by Brenda Novak
“Perhaps I will,” he said.
“And what do you anticipate in return for your generosity?”
“Nothing you won’t be able to freely give.”
“There will be a door adjoining our bedrooms,” she pointed out. “I’ve cleaned this entire wing many times and know all the rooms well.”
“That door you may keep locked as you see fit.”
Had she heard him correctly? “Then what will my duties include?”
“You will spend your days however you like.”
“Not without work. Surely you jest.”
“If it pleases me to make your life easier, I will. You read, don’t you? I have an extensive library. You can spend your days in there. Or hold classes for the household staff, if you want, teach them as you’ve taught the miners. Other than that… you must know how to do some sort of needlework. Isn’t that what ladies do in their free time?”
“But”—she floundered for words—“how long do you see something like this working?”
“Until your hands have healed and better arrangements can be made.”
“I see.” So it was temporary. That eased her mind somewhat, but there was still the other matter Poulson had referenced, something to do with the Duke of Pembroke. Rachel couldn’t even begin to guess what that was about, and yet it worried her. “I appreciate your generosity, my lord, but you really must put me in a more modest room.”
“Where? In the other wing of the house, where you will be alone? Or back with the servants who will resent you too much to show you the least bit of kindness? Or maybe you meant this wing, but closer to Wythe?”
She saw his point. None of those choices sounded appealing. Fortunately, he didn’t wait for her response.
“I am done with finding you in dire straits, Rachel. It is better to keep you close.”
“But putting me in Katherine’s rooms will…” She let her words drop off because she couldn’t think of an inoffensive way to say what was on her mind.
“You’re suddenly unwilling to speak up?” He slanted her a look with his sarcasm that said he could hardly believe it.
She drew a deep breath. “It will seem to confirm to everyone who has wondered… that your wife never meant too… much to you, my lord.”
“I can’t say she did, not toward the end.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Maybe not even toward the middle. It wasn’t long after we were married that I realized I could never love her.”
Sometimes he was too honest for his own good. “I wouldn’t admit that to anyone else, my lord.”
“But my secrets are safe with you? Someone who believes I fired Blackmoor Hall? Someone who hates me more than my usual assortment of enemies?”
“I don’t…” She wanted to say “hate you,” but was afraid such an admission might reveal just how much her feelings had changed. “I don’t think you fired Blackmoor Hall.”
A wry smile twisted his lips. “Is that so? And what evidence has brought you to my side?”
“I didn’t know what kind of man you were when I made that accusation, only what I had heard others say.”
“Those ‘others’ included your parents—reliable sources, wouldn’t you say?”
“Perhaps they were equally misguided. But, be that as it may, we do have to deal with certain realities. We both have enemies, my lord.”
“Now that my enemies are your enemies, you mean.”
“To be honest, I am more worried about your friends.”
He arched an eyebrow at her. “My friends?”
“If you make my life too easy, Mr. Stanhope and Mrs. Poulson will be waiting for their revenge. And when you are ready to cast me off, they will have it.”
He tossed back the rest of his drink. “I will take you to London and put you in service there, if need be. Until then, you will fall under my protection. In return, I ask for only one thing.”
She swallowed hard. Could she deny him anything? She was completely at his mercy. “And that is?”
“That you meet me here whenever I request your company.”
“To divert you by playing chess.”
With a slight bow he said, “If you prove to be a worthy opponent, yes.”
She motioned to the chess set. “Then allow me to prove myself up to the task.”
Although he insisted she eat before they could start the game in earnest, once he was satisfied she couldn’t take another bite, he settled himself across from her.
The game lasted two hours and was one of the most difficult Rachel had ever played. When he took her queen, she was sure she would lose. He was a far better player than her mother had been and wiggled out of every trap. But she got lucky and managed to corner his king.
“Checkmate,” she said with a huge rush of relief.
He scowled as if he couldn’t believe what he saw, but then he started to chuckle. “Ah, even here you thwart me.”
“My lord?”
“I deserved the beating for being so arrogant. You are a credit to womankind, Rachel—bright and refreshing.”
She moved the pieces back into their starting places. “Perhaps you would like me to beat you again, since it obviously pleases you?”
She was teasing. She could tell he understood that, and yet he grew serious.
“There is one thing that would please me more.”
Unable to tear her eyes away from his, she curled her nails into her already tender palms. “And that is… ?”
“Did you know it was me, Rachel?”
He was talking about that night in his bed. She could tell by the level of his intensity. No doubt it would ease his conscience to hear the truth, but she couldn’t reveal that she’d recognized him without also revealing that she’d wanted him as badly as he’d thought.
“I was… drugged or something,” she mumbled.
His gaze remained steady on hers. “That isn’t what I asked you. You wanted me to remove my glove. You wanted to feel both my hands on you with nothing in between. No one else would wear a glove while making love to a woman. I only left it on because—”
At last she managed to look away and wished she could hide her face too. “I know why you left it on. But I don’t find your hand nearly so repulsive as you seem to think I will.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“Despite the glove.”
“Despite the glove. I had no idea where I was.”
“Then I take full responsibility.” He stood. “It’s late. We are done for the night. Enjoy your new sleeping quarters.”
That he had accepted her words as the truth reminded her of what he’d said in the bookshop the night he appeared out of nowhere, and that stung her conscience. His opinion had been far more accurate when he mocked her: You would never willingly give yourself to me, not for money, not for anything.… I am your nemesis.
She’d believed he was her nemesis. Even now, she had the feeling he could all too easily destroy her if she wasn’t smart. The yearning she felt whenever he drew near—it wasn’t safe, which was why she left the subject as it stood and headed for the door.
But after only a few steps, she turned back. She couldn’t lie to him any longer, even if such honesty left her vulnerable. From the beginning, he’d acknowledged his part in what had occurred; maybe it was time she did the same.
“I knew it was you the moment you touched me,” she admitted and left.
Truman was drinking too much. He hoped it would dull his mind and slow the racing of his heart to the point that he would be able to sleep. But that seemed unlikely, given Rachel’s parting words.
Linley was right. He should find her another position, with a master who would be kind. He could check on her periodically, make it possible for Geordie to see her now and then. Keeping her here where she was perfectly accessible to him threatened everything he’d just achieved in London. If he couldn’t find the missing Bruegel paintings, he had to accept the Du
ke of Pembroke’s offer. Without the duke’s support, the Abbotts would triumph, and he would be tried for murder.
So why was he tempting fate?
Because he couldn’t bring himself to do otherwise. Maybe Rachel was stubborn, opinionated and steeped in the philosophies of her class, but she soothed his beleaguered soul like no one else.
I knew it was you the moment you touched me. That potent admission made his body ache with desire—desire that had to go unfulfilled. He would not cost Rachel any more of her self-respect.
At least he had the small revenge of knowing that Katherine had to be turning over in her grave. She’d always wanted to drive him to distraction, hated that she couldn’t enslave him as she did her other men. That he was consumed with desire for someone else, someone she would consider far inferior, would have driven her mad, if she were around to see it.
He offered her portrait a taunting smile. “Our newest servant is taking your rooms, love. She is asleep in your bed this very instant.” He held the last of his drink high. “And heaven help me if I wouldn’t trade a fortune to join her there.”
Someone was looming over her. Rachel almost screamed before she realized it was Lord Druridge. She was no longer in the utilitarian garret with the other maids. She was asleep in his late wife’s bed, which was far bigger and more comfortable than any place she’d slept before.
“My lord? Is something wrong?” Oddly, she wasn’t frightened. Once she knew who it was, she scooted into a sitting position.
He carried a lamp, which he set on her bedside table. He didn’t seem as steady as usual. She got the impression that maybe he’d had too much to drink. The scent of brandy clung to him, as did the scent of the outdoors, even though he’d come to her room through his own. She could see the light of his fire through the open doorway.
“What good does it do to lock my door if you have the key?” she asked.
He didn’t answer the question. “I found what you need,” he told her.
“What I need?”
“The horse salve. This is what I used after the fire. It helps a great deal. I had to wake William Grude, but he knew right where it was.”
This couldn’t have waited until morning? When did this man sleep? “You went out in the cold for the sake of… of my hands?”
“Let me see them.”
Dutifully, she allowed him to apply the thick salve, which brought instant relief—not from the pain but from the dryness and cracking.
“You’re not wearing your glove,” she said.
“It’s dark.”
“I can feel the difference.”
He instantly withdrew. “You can apply the ointment yourself, I’m sure.”
She knew she shouldn’t, but she reached out to capture that particular hand before he could go. She couldn’t help wanting to feel, once again, the flesh that had been damaged, to soothe any residual pain, to become familiar with such an irregularity. This was a part of him he shared with no one. She liked that aspect, liked the intimacy of touching what he wouldn’t trust just anyone to touch.
She stared up at him, trying to see him more clearly in the darkness as her fingers explored the damage. He seemed unsure, hesitant, as though he was anxious to pull away rather than expose himself where he was most vulnerable. But she’d been telling the truth. His scars didn’t bother her. On the contrary, they brought back memories of their night together, when he removed his glove and touched her with the hand that was unique to him.
“Such terrible damage. It can’t please you.” He tried to get her to take his other hand instead, but she wanted to minister to the one she held, to let him know that, somehow, it was just as beautiful to her as the rest of him. “It does please me,” she insisted. “Letting me touch you in this way involves an element of trust.”
“Trust?” He sounded like he’d almost choked on the word. “I’m not someone you should trust, Rachel,” he warned, but their hands slid together, smearing the ointment, making their skin slick and sensitive. She got the impression he wanted more. Something held him fast and, since she could scarcely breathe, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what that might be.
“My lord…,” she whispered. She wanted him to slide his hands up her arms, to pull off her nightgown and smooth that ointment all over her body, but he stepped out of reach and put the salve on the table by her bed. “Make sure you put more on in the morning.”
“I will,” she promised and he took his lamp and left.
Suddenly bereft in a way she’d never felt bereft before, Rachel curled up on one side and stared at the light under the crack of his door until her pulse slowed and she finally nodded off.
When she woke, it was late morning, but she was still tired. She felt like she could sleep all day—except there was an argument going on next door.
“In Katherine’s bed?”
“Why not? Last I checked she no longer needed it.”
“But, my lord, how do you expect her family to respond?”
It was Linley and the earl. Rachel easily recognized their voices.
“It’s none of their business.”
“You can’t be serious. News of this will spread like wildfire. She is a mere servant, after all. What are you going to do next, hire her a lady’s maid?”
“No. No doubt that would make her extremely uncomfortable. In any case, she is not a servant. At least, she wasn’t until I employed her.”
Throwing back the covers, Rachel got out of bed and crept closer.
“She is a pauper still the same,” Linley argued.
“She owns the village bookshop. There is plenty of respect in honest industry.”
“You think making her your paramour will go over any better because of the shop?”
“She is not my paramour.”
“Then what is she?”
“My… ward.”
“She is of age, Truman. And you have bedded her.”
“Considering Wythe’s culpability in her deflowering, I am shocked you would bring it up.”
“You know how I feel about your cousin. But that is beside the point. I care about you, am merely trying to remind you what having her so close will mean. Whether you are in actuality lovers, others will assume you are. In this case, it is the perception that counts.”
“I don’t care what the Abbotts ‘perceive.’ I will not let them sit in judgment of me. Had they been honest about Katherine’s character and temperament, I never would have married her.”
“Then what of the Duke of Pembroke? I saw how he treated you, heard what he had to say. It may gall you to be in such a position—and rightfully so—but you are in dire need of his support. Surely you care about his opinion.”
From what Rachel could tell, the earl didn’t answer. It was Linley who continued.
“If you don’t marry his daughter you will be ruined, my lord. He will abandon your cause and the Abbotts will soon have full sway. Do you want to find yourself at the end of a hangman’s noose?”
Rachel winced at the thought of the earl going to the gallows but refused to consider why his marrying upset her just as much. He was still young, needed to produce an heir. And it sounded as if he had the opportunity to make a favorable match. She should be happy for him.
“I refuse to allow whether I swing from the gallows to hinge on where Rachel sleeps.”
“You may not have a choice. Maybe you would have more leeway if you were your old self. But people are wondering about you as it is. You are up all hours of the night. You come and go like a shade. You no longer maintain the relationships that used to be important to you. You should hear the rumors that are circulating in London and elsewhere—”
“And have been circulating for two years,” the earl broke in. “Rachel is not the cause of that. Forget what people are saying!”
“I can’t. And neither can you. Forgive me for speaking so plainly, but any odd behavior makes you look guilty.”
Rachel gasped that Linley would be so bold, but th
e earl didn’t react in anger. He sounded almost… philosophical.
“It wasn’t Katherine’s death that changed me. It was marrying her in the first place. You, of all people, should know that. Certainly you remember how miserable I was, how hard I tried to love her and how bitterly I failed. Anyway, I may not be the man I started out to be, but I will prove my innocence all the same.”
“Just marry the duke’s daughter, my lord. Then you can put the past behind you and, one hopes, forget.”
“I can’t forget, Linley. Not until I prove my innocence.”
“It has been two years and still no one knows how the fire broke out.”
“Someone knows,” the earl insisted. “Maybe even Rachel.”
Rachel covered her mouth and stumbled back, away from the door. She didn’t know. She’d told him as much.
But Elspeth might.
The same maid who had helped her get warm that last miserable night in the garret knocked on the door shortly after noon. She was carrying a tray of food. Rachel guessed the earl had requested it, once again making her grateful for his generosity. She wasn’t sure what would’ve happened had she been forced to go in search of sustenance. She definitely didn’t want to run into Mrs. Poulson. She wasn’t sure of her new place at Blackmoor Hall. Should she try to teach the staff to read, as Lord Druridge had suggested?
Mrs. Poulson would definitely not like that. But would she tolerate it? Or would she find some way to quash it?
“Gaw, look at ye sittin’ in this fine room as if ye own it!” Mary said.
Rachel had donned the wool dress she’d been wearing when she first arrived at Blackmoor Hall. Thankfully, Mrs. Poulson or someone else had piled her belongings on Katherine’s bed last night so she didn’t have to wear her uniform. “It’s beautiful in here, isn’t it?”
“Aye, but I’ve seen the room before. It’s a poor lass bein’ treated like a queen I can’t fathom.” She lowered her voice. “Is he a kind bedfellow?”
Rachel felt herself flush. The exchange they’d had in the wee hours made her feel guilty. They’d only touched hands but it had felt like so much more. “He didn’t come to me.” Except to put salve on her hands. She was still amazed by the fact that he’d gone out in the cold in order to gain the remedy, but she didn’t mention it.
