by North, Evie
She looked up at Mr Hawley, thinking she should at least say something in her defence, and found him watching her as he sipped the wine and then swirled it in his goblet. He’d was resting an ankle on the opposite knee and looking completely relaxed. She looked away but couldn’t help sending him curious little glances from beneath her lashes. He had a blood-stained bandage on his arm, the one she had accidently squeezed, and in her opinion it could do with a good wash.
Had he been in a fight? And yet he spoke like a gentleman and there was something about the way he behaved too, that testified to wealth and privilege. Was he one of the nobility? Did men like him fight? And did they stay in inns that were at the lower end of the social scale? The Laurels were a middle class family who made their wealth from trade, although they aspired to rise further, so she had not met any of the upper classes. Apart from Lord Rattray, although one would hardly call him a ‘gentleman’. Not in the true meaning of the word. Gabrielle was more and more certain that the man before her was the first truly upper class gentleman she had ever encountered.
“Tell me how you came to be here with Rattray,” he said at last.
She stiffened. “I told you. He—”
“No. From the beginning.”
“The beginning?” she asked, uncertain. Why did he want to know? She wondered if he really cared what had happened to her, or more likely, if he was just amusing himself to pass the time.
While she debated whether or not to do as he asked, he nodded at her wine. Obediently she sipped, and then pulled a face at the taste.
“I admit, the house wine leaves much to be desired, but it’s important to adapt to unusual circumstances, wouldn’t you agree?” He chuckled and the sound startled her into meeting his eyes. They were as pale as she’d thought them, the blue startling against his dark lashes and brows, and the glimmer within them suggested that as she had suspected, he was finding her company amusing.
He must be bored, she decided. Why else would he be interested in a disgraced governess he’d saved from further degradation in this squalid inn? Still, he wanted to know and she had nowhere else to be. She decided she may as well indulge him.
“The orphanage answered an advertisement in the newspaper, and then arranged for an interview.”
“You will do well,” the matron had assured her. “You have always liked children, Gabriella, and they like you.”
“Orphanage?” he probed, still swirling his wine, but his eyes were fixed on her. He seemed to be finding it difficult to comprehend the workings of such an institution, and her place in it.
“I was educated there. I am an orphan.”
He mulled over that for a moment. “You have no parents?”
“That is what an orphan is, Mr Hawley,” she said sharply, and then wondered if she had been rude. It would not do to insult her rescuer—he might eject her from his room—so when she spoke again she moderated her voice. “I never knew them, nor their names. I was abandoned, like so many of London’s children. However, I was luckier than most because the matron took an interest in me.”
“Why did she do that, Miss Jones?”
“I think it was because I was bright and quick, and I learned my lessons without much trouble. She could set me to work and know I would not interrupt her while she dealt with the other students. When you have a room full of children with endless needs and requirements, a child who can be trusted to work in a diligent and solitary fashion is valued.” She halted again, but he said nothing, obviously having no further questions on that particular matter.
Gabriella turned away from that watchful gaze but found herself sneaking another look at him. His handsome face mesmerized her—it was one she was certain she would never grow tired of. She stared at his mouth, that full lower lip and the dip in the upper one, and remembered how those lips had felt on hers when he kissed her. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly, as if he was entertained by her obvious interest, and she dropped her gaze, embarrassed.
“Continue with your story, Miss Jones,” he instructed her, when the silence between them lengthened.
She cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks warm. Because there was nothing else for her to do, and she felt she owed him something for sending Rattray off, she obeyed.
“After the matron answered the advertisement, I was taken on as governess to the Laurel family’s youngest child—a little girl. They were quite well off, with a house in London. Mr Laurel was in business, but not, as Matron said, in the common way. He was looking to advance himself and he had sent his eldest son and heir, Terrence, to a school that would see him rise in society. I believed myself to be fortunate in my first post.”
Gabriella remembered again her first day of freedom, as she had believed it to be. Suddenly she had left the walls of the orphanage behind her, and although she had been alone and anxious, the sensation had been heady indeed. Besides, she’d believed she would soon make friends and that the terms of her employment were well within her capabilities; the child was bright and a pleasure to teach and her parents pleasant if reserved. Her position as governess meant she did not quite fit in with those below or above stairs, that she fell somewhere in between, but she was sure she would soon get to know the other servants.
“I suppose I was easy prey,” she spoke thoughtfully. “After the hustle and bustle of the orphanage I was lonely, wishing for a friend. At first I truly believed, when Terrence returned from his school and took an interest in me, that that was what he was being to me. A friend.”
Mr Hawley, she noticed, was pouring himself more wine. “So he was kind to you,” he said, and there was something in his voice that made her think he’d heard her story before. “He used his kindness to seduce you.”
Gabriella tucked her unruly hair behind her ear and sighed. Terrence had been a little younger than her own age of eighteen, and she’d thought him rather shy. “He made me think he was lonely too, and unhappy away at school. He didn’t fit in either. I liked him, and found pleasure in our conversations.”
He began to seek her out more and more, suggesting they meet in places where they could be alone. She had thought that was because he wanted to be with her and only her, but later she realised it was because he didn’t want to be caught playing the same game he had played before. Because he had done this before, and too late she learned about the other lonely servants who had fallen victim to his particular brand of deceit.
“The night we… he…” She took a breath. “He persuaded me to join him in the drawing room. His parents were out at the theatre and my charge was in bed. The servants too. I was not usually allowed into the drawing room and he knew I had a desire to be there. There were many pretty ornaments in a case in there, and a painting I admired very much.” She looked up into those pale eyes. “I said I was bright and quick witted, Mr Hawley, but I neglected to tell you that I can also be disobedient. I sometimes like to misbehave.”
“Do you indeed?” He wanted to smile, she could see it, but he held it back.
“Yes. But I am usually more careful than I was that night. I trusted him, and let down my guard.”
With a wave of his hand he said, “Carry on, Miss Jones, you are getting to the juicy bit.”
She frowned at his levity, but again there seemed no reason not to tell him.
“We had been conversing, and he was asking me questions about the orphanage and my hopes and dreams. I believed he was truly interested. No one had been interested in me, apart from Matron. When he kissed me, I thought it was very nice. He had kissed me before, and I was getting to like it. I suppose he intended for me to get used to his familiarities, so that he could take matters further and I would not protest.”
This time the kiss had ended with her lying on her back on the divan and him tugging at her clothing.
“He was breathing heavily and his face… it was flushed and he looked so different from the boy I thought I knew. He might have been a stranger. I didn’t know what to do, and when he put my hand o
n his-his…” She bit her lip.
“He raped you.” Hawley said it in that same quiet voice.
“No.”
His brows lifted. “No?”
“He might have done, although I could not say I was completely unwilling, if his parents had not returned just then. His father had been feeling unwell so they’d left before the end of the play. They would not normally have come into the drawing room, but his mother must have heard a sound because she opened the door and found us.”
“I can see they would have thought the worst, Miss Jones.”
“I tried to explain.” She sounded breathless, remembering the awful moment. “I said it wasn’t what they thought, but I could tell they didn’t believe me. And then, knowing they were going to punish me, I foolishly told them that it would never happen again. I wish I hadn’t said that because it made me seem guilty.”
“Best to deny everything, Miss Jones. Remember that for next time.”
She stared back at him as if he had lost his wits, because there would never be a next time. She would never be employed as anyone’s governess, ever again.
“He’d done this before, I gather?” he added, when she was silent.
Gabriella nodded her head. It was only afterwards that she’d discovered that this wasn’t the first time Terrence had worked his charms on a household servant, although she was his first governess. She supposed it was because she was young, while the other governesses had been older and wiser to his tricks.
“I learned I was one in a long line of servants who had had to be dismissed because of their son’s behaviour. And yet his parents did not blame him. The women were all seductresses and he was their innocent boy.”
Her voice had risen and she took a moment to fight down her sense of ill-usage. It was the way of the world, that was all. She should have followed the rules and instead she had disobeyed them, and the consequence was that she had to leave immediately, without a reference, never darken their door again. Shocked, feeling deceived and frightened and ill-used, Gabriella had not known where to turn.
“And Lord Rattray?” Mr Hawley prompted.
“He was a friend of the family, and he’d brought them home in his carriage when it was taking too long to order up their own transport. He saw and heard everything. After I had packed my bag and come downstairs, he was waiting.”
“I can imagine,” Hawley said dryly.
“He told me he’d take me to his home for the night, so that we could consider my future. He was so kind.” The memory brought tears to her eyes, but they were tears of anger.
“Are you sure he didn’t know what was going to happen?” her companion mused. “Perhaps even then he was intending to take advantage of the situation. You should know, Miss Jones, that women without funds and friends are easy pickings for some men.”
“What a fool I’ve been,” she whispered.
“An innocent, rather.”
She nodded and sighed. “He took me to his home, and his housekeeper was unpleasant to me. I knew I couldn’t stay, and the next morning I was prepared to go back to the orphanage, but he insisted he would employ me as his secretary. He arranged for his servant to accompany me in his coach to this inn. He said we would go to Paris, and although by then I knew what sort of position he was offering, I thought—”
“You thought why not?” he said with a smile.
“I thought I had no option. None that didn’t end with me sleeping in the street.”
Lord Rattray had been a handsome man in his day, but behind the fake kindness there was a predatory look in his beady eyes. She saw it all now. Just like Terrence Laurel, he was an opportunist. He knew she was alone and destitute, and reliant upon others who did not have her best interests at heart, and he had pounced.
“It was a desperate choice,” she admitted.
“Yes, I can see that.”
She thought perhaps he really did understand the awfulness she had felt, coming here and placing herself in Rattray’s power.
She looked up and found him still watching her. What now? she asked herself. She had no intention of replacing Rattray with Mr Hawley. She might have had a moment of daring when she knocked on his door, but her bravery had melted away in the ensuing scene between the two men, and the cold way the truth had been laid out before her.
She was no whore.
And yet despite herself she remembered the feel of Mr Hawley’s lips on hers. The tug of his mouth on her breast. Heat pumped through her and her flesh felt heavy, achy. This man might be a stranger but for a moment she had been lost in his touch. Perhaps she truly was debauched because right now she was considering what it would be like to kiss him again.
“I should go.” Abruptly she stood up, setting down her wine glass and moving swiftly toward the door. “I must—must…”
“Go where?” he asked in that calm voice, as if he had all the time in the world. “Now that Lord Rattray is out of the picture, I would like to put my own proposal to you.”
Oh God, oh no, it was just as she’d feared.
He must have read the shocked dismay in her expression because he gave a sharp laugh. “No. I assure you, no. It is perfectly above board. No fucking.”
That word again. She felt herself flush. She understood what it meant, and she knew it was not a word that should be used in polite society, but she supposed she had put herself beyond such civility now.
“I am going abroad myself,” he said, watching her through his dark lashes. “Italy. I need a companion to assist me. As you see,” and he lifted his arm, where she again noted the blood stains on the clumsy bandage, “I am incapacitated.”
“I’m sure there are any number of people who can help you, sir. You must have servants…?”
He smiled. “I prefer a gentler touch, Miss Jones. Will you come? I can provide board and lodging, and you will see a country that is very beautiful. You told me you are unemployed with no future prospects. What else have you to do?”
What else did she have to do indeed? Creep back to the orphanage and beg them to take her in? Hire herself out in a bordello? The choices were frightening as well as depressing. His offer was too good to be true, and yet he didn’t seem to be another Rattray. Was this simple kindness on his part? She had discovered to her cost that kindness could not always be trusted, but the wound on his arm appeared genuine. It had certainly hurt him when she pressed against it. And he had dispatched Rattray for her.
Gabriella took a deep breath. “Thank you, sir. I will take you up on your kind offer and—and hope I can be of assistance to you.”
He nodded, still watching her, an uncertain expression on his handsome face. It occurred to her that he might be as out of depth in this situation as she was. Surely not many gentlemen rescued ladies in distress in the middle of the night and then sailed with them to Italy? She didn’t want him to think she imagined there was anything more to their relationship than master and servant. Best to set the ground rules right now.
“If I am to be your assistant… Should I attend to your arm, Sir?”
He looked down at the grubby wrappings and grimaced. “I think perhaps you should.”
“I’ll ask a servant downstairs to bring warm water and fresh bandages,” she said, suddenly feeling calmer and more in her element. This was something at which she was competent. Gabriella went to the door and opened it, looking out into the corridor. When she found it empty, she set out to find someone.
The inn was even quieter than it had been before, the guests no doubt sleeping in preparation for the voyage across the Channel at dawn, when the tide was right. She stood at the front door and stared out. A mist had stolen up from the water and lay across the road in ghostly fingers. She could hear the mournful cry of a seabird. Or was it a lost sailor? Didn’t the souls of drowned seaman return as seabirds, forever calling for those they’d left behind?
She shivered. Terrence had told her that tale, and despite his perfidy and her naivety, she missed their conversations. Di
d she miss anything else about him? No, not really. He had used her and betrayed her, and then set her on a path that would have been her ruin if Mr Hawley had not come along.
“Miss?”
Startled, she turned, and found a maid hovering behind her. Relieved, she gave instructions as to what she needed and the room number. “Mr Hawley,” she added, in case the girl didn’t recognise the number, but she dipped a curtsey and promised to be there shortly.
For a moment longer Gabriella stood in the empty doorway, and allowed herself to imagine her future. She supposed she should be anxious, and she was, but that future seemed a little brighter than it had been when she started her journey. Mr Hawley had taken her under his wing, employed in a capacity that seemed to be a cross between assistant and nurse. She was travelling with him to Italy, and he had promised not to…fuck her.
The word brought some colour to her cheeks, as she made her way back along the corridor that led to Mr Hawley’s room. She didn’t notice a hand reach out from the shadows of a half open door, not until it fastened upon her arm.
“Got you!” hissed a voice. As Lord Rattray began to drag her into his room, she began to scream.
5
MADDOX
The late silence was broken by a woman’s scream. Loud and piercing, it echoed throughout the corridor, and abruptly cut off. A second later there was a muffled male curse.
Maddox surged to his feet.
Out in the corridor, there was a struggle going on between Rattray and Miss Jones. A hand was over her mouth, but she had managed to sink her teeth into it. Even as Maddox closed in on them, Rattray swore as he freed his hand and swung his arm at her, striking Miss Jones across the face. She stumbled back rather than fall, so the blow wasn’t as heavy as it could have been, but the brutality of the moment brought Maddox’s fury to the boiling point.
“Rattray!”
Miss Jones looked up, a bright red mark blooming on her cheek. Her face filled with relief, as Maddox strode toward them. Rattray seemed to be trying to hide behind her. By now several more doors had opened, the occupants were peering out warily but remaining within their rooms. No one else, it seemed, wanted to join the fray.
