“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.”
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.<
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“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. She’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...
“If I grant you the post, you will have no fine garments,” he warned. He flicked the slight puffed sleeve of her satin gown and she stiffened. Then his words registered and hope blossomed in her breast. Despite his taunting words and warnings, a giddy sensation ran through her. He would grant her the post! “There will be no lavish jewels and balls to attend with a mere girl.” Even as a mistress, she’d not attended balls. Her protector had given her food, a place to dwell, but there had been no funds for baubles. “You will be a mere servant in this household.” He’d erroneously assumed she was a lady whose family was in dire straits.
“I know that,” she said calmly. If she let on a trace of the elation filling her, he’d toss her out without a backward glance.
The duke stared hard at her and for one terrifying, agonizing moment, it was as though he could see all the sins stamped on her skin. Then he said; “You are to be invisible. You are not to darken my door. I do not even want you in these corridors. You are to keep the child away from this hall and in her schoolrooms or nursery or....” He waved the bottle in his hand about. “Wherever it is children go. Can you do that?”
Emotion pounded at her breast, numbing her to the sentiment she’d thought long dead—hope. He would allow her to remain! “I can.” A woman who’d done everything Lily had in order to survive could certainly handle a seven- or eight-year-old child. Failure would not be an option in this regard.
His Grace set the decanter down hard. “Very well,” he said in his aloof, ducal tones.
Yet for his shocking capitulation, she’d become suspect of any hints of uncharacteristic weakness in people. Those individuals, usually males, expected more in return. As he limped back to his desk, she called out. “Why would you do this?”
With the same regality of the Prince Regent claiming his throne, the duke sat in his leather winged back chair. Between his large, gloved hands, he cradled his drink. “Would you talk me from my decision?”
She was struck by how unwittingly close to the mark his rejoinder, in fact, was. For deep down, the part of her that was still good and decent chafed with the act of theft she intended to commit against this man—kin of George or no. Unable to form words past the guilt clogging her throat, she gave her head a shake.
“There is the matter of your payment.”
My payment. Lily stiffened and, reflexively, her fingers tightened along the arms of the chair. “And what form of payment do you expect?” she managed to squeeze out past tight lips. Ultimately all these powerful men wanted but one thing of her.
“Expect?” he drawled.
Lily folded her arms protectively at her chest and glared. Invariably, they all asked for more and that more, inevitably, entailed the use of her body.
His Grace sipped from his brandy, all the while keeping that sole, ice blue eye on her. He ran his gaze up and down her person. “I am uncertain of the other employers you’ve had before this post, but I assure you, I do not have designs upon your person, Miss Bennett.”
Those jeering words were, no doubt, intended as an insult. They had the opposite effect. The tension left her. “My name is Mrs. Benedict, and—” She promptly closed her mouth. Coward as she was, she slid her gaze away from the contemptuous sneer on his lips. How much greater that contempt would be if he knew she’d lain with his brother and then whored herself in the time since. Self-loathing unfurled in her belly. Unnerved by his presence, she shifted in her seat. “Have we concluded this meeting, Your Grace? I am eager to...” Escape. “Begin in my post.”
He stared at her through thick, impossibly long, black lashes. A little fluttering danced in her belly. His was the beauty of darkly fallen angels, who’d tempt a lady out of her good name and virtue. Both of which she’d long been without. That satin black patch covering the remnants of his other eye gave him a sinister, dangerous quality. Then, he inclined his head. She drew in a steadying breath, stood up, and started for the door.
She made it no further than the leather sofa.
“Mrs. Benedict?”
Lily froze and remained with her gaze trained on the doorway. He knows. He knows I am the whore who gave her innocence to his brother and came here even now on a plan to fleece him of his diamond. She turned slowly back. “Your Grace?”
The young duke leaned back. “How very peculiar you do not wish to discuss the terms of your employment.”
Actually, she hadn’t. Since she’d entered the Duke of Blackthorne’s home, she’d not truly allowed herself to
think to this moment. She’d grown so accustomed to the world saying no, she’d forgotten the universe still had an occasional yes for her. She cursed her misstep. For all the ways in which life and time had aged her, she’d never developed the skill of prevarication. If she weren’t more careful, it would land her in Newgate.
He winged a menacing black eyebrow upward.
Lily’s mind turned quickly. What did a woman require in terms of funds, in order to live secure and safe for the remainder of her years? “Forty pounds per year of service,” she blurted. That ridiculous sum was nearly triple the funds given to a woman in the respective position. Yet, those monies could be, nay would be, set aside for her future. Guilt needled at her, for ultimately when she made off with his coin, she’d also be gone with Holdsworth’s heirloom.
“Forty pounds per year?” His harsh, gravelly question caused her to jump.
Her future wasn’t something she’d allowed herself to think on or about, for the absolute grimness of such a prospect. In failing to acknowledge or confront that inevitable problem, with Sir Henry’s passing, she found herself humbled before another stranger, and now this man. What a cruel world women dwelled in. After living a life in chains of Society’s constraints and her own making, the tantalizing glimpse of freedom hovered just within her grasp. She squared her shoulders. “And a pension of five hundred pounds when I’ve completed my terms of service to Her Ladyship.” She braced for his blunt rejection of her outlandish requests, which mattered not. In the end, she’d be gone long before that pension was ever granted.
The duke downed the remaining contents of his glass. He set it down hard before him. “Very well.” He rose effortlessly from his chair.
He’d agreed? She followed his movements as he crossed over, serpent cane in hand, and rang the servant’s bell. “Very well?” she repeated back dumbly. He’d agreed to those terms. All of them? With no questions asked and from the woman who’d made demands upon him, no less. And with the respectable position he offered, for a foolish instant, she imagined abandoning Holdsworth’s plans and living here, with the Devil and all.
Rescued By a Lady's Love (Lords of Honor, #3) Page 8