by Sarita Leone
Everyone around her was in danger as long as she was in their midst. Innocent children deserved better than that.
“Miss Halifax, will you check my French knots please? I don’t think I’ve got them quite right…” Melody held her embroidery hoop up high. Thread dangled like disjointed spider webbing from the back.
She took the work and examined the fresh stitches. They weren’t bad. They weren’t good, either. But they were passable, so she pulled them tight and handed the hoop back to her student.
“Just try to keep the tension constant,” she advised. “You’ve got the basics. Now just practice and they will shape right up. I promise.”
“What about mine?” Amanda was working on an uncomplicated butterfly motif. Her stitches were bigger than they should be, but she had laid them in perfect lines. The effect was attractive.
“You are doing a wonderful job, Amanda. You enjoy needlework, don’t you?”
“I do. How can you tell?”
Jane’s first projects had looked similar to the one she held. She ran a fingertip across a bright yellow wing. Needlework was a passion, something she had excelled at almost from the instant she had lifted a needle. Amanda showed promise of producing beautiful embroidery someday. A pang of remorse pricked her heart as painfully as a needle prick. By the time Amanda was proficient, she would be long gone from the lives of the three girls. A distant memory if she was lucky. Most likely, completely forgotten.
Of course just when she finally felt comfortable with the girls, she had to leave. The story of her life. She should have known not to get cozy in anyone’s company. Hadn’t she learned her lesson?
“I love embroidery, as well. I can see you put a lot of effort into this butterfly. If you weren’t enthusiastic about it, you would rush through the stitching without so much care.”
She handed the butterfly project back to its owner.
Diana sat across the table from her two sisters. Between them, the wide cherry wood was littered with scraps of linen, spare embroidery hoops, and tangled heaps of floss. Her last project, an intricate swan gliding across a lake, had been too far advanced for her skill level. The end result was misshapen, with a dubious bird squatting on a puddle. The girl had been discouraged, so choosing a new project hadn’t been easy for her. Finally Jane had persuaded her to embroider a proverb in pretty lettering. So far, the words had kept the girl quiet.
Now, she sighed. Holding her hoop in one hand and running her other hand over her brow, she said, “I am hopeless. Truly and utterly hopeless.”
“Don’t say that,” Amanda said as she bent to add more stitches.
“It is true. This whole needlework business is not for me. I am more suited for intellectual pursuits than this drudgery.”
Melody shot her a look. “Are you saying we’re not intellectual? I know that cannot be your implication…”
Before the situation escalated, Jane interjected, “Embroidery is an intellectual process, as well as a beautiful, artistic endeavor. One needs to be able to count properly, estimate stitch placement as well as floss requirements, and master the skills of tension, alignment, and even knotting.”
Diana examined her stitchery for a long, silent moment.
Then, a nod.
“I see that now. You are right, Miss Halifax. I will not give up. Running away from the needle just because I don’t come by the talent naturally is the coward’s way, isn’t it?”
“I think it may be,” Jane answered.
All three heads popped up, embroidery forgotten, when a male voice added to the conversation.
“It may be what?”
Just the sound of his voice, the deep timbre of his words, made her heart bounce in her chest. Jane dropped her own embroidery into her lap and was about to stand when the duke gestured her to remain seated. She did, mainly because he bid her do so, but also because her knees felt shaky. Too little sleep, perhaps. Or too much handsomeness in one man, more likely.
“Uncle Edward!” Amanda smiled a welcome, waving her embroidery hoop in greeting.
“Did you find him yet?” Diana asked.
“Too soon.” Melody turned to her uncle. “Right? It is too soon to have caught the man. It got dark right after we told you last night, and it is still early in the day now.”
“It is too soon. The search party is just going out. That is what I have come to discuss with you.” He gave a wide, reassuring smile. “But first, I want to know what may be what? What conversation did I step in on? Anything interesting?”
Diana shook her head. “Not really. Miss Halifax was just telling us that it is cowardly to run from something that frightens us. It is better to stand your ground and attack the problem head on. Isn’t that right, Miss Halifax?”
She felt like an absolute imposter.
Running? She’d run so hard and fast no one had seen her take her leave. Standing her ground? She’d abandoned her ground in a heartbeat.
Attack the problem? Good Lord, she had fled. There was no lack of cowardice in her character, now was there?
They waited a reply.
But she could not speak so she nodded.
When the duke put a hand on her shoulder, she nearly jumped out of her skin.
“My dear Miss Halifax, you are a wise woman.” He gave her a gentle pat. “That is just what I came up here this morning to discuss with the girls. I want you all to know that you are safe from all danger. There is nothing to be frightened of. We are not cowards here at Montgomery Manor.”
“We weren’t worried, Uncle,” Diana said. “We figured it out last night. If the man wanted any of us, he would have us already. Isn’t that right?”
The duke clapped his hands together. “Your common sense astounds me, girls. Yes, that is absolutely correct, isn’t it, Miss Halifax?”
There was no avoiding answering, so she murmured, “Yes, it is.”
“If one of us was a target for this trespasser, he would already have us in his hands. And since I’m here, keeping you all safe in my hands, no one has anything to worry about.”
Jane wished it were true. Not just the part about the trespasser, but about being in the duke’s hands. Suddenly she wished more than anything that she was cradled in those big, strong hands.
It was a much more desirable position to be in than the one she currently occupied. A plan was taking shape in her head, and as soon as she worked out the details, she meant to act on it. Hers wasn’t a life meant to be cradled in anyone’s hands—not even someone as virile as the man standing beside her chair. The spicy scent of his cologne invaded her nostrils. She inhaled deeply, letting the masculine aroma make a memory in her mind. It was all she would take with her from this place, so she let the moment push aside the headachy feeling and enjoyed the pleasure.
She had one last day at Montgomery Manor. It was best to spend it peacefully with the three girls. With a sigh, Jane resolved to do just that—and pushed away all musings of a life near the dashing duke.
Chapter 10
It was weak. And cowardly. And a bad—no, terribly horrid—way to end her employment. Granted, she had been an awful—well, in the beginning, at least—governess, but that was no excuse for abandoning her position.
Running for her life, however, seemed a valid reason for the midnight scramble.
Thankfully Jane was an accomplished horsewoman. It had already drawn her attention that the duke’s stables were filled with superior stock. And his tack room held more than enough supplies that one saddle, bridle, and blanket would not be missed.
She waited until the moon rose high in the dark sky. Late enough for the household to be abed. Late enough that the grooms should have finished their nightly duties as well as their after-dinner card games.
Jane arrived at Montgomery Manor with few possessions. She left most of them behind. No reason to tote more than the barest necessities with her. She took a cloak with a small sack of Sovereigns sewn into the lining. Her gloves and bonnet, of course. And the one item t
hat had begun the event that ruined her life. She tucked it inside her bodice, close to her heart, where it lay heavy against her skin. It branded her, reminding her that because of it—and her—a man was dead. The burden for that truth would be forever hers, a weightier burden than any material possession could ever be.
The horse was gentle. It nickered sleepily as she led it through the stable door and into the night. The air had a chill in it, a dampness that rose from the rich soil squelching beneath her feet. Her toes quickly grew cold. There was no helping it. The night would be long, and probably the days and nights to follow as well. Frozen toes were the least of her worries.
When they were far enough from the stable to not send up an alert that she was stealing a horse, Jane mounted the animal and turned it toward a path through the forest. The forest bordered the road, and the path wound through trees, past streams, and through copses of dense foliage. She should be safe for a while. Long enough to put Montgomery Manor behind her.
And, unfortunately, the duke as well.
There was no reasonable explanation she could conjure for her attraction to the man. He was stronger, richer, more powerful, and certainly handsomer than any other man she had known. Could that be it? Could she be attracted to money and power?
But her father was wealthy. And his station in life gave her access to powerful men—from a distance. She had spent much of her youth sequestered away with her governess at their country estate—one of many—so her exposure to men was limited. And she had only officially been out for two seasons, which didn’t give her a lot of time to interact with men, powerful or otherwise.
The one time she had allowed a man near, he had turned her budding admiration into a debacle. No, her experience was almost non-existent where men were concerned. Perhaps she was attracted to the duke because he wore his social standing like a cloak—one that was beautifully cut and fit his dashing physique perfectly.
Jane sighed. The sound was lost to the horse’s own breathy puffs of air and even hoof beats, muffled against the moss-covered path. The horse seemed to need no real guidance following the break in the forest, so she let it have its head, holding the reins loosely while she ruminated on her next move.
Staying in the position she had just begun to feel a trifle comfortable in was completely out of the question. For a number of reasons, really, when she thought of it. The most pressing was of course that she was in danger from whoever had tracked her down. Perhaps more importantly, the Montgomery family was also in peril. She had to put as much distance between her and them as possible.
Going home to her family was also not a worthwhile solution. Parents should not welcome a daughter responsible for the death of an innocent man—even if it was entirely out of her control. And it was, that was the heart of the affair. Jane had no illusions about her involvement—it was substantial—but time and distance gave her the space she needed to realize she had not been the one who actually committed a crime. Yes, she had been the flame that lit the short and very volatile fuse, but she hadn’t been the exploding bomb.
She wished she hadn’t seen the aftermath of the explosion. It was indelibly inked on her mind, coming to haunt her dreams and plague her with guilt during her waking hours. Some things could not be undone but that did not mean the burden had to be unjustly shouldered.
Would anyone believe her if she simply returned to Chelsea and told the truth?
Probably not. She had run—and that was nearly tantamount to an admission of guilt.
Still, how long could she run? It had been barely three weeks and she was already tired of the subterfuge. It wore on her, pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
The horse’s ears stood high on its head. It hesitated. Stopped. Jane had no idea why the animal refused to move, but it took no time at all to figure it out.
“Now look at what just walked my way.” The voice came from the darkness to her right. It was rough and uncultured. She heard him, but the dense foliage shielded the man from view. “A pretty lady like you out riding in the dead of night. Doesn’t seem right, does it?”
Figures moved out of the shadows, a man astride a large black horse. Horse and owner both looked tired and dirty, as if they had been traveling a distance.
Jane kept silent. Engaging the man in conversation might lead to questions she had no intention of answering and lies she had no desire to formulate.
Holding the reins firmly in both hands, the way she had been taught to do, she directed the horse to go around by tugging to the left. It occurred to her that she did not even know the horse’s name and couldn’t verbally connect with it. She pressed a knee against the large animal’s side and prayed it was as anxious to be gone as she was.
The prayer was unnecessary. When she went to pass the stranger, he reached for her horse’s reins. Jane’s first response was to yell, which startled the animal beneath her. In an instant, she was holding on for dear life. Branches whipped her arms and leaves caught in her hair, but she did not attempt to slow the galloping horse. Hoof beats pounded behind them, and that could only mean one thing: It was best to move quickly, for a man chasing an unaccompanied woman through a forest in the middle of the night could have no good intention on his mind.
Jane let the horse have its head, spurring it to move faster as she sensed the danger behind her. Had the devil himself been on her trail she would not have wished so vehemently to escape his clutches. Devil or highwayman? One in the same, in her mind.
Just when she thought the horse below her might elude the one behind her, a strong hand reached out and pulled her off her mount. For a long, frightening moment, she was on neither her horse nor the abductor’s. Her legs flailed mid-air, her body held aloft between two galloping horses by one male arm. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest—and did not slow even when the man pulled her onto his lap and reined in his mount.
While she was glad to no longer be dangling above the ground, there was no joy in being pressed against a man who reeked of sweat and blew garlicky whiskey breath across her cheek as he leaned close and whispered, “Now I’ve got you, Duchess.”
****
“What do you mean she’s gone?”
Edward looked up from his toast and orange marmalade with the beginning of a headache already working its evil in his head. The sleepless night left him annoyed, and the butler’s announcement as he delivered his morning newspaper pushed him closer to full-on temper.
He dropped the toast onto his plate. A large blob of orange goo dripped over the edge but he didn’t give a fig.
Pushing his chair back and letting his napkin fall from his lap to the floor, he scowled at the butler—who now stood with his mouth agape, looking like a startled goldfish in uniform.
“Out with it! What the hell do you mean the governess is gone?”
He had been afraid something like this might happen. Yesterday she hadn’t been truthful when he had seen her with the children. She gave them half a story, and he knew it. Why hadn’t he questioned her?
The last time a woman had given him her version—an abbreviated version—of a story, she had been in the process of playing him for a fool. She had broken their engagement in a fit of anger, run off with a penniless earl, and ended up dead in an accident that could have been avoided had she not told a half-truth.
Damnation! History was repeating itself—and it had been bloody awful the first time around.
“Why—why—why, the governess? She is missing, Your Lordship.”
“Missing?”
“Disappeared,” Timmons added. A vigorous shake of his bald head accented the word.
“She is not a cat or a slipper. Grown women do not disappear.”
“But she has, indeed.” Spreading his arms wide, Timmons held his hands open and palms toward the ceiling as if to prove he was not concealing the woman. “We have searched everywhere, but she is nowhere to be found. I’m sorry, but it is the truth.”
Melody, Diana, and Amanda ran into the dining room.
Mrs. Deerfield, the head cook, ran in behind them. Her cap was askew and her cheeks reddened, and she flapped her apron up and down in front of her twice before giving a fast dip before the duke.
“Uncle Edward—Miss Halifax is gone!” Amanda ran to him and grabbed him around the waist. “She is—”
“Gone!” Diana skidded to a stop beside her sister.
“Your Lordship,” Mrs. Deerfield said, sounding as if she’d run a half-mile through the snow. She was a rather roundish woman, with a large bosom that heaved now as she tried to explain. “The girls came to the kitchen looking for their governess, and of course I didn’t have her, not in my kitchen, so we—”
Melody cut the cook off. Ordinarily he would have made her apologize, but under the circumstances all that interested Edward was finding out the most he could in as short a time as possible. He did not care who gave him the information, as long as he discovered what was going on.
His headache ramped up a notch.
“We have looked everywhere, Uncle,” Melody said without a hint of panic in her voice. The calm tone set her apart from everyone else in the room, so he directed his query to her.
“Everywhere?”
Her hair was twisted into a slightly off-center pinning, with tendrils near her temples. It was apparent she had done the fussing herself, and had he not been concerned about the hairs on another female’s head, he would have made an encouraging comment.
“Yes, everywhere.” Melody nodded. “That is, in the house. And—well, almost everywhere. We did not check the attics or the wing where…that is, the rose wing where…”
No one had openly discussed their mother’s leave-taking. It had been treated as a passing subject, and since the girls had seemed nonplussed by the abandonment and shift in parental authority, he hadn’t pressed the point. But by the look on Melody’s face, she needed to talk about their mother’s absence.
Another time, Edward thought. He pushed a hand through his hair and forced himself to speak slowly. He wanted to shake them all, just shake them until the whole story came out.