by Cheryl Holt
“We’ve gotten off to a bad start,” he stated, “so let’s begin again”
“You can say whatever you wish, but I will not be your mistress.”
“Miss Hamilton! Why must my every comment precipitate a battle with you?”
“Because I’m fighting for my life, and I intend to go down swinging.”
“Well, shut up for once. I’m trying to help you.”
“A likely story.”
“Miss Hamilton!” His patience was exhausted. “Don’t speak! Don’t complain! Just listen!”
He dragged her to the sofa and pushed her down onto it.
“There is a tender of decent employment on the table,” he said. “Accept it immediately.”
“No.”
“Why on earth not?”
“I don’t trust you.”
“I don’t care. Simply say yes. Stop being such an ingrate.”
“Since the moment we met, you’ve been a total beast. Why should I imagine you’re serious? Why would you suddenly be kind to me?”
“I have decided—as you so prettily put it—to have mercy on the destitute children of a fellow soldier. I had planned to tell you this morning. That’s why I came outside, but then I caught you drinking, so I changed my mind.”
“I wasn’t drinking!” He frowned, dubious, and she insisted, “I wasn’t!”
“I’ll believe you—for now.”
She threw up her hands. “Oh, for pity’s sake.”
“But so long as you’re working here, I won’t allow such misbehavior. I’ll expect you to be a model of decorum at all times.”
She wanted to continue protesting her innocence, to call him a conceited bully, an overbearing lout, but the most exhaustive wave of weariness swept over her.
She was only twenty-four, but she’d been swimming upstream since she was a young girl. Her mother had died when Amelia was born, when Helen herself was just twelve, and the family’s burdens had fallen on her shoulders.
She had raised her sisters, had held on to their home. She had juggled the creditors and paid the bills. She had struggled and struggled, but it had all been for naught.
There was nothing left of what had been, and Odell was tossing her a rope, offering to pull her out of the ocean of debt and despair where she’d been drowning. The chance she’d been seeking had arrived, and she needed to close her mouth and do whatever he said.
For Jane and Amelia, she told herself. She could endure any torment in order to know that they were safe.
“I will remain so piously sober,” she vowed, “that you’ll think I’m an evangelical missionary.”
At hearing her acquiesce, he reverted to his smug self. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“What will my salary be?”
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“Fine.” She nodded sweetly, the very picture of accommodation. “Will the position come with room and board?”
“Of course.”
“What about my sisters?”
“How old are they?”
“Jane is eighteen, and Amelia is twelve.”
“My ward, Rose, is twelve as well. Amelia will be her companion, and you can school them together.”
She scowled, wondering if it was some sort of trick, but he seemed sincere. Why would he act so magnanimously?
“What a lovely gesture,” she replied, stunned by his generosity. “Amelia has been so lonely since we moved to London. She’ll be excited to have a friend.”
“As will Rose.”
“They’ll get on like thieves in a thicket.”
“Yes, they will.”
“What shall we do with Jane? You won’t demand that she serve as a maid, will you?”
“No.”
He scoffed as if it was the most preposterous question he’d ever heard, and she breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how bad things became, Helen was determined to see her sister wed to a husband befitting her prior station.
“What will she—” Helen tried to say, but he interrupted her.
“Once again, we’ll figure it out later. In the meantime, let’s get you home. I’ll send a carriage to fetch the three of you at ten o’clock in the morning.”
Helen stood, and she gazed at him, overcome with such powerful emotions of gratitude and joy that she could barely keep from grabbing him and pulling him into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome.”
“You’ll never regret this as long as you live. I swear it.”
“I regret it already.”
She glowered at him. “You won’t even know we’re here.”
“I seriously doubt it.”
They headed for the door, walking side by side, when he glanced down at her.
“Always remember,” he warned, “that I’m responsible for my wards. They’re impressionable children, so no flirting and no drinking.”
Just when she thought he was being marvelous!
“Do be quiet, Captain Odell. You insult me with your complaints about my character.”
“I’m taking a huge risk by hiring you.”
“No you’re not, but be quiet anyway.”
They started out again, when he paused, looking uncomfortable.
“I need one other thing from you,” he said.
“What is it?”
“The ... ah ... curse you leveled? Would you please lift it?”
She smirked, delighted to have the upper hand for a change. He was a sailor; she’d known he’d be a superstitious devil!
“I have no idea how. You’ll have to take your chances.”
MIRIAM Seymour, Michael’s sixteen-year-old cousin, knelt on the floor, her eye pressed to the keyhole so she could spy on Captain Odell.
“You will work for me,” Odell was saying, “as my ward’s governess...”
At his remark, Miriam bit down a gasp of astonishment. She couldn’t see Odell, but she could clearly see the woman to whom he was speaking. She was very beautiful, and thus, the exact opposite sort of person Miriam and her mother, Maud, would ever want in the house.
Miriam had discovered the pair after coming downstairs in a failed bid to bump into Michael. She was dressed in nightgown and robe, her hair down and brushed out, and she’d been hiding on the landing, waiting for him to return so she could descend and pretend she couldn’t sleep and was retrieving a glass of warm milk.
With Michael having known her since she was a baby, he treated her like a little sister, and she was desperate to have him view her in a different light. He didn’t realize it was time to pick a bride, and he remained oblivious to the obvious solution: He should marry Miriam and keep his fortune in the family.
Why shouldn’t she be his countess? It made perfect sense.
When the front door had been flung open, she’d huddled up above, expecting Michael to enter, but being shocked to find Odell dragging in a protesting, recalcitrant female.
For a purported governess, she was extremely uppity, having no concept of her lowly status or of the captain’s elevated role in the Seymour household. She was very rude, arguing with him as she prepared to stomp out against his wishes.
“Just a damned minute!” the captain barked, as Miriam leapt away and raced for the stairs.
She burst into her mother’s boudoir, hastening through the sitting room to the bedchamber beyond.
“Mother! Mother!” she panted as she hurried in.
“My goodness, what is it?”
“You’ll never guess.”
“What? What? Is it Michael? Were you finally able to wrangle a kiss?”
Miriam stumbled to a halt, hating to witness her mother’s excitement and that she was about to dash it. Maud always told Miriam that she had no feminine wiles, that she didn’t know how to flirt or entice.
The criticism hurt. Miriam was trying as hard as she could with Michael, but she couldn’t help it that she was poor, quiet, and plain, while he preferred girls who we
re rich, vivacious, and attractive.
“No, I didn’t see Michael. He’s not back yet, but you’ll never believe what I did see.”
Maud yawned, her enthusiasm for the chat having vanished in an instant.
“Tell me, then let me get to bed. I’m tired of dawdling up here, hoping that you’ve managed to push matters forward with Michael.”
“Captain Odell has hired a governess for Rose.”
“What?”
Maud threw off the blankets and scrambled to the floor, her mob cap bobbing, her robe rippling behind her.
“He’s hired a governess,” Miriam repeated.
“When?”
“She’s with him in the parlor—even as we speak.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I listened at the keyhole. I heard them very clearly.”
“The wretch didn’t consult me!”
Since the captain’s arrival, it had been Maud’s constant lament.
For years, she’d run the properties and supervised Michael and Rose with very little interference. With Odell appearing on the scene, she couldn’t so much as suggest a servant dust a table without said servant scurrying to the captain to ask if Maud’s order should be obeyed.
“It’s awful how he ignores you,” Miriam commiserated, “and he should have sought your opinion, because I can’t imagine where he found her. She looks as if she’s been trolling for customers at Vauxhall Gardens.”
“Miriam! Honestly.”
“Well, she does. Wait till you see her.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very.”
“She seems to be a woman of low ... morals?”
“Yes. How could he bring her into the house? It’s an insult to us.”
“It certainly is. Was the captain interested in her in a manly way?”
Miriam thought of how the captain had yanked the woman inside, how he’d kept her close and loomed over her, and Miriam wished that, someday, a similarly handsome fellow—Michael, perhaps?—might manhandle her in the same rough fashion.
“Definitely. He was definitely interested.”
“Ooh, this is bad,” Maud muttered and began to pace. “This is very, very bad.”
“What shall we do?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.”
“You won’t let her stay, will you?”
“Absolutely not. With the misery I intend to heap on her, I’ll have her out of here by tomorrow afternoon.”
“THIS is where you live?”
“Yes. Why?”
Tristan peered out the carriage window, staring at the dreary, dilapidated buildings lining the dark street. There were no street lamps, no candles burning in any of the windows.
He turned toward Miss Hamilton. She was illuminated by a beam of moonlight, and appeared delicate and ethereal, like a wraith from another world. For a fleeting moment, he was disturbingly drawn to her, as if he might like to kiss her.
He hadn’t a clue from where the peculiar impulse had sprung, and to his horror, he recalled the love potion she’d drunk, the curse she’d imposed. Frantic questions careened in his head: Was the potion taking effect? Was a supernatural force causing an attraction to form?
He shook off the absurd perception, remembering he’d just been in a brothel, and his arousal hadn’t had opportunity to wane. That was all. His heightened regard had nothing to do with curses or potions or anything else. It was a purely physical reaction to a beautiful female.
Still, he slid over, squashing himself into the corner, trying to move as far away as possible given the small confines of the carriage’s interior. He glanced out again, letting his temper flare, convinced that a bit of fury would distract him from his fascination.
“You rented a room here?” he fumed.
“Don’t scold as if I did it on purpose. My funds are completely depleted; it wasn’t as if I had a lot of choices.”
“You trotted off, leaving your sisters alone? Are you mad?”
“They locked up behind me.”
“Well, that certainly has me relieved.”
“And nobody trotted off. I was keeping a scheduled appointment.”
“You were pitching your wares in a damned brothel!”
“Don’t mount your moral high-horse. You continue to forget that I met you while I was there.”
He snorted with disgust. “Your mind works in the strangest ways.”
“Doesn’t it, though?”
A coachman opened the door and lowered the step, and Tristan gazed out, fretting over her walking to the stoop and climbing the stairs. The very idea raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
She clambered out and Tristan descended after her, but she strutted into the building without pausing so he could escort her.
Was the crazed woman trying to be robbed? Raped? Murdered?
He didn’t understand how she’d survived so long. The Good Lord, in His infinite wisdom, watched over idiots and fools, so He likely had a full-time job watching over her.
“Wait for me,” he grumbled to the outriders, and he marched after her and stumbled into the shadowy foyer.
The air was very cold, and the place reeked of decay and mold and tormented lives. He actually shivered with alarm, imagining her and her sisters passing their days in such a terrible spot.
“Miss Hamilton?” he said. “Where are you?”
“Are you still here?” she asked from up above him, and he realized she was already halfway up the stairs.
He’d told her that he’d send a carriage for them in the morning, but he was overcome by dread, as if—should he leave her behind—something might happen, that she might be harmed or he might never see her again.
To his dismay, it dawned on him that he was anxious to have her close by so he could keep her out of trouble. He didn’t dare permit her to be off on her own and unprotected. Not for another second.
“Are your sisters asleep?”
“Amelia probably is, but Jane is likely awake. Why?”
He started up the stairs, not inclined to let her go any farther by herself. He found her on the landing, and he neared until his body was touching hers.
He could feel her warm breath on his cheek. A wayward strand of her soft hair tickled his chin. He could smell her, and it was an enticing scent of clean skin with a hint of flowers underneath. The odor tantalized his male sensibilities, making him contemplate behaviors he had no business contemplating.
“Let’s get your things,” he whispered.
“Why?”
“You’re all coming with me.”
“Now?”
“Yes, Miss Hamilton. Now. There’s no reason to delay.”
“But ... I owe rent to the landlord.”
“I’ll handle it tomorrow. Let’s go!”
Chapter 5
“HOW was your evening?”
“Perfect.”
Michael stared at Tristan, his expression blank, trying to look like an innocent who had just been deflowered, but it was scarcely the case.
Tristan was very old and very stuffy, and he yearned to believe that Michael was a naïve boy, so Michael wouldn’t shatter his illusions. But for the prior two years, Michael had been sneaking off to brothels with his friends. Several of his acquaintances already kept mistresses, and Michael couldn’t fathom why Tristan was so prim on the subject.
He was relieved that Tristan had allowed visits to the brothel. Michael could now go as often as he liked, and he wouldn’t have to lie to Tristan about what he was doing.
Though he’d only known Tristan a few months, he liked him very much, and wanted them to be close. He didn’t want them fighting over money or morals.
“I apologize for leaving you there all night,” Tristan said.
“You shouldn’t. It was very ... exhilarating.”
“I trust the two ladies ... ah ... taught you the pertinent details?”
“They were very adept at their instruction.”
“
Well ... good.”
Michael bit down a laugh. Tristan was usually so composed and unruffled, and it was humorous to see him flustered. Michael would have liked to give him a blow-by-blow description of the event, but he doubted the poor man could withstand such a salacious conversation.
He hadn’t been to bed, and he should have been exhausted, but he wasn’t. The episode had enlivened him, and he was alert and eager to face the day. Miriam had cornered him, inviting him to accompany her on a ride in the park, and he’d said yes.
“Why didn’t you come back for me?” he asked. “I was watching the clock, expecting you to storm in and scold me for having so much fun.”
“I couldn’t get over there.”
“Why?”
“We had a situation arise. Since this is your home, and I am simply the trustee, I need to discuss it with you to be sure you’re amenable with my decision.”
It was an odd game they played. Michael was Earl of Hastings, the owner of the title, fortune, and property, but Tristan had all the actual power. Tristan constantly took action on his own, but he was gracious enough to seek Michael’s opinion and pretend that it mattered, when they both knew that, in the end, Tristan would do whatever he wanted.
Michael was only mildly begrudging of the arrangement. On the one hand, he wished his father had trusted him with real authority. On the other, he was glad he hadn’t yet been forced to assume so much responsibility, and he supposed there was some justice in Tristan being in charge.
After all, Tristan was Charles Seymour’s oldest son, and in a fairer world, Tristan would be earl, instead of Michael. For the moment, Michael was happy to let him run things. Over the next few years, as Michael came of age, he would have plenty of chances to succeed—or screw up royally!
“What happened?” he inquired.
“I’m certain you recall Miss Hamilton.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”
“She was here yesterday, interviewing to be Rose’s governess.”
“The attractive redhead?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me you realized your mistake and hired her.”
“I have.”
“Marvelous. You’re so stubborn; what changed your mind?”