared to be a decided lack of proper maidenly deportment.

      “Ah, here is the tray,” Mr. Pendenning said. “Lord Darnell, Miss Lambarth, if you would both sit?”

      While the servant removed the cover before bowing himself out, Adam deposited himself on the sofa and Miss Lambarth walked with obvious reluctance to perch on the edge of an adjoining wing chair.

      Did she think he would bite? Adam wondered with a touch of humor, watching as she covertly watched him from the corner of her eye. She seemed less wary with the lawyer, who seated himself near her and began pouring tea.

      Adam was about to make some light remark to try to set her at ease when suddenly she turned toward the teapot, sniffing the air.

      Mr. Pendenning extended a cup to her. Cautiously she accepted it, holding the delicate china at arm’s length and inspecting the contents, then bending to sniff the liquid.

      The awful suspicion that perhaps the girl was not all right in the head had begun to form in Adam’s mind when, just as suddenly, she smiled. A passionate intensity lit her face, briefly imbuing her thin features with an attractiveness Adam felt almost like a shock.

      Before the shaken Adam could begin to wonder at his unexpected reaction, she turned her expressive eyes on the lawyer. “Tea, is it not?” she asked Mr. Pendenning.

      “Yes, my dear. Have you drunk it before?”

      “Not since Mama left. But I remember it was good.”

      “Taste it and see what you think.”

      She took a sip. “Oh, yes! It is good!”

      “Some people prefer it with a bit of cake or biscuit. Should you like some?”

      She put down the cup and inspected the tray he offered her. “Cake. It is…sweeter than bread, isn’t it?”

      “Have you not eaten that, either, since your mama went away?” Mr. Pendenning asked.

      “No. Is bread and water not the normal fare for prisoners?” she asked, a bitter note in her voice. “Augmented occasionally, when I managed to slip out and visit Mad Sally, with wild berries from the woods.”

      “I think you will find the cake even sweeter than berries. Do try some.” Though Mr. Pendenning’s tone remained light, as Miss Lambarth reached for the proffered slice, he glanced at Adam and shook his head, outrage in his eyes.

      Beginning to comprehend now what the lawyer was attempting to demonstrate, Adam watched her intently, astounded by Miss Lambarth’s delighted exploration of food so ordinary most Londoners of her class would scarcely have given it a second glance.

      His heart contracted with pity as she tasted the cake. Once again he felt an odd sizzle of contact when another brilliant smile lit her face. “’Tis wondrous good!”

      “Eat as much as you wish, my dear. You must be famished after