“I cannot believe I have finally found you, Emmeline. After all this time.”
Up close, the stranger’s features were uncommonly handsome—angular, chiseled, and decisively classic. He carried himself with a military bearing Isabella found both intriguing and intimidating. He did not openly threaten her, yet she had the distinct feeling he was holding himself in tight control.
As the stranger continued to regard her with a ruthless expression on his darkly handsome face, Isabella felt the hair on the nape of her neck raise. There was something dark and dangerous about this man. Everything about him seemed hard, unyielding and determined.
“I . . . I am sorry,” Isabella stammered, annoyed at allowing a tremor to slip into her voice. “As I previously informed you, sir, you have me confused with someone else.”
The stranger cocked his dark head slightly to one side. A stray lock of midnight-black curls fell onto his forehead. It made him look even more dangerous.
“Come now, Emmeline,” he responded in his deep voice. “Is that is all you have to say to me after two long years?”
He took another step forward, and Isabella had the distinct impression he was having to restrain himself from taking hold of her. Instinctively she stepped backward. The stranger halted instantly when he saw her hasty withdrawal.
Damien St. Lawrence held his breath as he glared in mute astonishment at the women standing before him. It took every ounce of military training and discipline he possessed to control the desperate urge he felt to rush at Emmeline, grab her by the shoulders, and shake her until her teeth rattled. But the earl would not succumb to his baser desires. Silently, methodically, he cautioned himself to be very, very careful. He did not want to startle Emmeline. Now that he had finally cornered her, the last thing Damien wanted was for his victim to bolt.
The earl continued to observe her beneath hooded eyes, his face lined with hawkish determination. Damien could barely credit what his eyes told him. After all this time, here was Emmeline, standing calmly in front of him, denying she knew him. Hadn’t he just been telling Jenkins he believed she was alive?
Damien had been drawn to her slender cloaked figure the moment he entered the small park. Drinking brandy with Jenkins into the wee hours of the morning had left Damien feeling numb and lightheaded, and he sought the fresh air to clear his head. After riding his favorite stallion through the streets of London, the earl stopped at the small park to rest his horse. And then he saw her.
At first the earl had been unsure it was Emmeline. Perhaps it was a trick of the morning sunlight or the effects of too much brandy. Damien continued observing the mysterious woman from a distance, with each passing minute becoming more and more convinced it was indeed his wife who stood a few hundred yards away. Finally he approached her, and when he stared fully into the woman’s beautiful, deceitful face, the earl knew Emmeline was alive.
Of course, his wife had changed. The changes were subtle, yet noticeable. Her fair complexion was paler than he remembered and her nose looked smaller, her mouth fuller. She was dressed as Damien had never seen her before, demurely, almost somberly, in a long, loose-fitting navy blue coat and a matching bonnet that completely hid her glorious auburn curls.
Well, she could change her clothes and her hairstyle, but there was one thing Emmeline could not change about her appearance. Her extraordinary violet eyes. Damien had never seen their like before. And he stared ruthlessly into them now.
She returned his hard glare with a mixture of barely concealed confusion and fear, but Damien understood her reaction. After two years he hardly expected Emmeline to politely greet him. She was probably as shocked to see him as he was to see her. And she was determined to deny her true identity. But again, Damien was not surprised. Emmeline had gone to a tremendous amount of trouble to “die” two years ago. He hardly expected her to so easily give up her masquerade.
Before Damien could question her further, a young boy’s cry shattered the turbulent atmosphere flaring between them.
“The children!” Isabella shouted in genuine alarm.
Dismissing the disturbing stranger, Isabella turned and raced down the embankment towards the pond.
She reached the edge of the water just in time to save Caroline from being pushed into the small lake by her brother.
“Caroline is cheating!” Robert shrieked in a high voice. “She said her stick won, but it was my stick that crossed the line first.” He stamped his foot in anger and lunged for his sister.
Isabella thrust her hand out automatically to intercept the blows Robert aimed at Caroline. His young face was twisted in a mask of rage. “You will control yourself at once, Robert!” Isabella admonished in her sternest voice. “Your behavior is thoroughly disgraceful.”
Caroline and Guinevere began sobbing loudly, frightened by Isabella’s tone and the physical violence exhibited by their younger brother. Isabella managed to subdue the girls with a threat to cancel all outings to the park for the next two weeks. The girls sniveled noisily, but ceased their howling and Isabella focused her attention on young Robert.
She held the struggling child tightly by his collar, at arm’s length, in an attempt to keep him from physically harming either her or himself. She shook him once, forcing his head back, and watched with relief as the blazing anger began to slowly recede from his blue eyes.
As the child once again regained control of his raging emotions, Isabella congratulated herself on adhering to her conviction not to use physical punishment to control intolerable conduct. Robert had tested her sorely on that point over the months, but so far she had not given in to the temptation to strike him. She was pleased to see him master his anger so quickly. Now if she could only prevent him from becoming so distraught in the first place, she would feel she had made real progress.
“Is everything all right, Miss Browning?”
Isabella raised her head tentatively, experiencing a vast sense of relief when she gazed into the familiar face of Hodgson, the coachman. His watery brown eyes were filled with concern.
“Is everything all right?” The older man repeated his question when Isabella did not readily answer.
“Everything is fine, Mr. Hodgson,” Isabella assured the coachman. “The children have had a minor disagreement, but all is well.”
Isabella relaxed her grip and relinquished her tight hold on Robert’s shirt collar. She favored him with a stern, pointed stare. “Isn’t there something you wish to say to Caroline?”
The boy’s lower lip jutted out rebelliously, but after a few moments of tense silence, he muttered a somewhat ungracious apology to his sniveling sister.
It was not precisely the kind of apology Isabella felt was proper, but she was not about to press the point. She gathered the three children close to her and spoke to the coachman.
“I believe it is time for us to return home, Mr. Hodgson.”
“Yes, Miss Browning.” The coachman tipped his hat politely and began climbing the embankment toward the gravel path where the carriage awaited them. The children and Isabella followed close behind.
“And just where do you think you are going, Emmeline?”
Isabella groaned out loud at the sound of the now-familiar voice. Oh Lord, not him again, she thought with genuine dismay. The ruckus with Robert and the girls had momentarily distracted her from the stranger’s disturbing presence. He had not, unfortunately, forgotten about her.
Isabella could feel him walking closely behind her, but she waited until they reached the carriage before addressing him.
“As I have explained to you before, sir, I am not Emmeline,” she stated in a voice dripping with icy formality. Dismissing the stranger with a curt nod of her head, she deliberately turned her back on him and ushered the children into the carriage. Their young faces were shining brightly with curiosity, but they wisely did not question their governess.
Damien knew he had upset her. He did not miss the dark flush of anger on her cheeks, or the sparkle of annoyance
in her beautiful eyes. Emmeline has learned to control her temper much better these past few years, he noted wryly to himself. But angry or not, he was hardly going to allow Emmeline to simply walk away from him. The earl sprang into action the moment he saw her raise her foot to climb into the carriage. Moving swiftly, he blocked her entrance.
“You cannot possible think I will let you go so easily,” he said in a deliberately sarcastic tone.
He stood before her like a wall of granite. There was a challenging gleam in his steely gray eyes, a waiting look on the arrogant features of his handsome face. Isabella looked up at him and felt a cold fury sweep through her. She had been polite; she had been patient; she had been tolerant. Now she was furious.
“You have no choice but to let me go, sir,” she spat at him in a scathing tone, “since I am not, nor have I ever been called Emmeline. And furthermore, I strongly suggest you refrain from accosting innocent young women in broad daylight or you might find yourself arrested and locked up in Bedlam, which in my opinion is precisely where you belong!”
Damien felt a flicker of uncertainty. Was it possible he had made a mistake? He attempted to look more closely into the woman’s face, but she turned her head up to the driver. “Take us home at once, Hodgson,” she commanded.
Isabella put a firm hand on Damien’s sleeve and tried to push him out of her way. Her action startled the earl and in his confusion he unintentionally took a step back from the carriage. It was all the space Isabella needed. Seizing her opportunity, she jumped lithely into the carriage. Once inside she slammed the door loudly and determinedly pulled down the shade.
The earl turned a questioning eye to the older man who sat atop the box, holding the ribbons securely in his hand. “Are you in the lady’s employ?”
“The lady you are referring to is Miss Isabella Browning, my lord,” the servant answered readily. “Governess to the Braun family of Sparrow Court.” After responding to the earl’s s question, Hodgson flicked the reins and the coach moved forward.
Isabella felt a vast sense of relief when the coach finally pulled away, but the astonished expression on the handsome stranger’s face stayed with her on the short ride home. Try as she might, she could not shake the unsettling feeling this was not the last time she would see those steely gray eyes.
Chapter Three
The summons came before luncheon. Isabella glanced briefly at the potato soup, fenelle of fish, and fresh bread on her meal tray and sighed regretfully. Cook’s culinary skills were somewhat limited, and Isabella had learned the food was infinitely more palatable if eaten hot. She was certain that by the time her meeting with her employers was concluded, her meal would be ice cold and unappetizing.
Before leaving the room, Isabella paused a moment to check her appearance in the tiny cracked mirror hanging on the wall. Several strands of her rich chestnut hair had come loose and were curled charmingly around her face. She immediately brushed them back and readjusted her severe hairstyle.
Isabella studied the rigid face of the prim, straightlaced woman reflected in the glass, hardly believing she was looking at herself. Her life had taken a far different turn than she had ever imagined it would. She thought wistfully of the plans and dreams she had as a young girl, dreams of a loving husband and children of her own. Only by escaping to her fantasies had Isabella been able to survive the bitterness and hate her father directed toward her after her mother’s death.
Not her father, Isabella sharply reminded herself, her stepfather. Discovering eight years ago that Charles Browning was not her natural father had brought a ray of hope into her bleak world. On her seventeenth birthday, Charles Browning had told her the truth about her birth and then shipped her to her mother’s family in York. “I’ve done more than my share,” he said in a chilling voice. “Let your mother’s snotty family care for their daughter’s bastard.”
Charles Browning was hoping to wound Isabella with his revelations, but she did not react as he planned. She was happy to go. She firmly believed escaping from him was going to be the beginning of a new and wonderful life. At long last she would have her chance to be among a family who would love and cherish her.
But it was not to be. Though bearing little physical resemblance to her mother, Isabella nevertheless was a reminder of her mother’s disgrace, and her grandfather, the Earl of Barton, detested Isabella on sight. He chose to ignore her presence in his house and rarely spoke to her. Her two aunts, her mother’s older sisters, were married and occupied with their own families and expressed little interest in Isabella. Her grandfather’s sister, a formidable dowager who lived with the earl, was charged with supervising Isabella. The dowager, who was childless, resented Isabella and was not averse to showing her feelings.
Although the earl was a wealthy man, he was not generous with his granddaughter, and Isabella lived a miserly existence. In time she learned to swallow her disappointment and accepted the fact that she would never have a season in London. She hoped for an opportunity to be introduced into local. society, but after accompanying the dowager to a few minor social functions, Isabella realized there was no place in this elite circle for a young woman who was such an obvious embarrassment to her family.
When she reached the age of twenty, Isabella realized her dismal situation was not going to change unless she took drastic action. In a rash act, Isabella made an impassioned speech to her grandfather and great-aunt about assuming responsibility for her own destiny and announced she was leaving to take a position as a governess.
Secretly, she had hoped her grand gesture would somehow jolt her family into taking an interest in her future, or at the very least shame her grandfather into providing her with a modest income and a small dowry, but he, appeared vastly relieved to hear she was moving out of his house. Wounded, but not surprised, Isabella left, and her life as a governess began.
Isabella quickly discovered it was a tenuous existence. Technically she was an employee, but she was seldom treated as a servant. Yet she was not regarded as a member of the family either. As a governess it became necessary to learn to live somewhere between the two.
Her open nature and attractive person cost Isabella her first position. Lady Alcock did not approve of her, and when she realized that many of the young men calling at the house took more than a passing interest in the pretty young governess, she promptly dismissed Isabella.
Isabella learned from her mistakes. In her next post she took great pains to appear less attractive by wearing only modest gowns of dull colors. She also drew her hair back severely. This made her look older and more like hired help. Whenever she was called upon to supervise her charges in front of company, she always quietly removed herself to a corner of the room, taking precautions to avoid drawing any attention to herself.
The cool manner she adopted kept most of the young men at a distance. Yet the older males she chanced to encounter were more experienced, ignoring her when in the presence of others, but adept at catching her alone for a moment. Among gentlemen of society, governesses were considered fair game. It often amazed Isabella how normally civilized men could behave in such an uncivilized, boorish manner, especially when she told them in no uncertain terms that she was not interested in their scandalous propositions.
Isabella did not find all males repugnant, however. She was genuinely flattered by the subtle attention she began receiving from the eldest son of the house. He was a shy, earnest young man of twenty-two, and while she did not encourage him, she also did not discourage him. The climax of their mutual admiration was an innocent stolen kiss, unfortunately witnessed by her would-be lothario’s overprotective mother. Isabella was immediately dismissed. Without a reference.
When searching for a third post, Isabella decided to try a different route, and she became a companion to the Dowager Duchess of Osbourn. That post had the distinction of being the shortest in duration. The dowager duchess was a cantankerous old lady who proved very difficult to work for and live with. By mutual consent, Isabell
a left as soon as she secured the position she now held with the Brauns.
Working for the Brauns was by far the most successful experience of her career, and Isabella finally felt a measure of security. The Brauns were of the merchant class, exceedingly wealthy but not socially elite, and that suited Isabella fine. There were no young bucks of the ton calling at the house to harass her, and the only male family member was the children’s father. Mr. Braun always treated her with the utmost respect. Isabella long suspected he was enthralled with the notion of having the granddaughter of an earl caring for and teaching his three children.
The striking of the hall clock pulled Isabella’s attention back to the matters at hand. Knowing she would be late for her meeting if she did not hurry, she quickly left her room. Summoning up her finely tuned inner discipline, Isabella succeeded in firmly pushing the emotional memories aside by the time she reached the large entrance foyer on the first floor.
She glanced briefly at the closed drawing room doors and wiped her damp palms on the skirts of her plain gray gown. Then she signaled the footman with a curt nod of her head and he opened the door.
“Miss Browning,” he announced in a bored voice.
Mrs. Braun ceased speaking the minute Isabella entered the room. Wearing an over-bright smile, she greeted her children’s governess breathlessly. Isabella could not help noticing how uncharacteristically nervous Mrs. Braun appeared.
Mrs. Braun was a middle-aged matron with an ample figure, yet she was attractive in a rather obvious way. This afternoon her black hair was dressed high up on her head, with several wispy ringlets artfully arranged around her ears. Her sea-green gown was cut low for a woman of her size and revealed more than a hint of swelling bosom. Even though it was early afternoon, Mrs. Braun wore an impressive array of expensive jewelry, attesting more to her husband’s wealth than to her good taste.
Mr. Braun was the exact opposite of his wife. Tall, fair-haired, and almost painfully thin, he was hardly the image of a successful merchant. He was dressed in his customary somber black business suit, and Isabella belatedly realized that he normally was at his office down on Market Street at this hour of the day. He, too, seemed on edge.
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