Dangerous Lover, page 2
It was indeed a pleasant room, bigger and much more comfortable than she had expected. The furnishings were old but functional, the bed large, and the curtains heavy and clean. The fog appeared to be lifting, for a definite beam of sunshine penetrated the window.
“This is wonderful,” Alexandra said gratefully.
“It should be peaceful,” Mrs. Dart said. “There is nothing but the nursery on this part of the floor. At the far end is a servants’ stair, but I’m the only one who uses it, since my room is off the half-landing. The servants use the stairs on the other side, where Sir Nicholas has his rooms. Would you like one of the maids to unpack for you?”
Alexandra laid her bag on the bed. “No, thank you. It won’t take me long.”
“Sir Nicholas tends to eat out, but he has suggested you use the dining room and dine with Evelina. I know it is not usual,” she added hastily, “but as I think I told you when we first met, there is no lady of the house, and you will not wish to take all your meals in the schoolroom, or alone. And I think the child will be glad of the company.”
“I am quite happy to do as Sir Nicholas thinks fit,” Alexandra said calmly. “It will probably be good for Evelina to get used to dining formally. Where has she been eating?”
“In the schoolroom, usually, sometimes with Anna. Occasionally in the dining room with her father, but he is a busy man and not often at home.”
Alexandra was gaining an impression of Sir Nicholas as a careless parent, spoiling his difficult child, while laying down the law for everyone else to abide by.
“Can I ask how long it is since Lady Swan passed away?”
Mrs. Dart blinked. “Lady Swan? Why, it must be some fifteen—” She broke off. “Ah, you mean Evelina’s mother. She was not Lady Swan. Sir Nicholas has never been married. But,” she added, while Alexandra wished she had not been naïve enough to ask, “he is fond of the child and gives her his name. Though it won’t change the stigma the poor thing will face as she grows up. I hope it makes no difference to you?”
“Of course not. I only asked to better understand the stage of Evelina’s grief.”
“I believe it was recent. A few months only, less than a year. Consumption. She was a performer, a singer or some such.” Mrs. Dart sniffed, signaling contempt for the dead mother, if not for her innocent child.
*
The dining room was not dauntingly huge like some she had faced. In fact, it was a pleasant, cozy room. The furniture may have been a hundred years old, but the chairs were newly upholstered and comfortable. Alexandra and Evelina sat at one end of the table, and were served by a maid and a footman, which Evelina seemed to take for granted.
Somewhere during the day, Evelina had lost her shyness, responding naturally to every conversation Alexandra initiated, and chattering happily about her own life.
Once, she asked, “Have you always been a governess?”
“For the last six years.”
“Then you have taught lots of children?”
“A few.”
“Did you like them?”
“Most of them,” Alexandra replied truthfully.
Something seemed to strike Evelina, and she laid down her fork. “You are English. Why were you in Italy?”
“Because my father went there. He was a musician and traveled about the continent, playing the piano for noblemen and theatre audiences.” On good days…
Evelina’s eyes widened. “Like Mama! Only Mama sang. Perhaps your father played for her!”
“Perhaps he did.”
“Don’t you remember? I shall have to ask Papa.”
Alexandra bit back the panicked Please don’t do that, and instead changed the subject. After all, even if Evelina remembered to ask, the chances of her father paying any attention to either question or answer were remote. Alexandra was only the governess.
As they finished dinner, Anna, the nurserymaid, came to take Evelina away and, presumably, put her to bed, for the child called, “Good night, Miss Battle!” as she trotted off.
Alexandra sat back, thoughtfully, wondering if and when more arduous duties, such as mending, might come her way. So far, she appeared to have landed on her feet in this position, however irregular the family.
The same maid who had admitted her to the house that morning, came bustling in with an empty tray to clear up. Alexandra made to stand.
“No, no, stay where you are, Miss,” the girl said cheerfully. “I won’t be a minute, and no one will bother you here. The master isn’t home. He isn’t, usually.”
Governesses did not gossip with the servants, but she allowed herself to say neutrally, “Evelina seems to be alone a great deal. She must miss her mother.”
The maid piled plates and cutlery on to the tray, separating the cutlery. “I suppose she must, but she seems happy enough, as long as you don’t get on the wrong side of her. I think she had a difficult life in Italy, what with a mother like that.”
“And her father,” Alexandra felt compelled to point out.
“Oh, he didn’t live with them from what I can gather. He was a bit of a wild one in his youth, Sir Nicholas. I’m Clara, by the way, all-purpose housemaid, so if you need anything, just ask.” Clara reached for the serving dishes.
“Thank you.” Judging by his portrait in Evelina’s room, he had not been so very young when his daughter was born. Which was none of her business, or the maid’s. So, despite inevitable curiosity, Alexandra kept her next inquiry impersonal. Or thought she did. “Was it business that took Sir Nicholas to Italy in the first place?”
Clara grinned. “No, he was only eighteen, bless him, and he ran off with a married lady!”
“Evelina’s mother was married to someone else?” Alexandra asked, startled.
“Bless you, Miss, I don’t know anything about that. Sir Nicholas didn’t run off with her. She was Italian. He ran off with Lady…” She glanced around nervously. “Well, I’d better not say. But, I heard he tired of her quickly, abandoned her, and took up with Evelina’s mother instead. Can’t blame him, really—she was beautiful, whatever else she was.”
Abandoning the woman whose life one had ruined did not sit well with Alexandra, but who was she to cast blame?
“The family never spoke of him after he left,” Clara confided. “And even when old Sir Bennet died, it was Mr. Ralph who took over the townhouse. We all began to think Sir Nicholas must be dead. And then he appears without warning in Sussex with little Evelina, turns everything upside down, puts in a new steward, and takes Mrs. Dart and me and several others up to London to live in this funny house. While Mr. Ralph,” she finished darkly, “lords it up in Mayfair.”
She hefted up the loaded tray and made for the door. “Mind you, wouldn’t want to be in Mr. Ralph’s shoes if Sir Nicholas comes calling!”
Alexandra was left feeling glad she was merely the governess. She must ensure that this positive tirade of scandal, gossip and, it seemed, family feuds, did not distress Evelina.
Chapter Two
With the inevitable difficulties and anxieties that came with the first day in a new post, Alexandra retired early that evening. In her warm, comfortable room, she all but flopped into bed and fell immediately asleep.
However, it was not an undisturbed sleep. Dreams involving giant cobwebs and furious children who looked like the angelic Evelina—or sometimes her beautiful mother—disturbed her. Sometimes, she was stepping over rubble with Evelina or one of her previous pupils. Sometimes she was playing the pianoforte among the cobwebs. Sometimes her father was. And once, the threatening, saturnine figure of her employer stood among the shadows, waiting for the mistake that would ruin her position and her life. When she swung away, he was suddenly before her, large and frightening. And yet in the midst of the fear, she felt the sweet, heavy tug of desire, and seeing it, he began to smile just as she jerked into wakefulness.
Twice more, she woke, once to distant voices—male voices, so perhaps the elusive Sir Nicholas had come home at last. She fell asleep again, almost at once, only to be wakened again by strange, bumping noises. Had she been susceptible to the gothic romances she loved to read, she could have imagined it was clanking chains. However, the bumping seemed far too rhythmic for that. Unless the chained one was dancing or drumming, she could not believe in such a scene.
She thought of getting up and creeping through the old house to the source of the noise, and in truth, it intrigued her. She tried pulling the pillows over her ears, but the noise persisted.
She sat up.
She was the new governess. She had not been in the house twenty-four hours. Did that mean curiosity was more or less forgivable? She should at least go as far as the schoolroom and make sure Evelina was neither disturbed nor causing the racket in the first place.
The fact that Anna, the nurserymaid, was closer did not seem terribly relevant as she rose from bed and padded across the cool floor to find her dressing gown. It was old and worn and no longer very warm for winter, but it was quite adequate on a warm July night like this.
Lighting her night candle, she picked it up and went out into the dark corridor. She walked quickly toward the schoolroom, though by the time she got there, she realized she could no longer hear the muffled clanking. When she opened the schoolroom door, all was dark and silent. So she closed it as softly as she could and, with a shrug, padded back the way she’d come. At her own closed door, she hesitated, then moved past it toward the stairs, for it suddenly struck her that the sound could have come from the room below, which would explain why it was less easily heard elsewhere.
Pausing at the head of the staircase, she saw no lights downstairs, heard no voices. No doubt it was inevitable that curiosity got the better of good sense, for she had been itching to explore the house properly since she got here. She just hadn’t planned on doing so in the middle of the night.
However, at least if everyone was in bed, she was unlikely to disturb anyone at work or run into the unpleasant master of the house. Probably. And if she did encounter someone… well, she still didn’t know what the noise was. She crept downward and turned toward the space she judged to be directly below her bedchamber.
The door was ajar, but there was no light from inside. When she pushed the door and lifted her candle higher, it seemed to be merely a jumble of old furniture. Dust and cobwebs lay thick over many surfaces. She could see nothing that might conceivably be responsible for the noise, which she could not hear now in any case. In fact, it was clearly not in use for anything.
Disappointed, she turned away. As she came to the large, empty room opposite the landing, she thought it would have made a fine banqueting hall two hundred years ago. Or a pleasant, modern drawing room, correctly decorated and furnished. She moved past it to the other side, where the dining room was located. It, too, was in darkness, so she crept past it into unexplored territory. Another door stood ajar, and through the crack, she saw what she had hoped to discover—bookshelves. Full bookshelves.
Smiling, she pushed the door further open—it didn’t creak—and walked in. Immediately, she was surrounded by the sight and smell of books. Shelves of them running almost to the ceiling and all the way round the walls, even under the windows and on either side of the huge fireplace…where, she suddenly realized, stood two lamps. Which explained why she could see the room so clearly.
And from the winged armchair beside the mantelpiece, a man rose to his feet and strolled toward her. Above dark trousers, he wore only a white shirt, open at the throat, with no tie, no coat. His black hair was tousled, falling forward over his forehead, his jaw dark with stubble.
And yet, she had never seen a man move with such grace or with such silent, predatory confidence. Her instinct for self-preservation warned her to run, but some other emotion—pride, she hoped—held her rooted to the spot, refusing to as much as step back from his compelling glittering gaze.
He halted a foot away from her, though she didn’t breathe any more easily.
“No,” he murmured. “I definitely don’t know you.”
But she knew him. Even without the formal attire of Evelina’s miniature portrait, this was undoubtedly Sir Nicholas Swan. Only, he wasn’t scowling. His eyes were mocking, amused, speculative. A whiff of brandy on his breath explained the hectic glitter in his black eyes. Something dangerous oozed from his every pore, a sense that he was not quite in control, that he didn’t want to be. Worse, when his eyes dipped, they seemed to strip her naked while his lips curved in a smile of anticipation.
“I am the governess,” she stated baldly, to halt his clear train of thought. “Alexandra Battle.”
For an instant, his eyes held hers without blinking as the smile faded. Yet still, he didn’t step back. “And how did you know that that would be the one claim to halt me in my dishonorable tracks?”
“You attribute too much calculation to a statement of fact.”
The smile was back, though it touched only those amazing, compelling eyes. “I’m not sure I do. But do you know who I am, Alexandra Battle?”
“My employer,” she said. “My charge’s father.”
“You don’t need to rub it in. And what drives you to seek out your employer in the middle of the night?”
“I didn’t seek you out!”
“And yet here you are,” he said softly. “Beautifully tousled and tempting in your night attire. What is a man to make of that?”
“Nothing,” she retorted. “A gentleman would know that there are no circumstances in which I would seek out a drunk.”
As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Calling her employer a drunk was a step too far. She would be packing her bags in the morning.
But he didn’t look angry, only surprised. “Really? Most women find me more acceptable in my cups.”
“Why?” she asked, distracted from the main point.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Gets rid of the harsh edges, I suppose.” A new challenge gleamed in his eyes. “Well, since you’re here, will you drink with me, Alexandra Battle?”
“No, thank you.” With that politeness, it was definitely time to flee, but she had not moved more than a muscle before his hand shot out, capturing her chin between finger and thumb, while he stepped closer and gazed fixedly down at her.
She could not breathe. Her heart seemed to drum against her ribs, but instinct told her to remain still, not to begin a fight she could not win. Not that he held her fast. He didn’t, and he only touched her at that one point. Nevertheless, there was but a couple of inches between his mouth and hers. She could feel his body heat, smell the brandy he had imbibed, and the lingering, expensive scent of soap on his skin. And if she melted, she didn’t know if it was with desire or fear. Either way, she knew better than to move and encourage the wild, male animal to pounce on its prey.
Only when his eyes lightened, did she recognize the challenge that had been there, that vanished as he released her.
With shock, she realized that if she had made any move toward him, kissed him as her wayward mind had tried to imagine, she would have failed his test. But then, just by being here, she could already have failed it. He wanted a respectable lady bringing up his daughter, not an opportunistic girl of loose morals.
There was no point even in indignation. His position and his sex enabled him to make such tests and such judgments. Hers did not.
And she needed the position.
“Good night, Alexandra Battle.”
Her candle trembled as she stumbled away from him. Yet, she couldn’t resist glancing back into the room. He was back at the armchair, pouring himself another glass of brandy. She fled.
*
Sir Nicholas Swan smiled as he poured more brandy and threw himself back into his comfortable armchair.
He liked the governess.
In the morning, he supposed, he might be ashamed of his seduction test. Right now, he felt justified by the mere fact that she was wandering his house in her nightclothes. He was a wealthy enough man that women of a certain kind—and this had nothing to do with class—tended to throw themselves at his head, with various motives. He was glad the governess was not one of them.
At least, he thought he was. But he was just drunk enough, and lonely enough, to wish she was not so damned virtuous. For in her thin nightclothes, her shock of auburn hair tumbling about her shoulders, she had been a tempting armful. From her beautiful defiant eyes and sculpted, kissable mouth, down to the outline of her long legs, she was a lovely woman.
Alexandra Battle.
Not even afraid of him. Well, he reconsidered, sipping his brandy, actually she had been afraid of him, and rightly so, for he was her employer, and he had not behaved well. But he liked that she had hidden her fear and stood up to him.
Oh well, he thought regretfully, the governess was off-limits if she stayed. If he hadn’t scared her off. He raised his glass to the door in a formal farewell to her. He wouldn’t touch her, but he found he was looking forward to meeting her again.
Impatiently, he tossed his half-finished brandy on the table and rose to his feet. Time to see if the night’s work was done.
*
“Is there a pianoforte in the house?” Alexandra asked Evelina as they breakfasted together in the schoolroom the next morning. She had been served with no notice to quit, so she had to assume that she was still employed.
Evelina considered. “No,” she said in some surprise. “I have never seen one here. In Venice, we had one. Mama used to sing and play. Sometimes people played for her, and she just sang.”
“Was she a good singer?”
Evelina nodded seriously.
“I’m sure you take after her. Do you like to sing?”
“Sometimes.”
“Did you play the piano also? Or some other musical instrument?”
“Oh, no.”
Well, she was only six years old. Still, it was never too young to begin, and not for the first time, Alexandra regretted her sold guitar and harp and the many pianofortes of her youth.
