‘Nella!’ Daisy stared hard at her charge. ‘Your sister cannot be that mercenary.’
‘Susan told Mama the very same thing this morning.’ Nella swayed on her toes. A broad smile crossed her face as she lowered her voice. ‘I listen at doors.’
‘Then your sister is to get her London Season after all.’
‘Susan is quite convinced, though, that Lord Edward can be brought up to snuff and has begged Mama to keep the house for another month. It will save the expense of a London Season next year and the water will soothe dearest Mama’s nerves.’
Nella’s voice replicated the exact intonation of Miss Blandish’s overly refined tone. With difficulty Daisy forced the laugh back down her throat.
‘You should not listen in on private conversations. It is neither clever nor useful.’ Daisy practised her best governess stare. ‘And you should certainly never repeat them to anyone.’
‘How can I learn anything interesting otherwise? Nobody tells me anything.’
‘It is far from ladylike. Your mama wants you to become a lady. You will want to make a good match, just as your sister does.’
‘Who wants to get married? Marriage is all practicality and good breeding. I want to be a lady explorer.’ Nella waved her hand with airy disdain. ‘I am going to discover lost continents and find buried treasure. And I have not been anywhere yet—even Susan has been to France.’
‘Even lady explorers are ladies first. And explorers pay attention to their geography lessons.’ Daisy winced slightly at her prim words, so reminiscent of her own governess’s—glittering dreams were well and good, but they often vanished in the cold light of reality. Once she had dreamed of exploring the world. Now she settled for independence.
Nella tilted her head to one side as her eyes shone with mischief. ‘Do you think Susan would be interested in seeing my naked gentleman?’
‘Prunella! Control your mouth and your thoughts! A lady acts with propriety and honesty at all times. The man in question does not belong to you. And you have no idea of his antecedents and so cannot make a judgement about his status.’
Nella screwed up her nose. ‘But do you think Susan would be interested in my discovery?’
‘I doubt it.’ Daisy struggled to keep her voice withering. She could well imagine Susan Blandish’s face squeezed up as though she had tasted a particularly sour plum if Nella mentioned the word naked. ‘Knowing things and informing other people of them are two different things. Discretion and tact should be your bywords, even when you are a lady explorer.’
‘I am glad I have you, Miss Milton.’ Nella reached out a grubby hand and squeezed Daisy’s pristine glove. ‘You never worry about such things as fashion and how to catch a viscount. You understand about exploring and never wanting to get married.’ Nella batted her lashes. ‘I wouldn’t have interrupted you for any other reason. I know how much you enjoy your letters from your sister. It is just that I feel one must try to help and do one’s Christian duty. Mama gave me a lecture on the very subject yesterday after I objected to meeting Mrs Gough, the vicar’s wife, who smells distinctly of lemon barley water.’
Daisy permitted a tiny smile to cross her face as she recognised Nella’s tone. Perhaps after all she would reach some sort of rapprochement with her pupil. The whole episode would provide fodder for several letters to her friend Louisa Sibson. ‘Where is this sight that you wish me to see?’
* * *
Daisy climbed the short ridge and looked down on the winding river. The sound of Crammel Linn waterfall crashed in her ears. In the sky a hawk circled. All was at peace. Nothing could possibly be wrong here.
She shaded her eyes and then she saw him, the body, lying in a pool of water just before the waterfall. His body was half in and half out of the water, caught on a log.
Once when she had been about ten, she had travelled to Italy with her mother and sister to improve her Italian. In Sorrento, she had spied a statue like this man. Not young or a hardened warrior, but an athlete, poised to throw a javelin. The perfection of masculinity personified, her governess had declared, with a clasp of her gloved hands before sweeping Daisy onwards towards more suitable views. She had not quite understood the meaning of the remark until now.
‘You see. I spoke the very honest truth,’ Nella called out in a sing-song voice. ‘A naked man by the river.’
‘Except he is far from naked. He wears a shirt and trousers.’
Nella put her hands on her hips. ‘Mama always says that a man might as well be naked if he is not wearing a stock or a coat, and this one isn’t. He does not have boots either. Or a waistcoat.’
‘He is still wearing clothing, Prunella.’ Daisy rolled her eyes heavenwards and struggled to keep her face stern.
‘I preferred it when he was naked.’ Nella rocked back on her heels. ‘It made it seem all the more exciting. It is very easy to imagine that he had no clothes on and I could see everything. See how his shirt moulds to his back. He has a very pleasant back.’
Daisy swallowed hard, remembering the statues in Italy with their unclad shoulders and tapering waists.
‘The man is clearly in need of assistance. Excitement does not come into it,’ Daisy said firmly. A governess was never ruffled. Or surprised even when confronted with such a sight. A governess was prepared for everything.
She put her hand to the side of her face and tried to think straight.
Help—she needed help and fast. Strong backs and arms to carry the man from the river.
She picked up her skirts and prepared to run, but halted before she had gone two steps. Was it her imagination or was the log rocking against the stones, preparing to carry its cargo down the waterfall?
Her mouth went dry. By the time she returned with help, the man would have been washed downstream, and any hope of survival gone. He needed to be lifted clear of the river immediately.
‘Do you think he is dead? He has not moved.’ A thoughtful expression came into Nella’s eyes. ‘I have never seen a dead person before, not even when Grandpapa died and they laid him out in the best parlour. I was considered too young.’
‘I have no idea.’ Daisy watched the man for another breath. The faint breeze ruffled his hair, but she could not discern the rhythmic lifting of his chest. On one of his hands the dull gleam of metal showed. What had happened to him? A swimming accident? Had he misjudged the swift current? Surely no robber or thief would have left a ring. ‘It is impossible to say from here. But there does not appear to be any blood. A closer look is needed. Remember, Nella, hard facts and not guesswork. Ladies do not make assumptions.’
Daisy shifted the basket so it was tighter against her hip and the blanket secure. A narrow bramble-strewn path wound its way down to the river and if she was careful she would be able to reach the man…the corpse without too much difficulty.
‘Shall I come with you? Or am I needed elsewhere?’ Nella asked, pulling her bonnet towards her nose. ‘I mean, I think I would rather go back to the house. Mama may have need of me.’
‘What a clever idea, Nella.’ Daisy forced her voice to be brisk. Propriety demanded that Nella be kept away. ‘It would be best if you stopped at Shaw’s Hotel. Tell the innkeeper about the man and ask him to send some assistance. You can do that, can’t you, Nella? You can find your way?’
Nella stood straighter and positively glowed. ‘I know the way. I am twelve and not a baby of ten, after all. We came here last year for Mama’s nerves. Mademoiselle Le Claire often had a poorly head and so I wandered about on my own. The innkeeper and I became great friends.’
Daisy clamped her lips shut. She knew all about Mademoiselle Le Claire and her habits. The woman had returned to France and Nella had been through three other governesses since, each with their own particular quirk. ‘Nella, you should walk quickly and not run. A lady always proceeds at a dignified pace—even lady explorers.’
A mutinous expression passed over Nella’s face, but she obviously thought better of it. ‘Of course, Miss M
ilton.’
‘That’s a good girl. Remember to tell the innkeeper without delay or embellishment.’
‘I will, Miss Milton,’ Nella sang out, lifting her hand in farewell.
Daisy pushed the slight sense of trepidation from her mind. Nella would enjoy the attention of being the heroine of the hour. Nella set off walking at a quick pace, but before she had gone thirty paces, the girl began to run. Daisy shook her head and turned her attention to the injured man. It was definitely not her imagination. The log had started to move towards the waterfall.
Daisy put her boot down on a loose rock, half-slid and half-ran two more feet. A distinct ripping sound resounded as the black stuff fabric in her skirt gave way. Daisy winced. Another bit of mending to do. And she hated to think about the state of her gloves. Felicity and Kammie had given them to her for her last birthday. Kammie had carefully stitched the daisies about the cuff. She wouldn’t have worn them, but, after last week’s thorn-bush incident, the pairs of serviceable gloves she owned were distinctly limited.
As she reached the riverbank, there was a huge creak and the log pulled free of the anchoring rock. With hesitating, Daisy plunged in, grabbed the man’s arm and tugged. His body refused to move as the current began to pull the log ever closer to the waterfall. Daisy watched as two black objects broke free, swirled once and then went over the waterfall to their doom.
Daisy closed her eyes, readjusted her hold on him and pulled with all her strength. At first the log seemed to be trying to carry her with it as well. She went further into the river, and planted her feet more firmly. Suddenly his body moved with her, coming up against her. Immediately Daisy redoubled her efforts and forced her mind not to think about the impropriety of having his chest so close to hers. She stumbled backwards, and his heavy body landed on top of her. Her hands pushed him, rolling him off her. He gave a faint groan.
She turned her head in time to see the log crash over the waterfall, splintering as it hit the rocks. A violent shiver racked her as she thought how narrowly he had escaped.
He gave a violent cough, bringing up water. Daisy rapped him sharply on the back until his breath appeared to come easier.
His linen shirt was translucent and moulded to his back. He wore a pair of fawn-coloured trousers and so gave the illusion of being naked. He lay on his stomach, head turned away from her. His black hair curled slightly at his neck. His chest rose and fell slightly. Alive. A soft noise arose, a cross between a snore and a snort, and he mumbled something incoherent about clubs and railways—the same sort of noise that her father had made in his wingback armchair after several glasses of port.
A deep rage filled her. She had risked life, limb and reputation to save this man and he was drunk. More than likely uninjured. She should have let him drown.
She coughed softly, but when he did not move, she tried again, reaching forwards to prod him with her basket as water dripped from her gown.
At the sound of her squelching boots, his lashes fluttered and his amber gaze pierced her. His eyes were a myriad of shifting browns and golds and his lashes provided the perfect frame.
The sound of laughter filled the air—his laughter, low and husky as if they were sharing some private joke.
‘Are you hurt? Or merely drunk?’ she asked through gritted teeth. ‘I have spoilt my best gloves and soaked my gown in the rescue attempt. The least you can do is answer civilly instead of laughing at the spectacle.’
The man groaned and buried his face in his arms. ‘Do you have to speak so loudly? You would wake the dead, ma’am, with your tones.’
‘Not the dead, just you.’ Daisy raised her eyes heavenwards. English, and with the arrogant tones of someone well bred. That was all she needed—a rake who had made a drunken wager to swim the Irthing. All she asked for was a bit of common decency, but when had a rake ever possessed such a thing? ‘Do you know how you came to be here?’
‘Not by choice. Wrong sort of clothes to swim in for a start. Always swim in my birthday suit.’ A great cough racked his body. ‘Swallowed most of the river as well. Definitely not my preferred tipple. It lacks a certain something, don’t you agree?’
Daisy wrung out the hem of her skirt. Definitely a rake and one of the worst sort. Her only hope was that he would begin to make a certain amount of sense and she could leave him. ‘Have you any idea why you are here?’
‘Carriage halted. I escaped and the dogs followed. So I went into the river.’ His frown increased and his hand fumbled about the rocks as if he were searching for something. ‘My boots! What have you done with my boots?’
‘I have not touched your boots. A pair may have gone over the falls, but forgive me as I was otherwise occupied with saving you.’
The man swore, loud and long. Daisy made a tutting noise at the back of her throat, so that he would understand that curses were always unnecessary in the hearing of a lady. She then made a great show of picking up her basket.
‘Someone stole those boots.’
‘You still have your signet ring.’ Daisy pointed at the dull gold band he wore on his little finger. Did he take her for some green girl? Easily conned by a smile and a pair of fine eyes? As if she would take a pair of boots. He was probably the sort that could not take his boots off without a valet. More than likely the boots were with his friends.
A frown appeared between his two dark eyebrows. His fingers curled about his ring. ‘Not that. Curious.’
‘Why did they do that? Why not take it if they were thieves?’ Daisy shifted the basket to her other hip and watched him through narrow slits.
‘You would have to ask my attackers. I was too busy trying to stay alive.’ The man’s sardonic voice echoed in her ears. His long fingers explored the back of his head. ‘And while you are at it, you can ask them why they left me with a lump the size of a goose egg on the side of my head. The violence was unnecessary.’
‘If that is the case, then perhaps I had best go and find them immediately. You are obviously in no need of assistance from me.’ Daisy opted for her most withering tone.
‘Why did this attack happen?’ His hand shot out and encircled her wrist. ‘The truth this time, phantom of my mind, or I shall be forced to destroy you.’
Chapter Two
Adam fastened his gaze on the slender wrist and the embroidered glove of the woman. Until his fingers closed around her, he had been nearly convinced she was another apparition, part of the never-ending parade of ghosts and phantoms that had plagued him ever since he had found a log to cling to, to keep his head above water. Always mocking him and then vanishing, always keeping that elusive answer of why the attack had happened beyond his reach.
He glanced upwards, following the line of the shiny black sleeve to the white collar fastened at her neck with a blue cameo and finally coming to rest on her glorious eyes. For a brief heartbeat, her features blurred and merged with the shadows, becoming the countenance of one of the dead. He blinked and the image vanished.
He swallowed, tasting once again the foul residue in his mouth. It had been at the last inn where his driver had insisted they change horses. Newcastle by mid-morning, Hawkins had said with a laugh, pressing a pint of foul ale on him. Had Hawkins survived? Or had the thieves saved Adam a job and slit his throat?
He pushed the thought from his mind. Later there would be the time for vengeance and retribution. Now, he had to survive. To get away from here. Alive.
His captive moved her hand upwards and silently tried to break free.
Adam regarded her with a jaundiced eye. The fates were definitely laughing at him. He had asked for help as he had struggled against the current, and this is what had appeared—a governess, someone who was more concerned about propriety and giving lip service than actually aiding anyone. Or, worse yet, a parody of a governess intent on harm. She had been about to search him for valuables. He was certain of it. The woman was no angel of mercy, but a black-hearted harpy.
‘Who sent you here?’ he asked, grinding out
the words. ‘You might as well confess. I will find out in the end.’
‘Let go of my wrist,’ the woman said, her hideous straw bonnet slipping to one side and her golden-brown hair tumbling free.
Her tones were clear and precise like a bell, echoing in his mind, reminding him of someone, someone he should know. Adam willed his mind to clear. He had never seen this woman before. Ever. He would have remembered the eyes and the heart-shaped face.
‘Let. Me. Go. Now. Before I scream very loudly indeed.’
Adam concentrated on tightening his grip. It would come to him in a moment, the connection. He drew in a breath and his body protested once again at the pain of moving. He had thought lying in the river that he might have been in India again, lying in a pool of blood, waiting for the final blow, when he had been unable to get to Kamala, but had desperately wanted to. When he still thought Kamala might have feelings for him and he could redeem his earlier failure.
He was supposed to die then but didn’t. If he could cheat death once, he could do it again. But he had to know if this woman was friend or foe.
‘I am warning you.’ The woman tapped her foot and her eyes shot sparks. ‘Cease this nonsense immediately.’
‘I doubt anyone will hear you, save the odd sheep. Possibly a hawk.’ He permitted a smile to cross his lips and promptly regretted the pain. ‘Unless you have friends nearby.’
‘Friends?’ Her voice went up an octave and her being quivered. ‘Do you think I would have dragged you from the river if I could have sent a man? I saved your life—an act of mercy and one I will regret to my dying day.’
Adam levered his body to a sitting position and concentrated on the frivolous daisies embroidered on his captive’s gloves. Would a governess really wear such gloves in contrast to her severe costume? Not any that he encountered. But then the ones he remembered had too-big teeth or casts in their eyes. And their figures were not like this woman’s.
Suddenly he wanted done with it, to face his enemy instead of having him lurk in the shadows. He nodded towards the river and empty riverbank on the other side.
Compromising Miss Milton Page 2
