Caroline noticed a few outraged glances by those who recognized her, though they appeared to be mollified whenever she was with children. Fortunately, Helen had decided to include Rosa in everything she did, so she was rarely alone unless she chose to be. The other children present seemed to regard her as a curiosity at first, but then accepted her naturally into their games. And Rosa herself, used to the Braithwaite girls, didn’t develop the blank, hunted look she’d worn the first time Lady Tamar visited.
What did surprise Caroline, was her anxiety for the adult Benedicts. She was afraid her employer would get bored and sneer, which was quite likely considering the many curious glances cast his way, many of them blatant to the point of rudeness. Or that his frailer sister would shrink into loneliness. Not that she expected Marjorie to start throwing cake at the castle guests, but Caroline felt almost motherly toward her. In fact, she glimpsed Mr. Benedict once in conversation with a few gentlemen and then again entering the card room. And Miss Benedict seemed to make friends early on with the deaf but amiable Miss Muir who was a conduit to the rest of native Blackhaven society.
Through it all, Caroline endeavored to keep the children entertained without them running too wild. Occasionally, Lady Tamar brought a young man to make her acquaintance. Two of them beat a hasty retreat when they learned she was a governess, the third, a Mr. May, showed a tendency to linger until his mother summoned him away.
“Who are these gentlemen you’re bringing to me?” she asked Serena under her breath as she conducted a small group of children to the dining room. “Are you actually match-making?”
“Oh no, I’d never presume,” Lady Tamar replied in shock. “They are simply gentlemen who asked me for an introduction. You do look stunning, you know.” She drifted on to greet the vicar and his wife who had just arrived, leaving Caroline gazing after her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.
“Have you lost Rosa?” enquired a familiar voice behind her. Mr. Benedict.
“She’s in the dining room,” Caroline said, dragging her gaze to her employer and lowering her voice. “She seems to coping and is quite happy.”
“And you?”
Her brows lifted in surprise. “I?”
“Are you happy? Or are you merely a drudge for lots of children instead of one?”
She smiled. “Oh no, I don’t feel like a drudge at all, I like children—most of them!—and everyone is being kind to me.” She inclined her head in response to the bow of the passing young man, Mr. May, who had been introduced to her earlier. He had been approaching the dining room door, though he now veered away toward the drawing room as though alarmed by Benedict’s presence.
“I would not call it kindness,” Mr. Benedict said wryly, watching this progress.
“Then what would you call it?” she challenged.
His gaze returned to hers. “Lust. Attraction, to give it a gentler name.”
She flushed under his highly improper words but refused to look away. It was he who did that, gazing instead toward Lady Tamar. Their hostess had been joined by her slightly erratic husband, and together, they were now welcoming another newcomer, a handsome but frail looking gentleman. Perhaps thirty years old and pale skinned, he carried a walking stick.
Caroline felt Benedict’s shock as though it were her own. His whole body went rigid and still. And the object of his attention, having smiled and moved beyond his hosts, glanced inevitably along the gallery. His gaze clashed with Benedict’s, and he stopped dead. He even wobbled a little, leaning on his cane for support. For an instant, fear stood out in the stranger’s eyes, in his whole, appalled face. Then it smoothed quite deliberately and the man turned and walked back the way he’d come. Leaning on his stick, he walked past Lord and Lady Tamar who were laughing with someone else, and headed for the stairs as though he were leaving.
Beside Caroline, Benedict drew in a breath that shuddered.
“Who is that man?” she asked urgently.
“Someone who must never, ever be anywhere near Rosa,” he said harshly. “Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly. May I know your reasons?”
“No.”
Stung by his sudden cold withdrawal, she inclined her head and stalked into the dining room.
“Wait.” He followed her to the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said with apparent difficulty when she glanced back at him. “I will tell you, but not here.”
Diverted by one of the Winslow boys trying to hog an entire plate of pastries, Caroline dashed to restore order before anyone else could object. By the time she looked around again, Mr. Benedict had left the room.
Out in the long gallery, dancing was beginning and Caroline suggested the children form a set of their own for the country dances. Inevitably, she was drawn into it, if only to show Rosa and some of the others what to do. She led them to the very end of the gallery, so they didn’t get in the way of the adults but could still hear the music. A somewhat hilarious dance ensued, formed of an uneven number of boys and girls. Caroline found it great fun and even the adults in the set closest to them smiled at the children’s antics.
Breathless but laughing, Caroline emerged from their midst, only to be accosted by Mr. May.
“Miss Grey.” He bowed. “How kind you are to look after the children.”
“Not kindness, sir,” she assured him. “Party pleasure and part duty. I am a governess,”
“Not to all of them, surely!” He sounded so appalled that Caroline couldn’t help laughing.
“Of course not, but the young Braithwaite ladies are my former pupils, so I am happy to be of assistance.”
“Do your duties allow you to stand up with me for the next dance?”
Caroline had no idea what to say to that. Due to the informal nature of Lady Tamar’s party, there were no dance cards and dancing with anyone but the children had never entered her head. She opened her mouth to refuse on the grounds of being away from the children for too long.
But Lord Tamar, being dragged along the gallery by Helen at the time, murmured mischievously, “Of course you may dance. In fact, we insist.”
Lord Tamar was not her employer, but somehow, she could never bring herself to ask Mr. Benedict for permission to dance. In fact, she was making too much of it, for he would not care…
“Thank you, Mr. May, you are most kind,” she said civilly and received a beaming smile in return.
“Allow me to fetch you a glass of lemonade,” he begged.
While he was gone, Caroline went in search of Rosa. She found her in a quiet corner of the drawing room with Lady Alice. The two girls appeared to be drawing each other while Miss Winslow sang and played on the pianoforte. Exchanging smiles with Rosa, Caroline passed on, pleased for the girl, and quickly toured the other rooms to make sure none of the children were getting up to mischief. Helen was organizing their next dance set, to include both Lord and Lady Tamar.
By the time she returned to the gallery, Mr. May was there with her lemonade, looking disconsolately around for her. She took pity upon him and approached him.
During the dance, she caught fewer disapproving looks from the Blackhaven gentry than she expected to, although Mr. May’s mother scowled blackly enough for all of them. Caroline didn’t mind that. It was time he stood up to his mother.
Afterward, he was clearly lost as to his next move. She supposed he was used to dancing with debutantes whom he returned to their strict guardians afterward. An older, independent woman of such flexible social position as Caroline obviously flummoxed him. Caroline took pity on him and excused herself to check on Rosa and the other children—who’d enjoyed a rather more boisterous dance with Lord Tamar egging them on.
In the drawing room, Rosa had returned to sketching with Alice. A couple of the other children had joined them to admire and advise, but Rosa still looked fairly contented, possibly because her father sat on a sofa nearby. He appeared to be deep in conversation with an unusual and beautiful lady—Mrs. Gallini, the Italian singer La
dy Tamar had secured to make her party the event of the winter. Caroline hated the spurt of pointless jealousy which clawed at her, but it seemed there was nothing she could do about it except ignore it. In time, this foolish obsession would pass.
As she was about to retreat, he stood with his companion, who with a gracious smile, walked over to the piano to be introduced by Lady Tamar for her final song of the evening.
“Miss Grey,” Benedict said formally, politely gesturing to the sofa.
Poised between flight and obedience, she remembered her place in time, and sat.
The singer was more than good. With passion and presence and the voice of an angel, she moved hearts. In spite of her feelings, Caroline could not help but listen in awe, although the song heightened rather than suppressed her powerful awareness of the man at her side.
After several moments, he murmured, “Are you happy with Rosa?”
“Very,” she managed. “But I think perhaps this is long enough. If you wish, I shall take her home and send the carriage back for you and Miss Benedict.”
“No, I think we should all go,” he replied, “but not just yet.”
“Of course not. After the performance.”
“Indeed, and one more dance, which I hear is the waltz. Unless you are promised to the young man making sheep’s eyes at you from across the room.”
“Mr. May,” she said with dignity, “does not have sheep’s eyes.”
“Lamb’s then. So, are you committed for the waltz?”
“No,” she said. “I can leave whenever—”
“Good,” he interrupted and relapsed into silence for Mrs. Gallini’s climactic finish.
Caroline could do no less than applaud with enthusiasm.
Mr. Benedict said, “I’ll just speak to Rosa…” and moved away.
Somewhat confused by Benedict’s remarks about the waltz, Caroline wondered if he actually meant to dance with the singer, which she doubted was socially acceptable. Such niceties would not weigh with him. She rose, thinking to go in search of Miss Benedict and warn her of the planned departure. But before she reached the door, the musicians had struck up the opening strains of a waltz and as she stepped into the gallery, an arm at her back swept her along the floor among the forming couples.
Shocked, she gazed up into the scarred face of her employer. “Oh no,” she blurted. “You mustn’t. People will talk!”
“People will always talk.”
Her hand was lost in his. He stepped back, and she had to follow. “But your wounds—” she said anxiously.
“If I collapse at your feet, you must run for help.”
She scowled at his flippancy. “You won’t listen to anything I say, will you?”
“I listen to everything you say.”
“And immediately discount it!”
“Quite the contrary.”
She could think of nothing to say to that. Her normally sharp mind seemed to have lost track of everything except the dance. Surprisingly, despite his lame leg, he moved with grace and sureness of foot, as if the rhythm of the dance helped rather than hindered him. And for all her genuine objections—on his behalf and hers—there was something unspeakably sweet about dancing in his arms, about being so close to him for so long. His eyes held hers, a faint smile playing about his lips that looked faintly predatory, and yet even that excited rather than frightened her. It felt almost as if she was meant to be there…stupid, dangerous thought.
“You waltz well, Miss Grey.”
“Thank you. I have to teach the steps to my pupils. What is your excuse?”
“It was my duty. All Wellington’s officers have to waltz.”
“Even when injured?” she challenged.
“Especially when injured. There’s no mollycoddling in his lordship’s army.”
Something in his tone made her say, “You miss it.”
“I was a soldier for eighteen years, so yes, I suppose I miss it.”
“Couldn’t you go back?”
“No.” A flash of pain and something far more corroding darkened his face, and then his eyelids swooped down and his lips untwisted into a smile. “No, I can’t go back. One never can, you know. The trick is to look forward. You have taught me that.”
Her eyes widened. “I have?”
“We were standing still at Haven Hall, locked in the isolation of the present. Protected, safe but…”
“Bored?” she suggested.
A breath of laughter escaped him, warming her skin. “And stagnating. I was protecting Rosa, but you are helping her.”
She thought of the stranger who, at sight of Benedict, had fled the party he’d only just arrived at. He had to be something to do with the family’s past, something to do with his protection of Rosa?
“Thank you,” he said softly.
It wasn’t so much his words but the warmth in his eyes and voice that made her flush to her toes.
“Thanks are not necessary,” she managed. “If I have helped, then I’m glad.”
“You are, aren’t you? What a selfless little creature you are.”
Her flush deepened. “You needn’t make fun of me.”
“Oh, my dear, I wasn’t.”
“Don’t call me that,” she all but hissed.
“Then you do not regard me as a father figure.”
She blinked. “Father? There cannot be more than ten years between us!”
“I suppose that answers my question.”
Before the thrilling heat in his eyes, she dropped her gaze to his chin. She hoped it was the dance that made her breathe so quickly.
It isn’t. It’s him…
She didn’t want it to stop. And yet she knew this was madness. For one thing, although he took long walks, the continuous movement of the dance could not be good for his injured leg.
“I should go and find Miss Benedict and Rosa,” she said breathlessly. “I think this is long enough for her.”
Slowly, reluctantly, it seemed, he released her and offered her his arm until they had walked clear of the dancers. She could not look at him as she all but fled into the card room.
Miss Benedict had, fortunately, just finished a game of whist with Miss Muir and a couple of her friends and seemed happy enough to depart. They discovered Rosa and Mr. Benedict in the larger drawing room, making their farewells to Lady Tamar.
To Caroline’s surprise, Serena hugged her, a faintly anxious look in her eyes. “Take care,” she murmured. “And remember where I am.”
“When do you leave for Tamar Abbey?”
“Oh, who knows? We’re not sure about going at all, now.” She walked with them downstairs and sent servants scurrying for their carriage and their cloaks while Miss Benedict fluttered about what a charming time she’d enjoyed and what a kind hostess Lady Tamar was.
“You must call on us when we’re quieter,” Serena invited. “One day next week, perhaps? You are all welcome.”
For Caroline, the world had taken on a strange sense of unreality. Perhaps it was to do with the speed of her heartbeat, with the shrinking of her world into the few people now surrounding her, and her over-sensitive awareness of Javan Benedict beside her.
Handed into the carriage, she again took the seat facing away from the horses, as befitted her lowly position. She didn’t know if the journey would be harder with him beside her, all but touching her, or opposite her where she could see him.
He placed Rosa opposite her and sat beside her once more. Rosa threw herself back in her seat, smiling contentedly at everyone. She took her aunt’s hand and closed her eyes, exhausted by the day’s adventure.
While Miss Benedict chattered, Caroline concentrated with difficulty. Although Mr. Benedict seemed to be leaning the other way to avoid any accidental contact, there seemed to be invisible strings binding her to him. Every nerve, every sense, quivered with awareness.
Only as they finally drove up the neglected road from the gates to the house, did Williams cause the horses to swerve, no doubt to avoid
a particularly hideous bump, and Caroline was thrown against Mr. Benedict. There was the shock of his hard shoulder and thigh, his warm hands catching and righting her.
“Sorry!” she gasped.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, no. Are you?”
“Of course not. You’re little heavier than Rosa.”
It was as if he was reminding himself that they were not alone. Tension coiled inside her. She couldn’t help but speculate as to what would have happened if they were alone. She wondered how he would kiss when not soaked to the skin and terrified he’d hurt her in a dream…
No, no, and no!
The carriage pulled up at the front of the hall. Mr. Benedict leapt out almost before the horses had stilled and handed down his sister and Caroline. When she stole a glance at him, his eyes seemed to burn, but it might have been the fault of the carriage lanterns and the light blazing from the open front door. She hurried up the steps while Mr. Benedict swung Rosa out—in a huge arc judging by the child’s joyous gasp.
“Are you hungry?” Caroline asked Rosa as they entered the house. “Shall I ask Cook to bring something up to the schoolroom before bed?”
Rosa shook her head and ran for the stairs. She needed some time alone after her unprecedented companionship that day.
“I’ll come in shortly,” Caroline called, beginning to follow her.
“A word with you first, Miss Grey, if you please,” Benedict said abruptly.
Obediently, she took her foot off the step and followed him as he snatched up a candle and limped speedily toward the study.
He knows. He’s going to send me away, or tell me off in some unbearably humiliating way…
Knows what? she answered herself aggressively. There was nothing to know.
He opened the study door. The fire was lit and another glow emanated from a lamp near the desk. That was all she saw before he kicked the door shut behind her and seized her in his arms. His mouth came down hard on her gasping lips, kissing her with a strength and desperation she’d never imagined.
When she could do more than hang in his arms, shock melting into hot, thrilling pleasure, she struggled to free her hands, which were pinned to her side. At once, his grip loosened, but she only flung her arms up around his neck, drawing him back to her, and he pulled her flush against his body, ravishing her mouth with long, invasive kisses.
Blackhaven Brides (Books 5–8) Page 32
