Damn, he'd said it now, and there was no taking it back. Curse his unruly temper. What would become of Michaela's novels now? Mrs. Dunne would never give them up after he'd offended her.
"My daughter has been a constant embarrassment to this family," the woman hissed, her eyes full of rage. "Her and her ridiculous dreams! She would never have run off if her father was still alive. He would have thrashed her senseless, and rightly so!"
"I beg to differ with you. I don't believe she deserves that," he ground out, his voice dangerously low. "Mrs. Dunne, your husband was a cruel man."
"Your money can't take away the shame she's caused this household," she shrieked.
Anger brought Christopher out of his chair. He crossed the room and bent down over the woman, a hand on either arm of her chair, literally trapping her there. She tried to shrink away from the venom she saw in his eyes, but the high back of the chair prevented her from going far. To intimidate her even further, Christopher leaned closer.
"Need I search the house myself?"
She didn't say anything, just gave a little whimper of fear.
He lifted his hands off the arms of the chair, then slammed them back down in impatient fury, causing her to jump with fright. "I offered you money, woman! Name your price, or I shall search this house until I find each and every novel myself," he shouted. Good God, he hadn't shouted in years. But this woman made him so angry.
"Please...." she began.
"Name it!" He lowered his voice again until it was a deadly whisper. "I don't need to pay you. As you said, I've already paid for them. Your choice now. Payment, or none. But I will have those books."
"Pay me what you will. I'll get you the books, but then I want you to leave this house!"
"I assure you, madam, it will be my pleasure."
He straightened again to allow her to get up, but was two steps behind her as she hurried out into the hallway screaming for Betsy. He didn't trust her, didn't want her to call the police.
The black woman appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, obviously alarmed at the fear in her employer's voice.
"Betsy! Michaela's books. All of them. Bring them to me."
The black woman ducked her head and hurried down the back hall to the stairs. Christopher waited in the foyer with Mrs. Dunne. The woman wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she kept her gaze trained on the stairs, anxious for Betsy to return with the books.
When the black woman finally brought him the stack a few minutes later, he bid her put them in the car outside. She hurried to do as he requested and was back in moments.
"Is that all of them?" he asked, trying not to let his anger be directed at the helpless woman.
She nodded her dark head. "Yassuh."
"The short stories, too?" Mrs. Dunne inquired. "I don't want a scrap of them left here." Her voice was cold now, her eyes dead.
Again the black woman nodded. "Yes, ma'am. It's everythang."
"No copies?" Christopher demanded of Mrs. Dunne.
Michaela's mother shook her head, her expression grim. "You have what you came for. Now get out of my house, and don't ever come back again."
Christopher pressed a wad of bills into the black woman's hands and thanked her for her assistance. Mrs. Dunne looked up in surprise when he pressed a sizeable check into her hands. She didn't look at the amount, just pressed a trembling hand to her lips, her eyes closing for a split second, as if she were ashamed of herself.
"Your daughter is under my protection now. I don't expect to ever hear from you again," Christopher coldly informed her.
She glanced up at him then, and for a moment, he thought he detected a spark of regret in the woman's eyes. But it wasn't enough to make him feel sorry for her. He couldn't forgive her for the way she had treated her daughter.
He was just as eager to leave as Mrs. Dunne was to have him leave. Now he understood everything. He understood why Michaela would have done anything to get out of that house. He'd been there for less than an hour, yet he'd already felt its dark side.
Poor Michaela. What she must have endured. He was glad to save her from ever having to return to this place. Mrs. Dunne had left a rotten taste in his mouth.
It made him think of his son. He would have to remember to assure Gerald that he was free to pursue his own dreams as far as they could take him. He would never be guilty of oppressing the hopes of his own flesh and blood.
He couldn't wait to get back home, back to Michaela. He needed to know that everything was all right. Soon he would have to find a way to tell her that she was a free woman now, free to do whatever she chose.
* * *
Much to Gerald's unhappiness, Michaela chose to dine in the kitchen with Mrs. Avery that evening. She simply couldn't subject herself to the torture of dining with Portia. She felt sorry for leaving Gerald in the lurch, but she just wasn't brave enough to face their guests. Not after what Portia had said that afternoon. She would need to gather her courage to face another onslaught like that one.
Gerald was kind enough not to quibble too much, outside of the initial, almost obligatory argument. But he was far too sympathetic of her plight to be serious about it, and he ended by giving her his blessing.
"I'd join you if I could. But with Father gone, I am the host. I suppose it wouldn't be proper of me."
She smiled and hugged him hard. "Poor Gerald. I feel guilty for sending you into the lion's den alone."
"Don't. After today, you deserve a rest." He made a great show of sighing heavily. "While the lord of the manor performs his duties, the maiden frolics."
She laughed and playfully pinched his arm. "Mrs. Avery will thank you for letting me spend some time with her. I've barely seen her all day."
At the bottom of the stairs, he kissed her cheek and took his leave. She sighed and turned toward the kitchen. At least for an entire evening, she had a reprieve.
Mrs. Avery was delighted that she was joining her, and she shushed any misgivings that Michaela might have about her choice.
"Don't you worry about it for a minute. I'm sure Gerald will give all the proper excuses for you. They don't have to know you're dining in the kitchen." She set a steaming plate before Michaela and took a seat beside her. "Lord, I don't blame you. That Portia has grown into a terrible woman. Poor Mr. Telford. He doesn't deserve it."
"Portia despises me," Michaela murmured, toying with her meal.
Mrs. Avery gave her hand a comforting pat. "Don't fret yourself. Portia doesn't like anyone or anything that gets in her way."
Michaela was contemplative. Mrs. Avery's response gave her a spark of hope. If Portia felt that she was a threat, and Mrs. Avery felt that she was a worthy opponent to the spiteful girl, then....
She forced herself not to think in that direction. She didn't want to set herself up for heartache. During Christopher's absence, she had tried so hard to convince herself that it was just affection, perhaps even gratitude that she felt for him. Of course, she loved him. But that didn't have to mean that she was in love with him. She loved Gerald, too. And Mrs. Avery.
But it wasn't the same sort of love. Not nearly the same. No one had ever made her feel the way Christopher Standeven did. No one.
She shook her head to dispel the thoughts. Mrs. Avery must have mistaken it for more worry about the current circumstances because she gave her hand another pat and said, "Don't worry. They won't be here much longer."
Michaela could only hope.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Christopher was glad to finally return to his Virginia mansion. He felt much more relaxed now that he was armed with Michaela's freedom. Now he must find a way to tell her without alienating her. It wouldn't be easy. He didn't know how she would react to the knowledge that he'd been snooping into her affairs. But there was plenty of time. He wanted her to know about her freedom, to know that she never had to go back to her former life, but he didn't want her to feel betrayed, either. He would bide his time and wait for the right moment.
Michaela
knew that Christopher had returned the moment she stepped into her room and saw the beautiful sequined gown draped across the foot of her bed. She'd been in the stables all day, still avoiding Portia and her brood, and hadn't heard him arrive, but she knew he was back. She sensed his presence. And the dress....
She crossed the room and picked it up. It was exquisite. He had chosen well, a deep emerald color that was a perfect complement to her hair and eyes. She went to the mirror and held it in front of her, gasping at the effect. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.
A voice from the doorway startled her out of her reverie, and she spun on her heel to smile at Mrs. Avery.
"Ah, I see you've found the dress." Mrs. Avery was beaming as she stepped into the room. "It's beautiful, isn't it? I had Sadie bring it in while you were out."
"I've never had anything so beautiful."
"Mr. Standeven purchased it on his business trip. He thought you might be a bit more comfortable with it, since everyone else will be in formal attire tonight."
Michaela sighed. "I don't know how to receive all these gifts."
Mrs. Avery smiled. "Graciously, my dear. Graciously."
Michaela smiled back at her. "It's difficult. How shall I ever thank him enough?"
"I imagine there's no need to. Mr. Standeven does what he pleases."
Michaela took the dress back to the bed and carefully laid it where she had found it. "He's far too kind," she murmured, still fingering the gown.
The dress would make Portia seethe with jealousy, she was sure. At least, Michaela would attend dinner knowing she was wearing something equally as beautiful as anything Portia owned. The thought made her feel downright smug.
She glanced up and met Mrs. Avery's eyes. "You don't suppose Mr. Standeven's guests will think I'm a...kept woman, do you?"
Mrs. Avery gave a little snort of disdain. "I should think not. Not under Mr. Standeven's roof."
"I just don't want them to...." Michaela trailed off, pinching her lower lip between her teeth in embarrassment.
"Don't you give it another thought," Mrs. Avery soothed, crossing the room to put an arm around Michaela's shoulders. "It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."
"I suppose you're right."
"Of course, I am." Mrs. Avery gave her a little squeeze and then stepped away. "I'll send Sadie up later to help with your hair. She's very good with such things."
"Thank you, Mrs. Avery."
Mrs. Avery gave her one last smile and then left her alone. Michaela turned back to the dress. She couldn't help but feel excited over the prospect of wearing something so stunning. She'd never owned a dress like it before. Awkward as the circumstances were, she was thrilled about the gift. Tonight, for the first time in her life, she would be a princess.
She sighed and sat down on the bed. If only the Telfords were not present. She would much prefer to have the Standevens all to herself again. A family.
Later that evening, Michaela stepped to the mirror to stare at her reflection. Sadie had done a flawless job on her makeup. It was almost imperceptible. And the dress was even more exquisite than she'd imagined. Sadie had piled her hair into an intricate crown that even Portia would envy, and the effect was stunning. The dress bared her shoulders, and stray tendrils of hair hung in soft ringlets around her pale, slender neck. She was grateful for the maid's expertise. She'd never looked so glamorous in all her life. The reflection in the mirror had the bearing of a queen, and Michaela could scarcely believe she was looking at herself. For the first time, she felt like she could fit into Portia's world.
"You've worked magic, Sadie," Michaela murmured.
"You look beautiful, mademoiselle," Sadie assured her as she too studied Michaela's reflection.
Michaela turned and gave her a quick hug. "I should go downstairs now. I don't want to keep—" She had been about to say that she didn't want to keep Christopher waiting, but she bit it off just in time. He was Mr. Standeven she had to keep reminding herself.
Sadie gave a little nod of understanding and followed her to the door. Out in the hall alone, Michaela felt a bit of her old reticence returning. She hadn't seen Christopher for nearly two days, and though she was eager to be in his company again, she was also nervous about seeing him. What would it be like, especially after receiving such a gift from him? And there was Portia and her friends to think of, as well. She still felt awkward in their presence.
At the bottom of the stairs, she paused to collect herself. She pushed her shoulders back and her head high and turned down the hall, taking several slow, deep breaths as she went. Her heart felt like it was about to pound out of her ribcage, more from the idea of seeing Christopher again than facing Portia and her friends. She both looked forward to stepping into the dining hall and shrank from the idea. But the need to be with Christopher was stronger than any misgivings about sharing the same room with Portia, and she took the last steps with more determination than she'd ever thought she could possess.
Since she was a few minutes late, everyone was already gathered in the dining hall, waiting for her. All heads turned as she stepped into the brightly lit room. Michaela had a brief moment of panic. If she'd ever wanted to disappear into herself, she'd certainly chosen the wrong gown to wear. It was far too stunning not to be noticed. Still, despite the avid attention, she managed to maintain her composure.
The moment he saw her, Christopher came to his feet and crossed the room to offer his arm and escort her to the table. Michaela was grateful for his attention. She didn't feel quite so naked with him standing beside her.
"You look ravishing, Michaela. Very beautiful," he whispered, his eyes glittering with something indefinable as he gazed down at her.
She beamed up at him. Lord, she'd missed him. It had been no more than thirty-six hours since they'd last seen one another, but she'd missed him like it had been years. This evening he looked even more handsome than ever, with his starched white collar and shiny black jacket, very dignified and debonair.
She ignored the stares of everyone else. She could afford to now. His words had given her strength and daring. He thought she was beautiful. It was all she could think about.
Michaela was pleasantly surprised when Christopher escorted her to the chair at the head of the table opposite his own seat. Once again, he was honoring her as hostess of his household.
In deference to a lady, the men had all stood when she entered the room. They waited until she was seated before taking their own seats again. Gerald's eyes were full of mischief as he caught her gaze. As if in salute, he raised his wineglass to her, a smile so devilish on his face that it bordered on wicked.
Michaela was surprised to realize that another guest had joined them. Noticing the direction of her gaze, Gerald introduced his friend. Timothy. Michaela liked him on sight. He seemed affable enough, almost shy, much more likeable than Portia's friends. She was glad for Gerald. His friend balanced out the odds a bit.
When the meal commenced a few minutes later, Gerald leaned close and whispered, "Brava, Michaela. You look positively smashing. You make Portia look old and gaudy."
She almost giggled but forced herself not to. His high praise made her feel giddy, almost drunk with happiness.
She raised her wineglass to her lips and drank deeply, then finally found the courage to turn in Portia's direction. The eyes of the haughty beauty flared with hostility. Michaela would have given her a catty smile to tweak her ire a bit more, but she was much too well mannered for that. Besides, nothing could touch her tonight, not after all the attention Christopher gave her. He scarcely took his eyes from her the entire evening. Nor could she take her eyes from him.
"You're looking more the part tonight, I see," Portia crooned, her eyes full of undisguised hatred as she stared at Michaela.
"Is that any way to speak to your hostess?" Christopher's voice cracked across the table.
The anger in his voice shocked Michaela. She'd never heard anything but self-control from him. But
now he made no attempt to mask his displeasure at Portia's ill-mannered tone.
"Hostess?" Portia barely managed to stifle a snide laugh.
"Michaela helped prepare the guest rooms for your comfort. You should be a little more grateful."
"Then she's little more than a housekeeper," Portia quipped, her eyes still on Michaela. Christopher's defense of Michaela seemed to spur her even further. "A maid, at best. I've been wondering just exactly what her capacity here was. Now I know."
Christopher slammed his hand down on the table, causing his cutlery to clatter together and his wineglass to tip precariously. "That is enough!"
Portia turned to stare at him in alarm. Michaela lowered her gaze to her plate, her head bowed. She was mortified. She hated to be the cause of all this contention. Noting her agitation, Gerald slipped his hand into hers and gave it a little squeeze of sympathy. Michaela gave him a grateful look, but her gaze never strayed further. She couldn't look at Christopher or anyone else at the table now. She knew it was awkward for all of them, but it was most awkward for her because she was the cause.
"I've been patient up to this point, but I will not continue to tolerate these insults against a guest of mine. If you are not happy with your present circumstances here, then I suggest you take your leave."
Michaela was unable to keep from sneaking a glance at Portia. The dark-haired beauty was shocked into silence, but only for a moment.
Portia forced a smile to her face, and her voice was all sweetness and charm when she finally replied, "Why, Christopher, I'll do no such thing. I was only having a bit of sport. You can't take it seriously."
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