She wheeled around to flee.
Holdsworth’s leering face flashed to mind. The glimmer in his brown eyes, the feral grin on his lips, a ruthless smile that spoke to her future if she failed to do this deed. To not climb the Duke of Blackthorne’s steps and demand this post would result in her becoming whore to some other. Or worse...
Failure to comply would destroy what remained of Lily’s living spirit and she’d not be destroyed again at another man’s hands. Squaring her shoulders, she turned back and started forward. Unlike that proverb uttered so many times by her father during her youth, she’d rather face the devil she did not know.
Lily stopped beside the black wood door. Or in this case, the beast she did not know. She lifted a hand and knocked.
...Surely you did not believe I would marry you...
The door opened almost instantly cutting into the memory of George’s mocking laughter. A younger butler with warm eyes stared back. His chestnut hair tousled and his cheeks flushed, the flustered man appeared to be near his thirtieth year. “May I help you?” Out of breath, as though he’d run a great distance, he spoke with far more kindness than owed a stranger. Particularly one who’d shown up by hired hackney, no less.
She drew in a breath. “I—”
“Please come down,” a young woman cajoled, momentarily distracting Lily. She tipped her head and the evil deeds that brought her here this day forgotten, she leaned curiously around.
The butler promptly pulled the door in her face, just as it had been shut years earlier. Lily shot a hand out to stay that movement, but he merely closed it enough to block her view of the unfolding tableau at his back. She braced for icy contempt. Instead, the servant shot another quick glance over his shoulder and then returned his focus to Lily. “Miss?” he asked.
After her years with Sir Henry’s nasty servants, she’d come to expect they were all as condescending and cold as the gentlemen and ladies they worked for.
She opened her mouth, when shouts went up behind the man. The color leeched from his cheeks and he looked back. Lily followed his stare and caught the trace of a small girl before she then dashed down the hall. “Miss?” he prodded.
“My name is Mi–Mrs. Benedict,” she swiftly amended. After all, there was a certain respectability afforded those women with a proper form of address before their names. Lily set her valise down. “I am here regarding the position of governess.”
The servant cocked his head.
According to Holdsworth, and now also by the chaos enfolding on the other side of that wooden panel, the position of nursery governess was open to applicants. “I am here to speak with the Duke of Blackthorne about the post,” she said on a rush. Once more, she stuck her hand out, braced for the door to shut in her face.
Except, the duke’s butler scratched his puzzled brow and then motioned her inside.
Lily stood unblinking, with the curious stares trained on her back by passersby, and then, before the servant realized the folly in his hasty admittance, swept her valise up and sailed inside. The eerie familiarity of it all chilled her. Her insides twisted with a rush of a long-buried terror as the sense of stepping back in time sucked away all logic and thought. Wordlessly, she set the worn cloth bag that had traveled from Carlisle to London on her hellish road to ruin down next to her. Which merely served to draw the butler’s attention to her feet. And her bag. And the obvious fact that no woman simply interviewing for a post would arrive with the entire contents of her life contained within a worn valise.
Lily mustered a long-practiced smile and loosened her bonnet strings. She tugged it free and several stubborn curls popped loose of her artful chignon. Her actions served the necessary purpose. The butler stared transfixed, his attention shifted away from the damnable sack between them. “The duke,” she said again on a soft whisper. “I am here to see His Grace.” Guilt needled at her conscience for this underhanded scheme Sir Henry’s son would embroil her in. I am just as guilty...
He jerked his gaze to her face. “Were you sent by the duke’s man-of-affairs?”
With all the sins she’d added to her list in life, lying had not been one of them, until now. Unable to utter more lies to the mountain she’d build in this household, she allowed her smile to serve as an answer that wasn’t an answer.
“Of course, of course,” he said and inclined his head. He motioned with a hand and a young footman seemed to materialize out of the shadows. The liveried servant came forward and collected her bonnet.
Holdsworth, the man complicit with her in this crime, had indicated the duke did not have a large staff and, yet, here in this opulent foyer she’d already met two members of his household. She steadied her trembling fingers. What had she expected, a duke to have no maids and footmen? No, there would likely be plenty of eyes about to take in people lurking within the household to steal from under his ducal nose. The young footman looked between Lily and the butler.
Her cheeks warming, Lily gave her head a clearing shake and shrugged out of her cloak. She turned the garment over to the man’s hands. The young man rescued her valise and a protest formed on her lips. That piece served as the last link to her innocence and childhood...and more—her family. She’d not been parted from it in nearly eight years. There was something poignant and painful in entrusting it to these strangers.
“Mrs. Benedict, if you’ll allow me to accompany you to your rooms?” He motioned her to follow.
Her mind raced. She’d allowed him his erroneous conclusion that she’d been sent here by the duke’s employer. And yet, in order to set up a temporary place in this household, she at least required a position granted by the new Duke of Blackthorne.
“Mrs. Benedict?” the butler asked, a question in those two words.
“I daresay I would appreciate an audience with His Grace beforehand.” After all, there was the whole matter of requesting a position on his small staff.
She’d have to be blind to fail to see the look that passed between the footman and butler.
A slight frown formed on the butler’s lips. “I am afraid His Grace is not receiving visitors.” Hmm. Not receiving visitors. “You will find that His Grace welcomes his privacy and does not care to be disturbed.”
“Well, I am not really a visitor, though, am I?” She raised an eyebrow. “Mr....?”
He gulped. “Harris.” His voice emerged as a high croak.
“Harris,” she murmured. Lily sidled closer to him. “Surely His Grace will not begrudge me an introduction.” She smiled at the wide-eyed footman, then turned back to Harris as she toyed with one curl.
The butler dipped his gaze downward and the column of his throat worked as he stared, transfixed. Then... he cleared his throat. “I am afraid he is not receiving guests or visitors, including members of his staff,” he said evenly. He inclined his head. “If you will allow me to lead you to your rooms?”
Oh, well blast and double blast. He’d rush her above stairs where she’d wait in her rooms, until the duke discovered she’d wheedled her way into his home. Then she’d have no hope of being granted any position.
Lily tugged free her gloves and dusted them together. “I am eager to begin in my role of caring for the duke’s ward. The sooner I can,” find that blasted gem and be done here, “ascertain what is expected of me and review my responsibilities, the sooner I can begin caring for Lady Flora.”
The man shifted back and forth on his feet and looked to the hovering footman as though in support of some decision. Unspoken words passed between those two and then the head of His Grace’s household capitulated. “P-Perhaps, a very brief meeting.”
She smiled. “Splendid.” And the sooner she could acquaint herself with The Beast of Blackthorne, the sooner he would become more man than monster—and as such, a person not to be feared.
Lily turned her gloves over to the footman with murmured thanks and then quickly fell into step behind Harris. As they made their way through the duke’s townhouse, her satin slippers padded q
uietly over the white marble floor. With the cold penetrating the soles of her delicate shoes, she kept her gaze forward. For with each step down this same corridor she’d stolen down as a girl, her cries echoed off these walls. To keep from giving in to the horror of the night, she looked to the details that had previously escaped her about this home; the lavish wealth reflected in the fripperies adorning the walls.
Her previous two residences could have both fit comfortably within the palatial home of the Duke of Blackthorne. Gold sconces lined the corridors. Gilt frames of country landscapes and ducal ancestors hung upon walls done in satin wallpaper. Still, for all their wealth, they’d turned a young woman out, without a care for her safety or survival into the streets. That old, healthy hatred drove back the indecision in being here. With each step she took, bitterness burned her throat as if she’d downed a glass of acid.
They turned right at the end of the hall and continued on. A long, Chippendale table flush against the wall with an immense, gold urn filled with white flowers slowed her steps. As they moved on past it, she shot a glance over her shoulder at the stark white lilies filling that piece; the irony not lost upon her. This was the home of the man who’d ruined her. What was the sin of wishing the late Duke of Blackthorne to wither in hell for his crimes, considering all the others to come before it?
While he’d lived, his life had been filled with urns of flowers and crystal chandeliers and carpeted floors, and hers had been one of uncertainty until Sir Henry saved her from certain death. Saved her. From maid to mistress in but two years in the man’s employ. How many days had she thought the latter alternative would have been preferable?
The butler drew to a slow halt at the end of the corridor and she froze, looking questioningly up at him. He eyed her with a somber expression and when he spoke, she strained to hear his whispered words. “Mrs. Benedict,” he said in hushed tones. “It is my fear once you...meet His Grace that you will turn and leave just as the previous governesses have.”
She’d likely wish that, but desperation drove people to recklessness. She could no sooner leave this household than she could support herself without two coins on a cold winter’s day in London. The look Harris gave her indicated he expected some form of response. “I assure you, Harris, I am not weak-hearted and I do not frighten easily.” That was, at the very least, true. She was a woman who’d survived on her own since sixteen, with no skills to recommend her. And in a world where women either perished or sold their souls to survive, she’d not perished.
He gave an approving nod. “I hope for Lady Flora that is the case.” Doubt reflected in his eyes. “For you see, he is...”
She wanted to shout for him to conclude that sentence. “He is what?” she gently prodded, needing to know as much as she could to prepare her for the beast she’d call employer. The man she’d steal from to avenge the wrongs committed by his kin. And at last, she’d have that freedom she’d hungered for from the moment she’d been turned away from this very townhouse.
Harris went stone-faced. “You shall see for yourself, Mrs. Benedict.” The cryptic edge to his tone raised the gooseflesh along her arms.
The young butler motioned her forward and she silently followed. Her palms damp in dreaded anticipation of the meeting, she discreetly dusted them along the side of her skirts. Then, in the manner taught by her mama years and years earlier, she folded her hands demurely before her and prepared to face The Beast.
Harris raised a hand to knock and froze; his fingers poised a hairsbreadth from the door. His pronounced Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared at the door. Unsettled nerves temporarily forgotten, she cast a glance up at the tall, slender servant. With his lips moving as if in silent prayer, he rapped once on the wood panel.
An unexpected silence met his knock.
Lily furrowed her brow. Perhaps the man was not here. She unclasped her hands and drummed the tips of her fingers together. If he was anything like George, he was even now out at his clubs, taking his pleasures where he would.
The butler rapped again.
“Bloody hell, Harrison, you have orders not to disturb me.”
At that thunderous boom, Lily jumped. Heart pounding, she swung her gaze from the pale butler to the door and then once more to Harris. What manner of man was the new duke to yell at his servants so? This man who could not be bothered to know or use their correct names?
The column of Harris’ throat moved with the force of his swallow. With the pallor of a man who’d downed a plate of spoiled oysters, he gave her an effortful grin that was more grimace than anything else. “I-it is Harris, Your Grace, and there is a visitor—”
“I don’t give a bloody hell if it is the damn Queen of England for tea and biscuits. Do not darken my door.”
She stared unblinking at that door. This was George’s brother? This foul-mouthed, mannerless brute? A more rational, sensible woman would be fearful of the beast that dwelled on the other side. The woman who’d given her virtue over to a shameless cad, who’d pledged marriage and then, instead, found herself a permanent position in an old man’s bed, however, was long past fearing a snarling, petulant duke.
The muscles of his face contorting as though in physical pain, Harris looked at her. He held his palms up and gave a dismayed shake of his head. He tried once more with his employer. “I-it is about the g—”
“If you say it is about the girl, I’ll have you hung by your ballocks.”
Oh, that was really enough. Following her fall from grace, she’d been demeaned by all; including this man’s abhorrent family. She’d not tolerate such treatment in another. Lily reached past the butler and, ignoring his shocked gasp, she pressed the handle.
Locked. She wrinkled her brow. Humph. Well, she’d not anticipated that. Lily tried again.
“Harrison, if you jiggle my goddamn handle once more, I’ll remove your hand from your body, myself.”
A small giggle cut into the end of the duke’s vile speech and Lily whipped her head to the right. A little girl in white skirts stood at the end of the hall. The widening of her cornflower blue eyes held shock at being discovered. Then the giggling imp ducked back behind the wall and disappeared.
Lily gave her head a shake. What manner of place is this? Angry, shouting men. Giggling, unattended children, and those same unattended children giggling at the shouting, angry men? Poor Harris. The man appeared one more outburst from the duke away from casting up his morning’s accounts. Alas, she should have learned long ago from her own experience that ordinary people were capable of extraordinary courage.
“It is about the girl.” The butler’s words emerged as a high-squeak.
A flurry of black curses, the scrape of a chair, and then an odd thump-thump-thump met Harris’ pronouncement. And this time, Lily did know fear. Belated fear, but tangible and very real, akin to the terror that plagued her all those years ago. An ugly dread turned within her and she dug around inside for the strength and courage she’d cloaked herself in after she’d been hurled into the rain-soaked streets. The lock turned and position of governess aside, she opened her mouth to give the foul-tempered lout the dressing down he deserved for terrifying his servants.
“You should...” The words ended a whispery death as the door opened. A chill stole through her.
The beast on the other side drew the door back all the way and with that action, momentarily presented the whole of his scarred visage. “I instructed you to not darken my goddamn door,” the duke snarled.
Lily swallowed hard, as all the blood drained from her face, seeped down her immobile frame, and then dripped out her toes. The Beast. This is why they called the new duke a beast. More than half a foot taller than her own five feet seven inches, his broad and powerfully muscular form would inspire fear in most for his sheer size and strength alone.
His Grace shifted and that slight movement obscured half of his face.
This was the new Duke of Blackthorne? The boy and then young man she’d caught glimpses of during his in
frequent summer visits to Carlisle bore no resemblance to this menacing beast. All reason for being here fled when presented with the terrifying more monster than man before her.
He flicked a frosty, ducal glance up and down her form and then his gaze grew shuttered. And Lily proved she was more coward than courageous, for she sank back as His Grace turned his fury on the poor, quaking servant at her side. “Did I not indicate I was not to be bothered?” His words may as well have been wrapped in icy steel for the coldness of them.
“Y-yes, Your Grace.” Harris gave a jerky nod. “But—”
“And did I not say to leave my bloody door alone?”
“Y-yes.” The servant slid his gaze over to Lily and then returned his focus to the duke. “But it is about the g—” The man swallowed audibly, and flushed red. “That is, Mrs. Benedict is here regarding the post of governess to Lady Flora,” he amended.
Through their exchange, Lily took in the coolly disdainful man she intended to commit theft against and ice thickened her veins. This was the devil’s lair and in being here, she played with fire. Were she to be discovered in this dark act, he’d destroy her. Then, haven’t I already been destroyed in all the ways that matter?
The duke took a step toward Harris and Lily involuntarily retreated. His black, palpable rage, however, was reserved solely for the poor servant who’d roused his fury. Well, technically she had roused his fury. But... “Get. The. Hell. Away. From. My. Door.” Again, he passed his hard stare over Lily.
She detested her slight audible intake of breath; that ever so slight indication of her fear. By God, she’d not be so disdained by a Winters again. Not allowing him the luxury of unsettling her, at least openly anyway, Lily tipped her chin up.
Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) Page 6