by Laura Landon
Millie couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t seem to focus on anything except a face she thought she’d never see again. His features were etched firmly in her mind even though she’d only seen him that once. But his face was only one aspect she’d never forget about him. His name confirmed who he was. Roarke Livingston. The name of a man she’d hated for five years. The man who was responsible for her sister’s death.
Millie clutched her hands in her lap and glared at his handsome features. He was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. No wonder her sister had imagined herself in love with him.
He was dark in appearance, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. But Millie disliked him too intensely to appreciate his fetching features. He was everything she despised in a man. He used women for as long as he wanted them, then discarded them like so much spoiled meat. He coerced women with lies and false promises, then abandoned them without a care.
Millie thought of all the reasons she detested Roarke Livingston, and mulled over every plan of revenge she’d plotted to make him pay for what he’d done.
For more than five years, she’d imagined what she would say if she was ever close enough to speak to him. More than once, she’d imagined what she might do if she came within striking distance of him.
Oh, she hated him. Detested him with a passion that had consumed her since the night her sister had died in her arms crying Roarke Livingston’s name.
Millie glowered more intensely, then tried to blink away the abhorrence that consumed her. Only then did she realize that he’d been watching her. That his gaze was locked with hers. That he’d seen—and understood—the intense loathing in her eyes.
She rose to her feet and turned away from him as if she was repulsed by the sight of him. Because she was.
As she made her way back to the nursery, she uttered the prayer she’d repeated nearly every day since her sister had died.
That Roarke Livingston would go to hell for what he’d done.
. . . . .
When the room was empty, Roarke followed Mack and Lord Strothum into Strothum’s study.
“Do you think they believed me?” Strothum asked after he’d closed the door.
“All of them except anyone who was working with Jimmy,” Mack answered. “If the others are among your staff.”
“How long has Jimmy been with you?” Hugh asked.
“Nearly two years. He came highly recommended by the Duke of Marmley. I investigated him thoroughly, as I have all my staff since I was appointed to the government committee that oversees military ordinances and equipment.”
“Tell us again what happened,” Roarke said after the five of them took the cups of tea Lord Strothum offered. They took chairs on the far side of the room where they could converse without fear of being heard through the closed door.
“It’s as I said. I’d been working late in my office.”
“Is that where your papers are located?”
“Yes. I have a separate room where I keep all the important information sent by Lord Panmure.”
“And Lord Panmure is?” Jack asked.
“Baron Panmure. He was appointed the Secretary of State for War in February of this year.”
“Who filled the post before him?”
“The Duke of Newcastle.”
“Go on,” Mack said, relaxing into his chair and taking in everything Strothum said.
“I told Rogers to send the staff to bed, that I’d close up when I finished. It wasn’t until I went to bed that I couldn’t remember if I’d doused the last lamp when I left the room. I put on my robe and came downstairs. That’s when I saw him.”
“Jimmy Jamison, you mean?”
“Yes. I saw a light beneath the door and thought I’d left the lamp lit, so I opened the door to put out the lamp. Jimmy was trying to open the safe on the wall behind my desk.” Lord Strothum placed his cup and saucer on the nearest table and raked his fingers through his hair. “I closed the door to prevent him from escaping, then walked toward him. I asked him what he was doing, but he didn’t answer me.”
“Did he say anything at all?” Hugh Baxter asked.
Strothum shook his head. “He lunged for me. That’s when I noticed the knife in his hand. We scuffled and I thought he would kill me. He brought the knife down over me, and I grabbed his wrist and turned his hand. The knife went into his chest and he fell to the floor.”
“What did you do, then?”
“I had to sit for a few moments to collect myself, then I rang for Rogers. I penned a message and had him take it to Lord Panmure. Panmure sent a message back for me to secure the room and that he would send for you.”
Mack nodded.
“Did you allow Rogers to enter your office?” Roarke asked.
“No. I told him that Jimmy must have surprised some thieves trying to break into the house and they killed him. The papers in my office are highly classified. I lock them away whenever I leave the room.”
“Who knows where you keep them?” Mack asked.
“Until last night, I didn’t think anyone did.”
“Well, someone does. Probably more than one person,” Roarke added. “And they knew how to get to them.”
Lord Strothum sank back in his chair. “What now?”
Mack rose and they all followed suit. “That’s all for now. Jack and Roarke will stay here and question your staff. Hugh and I will find out what we can on the outside.”
“Very well,” Strothum said. “Anything I can do, just ask.”
“You’ve been most helpful.” Mack walked toward the door. They all followed.
Roarke stopped before they left the room. “One thing,” he said. “Who was the young lady who was the last to leave our meeting in the servants’ hall?”
Strothum’s eyebrows shot upward. “Miss Shaw. Millie Shaw. She’s the children’s nurse. But surely you don’t suspect—”
“No. No. I simply ask because she seemed to know me,” Roarke said, trying to make his question sound as innocuous as possible. “I just wondered if perhaps we’d met before.”
“And have you?”
Roarke shook his head. “Evidently not. The name isn’t familiar.”
Roarke tried to concentrate on what was being said as he followed Mack and the others from the room. But that was impossible. He couldn’t forget the overt hatred he’d seen in Millie Shaw’s eyes.
Nor did he think he’d misunderstood the unspoken message.
She wished him dead.
CHAPTER 2
It had been two days since the murder, and during that time Roarke and Jack had interviewed several of the Earl of Strothum’s staff concerning Jimmy Jamison. They discovered nothing that led either of them to believe the lad was anything other than what he appeared to be—a footman working hard to improve his status in the master’s household. The staff who knew Jimmy, liked him.
With one exception, every person in Lord Strothum’s household had been eager to talk with them. They’d been more than willing to share any bit of information that may seem helpful. That one exception was Millie Shaw.
Roarke had only seen her once since the first day, and that was from a distance. She’d turned abruptly when she saw him and walked in the opposite direction. He hadn’t seen her since. Her desire to avoid him had worked so far, but it wouldn’t work forever. The day would come when she would be forced to speak with him.
Roarke crossed the foyer to join Mack and the other Bedford Street investigators for a meeting to discuss their progress. When he looked up, Miss Shaw was coming down the stairs. She halted her descent when she saw him, then turned around and retreated back up the stairs.
To say her stare had been icy would be an understatement. The harsh expression on her face and the poisonous glare in her eyes had been lethal.
Roarke turned away from his meeting with the other investigators, and climbed the stairs that led to the third floor nursery. The time had come to confront her.
She’d climbed the stairs
at a rapid pace as if she knew he was following her. Roarke couldn’t describe her walk as a run, but it wasn’t exactly a normal pace either. She was intent on reaching the nursery before he caught up with her. Once she locked herself away with the children, he would find it difficult to speak with her.
Roarke took the steps two at a time and reached the top of the stairs just as she reached for the handle to the nursery room door.
“Miss Shaw.”
At his voice, her hand pulled back from the door. Her fingers curled into a tight fist and she slowly turned to face him.
Their gazes caught, her serene composure changed, and she turned back to enter the room in an effort to escape him.
“Don’t, Miss Shaw. We need to talk.”
Roarke was close enough to see her shoulders tighten and her jaw clench in a firm set. She turned her head and with narrowed eyes she leveled him a hostile glare.
“Since I did not know Jimmy Jamison personally, I’m sure we have nothing to discuss. If you will excuse me?”
She turned.
She intended to flee from him and he couldn’t allow it. “No, Miss Shaw. I will not excuse you.”
She stared at the wooden door that separated her from the safety of the nursery…and him.
Roarke knew she wanted to bolt. Her hand inched toward the doorknob but she didn’t touch it. Instead, she breathed a heavy sigh and turned toward him.
The expression on her face wasn’t softer. If anything her scowl was more pronounced.
“Yes, Mr. Livingston. What do you wish to ask?”
“First of all, I’d like to know why you have taken such a dislike to me.”
Her hands fisted tighter at her sides. “Lord Strothum instructed us to assist you and your investigators with information concerning Jimmy Jamison’s death. My like or dislike of you has nothing to do with Jimmy Jamison. Now, if you have nothing more to—”
“If you recall, Lord Strothum instructed you to afford us your full cooperation. I consider that his directive meant that you should answer any question I might ask.”
Her glare intensified. “Of course, Mr. Livingston.”
“I would like to know why you have taken such a dislike to me, since to my knowledge we have never met.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Perhaps I simply find you repulsive.”
The tone of her voice told him she meant what she said. “Would you care to explain?”
“No, Mr. Livingston, I would not. Suffice it to say, you embody everything I detest in the opposite gender.”
“Does this apply to all men, or only to me?”
“I have nothing against men in general.”
Roarke tried to hide his surprise. “Only me?”
“Yes, Mr. Livingston. Only you.”
Miss Shaw turned away as if the sight of him was too much to bear. She opened the door and took one step into the room, then stopped. Her expression when she turned back to him was impossible to read. Pain filled her eyes.
“Do you ever think of her?” she asked, her voice a quiet whisper.
Roarke didn’t have the faintest idea what she was talking about. “Who?”
Her head flew back as if he’d struck her. Of course he’d been mistaken, but he thought her eyes had filled with tears before she entered the room and closed the door behind her.
. . . . .
Millie finished helping the three older children into their coats and hats and bonnets. Janie would stay indoors with Carter, who was not yet a year old and was fighting the sniffles. The older children needed to get some fresh air. Millie, especially, needed to escape the house. Needed to put as much distance as possible between her and Roarke Livingston.
She and the children had been confined indoors for two days because of rain. The children needed to run and play. And she needed to think. About Roarke Livingston and the tumultuous emotions he cause to rage within her.
She could see now why her sister had been attracted to him. He was handsome beyond belief, and had a commanding presence that captivated and encouraged trust even in strangers. Every female in Lord Strothum’s employ was already in love with him.
He was tall and powerfully built. His physical attributes added to his appeal. No matter how desperate Millie was to strengthen her dislike for him, she found herself affected by his charm and appeal in ways she didn’t want to be moved by him.
There was something in his smile that caused her blood to warm as it rushed through her. Perhaps it was the deepening of the creases on either side of his mouth. Perhaps in was the genuineness in his grin. Perhaps it was the glimmer in his eyes.
That sparkle hadn’t been focused on her, but she’d seen it when he’d spoken casually with the female staff members. Such a glowing smile had elicited a wealth of information from any female with whom he spoke.
She imagined that look and captivating smile had been what had infatuated Rosie the moment she’d met him. She imagined Roarke Livingston’s charming ways had caused Rosie to fall in love with him. Had caused her to give herself to him.
And pay the price for her foolishness.
Millie pulled her cloak from the peg on the wall and swung the light wrap around her shoulders. She would take the children to the park. They weren’t the only ones who needed fresh air. She was as desperate to escape as they were.
She constantly wondered where he was, and what he was doing. Her mind incessantly envisioned his handsome face and charming smile. And she continuously wondered what unsuspecting female he was leading astray now.
She was determined to create a diversion that would allow her to forget that the man who’d ruined her sister’s life was living beneath the same roof as she. Determined to clear her mind of any thought of him.
“Can we feed the geese?” seven-year-old Henry asked.
The lad was tall for his age, with hair the color of ripened wheat. He was a replica of his father and left no doubt that he was the Earl of Strothum’s son.
“And the ducks?” Robbie added.
Although Robbie hadn’t yet reached his fifth year, he already indicated that he was going to be a strapping young man when he grew up. He, too, was a replica of his father. His dark hair and ebony eyes left no doubt as to his parentage.
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” she said, fastening the loops on four-year-old Beth’s pelisse. “We’ll stop by the kitchen on our way out and see if Cook has any bread she’d like to donate to our cause.”
Millie checked on Janie and the baby one final time, then led the older children out of the room and down the long hallway. Their excitement was palpable and the boys skipped down the stairs. She would find an opportunity later to remind them that young gentlemen didn’t race so in the house. She was as excited to leave as they were and if it weren’t so totally unacceptable for someone in her position, she’d race with them herself. Instead, she held onto Beth’s hand and descended at a normal pace.
“Wait for us to catch up with you,” she said to the boys. “It takes ladies who adhere to the rules of proper conduct more time to descend the stairs than rambunctious young boys who forget they’re not to race about in the house.”
She winked at Beth as Henry and Robbie exchanged chagrined glances. “It’s just that we’re anxious to get to the park,” Henry said.
“I know you are.” Millie tried to hold back her smile, but couldn’t. The lads were such normal, healthy boys. “Which is why I didn’t reprimand you while you were scampering down the stairs.”
“Are we going to the kitchen now?” Henry asked.
“Yes, if you still want to feed the ducks and geese.”
“Oh yes,” Henry and Robbie said in unison. Even little Beth chimed in with excitement in her voice.
“Then it’s off to the kitchen with us.”
Millie and the children turned toward the kitchen, and stopped in tandem.
“Good morning, Miss Shaw.”
Millie’s breath caught. Henry and Robbie took a step closer to her when Ro
arke Livingston’s towering presence prevented their progress.
“Mr. Livingston.” Millie kept her voice low—and cold. She intended to ignore him, but he didn’t allow her to.
“Did I hear you mention that you and the children are going out?”
“Yes. If you’ll excuse us, we have to make a stop in the kitchen before we leave.”
“We’re going to the park,” Henry said. “And Miss Shaw said we could feed the ducks and the geese.”
“Did she?”
“Yes,” Robbie said with an excitement that always warmed her heart. “I’m going to feed the ducks, and Henry can feed the geese. I don’t like them as much as the ducks. The ducks are nicer.”
“Yes, they are,” Mr. Livingston said on a chuckle.
“Come, children. Let’s see if Cook has any bread to spare for us.”
Millie stepped around Mr. Livingston. She had no intention of spending any more time with him than necessary. His words stopped her.
“I’ll let you get your bread crumbs for the ducks and geese, and I’ll be ready when you return.”
Millie turned. “Be ready?”
“Yes,” he said. “To accompany you.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Livingston. I’m afraid you misunderstood. The children and I are going out for the afternoon. You are not invited.”
He stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I’m afraid you are the one who misunderstands, Miss Shaw. I don’t require an invitation.”
Millie’s temper rose to the point of eruption. She turned to the boys. “Henry, will you and Robbie go to the kitchen and inquire if Cook has any bread for us? Tell her what it is for and perhaps she will cut it and wrap it in a cloth.”
“Yes, Miss Shaw.”
“And be sure to ask politely, and stay out of the way until she is finished.”
“Yes, Miss Shaw.”
The boys turned to leave but she stopped them. “Henry, take Beth with you.” Millie held out Beth’s hand and Henry took it. “Don’t forget to tell Cook thank you.”
“We won’t,” Henry said as they went off toward the kitchen.
