He’d practically made her.
He wouldn’t let her throw it all away on becoming a drudge. A woman who took employment. Such a wife wouldn’t suit his ambitions in the least.
“Wait just a moment. You can’t do that.”
She looked down her nose at his hand. “Can I not? I disagree.”
An unfamiliar chagrin made him draw back his grip. Somewhere at the fringes of the room, her maid shuffled and twisted her hands, but she mattered little. Frightening Sera unduly was his only concern.
“Bemoaning the source of my support for all these years is pointless,” she said. “What is done is done and I thank you. I’ve benefitted immeasurably. But that’s different than continuing to accept charity bought by dirty money. That I cannot in good conscience do.”
“Waywroth Academy did a better job than I expected.” How the smile stayed on his face was a mystery when red-hot anger charred a path through his insides. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake. All his careful plans wouldn’t be undone by the willfulness of a headstrong, naïve girl. “You won’t have a choice in this, Seraphina.”
“Sera,” she corrected, her voice calm and steady.
“Sera, Seraphina.” He advanced until she craned her neck backward to see him. She was so damn fragile. Given half a chance, the world would break her. He could shatter her without the least effort. That base lust, too, would require time to restrain. “Whatever you call yourself doesn’t matter. Accounts will be initiated in your name. The money will be there.”
“And it will remain there. I’ll continue with my plan to take employment at the academy.” She stretched up on her toes and brushed a kiss over his cheek.
The simple act was enough to stun him. Not even his chest moved. Such innocent kindness was exactly what he’d wished to protect. But he’d also made her stubbornly ignorant of his own character.
She’d get the money, like it or not. And use it as well.
“I thank you, Digger. For everything.” On the distinct soft swish of expensive fabric that denoted a gentlewoman’s petticoats, she stepped backwards, out of his reach.
But she wouldn’t remain out of reach for long.
Chapter Four
“I simply do not understand.” Victoria leaned her golden head nearer and spoke in a harsh-edged whisper, which likely did nothing to conceal their conversation.
Sera sat upright in the tiny theater chair. Not that she could escape anywhere, however, because Lottie sat as avidly close at her other side. “That’s because there’s nothing to understand,” Sera said.
She stared over the railing of the theater box. The scrumptiously colored gowns and iridescent jewels of their fellow theatergoers had become as blurred as a bad watercolor. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on Victoria’s earlier introductions. Her fiancé, the Duke of Ashby, was present, along with her aunt, Lady Dalrymple, but beyond that Sera had not a clue who else milled about the box.
She hadn’t followed a single word of dialogue through the first act, having only realized the start of intermission when Victoria pressed close and whispered in her ear.
Confusion muddled Lottie’s green eyes. “I thought Mrs. Waywroth already offered you the instructress position. Monday last, you said.”
“I did say so.” Her fingers wrapped knuckle by knuckle around the stem of her fan. “Because she did offer.”
Victoria wrinkled her nose. “I’m afraid I don’t understand this employment business. Is that allowed? To rescind an offer like that?”
“She may do whatever she likes.” Frustration wrapped coils about Sera’s body, squeezing every muscle. If she tried to move, her bones would crack into ash.
She knew what had happened. Fletcher Thomas, that’s what. Somehow he’d prevented Mrs. Waywroth from hiring her because Sera refused to continue accepting his bounty.
“It’s simply not fair.” Lottie spoke across her, directing the words at Victoria.
“If she wishes to work, she should be afforded the opportunity.” Victoria accompanied the statement with a decisive nod, then looked past Sera to offer her fiancé a wan smile. Lord Ashby hovered at the back of the booth looking as bored as humanly possible while still breathing. A handsome man, his dark hair and eyes were a credit to generations of patrician matches. He wouldn’t look fondly at all upon his fiancée if he knew she regularly agitated for women’s suffrage.
Lottie’s wide smile lit her elfin features. “I have it! I can pay you to take over more duties at my society. You already teach the etiquette classes. You can simply add a few more tasks. I must admit I’m getting a touch bored with the endeavor.”
Lottie ran a social club of sorts for underprivileged factory girls. In exchange for etiquette and elocution lessons, they agreed to attend a certain number of social functions with eligible bachelors, most of them clerks or factory managers.
As much as Sera enjoyed occasionally offering lessons, she shook her head immediately. “I couldn’t work for you. You’d drive me mad. What I value in a friend would make me take a parasol to your head in an employer.”
“Our Lottie could do with a good knock to the head now and then,” Victoria added in a prim voice.
In lieu of her usual gesture of sticking out her tongue, Lottie faintly crossed her eyes. “What will you do instead?”
“I don’t know.” Sera gave into the impulse to rub at the pain pinching the bridge of her nose. “Likely look for someone who needs a companion. Victoria, that’s something about which your assistance would be appreciated.”
She patted Sera’s hand. “Consider it done. I’ll even endeavor to find you someone who’s fun, so you’re not locked in a parlor reading Bible verses all day.”
“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to express how much I appreciate you both.” With a cooling breath she forced back the tears prickling her eyes.
Lord Ashby loomed above them. “Can I get you ladies some refreshment?”
Victoria turned up her rounded face and beamed. “Do you think they might have pomegranate punch? I would adore such.”
Lord Ashby didn’t even blink at her ridiculous request. He never did, no matter how far Victoria pushed him. “I don’t believe so. Would you like some champagne instead?”
“That sounds wonderful, Your Grace,” Sera interjected before Victoria could continue her baiting. At the moment she had no patience to watch her friend’s games. She waited for the duke’s wide back to slip out the door of the theater box before continuing. “You should stop.”
Not even the slightest hint of regret passed over Victoria’s beatific features. “I give him what he expects and he leaves me alone. If his idea of womanly pursuits and mine do not dovetail, so much the worse for him.”
Before Sera could chastise her friend any further, a curious weight settled across her collarbones. The tiny hairs at the back of her neck clawed upright as if she were being watched. Though it had been a long time since she’d felt hunted in such a manner, she knew how to respond. She quieted herself and made a surreptitious appraisal of the theater.
No one in the box watched her. She turned her look outward, across the sea of less fortunate theatergoers who occupied seats in the main house. No faces turned up toward her.
Across the way was another matter. In a tiny jewel of a theater box, a man watched her.
Digger.
No, he was Digger no longer. Not to her and not to anyone else. He was Fletcher Thomas.
He stood half-concealed by the crimson velvet hangings that separated each group, entirely apart from the rest of those occupying the box. His wide shoulders filled out the black and white evening dress with aplomb, not a stitch out of place. A hugely gaudy jewel winked from his cravat.
Yet he seemed more dangerous and wild than the lion she’d once seen at a traveling circus exhibit. That beast had stared back at Sera. The whole time she’d known it only remained behind the rickety fence by its own will. When it decided to break free, its roar would herald her doo
m.
Though the distance was too great to see the pale blue of his eyes, he watched her. He even had the audacity to tip his chin in a nod. One side of his mouth bent into that half smile he’d used in his parlor three days earlier.
Sera became angry. No, more than that—she was incandescently furious. Her fingertips tingled with the need to do harm. Her stomach wound into a sickly bundle. Sweat sprang up at the back of her neck. She would not sit there and allow him to continue such scrutiny.
She launched to her feet suddenly and without grace. The short train of her gown caught a chair leg as she turned. “Please, pardon me for a moment. I need air.”
To see Lottie’s wide mouth flatten with concern was unusual but heartening. “What’s wrong?”
Sera forced herself to shake her head. If her friends went with her, she’d likely end up venting and the venting would soon lead to screaming. “I’m fine. I only need a trip to the withdrawing room.”
“Would you like us to go with you?”
“No, that’s quite all right.”
It took entirely too long to cross the tiny box. Victoria’s aunt, Lady Dalrymple, was half asleep in her chair next to the door. The ostrich feathers in her headdress bobbed along with each snuffling snore.
Theatergoers crowded the hallway. Breath and heat and musky smells pressed in on her from all sides. Away from the surge of people headed toward the refreshments, she exited toward the quiet, empty hallways leading to the exits.
Near a curtained alcove she stopped, not wanting to venture much farther and risk censure for roving without a chaperone. She flattened a hand against the wallpaper. The flocking snagged softly against her glove. She bent her neck and dragged in heavy breaths. Life had been so much simpler a few days ago. She’d known her place. The charity case. The probable by-blow. But she’d also known how to continue in a respectable mien.
Now she was lost.
An arm reached through the curtains and wrapped around her waist. With a yank, she was pulled into the dark. Panic flooded her veins. She opened her mouth to scream.
A hand covered her mouth. A heavy, large and undoubtedly male body pressed along her back. His chest burned into her shoulders and his arm lay warm across collarbones bared by her low-cut evening gown. Fear overwhelmed her, but only until she smelled a spicy wash of familiar soap.
The fingers across her mouth loosened but still didn’t release. He leaned over her, speaking quietly into her ear. “It’s me. If I release you, do you promise not to scream?”
Fletcher’s breath sent shivers down her neck. She only resented him more for it.
Regrettably, screaming for the pure unadulterated joy of it was not an option. Even if it were acceptable to release one’s anger in such a fishwife manner, she’d only get him in trouble and risk her own reputation.
Finally, she nodded.
His hand slid away. Each finger dragged across her skin. Tingles washed over her.
Sera turned and pressed her back to the wall, but the reflexive retreat didn’t gain her much room. The alcove was little more than a curtain concealing a doorway. He loomed too near, taking up the precious air with his vitality. His mouth was a hard slash of darkness amid more gray. The tiny streams of light that arrowed around the edges of the curtain only accentuated the shadows draping his body.
The first thing that popped into her mind then fell out of her mouth. “You were in the Earl of Linsley’s box.”
Somehow he managed to infuse arrogance in a single nod. “That I was. Are you surprised?”
She slid her hands behind her back, the better to hide their nervous twisting. The rear seam of her bodice abraded her knuckles. “In all honesty, yes. You said you’d taken over your father’s interests. I didn’t think Linsley was the type to…dabble.”
“He’s not. More woe to me for it.” He rubbed a hand across the top of his head. “It might be easier to crack his consortium if he were,” he muttered, so low that Sera barely heard him.
“Consortium?”
“Railroad.” He waved a hand. “No matter. I’ve come to find out if you’ll take the money.”
She narrowed her eyes but saw him no better for it. She’d pay the entirety of the sum to read his expression. “Did you intimidate Mrs. Waywroth in some manner?”
He flattened his hand against the wall next to her head and leaned near. “Define intimidate.”
“To frighten or scare in any manner.”
The air pressed close. If she breathed too deeply, she’d brush against him. “Do I seem like a man who could intimidate, Seraphina?”
She swiped her tongue across her lips as she tried to see past the shadows and memories. He was different now. Not the boy she’d once known. Despite that, she couldn’t help but wonder at his true motivations. Why pay for years of schooling for a girl he’d known for a matter of months? He’d taken her from the gutters and designed his own lady. But why?
For the price he’d paid, there was no telling what repayment he expected.
“If it served your purposes, I think intimidation is well within your purview.”
His head lowered farther, until her world narrowed to the wash of his breath across her jawbone. “And your precious Mrs. Waywroth? Do you think I said frightening things to her?”
“I don’t think you had to.” She refused to show her fear by running away, but her shoulders pressed more firmly against the wall. Anything to sublimate the urge she had to touch him. The wallpaper was cold against the nape of her neck, bared by the meticulously intricate hairstyle Victoria’s maid had created. “I imagine it was an endowment. For the library, perhaps?”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your ability to look within people.” The darkness prevented her from seeing his hand move, but she certainly felt it. A whisper of motion along the outside of her arm. The shock of touch.
“And you? Am I supposed to be able to look within you?”
The barest hint of a chuckle colored his rich voice. “I certainly hope not.”
“I think you want to live an honest life, Fletcher Thomas. It’s why you’re here tonight.”
He pushed away suddenly. The swirl of air left in his wake sent gooseflesh chasing across her bare shoulders. “You think so, do you? How do you know I’m not simply here to intimidate you instead?”
“It wouldn’t make sense. Dragging me into this hidey-hole was unexpected. No way to plan for it.” A stray beam of light sliced across his cravat and the emerald stickpin holding it in place. “You’re here to woo the earl. I’m sorry to say I don’t believe it’s going well.”
“What a feisty little kitten you’ve become. All big eyes and fluffy fur and sneaky, spiky claws.”
Satisfaction loosened her twisted nerves. She’d regained an even playing field, if not the upper hand. “Then let me continue. You wish to participate in this railroad consortium. Lord Linsley is willing to indulge you to an extent, likely because of his wife. She enjoys dabbling with the lower ranks, pretending she lives on the edge. But really, you’re too much of an unknown. He won’t allow you more than the taste of a possibility.”
“He’d do well to have my backing,” Fletcher growled. “The consortium is teetering for lack of solid investment. His man of business has built a house of cards. One wrong flick and I could send it tumbling down around him.”
“But you won’t.” Her mind clicked, shuffling through the possibilities like a wind-up automaton. “Do you intend to destroy every possible opportunity I have for gainful occupation?”
The sudden change of topic didn’t seem to confuse him in the least. “It certainly crossed my mind.” His voice had returned to the silky purr he’d used while leaning over her ear. With a rustle of linen and wool, he shifted and crossed his arms.
“Until I agree to take your money.”
“If that’s what’s required. I’ve made it my mission to ensure you’re a lady. You will not work. It would be much simpler if you agreed now to take it.”
; His father had been the same sort of ruthless man, the type who would push and hurt and crush others within his grasp until he got what he wanted. If Fletcher possessed even a quarter that determination, he would succeed in his aims, but not before forcing them into a battle that would eventually gain society’s attention.
Thus she could anticipate nothing but idleness, with no funds to support herself unless she agreed. He’d yank the pins out from under her life, just like his cruel father had manipulated everyone around him. That had been Mama’s reason for leaving Mac Thomas’s employ, and the exact same reason she’d tried to return. When she couldn’t hold the pieces of their lives together on her own, she succumbed to his control.
They’d both died.
“I’ll agree,” she blurted out.
Fletcher pushed off the wall, and his triumph was a palpable taste in the air.
She held up a hand. “On one condition.”
Fletcher had expected she’d fold eventually. Most people did, no matter their protests. Where the money came from mattered less than keeping Sera’s hands pure and white. They all had a price.
But a small measure of surprise at her quick capitulation swirled through him.
No matter. He hated to see investments go bad, and that’s exactly what she was. After the expensive school and dresses he’d financed, he refused to watch from afar as she put herself to work as some teaching drudge. He had bigger plans for their future.
By the time she affected his entrée into good society as his wife, the taint of his early money would be long gone.
“Go ahead,” he said.
“Really, it’s more of a bargain than a condition.”
Settling back on his heels, he leaned more firmly against the wall. This could take a while. “Whatever you’d like to term it doesn’t matter much to me.”
“I will help enable you to take part in this railroad consortium. In return, I’ll permit you to settle on me whatever amount you wish.”
The laugh that rolled through his chest was more surprise than real humor. “You’ll enable me, will you? How exactly do you intend to manage that?”
Wayward One Page 4