Free Miss Westlake's Windfall by Bárbara Metzger

your lover, not at me. Ada, gaze up at Sebastian adoringly. No, do not giggle, worship. That’s it, perfect. Hold that pose.”
    And that, of course, was when Viscount Ashmead entered the room.
     

Chapter Eight
     
    “Bloody hell!”
    Chas had spent all morning debating whether he should visit Westlake Hall, whether his face was healed enough, whether enough time had gone by that Ada would have forgiven his harsh words, whether Leo was correct and he was giving up too easily. Whether, he’d told himself, the orchard money had arrived safely or not.
    It had arrived safely, all right, in the hands of a despicable, double-dealing dastard. This was betrayal of the worst sort. Chas felt as if his heart was being torn out of his chest, with his mother’s tiny embroidery scissors. Losing Ada was one thing, but losing her to Leo, who hadn’t wanted to return the money, who didn’t like talking to ladies, who claimed to be Chas’s friend, was outside of enough. That Leo was handling Ada as if she were one of his barmaids, after a visit to one of the upstairs rooms, was far beyond the powers of any mortal man’s restraint.
    “Get your filthy hands off my woman, you bastard!” Chas shouted, his good hand clenched in a fist.
    Ada shouted back, “I am not your woman.”
    Tess shouted back, “He is not a bastard.”
    Leo just grinned. Oh, he was enjoying himself now. He did set Miss Ada back on her feet, though, and took a step away from the little lady, tugging down his waistcoat and smoothing back the dark lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. Then, because he really was a smuggler and a bastard, by George—or by Geoffrey—he helped tuck a soft brown curl back into Miss Ada’s topknot.
    The growl that came from Chas’s throat would have made a wolf take notice.
    “Oh, Charlie, get off your high horse,” Tess chided him, patting his arm and leaving a streak of charcoal down his sleeve. “It’s not what it looks like. Mr. Tobin—or is it Captain?—has agreed to pose for the advertisement for my opera. You refused to portray Sebastian, if you’ll recall.”
    “You wanted me to pose half naked, if you will recall.” He ignored Leo’s sudden cough. “And I should have known you would defend such havey-cavey goings on as poetic license or some such.”
    Having put herself to rights, Ada beckoned him over to the sofa. “Give over, Chas. There was no impropriety intended, not with Jane in the room.”
    Chas was already lifting that lady back onto the sofa. She opened her eyes, look one look at his scraped and scabbed face, and swooned again. This time she fell back onto the cushions.
    “Yes, I can see what a proper chaperone Lady Westlake was,” Chas grumbled, going to pour Jane a glass of wine to restore her nerves, and one for his own, with the familiarity of an old family friend.
    By now Ada had a chance to get a better look at the viscount’s appearance, and she winced. “Oh, dear.”
    Tess, predictably, wanted to paint him. “For when Sebastian vanquishes the evil kraken to rescue his princess. Where are my pastel crayons? Or should I use watercolors? Don’t move, Charlie, and don’t fade.”
    Chas fixed his eye, the one that was not swollen and lurid enough to send Tess into transports, on Leo, who decided that perhaps he had overstayed his welcome.
    “Oh, no, Mr.—Captain—Botheration, Leo. I am not done with the sketch.” Tess saw that he already had his hat and gloves. “Or you’ll simply have to come back.”
    Ada and Chas chorused “No,” with Jane rousing herself enough to add an echoing denial. The last thing Jane needed was for some adventurer to encourage Tess in her artistry. The captain would already be sure to tell the world what an odd household they had at Westlake Hall. Then too, if Viscount Ashmead was back to calling, they did not need any jumped-up fisherman on their doorstep, much less a smuggler.
    Ignoring all the others, Leo looked toward Tess.