by Julia Byrne
The frown, however, was a new development.
“Don’t spare me, Charlotte,” she said, unfastening the ribbons of her bonnet and turning to open the hall closet. “What is it now? A fire in the kitchen? Mice munching their way through the larder?”
Charlotte closed the distance between them and shook her head. “Nothing like that,” she said in all seriousness. “Not but what it isn’t bad enough.”
“If it isn’t mice it can’t be too disastrous,” Emily said bracingly. “Unless— Charlotte, you haven’t found the corpse responsible for that dreadful smell in the attic, have you?”
“For goodness’ sake, Emily. Don’t mention corpses where the girls might hear you. No, it’s Miss Tibberton. She noticed that the clock in the classroom had lost a few minutes and just as she was peering at the hands to see how best to correct them, the little drummer-boy that strikes the hour sprang out.”
“Oh, no!”
“I’m very much afraid she’s going to have a black eye. But that isn’t all.”
“Good heavens, there’s more?”
Charlotte leaned closer and lowered her voice. “There’s a man in your study,” she confided, her tone more accurately conveying the impression that a wild beast crouched behind the study door, waiting to devour anyone who entered. “At first I thought the agency must have sent him, but just as I was about to direct him to the kitchen, all the fuss over the clock started and he said he would wait for you in your study. Truly, Emily, I tried to stop him, but he walked past me as if he owned the place.”
Emily paused in the act of hanging up her pelisse and fixed Charlotte with the look of one resigned to her fate. “Dark hair, light brown eyes, very big?”
“Why yes. Never tell me you know him! How could you— But I go beyond what is proper. I’m sorry, Emily.”
“Nonsense.” Emily shut the closet door and gave her friend a quick hug. “No standing upon ceremony, remember? Just because I pay you a wage, which I might add is considerably less than the sum you commanded as a private governess, doesn’t mean you must watch what you say. In this case, you’re right. My encounter with our caller lasted all of five minutes.”
“Oh, dear.” Charlotte gazed at her in dismay. “What in the world are we going to do?”
“I’ll see him,” Emily decided. “He helped me evict Netherby, but wouldn’t accept any payment. Perhaps he’s changed his mind.”
“I’d better come with you, Emily.” Charlotte laid a hand on Emily’s arm. “Who knows what such a man might demand in the way of payment.”
“I doubt he has any designs on my virtue, Charlotte,” Emily said dryly. “I’d rather you check on Tibby for me, please. Will you tell her I’ll be with her shortly?”
“Of course.” Charlotte withdrew her hand and stepped back. “I’m sure you’ll be perfectly safe. What does a mere governess know about men, after all?”
Emily smiled. “Ah, but remember, Charlotte, you’re a most superior governess. Who better to know who should grace our premises and who should not?”
She hoped the remark would draw an answering smile from her friend. Even a hint of humor would lend animation to Charlotte’s pleasant but unremarkable countenance. But if there was one thing her friend lacked, it was a sense of humor. It had been so since the day they had met, when Charlotte, then a junior mistress at the school Emily had attended, had taken her small pupil under her wing.
Then again, Emily mused as she turned toward the study, these days she had cause to be thankful that Charlotte’s nature was more inclined to calm composure than riotous frivolity. She hadn’t even succumbed to hysterics when the chimney in the classroom had dumped a small mountain of soot on her head when she was trying to coax more than smoke from the fire. Through the screams of her fleeing pupils, Charlotte had merely rung for whatever water could be coerced from the pump so she could clean herself up. The incident had given Emily a new respect for her friend’s strength of character.
“Well, I’m not sure where that man belongs,” Charlotte remarked now. “But I’ll tell you one thing, Emily. It isn’t in this house.”
*
The minute Emily walked through the open doorway into her study she discovered that the man who had come to her rescue didn’t share Charlotte’s opinion of his place in the world. He was lounging in the chair near her desk, long legs stretched out in front of him, boots crossed at the ankles, looking entirely too much at home.
He turned his head at her entrance and Emily made another discovery. His relaxed pose was utterly belied by the intense focus of his eyes.
He rose to his feet, placing one hand on her desk as though to balance himself. He didn’t stumble, but Emily decided it was a near thing. She firmly squelched a pang of sympathy and crossed the room to stand behind her desk.
“I believe you’ve been waiting to speak to me,” she prompted.
“I trust you’ll pardon the liberty, Miss Proudfoot,” he said in his low, raspy voice. “I’m looking for work, and judging by our little encounter this morning, you need a man. To throw out unwanted visitors,” he added smoothly, when she looked at him with deep suspicion. “And, if I heard correctly, to fix the pump.”
Emily had had enough of the pump, but she wasn’t going to commit herself to anything just yet. She sat down and folded her hands on top of the blotter. She wished her nerves were as easily composed. They were sitting up and quivering again, as though in anticipation of a high treat.
Maybe she needed a good, brisk walk along the beach.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, motioning for him to resume his seat.
“Lucas.” He sat and gave her a hopeful smile.
She was immediately put in mind of a hungry predator, polite, but capable of taking a bite out of her if an alternative wasn’t offered in a timely manner.
“What I need,” she clarified in repressive tones, “is a man-of-all-work. You speak like an educated gentleman, Mr. Lucas. Why aren’t you working for a professional man?”
His mouth kicked up at one corner. “Fourteen years ago I thought the army would be more exciting. And just call me Lucas.”
“Very well, Lucas. I take it you’re no longer in the army?”
“We parted ways a while back.”
“Honorably, I hope.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “Would you like to see my papers?”
Emily suppressed a sudden urge to sit further back in her chair. That cool stare was unexpectedly intimidating. And she very much doubted the man aiming it at her had been a lowly foot soldier.
“I meant no offence,” she said with equal coolness. “But one cannot be too careful when one is responsible for young girls.”
He inclined his head. “I understand.”
“What rank did you attain, and in which regiment?”
“I ended up in the 95th. Rifleman.”
Emily’s eyes widened. The soldiers of the 95th Foot were highly trained marksmen and considered themselves to be an elite regiment.
“If you didn’t buy a commission, how did you manage that?” she asked.
Lucas shrugged. “I’m a crack shot.”
It wasn’t said in any boastful way, Emily realized, he was merely stating a fact.
“Well, however useful you were to the army,” she said firmly, “a man working in a young ladies’ academy requires more civilized skills.”
A smile touched his mouth. “I’m sure I’ll manage. How many pupils do you have?”
“Seven boarders,” she said, brightening at the respectable total. “And eight day pupils. It may not sound much, but we’ve only been open a few weeks. I’m hoping the advertisement I’ve placed in the London papers will bring in more students.”
“The London papers? For a school in Lymingford?”
“Yes, indeed. This town is quiet and genteel, and the situation more conducive to healthful activities than the city. I’m not looking for students from the aristocracy,” she elaborated. “My pupils are daughters of bankers, doctors
, and other professional gentlemen. Most will probably marry one day, but those who don’t will be able to support themselves in a respectable profession should it become necessary. We teach book-keeping as well as arithmetic, several languages, the skilled use of herbs and—” She caught sight of the politely enquiring expression on his face and stopped.
“Well, never mind that,” she muttered. “I’m afraid I get a little carried away on the subject. So, Lucas—” She gave him her sunniest smile. “What sort of work have you been doing since you left the army?”
Lucas blinked, as though her smile surprised him. “This and that,” he said after a moment. “There’s money to be won at the gaming tables, although it isn’t what you’d call a regular source of income.”
Emily stifled a sigh. The only male she’d ever encountered who intrigued her enough to invade her thoughts, and he turned out to be a restless gamester like her father. Still, she didn’t have much choice but to hire him, and at least he was gentlemanly under those disreputable clothes. More or less.
“If we come to an agreement, I can’t afford to pay much,” she warned him. “But there’s a room available and all meals are provided.”
“Sounds fair,” he murmured. “When do I start?”
“We’ll see if you can fix the pump first,” Emily said cautiously. She was about to rise to conduct Lucas out to the yard when the sound of several feet clattered down the hall, followed by the screech of the front door.
“I’ll oil that door while I’m at it,” he said. “And judging by that hellish odor, you’ve got a dead rat somewhere in the house.”
Emily sighed and conceded defeat. “There’s also a broken window latch in the drawing room,” she admitted. “That’s how Lieutenant Netherby got in. I found him asleep on the sofa this morning. Heaven knows how long he’d been there.”
Lucas grinned. “You do need a man about the place.”
“Yes, well, you’ve got the job,” she said sternly, keeping an answering smile off her face. That grin not only made her nerves quiver, now they were kicking up their heels in anticipatory delight. “But—” She stood and raised a cautionary finger. “On one condition. When the pump’s working, you have a shave.”
Lucas ran a hand thoughtfully over his jaw as he got to his feet. “You want me to shave?”
“I certainly do.” Obviously it needed to be made plain to him from the start just who was in charge. “I’ll provide you with a better coat for the occasions when you might have to admit visitors, but—”
“Don’t bother,” he interrupted. “I’ve got another coat that’ll do.”
Emily hesitated, then decided to give way on that point. Anyone who tried to stuff Lucas into butler’s livery was only going to exhaust themselves to no purpose.
“Well,” she said. “I’ll take you down to the kitchen and introduce you to Mrs. Starling, our cook. Once you’ve fixed the pump, you can fetch your things and settle in.”
“Thank you, Miss Proudfoot,” he murmured. “I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.”
Emily gave him another suspicious stare, then decided his ironic tone didn’t mean anything ominous.
She started across the room and had almost reached the doorway when another question struck her. She turned abruptly and almost collided with Lucas, who was right on her heels. She gasped, stepped back, and promptly caught her heel on the edge of the rug that covered the floor.
Lucas put out a hand and grasped her arm to keep her upright. It wasn’t a hesitant or polite touch; his long fingers gripped her arm with a steely strength that had the breath catching in her throat. He held her until she was steady, his fingers warm and hard against her inner arm, then released her.
“Was there something else?” he asked politely.
“Yes,” Emily managed, in a voice just short of a squeak. “When Miss Haymes let you into the house earlier, how did you know this room was my study?”
He smiled faintly. “All the doors were open, except the front right-hand one. I could hear your students beyond it so I deduced it was a classroom. The one on the left is obviously the drawing room. This room was the next one I came to.”
“Oh. Of course.” She glanced down, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly. “I’m afraid your predecessors have made me somewhat cautious of strangers.”
“Then I’ll have to make sure you no longer see me as a stranger, Miss Proudfoot.”
Emily looked up, frowning, then turned around and marched smartly out of the room. She didn’t think Lucas had meant anything untoward by that remark, but the words, spoken in his low, gravelly voice, seemed to hold a dark and dangerous promise.
She shook off the thought. Clearly, her imagination was running away with her again.
CHAPTER FIVE
Luke followed Emily toward the rear of the house, his gaze resting on the back of her neck, exposed by her upswept hair. The style tried to look severe but failed dismally. Tendrils of ebony hair, as soft and fine as an Irish mist, danced about her ears and curled riotously at her nape. He wondered how she would react if he succumbed to the impulse to stroke his finger down the tender curve of her neck.
She’d probably dismiss him as soon as he’d fixed the pump, he decided. But for all that, he hadn’t mistaken her feminine reaction to his touch when he’d saved her from tripping on the rug. She was cautious, but she was also curious. In any other case that would give him an edge, but this time there was a catch.
He wanted her. Badly. That knowledge had burst upon him when she’d been glowing with enthusiasm about her school. He had found himself wondering how long it would take him to arouse her to the same passionate heights. And then she’d smiled at him with a sweet feminine candour that had struck him in the chest like a small velvet fist.
Somehow, he couldn’t reconcile that dazzling smile with the chilling tone of the blackmail notes. And yet the evidence against her was overwhelming. Only four people had been in possession of the information used by the blackmailer. Circumstance had eliminated the first. Numbers two and three had held the incriminating file for less than half an hour and had both died as a consequence. And the fourth person to take possession of the file was also dead.
But in life, the fourth person had been Captain George Proudfoot, whose daughter, Emily, had inherited all his papers and possessions.
Luke set his teeth. It wouldn’t be the first time a female had used a smile to hide something more dangerous. The sooner he searched the place, the sooner he could dismiss the feeling that Emily hadn’t committed any crime at all, let alone blackmail.
“Here we are,” she said as they stepped off the stairs straight into the kitchen.
A comfortably stout, grey-haired woman was kneading dough on a huge wooden table in the center of the room. Steam rose from a large pot simmering on the stove to the left. The aroma wafting from it made Luke’s mouth water.
“The soup smells delicious, Mrs. Starling,” Emily said, smiling at the cook. “I hope you’ve made enough for one more. This is Lucas, our new man-of-all-work.”
“Is he now.” Mrs. Starling looked as though she entertained grave doubts on the matter. She subjected Luke to a long all-encompassing stare. “Well, if you want to eat today, Lucas, you’d better get that pump working. If the maids have to draw another bucket of water from the well out in the lane, they’re likely to give notice. Then you’ll be dusting furniture and mopping floors as well as fixing everything around here.”
Luke shrugged out of his coat, tossed it over a chair and began rolling up his sleeves. “For a taste of that soup, Mrs. Starling, I can fix any amount of broken things.” He gave her a winning smile.
“Hmm.” She jerked her head toward the back door. “Pump’s in the yard.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He glanced at Emily, who was staring at him, eyes wide, as if she’d never seen a man in his shirt-sleeves before. “Miss Proudfoot?”
She blinked. “Oh, yes. Off you go, Lucas. Your room is down that passage
there.” She indicated another doorway off the kitchen. “Once you’ve settled in and effected the repairs we were discussing, I’d like you to check the chimneys, please. Some of them seem not to be working properly.”
“Trust me, Miss Proudfoot,” he murmured. “I shall leave no stone unturned to find anything here that isn’t exactly as it should be.” And she could make of that what she would, he thought, as she whisked about and mounted the stairs at an extremely brisk pace.
*
The image of Lucas, standing in the kitchen, rolling up his shirt sleeves, stayed with Emily for most of the day. Having concluded that his clothes were ill-fitting because of recent illness, she’d received a considerable shock to find there was a lot more to him than she’d expected. He was lean, yes, but the breadth of his shoulders and the sinews in his forearms were those of a powerfully built man.
She’d told herself that her sudden breathlessness was due to racing up the kitchen stairs. Except she’d been breathless before she’d set foot on the first step.
Fortunately, the effect had worn off, Emily reminded herself that night, as she made her rounds prior to retiring. She had concluded that her attraction to Lucas was merely because he was different to the other men she’d encountered. He didn’t bother with a polite façade for one thing, unlike some men in Society who were capable of hiding the lowest kind of vice beneath a coldly polished exterior. She’d been in danger from one such vile monster seven years ago.
But with Lucas, she had the feeling that while his notion of honor might be his own, he would hold fast to it no matter what the circumstances. As long as she kept him at a safe distance there shouldn’t be a problem.
And there were definite advantages to having a man around who was good with his hands. The infamous pump was now working, the front door no longer wailed like a wraith from the grave, and she didn’t have to worry that Lieutenant Netherby, or anyone else, could climb in through the drawing room window.
Even the unpleasant odor was gone.