The Devil's Gift

by Laura Landon

  “I’d never force you to be the baroness,” Jenna said, quickly easing the situation. “Instead, you can be—”

  “She can be a duchess,” Maggie interrupted. “I’ll be the baroness.”

  “Maggie, no,” Clarice answered. “If she finds out you pretended to be her—”

  “How’s she gonna find out?” Maggie said, stepping over to the chair where Jenna’s stepmother usually sat. “Unless one of you tells her?”

  “Oh, no! We’d never say a word,” they vowed in unison.

  “Then we’d best get this lesson started. I can tell already,” Maggie finished with a nod in Mr. Hawkins’ direction, “that this one is na going ta be as easy ta train as the females we were sent.”

  Maggie’s comment brought a series of muffled giggles and guffaws from the group as Mr. Jack Hawkins’ eyebrows shot upward.

  Jenna watched for his reaction, then visibly sighed in relief as the muscles on his face relaxed to reveal a broad hint of laughter.

  With a nod of respect, he addressed Maggie properly. “I’ll have to do my best, then, to prove you wrong, Miss Maggie.”

  “Aha, Maggie,” Benton said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “I think you’d best watch your words. Hawkins here may not be as tolerant of your remarks as I am.”

  Jenna had always spent a great deal of time around her staff, but their banter had never been so open and carefree. Was this how enjoyable their house would be if her father had never married his second wife? Had Lady Kingston’s strictness and cruelty taken so much joy out of their home?

  The change had happened so gradually that Jenna hadn’t noticed how damaging things had been.

  She straightened her shoulders and pulled herself from her musings. There was work to be done, and Eleanor could return unexpectedly at any time. Jenna couldn’t waste any of the precious freedom she’d been given. Besides, she couldn’t ignore the little voice that warned her that the longer Jack Hawkins remained in her home, the greater the threat he would become to her.

  If only she could ferret out what threat he posed.

  “Everyone, please,” she said, moving to a chair across from where Clarisse would sit. “Take your seat. We’ll begin our lesson.”

  The staff rushed to take seats according to their lofty titles. The footmen held out chairs for the upstairs maids like they’d seen the guests do the few times there had been guests at Kingston Manor and when the upstairs maids took their places, they each sat more gracefully than Jenna thought they were capable of.

  Jenna watched with pure pleasure. A gathering of this sort is exactly how a normal home would be, but she suddenly couldn’t remember the last time there had been guests here at Kingston.

  When had they become so isolated?

  Jenna pondered her situation while watching Benton instruct Hawkins on the details of serving their simple meal. She heard Benton tell Hawkins that if the family ate at a designated time, such as they were doing now, the butler was to wait upon the gathering. A footman would assist him at the morning meal, but at lunch, such as now, he would serve the family alone, as all the footmen would be busy doing their individual duties.

  Hawkins moved silently through the room, filling glasses and removing plates. No matter how hard she tried, Jenna was unable to put the haunting question out of her mind. Why was it she couldn’t remember the last time Benton had served them?

  The servants ate, their light banter a pleasant change from the uncomfortable tension that had become customary at Kingston Manor. When everyone was finished eating, Hawkins removed the china and served coffee.

  Jenna overheard Benton tell Hawkins that the china and silverware, as well as the wine cellar, were the butler’s responsibility. If any silver went missing, or if the master’s cellar was inadequately stocked, such neglect was grounds for dismissal.

  Jenna couldn’t help but notice that even while the tall, handsome stranger moved around the room obeying every instruction Benton issued, there was something mesmerizing about the manner in which he moved. Something so very intriguing about the way he studied his surroundings.

  As if he were memorizing every detail of the room.

  As if he were memorizing every detail about...her.

  Yes, Jenna thought as she sipped from the goblet he’d refilled for her moments earlier. It was imperative that she take advantage of every day her stepmother was absent to train their new butler as quickly as possible. There was something that set him apart from other men she’d known. Something that she feared was more powerful than she could combat.

  Why was it she’d never noticed any of the servants as they moved around the room during a meal? Why was it that Benton’s presence didn’t disturb her in such a strange and intimate way? Benton was equally as handsome. And nearly as tall and broad-shouldered.

  A brief glance in Hawkins’ direction affirmed for her the reason for her unrest. His clean-shaven face carried not a hint of last night’s downtrodden vagabond. His white gloves hugged hands that moved with confidence and even grace. It was no wonder that it was only Jack Hawkins whose nearness caused butterflies to take flight in her stomach—whose closeness affected her like a caress.

  Jenna was suddenly nervous. Later, she intended to instruct Mr. Hawkins on the proper silver to use for various occasions. She could hardly expect Benton to ignore his duties while she instructed their newcomer on something so minor. And Maggie was busy with the upstairs staff. Which meant Jenna would have to meet with Hawkins herself.

  Jenna looked up to find her gaze locked with his. She quickly lowered her head.

  But not before a thousand butterflies overtook her stomach.

  THE DEVIL’S GIFT by Laura Landon

  Chapter 5

  Jack paced in the room where Benton had led him. It was generally quite similar to the informal dining room where he’d served luncheon earlier. Its wood was polished to a high shine. Pure white lace protected the sideboard. And a massive window offered a view of the estate’s west terrace. But this room was smaller, as if it were only used when the immediate family ate together.

  Benton had told him to wait for Miss Kingston. She was going to instruct him in the correct way to place the silver when setting the table—as if he didn’t already know. He’d been taught which fork and spoon to use for which course since he was knee-high to a chair rail.

  Jack looked around the room and felt the four high walls close in around him. If he had an ounce of intelligence he’d use the little time he’d been given to run as far from Kingston Manor and Miss Jenevieve Kingston as possible.

  What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Why did his blood churn whenever he was near her? Why did completely inappropriate thoughts fill his mind when he looked at her?

  “Bloody hell,” he said beneath his breath as he paced from one end of the room to the other.

  “Excuse me?” she asked in a rich, husky voice.

  Jack spun around to see her standing just inside the room, her head tilted gracefully to one side. “What?” he asked.

  “Oh, I thought you said something,” she repeated.

  “No, I only—”

  Jack stopped and looked around. “Did you come alone?”

  “Did you expect me to bring an army of guards?”

  “No,” he said, thankful she’d kept the door open. “But at the very least your maid.”

  “She has other duties that require her attention.”

  “Do you always train Lady Rutherford’s girls without assistance?”

  Her lips pursed a fraction and Jack saw a spark of something in her eyes he almost detected as irritation.

  “Are you suggesting I’m not capable of training them? Or perhaps you assumed I would consider myself more elevated?”

  “Neither,” Jack added quickly. “It’s only that—”

  “Not everyone connected to Society considers it beneath them to engage in physical effort. Besides, each member of our staff has his or her own duties to attend to. It would be very u
nfair of me to expect Benton or Maggie to do my work as well as their own.”

  “But shouldn’t you have a chaperone?”

  Her expression changed in a flash from irritation to amusement. She looked as if she was on the verge of laughing at him and Jack had to remind himself that she didn’t know who he was. As far as she was concerned, he was simply a servant.

  Jack suddenly felt like a fool. No one considered it out of the ordinary for the woman of the house to be alone with only servants in attendance.

  “A chaperone is not necessary. I’ve heard rules are much more strict in Society, but here in the country we’re more relaxed.”

  “Have you ever been to London?”

  The corners of her lips tipped upward and her deep blue eyes turned even darker. “When I was young. Before my mother died.”

  Jack stepped closer as if drawn toward her by some force he didn’t understand. “Did you like it?”

  “I remember being fascinated with the sounds and the smells and the people. There were crowds everywhere.”

  The longer she spoke the more animated she became, and Jack found himself enthralled in watching her.

  “I also remember being a little afraid. The carriages and the horses went so fast and the buildings towered high above me. There were streets with venders on every corner selling everything one could imagine. And the smells. My father took me to a lady who sold hot fruit pies and I can still remember the aroma when she lifted the cover of her basket.”

  She breathed in as if reliving that day. Then turned to him and wrinkled her nose. “Unfortunately, not all the smells were pleasant.”

  Jack laughed. “That is an understatement.”

  Jack thought of the strong fish smells the nearer you came to the docks and the potent odor of refuse in the poorer sections of London.

  “How old were you when your father remarried?”

  “Thirteen.”

  “He married so soon after your mother died?”

  Her expression changed—and the look on her face turned to marble. Whatever was to be read in the look on her face was significant.

  “Are you always so inquisitive?” she finally said, her voice tinged with an icy clip.

  “I am when I’m with someone about whom I’m curious.”

  Jack wanted to take the words back the second he spoke them. What was wrong with him? He was behaving as if he were in a London ballroom and he’d just met a debutante he was interested in getting to know.

  The look on her face told him he couldn’t have made a bigger blunder if he’d tried. The sharpness in her words told him the same.

  “It would behoove you to learn your place, Mr. Hawkins. A servant—especially one who intends to achieve the exalted and trustworthy station of butler—is still nothing more than a servant. No servant, you will quickly discover, has the right to make inquiries of his master.”

  “You are right, of course,” he said with a subservient nod of respect. “I overstepped my bounds.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  She walked away from him and made her way to the other side of the table. When she reached a place directly across from him, she stopped and motioned to the array of beautiful china and silver set out for his lessons. “You’d best learn the skills you’ll need to serve dinner before you’re expected to use them. You will find Benton a demanding overseer.”

  Jack motioned to her from the other side of the table and listened with half an ear while she explained which fork was used for what. What he concentrated on more than anything though, was the husky tone of every word. Even though she remained very stern and proper, the timbre of her voice wrapped around him like the warm blanket he’d often wished for in countless battlefield trenches.

  What impressed him even more was her strength and determination. In the beginning he may have mistakenly thought her to be naïve, and perhaps that would be the case in certain matters, but she sure as hell wasn’t weak. She was one of the strongest, most determined young ladies he’d chanced to meet.

  And the battle he was most desperate to win, yet knew he was already losing, was his determination not to allow her to affect him.

  In truth, she moved him in ways he’d not experienced before. If she thought his questions indicated he didn’t know his place, she’d be shocked at the place his thoughts were taking him.

  “Are you paying attention, Mr. Hawkins?” she asked, spinning around to face him. “Each setting will have several pieces of crystal glassware that you will place...”

  Jack put a smile on his face as she continued her instruction. He pasted there a feigned look of concentration while watching her every movement. She was elegant and graceful. Kind, poised and delicately refined. It was a shame that she was somehow involved in Shad’s murder. Under ordinary circumstances he’d enjoy getting to know her.

  He was almost lost in just such an entertaining thought when a movement from behind her right shoulder demanded his attention.

  The downstairs maids had drawn back the drapery on three long windows on the east side of the room and raised the sashes to air out the room. Much to Jack’s relief, brisk gusts of fresh air rushed through the open windows, cooling the room, as well as his overly-warm body.

  As she pointed from one crystal goblet to another, a particularly strong gust of wind surged through the window. The draperies billowed out, flopping as the breeze lifted them far out into the room. An errant corner whipped across the tablecloth and shoved a dinner knife into one of three crystal goblets arranged prettily above the place setting. The tall water goblet teetered perilously. Just as Jenna reached to rescue the fragile stemware, it clattered into the two wine glasses that completed the setting.

  Small shards of thin glass flew in all directions.

  Jack had reached across the corner of the table to grab Jenna’s arm just as the three glasses shattered. Now he pulled to keep her out of the path of the treacherous fragments.

  Jenna shrieked and shrank back.

  The chaos settled as quickly as it had arisen, and Jack was left gaping at Jenna who sank into the nearest chair, cradling her arm to her breast.

  For pity’s sake. He hadn’t grabbed her that hard.

  Jack stepped toward her and she shrank further, protecting her arm from him.

  “Forgive me, I—”

  “No, no, it’s alright. I’m just—”

  “I’ve hurt your arm,” he insisted as he knelt beside her chair to look more closely. “But I didn’t do this.”

  Jenna avoided his eyes.

  “No, of course not. It’s a…a bit of bruising from…from a fall yesterday.”

  She protested yet again but he gently took her fingers in his hand and touched the fine Battenberg lace that lay prettily across her arm. Beneath the sheer fabric, between the beautifully embroidered flowers, he saw lines of heavy bruising. Bruises that could not have appeared in that moment. They were well-established and beginning to show purple at the edges.

  “Then we shall count ourselves fortunate that you survived this…fall, Miss Kingston.”

  He released her arm as he rose and backed away. At the same time, Miss Kingston rose and stepped behind her chair.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” he couldn’t help but ask before she left the room.

  “I’m fine. It’s nothing,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

  “Of course it isn’t,” Jack said, fixing his expression with a neutral look. He held his countenance until she’d quit the room and he could no longer hear her soft footsteps. Then he unfolded his tight fists and released the long breath he’d been holding.

  The hell those bruises on her arm were nothing. He recognized the cross-hatched, bruising welts made by a whip when he saw them. He’d had plenty of them himself. And these were muscle-deep. They had to hurt like Hades.

  Her father had done this, and she’d covered for him. Jack stormed from the room, determined to discover what Baron Kingston was up to. Hoping that, whatever
it was, it was serious enough that Jack could see him hang for it.

  . . .

  Jack sat on the edge of the too-short bed in the attic room where he’d spent his first night at Kingston Manor and thought about everything that had happened that day.

  Someone took a whip to Jenna Kingston.

  He unclenched the fists he’d anchored on either side of his hips and sucked a harsh breath through his gritted teeth. How could Kingston beat his own daughter?

  After Shad’s murder, Jack had devoted weeks to learning as much as he could about Baron Kingston. He knew exactly what investments he’d made and which ones had failed—which seemed to be most of them. He knew how often he came to London and how long he stayed. He knew on what Kingston and his wife spent their money and why—thanks to Baroness Kingston—there was little left in his accounts.

  In fact, Jack knew how much Baron Kingston was worth, down to the halfpenny—which wasn’t much.

  What had not been hinted at, however, was a violent streak Kingston must possess that would allow him to take a whip to his daughter. According to the reports he’d been given, the baron was a kind and gentle man. To some, even a weak man.

  Was that a lie?

  Shad was dead because of Kingston, and from the welts he’d seen on Jenna Kingston’s arm, even his family wasn’t immune to his wrath. If there truly was a violent streak in the baron, Jack would enjoy taking revenge upon it.

  Jack let a harsh sigh rush from deep within him and listened for the sounds of anyone in the house still up and about. He wasn’t sure how much time he’d have before Baron and Baroness Kingston returned and wanted to take advantage of every minute he had in which to search the house. If he had enough time, Jack was certain he’d discover a clue as to why Shad had been murdered, and what he’d meant with his dying words when he’d warned Jack not to let Kingston get him, too.

  Jack listened closely, eager to begin his search. The sooner he could find the link to Shad’s death and leave, the better. For some insane reason he was beginning to feel he wouldn’t be safe if he stayed around Miss Kingston too long.