Not Just a Governess

by Carole Mortimer

  Her gaze moved higher, to the unyielding hardness of Adam’s arrogantly handsome face, the steadiness of that grey gaze asking—no, demanding!—that she do as he requested without further protest.

  ‘I give you my word I will not allow any harm to come to you this evening,’ he murmured encouragingly.

  A frown creased her brow. ‘And how do you intend to prevent that from happening?’

  ‘Can you not trust me enough to see that it does not?’

  Once again Adam asked that she trust him. When they had spoken together six days ago he had dismissed the passion they had shared, out of hand. When they’d parted four days ago he had been barely civil to her. And now, after days of silence, he asked that she trust him.

  Could she, dare she now put her trust in him?

  What other choice did she have?

  Absolutely none, came the unequivocal answer as she moved her hand up slowly, hesitantly, and placed it upon Adam’s forearm, allowing him to escort her from the safety of her bedchamber.

  ‘Your grandfather was one of the gentlemen whose offer I considered accepting when I was a gel!’ the Dowager Duchess of Royston informed her briskly upon introduction, a briskness which appeared to be her usual manner. ‘I admit to being quite put out when Jane Witherspoon whisked him out from beneath my nose and married him.’

  And an impressive nose it was too, Elena thought admiringly, Edith St Just’s a forceful beauty rather than one of pale delicacy, as her own grandmother’s had been. ‘They were very happy together,’ she assured shyly, slightly disconcerted by the forthright manner of the dowager duchess’s greeting, after spending most of the carriage ride, to that lady’s magnificent house, worrying as to what sort of reception she might expect from her hostess.

  ‘Well, of course they were, George and I would never have suited. Both too fond of our own way.’ The older woman smiled before turning to kiss Lady Cicely affectionately upon one powdered cheek, then stepping back to give Adam a considering glance. ‘We have succeeded in bringing you back into society again at last, I see, Hawthorne.’

  He smiled ruefully. ‘It is for this one evening only, your Grace.’

  ‘Then we must make the most of your company “for this one evening only”,’ the dowager duchess came back drily. ‘Come, Cicely, let us take Miss Matthews and introduce her to my other guests.’ She moved ahead of them, cutting a swathe through the other ten or so guests gathered in the salon.

  Much like a battleship sailing through the midst of smaller, less prepossessing vessels, Elena thought dazedly as she found herself moving further and further away from Adam’s side.

  ‘I believe I understand more what this evening is all about now that I have seen the young lady in question…’

  Adam turned slightly to look at Justin St Just, as the duke moved to stand beside him. ‘Indeed?’

  The other man grinned at him. ‘Do not take that arrogant tone with me, Thorne, when any man with eyes in his head can see and appreciate that Miss Magdelena Matthews is a rare beauty.’

  ‘A rare beauty who has been much wronged,’ Adam reminded him grimly.

  The other man sobered instantly, his expression becoming almost as severe as Adam’s own. ‘Which is why we are all here, is it not? The duke, the earl, the judge, the lawyer, the doctor? As well as several of my grandmother’s closest friends, to act as witness to the proceedings? Indeed, I cut short my own escape to the country in order that I might be of assistance.’

  Adam forced some of the tension from his shoulders as he reminded himself that Royston, despite his words of admiration for Elena, was not his enemy, that the other man had indeed brought himself back to town, at the risk of facing more of the dowager duchess’s marriage machinations, solely at Adam’s request. ‘I apologise for my churlishness. It is only—’ He gave a shake of his head. ‘The reproachful looks Elena cast in my direction, during the carriage ride here, lead me to the conclusion that she believes I have only forced her into coming here this evening because I somehow intend to cause her further humiliation.’

  The duke gave him a reassuring slap on the shoulder. ‘She will understand exactly why we are all here before this evening is over.’

  Adam glanced across to where Elena and Lady Cicely were presently engaged in conversation with Judge Lord Terence Soames and Lady Soames, as well as the Dowager Countess of Chambourne, and her grandson Lord Christian Ambrose, the Earl of Chambourne, and Lady Sylviana Moorland, the lady to whom he had recently become betrothed. Elena’s expression appeared to be one of shy pleasure as she found herself welcomed by the prestigious company in which she now found herself, instead of rebuffed, as she must fully have expected to be. ‘I can only hope that you are right,’ he murmured bleakly.

  Adam’s plans for this evening had been made carefully and cautiously, with only a handful of people knowing the true reason they were all gathered together here at the dowager duchess’s home. Elena had not been one of them. For her own sake, admittedly, but Adam was not sure that she would agree with that decision once she became fully aware of why they were all here. The secrecy was a risk, a calculated risk on Adam’s part, and not one he was at all sure would ultimately pay off.

  ‘Too late for second thoughts now, Thorne,’ Justin murmured beside him as he turned towards the door. ‘I believe I hear our guest of honour arriving.’ The duke wasted no more time on further conversation, but strode quickly across the room to stand at Elena’s side.

  Just in time, as the salon door was opened by the butler and the last of the dinner guests, a tall and confident young gentleman, in possession of a blond-haired blue-eyed handsomeness, stepped into the room at the same time as his presence was sonorously announced by the dowager duchess’s butler.

  ‘His Grace, the Duke of Sheffield.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  It seemed that, in the brief passing of a second, the evening that Elena was finding to be a surprisingly pleasant one had now turned into her worst nightmare. Her face paled to a deathly white as she looked across the room at the man who was her nemesis.

  ‘Steady.’

  She was barely aware of the gentleman who had moved to stand beside her, nor did she acknowledge the firm grip he took of her elbow as she swayed on her slippered feet. She had eyes and ears for only one man in the room. Her cousin. Neville Matthews. The eleventh Duke of Sheffield. The man who had stolen so much from her. Not only her inheritance and her identity, but, worst of all, her innocence…

  His shrewd blue gaze moved restlessly about a room that had fallen silent at his arrival, nodding haughty acknowledgement as he recognised several of the other guests, that arrogant gaze then passing dismissively over Elena before just as quickly shifting back again.

  Elena found it impossible to turn away as she saw the malevolent gleam that instantly appeared in those narrowed blue eyes and felt much like the mouse that found itself mesmerised by the eyes of the cat stalking it. If not for the increased firmness of that grip upon her elbow, she knew her legs would surely have given way beneath her. As it was, she could neither move nor breathe, but only continue to stare at Neville with ever-increasing dread as she waited for him to speak, to denounce her to every other person in the room.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Neville’s words, no more than a vicious whisper, was nevertheless still heard by every person gathered in the dowager duchess’s beautifully appointed but otherwise silent salon. When Elena made no reply—she could not have spoken if her very life had depended upon it, which it perhaps did—his contemptuous gaze shifted to his hostess for the evening. ‘I am sure you can have no idea of the deception which has been practised upon you this evening, madam, but I am sorry to inform you that your grandson appears to have brought a wanted fugitive into your home!’

  ‘Steady,’ that reassuring voice once again murmured at Elena’s side.

  A voice, she realised, from Neville’s accusation, that must surely belong to none other than Justin St Just, the dowager duchess’s
grandson.

  She blinked her uncertainty, unsure of how that gentleman came to be standing next to her at all. Or why the Duke of Royston should have chosen to take such a proprietary hold upon her elbow, when the two of them had never met, let alone been formally introduced.

  ‘Which fugitive would you be referring to, Sheffield?’ Edith St Just was the one to coolly answer the accusation.

  Neville shot Elena a scowling glance. ‘My cousin, Miss Magdelena Matthews, is the woman now standing beside your grandson!’

  The elderly lady gave Elena a cursory glance before turning back to Neville. ‘And?’

  ‘And she is both a murderess and a thief, madam!’ A flush of displeasure had darkened Neville’s cheeks. Obviously he had expected a completely different reaction to his triumphant announcement.

  ‘I do not know much about the affair, but gossip would seem to imply that it is only an accusation rather than accepted fact.’ Adam stepped forwards into the middle of the room, placing himself firmly between the cousins. ‘And was it not you who levelled that particular accusation against Miss Matthews?’

  Elena’s heart began to beat rapidly in her chest as she looked across at Adam, the first glimmer of hope beginning to brighten the darkness which she had felt surrounding her since they had left Cambridgeshire.

  Trust him, Adam had requested of her earlier this evening, when Elena had questioned his reasons for insisting she attend this dinner party. Could he—dare she hope that he had been referring to this present situation when he made that request? That he had known all along that Neville was to be here this evening? That he had perhaps planned for this very confrontation to happen?

  ‘This is none of your concern, Hawthorne.’ Neville looked surprised by the other man’s intervention.

  Adam raised dark brows, his expression bland. ‘I should have thought it to be the concern of any decent member of society?’

  Neville gave him a pitying glance. ‘From which you are known to have voluntarily absented yourself these past years.’

  Adam smiled humourlessly. ‘And what bearing can that possibly have upon any of this?’

  ‘I merely mentioned it in passing.’ Neville looked more than a little irritated as he once again turned the focus of his attention on Elena and the man standing so solidly at her side. ‘I am surprised at you, Royston, for knowingly bringing such a woman into your grandmother’s home—’

  ‘I would prefer—no, I positively insist, that you address me as your Grace.’ Ice literally dripped from the Justin’s coldly contemptuous voice.

  The other man scowled. ‘As your equal in rank—’

  ‘I doubt there is another man alive equal to the depths to which you have fallen, Sheffield,’ the duke informed him scathingly.

  An angry flush now darkened Neville’s cheeks. ‘I did not come here to be insulted by one such as you—’

  ‘Have a care, Sheffield,’ Justin warned.

  ‘This is ridiculous!’ Neville shifted impatiently as he turned to the other guests in the room. ‘The woman standing beside Royston has been sought this past two months, for both murder and theft. She is—’

  ‘Innocent of both those charges!’ Elena pulled out of the duke’s grasp as she stepped forwards, her cheeks flushed as she faced up to the man she knew to be responsible for all that he now accused her of. Accusations, which she had listened to silently, her eyes downcast, as she was filled with tortured mortification at having such personal things discussed in such exalted company. But she could not just stand by and listen any longer, had to at least try to defend herself. ‘It was your own behaviour, when you—when you attacked me, that so upset our grandfather he had a heart attack and died! And it was you who threatened to have me locked in the asylum if I did not agree to marry you!’

  ‘I threatened the asylum because I believe you to be mentally ill, madam,’ Neville announced scathingly. ‘The fact that you ran away is in itself evidence of your guilt.’

  ‘Not so.’ Elena gave a fierce shake of her head. ‘It was you who made it impossible for me to remain in Yorkshire!’ She could not bring herself to say in what manner he had gone about that. ‘And you made up those terrible things about me so that I could not make any accusations regarding your own monstrous behaviour towards me following our grandfather’s funeral!’ She was breathing hard in her agitation.

  His jaw tightened. ‘As already stated, you are deranged, madam.’

  ‘And yet you wished to make her your wife? That does not make any sense at all.’ Adam spoke softly, filled with pride for Elena, as she stood up to her accuser so bravely. A pride he dared not show. Not yet…

  Sheffield scowled darkly. ‘Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere less public?’

  Adam turned to their hostess. ‘Your Grace?’

  Edith St Just remained stoically imperious. ‘I believe, having heard so much, that it would be in Miss Matthews’s best interest if my guests and I remained to hear the rest of what is said.’ She glanced at those guests, receiving several silent nods of confirmation, before turning back to Neville. ‘It does seem…odd, in light of your other comments, that you then offered for Miss Matthews?’

  ‘I was unaware of her dangerous mental state when I made the offer.’

  ‘Correct me if I am wrong, but it sounded as if your offer of marriage was made to Miss Matthews immediately after your grandfather’s death?’ the dowager countess said with deceptive mildness.

  ‘What does it matter when I offered for her, when that offer, for obvious reasons, has since been withdrawn?’ Sheffield’s top lip curled with distaste.

  Edith St Just raised grey brows. ‘I should have thought it was of great significance, if you made the offer of marriage whilst believing Miss Matthews to be deranged and responsible for the death of your grandfather.’

  Sheffield scowled darkly. ‘I do not have to justify my actions to you, madam—’

  ‘I believe the dowager duchess is merely seeking to clarify the sequence of events,’ Adam put in mildly, not wishing for Sheffield to become so annoyed that he turned and walked out. Having come so far, that would not do at all.

  He did not remember meeting Neville Matthews before this evening, but just a few minutes in this man’s company and he knew that he did not like him in the least. That he was not a man he would ever have liked, even without the knowledge of his treatment of Elena. Indeed, Adam had sought out, and spoken with, several members of society these past few days, some of them women, who could testify, and would if necessary, as to the vicious depravity of Sheffield’s behaviour.

  Having now met the man, Adam could see that he was beyond arrogant, and his past behaviour surely implied he believed himself to be above the law of the land, too. If anyone present this evening were to be called ‘mentally ill’ or ‘deranged’, then it was surely this man?

  ‘I believe we were talking of your offer of marriage to Miss Matthews while fully believing that she was responsible for the demise of the grandfather you shared?’ He gave the man another prod.

  Neville’s hands clenched at his sides even as he glared his anger at Adam. ‘If we must finish this conversation, then should we not at least excuse the ladies from any indelicacies that might follow?’

  ‘I believe I may speak for all of the ladies present,’ the dowager duchess answered loftily, ‘when I state that we are none of us so delicate as all that.’

  Sheffield gave a sneering smile. ‘On your own head be it, madam!’

  ‘Indeed,’ she said regally.

  ‘Very well,’ he snapped his displeasure. ‘I offered for Elena because it was always intended that we should one day marry—’

  ‘Intended by whom?’ Adam prompted.

  ‘By all of the family, of course.’

  ‘I understood that there was only your grandfather, yourself and Miss Matthews left alive in that family? Miss Matthews does not appear to me to be a chit just out of the schoolroom and I do not recall your grandfather making arrangements
for that match before his death?’

  ‘Because he was too damned soft to force her when she declined the match!’ Neville muttered disgustedly.

  Adam raised his brows. ‘You did not agree with his showing such an indulgence of emotions towards his only granddaughter?’

  The other man snorted. ‘Not when it resulted in the old fool accepting her refusal and then settling half the Sheffield money on her in his will!’

  ‘Perhaps he made such a decision so that Miss Matthews might be independent after his death? Because Miss Matthews had voiced her aversion to marrying you? Her aversion to you?’ Adam goaded again with as light a touch as possible in the circumstances. ‘I seem to recall Miss Matthews stating earlier that it was witnessing that very aversion which resulted in the duke’s heart attack and subsequent death?’

  ‘I did not allow her to remain averse to me for long after the old man’s death, I assure you, Hawthorne,’ the other man sneered.

  ‘No?’ Adam kept a tight rein on his own temper; much as he longed to reach out and squeeze the life out of this excuse for a man, it would not serve his purpose. Not yet, at least.

  Neville gave Elena a sweeping knowing glance. ‘Perhaps you should try her for yourself once Royston has finished with her. I believe you will find that, like all women, she is only too willing after the initial fight.’ He gave an arrogantly mocking smile as one of the female guests gave an audible gasp.

  ‘You like your women to fight you, do you, Matthews?’ Adam’s voice had now taken on a dangerous edge.

  ‘It adds a certain…spice, yes.’ Neville gave a confident smile, still certain his position as a duke gave him an iron-clad protection.

  ‘You do not see it as a sign that they are possibly unwilling?’

  The other man gave Elena another scathing glance. ‘Elena fought a little more than most, admittedly, and earned herself a few bruises for her trouble. But that was only to be expected. I have found that virgins are always the most skittish.’ He gave a feral smile. ‘Married ladies are much more eager to try new things. Your own wife, for example, very much enjoyed a little rough play in the bedchamber—’