One Night of Surrender

by Darcy Burke

  “What are you doing?” she asked, trying to tug her arm from his grip.

  He tightened his hold, careful not to hurt her. “Come with me. Please.”

  “Let go of me.”

  He did as she asked and paused, staring at her. They stood in the storage room, surrounded by foodstuffs and implements for cooking and cleaning. “You can’t work here.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes blazing. “You’re going to terminate my employment too?”

  Hell and the devil. He couldn’t very well do that. “Of course not, but Isabelle, this is my pub. Obviously, you know that.” He scowled. “Is that why you wouldn’t tell me anything last night?”

  She lifted a shoulder and glanced away. “I was—am—in desperate need.”

  “To work as a barmaid? This is far beneath you.” She should be tutoring the best families in the realm. Or running Oxford. That would never happen, although she bloody well could.

  “It’s honest work.” She looked him up and down, but there was nothing provocative about her appraisal. “Owning and operating a tavern apparently isn’t beneath you.”

  “I’m not working in the tavern.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “I could have sworn Prudence showed me your office where you and Colehaven have desks.”

  Val muttered an oath. “I told you I would help you—whatever you require.”

  “And I told you I can’t accept anything from you.”

  “But you can work for me? How is that different from just taking my money?”

  Her jaw dropped again. “Are you in earnest? This is completely different from taking your money. As I said, this is honest work.”

  “And my giving you money would be a transaction between friends. A secret transaction no one ever need know about. You could even call it a loan if you prefer.”

  She stared at him as if he’d just offered to steal everything she owned instead of give her money. “You’re mad.”

  “Perhaps, but only because I care about you. Barkley will be gone in a few days, and you can come and stay with me for as long as you need.”

  She blew out a breath in disgust. “If you truly cared about me, you’d see how scandalous that would be. Everyone would assume I was your mistress, and I can’t very well become a headmistress after that.”

  Headmistress? “Are you going to be a headmistress?”

  She uncrossed her arms and threw them in the air in frustration. “Someday, I hope. The point is, you’ll narrow my options if you try to provide for me in any way.”

  “And I would argue that working as a barmaid in a notorious tavern will also narrow your options.”

  “My future employer, whoever it may be, needn’t ever know.”

  “Your future employer could be sitting in the main salon right now. Or his brother. Or his neighbor. Your employment would not be secret.” Neither would her staying with him. She was right—it was a foolish and scandalous idea. There had to be another way. A way she would accept.

  The fire in her eyes had diminished a bit, but the taut set of her mouth and the tension of her shoulders told him she was still annoyed. He didn’t want her to be annoyed with him. “I’m sorry,” he said, inhaling to calm his racing pulse. “I was just surprised to see you here.”

  “I should have told you.”

  “Let us find a solution.” He tried to sound helpful. “You must agree you can’t work here.”

  She recrossed her arms in front of her. “I could work in the kitchen.”

  “I have a better idea, and I hope you won’t be too stubborn to accept it.”

  “I am not stubborn.” The picture she presented—arms crossed, brow creased, mouth pulled into a severe line, body stiff, chin jutting—was the very definition of stubborn.

  Val fought a smile. In addition to how she looked, saying you weren’t stubborn in the midst of an argument where you refused to yield was akin to saying you weren’t hungry when your belly rumbled. “So you don’t stay up all night deciphering riddles anymore?”

  She blinked as if he’d thrown her off-kilter for a moment. “I haven’t found one that I couldn’t solve in quite some time.”

  “But if you did, you wouldn’t stop until you finished it. You wouldn’t surrender.”

  She lifted her chin, which gave her a haughty air. “Surrender leads to disappointment.”

  Surrender had led them to each other. Attraction. Temptation. Surrender.

  Finally, a plan came to him, and it was brilliant. Or nearly so. “I promise you my idea will not disappoint you. Move in with my grandmother and Viola as Viola’s chaperone.”

  One of her eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t your grandmother fulfill that role?”

  “Yes, but she isn’t as spry as she once was. There are things Viola wants to do that Grandmama can’t, so Viola needs a chaperone.” She didn’t either. Viola did as she pleased and didn’t give a fig what anyone thought.

  Isabelle pursed her lips as she regarded him in silence for a moment. Despite the tension between them, she looked eminently kissable, and it was hard not to recall her mouth on his. Had that been only last night?

  One of the cooks ducked into the storage closet to grab something, breaking the spell that had begun to weave itself over him. “Beg your pardon,” she murmured before dashing back out.

  Isabelle lowered her arms to her sides. “Why do I think being Viola’s chaperone is an unnecessary job?”

  “It is necessary. You’ll be doing us a favor. You like Viola, don’t you?”

  “I do. Your grandmother may not like me, however.”

  “Bah, her bark is worse than her bite. She likes you fine.” He took a step toward her. “Come, this is an excellent solution. Surely you can see that.”

  “You are as arrogant and managing as ever.” She was not going to give up easily. Maybe she wasn’t going to give up at all.

  “And you are more stubborn than I ever realized. You need help. This is a way I can provide it without causing you harm.”

  She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling. “Do they know about me? About us?” Her voice was low, and the timbre of it set his blood afire.

  “Of course not.”

  She glanced away and worried her lower lip before looking back at him. “I hate being in a corner. But I’ve been in them before and found my own way out. I prefer to make my own choices.”

  His patience was wearing thin. “You want choices? Stay at my house or stay at my grandmother’s, but you are not working in my pub.”

  “So you would dismiss me?”

  “To give you a better job, yes.” He held his hands up, pleading with her. “For the love of God, Isabelle, take my help! I am not your enemy.”

  She stared at him, and he held his breath, his brain scrambling to think of other ways to persuade her, to make her see reason. “Fine, I’ll go to the dowager’s. If she’s agreeable. But if she’s not, you’ll let me work here in the kitchen.”

  “She’ll be agreeable.” If she wasn’t, Val would make her that way. “I’ll take you there now. Where are your things?”

  “Behind you, actually. I brought them here until later, when I’d planned to stay with Prudence until I find my own room to let.”

  She was going to sleep in Cheapside? He was glad she’d found a job here and not somewhere questionable. “It’s lucky you came here. I’d say Fate is wielding her hand once again.”

  “Who said the luck was good?” She moved past him and picked up her two valises. “I suppose you wish to leave now?”

  “You won’t regret this, Isabelle. This will give you the time and opportunity to find an appointment that suits your knowledge and talent.”

  “And you’ll leave me alone?” she asked.

  “I will.” Though it pained him greatly. Seeing her here had only served to prove how much he’d hated saying goodbye to her last night. He wasn’t sure he could do it again. And yet, what was the alternative?

  “Promise me.�
�

  He looked her in the eye. “I promise.” He uncrossed his fingers and took the valises from her hand.

  After driving to Grosvenor Square so Val could change his wine-soaked clothing, during which time Isabelle had waited in the coach, they arrived at the dowager’s house in Berkeley Square. What the house lacked in size compared to Val’s, it more than made up for in opulence. The art crammed into the entrance hall alone was enough to enchant Isabelle and convince her this wasn’t a bad decision. Almost. She refused to lose her head to a stunning Farington landscape and a gorgeous Gainsborough.

  Isabelle stepped toward the latter painting and gestured toward one of the girls in the portrait. “Is that your grandmother?”

  “Yes,” Val said.

  She looked at him and then the painting in wonder. “Gainsborough painted your family?”

  “My great-grandfather and his children, yes. My great-grandmother had already died.” Val turned to the butler, who’d let them in. “Is my grandmother still out?

  “Yes, Your Grace. With Lady Viola,” the butler said, casting a surreptitious glance toward Isabelle.

  Val gestured toward her. “Blenheim, allow me to present Mrs. Cortland. She will be Grandmama’s guest for a while. Please have her luggage fetched from my coach. ”

  Isabelle hoped he hadn’t spoken out of turn. What if the dowager refused to welcome her?

  “We’ll wait for Grandmama in the drawing room.” Val swept his hand toward the stairs, and Isabelle preceded him. She was all too aware of her plain gray frock that until a short while ago had been covered with a barmaid’s apron. And now she found herself the guest of a dowager duchess.

  When they reached the drawing room, she tried not to rush around from spectacular painting to breathtaking sculpture. She turned and looked at Val. “What if she doesn’t want me here?”

  “I already told you that won’t happen.”

  “Your grandmother seems to be a woman with a mind of her own.” Isabelle admired that.

  “She will see the benefit in this for all parties. My grandmother’s mind is exceptionally sharp.”

  Isabelle didn’t doubt it. She allowed herself a slow perusal of the room. If she was going to stay here, at least for a little while, she’d have plenty of time to explore everything. “Does your grandmother have a library like yours?” she asked, glancing back at Val, who had taken up a position near the fire leaning against the mantelpiece.

  “Not as large as mine, but you’ll be satisfied. Viola likes to read almost as much as she likes to write.”

  “She’s a writer?” Isabelle hadn’t known that. “What does she write?”

  “I’ll let her tell you about that,” Val said, sounding a bit short. Was he still angry with her? Wasn’t she still angry with him?

  Maybe a little. Mostly she was frustrated with her situation. She’d felt lucky to have been hired as a barmaid at a respectable establishment. It wasn’t her first choice in employment, of course, but given that she hadn’t been able to stay in Lord Barkley’s employ, she hadn’t possessed the luxury of passing it up. She’d planned to continue her search for a governess or teaching position and hoped her job at the Wicked Duke would be temporary.

  The Wicked Duke… How had she not known immediately that it belonged to Val and Colehaven? They had been renowned as the wicked dukes.

  She stood in front of a Grecian urn on the other side of the room from Val and stole a glance in his direction. He stared down at the hearth, his mouth twisted into a frown.

  What on earth was she doing here? He’d been right—she couldn’t work in his tavern, and not just because she couldn’t afford to be seen there. She couldn’t work in his tavern because it was his tavern. Because being around him only reminded her of what she’d lost. No, of what she’d never had.

  And never would.

  Now she found herself still in his vicinity ensconced with his grandmother and sister. She needed to find a new job fast.

  “You don’t have to wait with me,” she said.

  He looked over at her. “I don’t mind.”

  “You should get back to the Feast of St. Valentine.” In truth, she was sorry to miss the festivities. It looked to be a smashing good time. “It is your day, after all.”

  They’d laughed about that ten years ago. He’d given her a valentine and told her she had to accept it because it was his day. He’d made it himself and written several lines of truly abysmal poetry. She still had it, pressed between the pages of her beloved copy of Les Liaisons dangereuses.

  She wondered if he’d given valentines to anyone else. His wife, probably. Or not, since he’d indicated it hadn’t been a happy union. She left the urn and walked toward him. “Is there no one to whom you want to give a valentine?”

  His gaze snapped to hers. “Are you flirting with me, Isabelle?” The question was a mix of teasing and darkness. The tone of it made her shiver and reminded her of how dangerous it was to be alone with him. Last night, she’d tested the bounds of temptation when she’d kissed him.

  “No. I was simply making conversation.” She turned from him and went to the corner of the room where a large landscape hung.

  It was some time before he spoke. “I’m sorry you feel cornered.”

  She realized he sounded closer. Turning, she saw that he’d moved toward her but still stood several feet away. It felt as though they were circling each other like hunter and prey. Who was which? She refused to be the victim.

  “I appreciate you saying that.”

  “I do think you’ll be comfortable here, and it’s only temporary.”

  “I just realized I may receive responses to inquiries at your address. I do hope you’ll forward my correspondence.”

  “Of course.” He raked his hand through his hair, freeing that familiar lock from the style so that it fell across his forehead. “I hope you realize I’ve only been trying to help you.”

  “And I hope you realize that my situation is far different from yours. I need employment. Furthermore, I like employment. I like feeling useful and providing for myself.”

  “You like being independent.”

  She clasped her hands in front of her waist and inclined her head. “Quite.”

  “I would say that I’m sorry your husband left you in a state where you needed to provide for yourself, but you seem content.”

  Oh, she’d been angry at first. He’d gambled away everything and had left her with what would have been a ruinous amount of debt if not for the money her father had left her. She’d vowed she would take care of herself and not rely upon anyone.

  Commotion carried from the stairs into the drawing room.

  “They must be home,” Val murmured, turning toward the door.

  Isabelle straightened and squeezed her hands together. It was silly to be nervous—she’d met the dowager before—but she was nonetheless. Her ire was also pricking anew because Val had just reminded her of the promise she’d made to herself—that she would rely only upon herself. She ought to take her things and go right to Prudence’s. Not that she knew where that was…

  It seemed she had nowhere else to go.

  The dowager and Lady Viola entered the drawing room. The former peered at Isabelle with a hooded gaze while the latter came toward her with a broad smile. “Blenheim says you’re staying with us. How lovely!”

  The dowager sat in a dark red chair near the hearth and looked directly at her grandson. “Explain.”

  “Mrs. Cortland is between employment at the moment, and I’ve hired her to act as Viola’s chaperone.”

  Lady Viola made a sound in her throat that was part cough and part gasp, but she said nothing.

  “Viola doesn’t need a chaperone,” the dowager said, confirming what Isabelle had said and Val had disputed.

  “This will allow you to have more freedom,” Val said. “Anyway, it’s a temporary situation while she secures employment. She can’t very well stay with me.”

  “Did Lord Barkley dismis
s her?” the dowager asked, causing Isabelle’s breath to catch. “Never mind, I can see he did.” She exhaled, and Isabelle couldn’t tell if she was put out or not. “Run along, then, Eastleigh. I shall handle this.”

  What did that mean? Isabelle looked to Val in question, but he was still focused on the dowager.

  “It will be so nice to have you here,” Lady Viola said. “Has anyone shown you to your room yet?” When Isabelle shook her head, Lady Viola continued. “Then I shall have the honor.”

  Val clapped his hands together. “It looks as though you both have things well in hand.” He bowed toward Isabelle. “I’ll deliver your correspondence straightaway.”

  He would, or he’d send someone with it? She hoped it was the latter. It would be best if they stayed apart. The temptation to kiss him again—or worse—was too great. Even when he made her angry with his arrogance.

  Then he was gone, and the dowager instantly spoke. “Sit, gel. And tell me why Lord Barkley dismissed you.”

  Feeling as though she were about to stand trial, Isabelle started toward the dowager. Lady Viola met her halfway and linked her arm through Isabelle’s with an encouraging smile. She guided her to the settee and they sat down together. Lady Viola removed her arm and situated the gauzy lilac skirt of her ball gown so that it draped elegantly over her legs to the floor. It was the finest material Isabelle had ever seen.

  All too aware that the dowager awaited her answer, Isabelle folded her hands in her lap. “Lady Barkley hired a governess to replace me. In addition to their regular studies, she will teach the girls music and needlepoint and dancing until they see a dancing master, presumably.”

  “Because you cannot.” The dowager’s lips pursed with disapproval. “Perhaps I should hire a governess for you so you can learn how to dance and embroider.”

  Isabelle worked to keep her tone even and not defensive. “I know how to dance.” Not well.

  “Is this new governess as educated as you are?” the dowager asked.

  “No.”

  “Then why didn’t Lord Barkley keep you on and hire this other woman in addition?”

  “I wondered the same thing, Your Grace. It is my belief that Lady Barkley didn’t care for my closeness with her daughters.”