by Diane Gaston
The servant left the room and Brent shook the memory of Anna from his brain.
He climbed out of bed.
He was still in his shirt-sleeves and trousers, but that meant nothing, only that perhaps he’d not taken the time to undress before slaking his need. Lawd, was he truly to add seducing the children’s governess to his many sins?
His head pounded like the very devil. In two days’ time he’d twice imbibed to the point of inebriation. It was not like him at all. It was this house. Brentmore Hall brought out the worst in him.
He quickly washed and shaved and dressed without summoning the footman who’d assumed duties as valet. He stuffed the sash into his pocket and made his way to the breakfast room where a pot of hot tea and a sideboard filled with food awaited him.
Mr Tippen stepped into the room. ‘Do you require anything, m’lord?’
‘No.’ Brent’s stomach roiled at the smell of kippers. He reached for the tea pot.
The butler turned to leave.
‘Wait.’ Brent stopped him. ‘Do you know if the children are awake? Have they been served breakfast?’ He did not dare ask if their governess had yet risen from her bed.
‘I am sure I do not know, m’lord,’ Tippen replied, acting as if the question was beneath him.
The prig.
‘Find out for me,’ Brent ordered. ‘If they have not eaten breakfast, I want them to eat here. In this room. With their governess.’
He needed to see them, to assure himself that the night that had disturbed him so had not scarred them even more.
And he needed to see Anna.
Tippen gave him a disapproving look, but bowed. ‘Very good, m’lord.’
A few minutes later a footman appeared with more place settings. ‘Mr Tippen said I was to tell his lordship that the children will be eating with you as you desired.’
‘Thank you—’ He did not know the footman’s name.
‘Wyatt, m’lordship,’ the footman offered.
‘Wyatt.’ Another task to forge for himself, Brent thought. Learn the servants’ names.
Wyatt retreated to a corner of the room while Brent finished a second cup of tea. The door opened and Anna—Miss Hill—entered, the children behind her.
Brent stood. ‘Good morning.’ He caught her eye, but her expression revealed nothing.
‘Are we being punished?’ Dory asked, somewhat defiantly.
‘Punished?’ Had he done something last night to give the child that impression? ‘No. I wanted your company, that is all.’
‘Oh.’ The little girl slid into a chair. The table top came up to her chin.
Anna turned to the footman. ‘Wyatt, I believe Lady Dory could use a fat pillow to sit upon.’
‘I’ll attend to it, miss.’ He left the room.
She did not look at Brent, but said, ‘Please sit, my lord.’ She addressed the children. ‘Come see what is on the sideboard for you to eat.’
Dory scooted off the chair and decisively made her choices. Cal tentatively pointed to what he wanted.
By the time they settled back at the table, Dory had her pillow.
Anna again spoke to Brent. ‘Shall I fix you a plate, my lord?’
Was her tone sharp? Wounded? He could not tell for certain. ‘Some bread and butter, perhaps.’ Definitely no kippers.
When she placed the plate in front of him, he finally caught her gaze. ‘Do I owe you an apology, Miss Hill?’
Her face flushed. ‘You are not obligated to me, my lord.’
What did that mean? He still did not know and could not ask for clarification in front of the children. He ought to have summoned her alone, perhaps. But he’d wanted to see the children, too.
She fixed her own plate last. When she finally seated herself and they all commenced eating, no one talked. Brent remembered countless mornings seated with his grandfather in this very room, with nothing but oppressive silence. With Eunice, the silence had been fraught with her undisguised disdain for everything about him.
He hated that his children were left to imagine what was unspoken.
He turned to Dory. ‘Why did you think coming here was a punishment?’
Her blue eyes looked up at him over her jam and toasted bread. ‘Because we woke you up. We disturbed your sleep.’
Brent could hear Eunice in those words. He glanced at Cal, who watched them both warily.
Brent leaned towards him. ‘You had a nightmare last night. Do you remember waking up from it?’
The boy very slightly shook his head.
Brent was heartened. This was at least communication between them. Other than the boy’s words during and after the nightmare, that was. ‘Dory told us you dream about your mother. Do you remember dreaming about your mother last night?’
Cal paled and shook his head again.
Brent deliberately attended to his food, buttering his piece of bread. ‘I’ve heard your mother said I would kill you children if you broke anything—a vase—anything.’ He pretended to look absorbed in spreading the butter. ‘She was very mistaken. I do not kill children for breaking things, nor do I hit them for it. I was a boy once, too, and boys and girls break things sometimes.’
He glanced at Anna, to see her assessment of this little speech.
She gave him an approving look.
It encouraged him. ‘I do not kill children under any circumstance and I cannot think of one reason to hit children either. If I had not been busy with the war, I would have forbidden your mother from hitting, as well. She was wrong to do so. Apparently even she recognised that fact and regretted her actions.’
Dory’s eyes were wide as saucers and colour returned to Cal’s face.
Lawd, he hoped he chose the right thing to say.
Dory’s brows lowered and she tilted her head. ‘Are you going back to war?’
Cal rolled his eyes at her question. He knew about the war, Brent realised.
Brent winked at him, then took a bite of his bread, chewed and swallowed, trying to make this conversation as easy as possible for them. ‘The war is over.’
He wanted to say to them that he would stay for a while at Brentmore, that he would give them more rides on his horse and share more meals with them. But he did not know if what he had done the night before might make his presence here impossible. He needed Anna to tell him.
There were countless reasons not to stay. Financial matters mostly, although his man of business could take charge of most of those. Parliament was still in session, but he could still work behind the scenes, if he wished. Miss Rolfe—
Good God. Had he betrayed Miss Rolfe, as well as seducing the governess? He was a betrothed man and he’d be no better than Eunice had been if he would bed one woman while committed to another.
But perhaps he had not dishonoured himself. He must find out. Even if he had not, his absence was bound to disturb the Rolfes. He ought to write his cousin and ask him to explain his abrupt absence to Miss Rolfe and her father. Brent was perfectly willing to immediately settle some money on Lord Rolfe if the man needed it right away, so there was no reason to set a quick date for the wedding. Peter ought to be able to reassure the Rolfes and inform Brent what they required.
Brent wanted to stay with the children and help them if he could. It all depended on Anna.
Dory blinked her long-lashed eyes at him. ‘If you are not going back to war, will you take us for a ride on your horse?’
She reminded him of Eunice again. He tried not to frown, instead gesturing towards the window. ‘Not in the rain, Dory.’
‘You will have lessons today,’ Anna broke in. She slid Brent what seemed to him a wary glance. ‘Unless you have other plans for them, my lord.’
She was being cautious with him.
‘Not at the moment.’ He met her eye. ‘I would speak with you first, Miss Hill.’
She lowered her gaze. ‘As you wish.’
Brent took a sip of tea and stood. ‘I will see you in the library when you have finished break
fast.’
Before he left the room he turned back and saw his son staring at him with an expression of discomfort and confusion that mirrored precisely what Brent felt inside.
Chapter Six
Brent paced the library. It seemed he was always waiting on this governess. Were not those in his employ supposed to be at his beck and call?
He pressed his fingers against his temples. It did him no credit to be churlish, especially since her primary concern must be the children.
And he had very likely seduced her. She would be in no hurry to see him, certainly.
He paced and watched the clock for a good forty-five minutes before there was a light knock on the door.
She entered. ‘I am sorry to keep you waiting, my lord.’ Her voice sounded calm. ‘The children needed to be started on their lessons.’
He strode straight for her and placed the sash in her hand. ‘I need to know what happened last night.’
She lifted her gaze from her sash and responded quietly. ‘Nothing happened, my lord.’
His irritation flashed. This would get them nowhere.
‘Do not tell me that.’ He gestured to the sash. ‘Something happened.’
‘Nothing happened,’ she repeated more emphatically.
She stood her ground, but her gaze faltered, betraying her.
He leaned closer. ‘Speak plainly, Anna. I need to know if I seduced you last night. If I compromised you. I need to know what is required of me.’
‘Required of you?’ She looked surprised.
‘Do not play games with me,’ he snapped, but immediately lifted an apologetic hand and lowered his voice. ‘You must know I cannot marry you—’
A wounded look flashed across her face, so quickly he thought he might have imagined it. She lifted her chin. ‘Of course you cannot marry me. I am a governess and base born, as well.’
He stiffened. That was not what he meant. He meant he was betrothed to Miss Rolfe, but somehow, with no date set and no banns read, it still seemed unreal. Until he knew for certain that Miss Rolfe wished their betrothal to be generally known, he spoke of it to no one. For him to break off the betrothal would be a serious breach of gentlemanly behaviour. Miss Rolfe might do so, however.
‘I must marry without scandal,’ he said instead.
Her posture stiffened. ‘Of course you must, but why say this to me? What does it matter if you compromised a governess or not?’
Brent had no wish to explain that his behaviour towards her did matter a great deal, but that, if he’d indeed taken her to bed, he could not avoid wronging someone. Her or Miss Rolfe. He needed for her to tell him what he’d done to her and then he would know what impossible decision he must make.
He fixed her with a steady stare. ‘Tell me what happened last night.’
She waved a dismissive hand. ‘You embraced me. You kissed me. That is all. You had a great deal to drink...’
‘That does not explain the sash in my bed,’ he persisted.
She drew in a quick breath. ‘I—I helped you into bed.’
He pressed on. ‘And did you share the bed with me?’
‘I did not.’
He drew close to her again. ‘You are not telling all.’
Her eyes filled with pain. ‘Very well, I will tell you.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘You asked me into your bed. I made an excuse to extinguish the candle. As I stepped away, you pulled off my sash. I knew you had consumed too much brandy. I knew you would easily fall asleep. I thought it prudent not to retrieve my sash. I waited until I was certain you were sleeping and I left the room.’
He closed his eyes and felt sick with self-loathing.
At least she’d had her wits about her.
She went on, ‘So you see, nothing happened.’
‘A great deal happened.’ A few drinks of brandy and he acted upon the attraction to her that had been present from his first glimpse. ‘I do not know how to apologise to you.’
Her cheeks flushed with colour. ‘All I wish to know is if I still have employment.’
His brows rose. ‘Of course you have employment.’ Did she think he’d disrupt the children’s lives again? Punish her for his transgression?
Her posture relaxed and her expression turned to one of relief.
She straightened again, as if recouping her dignity. ‘Then we have nothing left to discuss. I will return to the children.’
She turned to leave.
‘Wait.’ He seized her arm. ‘We cannot pretend what happened did not occur.’
‘We cannot change it either,’ she countered.
He released her and stepped away. ‘Perhaps it is best that I return to London.’
‘Leave?’ Her voice rose and her eyes shot daggers at him. ‘Leave your children? Do not use me as an excuse to neglect them. If you have no wish to help them, then, indeed, go back to the pleasures of London. Forget them as you have done before—’
‘Enough!’ He closed the distance between them again. ‘You forget your place!’ He sounded just like the old marquess.
She did not back down, none the less. Instead, she looked directly into his eyes. ‘Last night you lamented the damage done your children by your absence. Now you seize upon the slimmest excuse to leave them again.’
His gaze was entrapped by her blue eyes, so clear, so forthright and brave. Before he realised it, his hands had rested on her shoulders, drawing her even closer to him. A memory, foggy and blurred, returned. He remembered kissing her...
He stepped back, jarred at how easily his own behaviour turned scandalous. ‘See, Anna—Miss Hill—how easily I might compromise you again?’
* * *
Under the intensity of his gaze and her skin still tingling from his touch, Anna’s limbs trembled. Ever since she first entered the library, she’d been a mass of quivering fear inside and now all her bravado was failing her.
She’d thought it her greatest talent, pretending to be calm and fearless even when shaking with fear inside. She’d honed the skill for Charlotte’s sake, but with the marquess, she needed her pretence of courage for her own sake. She’d done well until he touched her and come so close she could feel his breath on her face.
She’d done so well she’d scolded the man who employed her. How foolhardy could that be? She needed this position. She had nothing else.
But she was correct that he needed to be here as well. His children needed him to stay. They needed to know there was someone who loved them, someone to whom their welfare was important. Someone who, unlike herself, was not paid to love them.
To not be loved by anyone was a terrible loneliness.
Perhaps that was why her senses begged for the marquess’s touch, why her body wished so much that he would wrap her in his arms, why she had come so close to sharing his bed. She yearned for the illusion that someone loved her. She’d seemed of very little importance to her mother, none at all to her father and Charlotte seemed to have forgotten her.
Her heart pounded when she looked up in his eyes. She wanted to tell him to compromise her all he wished, anything to keep her from feeling so alone.
‘That is why I need to return to London,’ he murmured.
Anna forced herself to take a deep breath. She tensed her muscles and gave him a steady look. ‘No, my lord. We must see to your children’s needs and behave as we ought.’ She curled her fingers into a fist.
His expression was pained. ‘I want to stay. I want to mend the damage of the past and give the children the life they deserve, but—’
‘Then you must stay with them. Certainly you are able to exert self-control...about...about the other.’ As she must do, as well, Anna ought to add.
‘You are correct, as I suspect you often are, Miss Hill.’ His jaw set. ‘There will be no repeat of my improper behaviour, I promise. I will do nothing to bring scandal upon you or upon this house.’
‘Then you will stay?’
He nodded. ‘I will stay.’
* * *
Two weeks passed and Lord Brentmore spent part of every day in the company of his children. He started the day having breakfast with them. He spent time with them in the school room. He took them riding on his horse. He even helped them tend their peas and radishes. He never asked anything of them. Never raised his voice.
Anna’s esteem for him grew, but that made it only more difficult to be in his presence. Luckily they were never alone together for more than a few moments. The children or the servants or other workers were always present or nearby. What had passed between them that night did not disappear, however. Her senses heightened whenever he was near. She caught herself gazing at him far too often, but he also gazed at her. Sometimes their eyes caught and the colour rose in his face. She knew he was responding to her as a man responds to a woman. Everything about him captivated her. The easy way he sat upon his horse. His deep voice. His rare laugh.
Nights were often worse. The marquess now slept in a room near where the children slept, so he would be near if Cal had a nightmare. It meant he was also near to where Anna slept—or tried to sleep. Each night she tossed and turned and remembered the feel of his arms around her, the press of his lips against hers.
Her regard for him increased even more when he took another bold step.
He removed all visible reminders of his late wife.
The marchioness’s portrait was crated and sent to the attic. Her stunning white horse was sold. Her belongings were removed from her bedchamber to be stored away. Most of her clothing was given away.
Most surprising of all, the marquess rid the house of Mr and Mrs Tippen. He pensioned them off and sent them away, presumably to return to the marchioness’s home county from whence they had come. The gardener’s sister, Mrs Willis, who’d been a senior housemaid in Brentmore Hall, became the new housekeeper. Wyatt, the footman, was promoted to butler.
A stunning number of changes in so brief a time.
One thing had not changed, though. Lord Cal still did not speak. But he was not totally unimproved. He smiled sometimes and was more free with his nods of the head or his hand gestures. Anna was very encouraged.
Lord Brentmore no longer shared dinner with Cal and Dory. Rather he insisted Anna dine with him so they had time to discuss the children and make plans for them. Dining together, with the footmen coming in the room and out, provided a safe place for them to be together without the temptation of those urges simmering beneath. Most of the time they talked about the children, but sometimes it became natural for them to converse on other topics. The social or political issues of the day. Their personal lives.