by JayneFresina
Yes, this was the rude fellow who simply ordered her there at thirteen minutes past seven and then forgot to tell anybody she was coming. Now he accused her of intended robbery.
"So go on then," he urged gruffly, "what else should I know about you?"
Further irritated by the way he looked her up and down, that smug attitude of male superiority curling off him like the cigar smoke, she replied frostily, "There are far too many things you should know about me. I wouldn't have the slightest idea where to begin with the warning. Best be on your guard in general, sir."
When he grinned she caught a quick flare of teeth, like the lazy half-roar, half-yawn of a big cat at the zoo. "Princess keeps a sharp tongue in 'er 'ead, don't she?"
"I keep many sharp parts about me, sir. Hence the caution." Might as well let him know, from the beginning, that he would not behave toward her with the same discourteous, thoughtless manner as he treated his housekeeper.
"That told me, didn't it?" he muttered. "I do like a woman with spirit, but if you don't mind I'm weary today, so let's not dance about. We both know why you're 'ere."
"I hope so, sir."
As his form took full shape out of the shadows and he moved toward her, she realized he was taller than she had, for some reason, expected. But not much. He wore a single breasted morning coat of iron-grey, a pale blue waistcoat with what was, quite possibly, the ugliest pattern she'd ever seen, serge trousers and...bare feet. Quickly she lifted her gaze, for it felt improper to regard his naked feet as he approached.
His hair was very dark, like his eyes. It made her think of a moonless, starless midnight in the depths of winter in some harsh wilderness where one would have to hunt to eat. Where the weak did not thrive.
But she stood her ground, unblinking.
"Got somethin' for me to put my mark on, 'ave you?" He stopped a few yards away from her.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Want an autograph or just a kiss?" The lazy grin widened, lasting a little longer this time. "If you want more than that you might have to wait. I'm tired—been up for almost..." he glanced at the silver fob watch that he took from his waistcoat pocket, "thirty-six hours. But once I'm rested, I wouldn't be averse to the idea of taking you on for a round or two." Again his gaze swept her with a commanding search and the heat of an undoubted prerogative. "I like the look o' you and it's a good day for indoor entertainments."
Ah.
She cleared her throat and folded her hands together. "Glad as I am to meet with your approval, sir, I suspect we may be at cross purposes."
He winced. "Cross what?"
"Purposes, sir. I am—"
"Reckon we can dispense with the 'sir', don't you? Reminds me too much of my ol' pa, who always made me call him that. When he weren't smacking me 'round the head, drunk out of his mind."
This snippet of information about his past was thrown at her carelessly— not for sympathy at all, but as if it barely mattered and might even be considered amusing. His eyes narrowed as he brought the cigar back to his lips and drew upon it, the end glowing orange for a moment.
"What would you prefer to be called then? Just Mr. Hart?"
He exhaled a cloud of grey. "I suppose that'll do, for now. And what should I call you?"
"Miss Greene, of course."
Slowly his eyes widened, a little more light dawning in those fathomless wells. "Then you're the woman I ordered! I took you for one o' them nosy strumpets lookin' for a good time."
His startled exclamation threatened to tease a smile out of her lips, but she curbed it quickly. "The woman you ordered? I am the governess you hired. I would prefer it if you refer to me in those terms."
"Would you indeed?" The lines in his brow deepened. "Do as you will." Then he gave a cocky shrug. "Makes no difference to me what you call yourself."
"Perhaps not. But what you call me, makes a difference, Mr. Hart," she replied coolly. "If you don't mind."
"Six o' one and half dozen o' the other." Before she could take any further issue with that odd remark, he threw his arms out in an extravagant gesture and laughed. "Why didn't you say who you were right off?"
"Why did you hide, instead of let me know you were in here?"
Again her swift returning volley seemed to surprise him. For a moment he stared at her, then he reached across the desk to put out his cigar. "I like to assess my opponent before I approach." With both hands in his trouser pockets, he circled her.
"I'm not your opponent."
His lips twitched and a brighter spark warmed his gaze, further relieving the blackness. "That remains to be seen, don't it?" He squinted. "I reckon you could be trouble."
"Oh? You must have been talking to my mother," she replied drily.
There was a pause, like a held breath or the sweep of an eagle's wing just before it took flight. And then he laughed.
Ever felt her pulse thumping hard and fast. His face was rugged and full of interesting character, marked by the experiences of a hard life. Those rough cheekbones and the crooked bridge of his nose were no surprise, since she knew now how he'd made his living, but she had not expected to meet a spark of youthful mischief and merriment in those dark eyes. To see amusement and curiosity looking back at her with a liveliness of spirit not beaten out of him by a career in the boxing arena.
"No, I ain't spoken to your mother," he said finally. "But you can learn a lot about a person, when they don't know they're being watched."
"And apparently you came to the wrong idea entirely from watching me."
"Well, you don't look like a bloody governess."
"Do I look like a strumpet?"
"You'd be surprised." He chuckled dourly. "I get all sorts. Fancy ones too. Ice maidens like you are the worst o' the bunch. They all want a bit o' Gabe Hart." Then he shot her a sideways glance and added, "You're not the first to sneak in for a feel o' my muscles, while pretending it's beneath you and you'd never bloody think of it."
Realizing that her mouth had fallen open, she imagined what Mrs. Palgrave would say about flies and quickly snapped it shut.
"Don't be coy," he added. "I'm used to it. Comes with the territory and women are a lusty lot with criminal minds when it comes to getting what they want." He exhaled a heavy sigh, placing one hand to his chest. "Being treated like a stud horse is one o' the drawbacks when you're a perfect specimen of manhood."
"Must be dreadful for you. Shall I send for the Red Cross?"
"Don't take charity." He grinned slowly. Menacingly. "I get by. Somehow."
Ever refused to smile. She straightened her spine and said firmly, "Mrs. Palgrave tells me you have no children here."
He rocked slightly on his bare feet, both hands back in his pockets. "Except me, o' course. Palgrave often treats me as if I am one. Claims to despise children, but she's the motherly type. Spoils me and can't help 'erself. I reckon she'll try it with you too, so watch out." He winked.
Ever took a short, careful step back. Did he have no sense of physical boundaries? And a wink was surely inappropriate between pupil and governess. She felt it as if those wafting eyelashes were close enough to stroke her skin.
"Why the face, Miss Greene?" he demanded.
Why the face?Clearly he expected her to giggle and simper, to collapse in his presence like an undercooked soufflé.
He stood there looking pleased with himself, a practical joker who dared act surprised when his hapless victim didn't congratulate him with peals of laughter.
"Mrs. Palgrave is very concerned that you may not have use for me now that I'm here." She tried not to sound too disheartened, but she had waited so long for her chance to go out in the world and do something meaningful. Now it all rested on the shoulders of this man. Admittedly those shoulders were broad, but they were also an unpredictable commodity, belonging to a man with no "adult responsibilities" as Mrs. Palgrave had said— no wife and children— and, apparently, a perverse sense of humor.
His nostrils flared, and those dynamic eyes glea
med in a manner that could only be described as wickedly defiant. "I'll find use for you. One way or another." Again his voice broke, turning croaky.
She quickly dampened her dry lips. "I hope so." Oops, that was perhaps not the right thing to say in light of his earlier mistake.
"What's it to Palgrave, anyway? Your wage ain't coming out of her pocket, is it?"
"I do not think her concerns were financial, Mr. Hart."
Again he walked around her slowly, in the opposite direction this time. "I suppose Palgrave thinks I'll lead you astray. 'Course I knew she'd try to interfere, which is why I didn't tell her what I wanted. I can only imagine what she would have found for me, left to her own devices. This is a private matter. Between you...and me." Something about the way he said that made her feel as if the ground sank and pulled away under her feet, making her scramble to stay upright.
"Then you do want to learn, Mr. Hart? You do want a governess? Mrs. Palgrave suggested the advertisement might have been a whim acted upon suddenly, without forethought, and now regretted."
"Yes. I do want you, Miss Greene. So there's no backing out. You'll do for me."
That look in his eyes told her that she might have taken on more than she knew, or understood. Might have. There was something he wasn't telling her. But to her intense horror— and yet also a dark, inescapable thrill— she could not read a single thought he had.
For the first time in her life, Ever Greene was left to figure it out. Like one of those normal people she'd always envied.
"If you don't mind my asking, Mr. Hart, why did you choose me?"
A husky laugh shot out of him. "A man should have something pretty to look at around the house. A fine pair of ankles, a soft set o' lips, and eyes like sad, caged birds that need to be taught how to sing again."
"That's all very nice, Mr. Hart...quite poetic." Especially for a man who made a fortune with his fists. She drew a quick breath, watching as he removed his morning coat and tossed it over the back of his chair. "But I know there is nothing pretty about me and I am glad of it. In any case, you didn't know what I looked like until today."
"How do you know? Like I said, you can learn a lot about a person when they don't know they're being watched."
He made no sense. There couldn't have been any chance for him to observe her before that morning. His offer had arrived two days after she sent her letter, and Ever had not stepped outside the house at all in that time, not even into the garden.
"Stop pouting. Can't abide a woman who pouts and sulks and complains all the time."
"And I can't abide a man who refuses to give a straight answer to a direct question."
He groaned. "I didn't need to see any other replies after I got your letter, Miss Greene. You suited me and that's all there is to it." He must have seen her doubt, for then he added, "I've always known what I want as soon as I see it. I don't hang about, quibblin' over this and that. When you see something you want, you should take it. Seize the bloody opportunity, because chances are you won't get another." He tilted his head. "Ain't that what you did when you wrote to me?"
"Yes. I suppose I did."
"And you've got something I need."
"I'm almost afraid to ask..."
"An education," he explained with a chuckle. "I never had any schooling." He prowled to the cabinet by the wall, his bare feet making no sound at all— not even that her sensitive ears could pick up on. "Not the kind from books. What I learned came from the streets and back alleys. Growing up, it was all I needed. But now it's not enough." Taking a decanter from the Tantalus, he lifted it toward her, one brow quirked.
She shook her head. Brandy? At this time of the day?
Regardless of the hour, he poured one for himself. A large one. Then he held the glass cupped in one big, clawed hand while he swirled the contents gently, warming the deep amber liquor with the heat of his palm. She had not looked at his hands until then, but this action drew her attention and she could not help but stare. His hands were huge. Quite terrifying and yet fascinating. Morbidly so when one considered the number of heads they'd knocked unconscious.
During his time in the ring he knocked out quite a few opponents and some never recovered.
"The lack of a formal education, Miss Greene, makes me a poor dinner guest. Oh, I'm a novelty still, an item of curiosity that gets invited places— mostly to entertain the toffs and their stuck-up ladies. Gives 'em a bit of a thrill. Like a tiger in a cage, or one o' them Egyptian cadavers all bandaged up. What's the word for 'em?"
"Mummies?" she murmured, still watching his hands.
"That's them." He nodded. "But I want to be something more than entertainment. I served my time in the circus and fairground sideshows. I'm too old for that now." He took a hearty swig of brandy. "Not that there's anything wrong with that life. Fairground folk are the most honest and loyal friends a man could ask for. But I'm 'ere now, ain't I? This is another world. They talk different."
"And you want to fit in. That is a common human desire."
He frowned as if he objected to the suggestion that he was merely human. "I just don't like to be beaten, Miss Greene. I won't be told there's somethin' I can't do. I'm a winner. That's what I do best. When I do go back to London, those fancy society folks won't get the better of me. They won't shut me out and look down on me. They'll see me and say, who is that fine gent over there? They'll be wanting an introduction to me."
Slowly she nodded. His determination was palpable, ferocious, even when his countenance was closed off, guarded.
"I'm more than they took me for. They'll find out." For a moment he gazed beyond her, deep in ominous thought. She heard a coal tumble against the fire guard. Finally remembering her presence, he continued, "With a bit o' coaching I can be a gentleman too, can't I? I needn't be afraid that I'll say something that ain't fittin'. Or do something to offend the starchy ol' matrons. I want to get things right." Pointing to the jumble of books stacked on the other side of the leaded glass doors, he said, "I bought all them books— job lot from a going out of business sale— read 'em all in a year. Now I need a good rub down."
It took her a moment to realize what he meant. "Polishing or finishing off, I think, is what you mean to say."
Again he shrugged. "Six o' one, half dozen o' the other." He stared at her crossly, his lips in a hard line. "Now what's the meanin' o' that face? I don't like being told somethin' ain't possible, Miss Greene."
"I wasn't going to say that at all."
"Then you can turn me into a gentleman by the Epsom Derby. First Wednesday in June." It was a statement, not a question. "I've got a horse running, and the king's invited me into the royal enclosure."
"I see. That is indeed an honor."
He stuck out his chin. "So I don't want to make a fool o' meself, do I?" This must have been a difficult confession for him, she realized. Gabriel Hart was not the sort of man one would imagine to care much about what the upper classes thought of him. After all, he'd earned great success on his own terms, in his own world, without bowing to any of them.
But as he made this statement his face colored slightly. She supposed it could be caused by the hurried and considerable swig of brandy he had just downed. Otherwise it made him more endearing than she cared to admit.
She looked at him, wondering. For a man of his apparent self-confidence it was a surprise to hear that he thought himself lacking anything. Had something happened that provoked this step toward transformation? His housekeeper had expressed surprise and amusement when she said, "I never thought to see the day when he'd admit anybody could teach him anything!"
Finally, Ever replied, "It will be quite an undertaking. Are you sure you can devote yourself so thoroughly to the task? I know you're a busy man." With a scattered attention span according to Mrs. Palgrave. "You won't become distracted by another idea in a few weeks?"
He puffed out his chest, lifted his chin again. "I've got me mind made up. I want to get things right. And I'm paying you well for y
our time. Do you apprehend a problem, Miss Greene? You look vexed. Think I ain't up to bein' a gentleman?"
It was interesting, the way he spoke— one minute trying to be proper and the next lapsing into a less formal style of speech that was evidently more comfortable for him. It showed that he did make an effort occasionally. But not for long.
"Mr. Hart, I'm sure you are up to it. As long as you remain dedicated and don't waste—"
"That'll be your job, won't it? To keep me interested. To keep me on the straight and narrer."
"Narrow," she corrected.
"That too."
"And as long as you won't mind having me as your tutor—"
"Oh, I won't mind having you." His eyes were laughing, although he kept his lips steady. With difficulty, she suspected.
"I can be a harsh task-master," she warned. "You might find me less forgiving than Mrs. Palgrave. Less apt to make excuses for you."
He remained jovial. "I'll 'ave to behave meself then, won't I?"
"It is quite a responsibility you're putting into my hands." Excitement mounted in her heart, but it was still tentative. She curled her fingers in the pleats of her skirt. "I just want you to be certain that I am the best teacher for you. That you are willing to study and take this matter seriously. Because if you have any doubt, now would be the time to express it, before we have both wasted our time."
Head tilted, he said in that softly hoarse voice, "Are you the one? Are you tired of the monotony and eager for a new challenge?"
Those, of course, were the words he had used in his advertisement. The one she'd answered without thinking, not giving herself time to come up with any of the many reasons why she shouldn't apply.
She bowed her head, hands gripping her skirt.
"You were bold enough to answer that. You knew what you wanted. And you came here to help me," he reminded her.
