Читать книгу Compromising Miss Milton - Michelle Styles, Michelle Styles - Страница 12

‘The hotel is just up this slope. You see—all the danger has passed,’ Daisy said as they reached a well-trodden pathway. ‘You are safe now.’

‘Am I?’ A tiny smile played on his lips. ‘It is pleasant to know. Slightly disheartening though. I had not planned on being safe just yet.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘You react well to teasing, Miss Milton. I would have thought governessing had drummed it out of you, made you into a drab creature who matched her clothes. I suspect underneath there beats a passionate heart.’

‘I suspect we should keep on walking.’

‘As you wish.’

Daisy concentrated on taking steady calming breaths and maintaining a dignified silence. She tried to think about the men they had encountered, rather than her passionate heart. Had they returned to the clearing? Had they discovered that two people had been there, instead of just her?

Several times during the journey back to the hotel’s grounds, she had started to turn around, convinced the men were about to reappear. But Lord Ravensworth had trudged relentlessly onwards, refusing to let her stop.

In a way, it was easier because every time they paused, her thoughts drifted back to the kiss he had bestowed. When she was a girl, she had often dreamt of her first proper kiss. Then it had been all orange blossoms and sweet-scented myrtle. She had never considered that it might have been from an injured man under a sun-dappled oak as they hurried for their lives. For luck, he had said. And she wished it had been for something more.

‘I believe I know this path. It leads down to the popping stone and the kissing bush,’ Lord Ravensworth said.

‘I am surprised you know where that is. You do not look like the marrying kind.’ Daisy made her voice light. The popping stone was one of the main attractions in Gilsland Spa as Sir Walter Scott had famously asked his wife to marry him there. Miss Blandish had been after Lord Edward to take her for a stroll in that direction, but so far he had resisted.

‘It pays to be wary. But kissing is always in season.’ Lord Ravensworth removed his arm from her shoulders for the first time since they started out from the oak. ‘I can find my way to the hotel now.’

‘I am quite happy to walk you to the hotel and explain the situation. My employer is an active member of the hotel’s circulating library and the innkeeper knows me.’

‘You have done enough. Your part has come to an end.’ Lord Ravensworth inclined his head.

He was dismissing her. A lump of disappointment grew in Daisy’s throat. The connection with him she had felt only a few moments before had been a trick of circumstance, an illusion.

‘If you are certain…’ Daisy straightened her shoulders, and gripped the handle of the basket tighter, holding it against her body. For her, she could not get the touch out of her mind. For him, it had been the merest brush of lips. ‘You are quite right—I have no wish to expose myself to scandal. Imagine if Nella’s tongue got the better of her…’

‘And what happened to Christian duty?’

‘You are deliberately being provoking.’

‘A little.’ His features relaxed into a heart-stopping smile. ‘Your eyes flash when you are angry. They reveal the passion that your employers have not been able to extinguish. I wanted to see you as Daisy Milton, my saviour, rather than as Miss Milton, the governess, for one last time.’

‘You are wrong. I have always been like this.’ Daisy firmly turned her thoughts away from passionate eyes and towards the state of her gloves and the hours she would have to spend mending the rents in the gown. Luckily, she knew how to sew a fine seam, and the black stuff could be repaired.

‘I have no wish to deprive you of the blanket the next time you go on an expedition.’ He took the woollen picnic blanket from his shoulders. ‘Shall I put it in the basket for you?’

‘No, I am perfectly capable of arranging my things.’ She took the blanket from him and placed it in the basket.

His face became inscrutable, the haughty face of a viscount again. ‘I know you are capable.’

‘Then it is goodbye and good luck, Lord Ravensworth.’ Daisy held out her hand.

‘Next time I need the perfect governess… I will know who to call.’ He bent over her hand and kissed it as if they were at a ball, rather than standing in a glade. ‘Miss Milton, you should work on a come-hither look. You will find that honey catches more flies, even when you are a governess.’

‘I doubt you will have cause for such a glance.’ Daisy gave her fiercest glare, the one that sent Nella running to hide in a corner, in an attempt to hide her confusion. ‘You do not appear to be the marrying sort.’

‘Men do not have to be married to require a governess, Miss Milton.’

‘This is goodbye for ever, Lord Ravensworth.’ Daisy turned on her heel and fled.

‘Not for always, Miss Milton,’ Adam said softly, watching the way her skirt swirled about her ankles. But Miss Milton’s step remained resolute and her back stern.

The necklace had to be retrieved. It was another mistake. He should have insisted on carrying the basket for her. It was safe for now in the lining, but he would have to get it back. He frowned, annoyed at the slip. Miss Milton had distracted him with the provoking way her white teeth caught her full bottom lip. No, he decided it was only the after-effects of the drugged beer and the dunking in the river. The next time he encountered her, things would be different.

He began to climb up towards the hotel, his muscles screaming if he put a foot wrong. And he wished that he had been less hasty in dismissing Miss Milton.

‘Ravensworth? Is that you crashing through the borders?’ a well-bred masculine voice called out. ‘My God, you are alive.’

Adam started. The last time he had heard those drawling nasal tones was over a hand of cards at White’s in London a month ago, just before he had set off for his business in Scotland. He straightened his shoulders, arranged his face into his more normal arrogance. ‘Heritage, what are you doing here? A bit far from your usual haunts of St James’s and Piccadilly.’

‘Looking for you.’ Heritage rounded a boulder and stood. His black frock coat was impeccably tailored and his stock was just that fraction higher than was physically comfortable. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his pale forehead, pushing a white blonde lock to one side.

‘Why?’ Adam’s body tensed, ready to spring. Heritage should be far from here. ‘Surely you have not come from London expressly for that purpose?’

‘I have been taking the waters, here in Gilsland.’ Heritage waved a vague hand. ‘I have a great-uncle who might be persuaded to name me as his heir. It seemed worth a trip, and anyway, London has been duller than dull ever since the king became ill. And now that he is dead, everyone must observe the correct mourning period. No balls, no opera and the gaming tables are distinctly on the thin side.’

Adam forced his hands to stay at his side as the pain in his head grew. Heritage’s words explained everything and nothing.

‘I was speaking about you the other night at table. India came up and I remembered your fabled luck. What did go on at the hill station? We all thought you were a goner when you insisted on going back up with such a small company to root out that nest of thieves. They were operating under the very nose of his Majesty’s officers. And I remembered how they said their treasure was cursed as was anyone who touched it; they ended up dead and you had that necklace as proof. But you came back victorious. Made myself a pretty packet. Never bet against a Ravensworth, I said that day, and I stand by it. Still, here you are alive.’

‘That is ancient history, Heritage.’ Adam’s head pounded. He thought he had left the thuggee and their curses behind seven years ago. The necklace was cursed, but not in the way it was whispered. It reminded him of the heart he had lost. But the thuggee were no more. All of them had been brought to justice. Heritage had been in charge of ensuring the hanging of the surviving thuggee was carried out. ‘Why were you searching for me?’

Heritage hesitated for a fraction too long. ‘Your carriage was discovered earlier. We feared the worse.’

‘I will survive.’ Adam gave a careful shrug, despite his muscles screaming in protest. ‘My clothes have seen better days and my boots are gone. My valet will be ready to commit murder about the boots. He had just perfected his blacking technique of that particular pair. And having survived one attempt on my life, I have no wish to risk another.’

‘That’s the spirit.’ Heritage clapped him on the shoulder. ‘What happened? How did you end up here? Your carriage was found abandoned a few miles from here.’

‘We were attacked after we left Brampton. After my time in India, I can sleep anywhere, and I wanted to return to Newcastle. The carriage was stopped and surrounded. I escaped, rather than submitting.’

‘The carriage was found abandoned on the Brampton road. Someone had set about it, but a farmer spotted the wreckage when he was taking his cows to pasture. He came to the hotel while I happened to be speaking to the innkeeper. I went along to help and recognised the carriage straight off. The one body was far too portly to be you and so we have been searching. The whole village turned out.’

Adam regarded Heritage. Perhaps the story was true. The men on the riverbank could have been innocent searchers, but somehow he doubted it. However, he would content himself with surviving and plotting his revenge. ‘How was my coachman killed?’

‘Strangled.’ Heritage paused. His face turned grave. ‘Strangled with a yellow scarf, knotted in one corner with a coin. They found it wrapped around his neck.’

Adam stilled, ice creeping down his spine. He had hoped the memory was caused by the drugged beer, but apparently not. The group of thuggee that he had routed had favoured strangulation with a vivid yellow scarf. They had had their sacred grove, dedicated to their demon goddess. There were times when he was playing cards in White’s or drinking at Brooks’s that he considered the whole episode to be some sort of fantastic fable out of the Arabian Nights. Unfortunately, it would appear that his enemy also knew of the tale.

‘That is not possible, Heritage. This is England. All of them were brought to justice. The ones who were alive after the attack swung for murder.’

‘The scarf was there. I saw it with my own eyes. Bright yellow, you know that peculiar nasty shade that sends chills down your spine. It made me wonder if somehow I had conjured them up what with my story about your exploits to my great-uncle.’

Pain seared through Adam’s head. Heritage looked positively shaken by the scarf. ‘Coincidence.’

‘You may be right, but it made a shiver run down my spine all the same.’ Heritage pulled at his cuffs. ‘How many besides you are left from the battle? I can think of nary a single man.’

‘Curses are for the superstitious, weak minded and gullible.’ Adam shut out the memory of Kamala’s soft voice telling him to be careful as he pocketed the necklace. He had laughed at her fears and had gently kissed her neck. Later, after the battle when she had told him that she was leaving, he had wondered. But the necklace was a symbol of his folly, nothing more. ‘I put my faith in reason. But I will grant you that the entire operation was planned, down to the smallest detail. Somebody wants me to think of India and the events there.’

Heritage rocked back on his heels. ‘Was there anyone else with you?’

‘With me?’ Adam’s vision swam as wave after wave of tiredness and pain hit him. His body needed rest and food. ‘I travelled alone. I wanted to get back to the delights of London.’

‘I thought I heard voices earlier. A woman’s voice.’

Adam put a hand to his head. The pulsating headache grew to a crescendo and his vision turned dark at the edges, driving all the thoughts from his brain. But he struggled to focus. Miss Milton had a good reputation. He did not need Heritage to destroy it through misplaced gossip and innuendo. ‘I met a woman who had been picnicking with her charge. She helped me out of the river. She took a tremendous risk, but she left me to continue on.’

‘And her name is? Who is this paragon of virtue? We go back a long way, Ravensworth.’ Heritage’s face took on a foxlike expression as it slid in and out of focus.

Adam redoubled his efforts. What had happened to Kamala all those years ago was not going to happen to Miss Milton. He would protect her. He would save her life.

‘It really does not matter, Heritage. She was a governess of the most exasperating sort. A nobody of little consequence. Leave it there.’

* * *

‘Miss Milton, Miss Milton, you are back!’ Nella’s tear-stained face greeted Daisy when she reached the schoolroom at the Blandishes’ rented house.

‘Of course I returned, Prunella.’

‘Is the man…dead?’

Daisy wrinkled her nose. How much did Nella need to know? Certainly nothing about her attraction to the man, or the fact that she suspected he might be a rake. ‘He is alive.’

‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Nella clapped her hands.

Daisy busied herself with removing her gloves and bonnet. Everything in the pristine schoolroom was just as she had left it—the papers stacked neatly and the ink bottle full. A small fire glowed in the grate. Nothing to say that her adventure had even happened.

‘The situation was resolved speedily. He is recovering at Shaw’s. No thanks to any help you sent.’

‘I know. I utterly failed you, Miss Milton. You put me to the test and I proved unworthy.’ Nella gave a series of rapid sniffs. ‘I betrayed you and your trust.’

‘How did you betray me?’ Daisy asked quietly, refusing to allow her mind to speculate. Calmness and fortitude were a governess’s watchwords. Never show surprise whatever your charge might do. ‘Surely you did as I requested and informed the innkeeper about the injured man.’

‘I never got the chance. Mama sent me to my room for telling fibs.’ Nella’s bottom lip trembled. ‘She threatened to paddle me with a hairbrush. Called it a Banbury story of a cock and bull.’

‘For what? You did tell her that I needed aid. That a man was seriously injured?’

‘I told her that you were with a naked man and needed someone to assist you in your endeavour.’

‘You did what!’ Daisy was unable to stop her mouth from falling open. A great black hole opened up inside her. She had little doubt that Nella had injected a bit of colour into the tale. But to twist the story in that particular fashion! She could well imagine what Mrs Blandish would have thought. Hopefully Mrs Blandish would recollect that her references were of the highest order and that she had never been involved with impropriety in her life. Her fists clenched, but she resisted the temptation to shake Nella. ‘Lord Ravensworth was clothed.’

‘I had to say something to get their attention. They were outside the hotel, on the terrace overlooking the riverbank. Susan was complaining about Lord Edward’s absence and Mama was busy gossiping with Mrs Gough, the vicar’s wife, and another lady. I tried and tried. No one noticed. I simply had to do something dramatic.’ Nella played with the tie of her pinafore. ‘I thought they would understand, but then Susan started screaming and demanding smelling salts. Mama had the severest look on her face and Mrs Gough, well, she puffed herself up like a wet hen. The squawking was frightful.’

Daisy’s lungs collapsed against her chest. The scene and its outcome were simply too dreadful to contemplate and all too vivid in her imaginings. Nella had to be exaggerating…again. Daisy gazed up at the crack in the ceiling, regaining some semblance of composure. ‘You can see why it is important to tell the truth, Nella. A man’s life depended on the truth.’

‘But I did tell the truth.’ Nella gave a mournful sniff. ‘And Mama always says that a man without a jacket, waistcoat and cravat is undressed. You agreed. I remembered that. And undressed is another way of saying naked. So I wasn’t lying despite what you say.’

Daisy twisted the black stuff of her gown around her fingers. Governesses never engaged in shouting matches with their students. Governesses always maintained rigid self-control. ‘I said might as well be undressed and we were speaking about formal dress at a ball.’

‘Oh.’ Nella’s eyes grew round. ‘I do beg your pardon.’

Daisy walked over to where the basin of water stood and splashed water on her wrists, restoring some equilibrium. How much damage had Nella done with her embellishment? ‘Lord Ravensworth, third Viscount Ravensworth, is the grandson of Lord Charles Ravensworth, the second Viscount Ravensworth.’

‘But why was he—?’ Nella stopped, raised herself up on her tiptoes and rocked back and forth. ‘I have heard of Viscount Ravensworth. He is worth a tremendous fortune and unmarried. I am certain he was mentioned in the scandal sheets recently. His name appears quite regularly. He goes to all the best parties. Women keep throwing themselves at him or something.’

‘How do you know this, Nella?’

‘I know where Mama keeps her secret store of newspapers, which she reads when she thinks no one is looking. One must be up to date on all of society’s news.’

‘Never mind who Lord Ravensworth is.’ Daisy wished she could sit down with a tisane to drink and a cold cloth over her eyes. Less than a minute with Nella and everything was beginning to spin out of control again. Her worst fear was confirmed. Lord Ravensworth was a notorious rake of the highest order.

‘I would like to meet a man who has made courtesans swoon.’

‘You have caused a bit of mischief, young lady.’ Daisy cleared her throat and gave Nella what she hoped was a suitably quelling look. ‘Hopefully you will have learnt a lesson. Luckily, the situation was resolved and I did not delay at the riverbank, waiting for help that never came. And ladies should not worry about what courtesans do.’

Nella gave a slight nod before sniffing loudly and scrubbing her eyes. ‘Mama wants to see you as soon as you appear. You know I did love you as a governess, Miss Milton. You have been much better than my seven other governesses. Even better than Mademoiselle Le Claire.’

Daisy closed her eyes and leant back against the wall. Nella’s word echoed round and round in her brain like some ghostly chant. Ice stabbed at her heart. She had done nothing wrong, but Nella’s quick tongue had put her position in danger. Her position and her reputation.

She could not afford to be without a reference. Not with a score of other women vying for each place. She had worked hard to achieve her success and the salary it commanded. She might not earn the same as a top-drawer finishing governess, but she did well enough to allow Felicity and Kammie some small measure of freedom. And after her stint with the Blandishes was complete, finally she would perhaps have enough in savings to open a proper school in the little village of Hinckley, one which could take a charity pupil or two. Felicity knew of a house that they could rent.

Silently, Daisy counted up her current savings. Meagre, although it should see her through until she could secure another position, but the dream of being with Felicity and Kammie would have to be postponed yet again. Panicking never solved anything and there was a slim chance that Nella was wrong. Her cases had not greeted her at the door as Louisa Sibson’s had when her affair with Jonathon Ponsby-Smythe had been discovered. She might yet keep the job.

Yes. Nella was up to her attention-seeking tricks. The tension eased out of Daisy’s neck and shoulders. She would be the mistress of the situation. Mrs Blandish would have to take action about Nella.

Daisy grabbed a cloth, went over to the basin and wet it. ‘Scrub your face and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Nella. You were the one who was caught out.’

‘But…’

‘Prunella Blandish, telling tales can get you in trouble. I trust you will remember this lesson and there will be no need to repeat it.’ Daisy shook out the folds of her gown. The mud splatters and rents made it impossible for her to wear the gown in public. She would have to take the time to change. And she would wear her grey gown and her Indian brooch, the one her brother had sent her just before he had died. It would set the right tone for a sober and responsible governess, one who could not possibly have shared a kiss with a rake of the first order.

‘Where are you going?’

‘To see your mother and inform her of the truth. You will have to write out a hundred lines for me.’

Nella screwed up her nose and made a gagging sound.

‘In your best handwriting, Nella.’

‘And what do I have to write?’ Nella gave a winning smile. ‘How much I love my governess?’

‘Telling tales leads to mischief. It will give you something to do rather than sitting here, feeling sorry for yourself. Remember I am still your governess.’

Nella’s lips curved upwards. ‘I will do that.’

Daisy resisted the urge to smile back or show any sign of softening. Without discipline, Nella would not learn. And that was what she was here for—to be a governess and not to be anything else at all.