War Chest: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 5

by Lynne Connolly

  “Then I should get about my duties. He has a maid coming from London for the nursery. He may not want me much past the time she arrives.” She finished her tea, and got to her feet, smoothing the robe over her arm. “I would prefer to complete the nursery arrangements before I leave.”

  She did not stop stroking the silk all the way to her room. That night, she changed at the earliest opportunity so she could try it on.

  * * * * *

  Although Ruth was tempted to ignore the duke’s requests and avoid the library, the lure of the books proved too much. When she entered the next day, hoping she would be alone, he stood and bowed to her. “Good afternoon, Ruth,” he said, a glint in his eyes.

  “Good afternoon, s—Marcus,” she said, greatly daring. “Thank you so much for your gift. I should not accept something so fine.”

  “It was only right I replaced the one you ruined in my service. Let me hear no more of the matter.” He resumed his seat behind the big desk, his movements brisk. His attitude gave her the chance to accept his gift as a mere replacement, and in all truth, it would hurt her to give it back.

  She took her time finding a book, but eventually selected a novel she had not read and retreated to the window seat at the far corner of the room. After half an hour when the words danced before her eyes and she could not take in a word of what she read, she returned the book to the shelf and left.

  The duke made accepting his dictates easy. Over breakfast the next day he asked her for news of the nursery and then discussed the affairs of the day with her, not trying to come any closer than he should. That afternoon she had the library to herself.

  Ruth found slipping into the room for the occasional half hour easy, and she got into the habit of going there after dinner for an hour, if she was not on duty with the twins. The boys were settling to their routine, now that she imposed one, and they seemed much more content for it. Babies liked their days organised, knowing when to expect meals, when to settle for sleep, and so on. Their ease spread to the rooms allotted as the nursery wing, and over the next two weeks the house settled into an easy mood.

  Except for one change. After the night when he’d nearly burned to death, Marcus employed more servants. Now the house possessed more like its full contingent, thirty people, who spent their days opening up the rooms that had been closed and cleaning them. He chose to inhabit the duchess’s room while his own was refurbished as, he informed her gravely, he had taken a fancy to it.

  Ruth had not replied, pretending to be engrossed in her book.

  She liked him. She glanced up at him from time to time, but never caught him looking at her. If she followed her instincts she would trust him completely, but there remained the possibility he was lying. She had not stopped thinking about her sister, at least, when she was not thinking about him and how glorious his body felt against hers. Only twice, and it would have to be enough to last her a lifetime, because she would not do it again.

  She wanted to stay with the babies, but the duke was increasingly difficult to resist. If he chose not to pursue the undeniable attraction between them, that would make her life easier. If a great deal emptier.

  Not that he showed any inclination to repeat his actions. The first time, in the nursery, she strongly suspected he’d been teasing. The second was probably the result of shock, after he was nearly burned in his bed.

  He never explained the smaller fires that had led her to him. She remembered them vividly, but lacked the courage to ask. If he didn’t know, then that would be a question wasted. Instead she asked him about his opinions, so she could get to know him better.

  He looked up, pen in hand. “I lock my bedroom doors at night. It causes my valet a lot of inconvenience, so I furnished him with a key. I did not lock my door merely to vex him. You know why, don’t you?”

  He’d done it again, voiced what she was thinking. “So you don’t wander at night?”

  He smiled and her treacherous heart missed a beat. “Just so.”

  How could she ever forget the sight of him naked? She would try, that was all. Eventually the memory would fade. It had to, because he would not repeat it, and she did not want him to.

  Had he said that to bring the memory back to her? She wouldn’t put it past him. He was a devil, a tease, but try though she might, she did not sense any true malice in him. He was abrupt and unconventional, that was true, but not wicked. Not the man Rhea had painted him. She’d said he was an evil seducer who took advantage of her, and Ruth had believed her.

  Either way, she was a fool. If she believed Rhea, then Marcus had fooled her. If she believed Marcus, her sister was a designing seductress.

  Someone scratched at the door and entered on Marcus’s impatient, “Come!”

  One of the new footmen held a silver salver. Probably one of the visitors Marcus usually refused to see. The neighbours were trying to draw him in, but apart from perfunctory acknowledgements, Marcus preferred to keep himself away from them. In an unguarded moment, Ruth had accused him of not trusting himself not to seduce one of the unsuspecting maidens. Having begun her courses that day, she was out of sorts and sour. He only laughed and agreed with her. “Because I am a vile seducer who cannot look at a woman without wanting her.”

  They’d laughed, but Ruth hurt. Their relationship had become what she always said she wanted—a friendship, as much as an employer could befriend his employee. Then why did she continue to miss his touch, the way he treated her like she was something precious? She had not wanted that, would consider any further behaviour an insult. Wouldn’t she?

  Of course she would.

  Marcus picked up the piece of pasteboard on the tray and studied it, frowning. “The devil! What is he doing here?” he demanded, and rose, leaving the room without glancing in her direction.

  The footman lingered, though. “It won’t do you any good,” he said to her. “You can’t get a man like him. Molly’s better looking than you are.” He grinned. “The scullery maid is prettier than you, and she’s rounder in the heel.”

  That would be because he’d asked Ruth to accompany him on a walk when they were both off-duty and she rejected his advances. Ruth did not desire to fraternise with the servants to that extent. No, that was wrong. She did not desire to fraternise with anyone, not after the duke had spoiled her for any other man. A governess should keep herself apart, but since she was in the position of nursery maid at the moment, she was probably fair game.

  The servants spoke guardedly around her. When she ventured downstairs to take her meals in the upper servant’s hall, they spoke about the world outside, and the work they were doing in the house, and it was because Ruth was there. They would not gossip about Marcus in her presence. He made it known she was a distant relative, and that set her apart too, even though families like his had many branches, not all of them as successful as this one. A closer relative would not prove a good employee.

  When he left, he sucked the air out of the room. Even though the sultry summer was wending slowly towards the more temperate autumn, she felt the heat in this room. The sun poured through the uncovered windows in the afternoons, even though Mrs. Brindlehurst complained about it. “There’s nothing like the sun for fading wood and fabric,” she’d complained to Ruth at one point. “If you can persuade his grace to close at least some of the curtains, that would be a help.”

  Ruth didn’t even try. She would not ask anything of him.

  Closing her book, she walked to the bookshelf and replaced it. She was reading one of the old histories she’d found, but the book must be of some value, so she preferred to leave it here. She regulated her reading by only coming here to do it, even though Marcus bade her to borrow whatever she wished, but she feared she would sit up too late reading the trove of novels that occupied one shelf, so much she would abandon her duties or be too tired to accomplish them properly. On the table lay her folder, a pair of pasteboard
s bound together with ribbon that held her accounts and plans for the nursery. The boys were growing up, and provision must be made for them. Even if she were no longer here.

  Because one thing had become plain to her. She would not stay here and watch Marcus marry, and sire children of his own. Not if she continued in this state of limbo, wanting him and yet aware she could not have him.

  Should not. Her sister had him first, she could never forget that. But the Marcus she knew now was not at all the one she had come here to find, the one who had seduced and abandoned Rhea. It was as if he was a different person entirely.

  Torn by her undeniable attraction to him, her mind a quandary, she returned to the one task she could do without a qualm. Attend to the babies. Whoever their father was—and Marcus had cast considerable believable doubt on his parentage of them—she was still their aunt.

  Ruth went back upstairs and smiled sweetly at Andrea.

  * * * * *

  The duke sent a note, summoning her to appear at dinner that evening.

  Perhaps she should demand to know exactly where she stood in the household. Would that help her find a place? If she did that, seeking a place as a governess would not be easy later. She had gone around and around the subject in her head, and was no nearer finding a solution.

  That night, she dressed somewhat defiantly in the green gown, although it was more suited to a day gown than an evening gown, and went down to the drawing room. Folding her hands together in front of her stomach in a defensive gesture, she held her breath and stepped through the door when the footman opened it for her. He gave her a wink. She ignored him.

  Head high, she sailed in and fixed her attention on an empty chair near the fireplace. Then she lifted her gaze and froze.

  Facing her was a dandy in all his glory. He wore a coat of delicate cream, with waistcoat and breeches in the same colour, the waistcoat heavily embroidered with silks and brilliants. His linen was impeccable, a speck would not dare to touch its glory. The lace was so fine she wasn’t sure how it remained together. Jewels glittered on his fingers and at his throat.

  She stood dumbfounded, as he swept her a low bow. When he straightened with a graceful sweep, he was smiling, though gently. Was he actually wearing face paint? No, though his features were so fine they gave that impression. His light grey eyes met hers. “As you can see, ma’am, we are alone, so we must introduce ourselves. I’m the Comte d’Argento, a friend of the duke’s. You are?”

  “Ruth Carter, a governess,” she managed. “I’m a distant relative, and I came to help with the babies until the new nursery maid arrives.” She said the whole sentence in a rush. Should she leave? She’d assumed the duke’s visitor was a local person, or a passing guest, not this vision of perfection. He intimidated her as Marcus had not.

  She had her hand on the doorknob when he said, “No! Do stay.”

  She turned, lowering her gaze. “I dine with the duke when he has no guests. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear he had someone staying. I should have asked.” Recalling the footman’s smile as she entered, she guessed the information was kept from her. The new servants resented her, and some suspected her of being more than a governess, even though she assumed no airs and wanted no special attention.

  Warmth filled her mind, like reassurance, but it swept through like nothing she ever experienced before. “More than that, I think,” he said gently.

  “No, indeed!” Indignation replaced the warmth.

  “I did not mean that. Come and sit. Let me find you a glass of sherry, or canary wine if you prefer. What would you like?”

  Before she knew it, she was sitting on the wide sofa and he was at the sideboard, perusing the bottles.

  “Anything,” she said. She did not usually drink before dinner. “Thank you, sir.”

  He brought her a glass of madeira, which happened to be her favourite pre-dinner drink, although she had not drunk one for some time. This was very good. She sipped, wishing for a little more courage.

  He took brandy. Instead of sitting at a respectable distance, he sat next to her, resting his arm on the back of the sofa. He made no pretence about studying her, but watched her as he spoke to her. As a result, her tension rose exponentially, and she sat, clutching the stem of her glass, trying to breathe normally.

  The comte did not have the same effect on her as the duke, but she doubted few people could. “You came here thinking you would find grown children?” he asked.

  If she answered him directly, he would force her into a lie. She resented that, and refused to go along with his questions. “I came thinking there was a place for me here.”

  “Very good.” He sipped his brandy. “How do you find working here?”

  The question made her smile. “I am hardly likely to disparage my employer, am I?” She did not mean her words to be quite so sharp, but they were out now.

  “Indeed not.”

  She couldn’t like his smile, as if he knew everything about her. They’d only just met, so it was likely a superior attitude. As he was an aristocrat and she was a mere governess he had the right, but she still could not like it. “You like living here?”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. However, not every employer would entertain his governess for dinner, relative or not. Governesses have a particularly hard time of it, I’ve always thought. Not part of the servants belowstairs, and yet too lowly for the family. Is this your first post, Miss—Carter?”

  She didn’t like the delicate pause before her name, either. “Yes, sir.”

  “How can that be?”

  She was tiring of his incessant questions. She took another sip before she spoke, allowing her irritation a chance to subside. “I was at home before. My parents wished me to take care of my sisters’ children, so I thought why should I not be paid for my work?”

  His smile lit his eyes. They gleamed. “Why not indeed? You’re a perspicacious young woman, ma’am, and I compliment you for it.”

  Forcing herself to remain steady and looking at him, she smiled. “He wanted me to help him with the children.” It was her turn to ask questions. “I was also told the children are not his. He merely agreed to take them under his care.”

  “You expect me to comment on that?”

  “If you wish to, sir.” Why not? She would not reveal any secrets.

  “I think I do. I am a friend and colleague of Marcus, and I have reason to know they are not of his get.”

  “Does society know?”

  “Society has been informed. However, society will believe what it wants to.” Idly he swung the quizzing-glass that hung from his waist. The lens caught the lights from the candles set in the gilded sconces on the walls, a gentle, golden light with the occasional sharper glint.

  The door opened. Ruth took a hasty swallow of madeira as Marcus came in. Although not as resplendent as the comte, he was, to her eyes, a more handsome, dashing figure, in his dark blue evening coat and white waistcoat. Despite his appearance, the comte exuded power, but in a more menacing, less masculine way. Marcus was all male, from his powerful shoulders to his black-clad feet. Ruth suppressed her strong urge to spring up and go to him.

  D’Argento arched a brow. “I met your mysterious governess, Marcus.”

  “As I see.” Marcus glanced at her, as if to reassure himself of her presence. He scanned her briefly before motioning with his arm. “The footman tells me the meal is laid out. Are you ready to go through?”

  She rose then, as gracefully as she could manage, and laid her hand on the comte’s arm when he extended it. Afraid of disturbing his perfect appearance, she barely touched him. When Marcus opened the double doors leading to the dining room, she swept through, imagining herself, for once, the grand lady, instead of the perpetual spinster.

  She sat next to Marcus and across from the comte. The leaves had bee
n taken out of the table, so they were relatively intimate, and since Marcus preferred to dine in the smaller of the dining rooms, they were easy enough. A few extra removes were served during the two courses, and the dishes were more elaborate, but Ruth still did not partake of much.

  She would prefer a tray in her room. The men spoke of society affairs and mutual acquaintances, but their exquisite politeness meant they never left Ruth out of the conversation. They would have been far more comfortable on their own. Ruth would not withdraw to the drawing room afterwards, or even to the library, but would make her way to her room where she would spend the evening doing something useful. The twins should have new clothes soon, as in the way of infants they were growing at a spectacular rate. She could make lists of what they would need in the coming months and continue the inventory of what she was putting away. That would occupy her enough to prevent her mind dwelling on the two men and what they were discussing.

  They would hardly talk about her. Why should they?

  Ruth found herself joining in parts of the conversation, when the men touched on a topic she knew something about. They listened gravely, and did not interrupt or gainsay her. She found that part refreshing. At home her father frequently declared that women’s minds were not fashioned to discuss anything that happened outside the home, and her mother, disappointingly, agreed with him. Even after Rhea disrupted the family’s tranquillity, they returned to their old habits.

  These two men might have been treating her like an equal, which was wrong on two points. She could not help but enjoy the illusion they regarded her as such. It must surely be an illusion. Their manners would demand nothing else.

  However, she learned much of life in London, and what comte was doing there. “The club is proving a great success on all counts,” he said. “We are attracting the kind of people we are looking for, and society is recovering from the shock of having lodgings for women as well as men.”

  “How can that be, sir?” she asked, intrigued by the snippet. “Should women not live in the home?”