Some things were not to be borne. That was when Robert knew he was going to have to confront the boy directly.
He found his quarry against the far stone wall of the cricket field. He wasn’t the first to have at him; by the time he got there, the boy had his back against the wall. He’d set his spectacles a few feet behind him, and he held his fists in the air.
“Come on, you cowards,” Marshall was saying. “Three-on-one not good enough odds for you?” It was the first time that Robert had seen Marshall this close. His hair was a thin, light orange; his skin was pale and freckled. His eye was ringed with a virulent red bruise; it would be purple in the morning. He spat pink and turned lightly on his feet, facing his attackers. That was when the boy caught sight of Robert.
“Speaking of cowards,” he said.
“I’m no coward.” Robert rolled up his sleeves and stepped forward. “Call me a coward again—I dare you. Don’t you know who I am?”
Everyone else stepped back, giving the two of them a wide berth. Robert circled the other boy, holding his fists up. And that was when he noticed something curious. Marshall’s eyes were blue—an icy blue.
A familiar icy blue. Robert saw eyes like that in the mirror every day.
“I know who you are,” Marshall said with disdain. “You’re my brother.”
Robert had always thought it a ridiculous thing to say in stories—that someone’s world turned upside down. But there was no other way to describe what happened. The other boy’s words hit with the force of a cannonball, crashing through everything he’d known.
“You can’t be my brother.”
But he recalled too clearly the crash of china, his mother’s shouts. Philanderer! Whoreson!
Philanderer. Marshall had Robert’s eyes. He had his father’s eyes.
Marshall sniffed and wiped at his nose. “Don’t your parents tell you anything?”
“No!” He wasn’t sure if it was an answer or a denial. And the other boy said that with such a matter-of-fact air—as if his parents were a single unit, who might sit a boy down and have a conversation with him.
Robert’s head was whirling. “How can you be my brother if your father is Hugo Marshall?”
The other boy spat once again and didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to. Robert had only the faintest notion of what philandering entailed—gambling and drinking and getting wenches with child. He’d never given much thought to the possibility that wenches who were gotten with child ended up having them.
The other boy simply shrugged all this away.
Five hundred days playing alone in the paddock, and he had a brother? It was not just his mother and father who were broken to bits. He was, too. Robert thought of soap turned to mud, of fights, of Marshall’s eye—which would be black by morning.
He thought of the three boys who had been fighting him when Robert arrived. They’d done that ungentlemanly thing because Robert had encouraged it.
Even if this boy wasn’t his brother, Robert was the villain in this piece. And if what Marshall said was true…
Robert was the knave, the cur, the right bloody bastard. Nothing would ever end happily ever after again. Not unless—
Some decisions were not difficult at all. “Hit me,” he said urgently, low enough that the other boys couldn’t hear. “Hit me hard. Knock me down.”
Marshall didn’t even hesitate. He stepped forward and smashed his fist against Robert’s nose. Robert didn’t need to pretend to fall; his legs crumpled of their own accord. When he picked himself off the ground, his nose was running red. He swiped the blood away and pushed himself to his feet.
“Did you really not know?” Marshall asked him.
He’d hit with his left hand.
“Can you hit harder with your right?” Robert asked.
Marshall’s chin went up. “I can hit hard enough with both.”
“Because I’m left-handed, too. You’ve just knocked me down, and I’ve acknowledged it. They shouldn’t bother you anymore. Not after that.” He was babbling. He gingerly extended his hand—his left hand. “Pax?”
The other boy stared at him for a moment. Then, finally, he extended his own left hand. “Pax,” he agreed. “But you break the peace, and I’ll break you.”
“Well,” Sebastian said, coming up from behind them. “This is going to be interesting.”
Thank you!
Thanks for reading The Governess Affair. I hope you enjoyed it!
Did you know you can lend this book? Please consider sharing it with a friend.
The Governess Affair is a prequel to The Brothers Sinister Series. Find out what’s next, or sign up for my new release mailing list at http://www.courtneymilan.com. You can also turn the page to get a sneak peak at the next book in the series, The Duchess War, and to read an excerpt from Courtney’s last book, Unraveled.
Sneak Peek: The Duchess War
Robert Blaisdell, the ninth Duke of Clermont, has a plan to make up for his father’s wrongs. But his scheme is poised to expose the secrets that Miss Minerva Lane has been hiding for years. When neither of them will back down, of course you realize…
…This means love.
Read the full first scene at http://www.courtneymilan.com/theduchesswar.php.
Unraveled (excerpt)
This is a teaser from near the beginning of Unraveled, in which our hero, Magistrate Smite Turner, has an appointment to meet Miss Miranda Darling outside his place of work…
Ah. Here was the reason Magistrate Turner wasn’t standing on the stairs.
He had squeezed in that small gap between the buildings. His face was set in grim concentration, as if he were listening to a prisoner’s speech. But he was sitting in judgment over a pair of cats—one small and orange, the other large and white.
One meowed again, and he broke off a piece from what appeared to be a meat pie, and tossed it to them.
He was dressed in sand-colored wool. Up until now, she’d only seen him in dark colors—black robes, navy jackets. The light color of his coat made his hair seem all the blacker. It brought out a warmth in his skin that she’d not seen before.
And when he looked up from the cats and met her gaze, she realized for the first time how intensely blue his eyes were—emphasis on intense. He seemed to see straight through her, right through her threadbare cloak and her nondescript dress, through her flesh, straight into her heart. That unruly organ thumped heavily in her chest.
She raised her hand to give him an awkward wave. Her pulse beat, and an unexpected thrill ran through her at the sight of him. The sensation spilled through her body in little shocks, like a harpist strumming out an arpeggio against her ribs.
Oh, drat. She was attracted to him.
“Magistrate Turner,” she said.
His eyes narrowed. “Turner,” he corrected her.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“You called me Magistrate.” His nostrils flared. “Magistrates decide cases and issue warrants for arrests. They don’t go on walks with intriguing women, no matter what the destination might be. I must make it clear that I’m helping you in my private capacity. If you call me Magistrate Turner again, I’ll turn around and walk away.”
He made it sound so grim, the prospect of taking a walk with her. It took her a moment to hear that word—intriguing. But he wasn’t smiling at her. That couldn’t be an attempt at flirtation, could it?
Miranda shook her head slowly. “Good heavens. That’s quite an act you put on.”
He drew himself up haughtily. “I beg your pardon.”
“An act,” Miranda repeated. “Stand as tall as you like, and frown at me all you wish. I saw you just now. You were feeding cats.”
“So I was. And do you make something of that?”
“You,” Miranda said daringly, “have a kind heart.”
He turned away from her, the tails of his greatcoat swirling about him. “Don’t enlarge too
much upon the matter. The cats were hungry. I had food. This seemed to be a problem with a ready solution. It’s not kindness to solve problems; it’s efficiency.”
“I stand corrected. You have an efficient heart.”
Like this? Read the whole first chapter here, and buy it here.
Other Books by Courtney
The Brothers Sinister Series
The Governess Affair
The Duchess War — summer 2012
The Heiress Effect — late 2012
The Countess Conspiracy — 2012/2013
The Turner Series (available now)
Unveiled
Unlocked
Unclaimed
Unraveled
Acknowledgements
THERE ARE ALWAYS MORE people to thank than I can remember. As always, Tessa Dare, Carey Baldwin, and Leigh LaValle provided emotional support and help in the writing of this novella. The Northwest Pixies (plus additional friends) helped shame me into making sure I met my word count goals, with special mentions to Rachel Grant (for the magic coffee mug), and Darcy Burke and Natasha Tate for talking me through some parts of the middle.
I’m always grateful for my amazing team: Robin Harders and Martha Trachtenberg for editing, and Christine Dixon and Tina Marie for proofreading, and to Kristin Nelson and Lori Bennett who are helping me reach even more readers.
And then there are all those who provided support in so many ways—my husband and family, my dog and cat (yes, even the cat); the Pixies; the Loop That Must Not be Named.
Most of all, thanks to all my readers. Your support and enthusiasm mean everything to me.
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2012 by Courtney Milan.
Cover design © Courtney Milan.
Cover photographs © Speedfighter17 | Dreamstime.com.
Digital Edition 1.0
All rights reserved. Where such permission is sufficient, the author grants the right to strip any DRM which may be applied to this work.
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