Governess in Disguise: Historical Regency Romance

by Lisa Campell

  “I see.”

  Anna felt her throat closing up with trepidation. The idea of this man, this cold, terribly handsome man touching her was unthinkable. A combined feeling of terror and guilty excitement rose in her stomach. It made her tremor and she clenched her hands into fists. She saw his eyes flicker over them and wished she had not.

  “I would not demand it.” He spoke quietly.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I will not demand your body.” He looked at her with such a direct stare she fought an urge to quail away. “Not immediately. I will give you time, to grow … accustomed.”

  “That is …,” Anna stumbled for the word. It was not kind. Nothing about what her father had agreed with this man was kind, but it was not the hardhearted indifference she had expected. She remembered her mother’s words about not judging a man on rumours alone. “Generous,” she finally said.

  He nodded. “I will also give you leave, several days of each month, to travel here for your mother.”

  “Thank you.” Her surprise was genuine. “That is kind of you.”

  “Does that not seem beneficial to you? Or did you have other benefits in mind?”

  She stared at him for a moment. She could not ask him for what she really wanted. She wanted to be free to turn his proposal down, but that was beyond her reach. She wanted him to love her, and for her to fall in love with him and for them to live happily, but that was something she could not ask for either. However, there was perhaps a way she could hold her father to account.

  “Would it be possible to ensure that part of the debt you settle on my father might be portioned for my mother’s medical needs?”

  Mr Klane frowned. “You do not trust your father to do it?”

  “Not a whit.”

  Mr Klane smiled again. Anna knew that somehow, with her blunt honesty, she had pleased him. In fact, she felt that so far, in every way, she had managed to please him.

  “It suits me well enough.” He finished his cigar and drained his brandy. “It will do no good to have my future wife’s mother die. The whole family would be plunged into mourning. It would hardly help my sister advance.”

  Anna blanched at his sudden turn to callousness. She had relaxed slightly in his company, and now his coldness hit her anew with the painful sting of his distasteful manners. She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt like her mother had suggested. She wanted to try. But when he behaved like this, he made it so hard for her to like or respect him. Instead, she tried to match his detachment.

  “Well then, that is another benefit for you.” Anna tossed her hair and tried to appear confident. “It seems like I am doing you a great favour, Mr Klane.”

  “Silas,” he said, setting his brandy glass down and rising from his chair. “We are going to be married. You shall call me Silas. Or if you must, Lucifer.”

  Anna sucked in her breath. She had heard the rumours of that particular nefarious nickname. It disturbed her, but she tried to hide it under a show of bravado.

  “I suppose you may call me Anna.” She also rose and lifted her chin to his face. “I have no unnecessary monikers. If I must have one, I prefer Lilith to the Bride of Hell.”

  He laughed out loud, and Anna felt a thrill of excitement. She didn’t know why, but she felt the need to impress him, to show that she could not be frightened. Perhaps it was no more than the instinct of prey before a predator, trying to deflect attention, but it felt strange.

  His dark eyes glinted dangerously as he moved closer, and she held her breath, feeling a strange stirring deep inside her.

  Keep calm, she told herself, he cannot be trusted.

  “Good day, Silas.”

  He smiled, as if aware of exactly what had crossed her mind.

  “Good day, Anna. I will see you at the church.”

  Chapter Five

  Silas watched Anna carefully as she interacted with their wedding guests. The ceremony had been a simple, family affair at St Paul’s Church in Covent Garden, followed by a small engagement here at the Marquess of Willingdon’s townhouse on St. James’ square. Silas had invited a few key figures of high society to ensure that word spread quickly to the right quarters that he had married the lovely, respectable Lady Anna Adley. The Marquess had invited those to whom he was the most indebted, as if to assure them that Silas was as wealthy as rumours suggested, and they would be compensated in due course.

  Consequently, the crowd of witnesses in the church were not so much happy well-wishers of a loving couple, as a collection of curious gossipers overseeing the joining of two remarkable estates. The atmosphere in the parlour of the townhouse was reserved and polite, but not joyful. It didn’t help that the weather was poor; a typical London day of blinding rain that drummed against the windows. Despite the mood, Anna moved gracefully about, smiling sweetly as she engaged everyone in conversation before occasionally moving back to her mother who sat, eyes a little sad but smiling, in a corner of the room.

  “She makes a beautiful bride.”

  His man, Giovanni, appeared at Silas’ side and was also following Anna’s movement with his intense, brown eyes. Giovanni was right. Anna was radiant in her blush-coloured satin wedding gown that brought out the rosiness of her cheeks. Her blonde curls were swept up and set with white roses and pearls. Silas imagined that if someone were to paint a portrait of Persephone, the legendary goddess of spring, they would find an image of Anna. Persephone was also the bride of the King of Hell. How apt, Silas thought bitterly.

  “Will you take Mrs Klane to Fallenbrook tonight?” Giovanni asked.

  Mrs Klane. The words sounded strange but also gave Silas a strange thrill.

  “As soon as she is ready.”

  Giovanni nodded. “I will make sure the carriage is ready to depart when you are.”

  “Well, well, Lucifer, preparing to take my child away?” Adley interrupted.

  Silas turned. The Marquess stood beside him, a glass of brandy clutched in his hand. He seemed to be swaying slightly and Silas caught the scent of alcohol coming off him in waves. Silas wrinkled his nose, disgusted. What kind of man got drunk at his daughter’s wedding?

  “Enjoying the refreshments, Marquess?” Silas asked sourly.

  The Marquess snorted and drained his glass. “It’s the least you can do. I’m giving you the privilege of taking my daughter, my name, my title -,”

  “Come now, Adley, let’s get you sobered up.” Giovanni took hold of the Marquess’ arm, trying to steer him to the door.

  “Unhand me!” Adley shook him off, glaring at Silas. “This man has taken everything from me!”

  Silas would not accept that. He noticed the way that Anna’s green eyes darted over to her father, how her back straightened imperceptibly with tension even as she continued to smile softly and talk politely with her guests. He would not have his new father-in-law ruining his wedding day. He grasped one of the Marquess’ upper arms, Giovanni grasped the other, and they maneuvered him through the open doors to the adjacent empty, smaller parlour.

  “Something else you want from me, Lucifer?” The Marquess shook them off, stumbling slightly.

  “I took nothing from you,” Silas spoke quietly, trying to soften his rage. “You sold to me, at a high price, I might add.”

  “Oh yes, indeed, you are quite a philanthropist.” Adley sneered. “Do not pretend you didn’t jump at the chance to have her; a fresh beauty, unspoiled -,”

  “I think we should call the Marquess a carriage.” Silas turned to Giovanni. “He should retire for the day.”

  “Yes, sir.” Giovanni nodded smartly and left.

  “You really need to stop speaking, Adley.” Silas positioned himself with his back to the door so Adley’s words would not carry towards the wedding parlour. “You will say something you might regret.”

  “You should be thanking me,” Adley slurred. “I gave her to you, prepared her for your type, too - the girl can take a knocking when it’s needed, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that
.”

  Silas’ blood ran cold. He remembered the marks he had thought he saw on Anna’s arm the night he had met her. So, they had been from her father’s hand! Silas felt a flush of deep rage, the kind of rage he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. He clenched his hands into fists and imagined crashing them into Adley’s twisted, drunk face. Instead, he forced himself to reel his anger back.

  “I’ll thank you not to talk about my wife like that,” he growled and saw with satisfaction that Adley stepped back, fear rising in his red-rimmed eyes. “In fact, I’ll make this perfectly clear. I bought her, she is mine. You will not touch her, or see her, or come near her without my permission and if you do, I will not hesitate to … be rid of you. Understand?”

  The Marquess was shaking and nodded tremulously. Silas turned and stormed away, resisting his temptation to strike the man out cold. His body was hot with furious anger and he knew it would be impossible for him to socialise and play nice anymore. He needed to leave. He crossed the room towards where Anna stood beside the seated Marchioness. He didn’t even wait for a break in the conversation to get Anna’s attention.

  “Anna?” She looked at him in surprise, a gently frown creasing between her fair eyebrows.

  “Yes, husband?” He noticed the hesitancy with which she said the second word, and how her cheeks flushed a pale pink with embarrassment. As endearing as it was, he had no patience for it right now.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “Right now?” Anna looked at her mother, expression confused, and then darted back to him. “But our guests -,”

  He roughly took hold of her hand, feeling it jerk in surprise.

  “Now.”

  Anna gasped, whispering apologies to her mother over her shoulder as Silas dragged her out of the room, ignoring the evident surprise of the guests. He pulled Anna out of the front door. He refused to stop, even when Anna cried out as they splashed down the steps, the dirty London street water flicking up her perfect dress. Silas didn’t stop until his new wife was safely bundled into the carriage.

  “Go!”

  Silas slammed the door closed and sat across from Anna who stared at him, her hair dripping from the rain.

  “What-what happened?” Anna stuttered.

  “It was time to leave.”

  Silas sat back and stared out of the window, refusing to say more. He could sense Anna’s disappointment, but there was nothing he could do about it. He knew Anna didn’t understand his actions, saw him only as an uncouth brute who had ruined her wedding, but he didn’t care. He could not bear to stay in that space with her father knowing he had hurt her. He did not trust himself not to kill the man. Silas stared at the grey raindrops splattering against the windows and disappeared into dark memories, to places of blood and violence.

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  Lisa Campell is an American author specialising in Steamy Regency romance tales. She decided to realise her lifelong dream of becoming a writer at a relatively mature age, after an inciting event taught her that it’s better late than never. Transferring the intricate storylines of her boundless imagination to ink and paper has been her passion ever since.

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