The Companion

by Deborah Simmons

  “Wait! I was hoping that you might show me about,” she said, reaching out to touch his sleeve.

  There. Kit felt it again, that sizzle of awareness that had struck him last evening when he had been forced to escort her into dinner. He had convinced himself that the reaction was an imagined one, but denial was futile now. It was like a spark of warmth to his coldness and, as such, wholly unwelcome, so he jerked his arm from her grasp. Without a word, he strode away, but she followed.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with a calmness that irritated him. Either she was a witless, unaware creature, or she possessed no manners at all. Was she even a relative, or was she some wretch his grandmother had hired off the streets? Although her speech bespoke a gentle upbringing, he could be wrong, or she could have strayed from her heritage easily enough. Kit swung ’round to face her, determined to be as blunt as possible.

  “I am going to my rooms. Alone,” he said, pausing to give her a hard look. “Unless you plan on following me there, too?”

  “M-my lord, really!” She sputtered at his question, as if unsure how to reply, and Kit’s eyes narrowed once more. He had a sudden, dark suspicion that he knew just why Miss Chloe Gibbons was here, though the notion was strangely disappointing.

  “I thought we established that my name is Kit,” he said in a silky voice he hadn’t used in years. “After all, we are relatives, aren’t we?”

  She appeared flustered. “Certainly, uh, Kit,” she said. She licked her lips in what appeared to be an innocent gesture, but Kit wasn’t fooled. He stepped forward slowly, stalking her as leisurely as was possible with his limp, until he was too close. Although her dark eyes widened perceptibly, she held her ground, which only confirmed his suspicions. Leaving one hand on his cane, he lifted the other to the tree behind her head and leaned forward, caging her in.

  “Very nicely done,” he said as he bent over her, his face a hairbreadth from her own. Apparently his grandmother was sinking to new depths, while he must adjust his opinion of Miss Chloe Gibbons. But why the mourning? Was it all part of the masquerade? Kit realized his curiosity was whetted, and he frowned. He did not care to have his interest piqued by this woman or anyone. Or anything.

  “Why don’t you save us both a waste of time and let me know what you want?” Kit urged in a seductive tone long honed but little used anymore.

  “Uh, a walk about the grounds would be nice,” she answered in a low voice that fairly reeked of seduction.

  Kit made a soft sound of disapproval. “Perhaps I should rephrase the question. Why don’t you simply share with me the nature of your duties, Chloe?” He lifted his brows in question and was rewarded with a chary look that was all too telling.

  “I see,” Kit drawled. “And just how far are you willing to go as a companion, Chloe? To my rooms? To my bed? Or need we even bother with such amenities? Why not just lift your skirts, and we’ll have at it right here?” He paused to marvel that she could still blush, but when the heat from her cheeks seemed to rise to touch him, Kit pushed away from the trunk with a cold glare.

  “If you were hired by my grandmother to service me, then I’m afraid I have to disappoint you,” he said coolly. She blinked at him then, with such a semblance of shock that he wondered whether she was an actress. “Well? Run and tell the dowager that you’ve failed to get a rise out of me,” he advised.

  She appeared to not understand his play on words, but her color heightened until she resembled a ripe apple, a scarlet stain covering skin that had gone nearly white. “Surely, you don’t think I’m a—” She hesitated as though unable to finish, and Kit had to admire her technique. Perhaps she was one of those who played the outraged virgin to all and sundry clients. Although she was getting a bit long in tooth for that, he knew the so-called gentlemen of the ton would pay for anything.

  She was still sputtering. “That your own grandmother would hire a woman of questionable morals to—” Again, she broke off, as if uncertain just what he had in mind.

  “Why not?” Kit said with a bitter shrug. “She’s so eager for an heir that I can only suppose she no longer cares what side of the blanket the child is born on.”

  Crack! For someone trained to war, Kit was taken completely off guard by the smart slap. Perhaps his reflexes had slowed, or, more likely, he didn’t care anymore. He certainly had not expected such a response. Gingerly, he lifted a hand to his stinging cheek while he watched her march away in a high dudgeon that no amount of acting skill could feign.

  Hmm. It appeared that he had made a mistake, and he wondered if his grandmother had, as well. Whatever the young woman was here for, she was far too willful to stand still for the dowager’s machinations. Staring after her, Kit felt his curiosity stir again before he dismissed it.

  But there, in the chill of the early morning, he spared a moment’s fleeting regret for the fact that he had just driven away the first person to interest him in long, dead days beyond count.

  * * *

  Chloe hurried back to the house, determined to leave at once. Without even calling for the maid, she hauled her now-empty trunk out of the dressing room and began to pack all that had been removed from it just yesterday. Nothing, not any amount of money or even the threat of imminent homelessness, could force her to endure another moment of that man’s company. Companion, indeed! Chloe could think of other names entirely for the sort of association he was seeking!

  She tried to not consider the reaction of her relatives when she returned to them. No one had room for her, but surely she could find another position. She did not shirk at the idea of more difficult toil in a smaller household, less luxurious, yet more respectable. Indeed, she was prepared to brave the threat of poverty rather than listen to one more insult from the lips of the earl of Hawthorne, no matter how attractive those lips might be!

  The fact that Chloe had nearly melted into a puddle at his feet had nothing to do with her dismay, she told herself. She was unused to the ways of worldly, handsome, titled men, so she could forgive herself for acting like a mindless ninny as he bent far too close, dazzling her with his golden hair and white teeth and eyes greener than the deepest forest. Chloe made a soft sound of annoyance. Forgive herself she might, but she was old enough to know a man like that wouldn’t be wooing her! And yet she had blinked up at him in a sort of dazed languor, while his insinuations grew more preposterous.

  Chloe shook her head at such folly. She forced herself to breathe deeply, to dispel her outrage and concentrate upon the neat folding of her few gowns, but she had barely begun returning her personal belongings to the trunk when the door opened, without a knock or hail. Chloe whirled, half expecting to see the earl standing there, prepared to exact whatever it was that he had hinted at outside.

  But it was the dowager who stood on the threshold, a fierce scowl upon her wrinkled face. “So you’re running already, eh?” she asked. “I thought you had more backbone, gel!”

  Although Chloe did not invite her in, the dowager swept over the threshold to stand nearby with a huff of disapproval. Without even inquiring about Chloe’s encounter with her grandson, the noblewoman simply continued to chastise her.

  “I don’t pretend to know exactly what went on, but I imagine that he trod upon your delicate sensibilities!” the noblewoman said with a snort. “Lud, I thought you country girls were made of sterner stuff than those London fripperies who swoon at the merest slight. Of course, he was rude and callous! He treats everyone that way!”

  Privately, Chloe suspected he had learned such behavior at his grandmother’s knee, but she said nothing.

  “That’s how he chases them away. Didn’t I tell you he has sent all his acquaintances packing?” the dowager demanded, banging her cane for emphasis.

  Chloe, used to the sound by now, did not jump, but turned to face her employer. “Yes, you did,” she acknowledge calmly. But you didn’t warn about the heat that emanated from him, the yearning that he can effortlessly rouse even in a spinster such as myself, or the
scalding embarrassment of his dismissal! Chloe held the noblewoman’s gaze, though said nothing further, and with a huff, the dowager turned to go.

  But not without issuing a challenge. “You are my last hope, gel,” she said. “Don’t fail me.”

  Had the old woman’s voice cracked? Chloe glanced swiftly toward the door only to see her retreating figure. Again she realized that the dowager was not as unfeeling as she appeared. Nor was she as different from her grandson as she liked to pretend. The haughty noblewoman would never reveal herself. Would the earl?

  Sinking down upon the edge of the bed, Chloe considered the question even as she told herself that she couldn’t care less if Kit hid himself and his pain, lashing out at anyone who approached like a cornered beast. But she did care. Any human being with an ounce of compassion would, as had she before this morning’s incident. Why, then, was she fleeing? Certainly she had been caught off guard by the strength and aim of Kit’s venom, but she had known he would not welcome her. With a frown, Chloe realized that it was her own weakness that had sent her running to her room and toward the comfort of her old life.

  She had spent long years cozily ensconced in Suffolk, content in her own little world and unthreatened by anything except a dwindling purse. Now she was dismayed to discover a heretofore unknown vulnerability for a pair of green eyes and a tall, handsome form that wasn’t marred one bit by the addition of an elegant cane.

  Chloe frowned. It was not like her to be swayed by a man. She had gently dissuaded several potential swains over the years until she found herself firmly on the shelf, and none of them, not even Tommy Roe, a sweet-natured fellow as ever lived, had caused her to melt at his feet! Sadly, she must be a shallow creature indeed to be affected by looks and station rather than kindness and intelligence.

  But was the earl as horrible as he pretended? Chloe could think of nothing more cruel than the way he had beguiled with his silken voice and soft words transforming her into a breathless creature of heat and yearning, only to turn upon her, tendering the very worst of insults. And yet, in that instant when he had leaned close, Chloe thought she had seen something in his eyes, a stark hopelessness that had made her want to aid him, however she might be able. To what lengths she might have gone to do so, Chloe did not care to speculate.

  She thought long and hard about her choices, but, in the end, it was that brief memory that stayed her hand. Rising to her feet, Chloe emptied her trunk once more. She still wasn’t sure if she was doing the right thing, but she told herself that she was doing it for the earl, not for his martinet grandmother, and certainly not because she desperately needed a paying position. She was, instead, making an effort to give back something to one of those men who had given so much for their country and had received little enough in return.

  If her concern went beyond that generalization to the specific character of one Kit Armstrong, surely the most handsome and intriguing of men, then Chloe knew she had better guard her heart. The last thing she needed was to develop some tendre for an earl when she was a mere baron’s daughter, and penniless, besides! And, as if that weren’t enough, to succumb to the lure of a man such as this one, tormented by guilt and suffering and heaven only knew what else, would surely be the worst folly she could ever commit.

  Having lectured herself sternly and taken heed of the warning, Chloe turned her mind away from herself. It was time to think of her task ahead serving as companion to Kit. He had suffered enough, and it was her duty to help him as well as she could.

  * * *

  Kit walked until he could not bear to take another step upon his aching leg. Then, at last, he returned to the house, seeking his rooms. He considered taking dinner there, as well, but that smacked of a cowardice too distasteful to allow. Let his grandmother rant! He was well used to it, though he was not accustomed to the twinge of shame he felt over his treatment of her guest. Indeed, for the first time in months, Kit had to wonder at what he had become.

  Ever since his return, he had been confused about why he fared better than so many other, worthy men, including his brother. He had questioned the meaning of life itself, complex ethical and spiritual matters that theologians, philosophers and intellectuals had debated for centuries. Yet, despite all his former arrogance, Kit had found no answers, only more questions that fed his growing anxiety.

  Yes, the reckless confidence of his youth had been replaced by doubts, about himself, his family and the society in which he had once moved so effortlessly. He had tried to talk about such things with other survivors of Waterloo while recuperating, only to find that his probing was unwelcome. Most men seemed content to return home to wives and families, retreating from the horror of the war.

  As for his former friends, they wanted no part of such conversation as they single-mindedly pursued the inane frivolity of the ton without a thought to any larger issues. Kit had felt increasingly isolated by both his grief and his guilt, and his grandmother only worsened the situation by insisting that he take up Garrett’s life as his own when he wasn’t entitled to any of it. Kit gladly would have changed places with his brother, if only he could raise Garrett from the dead in exchange for his own life, but that was a useless, helpless wish that left him frustrated and bleak.

  Sunk in these familiar, morose thoughts, Kit headed absently for the dining hall, but the sight of his unwanted guest jolted him from his dismal musings. He had fully expected to find her already gone, his rudeness having sent her fleeing, as it had all the other hopeful females. And, yet, there she was standing in the grand salon, as unruffled as usual, he noted with some surprise.

  Obviously this one was made of sterner stuff. It was apparent in the set of her shoulders and in the calm, clear gaze that bespoke a steady temperament. Good in battle, he thought, though the only threat to her here came from himself.

  Somehow the sight of her heartened him, and he paused to study her. She really was lovely in a homelike sort of way, with her great brown eyes and shining hair. The black looked dreadful on her, Kit mused, and he wondered what she normally wore, deep burgundy perhaps or rich blues and greens. Odd speculations, he realized. Odder still that he should be staring. He stepped forward and tendered his arm.

  For a moment he thought she might refuse him, but she accepted with a slight nod. “Your rooms must have much to occupy you,” she commented without even glancing up at him, and Kit blinked. So accustomed was he to the fawning of others that her barb startled, especially coming, as it did, from a woman whom he had insulted beyond all reason.

  Yet she had not fled from his beastly behavior, nor did she appear to hold a grudge against him for it. The realization eased something inside of him, relaxing his stiff limbs, and his lips curved slightly, as if of their own will. “Not quite as interesting as I might have hoped,” Kit heard himself say, though even as the words left his mouth, he wondered what had possessed him.

  He was rewarded with the sudden, assessing glance of his companion, who tried to pull away. And although he would do better to rid himself of her, Kit held her fast. “I apologize for my earlier assumptions,” he said. “Perhaps, if you knew my grandmother as well as I, you might better understand my confusion.”

  Kit saw her mouth, rich and full, twitch before she smiled. “Oh, I think I know her well enough already,” she said. Kit couldn’t help but give her a grin in return, though it was crooked and stiff from disuse. And he found himself leading her into dinner with a lighter step than he had known in a long time. He had been right in deciding that Chloe was not in the dowager’s pocket, and he wondered if perhaps the old woman’s interfering would go awry.

  As he escorted her to her seat, Kit was struck with the curious sensation that he had found an ally. And, indeed, Chloe proved herself to be so, for whenever the dowager started ranting, the younger woman seemed to divert her to something else. For once, Kit found himself actually listening to the conversation. He realized, as Chloe spoke, that he had buried himself so deeply here in the country that he was hardly a
ware of what had been happening in the world at large, and he drank in her news like a thirsty man.

  It was startling, this sudden curiosity, as if someone had roused him from a heavy sleep. And although he had foresworn company, Kit found himself drawn to Chloe’s speech. Well-read, intelligent, fierce in her opinions yet gentle in her manner, she seemed like a beacon of warmth in his cold, cheerless existence.

  She had a wonderful smile, not one of those showy ones, trotted out only when appropriate and to her best advantage, but a real smile. Slow to form, it blossomed like a flower to reveal a set of lovely white teeth with one small imperfection. One of her front teeth tipped a little to the side, and Kit was fascinated by it. When he found himself contemplating what that tiny edge would feel like under his tongue, he blinked in astonishment.

  If he had met her a few years ago, or perhaps even a year ago, Kit would have done his best to make that smile appear often. Then again, in his vanity, maybe he never would have noticed her. More the fool, he. In any case, now it was too late. He might watch and admire, but he was a dead man, if not in the literal sense, then far too cold and lifeless for any woman to rouse.

  Chloe was a diversion, nothing more, a momentary respite from his heretofore unrelenting guilt and grief. She might prove a help in his battle against his grandmother’s shrill demands, but that was all she could be.

  If he weren’t so far lost to the world, he might wonder whether brave little Chloe might aid him against far darker demons. But Kit had stopped believing in miracles long ago and, as for hope, he had none.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Chloe excused herself from the table, Kit’s gaze followed her, resting on her straight back and her dark coil of hair, and for a moment he very nearly felt something. The sensation was so strange that he blinked in surprise before he decided it was only an adverse reaction to his dinner. Although he had grown too gaunt for his tall frame, he usually had little appetite, yet this evening he had eaten more, perhaps because Chloe’s speech distracted him from his grandmother’s ranting.