Читать книгу Captain Corcoran's Hoyden Bride - Энни Берроуз, ANNIE BURROWS - Страница 9

Somebody, no, two somebodies took her by one elbow each, and hustled her across the hall and into a small parlour. They removed her wet cloak, her undone bonnet sliding from the back of her head in the process. And then they lowered her gently on to an armchair in front of a crackling fire. Again, she leaned forwards, burying her face in her hands to counteract the horrible feeling that she was about to faint.

‘Get some hot tea in here!’ she heard Mr Jago bark, swiftly followed by the sound of feet running to do his bidding. ‘And some cake!’ She heard another set of feet pounding from the room.

Eventually, the lurching, swimmy sensations settled sufficiently for Aimée to feel able to raise her head. Mr. Jago and the wall-eyed man who had held the umbrella over her were watching her with some anxiety.

‘I will be fine now,’ she murmured, attempting a smile through lips that still felt strangely numb.

‘Yes, you heard her,’ Mr Jago said, starting as though coming to himself. ‘And the sight of your ugly mug is not going to help her get better. Be about your business!’

‘Looks like a puff of wind would blow her away,’ she heard the man mutter as he left the room.

‘Aye, far too scrawny …’ she heard another man, who had apparently been lurking just outside the door, agreeing.

And then there was just Mr Jago, assessing her slender frame with those keen blue eyes.

As if she was not nervous enough, that comment, coupled with Mr Jago’s assessing look, sent a new fear clutching at her belly.

‘I am far stronger than I look,’ she declared. ‘Truly, you need have no fear that I am not fit for work!’

Indeed, she did not know what had come over her. She could only assume that the strain she had been under recently had taken a deeper toll on her health than she had realised.

She knew she had lost quite a bit of weight. To begin with, she had felt too sickened by what her father had done to feel like eating anything. And then flitting from one cheap lodging house to another, whilst racking her brains for a permanent solution to her dire predicament, had done nothing to counteract her total loss of appetite.

And the people she’d been obliged to approach, in the end—people nobody in their right mind would trust! She had not been sure they had not double-crossed her until she’d boarded the stage, and it was actually leaving London.

‘I am just tired,’ she pleaded with Mr Jago. ‘It was such a long journey …’ And it had begun not the day before, in the coaching yard of the Bull and Mouth, but on the night she’d had to flee from the lodgings she shared with her father. When she had to finally accept she needed to thrust aside any last remnants of obligation she felt towards the man who had sired her.

For he clearly felt none towards her!

To her relief, Mr Jago’s expression softened.

‘You must rest, then, until you have recovered,’ he said. ‘Do not worry about your position. It is yours. Quite secure.’

The door opened, and the burly man who had taken her trunk upstairs came in with a large tray, which he slapped down on a little side table at Aimée’s elbow, making the cups rattle in their saucers. Mr Jago shot him a dark look, which the man ignored with an insouciance that immediately raised him in her estimation.

Once she had drunk two cups of hot sweet tea and consumed a large slice of rich fruitcake, Mr Jago led her up the stairs to a charming little bedroom on the first floor. On the hearthrug, before yet another blazing fire, stood a bath, already filled with steaming, rose-scented water.

‘You will feel much better for getting out of those wet clothes and having a warm bath,’ said Mr Jago, and then, going a little pink in the cheeks, added, ‘I hope you will be able to manage unassisted.’

‘Naturally,’ she replied, determined to erase the impression of a helpless, weak and foolish woman she was worried might be forming in his mind, after the way she had behaved today. ‘A governess has no need for a maid.’

He cleared his throat, going a tinge deeper pink, then said briskly, ‘Have a lie down, after your bath. There is nothing for you to do until this evening, when the Captain requests the pleasure of your company at dinner.’

Mr Jago had phrased it like an invitation, but, of course, it was an order. Her new employer would want to look her over. And find out what kind of creature his man of business had hired to take care of his children.

‘Thank you. I shall be ready,’ she assured him.

She wasted no time, after he had left, in slithering out of her wet clothes and slipping into the warm bath with a sigh of contentment. She could not recall the last time somebody else had drawn a bath for her! Several large, soft towels had been draped over an airer before the fire to warm. Having dried herself, she wrapped one round herself, toga style, and set about getting herself organised. The first thing she did was to drape her chemise, petticoat and stays over the frame that had been used to warm the towels. Then she went to her trunk, which somebody—the burly man, she assumed—had placed at the foot of the divan bed, which was up against the far wall. She unpacked the silver-backed hairbrush first, an item she had purchased for the express purpose of placing in a prominent position on her dressing table. She did not know much about being in service, but she did know that a governess had to establish that she was no ordinary servant from the outset, by employing such little ruses as this.

Then she took out the gown she had bought in case she ever had to dine with the family. It looked almost new. And not too badly creased, either. She had pressed it again before packing it. She had got a laundress to carefully run a hot iron over the seams the very day she had purchased it, as she was in the habit of doing with every item of second-hand clothing she ever bought, to make sure that no lice the previous owner might have carried could survive to plague her. It was not a very flattering style, and the dove-grey silk did not suit her colouring, but apart from the fact that it was the only thing she had been able to find that struck the right balance between decorum and style, it added to the impression she wished to give, of being in mourning.

She grimaced as she hung it from two pegs on the back of the door. The day she had bought it was the day she had decided her father was dead to her. She had fulfilled her filial duty by making sure he was free of debt before she left town. And paid for one more month’s rent on his lodgings. But that was it. She would have nothing more to do with him.

Her stays and petticoat were still slightly damp when she put them back on later, upon rising from her nap, but she could not leave them lying about her room! The coins she had sewn into the hem of her petticoat bumped reassuringly against her calves, reminding her that the safest place for the amount of money she was carrying was on her person. And that it was where it must remain, no matter what.

Having dressed, and brushed, braided and pinned up her hair in the style she had decided made her look the most severely governess-like, Aimée lifted her chin, straightened her back and left her room.

The burly servant was lounging against the wall opposite, his brawny arms folded across his massive chest.

‘Evenin’, miss.’ He grinned at her, straightening up. ‘They call me Nelson.’ He shrugged in a way that suggested it was not his real name at all, but that he was not averse to the nickname.

‘I’m to take you down to the front parlour, where the Captain is waiting,’ he explained.

‘Are you the footman?’ she asked as he led the way along the corridor to the head of the stairs. She knew that as governess, her position would be outside the hierarchy that governed the rest of the staff, which she did not mind in the least. No, so far as she was concerned, if the only people she spoke to, from one end of the day to the next, were her charges, the safer she would feel. Nevertheless, it would be useful to ascertain the status of every person working in this household, so that she did not inadvertently tread on anyone’s toes. Mr Jago was easy enough to place. He was in a position of some authority. But Nelson was something of a puzzle. He had hefted luggage about like a menial, but then served tea with an air of doing Mr Jago a personal favour, and had come to fetch her as though he had a fairly responsible position himself.

He turned and looked at her over his shoulder, his leathery, brown face creasing even further as he frowned.

‘In a manner of speaking, just now, aye, I suppose I am,’ he said. ‘Down to minimum complement of four side-boys, just now, on account of—’ He stopped short, his eyes skittering away from hers. ‘And, well, we all do whatever’s necessary,’ he finished, crossing the hallway and flinging open the door to the parlour.

She could not help noticing his rolling gait, which, coupled with his nautical outfit, and the incomprehensible jargon he used, confirmed her belief that this man was an ex-sailor. In fact, now she came to think of it, all the men who had gathered at the front door, upon her arrival, looked more like the crew of a ship, loitering on the dockside, than formally trained household servants.

And when he announced, ‘Miss Peters, Cap’n!’ before bowing her into the room as though she were a duchess, she wondered if Mr Jago had hoped all her years of travel had rendered her broad minded enough to deal with what was looking increasingly like a very eccentrically run household. Because, from what Nelson had just said, it sounded as though the Captain expected all his staff to adapt themselves to the circumstances, rather than rigidly stick to a narrow sphere of duty.

Well, that did not bother her. She could cook and sew, manage household accounts and even clean out the nursery grates and light the fires if necessary. As long as her wages came in regularly, and nobody asked too many questions about her past, she would not mind taking on duties that were, strictly speaking, not generally expected of a governess.

A tall man dressed in naval uniform was standing with his back to the room, gazing out of the rain-lashed windows. His coat was of the same dark blue as that of his staff, though cut to fit his broad shoulders and tapering down to his narrow waist. Gold epaulettes proclaimed his rank. And instead of the baggy trousers of his men, he wore knee breeches and silk stockings.

He swung round suddenly, making her gasp in surprise. For one thing, though she could not say precisely why it should be, she had always imagined her employer would be quite old. Yet this man did not look as though he was much past the age of thirty.

But what really shocked her was the scarring that ran from one empty eye socket to his right temple, where a substantial section of his hair was completely white.

What a coincidence! His coachman, too, had worn an eyepatch over his right eye.

No, wait … Her stomach sinking, she studied his face more closely.

Earlier on, she had only glimpsed the coachman’s features fully for a few seconds, when he had pulled his muffler down, the better to berate her. And the hat had concealed that thick mane of dark blond hair.

But there was no doubt this was the same man!

Her stomach sinking as she recalled the way she had shouted right back at him, she sank into a curtsy, hanging her head.

He must have had a perfectly good reason for driving the coach himself. Nelson had said the household was short of staff at present. Perhaps that accounted for it. Perhaps that accounted for him coming to fetch her so late, too. Nelson’s ambiguous comments indicated the place was in turmoil, for some reason he did not care to divulge to her, the newcomer.

But did that excuse Captain Corcoran from not introducing himself properly? Or shouting at her, and scaring her half to death?

Oh, if he were not her employer she would …

But he was her employer. And he had every right to shout at her if she angered him. And since she needed this job so badly, she would just have to bite back the remarks she would so dearly love to make.

She clenched her fists and kept her eyes fixed on the floor just in front of the Captain’s highly polished shoes, knowing that it was a bit too soon to look him in the face. Not until she had fully quenched her ire at being so completely wrong-footed could she risk that!

She had never imagined how hard this aspect of getting a job as a governess would be. She supposed it came from not having to submit to anyone’s authority for so many years. Not since her mother had died. Though she had never had any trouble doing exactly as she had told her.

At least she would not have to resort to asking a few of the questions she was sure this man would think impertinent, to work some things out. For one thing, she could see perfectly why Mr Jago had said he wanted to hire a woman with backbone. This Captain Corcoran clearly had a hasty temper, as well as a completely unique way of organising his household. She had been on the receiving end of it herself already, as well as witnessing his treatment of the slovenly landlord in Beckforth. A more sensitive female would wilt under the lash of that vicious tongue, let alone the force of the blistering glare she could feel him bending upon her now!

As she continued to stand, with her head down, the Captain emitted a noise that was just what she guessed a bear, prematurely roused from its hibernation, would make before devouring the hapless creature that had woken it.

It surprised her into looking up. She caught him fumbling a patch into position over the empty eye socket, his lips drawn into a flat line as though he was experiencing some degree of discomfort.

He might have known the sight of it would turn her stomach, he thought as her eyes skittered away from the ruined right side of his face. Mr Jago had said she did not seem to be the squeamish sort, but you never could tell what was going on inside a woman’s head, not unless you shocked them into revealing it.

‘C-Captain Corcoran?’ she stammered, wondering how on earth to get past this awkward moment.

‘Miss Peters,’ he said crisply, as though her mere presence in the room was causing him intense annoyance. Though she could not imagine why it should. He was not the one who had made a complete fool of himself out there in the road!

‘Shall we go in to dine?’ he said, holding out his arm. ‘Unless you are not hungry?’ She would not be the first woman to find his features so repellent they robbed her of her appetite.

Just then her stomach rumbled so loudly that even the Captain must have heard it, for he looked down at it in surprise, at the exact moment her hands fluttered to her waist. Though she was appalled at such a loss of dignity, she swiftly decided that it had at least gone some way towards dissipating the tension that thrummed between them.

‘There is no point,’ she said with a rueful twist to her lips, ‘trying to pretend that I am not completely famished!’

It was quite true. The nausea that had been roiling in her stomach ever since the night she had learned her father had attempted to auction off her virginity in some noisome gambling hell in a last-ditch attempt to escape his crushing debts had completely vanished the moment she had crossed the threshold of The Lady’s Bower. She had enjoyed every mouthful of that cake, and now she felt as though she could eat a horse.

The ferocity of the Captain’s frown abated by several degrees.

‘Then let us go in,’ he said.

She laid her hand upon his arm, and he led her through a door into a generously proportioned dining room. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over a terrace, and thence to grounds that were obscured by the driving rain.

There was an oval table in the centre of the highly polished floor, beautifully set out, with a centrepiece of artistically arranged roses that filled the air with their perfume.

It was only as a servant came to pull out one of the chairs for her that it struck her how odd it was that it was only set for two.

Where was the Captain’s wife?

She darted him one curious glance as he took his own place and signalled for service to begin.

She toyed with her napkin in her lap, as she bit back the thousand-and-one questions she wanted to ask. It was so frustrating, having to constantly remember her place! He would only tell her whatever he thought she needed to know, in his own good time.

He sat stiffly, eating his soup in brooding silence. But it was so delicious that before long she no longer cared that her new employer was turning out to be a bit of an autocrat. A man would not have risen to the rank of Captain, she decided, at such a relatively young age, without having a forceful personality. Nobody would put a man in charge of a fighting ship if he were not extremely capable.

The navy was not run in the same way as the army, where a man could rise through the ranks merely by buying commissions. In the navy, a man had to earn his promotion. Even pass exams in seamanship, she seemed to recall having heard somewhere.

And he definitely looked intelligent. It sparked from that one, steely grey eye. There had been an uncomfortable moment, just before dinner, when she had felt as though he was looking into her very soul. But then, fortunately, her stomach had rumbled. And although that hard mouth had not curved into a smile, she had seen a flash of humour lighten his expression somewhat. And if he was capable of seeing the funny side of things, perhaps he would not turn out to be a complete tyrant.

It was a shame, she mused, about his scars. Because without them, he would be quite handsome. Though even before he had lost that eye, she did not think he would have had the sensuous kind of good looks that had some women practically swooning with desire. No, he would have had … still had, in fact, the rugged features of a man with plenty of character.

She laid her spoon aside, astonished to find she had devoured her soup in complete silence, whilst musing over the Captain’s looks and character.

‘So, you spoke no less than the truth,’ the Captain remarked as the servant whisked her empty bowl away. ‘I do not think I have ever observed any female eat with such gusto.’

Though he looked faintly amused, again, she felt rebuked by his remark. Her mother had taught her better than this! She ought to have sipped at her soup daintily, not revealed she was utterly famished.

She folded her hands in her lap, pulling herself upright as more servants bustled about with dishes containing the next course.

She had not forgotten her table manners entirely, thank goodness. She had not slurped her soup, or grabbed a couple of the rolls and stuffed them into her pocket for later. But she felt as though she might just as well have done.

A lady, her mother had always insisted, should never betray the fact that she was starving. Not even when her clothes hung in rags from her skinny shoulders, and they were obliged to subsist on handouts from friends.

‘Adverse circumstances,’ her mother had been fond of saying, ‘are only a test of character. Never forget you are a Vickery,’ she would say, while her father had rolled his eyes in exasperation at the way she continually reminded Aimée of that side of her heritage. ‘A Vickery will always rise to the occasion.’

Oh, Mama, she thought, a guilty flush heating her cheeks. How I have let things slide, of late! Today, especially. Losing my temper with that innkeeper, and shouting at my employer in the road! Even though he was disguised as a coachman, I had no business letting my emotions get the better of me. I will do better, she vowed. I will rise to the occasion.

‘You are blushing,’ the Captain startled her by observing. ‘Directness of my speech too much for you?’

She turned her head to look directly at him. The pugnacious set of his jaw made her wonder if he was deliberately trying to unsettle her. Perhaps he was. Had she not expected her new employer to want to test her mettle for himself? When a woman was to be put in charge of a man’s children, he would want to be quite sure of her character.

If she really wanted to retain this post, it was past time to swallow her pride and account for her earlier, inappropriate behaviour.

She cleared her throat.

‘I have no objection to speaking directly. So, while we are being direct with one another, I would like to take the opportunity to clear the air between us. There is still some awkwardness, I believe, resulting from my earlier reaction to your appearance.’

If she had thought his face had looked harsh before, it was as nothing to the expression that darkened it now. Hastily, she explained, ‘You see, the first time we met, I was under the impression you were merely a coachman. And I believe I may have been somewhat impolite …’

‘May have been?’ For a moment, he glared at her so intensely she thought she had seriously offended him. But then he flung back his head and barked with laughter.

‘You gave as good as you got, and you damn well know it! Mr Jago promised me he had found me a woman of spirit, and you certainly have that, Miss Peters.’

He took a sip of wine, then added, ‘But you are not too proud to apologise, when you know you are in the wrong, either.’

‘Not quite,’ she agreed with a rueful smile, reflecting how hard it had been to broach the topic of her folly.

‘Ah, you’ll do.’ He leaned back in his chair. And smiled back.

It was amazing how drastically the change of expression altered his appearance. She had already thought he looked like a man used to command. But now there was such a compelling aura about him she could well believe men would follow him slavishly to their deaths.

‘Yes, you’ll do nicely!’ he said again. ‘You really are tough enough to take on the task I chose you for.’

‘Ah, yes!’ Finally, they were going to put aside any personal feelings and discuss her professional role within his household. She had been so nervous during her interview with Mr Jago. She had been too busy looking over her shoulder, at what she was escaping from, to ascertain exactly what he expected from her. She had not asked nearly enough questions. Why, she did not even know how many children she was to take charge of, nor their ages!

‘When will I be meeting the children?’ she asked. ‘And your wife?’

The young man with eyes like a spaniel, who had been carving the duck, dropped the knife on to the table with a muffled clunk.

‘Give me that, Billy,’ Captain Corcoran snapped, getting to his feet, retrieving the knife and setting about skilfully carving the bird himself.

Oh, dear. From the young man’s nervous start, and the Captain’s set jaw, she could tell she had somehow put her foot in it. After rapidly reviewing the events of the day to see if she could work out in what way, it occurred to her that she had seen no sign that any children lived in this house at all. Surely, if they did, the first thing that would have happened, upon her arrival, would have been a visit to the nursery. Though she had been unwell …

‘My wife is dead,’ he bit out, as he placed a slice of duck on to her plate.

‘I am so sorry,’ she gasped, her heart going out to his poor little motherless children. No wonder he had sent as far afield as London to find just the right woman to take charge of them! She would be the primary female influence upon their lives.

‘You need not be,’ he said, pausing in his dissection of the duck for a while, before continuing, in a lighter tone, ‘Since I took up the lease on this house, not a single female had crossed its threshold. Until today. The locals think it a great joke, since it is called The Lady’s Bower.’

From his abrupt change of topic, she deduced that he did not wish to discuss his deceased wife. She completely understood. Though his comment made her wonder if perhaps the landlord of the King’s Arms had not been trying to fleece her after all. He might just have thought that The Lady’s Bower was not the kind of place into which a lone female ought to stray.

She lifted the lid of the tureen that Billy had placed beside her plate and helped herself to a portion of peas.

‘And your children? I take it, they are all boys?’

‘I have no children.’

No children? No children!

She replaced the lid of the tureen carefully and reached for the dish of cauliflower. She was not going to fly into a panic. Just because he had no wife. Or children.

And because she was the only female in the household. The only female who had ever been in this household.

But her will, it seemed, had no control over her heart, which began to stutter uncomfortably in her chest.

‘You need not worry about my men, Miss Peters,’ said the Captain, who was clearly aware how nervous she felt, despite her attempts to conceal it.

‘Not one of them will lay so much as a finger on you. They would not dare.’ His face darkened.

‘I would not have taken a single one of them in if they were not completely loyal to me.’ He gestured with the carving knife to emphasise his next point. ‘Every man jack of them has served under my command at some time or another, and knows I don’t hesitate to flog a man who transgresses.’

When her eyes flew wide, he added, ‘They also know I won’t do so without good reason.’ Abruptly, he tossed the knife aside, sat down and picked up his knife and fork. ‘Not that I need to flog a single one of them to ensure their good behaviour.’ He began to saw away at the meat on his plate. ‘Any infringement of the rules here—’ he impaled a piece of duck on his fork ‘—and they would be back on the streets where I found them. Each of ‘em damn lucky I took him on. No, you need have no worry about being a lone female in a household of men. Besides, it won’t be for long.’ He raised the fork to his mouth and began to chew his meat.

‘Oh?’ She ladled a generous helping of béchamel sauce over the cauliflower on her plate, noting with a detached sense of pride that her hands were scarcely shaking at all.

Though all his talk of flogging was hardly comforting. And what had he meant, it would not be for long?

Unless …

‘Are you intending, perhaps, to marry again?’

He looked up from his plate, a strange smile playing about his lips.

‘You are very perceptive.’

Though it did not fully explain why he had hired a governess … unless his new bride already had children from a former marriage.

Yes, that must be it! She gave a sigh of relief, gripped her knife and fork tightly and forced herself to cut up her vegetables as though she saw nothing bizarre about the whole situation.

There must be a perfectly logical reason for the Captain to have had her brought here. She was being extremely foolish to assign nefarious motives to everything every man did. She had already jumped to far too many wrong conclusions today.

‘We did not get off to a very good start,’ he commented. ‘But I was pleased to see the way you weathered that storm.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, accepting a slice of tongue from the plate the Captain nudged in her direction, along with the compliment.

‘You find me somewhat rough around the edges, I dare say,’ he observed.

‘Not at all,’ she murmured mechanically. It was not her place to comment on her employer’s manners, or lack thereof. Besides, working for somebody who was ‘rough around the edges', as he put it, would be a great improvement on habitually dealing with men who were rotten to the core.

‘Hmmph,’ he grunted, clearly unconvinced by her reply, then went on, in a conversational tone, ‘I have spent most of my life at sea, in the company of men such as Billy and Jago. Not used to females at all.’

She could not help raising just one eyebrow as she lifted another forkful of food to her mouth. With the kind of rugged good looks he still possessed, in spite of the scarring round his empty eye socket, she was sure he must have had his flings. She knew what sailors were like when they got shore leave. Particularly the young officers, who got more liberty when a ship was in dock than did the ratings. Besides, he had been married!

‘At least, not society females,’ he amended, confirming her opinion that a man as brim full of vitality as him would have had plenty of experience with women.

‘Not that I ever really understood my wife, either, and she was merely a chandler’s daughter. She did not mind … did not seem to mind my ways. I thought she saw marrying a lieutenant as a step up the social ladder.’ He frowned. ‘I know better now. Once bitten, twice shy. Besides which, my needs now are nothing like the expectations I had when I was a callow youth. And I’ve a sight too much self-respect, at my age, to try to play the suitor to a succession of society beauties in Almack’s or some such place. I have neither the time, nor the inclination, to go down that route.’

Though Aimée was somewhat baffled by the turn the conversation was taking, she smiled politely, and took a sip of her wine.

‘But Mr Jago said you would suit me down to the ground. You have lived much harder than most gently born ladies, have you not?’

Her eyes flickered back to him uncertainly. When she had been a little girl, her mother had shielded her from knowing about their constant financial hardships. Living within the orbit of Lady Aurora Vickery was like being on a grand adventure. She had even managed to make fleeing lodgings where the rent was overdue, at the dead of night, into a game. A game of hide-and-seek, she smiled sadly, that had been played out over an entire continent, from an ever-increasing army of creditors. It was only once she had died that reality had set in with a vengeance. Her father had always been a little too fond of drinking and gambling, but without her mother’s restraining influence, he shed any veneer of decency. Then the man she had called father had progressively crumbled away, until even Aimée had been forced to admit there was nothing left of the man who had inspired her mother to elope with him.

So it was pointless to quibble about how she regarded her past. She just nodded her head, murmuring, ‘Yes.’

‘Then it is about time we came to terms,’ he said.

‘T-terms?’

He shifted position, as though his chair had suddenly become very uncomfortable. ‘Yes, terms. I was not planning to lay my cards on the table quite this soon, but you have already guessed that I got you here under false pretences, have you not? I knew, of course, that a woman applying for a job as a governess would have a certain level of education, but you really do have a quick mind, Miss Peters. I admire that about you.’

He looked her over, in a way that made her very aware of her body.

‘As well as being every bit as pretty as Mr Jago told me. I could not find,’ he said, with evident satisfaction, ‘a woman more suitable for my purposes if I were to trawl society ballrooms for a month.’

She bent her head over her plate, carrying on eating as though nothing troubled her. Thank heavens she had already reminded herself of what her mother would have expected of her, and buckled her manners in place like armour!

She had begun to suspect the Captain was up to something when she had discovered he had no wife or children here. Really, she ought to have been put on the alert by the fact he had been so coy about revealing his identity until after she was already committed to travelling up here. No wonder the interview had been so cursory. Captain Corcoran did not need a governess for his fictitious children!

No, now he was freely admitting that he had lured her to this isolated spot under false pretences. And had then gone on to tell her that he found her pretty. Put that together with the way he had said he admired her spirit, but was relieved to see she was not too proud … She felt the soup curdling in her stomach. Even though he had no desire to remarry, and he was discerning enough in his tastes now to want a well-born, intelligent woman to warm his bed whilst he was ashore, it was not the least bit flattering to hear that he was so delighted with her that he could not wait to offer her carte blanche.

‘Miss Peters, I am, nowadays, such a wealthy man that you can have as many fancy clothes and jewels as you wish,’ he said, confirming her worst fears. ‘And servants. Though I will not have you trying to lay off any of the men who have served under my command at sea,’ he warned her sternly. ‘Apart from that one proviso, you may have a free hand. Yes, a completely free hand.’ He sat back and regarded her expectantly.

She laid her knife and fork down with precision, reaching for her wine glass and taking a ladylike sip. Thank heavens she had grown so adept at remaining outwardly calm. That she had so many years’ practice in keeping up appearances, no matter how severe the strain she endured.

Even if, as now, real fear was gripping her.

‘Well, what is your answer?’ Captain Corcoran said impatiently after she had remained silent for several moments. ‘Surely you must see the advantages of the position I am offering you? It is not as though you can have anything to go back to London for, or you would not have applied for work as a governess in the first place!’

No, nothing awaited her in London except certain degradation. For her father’s career there had followed the same path as it had in every other city they had ever visited. An initial flourish to persuade the citizens he was wealthy, entrée into several of the less select gaming clubs, and then the rapid descent into horrendous debt. Only this time, her father had been so lost to any sense of decency, he had attempted to sell her to some … lecher.

Had sold her!

Lord Matthison had sent his servant to her lodgings with the money, and instructions that she was to deal with him directly in future. So much money, there was no mistaking his intent.

It had been the last straw. The final outrage that had made her sever all ties from her scandalous father for ever.

She had vowed then and there that she would never trust a man again.

How right she had been. She lifted her head and regarded Captain Corcoran coldly. She had escaped from London’s sewers, only to fall into the clutches of another such as Lord Matthison.

In fact, worse. At least Lord Matthison had been completely open about his intentions. This man had as good as kidnapped her, then taken pains to inform her that all his staff were utterly loyal to him. And that he would have them flogged and dismissed should any of them take pity on her, and help her escape!

Her heart beating fast, she patted her lips with her napkin. She was not going to let him see how scared she was. That would be fatal. She had learned long ago, given the numerous precarious positions to which her father had so frequently exposed her, that nothing inflamed a potential predator more than the knowledge his victim was afraid.

‘Your proposition has taken me by surprise,’ she said, proud of the even tone of her voice. ‘May I have some time to think about it?’

When he frowned, her heart beat so fast that she began to go light-headed. If he was the type of man who was not averse to using violence in his dealings with women, her appeal would go unheeded. He could swing her over his shoulder, heave her upstairs to one of his bedrooms, and …

She flinched from picturing the awful deed. She had to fill her mind with something other than the fear that threatened to blot out all ability to reason. Think, Aimée, think! How on earth was she to get out of this?

She took a deep breath, reminded herself she had escaped from sticky situations before. Ever since her shape had first started to change from that of a girl to a woman, she’d had to evade the groping hands of the drunken lecherous men who made up her father’s coterie.

Though the Captain was not drunk. Nor was he simply an opportunist, trying to make sport of a defenceless girl who had strayed into his path. No, he had coldly, calmly, planned this seduction!

But his mistake would be the same as all other men made: in underestimating her determination to thwart his vile schemes.

‘Very well,’ he grudgingly conceded. ‘You may have until the morning. But no longer. I have no time to waste.’

Outwardly calm, she got to her feet. Captain Corcoran did so too. Aping the gentleman, she mentally sneered.

‘Thank you, Captain,’ she said graciously, inclining her head as though she fully intended to think about his disgusting proposition.

The moment she left the dining room, she saw her way to the front door barred by Nelson. Lounging against the far wall, his arms folded across his chest, he no longer looked like the amiable, salt-of-the-earth character with whom she had fleetingly felt a connection. His stance, and then the over-familiar grin he bestowed upon her, put her in mind of the kind of men employed to guard the doors at brothels.

And he insisted on escorting her upstairs.

But she refused to give him any indication that she resented him guarding her, and her ruse was so successful that, the moment she was inside the room with the door shut, she heard him go straight back downstairs.

Probably to report back to his master, she thought, opening the door a crack, and peeping out. But the Captain did not hold all the cards. She could still employ the element of surprise.

Since nobody else seemed to be about, she darted out of her room and leaned over the banister rail to check that the downstairs hall was clear. It was! Now or never, Aimée, she told herself, her heart pounding with terror of discovery. And she ran swiftly back down the stairs and straight to the front door.

She had no need to waste time collecting anything from her room. Long before leaving London, she had sewn most of the banknotes Lord Matthison had sent to her into her stays. And the hem of her petticoat was weighted down with guineas. She could buy anything she needed later. If only she could get well away from her captors!

To her intense relief, when she clawed at the handle, she found the front door was neither bolted, nor locked, and it swung open easily on well-oiled hinges.

The cold wet air that gusted into the hall made her gasp. But she did not regret the lack of a coat. Retaining just enough presence of mind to shut the door quietly behind her, to prevent her flight being detected for as long as possible, she slipped out into the rain and ran. And ran.

Only for a few seconds on the gravel drive, because it made too much noise. Then along the grass verge, though it was treacherously slippery. She made it to the twin stone pillars at the end of the drive. Then, with her tortured breath rasping in her throat, across the lane and into the woods, where a branch promptly slapped her in the face. As she recoiled with a yelp, it raked over the crown of her head, tearing the pins from her oh-so-carefully-arranged hairstyle. Her braids came tumbling over her face, but she kept on running. It was almost pitch black under these trees in any case. It was only after she had been crashing through the undergrowth, heedless of the branches snagging at her hair, and the brambles tearing at her skirts, that it occurred to her she had no idea where she was running to.

She had long been prepared to take flight at a moment’s notice.

But she had thought her flight would be in London. From Lord Matthison.

Not out here in the howling wilderness, where there were no signposts to tell her which way to go. No convenient alleys to duck into. No rooms to rent with no questions asked if the price was right. Just trees, she panted, and brambles and rain and wind and mud.

She stopped. And bent over slightly from the waist to get her breath back. And her powers of reasoning.

The lane.

If she kept close to the lane, she could probably make her way back to the King’s Arms. The innkeeper had tried to warn her to stay away from Captain Corcoran and his henchmen. And, after the way Captain Corcoran had berated him, the man would be only too pleased to do him an ill turn.

It was only a matter of finding her way out of the woods and back to the lane. And praying that her absence would not be noticed for some considerable time.