The Earl's Runaway Governess, page 21
Her timing, naturally, could not have been worse. The parlour door was just opening and Henry’s guest was emerging.
‘I shall see you tonight, at Lady Annesley’s ball,’ the man was saying in farewell.
He closed the door behind him as he stepped into the hall. Marianne stood frozen, unable to move or think. She knew that voice!
Ash haunted her. Not just in her dreams, but in any idle waking moment. Thoughts of him were by turns distressing, then comforting. She had thought never to hear his voice again, never see his face. Now he was here—not more than three yards away.
Her eyes devoured the shape of him—his tall, strong figure, the familiar dark hair curling over his collar...
He must not see her!
She stayed there, stock-still. Perhaps he would not look this way. Hopefully he would continue to the entrance hall. He had no reason to look back.
Somehow she could not think what to do. She watched, transfixed, with a sense of hopeless inevitability as he stopped abruptly, then slowly turned to face her.
‘Well, well,’ he said, stony-faced. ‘Miss Anne Bolton. The quiet, sensible governess.’
She could not breathe. ‘Ash! My lord!’
‘Good day, Miss Bolton. What a surprise to see you here!’ His tone was mild, uninterested, and yet his eyes burned with unexpressed emotion. ‘Or, should I say Marianne?’
His use of her first name was shocking. Insulting. Yet hearing it on his lips made Marianne’s heart cry. How she had longed to hear him say her true name! But not like this. Not when she could see anger in his expression.
His eyes narrowed. ‘I have been discussing you with Grant.’
What? What was this?
‘I am pleased to say our discussions went well. I have an engagement tonight, but tomorrow I shall come here to talk to you.’
‘Dicussions about me? What do you mean?’ Her voice was little more than a croak. Then it dawned on her. Her heart leaped in hope. ‘Do you mean that you wish to—to marry me?’
‘Lord, no!’ he said harshly. He stepped towards her. ‘After what Grant has just told me that is now impossible. Though if you had kept up your pretence a little longer you might have won that particular prize.’ His arm snaked around her waist. ‘Kiss me!’ he ordered.
It was wrong. It was all wrong. Though she had dreamed of seeing him again, dreamed of kissing him, she had never imagined anything like this.
It was Ash—and her heart and her body were responding to his mesmerising presence—and yet, her mind insisted, it was not Ash. She loved him for his integrity as much as his other attributes, and she could not cope with him like this. And what was he saying? Did he believe her to be a lightskirt?
He leaned in and claimed his kiss. Despite this being exactly what she had wanted, Marianne froze. Not like this! She stood firm, keeping her eyes open and her lips pressed tight shut. In a blur, she could see his face, topped with his dark hair. She could feel his arms around her, her body pressed tightly to his chest. His scent—delicious, masculine and seductive—drew her in.
Oh, how she wanted to submit! The feeling of being wrapped in his warm embrace was so tempting—and not just to her body. It offered warmth, contact, a connection in her cold, loveless world. And the sensation of his lips on hers was stirring her body, urging her to respond.
He moved his mouth to her cheek, trailing featherlight kisses along her cheekbone. Her eyelashes fluttered down, her eyes almost closing. She could feel herself softening. She needed him so much!
But not like this.
Summoning all her strength, she raised her arms and pushed against his chest. She twisted her head to one side. ‘I do not wish for you to kiss me! Is this who you really are, then—a man who importunes unwilling maidens?’
It worked. His head jerked up. He stared at her angrily for a moment, and then his face twisted with what looked strangely like anguish.
‘You are no maiden, madam. Henry Grant has confirmed it. You are living in his house as his mistress. That in itself gives the lie to your protestations.’
She gasped, but he ignored it.
‘As I said, I shall return tomorrow to speak to you,’ he said grimly. ‘Be ready.’
Turning on his heel, he strode towards the entrance hallway.
He was gone before Marianne had even the time to protest.
Oh, why did I not speak? she thought. I should have shouted out. No! Henry lied!
But it had happened too quickly. There had only been a few heartbeats between Ash telling her of Henry’s lies and his departure.
She sagged, putting one hand on the wall to steady herself. Was this an actual nightmare? Her senses were almost overwhelmed. Desire, anxiety, hopelessness... Her breathing came in short gasps as she placed her other hand on the wall. Her knees felt soft, as if they would not support her weight. Her mouth was dry, her heart was pounding, and she felt as though she could not think, or act, or even be.
How long she stood there she did not know. Thankfully no servant came by to witness her distressed state. Her happiness had vanished the day her parents had died, but she had worked hard and been brave in order to create a new life for herself—a life that had included friendship and regard and support.
Now she had nothing. Only a prison created by her guardian. Threats of beating. No control over important decisions.
And now this. Ash had believed Henry’s lies. Why? Why had he not questioned Henry’s assertions?
It is my own fault, she realised. He knows me for a liar.
Ash’s insulting behaviour was the final indignity. She craved his kisses, but needed his regard. Kisses were not enough. Because she loved him. She loved him and he did not—could not—ever love her back. He had made no attempt to veil his outrage at her deceit. It slayed her.
It is not fair!
She had refrained from wallowing in self-pity as best she could, but her sense of injustice at this moment was overwhelming. She had only ever tried to be good, to do the right thing, to obey the rules she had been taught as a child. She had never knowingly harmed anyone, never cynically manipulated anyone. She had only resorted to deception in dire need.
And doing so had led to this—a broken heart, humiliation and powerlessness. In truth, she had never before experienced a feeling like this. She felt worthless, empty, as if she did not even exist. Should not exist.
To love and be loved. Was there anything more important? If there was, she did not know of it. In all this world there was no one who loved her. And in all this world those she had loved were gone.
Mama—gone. Papa—gone.
Friends from home—long gone in her mind.
Mrs Bailey. Jane. Mr Cronin. Cecily. All lost to her.
Ash—lost.
To see him again so unexpectedly, and to have him treat her with such disdain, was almost too much to bear.
Almost.
Somehow she found a reservoir of strength inside her. She closed her eyes, summoning it, uncaring if there were any servants watching, and took a few deep breaths. Then, straightening her spine, she walked slowly but steadily towards the parlour. She would survive this. She had to.
And one thing was certain—she needed to know more about what had just passed between Ash and Henry. Ash would return tomorrow, giving her a chance to tell him the truth. If there was to be any hope of regaining his regard, she had to continue.
‘I am brave, Mama,’ she whispered. ‘See?’
Henry was pouring himself a drink when she entered the room. He glanced at her, groaned and threw the whole measure of brandy into his throat.
‘What do you want?’ He poured himself another.
‘I want to know why Lord Kingswood was here and what you have discussed with him.’ Her voice was quiet, calm. She heard it with a curious sense of detachment.
‘It is none of your business, sister dear.’
‘It is my business if it affects me,’ she persisted.
‘Lord, what did he say to you?’ He frowned.
Her heart skipped a beat at the memory. ‘He—he insulted me!’
A cruel smile flashed briefly on Henry’s face. ‘If you mean that he kissed you, then I know not why you are complaining. It is not, after all, the first time he has done so.’
She flushed, unable to deny it. ‘That is not the point. I did not wish to be kissed!’
Henry shrugged. This clearly meant nothing to him. What a guardian I have!
She drew a breath. ‘He said that he had been discussing me with you and that he would return tomorrow.’
This hit a mark. Henry’s gaze slid away, and his response confirmed Marianne’s worst fears.
‘What did you say to him?’
‘My father placed you under my guardianship,’ he returned sullenly. ‘It is for me to decide what is best for you. The law allows and society supports.’
‘What is best for me? Do I not have a part to play in deciding what is best for me?’
‘No!’ he bit out. ‘Only I have oversight of the entire situation—the fact that you ran away, that you were his mistress, our financial circumstances—’
‘Your financial circumstances, you mean!’
His eyes narrowed and he marched towards her. ‘What are you suggesting?’
She flinched—she could not help it. Her palms were suddenly sticky, and fear pooled coldly in her belly. If he discovers I have been prying—
‘I know what you yourself have told me, and I have the evidence of my own eyes,’ she replied shakily. ‘You have admitted that you are living beyond your means.’
‘And where do you think that dress came from?’ he snarled, pointing to it. ‘My money has paid for it, and you are my property just as much as that dress or this brandy!’ His voice dipped menacingly. ‘And, as my property, I shall dispose of you in whatever way I see fit!’
The sudden rage was upon him again, terrifying her. She had to think!
His money worries might be behind the temper. Change the focus—move away from the money! she told herself. She needed information, and ideally she wished to get it without physical injury.
‘What have you told Lord Kingswood?’
He smiled. ‘Actually, all I did was confirm his assumptions about you.’
She frowned in confusion. ‘What assumptions?’
Henry moved back to the window and poured himself another drink. ‘Oh, he believes I will succumb to his demands—all over a few gaming debts. But I am playing a deeper game than he knows.’
His gaze became unfocused as he thought through his plan.
‘I need either Hawkins or Eldon to come up to scratch, and then one of my new brothers-in-law will, of course, be forced to settle my debts in order to avoid shaming themselves. They both favour you, and I would rather deal with them than with the arrogant Lord Kingswood.’
Focused once again, he added, ‘I admit that is the part I find strange, for I cannot see the attraction, myself. Kingswood, too? What magic are you working on these men?’
She snorted. ‘Nonsense! Hawkins thinks more of his wine than he does of me, and Eldon is nothing but a lecherous rake!’
‘And Lord Kingswood?’
Her lips tightened in sudden pain. ‘He is motivated by anger, nothing more.’
‘He is certainly angry with you, that is for sure. He has no idea that you are my sister—’
‘Stepsister!’
‘That you are my stepsister, and he asked if you are my mistress.’
‘And did you not tell him the truth?’
‘Of course not! I told him that we are lovers—that we had been together before and that you had left his bed to return to mine.’
Marianne gasped. ‘Henry—how could you?’
He shrugged. ‘I may tell him the truth eventually. Perhaps I shall do so tonight, in public, or tomorrow if he dares call. That way I can earn a measure of revenge against him.’ He grimaced. ‘However, if you do not become betrothed tonight, then I might in truth have to accept his demands.’
She held her breath. ‘Which are...?’
‘You as his mistress in return for cancelling all my debts to him.’
She gasped. ‘How much?’
‘Ten thousand pounds.’
So much money!
She grasped the back of a nearby chair. ‘How did you come to owe him such a sum?’
‘The devil’s own bloody luck was with him all night. Either that or he cheated me!’
‘But ten thousand pounds? In one night? What on earth were you thinking, Henry?’
She had spoken without thought, but even as she did so she knew she had gone too far. His rage, barely contained, was unleashed. From across the room, he threw his empty glass at her with full force. It hit her right shoulder painfully and bounced off, to shatter against the hearth in a thousand glittering shards.
He thundered across the room and she retreated in fear behind the nearest chair.
‘Listen to me, Marianne.’ His voice was harsh. ‘By the end of tonight’s ball you will have accepted an offer of marriage from either Eldon or Hawkins or it will be the worse for you. Do you understand me?’
She could not do it. Even under the threat of violence. ‘No! You cannot just sell me to the highest bidder!’
He raised his fist. ‘I said, Do you understand me?’
‘No! I cannot—’
He stepped closer. ‘Do you understand me, Marianne?’
Desperately she brought her hands to her face, to protect herself from the blow she knew was coming. She would not submit to his tyranny.
She waited.
The blow did not come.
Opening her eyes, she looked directly at him, and what she saw terrified her. He was smiling.
‘Oh, Marianne, you think yourself so clever, don’t you? You wanted me to hit you in the face so as to ensure you do not go to the ball tonight!’ He chuckled. ‘But I am up to all your games. Save them for your husband—or for your Lord Kingswood. But only after I have secured my future!’
He flung her to one side, then spun away from her.
‘Now, get out.’
* * *
Something is wrong. Something does not add up.
Ash sat in the line of carriages, awaiting his turn to alight outside Lady Annesley’s well-appointed townhouse, worrying over the same inconsistencies that had bothered him since leaving Grant’s house earlier.
Oh, Grant himself had been just as Ash had expected—embarrassed by the extent of his debts, completely without the means to pay them, and directing his resentment towards Ash, Lady Luck and the world in general.
Their conversation had been in line with Ash’s expectations, with Grant’s hope that Ash might somehow forgive the debts turning to sullen anger as he’d realised Ash had no such intention. Gradually Ash had brought the conversation round to Marianne, whom he had described as ‘the woman living in this house’.
Grant’s eyes had widened, then narrowed as he’d considered the possibilities. ‘Are you asking about my—about Marianne?’ he had queried.
Ash had leaned forward. ‘Tell me why she is here.’
Grant had smiled slightly at this, and preened a little. ‘She is here because she is my doxy, of course. She left me in January—a trifling quarrel—and I am relieved to have her back. I am pleased that I was successful in discovering where you had put her.’
Ash had formed his hand into a fist, conscious that all his hopes were being dashed by Grant’s words. Miss Bolton, innocent governess, was in truth Marianne, a courtesan. His chest had tightened in pain.
‘Am I to understand,’ Grant had continued, ‘that you are interested in—in renewing your own liaison with Marianne?’
It had taken every ounce of restraint for Ash to respond calmly to that. He had casually flicked though the pile of IOUs in front of him, resisting the impulse to plant a firm blow into Grant’s smug face.
‘I believe we might be able to come to a mutually satisfying agreement,’ he had said.
He would seek to persuade Marianne to leave Grant and come to him. At least he cared about her!
Five minutes later he had left Grant’s parlour, with a promise from the younger man that he would consider Ash’s offer.
Reflecting on it now, Ash was confident about the outcome. He had seen desperation in Grant’s eyes and knew that the man had few options. Best to let him stew—perhaps take the opportunity to reinforce the current balance of power between them at tonight’s ball—and then return to speak to Marianne on the morrow.
His heart had been badly wounded by Grant’s confirmation that Marianne was his mistress. Somehow Ash had been hoping for—something else. He knew not what. Something that allowed Miss Bolton to be real.
But there was no Miss Bolton. There was only Marianne.
Marianne!
His heart leapt as he recalled seeing her today. She had looked so beautiful, so alluring, in her gown of green silk. Through a haze of hurt, anger and lust he had treated her unkindly today. Had treated her badly. He knew it.
Her resistance to his kiss had been unexpected, and at the time he had sought only to push through it. And he had almost succeeded! He had sensed her beginning to soften, to respond to him. But her challenge had doused his ardour as effectively as a dip in a freezing cold bath. As she had intended, no doubt.
He had never in his life forced himself upon an unwilling woman, and he regretted that he had not handled the situation with Marianne well today. She expected—and deserved—respect. That he could certainly give her.
He frowned. So what was this constant nagging feeling at the back of his mind? This notion of wrongness, of something that didn’t quite fit? He recalled her as he had last seen her, looking pale and distressed because of his treatment of her.
