She pressed down on the handle. Locked tight. Frustration spurred on by fear and exhaustion took over her frayed nerves, and she rattled the handle, praying for a miracle that would suddenly pry open the wooden slab like the parting of the Red Sea for the Israelites, but no divine intervention occurred.
“What are you looking for, miss?”
The shrill voice popped out of nowhere. Dominique jumped and turned to see the housekeeper. “Oh, you startled me, Mrs. Hensworth.” Dominique’s nerves constricted into tight balls. “I was … um … I was um … looking for the library. I thought a book would help me sleep.”
Even in the darkness she could see the skepticism skipping across the housekeeper’s expression. “The admiral keeps his study locked.”
Dominique stared at the ring of keys jangling from the woman’s sash. “You wouldn’t happen to have a key, would you?” she asked in her most innocent tone, all the while hoping the quaver in her voice would go undetected.
“Only the admiral carries the key to this room,” Mrs. Hensworth announced with finality. “Now you’d best be off to bed before he finds you loitering about.”
It seemed more like a warning than a suggestion, making Dominique’s choice all the easier. “Of course. Thank you.”
Leaving the suspicious housekeeper behind, Dominique crept up the stairs, cast a wary glance at the drawing room, out of which bubbled laughter and light, and then took the final flight up to her chamber. Now what would she do?
She’d no sooner opened the door to her bedchamber than a thought occurred to her. Surely the admiral did not carry the key upon his person, especially not at a formal dinner party. And definitely not in those tight breeches. She flung a hand to her mouth as if she’d said the scandalous words aloud and quickly repented of the direction of her thoughts. Nevertheless, he must keep it somewhere in his chamber, and with him occupied with his dinner guests, now would be the only time she’d have to search for it before he put her on a ship tomorrow bound for France.
The thought of entering a man’s bedchamber sent a tremor of unease down her back, not to mention the sheer terror at being caught within, but what choice did she have? Turning on her heels, she rubbed her moist hands together, ignored the fear pricking her skin, and slunk down the dark passage that surely led to the master chamber. When she found the door unlocked, she froze, listening to her rasping breaths and questioning the wisdom of her actions. But she must go on. For Marcel.
Once she slipped inside and eased the door shut behind her, the scent of leather and shoe polish wafted around her. With the curtains drawn back, a shimmer of light—from the moon or perhaps a streetlamp—filtered into the room, allowing Dominique to make out the shapes of the four-poster bed on the far wall, a chest of drawers, a writing desk, a lounge, two armchairs, and a washstand, all circling a small fireplace still hot with red embers. She hesitated, listening for any noises outside, then crept across the floor, tripping over a carpet as she made her way to the writing desk—the most likely place for a key. Shuffling through the objects that sat upon it, she came across a taper perched in a brass candlestick and longed to light it but didn’t want to alert any servant passing by outside. She gently fingered each object: the stiff features of the quill pens, crisp parchment, neat stacks of books, the smooth metal of a pocket watch. Then she inched her trembling hands down to the single drawer beneath the desk’s surface.
Scraping sounded in the hall. A hollow boot step thundered like an approaching storm. Blood iced in Dominique’s veins. The clank of the door latch echoed through the room, and in walked Admiral Randal.
CHAPTER 5
Dominique dove behind the velvet curtains and forced her hand over her mouth to still the ragged breathing she was sure could be heard all the way downstairs.
Oh Lord, please help me. Make me invisible.
The door finally closed, and steps hammered across the wood floor, softening on the carpet and then pounding again. The next instant, light flickered as the admiral must have lit a candle from the coals in the fire.
Dominique shriveled against the wall, forcing herself not to touch the drapes and cause any noticeable movement. Her head began to itch, then her nose, her back—her whole body became one massive prickling irritation. Oh, why now? She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry as a desert.
A masculine “Humph” sounded, followed by a clank that had to be the admiral setting the candlestick down on the writing table, not two yards from where Dominique stood.
More boot steps, another candle lit, and a flap of fabric told Dominique she’d landed in the predicament she feared second only to being caught snooping. The admiral was undressing. Even though the curtains blocked her view, she squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps he would put on his nightshirt and go straight to bed. Perhaps he was a sound sleeper, and she could then sneak out. She bit her lip. Perhaps she was deluding herself that such a man—an admiral in His Majesty’s Navy—would not know when an intruder was in his bedchamber.
The creak of a chair told her the admiral had sat down. He groaned, and then a loud thump sounded on the floor, followed by another one. More footsteps, muffled this time, floorboards creaking … then silence enveloped the room and wrapped its cold fingers around Dominique’s heart.
Where was he?
Mustering an ounce of nerve, coupled with an extreme desire not to stand behind the suffocating drapes all night, Dominique lightly pulled back the heavy velvet and peered out.
Admiral Randal suddenly emerged from the dressing room, wearing only his breeches.
Dominique shrank back, but not before a tiny gasp escaped her lips. She’d never seen a man’s bare chest before. Heat radiated from her belly as a flash of tanned skin bulging with corded muscle sped across her mind.
A slight chuckle. More footsteps, this time approaching her hiding spot. Dominique squeezed her eyes shut again and pressed her lips together until they ached. The footsteps halted. She sensed a strong masculine presence hovering on the other side of the drapes—like a panther ready to strike.
Light showered over her. A slight breeze cooled her skin, and she knew he had moved the curtains aside.
“You may open your eyes now, Miss Dawson.”
Ever so slowly, Dominique pried her eyelids apart and stared down at unclad feet the size of bear paws. She slammed them shut again and raised her chin until she was sure her vision would be beyond the view of his narrow waist and the huge expanse of his bare chest. When she dared to open them, it was to a sultry gaze and a half smile, not the fury she would have expected from an admiral who had caught a thief in his room.
Her rapid breathing filled the silent air between them, and Dominique thought her heart would surely beat through her chest. The smell of wine and brandy swirled around her like a heady perfume.
“Well, well, well, Miss Dawson. This is the last place I would have expected to find you.” Sarcasm tainted his voice.
“I beg your pardon, Admiral. I seem to have gotten lost.” Dominique started toward her right, hoping to make a dash for the door, but his arms rose like muscled drawbridges on either side of her, pinning her in place. A spicy, masculine scent combined with the odor of alcohol spun around her in a dizzying tempest.
Gathering tiny shreds of her remaining courage, Dominique shot her gaze to his eyes, pools of black amidst the shadows tumbling over his face. “I insist you let me go at once.” Memories of the men’s flippant discourse in the dining room of using governesses as bed warmers shot arrows of terror through Dominique. That and the admiral’s sensuous gaze that now scoured her from head to toe.
“You insist?” He chuckled, drawing in a deep breath of her as if she were a bouquet of flowers. “Perhaps my friends were right about you.” He tore one hand from the wall and brushed a heated finger over her cheek, causing a shiver to run down Dominique—a shiver she couldn’t be sure arose from her fear or the other strange sensations tingling within her. The admiral had not participated in the men’s deprav
ed talk—at least what she’d heard of it. In fact, he had seemed incensed at their lewd insinuations, but truthfully, Dominique didn’t know this man at all.
And she was in his bedchamber.
Alone.
And he was half naked.
“ ’Tis been a long while since I’ve had a woman in my chamber—a very long while.” His words circled her like a hungry shark.
When he cupped her chin in his hand and began to caress her lips with his thumb, Dominique did the only thing she could think to do. She opened her mouth and bit the rude appendage as hard as she could.
He roared and took a step back, shaking his hand in the air, and Dominique pushed him aside and dashed for the door. But she made it only a few feet before his hefty frame filled her vision once more. He flattened his back against the door, arms crossed over his chest, and grinned at her like a cat who had just trapped a mouse—a large and ruthless cat.
Dominique halted, her eyes shifting over the room for another escape, her mouth as dry as cotton, and her legs as shaky as her trembling hands. She fixed him with a level stare. It was enough she would return home empty-handed. She would not return home sullied.
“You forget yourself, Admiral. Contrary to what your friends may think, I am your governess, not your mistress.”
His eyebrows arched mischievously. “Yet I find you in my bedchamber in the middle of the night.”
Oh Father, now what should I do?
Visions of wallpaper, mahogany furniture, and flickering candlelight began spinning around her in a whirlwind. Raising a hand to her brow, Dominique inhaled deeply, trying to stay the oncoming dizziness, when her legs suddenly gave out.
As soon as Chase saw the woman start to swoon, he darted toward her and scooped her up in his arms. She went limp for a second but soon recovered and began to twist and turn like a bowline caught in the wind. He laid her gently in a chair then knelt beside her. Shame weighed heavy upon him. He’d had far too much to drink tonight, and that coupled with a yearning for his wife had made him foolishly toy with this young beauty before him. Yes, indeed, it had been a long time since a woman had graced this chamber, not since his beloved Melody had filled the room with her joyous laughter and enticing whispers of love. Chase rubbed his eyes against the emotion that burned behind them.
“Are you all right, Miss Dawson?”
Her breathing came in heavy spurts. “I believe so, yes.”
“May I get you some water?”
“No, thank you.” Her gaze skimmed over his chest; then she snapped her eyes away. “Admiral, I beg of you, if you are to keep me here, please don a shirt.”
Chase stood with a huff of guilt. So she was as innocent as she seemed. For a few brief, intoxicating moments, he had hoped otherwise. He’d hoped that perhaps she had come to offer him the comfort only a woman could bring—if only to appease his loneliness, if only to make the pain go away for one night. But now he found he was thankful her intentions were pure, for he knew he would despise not only her, but also himself, when dawn shone its light upon his betrayal of Melody’s memory. Grabbing a white cotton shirt from the dressing closet, he threw it over his head and turned just in time to see Miss Dawson push herself to near standing, then quickly plop back into the chair.
He supposed he should apologize for frightening her, but she owed him an explanation, as well. What was a man to think after a night of drinking and listening to the libertine talk of his friends, especially regarding trysts with governesses, and then to find this particular one—and a rather alluring one at that—prowling about his bedchamber? Egad, the temptation was too much.
His thoughts drifted to Admiral Stuart. He owed the man his career, if not his life. What would he think of Chase’s behavior toward his only daughter? He shook his head. Everything made sense on his ship; everything fit into its proper place, its proper time, for its proper function. But not on land, not in his home, and especially not with women. “I must apologize for my behavior, Miss Dawson.”
She eyed him suspiciously and wiggled her cute little nose. “Please let me return to my chamber.”
“Rest assured I will do just that, mademoiselle, but first, I insist you grace me with the tale that brought you into my room in the middle of the night. You must admit your presence is rather unconventional.” Unconventional and foolish, to say the least. If this had been Percy’s room or, worse, Lord Markham’s, this poor girl would be fighting for her virtue right now instead of defending her actions.
Dominique glanced around the room. Her amber eyes glittered like gold in the candlelight. “I’m afraid I must have been walking in my sleep, Admiral.”
He cocked his head, examining her as she shifted uneasily before him. “Do you always sleep in your gown?” He nodded toward the lavender silk that fell in a delicate circle around her feet.
“Oh.” She pressed the folds in her lap. “Yes, well … I was so tired I must have fallen asleep before I could change.”
Chase paced before her. “So am I to understand that you walked all the way here from your chamber, opened and closed my door, and hid behind my curtains all while sound asleep?” Surely this girl did not consider him so daft as to fall for such a fanciful yarn.
“Believe what you will, Admiral. That is what happened.” She stood and lowered her gaze.
“Mr. Atherton put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Miss Dawson’s eyes widened. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I fear he’s forever trying to arrange”—he rubbed his chin—“shall we say, diversions for me.”
“What are you implying, Admiral?” Her trembling hand flew to her throat.
“How much did he pay you?”
“I beg your pardon!” Miss Dawson’s face contorted into a churning puddle of fury that nearly made him laugh. “How dare you imply …” She dashed to her right, attempting to bypass him, but he threw one arm up, halting her in her path.
“Not quite yet, Miss Dawson.” Chase allowed his gaze to wander over her trembling form, amazed at how petite she was—almost too petite. He preferred a more robust woman, strong and solid, not like this fragile thing before him.
She began to sway again. He held out a hand to steady her, but she waved it off. “What does it matter? You intend to release me in the morning anyway.”
How could she possibly know that? Chase furrowed his brow. “Do I perceive we have a spy in our midst?”
Miss Dawson’s rosy face blanched to a shade whiter than fresh snow in the country. Her chest rose and fell like the rapid firing of a carronade. Finally, she swallowed and raised her gaze to his. “Anyone with any sense could infer your intentions to dismiss me from the conversation at dinner.” Her voice trembled.
Chase regarded her with skepticism. He could understand her fear when she thought his intentions had been dishonorable, but why now? Was she that afraid of being dismissed? “I must apologize for my sister’s behavior. She has reason to dislike the French—Frenchwomen in particular.”
“So I gathered.” The corners of Dominique’s mouth tightened. “Am I free to go, Admiral?”
Chase stepped aside and gestured toward the door; then he held out his hand. “Would you like some assistance?”
“I can manage, thank you.” She slipped past him in a whiff of lilacs, teasing his senses. He beat her to the door and opened it.
“Perhaps I should escort you back to your room.” He gave her a sly grin.
“I’m sure I can find my way, Admiral.”
“Since you were asleep when you found your way to mine, I wouldn’t presume so, Miss Dawson.” He bowed and offered her his elbow.
She gave him a nervous glance then accepted his outstretched arm. He felt the quiver from her delicate fingers run up to his shoulder, and he chastised himself again for teasing her into a fright. He scanned the hallway for any servants and was thankful when none appeared. He certainly wouldn’t want to tarnish Miss Dawson’s reputation.
“You never explained how you ended u
p behind my curtains,” he said as they neared her door.
“I told you. I walk in my sleep. When I heard the door open, I woke up, panicked, and jumped behind them.”
Chase had no choice but to believe her. What else could she have been doing in his chamber? Stealing? On her first night here? He kept no valuables in his room worthy of the risk—a fact she would have already discovered if she were indeed a thief.
And it was obvious she hadn’t come there for a romantic liaison. But as he glanced at her, at the gentle sway of her hips, at her rich chestnut hair dangling in loosened ringlets over the swell of her bosom, he found himself regretting that fact. And then loathed himself for it. He swallowed hard, trying to squelch the unwelcome rush of warmth through him. He had never so much as looked at another woman, not since Melody had … not since she had departed.
Releasing Miss Dawson at her chamber door, he gazed at the graceful shadow of her body and felt heat radiating from her. What was it about this little waif that enticed him so?
“Thank you for a most entertaining evening, Miss Dawson, more entertaining than I’ve had in quite some time, to be sure.”
Moonlight filtered through the front window of the house and danced around her in a halo of light that sent golden flecks shimmering in her hair.
Chase’s lips went dry. What was wrong with him that her presence affected him so?
“I fear your entertainment has been at my expense.” She took a step back, creating a chilling gulf between them. “Can I expect your coach to drive me to Dover in the morning, or will you leave me to find my own means of transportation again?” Fury spiced her voice, even amidst the fearful tremble, and he found the combination oddly alluring.
Chase knew he should get rid of her. Every ounce of his festering heart screamed to dismiss her at once. But for some reason, he could not. “I fear my judgment has been a bit hasty. I find you intriguing, Miss Dawson. Perhaps you are not the weak little sparrow I first assumed you to be.”
Falcon and the Sparrow Page 5