War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5

by Lynne Connolly

  “Yes, do not stand on ceremony. Your lateness means the chef has had to set the meal out in advance. It’s only one course, but there are six removes, so we must hope you find it adequate.”

  She took her seat and shook the napkin over her lap. Did she help herself as she might at home? Or should she wait? Nervousness assailed her, and annoyance that she should feel so hesitant. Her stomach growled, reminding her she had eaten nothing since breakfast, and that had been a rushed meal because the coach waited for no one.

  She lifted the lid of the nearest porcelain dish, revealing—oh, heaven!—trout in a creamy sauce, with chives scattered over the whole. “Ah, good. Give me some of that, will you?” said his grace.

  Doling out the fragrant meal went a long way towards dissipating her nervousness. Had her sister really had the courage to seduce this man? Rhea claimed so, and the fact that Lyndhurst had taken the babies into his house spoke of the truth of the matter, but Ruth found him abrupt and almost ill-mannered in the way of the very rich.

  He wore an undoubtedly costly, but relatively plain coat of dark red, edged with gold embroidery. A column of gold buttons marched down the front of his green waistcoat. He wore his finery with a casual air, his neck cloth carelessly knotted, his linen edged with a single row of exquisite lace at his wrists.

  While she served, he picked up a decanter of white wine and poured them a glass each. Ruth replaced the dish and found one with two kinds of vegetables. At his nod, she served him, then herself. Just when she was beginning to grow mildly annoyed that she seemed to be the footman here, he offered her some peas from another dish.

  She picked up the correct silverware without hesitation and ate, finding herself hard put to suppress her groan of delight at the delectable taste that filled her mouth, melting through her senses.

  “Good, isn’t it?” He took a mouthful and then a good gulp of wine. “I have a small staff here at present, but I ensured the cook was excellent. I cannot imagine I would need more than ten people to serve me, but Mrs. Brindlehurst complains that she needs more. What do you think?”

  Was this a test of her housekeeping skills? In the time it took to clear her mouth, Ruth had an answer. “Mrs. Brindlehurst may consider the supervision of a mere ten below her dignity.”

  He grinned. “Then she’ll have to bear it, or leave. Let that be a lesson to you, Miss Carter. I expect full value from the people who work for me.”

  “Yes, sir.” They ate in silence for a while, and Ruth tried to restrict her intake of the excellent wine. Her master showed no such reticence and took three glasses to her one. He was so much the larger. Ruth might be tall, but her figure was not generous. Unlike the duke, whose shoulders were broad and the rest of him in proportion.

  At last the duke put his glass down on the starched white tablecloth. He leaned back and pressed his fingertips together, blatantly watching her. “So tell me about yourself, Miss Carter. The truth this time. Did you really believe those characters would fool me for long?”

  She needed to grip her fork for fear of dropping it. “Why, sir, what do you mean?”

  “Shall I take them up? Make enquiries?”

  Tears of shock sprang to her eyes, but they did not fall. She wouldn’t let them. Frantically, she sought an excuse. And found one. “My lord, your grace, sir, this is my first assignment. I am old for a governess, and although I have cared for my family for years, I had not worked outside my home.”

  “Working for your relatives, eh? So they kept you running?”

  Relief swept over her. More lies would just make matters worse. She hated telling lies, and she was not very good at the practice. “Yes, sir. Exactly so.”

  Was she truly sitting here with a duke, lying to him? Or rather, trying not to? On his visit to her parents’ house last year, they’d ensured she was away. Why, she was not sure, because she hardly formed a rival to her sister. Then she would have met him, and then she wouldn’t be here. A sense of unreality swept over her.

  Well, she’d started on this path. No going back now. “I was tired of doing work I could be paid for, sir. My parents could easily afford another maid or a companion for my mother, but they made use of me. I considered my situation and decided I might as well be paid for my work.”

  “You wanted more?” With a glint in his eyes she did not entirely trust, he leaned forward and lifted the lid of another dish. “Pah. Some sort of white stuff. Would you like some apple pie, or would you prefer some lamb?” He dragged the dish containing the roast meat towards him. “There’s caper sauce, I believe.”

  “The pie,” she said faintly. Her hunger abated, but the pie looked delicious, the crust glazed to within an inch of its life.

  Smiling, he nodded to it. “Help yourself.”

  She stared at him in shock. The smile transformed him. His stern features appeared almost—kind. No, not that. Before, he’d been handsome but unapproachable. That change in expression revealed his humanity. She could almost confide in him. Warmth suffused her when she thought of that, and she was more than ever glad she had not lied—precisely. Only kept some of the truth from him. The part that would have her ejected from this place.

  Or would it? How did he feel about Rhea? Had he loved her? Then why abandon her? Perhaps he had not. Ruth had no idea. She could not afford to confess the rest, not until she understood what was happening here. She needed to know the babies were safe, and then—then what?

  The answer came immediately. Had this man taken a hand in Rhea’s death? The question burned at her night and day. Why did her sister die, and in what circumstances? No official investigation had ever taken place, at least not one she’d discovered. Why not? Were there sinister reasons for that? If the scandal involved the highest in the land, then that solution was entirely plausible.

  After she’d discovered the truth, what next? An unaccustomed sense of liberation flashed through her, then was gone. Of course, she would go home. If no welcome awaited her, she would move on and find a real position as a governess.

  “Sir, when I finish working for you here, when you have done with me, will you give me the character I need?”

  “What?” He blinked, as if surprised. “A character? Yes, if you perform your duties well. They should not be too taxing. I have sent for another nursery maid, so the children will not bother you overmuch. The one I bespoke needs to finish her assignment elsewhere, but she should be with us by the end of the summer. Until she arrives, you must take your turn in the nursery. I trust that is not below you?”

  Take her turn? Anxiously, she wondered, as when her mother ordered her to stay with her sister for her confinement. Babies worried her. At least these two were older, and consequently larger than the fragile, tiny things that seemed so vulnerable to every passing breeze. Her mother assured her that childhood illnesses aside, babies were perfectly robust, but they never seemed so to Ruth.

  “So what do you like doing?”

  “Too many questions,” she said before she thought, and then clapped her hand to her mouth, her apple pie forgotten. “Oh sir, I am sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just…”

  He finished the sentence for her. “You are not used to dining alone with a man you’ve barely met.” Unlike her, his appetite seemed unabated. He took a hearty mouthful from the lamb and potatoes on his plate before he spoke again. “I am glad to hear it. I would hate to think I employed a woman of doubtful morality to care for my wards.”

  His wards. So that was how she was to refer to them. Why would he not acknowledge them? After all, he had not married Rhea, so they could not become his heirs. Plenty of men had by-blows. Some took them into their own households, so why not him?

  Wards. Like the popes of old calling their children “Nephew” and “Niece”.

  “I am perfectly respectable, sir.” She put her spoon and fork neatly together on her dessert plate, as if to prove it.


  “You’ve eaten enough?”

  “Yes, sir.” In more ways than one.

  “Then I have a bargain for you.” His eyes gleamed in that disconcerting way again. “You will dine with me every night. When I am on my own I eat simply. In the past I have eaten and left, not lingering, but I think I will find more amusement with you.” He shot another of those sudden, startling grins.

  “It would not be correct. People would think—” She broke off, and gulped. She should not put ideas into his head.

  “That we were more than employer and governess?”

  She nodded vigorously. He grinned, baring sharp white teeth. “So they would. You might lose your reputation and so your chance of employment.”

  Having efficiently demolished the contents of his plate, he carelessly pushed the china aside and picked up his glass. “I will offer you a concession. We will tell a harmless lie, that you are an indigent relative of mine. A distant one. That would make you higher than the servants in status.”

  “It would still not be considered—”

  He slapped his free hand on the table. Ruth started with shock. The wine in his glass jumped and shimmered in the light of the candles set on the table. “Enough! The reason will serve. I find you interesting, Miss Carter, and I want to know more about you. You are close-mouthed, too much so for my liking.”

  That was all she was getting. She nodded.

  His eyes gleamed. “I will make a bargain with you, a game to amuse us both. I will ask you one question every night that you must swear to answer truthfully.”

  Oh, no. He was bound to be angry if he realised the extent of her falsehoods. What could she do? Prevaricate, as she had tonight, that was all. “Yes, sir.” A thought struck her. “You must give me leave to ask you a question in return.”

  He cocked his head to one side and studied her. “Why should I do that?”

  “To be fair.”

  “Nothing in life is fair, my dear.” He sounded a thousand years old, weary beyond bearing. “Very well. If you refuse to answer your question, then I will refuse to answer mine. One question a night about yourself. Agreed?” He waited for her reluctant nod.

  She had her chance. An opening she could use, if she was clever enough.

  “Then let us discuss other matters. My requirements for employment,” he said.

  “As an indigent relative?” My, she’d come up in the world. An indigent relative of a duke, instead of the disregarded relative of a country gentleman.

  “As whatever you please. As future governess to my wards. Maybe my own children, should I take it in my head to marry and procreate. I should think of heirs for this title and estate, after all.” He rolled his shoulders, as if tired.

  “You expect me to remain here that long, sir?”

  He shrugged. “If you prove satisfactory. You could become an old family retainer, like Henstall.” This time his grin wasn’t at all amused. “The man has been with me forever. Since before I was born, in fact.”

  She could hardly argue with his offer of long employment. Yes, she could do that. Moulder here instead of at home. She’d be just as overlooked here as anywhere else. Except for this man. He noticed her, and that could prove dangerous. His attention disconcerted her, but she refused to show it.

  “Sir, I will endeavour to work hard and please you.”

  He reached for the red wine, having switched to it when he had his lamb. “Would you care for some?”

  She shook her head. “No, thank you, sir. I’ve eaten sufficient.”

  “If you ring that bell, the servants will come. No, leave it.” He leaned forward, and stopped her from ringing the silver hand bell by the simple expedient of taking her hand.

  With a gasp, she snatched it back, holding it to her chest as if he’d burned her. A shock leaped through her.

  “My word.” He regarded his hand, smiled and turned it around to study the whole, and then looked at her. His eyes warmed. “You’re a woman of many parts, are you not?”

  So he’d felt it too.

  He took a deep draught of his wine, then put the empty glass down beside his empty white wine glass. How much of a head for wine did he have? Did he think to debauch her with drink?

  What a foolish thought. She was not the target for debauchery. Only for ridicule. Even being overlooked was better than that.

  With Henstall nearby she would feel safer, although she should not. If the butler had been in service for all the duke’s life, the two men could be in collusion with each other. Debauching innocent women might be the best of their sins.

  Her thoughts, never far from her sister, returned to Rhea. Rhea’s exhilaration and exuberance, wasn’t feigned. Until she had that encounter, Rhea’s spirits were more depressed than usual. Then, convinced she was about to snare a duke, her spirits soared, only to be dashed again when she discovered she was in the family way without a husband in sight.

  Ruth would not suffer that fate. She determined on it. She would find a weapon to carry until she knew she was not in danger. This duke could be a hardened rake. Many of them were, and they thought nothing of taking a servant girl and then moving on without a glance backwards.

  She almost laughed. What was she thinking? She need only carry on as she was and she would not be in danger. Rhea was pretty—beautiful, even—and Ruth was not. Had never been. No man in his right mind would bother with her.

  Unless she was the only female available.

  Even that thought failed to rouse nothing but the slightest suspicion.

  “Let us discuss your duties,” said the duke. “You will take your turn with nursery duties until the new nursemaid arrives. You will also ensure the schoolroom possesses the equipment required for small children. You will help them to talk and teach them their letters as soon as they are able. Some children turn to learning very early, and if these boys show signs of that, you will help them. You will not force them.” He grimaced. “My parents forced me and it was agony.”

  How old was he when they died? She didn’t even know that, but it sounded as if he was not a baby. “Yes, sir.”

  “You will take the babies for walks in the gardens, at least once a day if the weather is not inclement. You will not be expected to deal with the—practicalities of their lives.”

  “By which you mean bathing, cleaning and feeding?”

  “Yes, that.”

  “You are very kind, sir.”

  “I’m nothing of the sort. You are dismissed.”

  Abruptly he pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Blinking, she stood too. She would have to learn to expect that kind of treatment. No longer an equal, never an equal, she lost any social standing she could put claim to. At least, when she was not pretending to be an indigent relative of the duke’s. That might serve to explain her dining with him every night.

  Restlessly, he took a turn about the room and then opened a door on the right. “Good night, Miss Carter. Ensure you are not late for dinner again. If you are early, you may wait in the yellow drawing room, which is through this door.”

  She bobbed a curtsey, but he had already gone.

  Chapter Three

  Marcus waited until Miss Carter’s footsteps receded down the corridor outside—in the right direction this time—before he turned to his butler, who was doing a good impression of impatience, tapping his foot on the carpet. “Was she prying?” he demanded.

  “Didn’t you read her?” Henstall answered. “I tried, but I didn’t find anything.”

  “Neither did I.” Marcus shrugged. “I don’t concern myself with this mind to mind stuff mostly. I prefer more straightforward ways of finding out what I need to.”

  He turned towards the decanters, then hesitated and returned to the table where someone had laid out coffee. He poured two cups and handed one to his butler.

  Henstall took it with a thin
smile and both men sat, on chairs facing each other either side of the fireplace.

  “Besides,” Marcus continued after his first sip, “I found her difficult to read. I can assess her mood, but little else. I can, of course, tell when she’s lying.”

  “Don’t be so arrogant,” Henstall said. “Pride comes before a fall, and all that.”

  Marcus regarded the man who was more than a butler to him and shrugged. “I dare say you’re right, but I can usually tell when people are lying to me.”

  “Not always.”

  “No.” He finished his coffee and put the cup on its saucer, resting on a table by his side.

  “You possess a fireproof tongue,” Henstall remarked, blowing on his steaming brew.

  Marcus raised a brow. “I had no idea that was one of my attributes.”

  A smile cracked Henstall’s weathered face. “It isn’t. I think it comes from the mortal side of you. Do you want her followed?”

  “Watched,” he said. “I don’t think she wishes the twins any harm. In fact, when she thinks of them her mood softens. Perhaps she loves babies. When you found her, was she obviously prying?”

  Henstall chuckled. “No. She looked more obviously lost, but you never know. After your recent near-death experience, you should be more careful.”

  “What, the god of war can’t take care of himself?” Restlessly, Marcus got to his feet, and went to pour another cup of the strong brew.

  “Sometimes he can’t. In myth, he was trapped more than once, and mainly because of his arrogance in assuming he was invulnerable. Marcus, I care about you. Why didn’t you send for me in London?”

  He didn’t need to think about his answer, or about telling the one man he trusted above all others the truth. “Because I didn’t think I was in danger. The children were mortal, and so was their mother. I was trapped, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.” He turned around, leaning on the sideboard. “You’ve been telling me I should get married for a decade. I liked her well enough, so I considered the possibility. She’d already borne the children, so they could not become heirs, but we could have made more.”