Lords of Honor-The Collection

by Christi Caldwell

  He snapped black eyebrows together. “Are you finished?”

  Do not say anything. Do not say anything. She shook her head. “And your hair is too long.” In an untamed, primitive way that gave him the look of a warrior of old. A shameful urge gripped her; a need to run her fingers through those midnight strands.

  “Is it now?”

  He sounded so thoroughly bored she wished she had another charge to level against his miserable countenance but came up remarkably empty. “D-Did I mention your crooked nose?”

  “You did.”

  Did she imagine the ghost of a smile on his lips? Surely she didn’t. Men such as this one did not smile or laugh or express any cheer. “Well, it bore repeating. Twice.” For the evidence of multiple breaks indicated he’d made a bother of himself on more than one occasion, which was not in the very least surprising. Except his inscrutable expression said her attempt at needling had little effect on the uncouth stranger who’d shout at his servants and curse and speak coarse words in front of young women.

  The towering duke folded his arms at his chest. “Is that all, Miss Benedict?” No, there was still the matter of the post she now sought. Then, this hardly seemed the appropriate time to bring up as much.

  She wet her lips. Goodness, he was imposing. There should be fear and yet, her heart fluttered wildly, instead.

  “Would you care to see my teeth?”

  To still the tremble racking her frame, she folded her arms in a like manner and eyed him contemplatively. “I believe I would.”

  He peeled back his lips to display two perfect rows of even, white teeth.

  Glorious. He was a glorious model of masculinity, harshly beautiful for the imperfections he bore. She’d die before even so much as hinting at that unfathomable truth. “Hmm,” she said noncommittally. It was a sin he should hide himself from the world.

  “You approve, then?”

  “All but the bottom front right.” She tipped her index finger at a slight angle. It was a blatant lie. “It is crooked.” But she’d be damned if she allowed him the final word in their duel of words.

  With a glower, the stranger snapped his mouth closed. At that dark, menacing look, a shiver stole through her. For her brashness moments ago, logic settled around her brain. This was not a man to be trifled with. Perhaps she’d gone just a tad bit too far in taunting this hulking stranger, a stranger whose aid she now sought. His silver-flecked gaze followed her subtle movement and lingered upon her breasts.

  She swallowed; registering too late she’d drawn attention to the deep décolletage of her sapphire blue gown. She folded her arms about her chest, hiding herself from his intense gaze. “Do you approve then?” she shot back, not knowing where she found the courage to toss those bold words at his smug face.

  “All but the right—”

  She jabbed her finger at him. “Don’t you dare.” She’d not be made light of. Not by this insolent stranger. Not by anyone. It was entirely awful enough she’d been found lacking on more scores than she cared to admit. She’d not be mocked by this scowling beast.

  “Are you issuing me a threat, Mrs. Benedict?”

  Again, Mrs. Benedict. Not Miss Bennett. And she suspected that substituted name was, in some way, a slight show of respect from this man. “No.” And as she’d never been one to prevaricate, she chose to get to the heart of it. “I am here to discuss my responsibilities for your ward.”

  Chapter 4

  Occasionally, at the oddest, most unexpected times, Derek’s ear would ring with the old echo of gunfire and cannon charge. At those moments, sounds—a person’s voice, the tick of a clock, the rattle of a carriage—would come as though down a long corridor. With that bold demand from the insolent chit who’d invaded his sanctuary, this was one of those muffled moments.

  Derek passed his gaze over the young woman; the tempting siren in the street who’d stolen into his office and proved herself a harpy more than anything else. The midnight black of her tresses, so dark it bore the trace of blue, the green-blue of her eyes. She could rob a lesser man of his logic. But he’d ceased to be that man who could or would be swayed by a woman’s charms. “You as a governess?” he asked, and for the pain radiating up his thigh, propped his hip on the edge of the desk. “You are here for the post of governess?” One with a captivating beauty such as hers belonged in ballrooms, attired in fine satins, not in a nursery with a motherless child.

  By the narrowing of Mrs. Benedict’s eyes, she took exception with his mocking tone. Still, she said nothing.

  He shoved off the desk and limped over to his cane. His skin pricked with the feel of her stare on his awkward movements. His mouth tightened. “I do not have any role in the care of…that child.” With the aid of his cane, he crossed to the front of the room and pulled the door open.

  The lady’s mouth fell open and she looked between him and the hall outside his office. “B-but you are her guardian,” she sputtered.

  “Go, Mrs. Benedict.” She did not, however, make a move to leave. “Now,” he thundered.

  She jumped, but she did not flee, as the handful of servants was wont to do when presented with the mere visage of him alone. The color leeched from her cheeks, she fisted the sides of her skirts. The tremble to her fingers hinted at her unease. Good, the lady should fear him. People did not bait him and challenge him. Nay, they steered clear of him, altogether.

  Except this one, it would seem.

  “I am here to care for Lady Flora.” Releasing her skirts, she drew in a breath. “I do not intend to be scuttled off.”

  Brava. There was a strength to her that was hard not to admire. Mrs. Benedict and her bold challenge roused something he’d ceased to feel these past years since he’d returned—interest. “Oh?” He winged an eyebrow up.

  “B-but I will take any post in your household.” That faint tremor was the first sign of weakness from this woman who’d not gaped and cowered in horror at the sight of him. He fisted his cane, despising that he should care that such a creature existed. “I-I understand you are short of staff.”

  By her rapid prattling, the young woman was inclined to fill voids of silence. “You are desperate then,” he jeered. Any woman who would brave his presence came, no doubt, out of desperation.

  Her slight hesitation hinted at the truth to his supposition.

  For years, Derek hadn’t given a bloody rot about anything; his family, his solitary state, his former friends. Each day of his life turned over the next with a nauseating tedium where nothing interested him. Yet, this bold stranger’s sudden appearance at his doorstep and her entreaty for employment stirred his curiosity.

  “Why?” If she lied, he’d toss her out on her arse. If she gave him the truth, he’d at least let her tell her tale, and then toss her out on her arse.

  The lady fisted her skirts so tight, the color drained from her knuckles. She would have made a lousy hazard player. A sea of unease, fear, and desperation flooded her eyes; those now familiar, expected emotions he saw in all. “I no longer wish to work at my previous post.” And with those words, she said nothing and everything all at the same time.

  Derek turned his lip up in a mocking grin. “The handsy employer who would force his intentions upon you, Mrs. Benedict?” A becoming blush stained the lady’s cheeks.

  Where before, her eyes had served as a window into her every emotion, she now schooled her features into an expressionless mask. “I have references,” she said stiffly and rescued said documents.

  From the same employer she’d fled? He searched her with his sole eye for a hint of an answer but again, she had mettle that would have unnerved lesser men.

  As such, she waved her papers.

  Unnerved by his fascination with this mysterious stranger who would show up, uncowed by his hideous visage or crude manners, he pulled the door wider. “Your presence grows tedious. I want you gone. I do not have staff because I do not wish it.”

  The young woman scoffed. “I do not believe that.”
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br />   Derek snapped his eyebrows into a flat line and took a step toward her.

  Mrs. Benedict retreated and placed the leather sofa between them. By her furrowed brow and pale cheeks, she feared he’d inflict bodily harm. It was the first sensible action shown by this stranger.

  Derek peered down his nose at the beautiful stranger. “I’ll not ask you again. Tell me what it is that has you so eager to be in my employ.” Why, when only the desperate or idiotic would choose such a fate?

  Her chest moved with the force of her breathing. He took in the creamy swell of her generous décolletage, the flare of her hips. An unexpected lust slammed into him. When he returned his attention to her face, fire flashed in her eyes.

  Ah, the young woman had noted his scrutiny.

  She squared her shoulders. “I need employment and you need a governess who will stay, Your Grace. I would say that makes us a rather perfect pair.” Brava, once more. The fiery temptress who’d stormed his home with more temerity and courage than he’d witnessed from his fellow soldiers on the battlefield, returned.

  He drummed his fingertips on the edge of the door and she followed that movement. Mrs. Benedict pursed her lips, but remained silent. He’d be wise to turn this one away. With her temerity and willingness to go toe-to-toe with him, she represented chaos to his ordered, if largely empty, household. And yet… He cast a glance over his shoulder into the corridor—a hall that had been nearly silent until his sister’s daughter had been forced upon him. And a bloody butler who worried about that same meddlesome child.

  Never breaking eye contact with the young woman, Derek pushed the door closed. He turned the lock and the muscles of her long, graceful neck moved. So, she did fear him. Derek squared his jaw. Of course, she did. All did. Who wouldn’t fear a beast? The muscles of his leg throbbed in protest to his stillness. Reflexively, he grabbed his thigh and rubbed. Mrs. Benedict dropped her gaze to that subtle movement. He stopped, mid-motion. Gritting his teeth, he marched to his desk, his leg dragging uselessly with the pace he’d set. With his back presented to her, Derek stopped. A spasm of pain racked his frame and froze the breath in his lungs. God, he’d never become accustomed to the agony of simple movements. No matter how much he stretched or exercised his limbs, the pain remained.

  “Your Grace?” she called out hesitantly.

  He quickly schooled his features and turned. Affecting an air of nonchalance, he rested his cane alongside the desk and propped his hip on the edge of the massive, French rosewood piece. “Sit,” he commanded.

  A rebellious glimmer danced in her eyes.

  Once again, curiosity stirred for the undaunted figure before him; interest, when he’d felt nothing in so very long. Who was Mrs. Lily Benedict?

  Lily wanted to ignore that austere, ducal command. She wanted to turn, spit in his arrogant face and lash out at him for previously hurling his vile words. How was it possible to hate a man she’d met but a quarter of an hour ago? Her chest heaving, she stared at the wood panel. But more than hating him, she hated—herself. Hated herself for having no other choice but to enter this household that haunted her.

  With stiff movements, she let her hand fall to her side and turned around. In her short time with George, he’d said little about his family. Those important details he’d kept from her—likely because a woman he’d no honorable intentions for had little need knowing about his kin. He’d mentioned his brother in the King’s Army, but that only in passing.

  The duke sat on the edge of his desk with his arms folded at his chest. His serpent-headed cane dangled from his fingertips. For any other man, that gold cane would have merely been an accessory affected by a bored nobleman. Not this frosty, one-eyed stranger. Those scars upon a once glorious face indicated that his cane was no mere affectation, but a product of life. “You desire the post of governess.” His words came out more statement than question.

  Lily gave a terse nod, anyway. “I am here, am I not?” George had demonstrated through the power of his title that dukes could destroy lives. This duke’s harshly cool tone indicated he needn’t have answers from another person but would supply them himself.

  Blackthorne drummed his fingertips upon his sleeve and studied her with an inscrutable expression. She stiffened as he stopped that incessant tapping and crossed over to her. He proceeded to walk in a small circle about her; a tiger toying with its prey. His interest, however, was not the lust-filled kind she’d seen in Holdsworth’s eyes. His was a detached curiosity from a man incapable of feeling or emotion.

  He drew to a halt. “Even with your age,” she narrowed her eyes. “A woman of your beauty would surely prefer a life wedded and bedded by some good, honorable gentleman.” His gravelly voice came out with words spoken as matter-of-factness.

  “Is there such a man?” she muttered before she could call the words back. The Duke of Blackthorne winged his eyebrows upward and she cleared her throat. Her blasted mouth would be the ultimate ruin of her. “I am but three and twenty,” she said instead. “Hardly in my dotage.” A hard, cynical smile hovered on his beautiful lips. “Nor do I wish to be married.” Her heart wrenched at the lie. For at one time, she had. At one time, she’d dreamed of a simple life, wedded and loved. Now that dream was never to be. “I merely want the post of nursery governess.” And from there, my freedom.

  Intelligence sparked in his eyes.

  Did he detect her lie? A man such as he would shred a person who wronged him without compunction. Her mouth went dry.

  “You are finely dressed.” He paused and raked his gaze up and down her frame. “For a servant.”

  Her mind stalled and then resumed spinning at a maddening speed. Of course, the satins and silks Sir Henry draped her in these many years were hardly befitting attire of a servant. “But I am not applying for the post of servant,” she said calmly. The duke narrowed his eyes. “I am applying for the post of governess, which is more a member of the household.”

  An ugly, humorless smile marred his lips. “Is that what you believe? That you’d be part of my household, different than my staff?”

  She’d rather hoped it had, but not because of a lofty or exalted thought of the post. Rather, it had represented her means to move freely in his home, so she might find that bloody diamond.

  “Well?” She jumped at his booming question. “So that is the way it was?” She stiffened at the condescension there.

  “The way what was?” she forced out through tight lips. She’d have to be a fool to not know in which way he mocked her. Nonetheless, she’d not allow him to toy with her. Not any more. She’d been toyed with enough by these lofty lords and gentlemen.

  “You were your previous employer’s plaything, then?”

  Dread slithered around her belly like a vicious serpent prepared to unleash its venom. How had he deduced…? Perhaps his brother had marked her a whore in every way. She told herself to shake her head and managed that brusque movement.

  “Did you tire of his advances? Did his wife turn you out?”

  Her legs twitched from the urge to flee under his relentless line of questioning.

  Then, as all bullies inevitably did with the lack of reaction, he backed off. “What knowledge would one such as you have in caring for a child?” He did not stand in wait for his answer but rather crossed the room. Lily jumped at the rhythmic click of his cane. The duke limped over to the sideboard and set his cane down. His hand hovered over the neat row of crystal decanters.

  Argh, I am the pirate come to steal you precious children. The haunting laughter of her brothers and sister and their childhood games, echoed around the chambers of her memory. She thrust aside their unaging faces. “I had younger siblings,” she said, damning the faint tremble to her words. For the crime she’d committed, Lily was dead to them. He paused, his fingers atop one of those bottles. She braced for questions on the fate of those siblings just mentioned. “Having been an elder sister, you think that makes you able to care for a child?” Technically, she was still a sister. S
he’d not debate that particular point of her history with him. “What? Nothing to say?” he taunted.

  Of course, she should have gleaned a cold-hearted, emotionless figure such as he wouldn’t waste inquiries into her personal past. Not even as it might pertain to his niece’s circumstances. “In having siblings I learned—”

  “I can read. Does that qualify me to instruct students at Oxford because of it?”

  Odd, she’d taken a coarse, unfeeling beast such as him as incapable of caring for the child. She fixed on that revelation and not the aching remembrance of the brothers and sister she’d never again see. Lily cleared her throat. “As a duke, you’d surely be granted any post at Oxford should you…”

  He looked over his shoulder and withered her with a look. “Are you making light of me, Mrs. Benedict?” The edge to his words, sharper than any blade, hinted at his barely contained fury.

  “No.” The denial exploded from her. Ever since she’d been a small girl, she’d always made a muck of explaining herself. Unknowing where she found the courage to continue, she turned her palms up. “I am not.” In the hope of putting her thoughts to order, she drew in a calming breath. “It is admirable you are concerned for the child as you are.” Lily would have traded her left hand and perhaps her leg, too, for a family who was unflinchingly devoted to her.

  Bottle in his hand, he turned suddenly about. “Do not make more of my inquiry,” he ordered, steeling his jaw. She lifted her head. And yet with his determined inquiries, he’d already revealed that, despite his protestations, he cared a good deal more than he let on—even to himself.

  “I would not dare presume.”

  “No, you’d merely presume in invading my home and demanding a meeting with me.”

  Yes, well he had her there.

  Silence stretched on, punctuated by the snap and hiss of the raging fire in the hearth and a steady dread built inside. She’d not allowed herself to consider what would happen if she proved unsuccessful in entering the duke’s home. Lily curled her fingers into balls and her nails pierced the soft skin of her palms. What happened to a whore with nothing? A whore, she remained…