Читать книгу A Regency Virgin's Undoing: Lady Drusilla's Road to Ruin / Paying the Virgin's Price - Christine Merrill, Christine Merrill - Страница 9

When the door of the room closed behind them, Mr Hendricks released a string of curses directed at no one in particular. And although she should have been shocked, Drusilla had to admit that they effectively described her own feelings on the latest turn of events. He turned to glare at her. ‘Do not think to complain about what has occurred, for it is completely your own fault. If you had not forced me to lie for you, you would have the room to yourself.’

‘And at the prices they are charging, I would not have been able to pay for it,’ she responded, just as cross.

‘You are a duke’s daughter. And you do not have enough blunt in your pocket to stay in an inn?’ He laughed. ‘Call the innkeeper back, mention your father’s name and not only will he extend you credit, he will turn out one of the other guests so that we may have two beds and a private sitting room, instead of this squalid hole he has given us.’

‘If I wished to bandy my father’s name in every inn between here and Gretna, I would be travelling escorted in a private carriage. And you would be sleeping on the floor of the taproom.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Where you belong.’

Her unwilling companion bowed in response. ‘Thank you so much for you kind opinion of me, Lady Drusilla. It is particularly welcome coming from one who cannot pay for her own bed.’

Though she was used to being the brunt of sarcasm at home, somehow it hurt more coming from Mr Hendricks. And she had brought it upon herself by taunting him.

But before she could apologise, he continued. ‘I suppose the next thing you will do is request that I loan you sufficient to cover your dinner, the room and tomorrow’s breakfast as well.’ When she did not correct him, he laughed bitterly. ‘Why am I not surprised at this? Is it not typical that a member of your class should be relying on me, yet again, to rescue them from their own folly at the expense of my own needs?’ He was gesticulating wildly now, pacing the little space available in their room. ‘Mr Hendricks, write my letters for me. Mr Hendricks, rent me a room. Mr Hendricks, lie to my wife. Not a word of this to my husband, Hendricks. As if I have no other goal in life than to run hither and yon, propping up the outlandish falsehoods of people too foolish to predict their outcome.’ He stopped suddenly, as though just noticing that he was speaking the words aloud. Then he dropped his hands to his sides and examined her closely. ‘You are not about to cry, are you?’

‘Certainly not.’ She reached up and touched her own cheek to make sure. She was not normally given to bouts of tears, but it would be most embarrassing to succumb without warning.

‘That is good,’ he said. ‘I am not normally so transparent in my feelings. But it has been a trying week. And as you pointed out earlier, I am somewhat the worse for drink and ranting about things that are no fault of yours.’

‘But you are right in your displeasure,’ she allowed. ‘It was unfair of me to request your help in a situation you had no part in creating.’

He sat down next to her suddenly. ‘I almost wish you were crying. I’d have been much more able to resist you had that been the case.’

Resist me? She had hardly brought the force of her personality to bear on the man, other than the kick on the ankle. And although she was often described by men as formidable, it was usually said in a tone of annoyance, or occasionally awe. Though it meant nearly the same, it felt much nicer to be irresistible.

He looked at her thoughtfully, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose as though trying to get a clear view of the situation before speaking again. Then he said, ‘Leaving London with no chaperon and no money was very foolish of you. But since I was equally foolish to leave the city drunk and on the wrong coach, I have no right to upbraid you.’

Comparing the two situations, she could hardly call them equal. His was probably the worse. But he was the one with the fatter purse and she was in no position to make enemies. ‘Thank you,’ she said as mildly as possible.

He frowned for a moment, as though trying to remember something, then added, ‘Did I mention earlier that I am currently without a position?’

‘No, you did not.’ Although why it should matter, she had no idea.

‘Then, my lady, I see a solution to both our problems.’ His previous insolence evaporated in a single sentence. In its place was a natural deference, with no hint of the obsequious servility she’d seen in some servants. ‘I have some experience in dealing with situations rather like yours. Until several days ago, I was personal secretary to the Earl of Folbroke.’

That would explain it, then. He wasn’t a preacher or a teacher. He had been a confidential employee of a peer. ‘And under what circumstances did you leave this position?’ she asked, trying to decide where the conversation was likely to lead them.

‘Nothing that would prevent him from giving a positive reference, were he here now.’

Drusilla was glad he was not. The room was hardly big enough for the two of them, without adding former employers into the mix.

‘I have letters to that effect,’ Mr Hendricks said.

‘Which are?’

‘In London.’

‘I see.’

He removed his spectacles to polish them before continuing. ‘But that job gave me experience in dealing with the sort of delicate situations that sometimes occur in families such as yours.’

Utterly mad ones, you mean. The way he’d been raving before, she was sure that he had interesting stories to tell, were he the sort of man to share confidences about his employers. Which he was not.

‘Handling matters with discretion is a personal strong point of mine,’ he confirmed, as though reading her mind. ‘And if you could ensure me of repayment when we return to London, a bit more for my troubles, and perhaps a letter of reference?’

‘More than that. My father will write the letter himself. And he will see to it that you are generously rewarded at the end of the affair.’

Behind his glasses, Mr Hendricks’s amber eyes glittered. References from an earl were no small thing. But if he could win the favour of a duke, he would be seen as nearly invaluable by his next employer.

‘The Duke of Benbridge will be most grateful to hear that the matter was handled with discretion.’ After he got used to the idea, at any rate.

‘He will not mind that you are travelling alone?’ Hendricks asked, searching for a flaw in her story.

Her father would be livid when he learned that Priss had run, and even angrier to know that Dru had not caught her before she’d left the house. In comparison to that, travelling alone or hiring a stranger would be as nothing. ‘He will not be happy,’ she admitted. ‘But it is not as if I am the one eloping with Mr Gervaise. I am trying to prevent his elopement … with another.’ If it was possible, she would keep Priss out of the story a while longer. If Hendricks knew of her father, then it was possible he’d heard gossip of Benbridge’s wilful younger daughter and would realise that the girl might need to be dragged kicking and screaming back home. ‘Just a trip to Scotland and back. It will be very little trouble at all.’ At least Drusilla meant to be no trouble. Her sister was likely to be trouble enough for two people. ‘Once I find the couple, I will be able to handle the rest of it. But if you could clear the way for me, paying bills, handling luggage and protecting me from men such as our companion?’

‘And keep my mouth shut at the end of it?’ For a moment, the candid Mr Hendricks had returned and was grinning at her.

She returned a small, polite smile. ‘Precisely.’

‘Very well, then. I am at your disposal.’ He offered his hand to her. She accepted it and was given a manly shake. His palm was warm and dry against hers and the feeling of carefully contained power in his arm gave her a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach.

When he released her hand, he had an odd look on his face, as though he’d felt something as well. Perhaps it had to do with the quality of the cooking, for they had shared the same food.

And now they shared a room.

Her stomach gave the same little flip. It was probably nothing more than nerves. Because Mr Hendricks showed no signs of quitting the place and leaving her in privacy. To speed him on his way, she asked, ‘And this evening?’ She glanced around the room, and then significantly at the door. ‘Where do you intend to sleep?’

‘Right here, of course.’

‘You most certainly will not—’

He cut her off before she could object and the firmness returned to his voice. ‘There was nothing in the agreement we have made that would lead me to believe I must sleep in the stable.’

‘Nor was there anything about it that implied that I wish to share a room with you.’

‘The implication was tacit,’ he said. ‘If not, you could have announced in the tavern that our relationship was an illusion.’

‘I never expected things to progress as quickly as they did,’ she said. ‘Nor did I expect you to be stubborn on the point.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘You think my wishing to sleep in a bed when one presents itself is a sign of stubbornness and not common sense.’

‘I expect you to behave as a gentleman,’ she said. ‘And as one who is in my employ.’

‘It is late. And it is not in my ability to aid you until the morning,’ he said. ‘My service to you will begin at first light. I expect, at that time, that I will need all my wits to keep ahead of you. And for that, I will need adequate sleep. If you were seeking a dogsbody who would lie in the hall just to ensure your modesty, then you must seek him elsewhere. In my last position, I was treated almost as a member of the family and well paid.’

‘And yet you left it,’ she pointed out and saw the tiny twitch of his eye at her reminder.

‘But even dead drunk, I had the sense to leave London with enough money for accommodations,’ he countered. ‘You did not. I have paid for this room and mean to stay in it.’ He smiled benevolently. ‘Since you are my employer, I will hardly deny you the space, if you wish to remain with me.’

Perfectly true and annoyingly rational. ‘Then it is I who must sleep in the stable,’ she said, doing her best to look pathetic and elicit his sympathy.

‘Or on the floor,’ he offered. ‘Although it does not look very comfortable. Or you can take your half of the mattress, if you will leave me in peace.’

‘If I leave you in peace?’ she said, outraged.

‘I have no intention of accosting you in the night, nor do I mean to tell anyone of the close quarters,’ he said. ‘I know my own nature and feel quite able to resist your charms.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, a little annoyed that at the first sign of conflict she had gone back to being her easily resistible self.

He glanced at her, as though speculating. ‘But I cannot vouch for your motives. In our first meeting, you were the aggressor. For all I know, you are the sort of woman who forces herself on to unwary travellers and robs them of their purses, or murders them in their beds.’

‘How dare you.’

Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. ‘I am properly convinced. Only a lady of the bluest blood can raise that level of outrage over so small a jest. Your honour is safe from me. And as for my honour?’ He shrugged. ‘I doubt you would know what to do with it, should you find it.’ He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then stripped off his coat and waistcoat and loosened his cravat.

There was no reason that his words should hurt her, for they were true. They were not even an insult. No decent girl should have any idea how to approach a strange man in her bed. But she hated to be reminded of her ignorance and to feel that he was amusing himself with her naïveté. But it was late and she was tired, and could think of no alternative sleeping arrangements if he was unwilling to move. She stared at the bed, then at him. ‘If it is only for the few hours until dawn, I think I can manage to control myself.’

‘Unless you are driven wild by the appearance of a man’s bare feet,’ he said, not bothering a glance in her direction. ‘I will retain my shirt in deference to your modesty. But I mean to remove my socks and dry them by the fire.’

‘Is there any reason that I would be inflamed at the sight of them?’ she asked, suddenly rather curious. For other than in paintings, she could not remember ever seeing any male feet.

‘None that I know of. But if you wish, you may assure yourself that they are not cloven hooves.’ He pulled back the covers and she caught a glimpse of them as he rolled easily into his side of the bed. They were quite ordinary, although there was something distinctly masculine about the size.

But being able to travel with dry toes tomorrow would be rather pleasant. So she went to her side of the bed, with her back to him, and as discretely as possible removed her boots, undid her garters and rolled her own stockings down.

Then she glanced at the bed again, trying not to look at the body already in it. To lie down beside it would be more than a careless disregard for modesty. But she was very tired, and there might not be another chance to sleep in a bed, not even part of one, between here and the end of her journey. ‘I have, in the past, been forced to share a mattress with my sister. That did not upset my sleep.’ But Mr Hendricks seemed much larger than Priscilla. And he was occupying slightly more than half of the available space. She wondered, uneasily, how much room she was likely to need.

He rolled so that he could look at her again as she arranged her stockings next to his. His eyes flicked briefly to her feet, bare on the cold floor of the inn, and then just as quickly back to her face. He gave her a strange, tight smile. ‘But I am not really your brother.’ Then he removed his spectacles, folded them and placed them on a stool next to the bed. ‘We will manage the best we can.’ He rolled so that his back was to her again. ‘When you are ready to retire, please extinguish the candle.’

Once she was sure that his eyes were truly closed, Dru dropped the front of her gown and loosened the stays built into it to make sleeping a little easier. She feared that the shortness of breath she was experiencing was more the sign of rising panic. She was not even a day from home, but it was farther than she had ever travelled without escort. And on the very first night, she had fallen into what the map maker might label terra incognita, a place where the rules as she understood them did not apply. She was in bed with a strange man and both of them were barefoot. Although no governess had lectured her on this particular circumstance, she was sure that the forecast would have been dire.

She suspected that Priss would have managed the situation much better, for the girl had been so unwilling to follow the dictates of convention that she would not feel their absence.

But Dru missed them sorely. She must hope that the man she had hired to aid her was as honest and dependable as he managed to look, in some lights at least. Once he was rested and sober, and wearing his spectacles again, everything would be all right. She remembered the flash of gold in his eyes, after he’d removed his glasses, but just before he’d closed them. Strange, deep, unfathomable eyes. Eyes that had been places and seen things. And they had been looking at her.

‘Here there be dragons,’ she whispered, blew out the candle and lay down beside him.

From somewhere on the other side of the mattress, she heard a groan, and the muttered, ‘I will slay them in the morning.’ And then, there was nothing but silence.