There was never any doubt that Christian would take Lily back to England and raise her as if she were his own. He did not believe he’d ever have a legitimate child, and he recognized that Lily would fill the loneliness deep inside him.
So, three days ago, he’d placed an advertisement in the local York Times for a governess to sail back to England with them and to take charge of Lily’s upbringing.
Given the colonial location and his reputation, he’d had the most unsuitable women applying. It seemed no respectable governess wished to work for Devil Scarface. Those who did simply wanted passage to England. That is, until the woman seated on the other side of Matthew’s large maplewood desk applied.
She was the first woman who’d looked him directly in the eye in a long time. He found it disconcerting. The red rawness of the skin on his burnt face had faded over the years, but even so, it—he—was not a congenial sight.
She hardly seemed to notice.
Yet he had noticed her all right—too much. His body reacted to her ethereal beauty like a stallion scenting a mare. A flood of tangled emotions rushed through him. One of them was a current of regret. Ever since he’d been injured at Waterloo, he’d pretended that it didn’t matter to him that his looks were gone. Anger and bitterness had soured his demeanor. Perhaps it would have been better if he’d died there and then. It was only when he saw a woman like Mrs. Cooper, with such grace and beauty, that the pain of all he’d lost swamped him in self-pity.
She sat opposite him, very composed, in a charming if somewhat dated lavender ensemble, the shade flattering her ocean-deep blue eyes. Her hair was pulled back severely under the cap. The only thing that seemed out of place was the golden hint of a tan and a nose covered in delightful freckles, as if she’d been outside for long periods without a hat.
Her vocabulary and demeanor spoke of maturity. As he assessed her, his whole body ached with the most basic human need.
He wanted her. Not just her body, but more …
He wanted the dream he’d promised himself on the battlefields of Europe. A beautiful wife and family, a home, some shreds of normality, a few children to justify the future and to give him a tangible reason for having put himself through the horror of war.
He watched her nervously lick her lips. His groin tightened. He imagined the sleek wetness around him …
He tried to cross his legs but hit his knee on the underside of the desk. Reality returned.
He’d be lucky if even a governess agreed to be his wife. The allure of his wealth and title meant that a desperate few still approached him. But he refused to marry a woman who’d have him only because of his title, and then lie rigid and cold beneath him in the marriage bed.
This woman unsettled him because she looked at him differently. She looked at him as if he were a kindred soul, as if she understood his pain and wanted to share it.
Good God. She looked at him as if he were whole.
A shudder racked his body and a flare of hope ignited before he hastily beat it down. He was being absurd. Why was a young woman of this caliber, closer to twenty than thirty, seeking a job that would have her spend most of her life tucked away in the country?
“Mrs. Cooper, I do wish to emphasize the position is not just for the duration of the voyage back to England. I would expect you to take up residence at my country estate in Dorset.”
“That was very clear in your advertisement.”
“I will be spending most of the year in Dorset. I will do no entertaining, and I have little call for visitors or friends. Life in Dorset will be very dull. You would be most unlikely to find another husband working for me.”
“That would suit me fine. One husband is more than enough.” The venom in her voice surprised him, and he frowned. Had her husband mistreated her? His father had taught him just how vile and degrading a husband could make a marriage.
He raised an eyebrow. “Most applicants see the position as a means to get paid passage back to England. I’d hate to think that you might simply disappear after I’d paid for the voyage.”
“I’m a widow, my lord. Where would I go? I have no family left in England.” She shook her head, and a wisp of hair escaped her cap and brushed against her cheek; his fingers itched to tuck it behind her delicate ear. “No, it’s a long-term position I’m seeking. The quiet of the country will suit me perfectly.” She hesitated. “As long as I may ride and paint in my spare time?”
Riding and painting—these were the hobbies of gentry. They were skills Lily would need in order to make a good marriage, a marriage he approved of. He’d never let Lily be handed into the care of a bully or reprobate, as his mother’s father had done. He’d never put a title or elevated social position ahead of Lily’s happiness or safety.
He inclined his head. “I’m sure these can be accommodated. Lily will need to learn to ride. I have no idea if she’d like to paint.”
“Painting is something she could learn immediately. It might make the voyage to England less daunting if I got her to concentrate on painting the things she loves. To paint her mother while she still has a clear memory of her, for example.” Her smile faltered. “I wish I had thought to do so when I was younger.”
The musical melancholy of her voice played over his skin like a caress, matching the sympathy obvious in her face.
“I don’t want Lily to be subject to more change than necessary. Having just lost her parents, I don’t wish her to get attached to a governess who then ups and leaves her upon reaching England. The transition to a new country will be difficult enough. To add more change would be cruel.” He noticed Mrs. Cooper did not blink or flinch—either sign would have indicated that that had indeed been her exact intent. “I will not take on anyone who may cause Lily further pain. Do I make myself quite clear?”
The woman nodded vigorously. “That is admirable of you, my lord. Most men do not understand what losing one’s mother does to a small child.”
Christian knew only too well. His mother had died when he was six. Worse, he lived with the memory that it had been at the hand of his father.
“I’d take it very personally if she lost someone else so soon after losing her mother. Very personally …” He let the threat hang in the air.
“I would be very grateful to receive a position such as this.” She swallowed and seemed to choke on her words. “To be alone in the world is daunting. To be alone and a woman is doubly so.”
“Even for a woman with brains?” he said with a smile.
“More so, I suspect. I don’t hide from the realities of life. I know what could happen to me.”
His smile faded. “Then it appears we can help each other.”
He relaxed back in his chair and studied her. Either Mrs. Cooper was the world’s greatest actress or she really did wish to find the security of a position—wished it enough to take on Devil Scarface himself.
“The position is yours, if you’d like it. But on one condition.”
The relief was obvious in her smile, and she offered her hand for him to shake. “Thank you, my lord, I’m most grateful. What is the condition?”
The rush of thankfulness through his body at her response should’ve been a warning. Could he live with a woman such as this in his house, reminding him every day of what he might never have?
Yes. He could live with a woman who was not afraid to look at him. It made him forget, for just one moment, that anything had changed.
That he had changed.
He cleared his throat. “It seems that I have been fortunate to find you with no current employment. You certainly have the qualifications I’m looking for, but the final decision will be Lily’s.”
She pulled papers from her bag. “Did you want to see my references?”
“That won’t be necessary. I find paper references a waste of good ink. It’s too easy to hide the truth in words, whereas a face is more revealing.” He gave the bell one long pull, and it wasn’t long before a small knock could be heard on the door. �
��Enter.”
Lily Pearson shyly entered the room, and walked around to stand next to his chair. She looked so sad and so alone. The urge to pull her to him and swear his protection was strong, but not in front of Mrs. Cooper, who’d think him unbalanced.
He gave Lily a warm smile, and his soul lifted when she smiled back at him. She’d not had much to smile about recently. He admired Lily’s resilience. She’d taken the death of her parents and the change in her position better than many had predicted. Mrs. Hobson, the housekeeper, said she still cried herself to sleep each night, but that was to be expected. He took her small hand in his.
“Lily, this is Mrs. Cooper. I’m thinking of offering her the position as your new governess, but only if you like her.”
“She’s very pretty,” Lily uttered before he could finish.
He could feel heat flood his face. “Yes, well, be that as it may, I suggest you two have tea together. After tea, you can then give me your verdict. Would that suit?”
Lily reached up and kissed his scarred check, and his whole body stiffened. No one kissed him nowadays unless paid to do so. Certainly no one kissed his scars.
Shocked, he sat like a statue until Mrs. Cooper said, “Shall I ring for tea?” She smiled at Lily. “Where shall we have it?”
Lily’s face sobered. “Let’s take it in the drawing room, where Mama always took tea.” She walked away from his desk, collected Mrs. Cooper’s hand, and said, “Come on, I’ll show you. On the way we’ll ask Mrs. Hobson to make the tea.”
“That’s a splendid idea.” Mrs. Cooper turned to look at him over her shoulder.
He smiled encouragingly and stood. “I’ll join you both in an hour.”
She nodded and closed the door. He could hear Lily prattling to Mrs. Cooper as they made their way to the drawing room at the other end of the house.
He prayed Lily liked Mrs. Cooper. Guilt started raking its talons up his body. He hadn’t hired Mrs. Cooper solely for Lily’s sake. He had hired her also for his own.
Chapter Three
Lily was busy eating one of Mrs. Hobson’s scones. It gave Sarah a chance to think and absorb what had just happened.
Sarah looked around the feminine room and felt every muscle in her body relax. She sat back into her seat. She felt safe. She hadn’t felt so safe in a long time.
It wasn’t solely the warmth radiating from the fire in this cozy room, obviously decorated with a family in mind. It was because, for some reason, when she looked into Lord Markham’s sad eyes, she’d sensed she’d be safe with him.
Having a husband whose cruelty was renowned, she’d learned to read people. It had saved her many a beating.
Turning her attention to Lily, she asked, “How old are you?”
“I’m twelve, but I’ll be thirteen in September. You don’t look very old. I thought all governesses were ancient.”
She smiled at the little girl sitting so properly across from her. “I’m a fairly new governess. You’ll be my first charge.”
“Don’t worry. You’re my first governess, so I’m unlikely to know if you’re any good at your job.”
“Do you not want a governess?”
“That depends on who the governess is, and what I have to learn. I’m pretty sure Lord Markham won’t let you beat me.” Lily hastily rushed on, “Not that you would, anyway.”
Sarah laughed. “I won’t beat you. You’re lucky to have Lord Markham as your guardian. He is a war hero back in England. Did you know that?”
Lily nodded while she ate her scone. “Papa told me that is how he got his burns. He said not to be scared of his lordship, and that he was a great man.”
“Are you? Scared of Lord Markham?”
Lily didn’t even look up from where she was spreading jam over her second scone. “No. He has been nothing but kind to me. If Papa trusted him, then I know Lord Markham will take good care of me.” She hesitated. “Besides, he understands what it is to be sad. He doesn’t scold me for crying. He’s sad too. Sad and alone … just like me.”
Lord Markham did look sad. Sarah could read the Earl’s pain as clearly as you could see France from the cliffs of Dover on a cloudless day. She sensed his suffering. She knew a kindred soul when she saw one.
“The Earl of Markham was an extremely handsome man in his youth.”
Lily’s eyes opened wide. “You knew him when he lived in England?” she asked excitedly.
Sarah laughed. “No. I saw him once at a ball. I hid in the eaves of a great house, and watched all the men and women of high society. He was in his officer’s uniform. He looked very dashing.”
“He’s still dashing. Only one side of his face is burned. I tend to look at his unmarked side. Most of the time I don’t even notice his scars.”
Lily was right. He was still a very attractive man. A man in the prime of life. Heat prickled over her skin.
She hadn’t expected her body’s heated reaction to the pure raw masculinity of him. His burnt face—well, half-burnt face—seemed to add to his persona. The brooding, hooded look in his eyes and the disdainful tilt of his chin, as if daring the world to pity him, made for a potent mix of power and vulnerability.
When Lord Markham looked at her, it was almost as if he were regarding a piece of art hanging upon a gallery wall … impersonally. Perhaps her disguise was working well. Perhaps she did not appeal to a man of his experience and discrimination. Why did she suddenly feel disappointed? What woman would not wish for his attentions, even with the scars?
It would have been impossible to take on the role of governess, stuck away in his country estate, if he was looking for her to fulfill another, more inappropriate role, that of his bed partner. It would complicate her situation, which was already too complicated for her liking.
She needed this job.
The main appeal for her was living quietly in the country. Such a location suited her needs too. But she thought it sad he chose to hide himself away. His injuries must be more extensive then he revealed. She’d noted his right arm looked stiff and painful when he moved it.
“What is England like? Will I like living there?”
Lily’s question roused her from her thoughts, and she paused before answering. She looked around the room of this modest home. How did she tell this little girl her life was about to change dramatically? “Well, being the ward of the Earl will mean you will be mixing within high society. There will be loads of rules and formalities for you to learn. On the other hand, you’ll live in a grand house, with your own maid, and probably your own pony.”
“But I’ll still be alone.”
“You’ll have me, and Lord Markham, and loads of servants. I don’t think you’ll feel alone for very long.”
“That’s not the same as having a brother or sister.” She looked at Sarah with a serious expression on her face. “Lord Markham isn’t married. Papa told me once that Lord Markham has to marry because he’s the heir, and he must have a son. So I’ll eventually have other children to play with. I won’t be alone then.”
Sarah’s chest contracted. “Yes. The Earl will marry—someday.”
Sarah wondered why he was yet to marry. Before his burns it would have been easy to find a wife. Women couldn’t seem to get enough of the handsome rake then. But now …
Her heart swelled with pity for the Earl. At one of her father’s balls, when she’d been fifteen and too young to attend, she’d slipped up the back stairs and hidden herself so that she could peer over the banister, watching everyone below.
He’d arrived with a group of other young bucks. All were very striking, but Lord Markham stood out, even within such an illustrious ensemble. He seemed taller and broader than any other of the male guests, and his gruff laugh had made her spine tingle. He was dashing in his officer’s uniform, and when he smiled, every woman there went weak at the knees, their fans fluttering wildly.
He had been the most sought-after man at the ball. It had annoyed her immensely to see her father’s latest mistre
ss, Lady Sophie Campbell, try to seduce him. Lord Markham rose significantly in her esteem when he skillfully swept her simpering attempts aside.
Sarah sighed. It was a shame, really. If he hadn’t originally been so Adonis-like, with hair so thick and black and with long-lashed eyes a spectacular shade of pine-tree green, then perhaps one would not notice the hideous disfigurement as much. It stood in stark contrast to the beauty on the left side of his face.
She watched Lily take another bite of her scone. Her face was pinched in concentration, trying to keep the crumbs on her plate. She had copied every move Sarah had made since they had sat down to have their tea.
“How did your husband die?”
The question startled Sarah, and for a moment she could not speak.
“My mama and papa died because they got caught in a snowstorm. Lord Markham says they didn’t suffer. They simply fell asleep. Did your husband suffer?” Lily’s smile died, and her face was solemn. “No one should have to suffer.”
Oh, the innocence of the young! Some people deserved to suffer. Personally, Sarah hoped her husband was in hell, suffering greatly. She crossed her fingers behind her back and hoped God would understand. She lied to ease the child’s pain.
“My husband was very old. He died in his sleep.”
Lily nodded. A small tear slipped down her cheek. “Mrs. Hobson says there is no point in tears, but I miss my parents.” She looked up at Sarah, anguish marking her young face. Sarah opened her arms, and Lily flew into them.
Sarah cuddled her close and let her cry. And cry. And cry, until slowly the tears dried up.
“Do you know that you can still talk to your parents? They mightn’t be able to answer back, but they will hear you.” She gently swept Lily’s fringe of bangs out of her eyes.
“Even if I’m in a faraway country such as England? I have to go there soon with Lord Markham.”
“Oh, honey, they are with you wherever you go.”
“Truly?”
“They are up in heaven, but you will never be alone, because you carry them in your heart. You can talk to them wherever you are in the world.”
A Kiss of Lies Page 3
