A Night of Redemption (The Night Series Book 2)

by Lori Brighton

“I tire of your nonsense. It’s time to grow up.”

  “Perfect,” he’d replied. “Since I’ve purchased a post in the army.”

  His father had been irate. Titled gentlemen, second sons, did not go into the military. A long, lost memory best forgotten. It was here where he’d told him he would leave, here where his life had changed. What would his father think of him now? To hell with his childhood. So many memories in this room…mostly dark memories of loneliness, isolation and frustration. He brushed aside the thoughts and focused on the women.

  He knew by the sound of the footsteps that one was Mrs. Turner. The other was unfamiliar… light footsteps… the woman thin. As he was the only one to reside in the far west wing of the estate, he knew they were coming for him. He could not shirk his duty, as much as he wished. Yet, when he lifted his head, the room spun and a groan slipped from his lips.

  Blast it to hell! He swept his arms wide, bottles of scotch tumbling from his desk to the Persian carpet and rolling toward the fireplace where the hearth was cold, bare. Settling his palms flat to the desktop, he pushed himself to standing, determined to regain control.

  Why did he resist? If he was sane he would have accepted it all with outstretched arms. But he wasn’t sane. He was a glutton for punishment. And so he resisted, believing that resistance made him human.

  The pain ebbed and flowed. Some days were worse than others. The more he tried to resist, the more it hurt. Today was one of those days. Perhaps Allen was nearby, the little bastard. It was like a horrible, terrible case of influenza. His mouth was dry… then again, that could have been the three bottles of ale he’d ingested. His muscles ached…of course that could be from the fisticuffs he’d been involved in last night. His head throbbed…and that could be from… well, life in general. All in an attempt to forget. But he could never forget.

  The soft knock on the door sounded like gunfire to his sensitive ears.

  “Enter,” he called out gruffly, not even attempting politeness.

  The door cracked and Mrs. Turner’s scent swept into the room… baked bread, a hint of rose water, and a dash of brandy. She peeked her graying head inside, looking uneasy. “My lord, the new governess has arrived.”

  Hell, of course…the governess. There had been so bloody many that he barely paid them heed. Duty called. No rest. No normalcy. He must pretend. Always pretend. He straightened, brushing down his wrinkled waistcoat, unrolling the sleeves of his linen shirt. “Come in, please.”

  She was exactly as he’d expected. Pale, pinched, and plain-looking. The dull, unshapely dress she wore did little to show her body, if she had anything worth displaying, which he doubted. She was exactly what his hellions needed. Unfortunately, she looked like she might fall over with the first good wind. And the weather was bleedin’ unpredictable so close to the coast.

  “I’ll be outside, my lord.” Mrs. Turner curtsied and left them.

  It was only after the housekeeper disappeared into the hall, taking her fragrance with her, that he caught the governess’ scent. Clean, feminine, with the slightest hint of flowers. A pleasant scent. She might not be much to look at, but at least she smelled good.

  Spring. He realized quite suddenly. She smelled like spring.

  Releasing the breath he held, he forced his body to relax. “Do sit.”

  He gave a curt nod toward the chair in front of his desk. He would go through the motions, pretend to be the lord they expected, and when she left he would numb the need with drink. But the blasted woman didn’t move, merely glanced down at the chair, her lips tight with disapproval. Nate followed her gaze and frowned. A bottle of rum and a tincture of opium sat on the leather seat. He knew he looked like shite, and now she thought him a rake. But isn’t that what he wanted? For the truth would be worse, so much worse.

  Gritting his teeth in annoyance, he moved around the desk and snatched up the damning evidence, stuffing it into a side drawer. He never took opium, but at times the pain was almost unbearable enough to try it. Glancing around the room he could imagine what she thought of him. Cluttered, dusty, dim, both he and the area. He told himself he didn’t care, but for some reason he didn’t want her staring down her pert little nose at him.

  “Sit,” he demanded like the titled gent he was, least she forget. “Please.”

  He did have manners, or at least had at one time. Still, he remembered how to treat a lady. And even though she wore a simple brown dress covered in mud, she was a lady, that was obvious by the way she walked. She settled gingerly into the chair, her back ramrod straight. She reminded him of the many dour nannies he and his brother had tormented as lads. But he didn’t want to think about his childhood.

  Disgusted, he moved to the windows and threw the curtains wide. Vaguely, he remembered reading that her husband had died. A down-on-her-luck lady, then? The setting sun burst into the room, harsh and unforgiving. Nate grunted, stumbling back a step. His skin felt itchy, his face rough with whiskers. He had to resist the urge to curse. Hell, he needed a bath. A drink. Or maybe he just needed to bleedin’ escape.

  His gaze traveled to the woods that lay in the distance. Out there within the shadows he could be free. There was no one to judge him within that forest, no ghosts from the past haunting his every move, his every decision. His fingers curled, biting into the window sash. But he had responsibilities here. Besides, if he left he feared he’d lose that tiny bit of humanity that remained.

  With a frustrated growl, he spun around, dismissing his desire. “Shall we go over the rules…”

  Nate paused, surprise holding him immobile. The fading light had hit her fully and her skin practically glowed as if lit from within. Why, she wasn’t as dour-looking as he had supposed. No, there was a soft tilt to her chin that gave her a delightfully stubborn look. And across the bridge of her nose was the ever so light sprinkling of charming freckles. Her cheekbones were high, her nose small and her lips full. That face was narrow, too narrow almost, but he could see the attractiveness within its angles. She might never be beautiful, but if she put on a little weight, she might actually be pretty.

  The monster within growled, slowly coming to life. His fingers curled, nails biting into his palms as lust surged through his veins… heated, unmistakable, surprising. Damn, but it was her hair. That glorious auburn hair that burst to life under the setting sun. It was her hair that would be her downfall.

  To the outside world he supposed she looked cold, plain almost. But life had taught him to look beyond. With that hair falling down around her shoulders, catching the moonlight…with her face even the tiniest bit fuller…

  Her lashes lifted. As if sensing his interest she turned her head toward him, and that’s when the lust surged dangerously out of control. She had the oddest colored eyes, the deepest amber in color, surrounded by long, long lashes that were golden at the tips. Or was it a trick of the light and they were merely brown?

  Nate’s chest felt suddenly tight. Shifting rather uncomfortably under his astute gaze, she focused on his desk. Her nervous reaction was the cold dose of reality he needed. Shite, it had been too blasted long since he’d had a woman if a mousy governess caught his attention. He’d have to head to the city to sate his lust…and soon.

  “Is there something amiss, my lord?”

  He realized he was staring and tore his gaze away. Bloody hell. Heading toward his desk, he dismissed his reaction, shoved it down into the dark, cold recesses of his soul. “My cousin said you would do quite well. She bestowed a rather high recommendation, but I’m worried you don’t realize the situation fully.”

  “So I’ve heard.” She didn’t move, didn’t even flinch, she would not be easily cowed and he grudgingly respected her for that. But he could see the rapid beat of a pulse at the side of her throat. She was nervous. Not surprising, many were in his presence. “I can’t help but wonder what the fuss is about, my lord.”

  He jerked his gaze to her, surprised by the boldness. Not many a governess would talk to him in such a dir
ect manner. Just when he’d defined her, placed her in a neat little box, she managed to shock him. “Fuss?” He laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “Boys, Mrs. Church, can be a handful.”

  And his boys were more than a handful. They were true hellions. He settled in the chair behind his desk, folded his hands upon his flat stomach, and awaited her response. He found himself oddly fascinated with this bold woman. Where the bloody hell had she come from? Sussex, or was it Dorset? Perhaps that was the last governess. Shite, he couldn’t remember. At the time it hadn’t mattered…all that had mattered was that there was actually a governess who was willing to come to this desolate estate.

  After a moment’s pause in which she was obviously mulling over the correct response, she finally replied. “I am aware, my lord. I have come across the male species before.”

  Right, her late husband. Brothers, perhaps? Well, she’d never been around his sons. This had been a lapse in good judgement. She was too weak for his boys, and too tempting for him. He should shove her in a carriage, give her wages for her trouble and send her on her way. And his sons…well, they’d be better off in a school somewhere far from him.

  Annoyed, he pushed away from the desk. “Mrs. Church, I think I’ve made a mistake. I will—”

  “Please,” she said softly, urgently, as she stood. Yes, the commanding woman was still there in the sharpness of her gaze, but there was a vulnerability in the quiver of her lips that called to the human within him. “I…I have nowhere else to go.”

  Hell. Bleeding hell. He raked his hands roughly through his hair and paced to the windows once more. Could he control himself? He had been able to with the servants, and the few times he’d ventured out into polite society. She was here, he might as well give her a chance. It wasn’t as if he had any other alternatives knocking upon his door. He was running out of governesses. Perhaps he could lure one to his home with the promise of large pay, but it took only a fortnight with his sons to make them realize that sometimes there were more important things than money, like one’s sanity.

  “I’m much stronger than I appear,” she added.

  He gritted his teeth, swayed by the pleading in her voice. One chance. He’d give them all one more chance. Desire subdued, he turned to face her. “Indeed?”

  “Looks can be…” She slid a glance around the room, and the mess he presented. “Deceiving.”

  Gone was the quivering mouse. Just like that she’d put him back in his place. He wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to frown or laugh. The dour shrew was judging him? It shouldn’t have been surprising, after all he had purposefully portrayed himself as a rake, a drunkard, a man who had inherited his title after his brother had died, and was now squandering his wealth. A man who had paid so little attention to his wife that she’d risked her life to escape his evil clutches.

  Bemused, he looked toward the windows. He knew what they thought, and he didn’t give a shite, for it was better than the truth. And so he accepted their terms. He played the cad. And in some ways he was just what they thought. He did drink. He did, upon occasion, lose himself between the thighs of a lush woman. Because if he didn’t forget what he truly was, even for a brief moment, he’d go mad.

  “My lord?” the woman’s voice was hesitant.

  “It will be a challenge.”

  Her features smoothed back into place, her mind appeased. “Children usually are.”

  She didn’t like being told what to do, having to rely on others, having to beg…but she had. If he could learn to live with this woman without having her, than perhaps there was room for him in polite society after all. And if she could manage his lads, then perhaps there was hope for them as well. Challenge indeed.

  “Fine. I only have one rule.”

  She quirked an auburn brow. “Yes?”

  “You’ll stay on the grounds at night, within the stone walls. The land is dangerous and we’ve lost more than one wandering visitor to the elements.”

  She hesitated, but nodded. He knew exactly what she was thinking… what sort of primitive society had she entered? “I understand.”

  He narrowed his eyes as he studied her once more. Nothing could dissuade the woman, not hellion boys and not even death. She desperately needed the position, he could sense her anxiousness. Why? What wasn’t she telling him? Quite the little mystery. “So you’ll stay?”

  She smiled calmly, portraying herself as the well-bred female who had entered. A human would never sense the nervousness within her. But he could smell it. Damn, but she intrigued him.

  “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “Good.” He would avoid her, his son’s would have a governess, and for a short while anyway, he might know peace. “Mrs. Turner will escort you to your quarters.”

  She curtsied. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Like the mouse that she was, she turned, and with a flare of her skirts that showed off trim ankles, she scurried out of the room. He wasn’t sure why he was worried, once she met his children she would most likely run screaming from the castle. Nate poured himself a healthy dose of whiskey and wondered just how long it would take before this woman hightailed it back to where ever she had come from.

  Chapter 2

  They didn’t resemble their father, but who was she to judge. Perhaps the children playing in the far corner of their quarters took after their mother’s family. Or, perhaps they were bastard offspring from multiple mistresses. She hadn’t a clue and didn’t honestly care. She was there for one reason only…to hide. At least for the next six months or so, until her reputation hopefully faded into obscurity.

  “Don’t look like much, do they?” Mrs. Turner whispered as if they were on a safari and she feared stirring the wild beasts. “They’re a rowdy bunch, they are. But deep down….” Her lips fluttered like a gaping fish on dry land as she attempted to think of something positive to say. “Deep down….”

  Beth lifted a brow, waiting for the woman to finish. Mrs. Turner sighed, obviously at a loss for words. Amusement had her mouth lifting at the corners. Surely Mrs. Turner exaggerated. Her gaze traveled toward the children who still hadn’t noticed their presence. How sweet they looked, playing together as if the best of mates. She almost hated interrupting them.

  The room brought back memories of her own childhood and playing with her brother. Yes, they had owned plenty of toys and eaten the finest of foods, but she would have much rather have had the attention of her parents. She sighed and studied the area. Even cluttered with toys nurseries were a rather sad and desolate place, in her opinion. Hidden and ignored at the top of the house…a symbol of how children were treated. And this one outshone all others.

  Dusty floorboards, broken soldiers and other unidentifiable things scattered about the large room. Windows so smudged the fading light could barely pierce the glass. Did no one clean here? The children’s private chambers, much like their father’s, was a disaster, while the rest of the house was spotless. Almost as if they were putting on a play for public viewing, while in reality things were much, much different.

  “Pardon my frankness, but the rest of the house is so neat and attractive…”

  Mrs. Turner frowned and Beth couldn’t decide if the woman was annoyed at her impertinence or embarrassed. “We try to clean, believe me, but the lads waste little time in destroying what we manage to accomplish.”

  In other words the adults had no control here. Beth grew uneasy. Surely Lord Brimley could take these young ones in hand. She shivered merely thinking about the way he’d looked at her, with an intensity that bordered on glaring. Broad shoulders, muscled thighs, sinewy arms, that seemed to stretch the very seams of his clothing. And she had no doubt that measuring blue gaze noticed everything. Blue as dark as the night sky. She’d never seen eyes like them.

  He was a man determined, a man who would not be waylaid. She knew his kind…a man so handsome, so wealthy that he easily procured whatever he wanted. So why were his boys such heathens? Could he not be bothered to discipline? Had he ab
andoned them? It wouldn’t be surprising, for she herself had been shoved into the attic and left to the nursemaids and governess. In fact, most children of the ton were. Society held an almost callous disregard toward children that she’d never understood.

  “All right now,” Mrs. Turner called out gruffly, her voice rolling across the large attic space and startling the boys. “Come along. The new governess has arrived.”

  Four young faces jerked toward her, rife with anger, shock, and outrage. But it wasn’t their animosity that caught her by surprise. No, it was the variety in their features.

  “My, they all look completely unlike each other,” Beth whispered. One would think they’d each had different parentage, although she wouldn’t dare admit that thought aloud.

  “Yes, well…” Mrs. Turner grumbled something incoherent as she rushed toward the middle of the room, as if trying to escape Beth’s unsaid question. How she wished she’d kept her comment to herself. In the future she must remember her position and tread carefully for she couldn’t afford to lose this job.

  Mrs. Turner paused near the foot of a narrow bed. “Come closer lads. Let her get a look at ye.”

  The oldest boy dropped his book to the floor, and stood tall and gangly. He had yet to fill out, but he would be handsome, no doubt, when he grew into a man. The smallest, a cute pudgy button of a boy, dropped his tin soldiers and scurried to his older brother’s side. The two middle children slowly stood from their game of marbles, watching her warily. The truth was written plainly across their features. Beth had to resist the urge to sigh, recognizing the difficult road that lay ahead of her.

  “Come along, come along,” Mrs. Turner muttered, impatiently waving them over.

  With mumbled grumbles of annoyance, they shuffled forward until they stood in a line from tallest to shortest. All watched her closely, their devious little minds no doubt spinning with wretched ideas. She and her brother had done many a horrid things to their nursemaids. They might have seemed like little devils, but really they’d merely wanted attention. And these boys, with their eyes entirely too bright for her liking, were in obvious need of affection.