by Liz Tyner
She didn’t want to be left beside the road again. Ever.
‘You had the governess, Miss Cuthbert.’ Chalgrove stood so close she could see the pulse beating in his throat.
‘I had to make her love me. I didn’t know whether she would toss me aside as well. I was a child. I didn’t know. I wasn’t born with a place in the world.’
She took what she was born with and cultivated it. If her mother wanted a happy child, then she could laugh. Well behaved? She obeyed.
But the man in the household hadn’t wanted her there. She’d known that. And she understood that she could never make him like her. If she was near him, he disliked her more. She grasped that his word had sway in the house because her mother and the servants scampered around him, yet her mother championed her and would not waver.
Earlier, she had had to always take care around the gamekeeper as well. She’d tried to stay away from him because he hadn’t liked her. And she had still ended up beside the road.
She imagined little Dolly and Willie beside the road. Lost. Willie was about the same age as she had been when she was deserted.
‘I can’t leave the two little ones alone the way I was alone. What if their father marries again and weds someone like my stepmother and she doesn’t like the children? And she sacks me?’
‘You can’t know he’ll do that.’
‘Then I would be lost again. I wouldn’t even be able to fight back. I did fight back once,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t control it.’ She touched the healing marks on his face. ‘I’m so sorry.’
When she brushed the marks, it was as if she could feel the pain of the wound. Her hand slipped downwards and ran along his cheek, feeling a nick he’d likely received while shaving. He should have looked beaten up, scarred, or injured. Instead, he appeared even stronger and his jawline gave her the impression of touching granite, but with a human heart pounding inside it.
Moving lower, she felt his pulse beating. She couldn’t take her hand away.
Gently grasping her fingertips, he kissed each one, spurring her desire.
‘I’m not sorry about the marks. Not if it led me to this.’
He put a hand to the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair, and pulled her close for a feather-light kiss.
Longing sensations infused her body, just from the barest touch, but he didn’t linger.
‘We must leave if we are to catch up to Trevor’s coach,’ he said and moved away. He stepped behind a chair, almost as if he had to put an obstacle between them.
‘Miranda. Trevor would be a dolt not to want you in his household. Or his bed. And it incenses me that he could be in the same room as you.’
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda sat in the carriage.
Someone had cleaned Chalgrove’s boots, possibly within the last hour, because the scent of burnished leather touched her nose.
Chalgrove sat beside her, sombre as a rector going to a second funeral of the day. He’d told her before they left that he couldn’t touch her. He had to control himself. Their encounter could only end with heartbreak. She needed the children.
His arm rested at the side of the carriage, the other hand on his thigh. She would have thought him completely unaware of her presence, but for one thing.
Whenever she moved, his mouth thinned.
And she couldn’t think of anything but how solid he felt against her. With another person, there might have been a small gap between them, but not with Chalgrove. He filled the space and she took the leftovers, but she didn’t mind.
The carriage slipped over a bump, tilting her body to the side, and she pulled herself back into a firm posture and clasped her gloves together.
All the words had already been spoken.
‘Must you sigh at every bump?’ he asked.
She glanced sideways. Little lines, whisper thin, at the side of his eyes. And she wasn’t certain, but she suspected she saw a few silver hairs.
She stared at her hands clasped in her lap and thought of the children. Every part of her life seemed in a different world.
Lord Chalgrove in one. Her grandmother in one. And Trevor and the children in another.
They travelled along the streets she had walked with the children and stopped in front of the house.
Her heart lightened. ‘I’m home.’
The carriage jostled as someone jumped from the perch. The door opened and Chalgrove waited as she stepped out and examined the structure.
Nothing had changed about the household. But she considered it with different eyes, as if she saw it for the first time.
Chalgrove stood beside her, letting her take her time.
A curtain moved at one of the upper storeys. A little face popped into view. Dolly. Eyes widening. Lips moving excitedly. Another head darted beside Dolly. Willie. In a flash the curtain dropped and she imagined the flurry of footsteps as the children disregarded all instructions about not running in the house and tore down the stairs.
Chalgrove put a hand on her back, just as the front door opened and two bundles of energy ran towards her. She knelt and the little girl she’d seen each day of the child’s life—but the last two—ran into her arms. Willie followed.
After hugs, she stood, keeping one little hand in each of hers, taking them to the front door.
‘Eggs got on the horses and Mr Nicky told Papa. Willie cried and you were gone.’ The words burst from Dolly.
‘I didn’t cry,’ Willie shouted. ‘Everyone was mean when you weren’t here. Everyone. Even Cook. She would not give me biscuits because I made Mr Nicky angry and he told her.’
Dolly’s lip quivered and she whimpered. ‘I didn’t get biscuits either and I didn’t throw eggs on the horse.’
‘You threw eggs,’ Willie asserted. ‘You just missed.’
‘Well, I hope you both have learned your lesson and you are not to ever do that.’
‘Will you not go away again?’ Dolly said. ‘Papa didn’t know any of the good bedtime stories and Willie and I had to tell him what to say.’
The butler stood at the opened door. He beamed.
‘Of course I won’t leave you again,’ she said and her throat caught, her fingertips tightening on the two little hands in hers as they walked inside.
The butler shut the door and she realised Chalgrove wasn’t in the hall with them.
* * *
Chalgrove needed to smell some muck to get the scent of her lilac or rose or lavender perfume from his nostrils. He wasn’t sure of the flower, but he’d never smelled something which reminded him so much of a bouquet and had caused him to get aroused.
Only he knew it wasn’t the flowers.
He’d been fighting a battle within himself since she had said her name.
Her name. How could the sound of her own name from her own lips make a man hard? He would have sworn it was physically impossible.
Blast it. She should have been named something less intriguing.
He strode away from the house, viewing the grounds carefully.
‘Need some assistance, sir?’ He heard the words before he saw the white-haired man with a rake in his hand watching him. ‘I’m Nickolas Adams and I’m the stable master.’ He had a smile on his lips and a challenge in his eyes.
Chalgrove jolted from his reverie. The man had a tattered hat and a day’s growth of whiskers. He wore rough trousers and a rough shirt to keep the hay from attaching itself easily. Even his skin appeared tough enough to repel any nicks or cuts by the work he did.
Chalgrove saw the moment the man registered the ducal crest on the carriage door. Chalgrove raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m the Duke of Chalgrove.’
The older man’s eyes widened and he removed his hat and his head bobbed in a bow. ‘You’re the one owns the house where she’s been staying.’
The man’s spine snapped up and his words flowed. ‘Miss Miranda is a treasure.’
Blast it, blast it, blast it. He’d called her Miranda.
‘I would prefer she be referred to as Miss Manwaring during our conversation,’ he said, ‘as that is how I wish to think of her.’
The man squinted, but then continued. ‘I knew something bad had happened to her. Just didn’t suspect how bad.’ He put his hat back on and brushed a hand over his eyes. ‘Thanks to goodness she’s safe and unharmed. Isn’t she?’ he asked Chalgrove.
Chalgrove nodded. ‘She’s had a trial, but she’s not been hurt in any way.’
‘A jewel, all the way through, our Miss... Manwaring. Don’t know how she puts up with all of us.’ He smiled. ‘We’re thankful to have her back and...’ He bowed again. ‘Can’t say enough words of thank you for bringin’ her back to us. Never guessed the stables could be quiet as a tomb, but with her gone, even the horses seemed to notice.’
‘You spoke with a constable recently about Miss Manwaring,’ Chalgrove said.
‘That I did.’ The old man propped himself on the handle, the tines of the tool resting on the grass.
‘What happened that day she left?’ Chalgrove asked. ‘Had you seen anything odd?’
‘Saw two men a few days before. Suspected they might be thieving, so I watched them, but they didn’t stay long.’ He contemplated the ground, before meeting Chalgrove’s examination and continuing his speech.
‘Miss Manwaring is a true lady. She might be a governess and she might be a servant, but she’s a lady born and bred. Has a high-on-the-instep father and comes from money. Been tossed out, but she’s not letting on. She’s a good woman. Don’t deserve the family she’s had, but it made her strong.’
‘Did you know she was abducted?’
‘Not at first. Suspected it after the constable’s visit.’
The old man leaned forward, voice lowered. ‘I dare say they sent a ransom note around to her father and he claims not to have received it. That’s the sort he is.’ He waved a hand, brushing aside the integrity of Mr Manwaring.
‘The other servants say anything else of her?’
He rubbed his chin. ‘They think the same as me. She keeps too busy with her charges to have much time for conversation and, if she ventures out for her own amusements, she arrives back in a snap with a book under her arm and treats for us all.’ He almost whispered, ‘She’s the type would creep away at night and read to an old cook who’s feeling pained.’
‘A virtuous woman.’
He gave a firm nod. ‘They could write tracts using her as a guide.’
‘No vices at all?’
He leaned in. ‘Don’t hide her book when she’s in the middle of reading it or get between her and a morning glass of chocolate. She can spout a few words now and again.’ He chuckled. ‘Nothing we ain’t heard before, though.’
* * *
Miranda could not believe Willie’s behaviour. He hopped over to her and she cleaned a smear of jam from his face, then he gave her a hug and leaned against her. He did have to remind her again of how good he’d been most of the time.
‘Papa smacked his behind,’ Dolly inserted proudly.
Miranda brushed a pretend smack on his bottom and he laughed.
Miranda expected Willie to erupt with some sort of childish display, but he contented himself with toy soldiers after they talked of lessons. Dolly examined the pages of a story book.
Mr Trevor opened the door. His eyes had shadows under them, something she’d not noticed since after his wife had passed away. She knew he was thirty-two years old, yet he appeared closer to forty.
‘Miss Manwaring, might I have a private word with you in my study?’
His eyes lingered on hers an instant too long and she took into account Chalgrove’s claims about Mr Trevor’s affections.
‘Yes. Of course.’
He led her into a room desperately needing a woman’s care, although she supposed her taste differed from his. The petite room had overpowering damask curtains, too many and too large for the room. And the oversized portraits on the wall gave her the feeling of being stared at.
I’m glad you’re home.’ He brushed a hand across her shoulder. ‘The children have missed you terribly.’
He sat at his desk, the same one from which he’d cautioned her about his requirements for his children’s care before she began her job.
He directed her to have a seat in front of him. ‘I suppose you heard Willie’s story about the eggs.’
She nodded.
‘He’d do it again,’ he grumbled, placing a flat palm on the papers in front of him.
‘I’m sure,’ she said and he laughed, although she didn’t think him truly laughing at what she said because he’d never found his son’s enjoyment of eggs as humorous.
‘We must dampen down his impetuousness.’ He propped his jaw on his fist. ‘Didn’t know until you were gone what a rascal he is.’
She nodded, agreeing with his assessment.
‘I realise not all the details of your...’ he paused ‘...horrible adventure have been brought to light. But the criminals may never be caught. I’ve given the matter a great deal of reflection and on the way home I stopped to put in motion a few more details of safety. I have already given the order for additional sturdy men.’
He straightened the remaining sheets on his desk. ‘No matter what happens—I cannot forget that a person from my household was taken. It has been a trial.’
Guilt plunged into her even though her birth was not of her choosing and her grandmother wasn’t the one she would have asked for.
‘I agree. But I know the activity was directed at me. Not you, or your family.’
‘Still. My house. My responsibility. I do beg your pardon Miss Miranda.’ He stared at the papers on his desk.
Miranda didn’t know what to say. Chalgrove’s words that Mr Trevor might have a tendre for her resurfaced, but so did Chalgrove’s kiss.
The softest brush against her, the smallest movement that could be called a kiss, and it had flooded into her, flashed so deep she could not think. Then it had continued until it consumed her.
She touched her mouth. So feather-light for such a large man. She turned her face away from her employer. And the Duke had said those words about Trevor being a dolt if he didn’t want her in his bed and she’d heard the strain in Chalgrove’s voice. She warmed, thinking of his voice when he’d said the words.
But her employer’s voice snapped her back to the present.
‘When I spent more time with Willie, I realised perhaps I’d let him get away with too much,’ he admitted. ‘I remember your hinting that he should be reprimanded when he misbehaved. I credited him—nicer than he is. And I do feel that little boys should be allowed some leeway for their spirits. But Willie is too spirited.’ He hesitated. ‘He took a bottle of ink from my desk and I only barely saw him do so. I fear what he has in mind next as I know it has nothing to do with lessons.’
‘I’ve missed them terribly.’
‘We’ve all wanted you home. Especially me.’ He raised his eyes, face serious. ‘You know how much I loved my wife.’
A voice inside her called out for her to interrupt him, but then a doorknob twisted and Willie ran into the room, one arm behind his back. He scampered to her, held out his hand and she saw the egg. ‘I’m putting this back,’ he said. ‘I wanted you to know.’
She nodded and the child ran out again, leaving the door open.
‘I presumed there could never be another like her,’ Willie’s father continued, ‘but now I have changed my opinion.’
Footsteps sounded on the stairs and the butler arrived.
‘The Duke of Chalgrove would like to meet with you, sir.’
‘Show him in.’
Miranda put her foot behind her and stepped back, moving further from Mr Trevor.
Chalgrove strode in and she realised from the ire in his eyes when he saw the older man that it likely wouldn’t have mattered where she stood.
Chapter Nineteen
Miranda noticed brackets of tension around Chalgrove’s mouth when he surveyed the study. He seemed more disgruntled now than when he’d been in the little cottage.
Their host indicated a chair, but Chalgrove stood. ‘I hoped Miss Manwaring would be ready to return to my house.’
Trevor smiled. ‘And I hoped she might stay.’ The quiet words almost echoed from the walls. ‘I’ve added more servants so the house will be secure.’
The two men’s eyes met.
‘I just told Miss Manwaring how I’ve added more staff to guarantee her safety,’ her employer explained. ‘Everyone is to be alert to anything out of the ordinary. I can’t risk a repeat of the abduction.’
‘You can’t be certain that any new person you’ve hired is trustworthy. I already have staff in place. I’m close to uncovering the criminals. I don’t think anyone would doubt the safety of the ducal household. I would suggest, today, it is more secure than the palace.’
‘You are welcome to stay, Miss Miranda. Your possessions are here. And your employment is needed. The children. You are the only mother Dolly has ever had. You truly know how much you’re needed here and you understand that I also want the culprits captured. They invaded my property.’
Miranda instinctively knew that if she stayed, Mr Trevor would propose. The idea didn’t give her the happiness she would have hoped for. Only a week before, she would have accepted, pleased to be connected for ever to the children she loved and to have a permanent place among the people who’d meant more to her than anyone else since her mother had died.
