Jared saw the gentle caresses and remembered how she’d crashed into him. “Have you bruised yourself?” He leaned forward and reached for her hand. “Here, let me have a look.”
“No!” Her strident voice echoed around the coach before it settled into deathly silence. Suddenly she realized how sharply she’d spoken.
His hand still in midair, Jared had not moved; his eyes were like hard, moss-covered stones. From the moment she’d practically fallen into his arms, while descending the staircase at Mrs. Binnington’s, he’d noticed a definite show of wariness toward him, almost to the point of hostility. Why, he couldn’t fathom, but he was going to get to the bottom of it, now!
“Do I frighten you, Miss Pembroke?” His brow curved upward over one narrowed eye as his hand finally dropped to his hard, muscular thigh with a noticeable slap. “For if I do, let me assure you, you’ve conjured up all sorts of wild feminine fantasies in that odd little mind of yours which have nothing to do with reality! My only interest in your person is to keep you safe and well until you have helped my daughter. When you’ve accomplished that, I’ll be most happy to pack you and your belongings onto the first coach headed toward the next name on your list. Is that understood?”
Wide-eyed, Alissa studied his face. He seemed to dare her to say no. “Y-yes, quite.”
“Good. Now let’s try to make this trip as amicable as possible. We have a long way to travel. Hopefully, we can come to some sort of truce to make its passing more pleasant. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” she answered quietly, sufficiently cowed. Then she quickly tried to explain away her bad manners. “I apologize for my outburst, Mr. Braxton. I fear, however, I’m extremely tired, which, unfortunately, has made me quite edgy. If I could impose on you to dim the lamp, perhaps I could get some rest. I’m certain my mood will improve with sleep.” Her words ended, the coach hit a bump; her forearm collided with her tender breast. Pain pulsated through the bruised tissue, and her hand automatically dropped from her face to soothe and protect the area.
Not missing her wince, Jared noticed how her hand covered her chest. Immediately, he wished he’d shown a bit more decorum, instead of lashing out at her in a temper. “Your heart?” he asked solicitously.
Not understanding his meaning, Alissa blinked, then frowned. “What?”
“Your heart.” He nodded to her hand. “Is it paining you?”
Her hand climbed to her cheek. “W-why do you ask?”
Aggravated, Jared wondered if the woman had gone daft. Realizing she still probably harbored visions of him pouncing upon her and forcefully having his way with her, he almost chuckled aloud. The only emotion Agatha Pembroke stirred inside him was anger. Taking care he did not look anywhere near the vicinity of her bosom again, he cleared his throat. “I am merely concerned, Miss Pembroke. If you’ll remember, in your letter, you said your childhood illness left you with a weakened heart. If you are feeling ill, I’ll have Mr. Stanley dispatch us to a physician, at once.”
“No. Please, don’t bother. The pain comes and goes. I—I try not to think about it.” Her tongue suddenly tasted bitter. Deceit did not come easily to her, yet the deceptions were mounting, lie upon lie, until she feared her towering falsehoods would tumble down around her. But, in truth, she did have pain, and if he mistook it, it was no fault of hers. Liar, she berated herself silently, but she said aloud, “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Braxton. Please, don’t make too much of all this. As I said, I’m just overly tired.” And she was.
“Then you must rest.” He leaned forward and removed an oversize lap robe from the custom storage box beneath the seat. “Here, this will keep you warm.” Before she could protest, he spread the cover across her legs, his movements detached and efficient.
“Thank you.” Alissa’s voice trembled when she finally spoke, her gaze moving unsteadily over his face. He was far too handsome, she thought, and far too commanding. In all aspects of his life, she knew, Jared Braxton was a self-assured man, including with the ladies. But she suspected his relationships, if he had any, were merely for pleasure, playful dalliances that left no lasting emotions. Yet, despite her knowledge, he left her feeling breathless.
Suddenly she wondered about his late wife. There was no mention in his letters to Agatha of what had caused her death, simply that his daughter, Megan, had been mute since it happened. But Alissa felt certain there had been some terrible tragedy surrounding the poor woman’s demise, especially for it to have affected the child so.
She wanted to ask, but she was far too weary, the unsettling effects of her own traumatic experience having finally taken their toll. “The lamp, please, Mr. Braxton,” she whispered, stretching the robe up over her shoulders. “I simply must rest.”
“Certainly.” He reached up and lowered the wick; the flame slowly smothered into darkness.
“Thank you.” Alissa breathed the words across the void, then settled deeper into her corner. Moments later, her protective hand slowly fell from her face, and soon, the steady roll of the coach lulled her into a restless sleep.
As they made their way from London out High Holborn to Cow Lane, up St. John’s to Islington Road, Jared sat quietly, gazing at Alissa’s shadowy form. Strange, he thought. First, it was her eyes, now her voice. He hadn’t noticed it before, but in the darkness, its melodious quality had caught his ear. He was certain he’d heard its song somewhere before.
Impossible, he thought, while stifling a yawn. Then he began seeking a more comfortable spot to settle in. But, after several minutes of thrashing about in his seat, he found the annoying Agatha Pembroke wouldn’t leave his mind. So, despite his desire to do otherwise, he finally gave in and allowed his thoughts free rein.
Odd little wren, he decided as he viewed her obscure figure through the shadows again. With her drab coloring and flighty disposition, she indeed reminded him of the small gray bird; as did her voice, which could be sweet as a wren’s song or as harsh as its chastising prattle. Likewise, he conceded, she probably equated him with a treacherous bird of prey, a hungry hawk silently swooping down upon its quarry, its talons poised and ready for the kill. For it was obvious she had disliked and distrusted him from the start. Puzzled, he wondered if it was only he who provoked such a guarded response. Or did all his gender? Pondering the thought, he decided her uneasiness most likely stemmed from an unhappy episode with a man.
Miss Pembroke having an affair! Not likely! The woman was far too dull to spark even the smallest flame of desire in any man. She certainly left him cold. Yet, even though the vapid Miss Pembroke held no interest for him, personally, it was quite possible that another man had been attracted to her—once. But why was he giving this woman a second thought? True, outwardly she was colorless, yet he sensed something unseen within her, an inner mystique that tempted him to tear through her plain wrappings and discover if there were, indeed, a glowing radiance hidden deep inside.
With the sudden realization of how utterly ridiculous his thoughts were, he snorted aloud. Alissa stirred and moaned softly; the cover fell from her shoulders. Jared reached across the space and draped it back over her. She moved again, and he quickly jerked his hand away and held his breath, strangely fearing her wrath should she discover him fussing about her. With another soft sound, she slipped back into a fitful slumber, and he relaxed when her even breaths met his ears.
He frowned into the darkness and decided he must be insane! Surely, his abnormal thoughts and his peculiar need to be attentive were the direct result of his being without the sweet pleasures of a woman for … how long? Well, it wasn’t so long he couldn’t remember. But just the same, it was long enough. Certain that was the reason behind his ridiculous reverie, he settled back, and with a somewhat sour glance at the sleeping woman across from him, he rested his head against the coach wall.
Then, needing to be entertained by more pleasing thoughts, his contemplations turned to a different woman, one whose appeal truly did whet his masculine appetite. As he remembered the excit
ement he’d experienced when he’d first seen her earlier this evening, he wondered why she had disappeared, never to return. He searched his memory for her name, but it eluded him, and he patted his breast pocket, seeking the folded paper placed there for safekeeping. It was gone. And so was her identity, lost forever. Yet his visual recollection of her remained strong. Soft and enchanting, her grace and beauty filled his head as he pictured her bathed in limelight, strolling through a forest’s glade in a magical fairy kingdom. With a lazy smile on his face, Jared joined his sweet vision, his Hermia, and drifted into a pleasurable, yet troubled sleep.
CHAPTER
Three
Dappled beams of golden light shone through the small window, the night’s dreary mists having lifted into a glorious morn. Huddled into her corner, Alissa absorbed the sun’s rejuvenating rays, and like a flower, she turned her face more fully toward its energizing warmth. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled deeper under the woolen robe and listened to the steady vibrations: the trotting cadence of shod hoofbeats, the creak of the coach springs, the rumbling roll of the wheels. Momentarily, she was lulled into a false sense of security. Then, with a start, she abruptly came awake. Blinking several times, she pushed her bonnet forward; a quick glance confirmed her first waking thought. Jared Braxton was staring at her.
“Good morning, Miss Pembroke,” he said in a cheery, singsong manner. His straight teeth flashed in the sunlight, their stark white brilliance a direct contrast to his sun-bronzed skin. “I trust you slept well.”
Her wary eyes met his, noting his cocky grin. “Exceptionally,” she answered, her voice husky with sleep. Suddenly his idle scrutiny made her extremely uncomfortable. His too sweet smile instantly unnerved her, and she feared he’d discovered the truth about her while she’d slept. Like a playful, yet cunning cat about to pounce on a trapped mouse, was he waiting to do the same? “And you, Mr. Braxton?” she asked politely, as she began folding the lap robe, while bracing herself against the possibility of a lethal blow. “I trust you also rested well?”
“Extremely,” Jared replied. His curious gaze followed her every move. Nothing has changed, he told himself. She’s as fidgety now as she was last night. “I’ll take that.” He reached for the robe and made accidental contact with her hand. Instantly, she recoiled as if he’d stung her; the covering dropped to the floor between them. He quickly retrieved it, then shoved the rumpled thing into the storage box beneath the seat. “Would you feel more comfortable, Miss Pembroke, if I were to draw a line down the middle of the coach?” he asked sarcastically, then continued, not giving her a chance to speak. “Or perhaps we could fashion a barrier of sorts. Aha! The lap robe. We could tack it to the walls. That way, you could have your side, and I, mine. What do you say? Shall we improvise?”
Alissa realized he was baiting her again. “Don’t put yourself out for my sake,” she answered with an airy wave of her gloved hand. “There is plenty of space for the two of us. However, if you would like privacy, do as you wish.”
His smile had long since faded, and for a lengthy moment, Jared eyed her. Then, with purpose, he said, “My wish, Miss Pembroke, is you would keep inside your skin and stop leaping from it every time I accidentally touch you. I thought it was understood I have no desire, in the strictest sense, to cast myself upon your person, yet you continue to react as though I do.”
“I simply don’t like being touched—by anyone.”
In her eyes, Jared saw a flicker of … what? Revulsion? And it seemed to be coated in hatred. He was sure something dreadful had happened to her in the past. Without thought, he asked, “Was it a man who caused this unreasonable fear?”
“That is none of your business, Mr. Braxton,” Alissa retorted stiffly. She turned her face away and stared through the window. She’d tried to cast out the horrid memory of Charles Rhodes’s attack and had almost succeeded, until Jared Braxton reminded her of it. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she fought to keep them from spilling over.
So, Jared thought, carefully surveying her. He’d been right. Dear God! his mind exclaimed. Surely she’d not been … raped! He truly hoped for her sake—any woman’s sake—that was not the case. But it would explain her behavior, her feeling of being repulsed by his nearness, his touch.
Immediately regretting his callous query, for the memories he’d brought forth with it were obviously more than she could bear, he breathed a heavy sigh. “Miss Pembroke, you are right. It is none of my business. Yet, if I may be so bold, I ask you do not condemn all mankind for what one of my gender has done.”
Alissa faced him and noticed his eyes showed sympathy. Pity, too? Apparently he had deduced the truth, but she suspected his final conclusion to be far more violent and degrading than what had actually transpired between Rhodes and herself.
Should she condemn all mankind for what one had done? As she viewed him, she suddenly realized she’d not been portraying Agatha Pembroke at all these last few moments—nor the night before. Indeed, her reactions to Jared Braxton’s touch, no matter how slight, had been her own. Oddly, though, the sensations he evoked were in no way related to the disgusting, nauseating feelings Charles Rhodes had managed to summon within her. Truly, they were as different as night and day! Yet Alissa feared Jared Braxton just the same. He moved slightly, and her eyes met his, and she wondered if he expected an answer.
Having observed the conflicting flurry of emotions as they skipped across her pale face, he said, “Your pardon, Miss Pembroke, but I—”
“I will consider your statement, Mr. Braxton,” she said, quietly. “For now, I would prefer a change of subject.”
“As you wish,” he stated, his tone considerate. Then, as she remained under his careful regard, he silently began to reassess the wisdom of hiring her.
Blast it all! If it were not for Megan, he’d order Mr. Stanley to turn the coach around and take the woman back to London, posthaste. Realistically, he couldn’t tolerate the idea of tiptoeing around his own home, afraid of saying or doing something that might set the nervous Agatha Pembroke into a twitter. Certainly, he had sympathy for her obvious distress, whatever its cause. His own past was filled with hellish hosts of its own. A burning vision of Celeste suddenly appeared before his mind’s eye. The image pierced his brain, his soul. With force, he ejected the unwanted memory, barricading his thoughts against a second unwelcome infiltration.
When he had finally recovered, Celeste’s ghost safely locked away, he decided, before they had traveled another furlong, he would question Megan’s new governess further. “Miss Pembroke,” he began, “about our arrangement concerning your employment—”
“Yes, Mr. Braxton,” Alissa cut in, rambling on in haste. “I’ve been anxious to discuss your daughter.”
“Yes, but—”
“Please tell me about her.” Alissa had deliberately sliced off his words, for she desperately needed to discuss something, anything, so long as it would turn aside her wayward thoughts.
“First, Miss Pembroke, I must ask, do you feel you are capable, uh”—he paused to select the right word—“health-wise, to assume this position?”
Alissa answered as Agatha. “My health, true, is not as good as most, but who is more important? Megan or me?”
Jared settled back and viewed her with a discerning eye, for he knew she was trying to turn the tables on him. “I need not answer. You already know she is my entire life. And that is precisely why I need to be certain you are capable of handling this position.”
Was she? Alissa wondered. No, but what choice did she have? “What have you told her about Ag … uh, me?” she stuttered, almost slipping.
“I did as you requested. But I’d like an explanation for your reasoning.”
Alissa panicked. What, precisely, had Agatha told him in her letters? Quickly she searched Jared’s closed face for a clue, but she found none and decided it was time she confessed. “Mr. Braxton,” she began tentatively, trying to hold his gaze. “I feel I must tell you … I, uh …”
“Excellent,” Alissa said on a breathless sigh. Unknowingly, Jared had helped her discover the unique approach Agatha had used over the years in dealing with her many charges. Then, wisely or unwisely, she held her confession. Instead she decided to answer his earlier query and chose her words carefully. “The term ‘governess’ implies authority, Mr. Braxton, which, in turn, causes a child to erect a protective barrier. Any natural openness two equals might normally share would be destroyed. True, I am her elder, but after I’ve gained her trust, she’ll consider me her friend, not her keeper.” Then Alissa found herself very interested in Megan, and last night’s questions sprang to the tip of her tongue. “Will you please tell me more about her … and your wife’s death?”
Jared’s gaze remained steady on her face. “Perhaps it would be best if you ask the questions, and I shall try to answer them.”
Alissa noticed his clear green eyes were suddenly shuttered; his demeanor cautious. Perhaps his memories were still too painful to openly discuss his wife’s passing, especially with a stranger. Heartlessly, though, she had managed to resurrect them from the dark tombs of his mind, where he’d buried them. Belatedly Alissa realized none of it was really any of her business. “I feel I have trodden into an area where I shouldn’t have,” she said, her regret displayed in her soft tone. “Please forgive me.”
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